What’s that slipping across Phoenix skies?

A fantastical sighting in the sky was seen in Phoenix, Arizona today.

A UFO? Better.

Winged unicorns? Close.

That fantastical thing from the sky was this:


First rain of summer 2020 in my Phoenix hood. July 24. Late by a month-plus, revered nonetheless.

Rain! Actual rain as reflected on the tennis court in my apartment complex.

‘Tis the first rain in my hood since the official start of Arizona’s monsoon season June 15.

Official schmofficial. Mother Nature pays no heed to such things — delivering storms only when — rather IF — she decides!

Arizona’s lagging nearly 1-1/2 months behind schedule in its “normal” monsoon season that ends in September officially-schmofficially.

In a typical July, more than 1/2-inch (1.27 cm) would’ve fallen on Phoenix.  Today’s first shower reached 0.10 inch (0.25 cm).

Today also marks the season’s first measurable rain — 0.01 inch (0.025 cm) to qualify — ending a dry spell of some 3-1/2 months.

I live in a Dry Zone (what a gyp!) so the evening showers were short-lived and light. (Meanwhile, heavy downpours graced other parts of Phoenix .)

I marveled in them no less for their brevity.

Which segues to a trifecta of sightings — which like winged unicorns I wouldn’t believe had I not seen with my own eyes!

(They’ll seem insignificant to anyone outside southern Arizona but trust me, they’re blog-worthy!)


82 degrees at 8:30 p.m. — brrrr, baby!

Number 1 in the trifecta: My patio thermometer at 8:30 at night: 82 degrees! Whoooohooo! A cool 15-degree drop from the usual! Thank you thunderstorm!


Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in bone-dry Arizona anymore.

Number 2. Whoooaaa! Surely my eyes deceived me! 65% humidity?!?Can you say Christmas in July! Usual is 7-15%. Humidity be mind-blowing and oh so comfortable!

And third in the trifecta of sweet sights:


When thunderstorms arrive, doors open and fresh air’s invited in

My patio door: open!


That’s news, here’s why.

Phoenix summer is airplane cabin season.

For about 5 months, we live, work and play (before scamdemic shutdown) in sealed air-conditioned spaces … breathing recycled air. Blinds, sunshades, blackout curtains are usually drawn to keep in da cool and keep out da blaze.

Unless a monsoon passes, thus dropping temps, upping humidity, delivering winds and moist manna to a drought-stricken land and all its living creatures for holy respite from brutal dry still heat.

Glorious dynamic thunderstorms! Game on!

Switch off the air-con! Pull up the blinds! Throw open windows and doors! Wash out the stale air! Let in fresh cleansing oxygen! So refreshing! Uplifting. Soothing.

So moved was I by tonight’s affairs that I snapped a pic.

The storm’s already moved on, tomorrow things return to norma.

Yet today’s first thunderstorm delivered unto us rejoicing and things rare and fantastical. Better than even unicorn sightings.


I scream, you scream, we all scream “oysters?!!”

It ain’t Christmas. It’s way better!

National Ice Cream Day! Today!

My Most Favorite Sweet on the planet!

It’s also top-rated among Most-Beloved Foods. No. 3 is ice cream. No. 2 is spinach, namely fresh baby. No. 1 is quality sushi.

Quality ice cream only.

NO ghastly sugar-free or ice milk or soy milk (yech!) or Breyer’s — which ain’t ice cream, it’s a “frozen dairy product” and states so on the carton.

Despite my best intentions and determination, I cannot keep ice cream at home.

I’ve tried a zillion times and in all its forms: from cartons large and small to bars to sandwiches to slices. Results are the same. My willpower melts. The treat’s gone in an hour, a day, 3 days max.

I’ve brought a half-gallon home, eaten too much, then dumped the remainder just to roadblock future temptation!

Better for my wellbeing, waistline and wallet that I pay the high price for a single serving (i.e., Haagen Daaz in a mini-cup) or 2 scoops at an ice cream store.

Sane and satisfying and sans sugar crash of that pint of Ben & Jerry’s — and who hasn’t done that?!?

Due to health conditions, I’ve radically cut my ice cream consumption to nearly nil. I truly miss it. Especially in the summer desert heat. Kinda heartbreaking, truth told.

