We can never accuse President Trump of having small ambitions. After all, he recently sought a Nobel Peace Prize, though to no avail. But even more monumentally, so to speak, he has not denied seeking to have his visage carved into and enshrined forever on Mt. Rushmore in South Dakota.
In 2018, Trump undertook what he considered a serious conversation with South Dakota Governor Kristi Noem about that very possibility. That friendly chat has blown up to become one of MAGA’s highest aspirations.
I had a moment of angst three years ago as I filled out the 2020 U.S. Census form. I froze in my tracks, just as I had with employment forms in the past, when I saw a question asking me to denote my race. I am thoroughly aware that much of the U.S. population, especially in the more conservative states, would not consider me “white.”
Their assessment is based solely on my appearance. I’m not particularly dark, but neither am I of “fair skin.”
In light of recent developments in our country, I am now less willing to declare myself as of the “white” race on any form inquiring about my ancestral background. However, in the following Census question inquiring about my ethnicity (as opposed to “race”), selecting “Hispanic or Latino” was an obvious choice.
As a boomer who started working toward the end of the Industrial Revolution and then well into the digital age, I find myself fumbling my way into the AI Era that is suddenly at our doorstep. Now it occurs to me that although it behooves young people to get on board with AI for the sake of their futures, Latinos, specifically, should seriously consider the benefits that are possible for them.
For important reasons, Latinos stand to benefit enormously by upgrading their skills.
There are several hundred thousand amateur astronomers in the U.S. I was one of them during my teenage years (my daughter, a mother of three boys, has made it a point to tell me that I was not a “normal” teenager). I had one big disadvantage: I lived in Los Angeles during those years and had never seen the Milky Way due to the massive amount of illumination from one of the largest cities in the world just north of the suburb where I lived.
One summer, my father took all of us to the mountains north of Los Angeles for a few days. I took my telescope with me.
Last week I wrote about reasons to celebrate the month of May. But I’ve since learned another significant aspect of this glorious month.
Have we ever wondered about the origin of the name of this month? Many of us might surmise that it has something to do with the maypole, that wooden artifact that was part of European folk festivals. It might have been associated with paganism in Germany during the Iron Age, but we’re just not sure about this in our attempt to reach back to the obscure past.
In Spanish, the month of “May” is “mayo” (not capitalized). Like much of Spanish, this is derived from Latin, in which the word “Maius” means “Maia’s month.” But then of course we find ourselves asking, “Who is Maia?”
My favorite libraries lately are those that constitute the network of the Little Free Library movement. This is a global phenomenon with the motto: “Take a book; share a book.” Anyone is free to open the little protective door that protects the books in these micro-sized libraries. They dot some neighborhoods in front of participants’ homes and invite the passerby to peruse the collection and borrow or replace a book. Collections typically vary from around five to twenty-five books.
I’ve always enjoyed sharing and circulating books, so this program suits me perfectly. I often choose novels, introducing me to new authors and styles of writing.
We have good reasons to be optimistic about the month of May. Historically, May has been a month of events that are truly worth celebrating. Let’s review some of those cherished milestones.
To kick things off, World War II effectively ended on May 8, 1945. This singular event in history is known as VE Day (Victory in Europe Day), commemorating the day that the German Nazis surrendered, without conditions, to the Allies.
Looking back a couple of hundred years, the first successful smallpox vaccination was made available to the public in May of 1796. That is not a typo—it was not in 1976! The English physician Dr. Edward Jenner used cowpox, a virus that infects humans via rodents and domestic cats, to provide immunity against the dangerous smallpox virus.
In kindergarten, children are taught to respect each other. The youngsters are taught to “be nice” to their classmates, avoid name-calling and, above all, respect them.
But along the way, as children grow older, something goes terribly wrong. We would think that as adults we would have figured out that hostile, demeaning language online and face-to-face do nothing to promote amity and forward progress.
Unfortunately, too many adults with angry schoolyard aggression enter our civic and political spheres, where they have the power to inflict irreparable damage and lasting chaos. This is very much the scenario that we are witnessing in real time. Too often it seems as if the policies that guide our current government’s agenda are cruelty, belligerence, and hate. Disrespect for others is a troubling and pervasive element of executive orders, legislative bills, presidential tweets, and official pronouncements.
