Hop's Thoughts

We all know by now that Trump fired off another ill-advised tweet yesterday. It was a personal attack, a misogynistic attack, an apparently retaliatory attack on a TV host. One of a duo, who ironically had a huge impact on the election...in his favor. So why would Trump's attack be so damaging to America? I mean, we all tweet mean things, right? 1. He used his ridiculous power to be vindictive on the lowest level imaginable. 2. It was in petty retaliation, which is nowadays being called a "snowflake" by his supporters. 3. It changed the entire outlook of his tweeting as being administrative transparency. 4. It proved what many thought all along and that is, he possesses a fragile ego. 5. He's mean. We want powerful men and women leading us, but being mean is cowardly. 6. He has so many more important things to tell the American people, but chose this. 7. His use of Twitter as a distraction to his administration's faults is becoming self evident. 8. He l

This person hurt me. I'm broken. Nobody respects me. Nobody loves me. Traffic....wait, what? The person in front of me. The person behind me. I haven't slept. Why, oh why, do bad things happen to good people? Let's start from the end. The reality is, the people I know, who chronicle every negative in their lives on social media, are not the people I would classify as good people. They are malicious to others, very often playing friends against each other. Sometimes even there to be the shoulder to cry on, when they in fact are the reason someone is crying. They hurt with ease, but like all bullies, can not handle the slightest pain. In the political world, they'd be deemed snowflakes, but in the real world, they lack the brilliant unique features all snowflakes hold. These people speak of karma, never realizing the irony. As someone who has been vocal about relationships on social media in the past, I realize it helps no one and hurts many. It puts public bl

Swag woke up early this morning. A nibble at a chord, swat at the tassel hanging from my cane, a perfectly executed step on my groin and the gentle rumble of a purr by my ear, followed by the high-pitched meow that finally got me to rise. It is now an hour later.  I've already had my morning breakfast of fresh fruit and peanut butter. Hot coffee, some almond milk and my new iron pill. Still not sure how suffering from post-op anemia was an oversight by not only my surgeon, but the nursing staff and the rehab facility. Ten days with no iron supplement, other than my multivitamin and now, this morning, I've already had four times the recommended daily allowance. No direction as to how long to use this medicine and what to watch out for. Doctors!  No, I will not segue into a diatribe about health care. We'll leave it as this. I have friends who will die. I have friends with children who will suffer and possibly die. I have friends with parents and grandparents whose liv

I've always said, if I were to win the lottery, I'd buy a tiny cabin, with a porch facing east and a deck facing west and I'd drink coffee to the sunrise and a cocktail to the sunset. I don't play the lottery, I do not have a tiny cabin and yet, with all my woes, I have a tiny entrance porch facing east and a nice deck facing west. I've lived here just shy of six month and I've enjoyed either of these life goals exactly once. I do not have need for solitude, to enjoy these by myself, nor do I relationship with those I live with to share these moments. Sadly, they, the owners, seem to lack any interest in natural wonders and would much rather watch reality TV or a game show. I'm not knocking this per se, because this brings them happiness, and in the end, that is the point. It does however make me question, not only theirs, but the motives of homeowners. I'd never buy a home without seeing it in the morning and at night, both for the views and for the noi

Eighteen days ago, I had my first surgery. Second, if you count tonsil. I wasn't nervous and actually, aside from the care of my fur buddy Swag, I was excited to begin the process. Jokes pre-admission, pre-surgery, directly after and all throughout the beginning of this healing process, I stayed who I am. The other day, as I grabbed my cane, gingerly tip-toeing about the kitchen, assembling my breakfast, it dawned on me; This isn't even the fifth hardest thing I've gone through in the last six months. Physical pain isn't really a thing to me. I've been in a constant state of it since 1997, or maybe 1998, not sure. Emotional pain, much longer. Even longer than I realized. So pain, in all it's forms, feels natural. This is not a macho assertion, but my level of pain, within my own life, is always measured against others and it makes me feel severe, even crippling guilt to complain. Sure, I'll complain about my teams, politics and the forty days of shoveling