I “redirect” frequent cravings with a substitute that’s healthier but nowhere near as satisfying! Whey protein shakes. Chocolate powder, banana, peanut butter, cold water and ice in the Nutribullet. While my body appreciates it, my soul weeps.

Costco recently introduced ice cream to its food courts. Rather, a vanilla soft serve topped with a chocolate or strawberry syrup. Saucy! Or naked in a waffle cone.

Large servings and for Costco’s renowned low prices:  $2.50 (3.40 CAD) for a sundae and $1.99 (2.70 CAD) for a waffle cone.

After today’s big Costco shop … I indulged! I’ve no shame in saying.

Time to time, everyone needs to indulge in one’s culinary passion. It eases thy burdens and restoreth thy soul.

I went full-on restoreth. Got a hot dog too. LOOVE hot dogs! In the Top 10 Fav Foods! A nice thick dog in a big bun with a soda for $1.50 (2 CAD).

Due to covid, Costco removed its condiments: relish, mustard, chopped onion, sauerkraut. Mustard and onions at home but I did quite miss the sauerkraut. (I’m solid-Germanic in dog dressings!)

Now a hot dog — paired with an IPA — and an ice cream sundae on my fold-out chair on my little patio hardly qualify as Michelin 5-star dining.

Yet humble are my roots and honestly delightful was my meal of simple beloved foods. My soul and inner kid grinned ear to ear.

Cool factoids about National Ice Cream Day

It’s on the 3rd Sunday in July every year — so proclaimed in 1984 by President Ronald Regan, an avid “ice cream-teer.”

July was also proclaimed National Ice Cream Month … leaving you at liberty to patriotically indulge 31 days in a row.

The favorite flavor in Häagen-Dazs shops is cookies ‘n’ cream, then vanilla, dulce de leche and Belgian chocolate.

The average American consumes more than 20 pounds (9 kg) of it a year. (I’d better get crackin’!)

Turkey Hill churned out 30 million gallons of ice cream last year –enough to give “every man, woman, and child in Pennsylvania 112 scoops to celebrate National Ice Cream Day!”

Now for something totally different:

Oyster ice cream was a fav of Mark Twain.

The base is cream and oysters gently heated, then run through an ice cream freezer. The result is a savory not sweet “beautiful oyster salty briny flavor,” according to Chef José Andrés.

I’ll take chef’s word for it.

As for me today, no shellfish … only simple … sweet … satisfying … soulful …

icecream & dog

Celebrating Ice Cream Day … with a dog as dessert. Courtesy of Costco. July 19, 2020

From “duh” to “dang, now I know!”

Dear Weather Services: Tell us sumthin’ we don’t know.

And they do.

Excessive Heat Warnings.

Here in Phoenix, Arizona, They amuse. Make me giggle.

“Yeah, dudes. Duh. We know it’s hot! We live in a desert! Triple-digit temps for 5, 6 months in a year.”

Excessive Heat Warnings are like pop-up ads. The content — temperature — may vary but they remain persistent from April to October.

So I barely blinked today when another — yawn –Excessive Heat Warning popped up — for tomorrow, 10 a.m. to 8 p.m., temp up to 114 (45.5).

Today’s 110 F. (43.3 C.) . Last weekend was 116 F (46.6 C).

Hardly earth-shattering, 114 (45.5) mañana.

So I did some digging for the “science” behind Excessive Heat Warnings.

The national and local weather services have defined standards and criteria for advisories, watches, warnings and so on. They are location specific.

While it seems otherwise in Phoenix, warnings not randomly tossed out for our anxiety, amusement or terror.

An Excessive Heat Warning locally is “a period of very hot temperatures, even by local standards.” (ha, love it!) “Actions should be taken to lessen the impact of the extreme heat.”

Excessive Heat Warnings are issued per two criterion:

  • When heat is notably higher than the norm for that time of year;
  • When the temp, though not above a norm, persists for consecutive days that exceed the norm.

So degree and/or duration dictate Excessive Heat Warnings.

Thus is explained tomorrow’s warning.

Based on a handy-dandy daily temp graph online:

On July 19, the temp typically ranges — quote — from 104 (40 C.)  (HA!) and is rarely above 111 (43.8) — unquote. (Double-dip HA!)

