Stopping the Spin in Ed Sullivan's Grave

New York City's historic Ed Sullivan Theater was named after TV variety show legend Ed Sullivan, but its current star occupant for more than a decade has hosted a show hardly noted for variety as much as it is for political partisanship.  Yes, "The Late Show" with Stephen Colbert on CBS-TV will be shuttered a year from now, but the only people destined to notice in large part will be a diminishing number of hangers-on from way far out Lib Land.  That the merger between CBS and another conglomerate somehow demands that Colbert and his constant barbs directed to the political right be scuttled only as a business decision appears unlikely. This maneuver seems personal, intended to (literally) clear the air(waves) of the one-sided political humor which, particularly now, has fallen in disfavor with so many TV viewers -- the group which gravitates increasingly away from TV broadcasts anyway, as they resort more to streaming an endless menu of other visual possibilities.

Even the late-night guest itinerary has slumped over the years, as lesser known "celebrities" and people about whom viewers couldn't care less show up to fill broadcast minutes.  It is particular telling to discover TV networks choosing "guests" from their own programs and news departments frequently.  The dilemma:  The Jimmy Stewarts, Jack Bennys and other highly cherished, if not deeply loved super-stars of Hollywood are mostly dead and gone, replaced now by prettied-up know-nothings with experience in nothing whatsoever except how to respond to stupid questions and innocuous banter with vacuous answers.  In the late night world, substance has been increasingly replaced by guest brains apparently half-eaten by zombies.  And  n o   o n e   i s   watching   in sustainable numbers anymore.  If you don't know it the sponsors certainly do.

Viewers accustomed to watching a succession of late-night TV shows hosted by the likes of Jerry Lester (the first?), Steve Allen, Jack Paar, Johnny Carson and other early pioneers of the format easily settled in comfortably for the most part when Jay Leno and David Letterman took the reins of TV's darker hours, when comedy was funny and the shows provided something for everyone without resorting to vicious political attacks disguised cleverly as humor night after tortured night.

Which brings us back to Stephen Colbert -- and, just perhaps, the possibility that the Lord of Kimmel, James himself, may also experience a network late-night disappearing act one day soon, in keeping with extraordinary changes affecting TV as well as the rest of society.  At least for a brief respite in another year The Ed Sullivan Theater can be aired out, with the stench of leftist party politics couched as entertainment faded away.  And dead Ed can stop spinning.

No longer can Democrats make fun of anybody who isn't they.  A party saddled with not only the wit and wisdom of David Hogg, but now NY's mayoral sorta-hopeful socialist Democrat Mamdani, a potential "squad" member if ever there was one, will have a lot of digging out to do before even more mud hits the fan.

New York City and its boroughs, with the able assistance of NY's Capitol district in Albany, has long been proficient at allowing its stinking trainloads of garbage to be exported upstate to overflowing landfills in the most pristine areas of Upstate NY. For a change, a different kind of odor can't be exported and will be required to set up a socialist influence right in the heart of NY City, depending upon how one sees a potential Mamdani administration. If Mamdani wins the election, as prime businesses in NYC head for the exit door, it will be interesting to see just how long the organized street trash will remain satisfied before the socialist dam busts.

The Fed:  Disband this fetid assemblage of five super-sized banks and let's go back to just the Treasury.  With new legislation on block chain currencies and everything else most of us don't entirely comprehend, it's really time to make life simple, to at least try. 

Bits and Pieces for July 2025

Enduring Pascagoula:  A reader inquiring about my more than occasional references to the alleged Pascagoula MS UFO abduction of two fishermen in 1973 asks whether I'm on some sort of bandwagon as a newcomer regarding this incident. Actually, I'm not late to this party, and if you go to the search engine at the top of this page and type in Pascagoula you will find that just in this blog alone I have referenced the incident numerous times going back to at least 2007.  In addition to books, magazine articles and media broadcasts covering this case over the years, the fact remains that this appears the kind of encounter which SHOULD (but doesn't of course) satisfy ardent skeptics who demand evidence of the extraordinary.

Elon Musk blasts off, but not to Mars:  Elon, Elon, we love you for your genius and inventiveness, but do you really want to form a third political party (The American Party) when we already have two crummy ones in tow?

EV charging stations:  As if there's not already enough trouble in the electric vehicle world -- copper thieves are cutting public charging lines and stealing the precious metal faster than you can ask "why should I buy this thing?" One wonders why individual vehicles don't carry their own charging equipment to plug into charging stations.  I say it's certainly good that we aren't making copper pennies anymore, lest we would require thievery from EV charging stations to acquire copper.

More to worry about:  Just when we thought micro and nano-plastic particles breaking the blood-brain barrier were health-hazardous enough, now we discover that fragments of mini-rubber have been found in remote locations on the planet.  Worse:  The tiny rubber pieces may be far more dangerous to human, plant and animal health than the plastics. Bon app tit!

Keeping your foot odor contained:  No longer will air travelers need to remove their shoes for inspection by TSA agents.  While this is a great day for airplane passengers, frequent fliers should organize and complain until the airlines allow them to fly either clothed or naked as a matter of personal choice.  Bonus: Possibly lighter loads to transport.