Two weeks in a bed. A hospital, then rehab, now my own. It still, after nearly six months doesn't feel like mine. It's not mine, nor is the dresser, the large flat screen that doesn't work. Not even the sheets are mine. Two weeks without Swag. Struck from my mind, to save it. His return excites me, but scares me. He's different. More cynical. I'm hampered. My affection limited to the 90 degree bend of my body. Two weeks until three years. Me, two friends. Beers, shots and food. I don't even eat that type of food anymore, not do I drink beer or have ingested the whiskey I did that night. Friends still, but via social media only. Two weeks since walking was a chore because of deterioration. Now I walk gingerly. A pronounced limp from a disparity in leg length. Doctor's appointments await, this week and next. Injections into my abdomen will end in four hours.  Two weeks since I've seen a friendly face. A face I chose to see, not put in front

I used to do this quite often. Then there was the hundred days of Hopper and Free Writing experiments. I've not written just to write and I've written even less for therapy lately. This morning is Father's Day and again, I won't be celebrating. My father doesn't deserve the recognition, the false praise or to have his already inflated ego, boosted by any sort of contact from me. Hell, not even a phone call to ask how I was doing after surgery. I guess he was "busy." Come to think of it, in our world of technology, I received zero phone calls. A handful of texts that could quite literally be counted on one hand and maybe a dozen comments on social media. I did not publicize it, because despite my type A rants on Facebook, they're rarely aimed at self recognition. The only time I crave that is when surrounded by a room full of kids. It's how I know they're having fun and that is important to me. I miss my Swag. Today, at 1PM, it will be two f

A week and a half ago, I was on my way to the hospital. Without much fanfare or social media attention-whoring, I arrived, got prepped, woke up and began the process of healing. A lack of help at home, the suggestion was to entered a rehab facility. Little did I know, it was basically a short term nursing home and aside from one other, I'd be the youngest person here. That I took with my normal comical view and I embraced my "retirement" years. The advances in the hospital surprised even me. The lack of pain, shocking. Sleeping on my side was a bit issue, but even that was accomplished. A week later, I'm walking with a cane, I use more as a security blanket than for stability. I still have one or two physical limitation I need to muscle through but the biggest hurdle is remembering my limitations. So in four or five hours I will leave and by noon, I should be home. Oddly I'm torn. I'll miss my roommate and his daughter. A tough old bastard, 87, named Art.

I don't consider myself a writer, but I do tend to get writer's block when it comes to this blog. It's mostly due in part to my strong desire to stay upbeat right now. I've been in the hospital and a rehab center for a week and a half, healing nicely, but getting increasingly more frustrated by social media. specifically Facebook. Day in and day out I've read about traffic, running late, bad food, bad coffee, bad service, angry coworkers, pleasant coworkers, annoying customers, weather, weather, weather and mean people. Let me point out that not one of these posts was written by a person who took 10 seconds to write "How do you feel?" People I often speak to seem to have vanished. "True" friends have ignored my surgery. I'm sure once I hit publish, this may change a bit, an excuse attached and my favorite word will ring in my ears or burn my eyes; busy! I go home very soon and I really hope I don't have any woes to share about the trip

Back in 2016, there was a fever, almost a euphoria over the intangible and utterly impossible promises of Bernie Sanders. They were in stark contrast to the promises on the right, but in many ways, just as insanely irresponsible. Both sides; both axis let's say, were looking for ways to spend all our money on a few programs. On one side, we had the GOP, pushing the age old trickle down economics debacle and on the left, a distorted form of socialism, where we pretend 240 years of capitalism doesn't exist. So what happened? We destroyed Hillary Clinton, with a little help from Russia and much more help from our media, which we ironically mislabel as "liberal." We know the GOP, especially Donald Trump wants to make the rich richer at the expense of the middle class, essentially creating a two class system of the haves and the have nots. The democrats want all these programs we're running out of money for and to add a few more. Liberals want this utopia, where it l

I kicked it up slightly, but still only around 80 movies, whereas the last two years, I was around 100-120 by now. An upcoming stint in the hospital may or may not increase my movie watching. The rehab at home to follow will certainly beef up the number. I should gofundme some flick websites...or not! Eat - Psychological horror that is pretty gross, but is just witty enough to work. Shorts: In This House - Demonic possession with a twist. Baby Monitor - Silly Scenarios Ghost In The Shell (1995) - The most complex "cartoon" ever made? Amazing in every way. The Eyes Of My Mother - Artsy but, can't hide the torture porn simplicity. Dull and uninspired. Destiny - Fritz Lang's classic, may not be his best, but the impact on the craft is evident. The Third Man (RW) - More style than substance, with humor pushing it. That ending though! The Windmill - Run-of-the-mill (pun intended) horror with some nice little twists. Kubo and The Two Strings - One of the greatest