So yeah, 114 (45.5), official criterion met.

Heat warnings are a dime a dozen and easily spotted as top headlines or alerts boxed in blazing red.

They don’t alter my actions a whit. It’s damn dry and hot. I know this — painfully all too well, es no bueno for a water baby.

Whether it’s a frostbiting 100 (37.7) or inferno 122 (50 C.), I ain’t gonna slip on Adidas shorts and New Balances and go jog!

Hell, even evening strolls delayed ’til latest possible hour demand grit and determined commitment to exercise! A 107 (41.6 C) at 7 p.m. (discounting island heat) ain’t exactly cool.

What is cool is knowing the science behind Excessive Heat Warnings.

I went from giggling “duh” to “dang, now I know — and am glad for it!”

Does knowledge make ’em any easier to swallow?


Fewer “duhs” and giggles perhaps, yeah …

Clamorous air-con still the hot topic

It may remain in Airplane Mode for  a while.

It — not my iPhone, the air conditioner.

My apartment cooler is in a nosedive. Mechanical hodge-podge of clamorous clunking, struggling sputterings and overworked chug-a-lugs signal that big repairs or replacement is due.

It’s not cooling as before and that smell … like dusty hot metal, like gears grinding without lubricant.

At any moment, the big machine above bathroom ceiling could cough a rugged rattle and groan and give up the ghost.

I’ve sought to ward that off by informing the apartment management and establishing a work order. Same reason you bring a vehicle problem to the mechanic when it appears and  before a breakdown.

I’m not just being a responsible tenant but a considerate one, trying to make management’s job easier. Tend to the problem sooner than later as it only worsens (and it has).

That was 2 weeks ago when I brought it to management’s attention. Still waiting. Patience thin, I followed up yesterday. Still nothing.

Followed up again today.

“He’s got your work order. We had 3, 4 air conditioners go out today,” she said.

Mine in queue seems to be marching to the same fate.

The hardship of being without an air-con in 115 heat (44.4) in Phoenix is real. Every year people die from desert heat both outdoors and indoors. Sad.

That’s fact, not my irritation.

My irritation is the intent to do right, to act responsibly, maturely and with consideration toward management/maintenance, is foiled.

This touches upon my deepest and humble pride: I am a dream tenant.

I know every inch of any space I inhabit. I’m both neat freak and clean freak, an anti-clutter nazi too, for the record. One truly could eat off my floor any time.

I know every sound, feature and quirk to the detail.

Before I unpack and settle in, I deep clean on hands and knees into every corner and crevice. Floors included.

If a faucet presents a change, even a microscopic drip, I’ll notice. If a window rattles differently, I’ll hear it. A different or new smell, even slight, I’m a bloodhound.

Nothing gets by me. Hyper-sensitivity and alertness and attentiveness are wired into my nervous system (for positive and ill effects).

When something is amiss, I am on it. No dicking around, no delaying. I’ll either repair it myself or turn it over to management.

I treat EVERY space, regardless of quality, condition and — importantly — roommate abuse and madnesses  — with the highest regard and respect and as if it were my own.

I proclaim proudly that no matter how shitty any situation or space, I NEVER take it out on a space. I always take the high road. Could not do otherwise. Spaces and Places are woven into my integrity.

And, circling back, is why I’ma dream tenant.

So when I do the right and responsible thing — in this instance taking preventative action by reporting a dying air-con — and get repeatedly sidelined for emergency fixes, I’m frustrated and annoyed.

Here’s why. I’d venture that most if not all the air-con deaths are because the tenant did not report the problem prior.

Landlords through time have collectively said that most tenants do not report problems. They ignore that drip until it becomes a downpour into the apartment below.

It’s a common and understandable grievance among landlords for which I have great compassion.

“No worries,” I inform them. “The moment something’s amiss, you will be informed.”

My pledge my promise my integrity and my humblest respect and regard for Spaces and Places. I treat each as if it were my own.

Still. No good deed goes unpunished.

So as the air-con sounds its jet-engine roar in a nosedive, part of me can’t help but think:

Mature responsibility and thoughtful consideration of others are overrated.

I need a chilled beer, from the quiet cool functioning fridge, gratefully.  Ever silver linings, n’est pas.