We often hear of the plight of young people who are despairing of ever owning a home. We can’t blame them. It is not because they “don’t work hard enough.” Many of them, I’m sure, work longer hours than some of us in the boomer generation ever did. But we boomers grew up in very different economic times. We were riding the winds of a post-war boom that formed a very favorable backdrop for our economic lives.
The keys of a first home represent “adulthood” and the ultimate fulfillment of the American Dream. The milestone is celebrated with parties and social media high-fives. But what many younger people may not thoroughly understand is that a home is both a blessing and a burden.
We are all generally aware that the explosion of AI in our lives represents both a blessing and a threat. Some of the dangers are real, and some are imagined. We might also be conscious of the currently outsized impact that AI is having on white-collar careers such as computer programming.
But whereas the college-bound and college graduates are particularly acutely aware of the disruptive nature of AI, it’s beginning to dawn on many of us that the threat we’re sensing is only the proverbial tip of the iceberg.
About 10 years ago, we were promised a hands-free existence in our interactions with technology. No longer would we have to use our nimble fingers to laboriously type text into keyboards, either digital or physical, they told us. Now, the tech bros assured us, we would be able to use our voices to provide input to the vast network of devices in our homes, at work, or on the road.
Imagine a government that insists that we make America great again by driving updated, fancy versions of 1950s vehicles. By sabotaging the push to convert our transportation to electric-powered vehicles, the current administration in Washington, D.C., has, in effect, handed the keys of a prosperous kingdom to international competitors.
Electric vehicles (EVs) are not just a “green fad” dreamt up by radical liberals. While the U.S. demurs, the rest of the world realizes that the future of the planet, and of industry, rests on its ability to advance in the production of reasonably priced EVs for the masses.
I used to enjoy most of my classes in college. But I also found myself sitting through some agonizingly dull 50-minute lectures on obscure topics. John von Neumann, a Hungarian and American mathematician of prodigious talent and insight, coined a name for that measure of time. He stated that the average college lecture lasted 52.6 minutes, which is a millionth of a century—that is, a “microcentury.”
No boring minutes and seconds for us (except for math and physics homework)! This comical chronometry allowed my nerdy engineering classmates and I to go around saying things such as, “I saw a movie that lasted four and a half microcenturies.” After all, we were used to doing time conversions in our head. But students in other majors who overheard us would just shake their heads and roll their eyes.
Seventy years ago, my father invited me to sit down with him to assemble a simple jigsaw puzzle of maybe about 50 pieces. It was the first of many. He eventually graduated me up to the 500- and then 1000-piece puzzles. The images on the boxes for these puzzles consisted of things like people, houses, skies, forests, farms, waterfalls, plants, and animals.
He was very logical when it came to puzzles. He taught me that the first thing we had to do when starting a puzzle was to spread out the pieces and ensure that they were all face-up. Once that was accomplished, our mission was to establish the frame—that is, fit all the pieces that make up the perimeter of the puzzle. This was serious business. We finished the frame together with the gravity of two men diffusing a bomb.
Earlier this month, a large banner featuring Trump’s glaring face was unfurled outside the U.S. Department of Justice headquarters. It included the words “Make America Safe Again.” Naturally, questionable actions like these spur the sale of hats with the acronym “MASA.” These letters are a play on the famous acronym MAGA that proclaims the necessity of making America great “again,” as if winning World War II, passing civil rights legislation, and landing the first men on the moon were not enough to deem our country to be “great.”
For Mexican Americans, the word “masa” has a deep resonance with the Indigenous aspects of our culture. It’s something we can really sink our teeth into—namely, tamales.
Argentine beef has been in the news a lot lately. President Trump recently issued an executive order allowing more Argentine beef to enter our country tariff-free. Presumably, this is a “win” for U.S. consumers who are agitated about affordability.
However, economists are skeptical. They are saying that the impact on consumer prices will be minimal, given that the tariff-free beef represents not even 1% of the total beef supply. So much for the “win.”
In addition, Midwest farmers are not at all thrilled with this gift to Trump’s friend, Javier Milei, president of Argentina, a flamboyant right-wing populist and libertarian. They see Trump’s directive as a slap in the face and a lack of support for the American beef cattle industry.
Coming from an artistic family, I knew in my youth that one day I’d want to see some of the world-renowned art in Paris. In 2004, I set out to do just that.
After taking several semesters of French at Ventura College, I felt confident enough, though with some trepidation, to face the well-known linguistic judgment (if not the disdain) of the French people.