I.C.E. calling:  Violence against ICE agents is appalling, but instances of shootings and other attacks appear to have been whipped up by organizers of both the left and the way far evil left.  As the agents continue removing those who break our border laws from the country, it's interesting to note how opposing groups compare them to Nazi storm troopers or some such absurdly horrible caricatures.  Opponents know very well that illegal aliens are being dispatched to other countries, not to ovens or firing squads.  If ICE agents or those who protect them feel the need to shoot back and let the chips of destiny fall where they may, go for it.  At some point, those who attack ICE agents for doing their jobs as humanely as possible are no better than garbage-lovin' rats you shoot dead at a dump.

Flooding in Texas:  Mother Nature is great at producing beautiful flowers as well as floods that kill.  That we humans continue to claim more real estate as years go by also exposes us and ours to more catastrophic events.  As we watch these horrific events covered on TV and the Internet, in addition to the death count we sit spellbound observing the tons of debris carried away every time a flood, forest fire, tornado or hurricane occurs.  Where does all of this "stuff" go?  How much longer can we just discard our disasters in full-up landfills?  Sure, if you're China or some other somewhat unenlightened state you just throw it all in the sea, out of sight and out of mind (until you eat it back in the fish you catch).  Our lives are toxic because we are toxic, no mystery there.  So, Elon, just what ARE you taking to Mars so we can start the cycle all over again?

UFO Cultism at the Wall Street Journal

By now it's easy-peasy to regard George Adamski's alleged flying saucer photos and wild tales as the concoctions they were, and I certainly have no less curiosity in what drives "contactees" such as Buck Nelson, who enthralled us -- make that a specifically narrow segment of us -- with his adventures as laid out in his obscure book, My Trip to Mars, the Moon and Venus.  The "space brother" cult enjoyed a veritable field day of public interest during the 1950s,  is probably gone for good, but one should never say never.

However, as if smacked with behemoth-sized bird droppings from the sky, UFO research is suddenly drenched with poisonous excretions from something of a different cult:  That of respectable journalists who work for a respectable newspaper who insist upon ignoring perfectly good UFO evidence in exchange for pure bull you-know-what with no respect whatsoever.  Unfortunately, this is not merely sporadic cult-nouveau territory in many American newsrooms.

I've long been appreciative of the Wall Street Journal as a source of fair reporting, but this time around, with two articles tackling the UFO subject in June, the WSJ got it wrong, disastrously wrong.  If you stayed current with my links to Frank Warren's UFO Chronicles, Kevin Randle and The Black Vault you already know the facts.

These days, I'm far removed from the UFO issue which once consumed my writing hours for newspaper and magazine articles, but I can still smell journalistic decay when its stinking fragrance becomes widespread enough to draw flies.  It's a funny thing how every once in a while some esteemed publication or public figure emerges from the shadows and performs an incredibly absurd jack-in-the-box hatchet job on the entire history of the UFO subject, totally disregarding tons of hard-mined evidence acquired for eyes willing to see over the decades.

In June, the  Journal bungled it all up via an editorial policy which apparently wasn't editing for facts and reporters who flat-out ignored the documentation placed on a platter before them.  If they weren't also pleasantly guided along by intentional government-generated misinformation with a clear agenda I would be very surprised.  After all, the formula hasn't changed much despite ongoing official promises to get to the truth.  Deep state or freak state may be in charge ultimately, take your choice.

The very concept that a SIGNIFICANT percentage of UFO observations and dramatic encounters going back decades can be chalked up to top secret devices, classified testing, gullible military personnel and pilots and joking diversionary tactics is just ridiculous, and even a cursory examination of even lesser known but admirable cases clearly indicates suitable explanations lacking.

In my declining years I'm a "one trick pony" in that I've put all my eggs into one UFO basket, and that basket is the Pascagoula, MS incident of 1973 in which two now deceased fishermen, Charles Hickson and Calvin Parker reported an encounter with a UFO complete with bizarre creatures which examined them physically.  Multiple witnesses have come forth over the years and there was clear electronic evidence of something tangible emerging from the sky.  Yet, as is the instance with multiple cases of crushing interest and intrigue, you won't find this one highlighted by the WSJ in June, nor in many other "respectable" publications.  Believe me, I know firsthand how, particularly at the editorial staff level, the most important UFO-related stories and topics get squashed.  Or ridiculed out of existence.  

Many of us thought a new day had dawned in recent years as the UFO issue appeared to gain value and even urgency among public officials and the media.  Maybe we were wrong.  All we can do now is wait as government inquiries continue in the face of poorly researched, blatantly stupid or purposefully misguided reportage destined to influence public minds already perpetually unfamiliar with UFO history and facts.  The "just isn't possible" cult (yes, CULT) of editors and reporters is alive and well among what fragments remain of real, hard-hitting journalism in the USA, and we dare suggest that the sun will continue revolving around the Earth for this bunch, innately blinded by the comforts of mass conventionality.

Welcome back, deja vu, welcome back, though we all know you never really left.