Gasp sputter groan goes my summer pal

I live in a tiny studio in metro Phoenix, Arizona.

In that little studio, you’d think I’m housing an airport runway.

Fair mistake. It’s only my air conditioner. Sounding like a jet engine.

A year ago, it didn’t.

It’s lodged above the bathroom ceiling, thus I’ve never seen the monster. However, the overly simplistic control panel suggests a dated and/or inexpensive model.

It’s never been whisper-quiet but neither obnoxiously loud.

Until recently  … at a time when air conditioners are run 24/7 in gawd-awful unrelenting Phoenix heat that arrives in April and peaks in August.

It’s gone from a moderate rumble to a loud grumbling and rattling to a low roar of an airplane taxi-ing down a runway.

Sounds like a train gasping chug-chug-chugging while strug-strug-struggling up a soft incline.

And the smell. Yuck. Like hot metal, an overheated engine without lubrication.

And it’s not cooling as it used to.

The air conditioner is everyone’s best friend in southern Arizona during long brutally hot summers. A dying or dead cooler is torture, in some cases fatal, this time of year.

Arid desert, blazing sun, bone dry, daily temps from 110 to 116 or more (43.3 to 46.6+) … dipping to a cool 92-ish (33 C) at midnight.

So I informed the leasing office that the air conditioner is on its last leg; a work order was created.

That was two weeks ago.

I’ve waited really really patiently for maintenance to knock on the door.

Meanwhile, the machine has only worsened. Its roaring, vibrations, decreased cooling, faulty auto-control … at any moment it may give up the ghost.

After waiting weeks and patience worn thin,  I followed up at the office today. I was greeted by an unknown gal who was filling in for a sick employee.

“Air conditioners that aren’t running get emergency priority,” she said in a way to suggest there’s more than a few of those around on this large property.

“I was trying to head off that breakdown by reporting the problem,” I quipped to that effect, “but it may have to become any emergency for maintenance to appear.”

We’ll see.

While waiting, stressed by this stupid covid scamdemic, excessive constant heat, oppressive isolation, my spirits really need uplifting.

Head to Netflix for that beloved longtime fav, classic parody, terrific comedy and casting, guaranteed laughs and coincidentally congruent with my current cooler situation: “Airplane.”



Where Twitter and Twain intersect

Naya Rivera’s body is recovered. They’ve confirmed it’s her. Confirmed she drowned.

This’ll put an end to the shit storm, rampant conspiracy theories on Twitter — I thought.

Halt the bloody battles about her disappearance  — I thought.

Bring people back to earth. Restore their common sense. Enable them to accept fact and move along — I thought.

Like when a teacher enters a chaotic madhouse kindergarten and order is returned.

I was wrong. Very wrong.

Her body could be laid upon silk upon an open bed, wheeled through town square, accompanied by an archbishop from the Vatican on one side waving blessed prayers and the coroner waving an official certificate of death on the other — and STILL townsfolk would push and shove and shout dissent vociferously and violently!

“It’s not her!”

“It’s her but she didn’t drown! She’d never leave her son on the boat!”

“She was murdered! Why aren’t you out looking for the killer!”

“She didn’t drown! She hit her head on the boat! Did you even CHECK her head?!? Stupid inept coroner!”

“Cabins in the hills nearby were searched. And the next day suddenly she turns up floating in the water?! Who placed her there?!”

Not even a tip of the iceberg in challenges to and attacks on two simple and certain facts: It is Naya Rivera. She drowned.

I truly thought  that these inarguable facts would quiet the mad hyenas.

Evidently I don’t peruse Twitter in context of Celebrity Anything enough. But hey! I’ve acknowledged such in preceding posts! I’m learning! Indeed, it’s that curiosity and willingness to learn that fueled this first foray into Public Response in a Celebrity Category.

Broader intellectual issues — cultural, sociopolitical, national and such — are my passions and raison d’ etre.

Another observation.

The public has all but beatified Naya Rivera.

Pending Vatican approval, Saint Rivera shall walk amongst us — albeit not soon enough. Saint Rivera has already been inducted into our national lexicon. Informal and what the Vatican won’t do in annointing her to saintly status, we the public shall attend to — ardently and with adoration.