Much like the great religions of the world, the institution of classical music is rooted in centuries of tradition and culture. For me, attending a classical music event in some ways feels the same as attending a Catholic Mass.
The “priest” during a classical musical event is the conductor. We may not applaud during a Mass, or kneel during an orchestra’s performance, but we do rise, sit, and applaud at prescribed times throughout a classical music performance that conceivably dates back several centuries.
More In Common US, a nonpartisan nonprofit that studies the roots of division in our society, recently interviewed 10,000 Trump voters over 10 months. The result was an eye-opening “Beyond MAGA” report that shed light on Americans’ attitudes regarding patriarchy and women.
Almost 50% of members of Gen Z who took the survey want Trump to serve a third term. That the Constitution prohibits this authoritarian maneuver doesn’t appear to dissuade them.
Furthermore, a disheartening 26% of young Trump voters believe that “men should lead, and women should follow,” an outlook that appears to be fueled by the “trad wife” movement, which encourages women to marry into a “traditional” lifestyle that diminishes their autonomy and relinquishes them to subservient roles in service to their husbands.
In news stories every day, the lives of the rich and famous are shoved in our faces. Any envy we might feel for their unimaginable wealth must be tempered by an awareness of the living hell many of them endure every day: the paparazzi, the stalkers, the swindlers, the addictions, the threats and the experience of living in a bubble, exposed (sometimes literally) for all the world to see, all the time.
It’s 2026 now, and sometimes I want to feel smug about having watched technology blossom as I grew into adulthood. After all, I’ve seen tech evolve from vacuum tubes to transistors to integrated circuits to incredibly powerful central and graphics processing units to AI accelerators. So, I’m supposed to feel comfortable with technology, right?
Wrong, as I embarrassingly discovered when playing video games with my grandson Andrew, age 7, recently. He challenged my dignity…and won commandingly. Digital natives like him are light years beyond those of us “of a particular age” who used to think that holding a remote with a cord in our hand meant power.
Several weeks ago, I had the chance to practice a skill that has greatly benefited me several times throughout my life: choosing nonconfrontational language over words that bring out the knives.
I was doubting the fairness of a bill sent to me by a home service provider. I didn’t think it was justified, given the circumstances, but I was willing to talk with the billing department and hear their perspective. After all, I reasoned, it was entirely possible that they deserved to be paid every cent they were charging me
We are in the midst of an era of rapid technological advancement. As high school students and their parents sweat over the correct choice for a major, they may feel that they are engaged in a sort of life-or-death economic decision rather than the opportunity to pursue a passion. There are currently a whole slew of podcasters, influencers and politicians who disparage the humanities as “impractical” or outmoded, as if they were a musty remnant of the Renaissance.
In its nefarious dedication to destroying the foundations of American education, the U.S. Department of Education, in its definitely finite wisdom, is proposing that graduate accounting degrees are no longer to be recognized as “professional” for student loan purposes. This is certain to have repercussions that will significantly impact higher education in the field of finance.
As a boy, I found myself drawn to the magnificence of the sun. However, having grown up in Los Angeles, we often lived under a smoggy sun. But we and our plants and animals soaked in whatever sunlight we could get to nourish and animate our souls.
In my high school years, I often went to the beach with friends. It felt wonderful to be out body-surfing the waves that were themselves powered by the light of the sun. On the other hand, there was scant awareness back then about the dangers of excessive exposure to sunlight. I’ve been lucky. Only one surgery, so far at least, to remove a spot of basal cell carcinoma on my nose.
It was not long ago that I used to take my two older grandsons to fun places—arcades, children’s museums and exhibits, story times at libraries, pirate festivals, butterfly events. It was only yesterday (wasn’t it?) that I was getting down on the floor with the older one, and then the other years later, to play board games or assemble jigsaw puzzles of superheroes and animals. It couldn’t have been that long ago that I held them in my arms, walked hand-in-hand with them at a park, or ran beside them as they learned to skate or ride a bicycle.
French is in my blood.
No, not in the form of French family origins, if 23andMe has anything to say about it, but rather the French language courses through my veins. As far as I’m concerned, French is an undeniable part of my linguistic DNA.
This morning I confidently strolled out to catch a bus not far from my home. Yes, I own a car, but I often take a bus to my destination, regardless. It’s free for people my age, and it gives me an excuse to get in some walking for the day.