Catar-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack-act (I Ought to Know By Now)

School blackboards can be more than objects upon which people write smart or stupid things with chalk.  In my case, the words I had trouble reading on a classroom blackboard in fourth grade long ago directed me to my first encounter with an eye doctor, a.k.a. an ophthalmologist.  I think the "h" is in there just to trip kids up in spelling bees.

So there I was at age eight or nine or something, suddenly discovered to be nearsighted and condemned to wear refractive devices otherwise known as eyeglasses for the rest of my life.  Balancing eyewear on one's nose and behind the ears was not comfortable back then because these were still the years when eyeglasses were made of what they sound like: Glass.  The stronger the prescription, the thicker and heavier the glass lens on each side of the frame.

Years later when I entered the Air Force prescriptions were handled through military clinics, and at one point I was issued a standard pair of eyeglasses with dark plastic frames; actually, standard military eyeglass frames were only of one color, while the esteemed pilot class was awarded those dapper metal-framed aviator sunglasses (refer to "Top Gun" and other military motion pictures).

Though standard military eyewear remained common among servicemen and women, the occasional person daring to break away and actually become an individual when eyeglasses became an issue in the late 1960s and early seventies began privately purchasing wire-rimmed and metal-framed glasses echoing the eyewear so popular among sixties street radicals and anti-Vietnam conflict protesters.  This is hard to believe by today's standards, I know, but back then wearing such eyewear was considered subversive by many military personnel possessing the clout to administer punishment of a subtle nature. A crime for wearing eyeglasses!  The military services, you see, don't cater well to individuality.

As other airmen and WAF (Women's Air Force) members slowly, ever so slowly procured their own subversive eyewear, even I got into the act, going into town and ordering, first, a simple pair of high-prescription glasses set in gold metal frames.  However, it wasn't long before I dared to step up and ordered a gold frame with somewhat rectangular lenses reflecting a light blue tint.

I was stationed at that time in a large Texas Air Force hospital, and one day of just a few when I wore the blue eyeglasses to work our clinic learned that the hospital commander, a "full bird" colonel and physician, was about to visit our clinic.  Immediately, I sparked a self-internal panic, fearing his reaction when he encountered eyeglasses so out of the ordinary that only a severe beating in some military prison would teach me a lesson.

As rumored that morning, in walked the colonel with a small military entourage, and as they moved from airman to section to airman I froze in place, awaiting my doom.  Suddenly, the colonel spotted me, coming to a full stop and then approaching me slowly, sort of like when a predatory animal is about to pounce on its prey.

He took an uncomfortably prolonged look at my face, following up with the words, "Those blue glasses. . ."  I cringed deep inside, expecting the worst.

"Well, they're really very nice," advised the colonel.  "My son has a pair just like them."

No, I did not crap my pants, but you can imagine effects of the element of surprise.  The blue glasses would live to help me see another day.  My unintended government subversion was vindicated, and while my ever-strengthening eyeglass prescription has precluded me from wearing them ever again, I still have them as a souvenir of the era, a time when something as simple as a pair of eyeglasses could mark one as a public enemy.  Strange but true.

Decades have passed.  Contact lenses were always out of the question (a favorite ophthalmologist once told me he couldn't wear "the damned things" either) and eye pressures prevent me from any involvement with lasers.  Yet, like life itself, time goes on and suddenly a new word crops up in one's personal vocabulary.

Cataracts.

I knew I had them, but for years I was told they were insignificant.  But now, as a I seek yet a new eyeglass prescription I am told, sure, we'll do what we can with a new script, but you really need to have the cataracts removed.  The good news?  Cataract removal and artificial lens placement has become so refined over the years that one eye can be done in 10 minutes in the office.

Turns out that the new prescription works fine, but the realization that cataracts can get worse without warning keeps it all real.  Maybe in another year or so I'll have the procedure done -- though I did ask the doctor whether there was some procedure I could locate on the Internet showing me how to scoop the cataracts out by myself.  She highly discourages this idea, though she did offer the historical fact that ancient Egyptians removed their people's cataracts with needles!  Eye infections post-"surgery" were common, however.  I vow not to have my cataracts removed in Egypt, and certainly not by the wisdom of optical mummy knowledge.

On the bright side, I started thinking, this is great!  At long last I can go to a store of my choice and with renewed 20/20 vision can purchase the sexiest, hottest sunglasses on the market, thereby allowing me to attract the most desirable people in the world into my life!

But then reality set in.  Being way, way, way past the age of personal magnetism, even with the best sunglasses in the world I'm destined to draw in only old dogs and their fleas.  How sad, how pathetic, how. . .wait a minute.  Are there such things as flea circuses?  Hmm.  Maybe when those dogs become attracted to me and I possess new eyesight I can grab a few fleas and train them for a flea circus.  I mean, it's not out of the question.  Politicians create flea circuses every day and their circuses perpetuate with nary ever so much as one flea in the flesh, but obviously the itchy effects of fleas on the nation by the score are widespread.

Maybe this flea circus thing could work out after all.  If it only takes renewed vision and a few fleas procreating endlessly to keep the circus going, I'm in.