See, in this my first foray into Twitter Celebrity that I consciously and willingly took for educational purposes, I discovered some things.

Namely, I live in reality.

My common sense and reasoning are highly-developed and solid.

My IQ is no piddly number but that only complicates social-media dialogue so I’ll “set that aside” and celebrate common sense and reasoning.

I can connect dots with extraordinary ease.

I can separate fact from fiction — as well as lies, convoluted thought, fantastical conspiracies, insanities and any other tidbit of nonsense and garbage tossed onto Twitter.

Separating wheat from chaff is a star of brilliance in my nature, I reveal humbly.

Not a one of these finer qualities has a place or serves me on Twitter.

Indeed, they work against me.

Here’s my blunt take on Naya Rivera’s drowning.

She didn’t wear the life vest provided.

Her son, 4, did.

They swam in the lake.

The lake’s known for its deceptively calm surface and strong undercurrents, shifting winds and drownings. Rivera was also a frequent visitor.

All irrelevant.

Relevant is that she did not wear the vest. This was irresponsible — for her and, most importantly, in the presence of a child. Any child. That it was her own further highlights her error and poor decision.

Had Rivera worn a vest, she’d be alive. And she would’ve spared her son the trauma of seeing his mother slip under the water.

Solid reality. Simple facts.

Dare to state them on Twitter and it’s OFF WITH HER HEAD! shouts the Queen of Hearts! Viciously.

A pack of rabid starved hyenas after a boar are tame and loving in contrast.

Circling home, I believed that reason and acceptance of basic fact would be restored on Twitter with confirmation of Rivera’s recovery, identify and cause of death. That madnesses, conspiracy theories and all that would naturally come to rest.

They have not.  So I’m learning.

Do I expect too much from people on Tweeter?

Am I barking up the wrong tree?

Looking for signs of intelligent life on a cold barren landscape?

Am I casting pearls before swine?

I stand firmly in excursions into Twitter pools for positive, reasoned, educational and illuminating purposes.

So why do I feel not uplifted by the journey but depleted? Troubled. Distressed. Frustrated. Frustrated to my core.

As if the sojourn were to a distant planet of aliens who I was told are my fellows and brethren, only to discover the truth is quite otherwise.

Been asking myself many times: “What would Mark Twain think of this — Twitter? What would he comment in his irrepressible wit and spot-on observations about people?”

Oh, Guru Twain, speak! Speak to me!

Oh I long endeavored mightily and fervently, with tremendous focus and dedication, to bring a morsel of mind, reason, common sense, intelligence in its stripped-down simplest form to tweeters.

Yet I failed.

Not only failed. I received in return insults and bashings galore! Shouts of “moron!” — more in 5 days than I’d received in 63 years!

What gives!?

Where DOES a mind at work go to play, and be, on social media?

Oh beloved Guru, do tell!

So thick and weighty is this mud on these rubber waders that I can traipse no farther.

Kindly lend this girl a hand! A scraper at least! Words to raise me from the (social media) muck and cleanse my mind. Sorbet for the soul.

Eternally obliged and grateful for you, dearest sir. {hat tipped}

Yours affectionately,


Praises. Lake Piru brings Rivera home

Terrific news accompanies my morning coffee.

Naya Rivera’s body has been found.

Surfaced 5 days after she went swimming in Lake Piru during a boating outing with her young son, who is with family.

Recovery is cause to rejoice!

First and essentially, for her family, their grieving, processing and healing. Unknowns of a Person Missing hang like a daunting pendulum. Body recovered, they can now move forward in their journey.

Second, it puts the brakes on Twitter insanities. From tweeters’ convictions that she was taken by human traffickers to killed by her ex-husband to abducted by aliens from a hovering UFO.

Actually no one suggested an alien grab but why not! As likely as every asinine absurdity!

Now, predictably, Twitter tides turn to condolences.

Outpourings of simple RIPs to full-force gushings from complete strangers. Some of these people may never get out of bed again, so profound and life-arresting is their grief.

I confess that I’ve never understood that intersection of celebrity and wild crazed-eye public.

One need only scan Kylie Jenner’s social media — scanning being the best method for all things Kardashian —  for a sample of people who verily worship the ground she walks on, want to be her and would lay their lives down for her. It’s nuts.