I’ve been riding the bus in my area for several years, so I know the system well. To my credit, and to that of the bus system, I never missed a medical or other important appointment whenever I took the bus. Part of that is sheer good fortune, but I also build in “time cushions” to my more crucial itineraries by allowing extra time.
One of my very close cousins, a man not much older than I am, has kept himself substantially busy in his retirement. Having worked as a chemical engineer in his previous life, he now dedicates himself to more creative work. Let’s call him “Nick.”
Nick’s photographs of the flora and fauna of his region in the Pacific Northwest are stunning, particularly those that feature birds of all types, sizes and habitats. From the tiny hummingbird to the massive, dinosaur-like Great Blue Heron, he captures superbly their mystery and majesty.
In the ancient past, up to around the end of 2022, I used to grapple with complex technical issues (for me, anyway) as I pursued some of my projects. When I first started building websites, for example, I often found myself stumped by some of the technical barriers that kept emerging in front of me.
When confronted with an intractable problem that appeared insurmountable, I found myself hunting for web pages that would illuminate me and provide the answers I was looking for. Sometimes I succeeded in ferreting out a solution to a dilemma that would sometimes take days to resolve because I often didn’t even know quite what to search for.
The canonization of a saint is the culmination of a process that, in the eyes of the Catholic Church, creates a bridge between human and divine realms. The formal process of canonization has evolved over the centuries from a local affair to an intricate, institutionalized undertaking that is overseen by the pope himself.
Let’s try to imagine an exploratory mission deep in the heart of the local library.
That is exactly what I conducted last week among the ghosts of the paper card catalogs that now haunt the modern library visitor. I felt like a hunter, seeking out a book that would mysteriously reach out to me and demand that I read it—or at least consider it.
In the 1970s, in a more prosperous country, company “headhunters” were pursuing us even before we graduated from college. Sometimes we ended up with several job offers. Our “dilemma” was having to choose from among them.
I sympathize with today’s college graduates. Today, untold numbers of graduates are experiencing a superabundance of frustration as they submit, sometimes literally, hundreds of their résumés online to a wide range of companies.
“I may do it. I may not do it. Nobody knows what I’m going to do.” These words sum up the leadership style of President Trump. He appears to delight in keeping everyone guessing what his next move will be.
When Trump spoke these words last June, he was responding to a question regarding his intentions to collaborate with Israel to attack Iran.
Granted, a rational level of uncertainty can be beneficial when an enemy of the United States is being kept on its toes, not sure what the next move of our military might be, for example.
But when our nation’s citizens, as well as the world’s governments and businesses, are subjected to continual unpredictability and uncertainty from our country’s president, the inevitable result will be more chaos than we’ve already witnessed and future economic stagnation.
Several years ago, I thought I would try my hand at freelancing. I took an online course on proofreading, passed the exam at the end of the course, and plunged into the gig economy.
Every city has its stories to tell, and Oxnard certainly has its share. When we think of Oxnard, at least here in this part of California, we might reflexively think of the Mexican, Chinese and Japanese immigrants who built the agricultural backbone of this region. Without their sweat, tears and blood, we would not be the agricultural powerhouse that we are today.
In the following paragraphs, feel free to substitute “tea” (or any other caffeinated drink) for “coffee.”
One of my favorite pastimes in retirement is partaking of coffee with friends or family. That magical, “brew-tiful” time might be spent with my daughter to catch up on her world and that of my grandsons. Or it might mean swapping war stories with a fellow retiree who had spent time in the trenches with me, day after day and year after year.
I never thought I’d see the day when I would waver in my belief that the pursuit of a four-year college degree was a good choice for a young person. But that day has arrived. Yes, I’m wavering.
My sister “Ana” told me recently about a disjointed exchange she had with her granddaughter, “Sandra.”
Sandra and her brother “George” were home from their last full day of school before summer break. Thinking back on her own experiences in the 1950s, Ana asked them if any of their classmates had brought an apple for the teacher.
They both regarded her with wide-eyed, perplexed astonishment, saying “nooooo…,” emitting a tone of concern as if they thought their grandma was slipping into the first stages of dementia.
Having more time to walk the streets of the Oxnard and Ventura areas lately, I find myself navigating a world that had not been entirely apparent to me in the past. I am more aware now of the great number of people who are distressed, troubled, and immersed in mental illness.
Their plight becomes obvious as I witness people who are talking animatedly with themselves—sometimes cheerfully, but too often they are angry and threatening. It’s hard to feel safe when someone close by is screaming something such as, “I’m gonna kill every single person I find!”