So, Rivera, 33 years old, “Glee actress” and mother to a 4-year-old boy, is recovered. It’s good.

I VERY RARELY toot my own horn. This occasion requires I raise brass.

In this case, I was right in my assessments. Right at every turn and step since her sudden disappearance 5 days ago.

Only statement I refrained from is that her body would be found. It could’ve gone two ways.

Lake Piru is large and its bed is extraordinarily thick with entanglements. Waters are murky with visibility of 1-2 feet.

“It’s like reading Braille,” said one diver negotiating entanglements.

“The water will give it up or it won’t,” I told a tweeter yesterday.

Today, in a seeming act of mercy, the water did.

Whether the water would or would not ultimately,  I never wavered from the certainty she had drowned — irrespective of social media’s massive and often nasty opinions to the contrary.

In 4 days submerged on Twitter engaging with hundreds of people, the 3 conversations / debates most memorable are:

  • She was killed by her ex husband
  • She was abducted by human traffickers
  • Lakes don’t have currents (that dude was defiantly stubborn, unmoving in his “fact”)

Only 24 hours ago I blogged how I wanted her body to surface for the family and to end the shit storm of conspiracy theories and putrid poppycock engulfing Twitter.

Praise the water.

Bless all rescue teams. From land to air to water, they employed massive resources and toiled hard, long, vigorously and intelligently.

And they did so amid a public throwing them SHIT and criticisms like enraged monkeys pitching 100-mph fast balls.

I’m ashamed of my fellow human beings. Hardly first time I’ve said that.

Anyway. Life flows on.

Water took Naya River’s life because she chose not to wear a life vest in a lake. Such a difference that seemingly simple choice made.

Upon a lake with a precedence of drownings for visitors deceived by a calm surface and ignorant or denying of undercurrents.

What’s Naya Rivera thinking from the other side, I’ve wondered.

Can’t know, who can.

But from what I’ve learned of her this past week, I’d reckon it’d sound something like I made a mistake. I should’ve worn the vest. I didn’t and because I didn’t I’ve brought so much grief and loss to the family I love.

Rest in peace, Naya Rivera.

Good luck, captain, in Naya Rivera shit storm!

The Twitter shit storm around Naya Rivera is UN-REAL.

In terms of volume, heat and intensity of toxic waste, an explosion at a nuclear power plant pales by comparison.

My sole social media source is Twitter, always has been.

My excursions focus on issues political, sociopolitical, socioeconomic, cultural, local, national, global. The thinking man’s menu. A reporter’s nature. A researcher’s curious and investigative mind.

Even when celebrity Kobe Bryant died, I was indifferent to public opinion. Once the cause of crash became quickly and inarguably obvious to me, I moved on.

Sure, I caught wind of Twitter’s toxic commentary, conspiracy theories and  people being extraordinarily Stupid. Impossible not to. But I neither lingered nor engaged.

So this current plunge into Twitter Big Celebrity News — Rivera’s disappearance — is a first.

I took it on willingly — not for its news value, it’s certain she drowned for not wearing a life vest — but to observe my countrymen and fellow humans as a scientist might observe creatures in a lab.

Not pretty, in fact downright terrifying are my findings.

Can she be serious?!?!

What garbage!! 

Utterly absurd! Asinine. 

Get real!

Total lack of even common sense!

Any ring familiar in your social media experience?

Don’t even get me started on the illiteracy!! — to which as a wordsmith I’m highly sensitive and aware.

Now, pertaining to celebrity and journalistically “light news,” it could be proposed that the Lowest Common Denominators prevail … that those with the least thinking power and insight are most convinced that their thoughts are of tremendous substance and value and must be shared with the world, they simply must!

It’s hubris. Hubris is hell on social media. BUT hubris is what keeps wheels spinning and engine greased.

For fun, imagine what Twitter / social media would look like if to get in through the door, one had to prove an IQ of 110, minimum. Like ID checks at clubs.

While the policy wouldn’t eliminate moronic exchanges, it’d reduce their number — marginally perhaps but even that would bring a whiff of fresh air and relief at Club Stupid Stank.

None of this is news to you or me.

It’s me processing my First Feast at the Celebrity Table on Twitter.

Brutal, man, fucking brutal.

“No signs of intelligent life here” has popped up a lot.

BUT! I persevered. Soldiered onward. I stayed true to the quest.

I accomplished my goal of joining in the community in wake of a celebrity event.

Once was enough.

My top takeaways:

I learned a lot about people on social media — a frightening amount —  and/or what is learned is frightening.

An unrelenting stream of attacks and hateful messaging isn’t my thing.

I’ve seen “moron” used more times in these past 4 days than in 63 years of living.

About myself I learned:

I can provide brain power to those lacking it only so much. Eventually I’m exhausted.

Yet still in my persevering determined nature I so want to keep pushing forward to fill that void. It’s been a significant struggle. I’ve had to teach myself to Let Stupid and Insanities Be. Just walk away. Very hard to do, to willfully not shine light in a dark room.

I prefer intelligent dialogue.

Above all, and until my last hour, I prefer books.



Crashing conspiracies & a mom’s moment

Five minutes reading tweets about Naya Rivera.

That’s all it took today to arrive at a single determination:

God may her body be found.

Put this Twitter madness to rest.

My are the cockroaches swarming now since Naya Rivera disappeared. The “Glee” actress went missing while boating on Lake Piru and is presumed drowned.

Upon announcement on Wednesday Day 1, tweets centered around initial emotions: shock, surprise, disbelief, prayers.

There was no dearth of tweeters telling professional rescue teams how to do their job.

Some were well-meaning, many aggressively and hatefully bashed searchers and their methodologies.

Because Every Body Is a Detective on Twitter.

Now Day 4. Intensive search continues. Tweets have taken on a decidedly different tone from Day 1.


With a force that could move a mountain. Or two.

People are reading improbable, ridiculous and outright impossible scenarios into anything and everything.

A jet-skier is now a suspect. Or the murderer.

A cottage on the shore needs to be investigated.

A blue truck is suspect. Ditto very vehicle in the lot. 

A divination lady proclaims the actress is alive but her head’s “messed” up and she’s in a wheelchair and can be found by clearing eastwide woods.

Wayfair furniture store is involved in human trafficking of kids and adults and the actress is being held at a location whose coordinate points are revealed by various documents and convoluted machinations that even Einstein couldn’t unravel.

That’s my best translation from madness.

Shall I continue? You get the drift.

The cascading conspiracy theories are unreal.

Meanwhile, there is one moment of real. A heavy moment made refreshing because it is real.

Her mother and brother today at the lake, at the boating dock, the mother dropping to her knees, stretching her arms toward the water.

Ultimately, these are their moments and their story.

Their moments and their story shine a light beam into this dark cavern of twisted tweets and expose it for what it is: utter pure bullshit.

Crazed know-it-alls and bumbling idiots in a bubble of social media spouting their constructs, conjectures, convictions and certainties.

It’s what people do, have always done. Rivera’s disappearance isn’t evoking anything new or unusual.

Only seems so due to amplification of crickets and crazies thanks to social media.

In today’s swelling tsunami of chaos, I’m reminded of a truth simple and humbling:

A family is without a daughter and sibling and a son, 4 years old, is without his mother.

That is what is real.

Not some blue truck pegged as dodgy for some tweeter’s imaginary reason.

Not a jet-skier already judged, convicted and imprisoned for homicide before he’s identified.

I’d never heard of Naya Rivera until she disappeared. She drowned; that is my conclusion today as it was four days ago.

My hope for the family is that they’re staying off social media.

Keep it real.

My greatest hope is that her body is recovered. For you.

If that occurs, that too is real

Loss is real.

Grief is real.

I pray for your strength and communion in your season of need.

Awash in “Glee” gal & Twitter think tank

I waded through media mud so you don’t have to.

Naya Rivera.

An unknown to me — until Wednesday. Actress on TV’s “Glee,”33, singer.

She and her son were in a rental pontoon on Lake Piru in California. Lazy afternoon, fine weather, no crowds, boat floating.

From the craft mid-lake, they jump into water. Child is wearing a life vest provided on the boat. Naya is not wearing hers. They swim. She returns him to the boat. Then re-enters the water to swim. She disappears beneath the surface.