Every day since the beginning of this year, I listen to the news from reliable, respected sources. Since the beginning of the year, I often find myself wondering why our federal government seems to delight in what seems to be a policy of cruelty.
Consider the following recent issues:
the blitzkrieg mass firings of new and experienced government employees
the hostile takeover of cultural centers
the treatment of immigrants, both legal and illegal …
Around mid-May last month, former president Joe Biden’s office announced his prostate cancer diagnosis. The Trump family, in an astonishing lack of class even for them, unleashed their cruelty even as Mr. Biden was jolted into confronting his mortality.
Donald Trump Jr. did not hesitate to launch a typically vicious tweet, questioning why “Doctor” Jill Biden had not issued her own diagnosis much earlier. Because, according to him, she is, after all, a “doctor.”
As anyone with any education or knowledge of the world knows, Dr. Jill Biden has the privilege of using that honorific because she earned that title in academia—not because she is a medical doctor.
My extended family consists of about 60 cousins and an untold number of their children. My paternal grandparents had 14 children, and one of those children had 14 children. Sometimes I think I must be related to half the population of Los Angeles.
We cousins are scattered all over the map. I grew up next door to five of them, all brothers. One lives in Tokyo, Japan. Another is in Manchester, England. Two are near Seattle, Washington. One remains in Los Angeles.
Listening to NPR the other day, I heard a young woman lament that she had just received her MBA (Master of Business Administration) degree but could not find work. This is an unfortunate contrast with more prosperous times in our country when MBAs were popular because they were a golden ticket to meaningful, highly remunerative employment.
So why are these young, ambitious graduates, likely already saddled with enormous student debt, finding it so challenging to find jobs that match their level of education?
The job market is undergoing a slow but certain seismic shift.
Advocates of establishing colonies on Mars (Elon Musk immediately comes to mind) contend that we must develop these outposts on this red planetary soil to ensure the viability of humankind. If we do not colonize our celestial neighbor, they argue, then we will certainly face extinction, given the increasing uninhabitability of our mother planet.
Critics pounce on this logic, saying that the likely cause of the multitude of terrestrial disasters we face is due to climate change. And rather than investing those billions of dollars in “escaping” to Mars, we need to focus on reversing the decades of climate destruction caused by fossil fuels, the Trump administration notwithstanding.
It is painful when we accompany someone who is in emotional pain. To some extent, we carry their pain along with them as they suffer. Watching someone we love or care about in the depths of hopelessness, worry or despair is emotionally taxing for us. This is compassion, something that the late Pope Francis tried to instill in us.
There are right ways and there are wrong ways to try helping someone who is in emotional pain.
Throughout history, eavesdropping on others’ conversations has served to gather information that might otherwise not be available. The ethics of eavesdropping varies from unreservedly unconscionable to harmless and even useful. Eavesdropping can prove to be harmlessly thrilling or profoundly exciting for our spirit.
As I write this, the wind outside is causing trees to sway and birds in flight to move erratically. These must be the March winds in April.
I recalled reading about the beliefs of the Aztecs regarding the wind. They surmised that the wind served as a bridge between the realms of the physical and the spiritual. They depicted Ehécatl, the Aztec god of the wind, as the sacred entity that breathed life into humanity.
The Aztecs venerated the wind and lived in awe of its dual nature; it gave life, but it could also chaotically take it away. For them, the wind carried both messages and benedictions from the gods. It was a transformative force to be reckoned with. It moved and changed the elements of the world around them.
Learning to “live and let live” is like sipping cold tea on a hot summer day. When we master the concept of living and letting live, we learn to tolerate and even accept the quirks, beliefs, boundaries, and tastes of others.
If nothing else, acquiring this outlook allows us to accept a family member who cheers for the political candidate that we abhor or who likes pineapple on their pizza.
In some countries and within certain cultures, many people adopt the philosophy of “live and let live.” Living together while embracing this attitude allows for the avoidance of conflict between members of a society—something we here in the U.S. could use about now
The past few weeks have alarmed many of us who contemplate the future of our country. Yes, we’ve always had disagreements among ourselves. We’ve discussed issues and argued with each other. But over the past few years, our discord has devolved into a mean-spirited battle between liberals and conservatives, governments and disadvantaged groups, globalists and nationalists, the religious and the secularists, oligarchs and common citizens.