Presumed drowned — accurately.

Boat is soon easily found and in it her son, sleeping. He’s safe and reunited with family.

Search and rescue shifts to a challenging recovery. It’s a search and recovery of epic celebrity proportion. 

Trending story piqued my interest.

I jumped into Twitter with both feet.

Not because of who Naya Rivera is — a name only to me — but a passion for investigations, detective work, solving puzzles. And, frankly, I needed a break from the gluttony of covid – BS – scamdemic.

One more reason to take this rare celebrity-news plunge:

I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to observe my fellow humans on Twitter in the wake of a Top Trending bombshell celebrity event.

My kamikaze dives into social media satisfy my reporter nature. They maintain my finger on the pulse of America, her culture, milieu and state of being. 

So for 12 hours I was submerged in Twitter.

You know the COURAGE that takes?! Absorbing and sopping up streaming thousands of snapshots from brains of people re: Naya Rivera’s disappearance. I surfaced for air only for coffee then beers — increasingly the longer I read — and a meal.

From voluminous Tweets Into Infinity, I culled a cross-section of opinion, verbatim, numbered, loosely grouped and noted FYI when necessary for your educational ease.

Remember: I waded through media mud so you don’t have to. So hike up them waders and slosh onward.

Mantra Mojo

1. “naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

“I am manifesting this”

2. “Calling all of Gods divine angels to locate Naya. May she be found and united with her son and family. And so it is.”

Screw Searchers!

FYI: Multitudes of search parties from air to deep waters toil from daybreak to nightfall in and around the lake and surrounding hills. Then they pause work due to lack of visibility, risks and dangers and for safety, particularly for dive teams negotiating dark waters with 1-to-2 feet of visibility and a lakebed of twisted fallen trees, trunks, branches, roots and entanglements.

Many are majorily PISSED OFF by this. Pissed off and vicious, shouting “Searching should continue 24-7!!” 

3. “People are outraged because they stopped the search at what is the most crucial time. I’m from Colorado where hikers get lost ALL the time. Search parties have gone on through the night, in the snow, in the mountains using maybe not people on foot, but resources.”

4. “Tonight there’s a little child who wasn’t tucked into bed with a goodnight kiss and doesn’t know when mama is coming back out of the water. Get your ass back on that beach and bring Naya Rivera home!!”

5. “Your hearts and prayers did a real great job helping during the nine hours you wasted last night. Thanks. (ed. note: sarcasm)

There! There!

FYI: Video clips of airborne searches along the shorelines arouse tweets exclaiming “I see her! There on the shore! It’s her!” It’s not. It’s a shadow. A boulder. A land configuration. But you can’t challenge their certainty. Everybody on Twitter is a detective.


7. “There! By the water’s edge! A human shape!”

(No. It’s a log.)

Geographical Geniuses

FYI: Every Tom, Dick and Harry is qualified to tell highly-trained, skilled, experienced professional rescuers how to do their job.

8. “i looked and there are roads within walking distance from all points outside the lake. if she made it to one, she could of possibly flagged down a car and could be suffering from memory loss.”

9. “Many people who experience this become distorted. She may have passes out due to stress and wandered into the forest.”

10. “I’m sure she got lost and swam to the sand. the police need to pay attention to this.”


12. “it might also be a good idea to get dogs around the edges to see if they can smell a trace of her scent. since she was in water, it might be hard, but at this point it’s worth a try.”

13. “Please search around the lake in the mountains or something like that and also the specific place where the boat was please please bring her save home”

Science Fiction — No Double Feature

FYI: Voluminous tweets are bad science fiction dramas.

14. “Was there other boats around that day? Just wondering if maybe she was hit by a boat while swimming. This doesn’t make sense at all. It’s definitely suspect.”

15. “Maybe she’s not in the water. Look for tags on all cars going in out of the area after she was last seen. It’s possible the son took a nap and while she was swimming someone kidnapped her.”

16. “scan the surrounding area, I look on google maps and it’s possible for humans to walk around the area! she could be lost and confused.”

She Was My BFF! — Though We Never Met

17. “I can’t stop crying. In my heart she is like family. Please find her soon. For her family, friends and especially for her son.”

18. “bro this naya shit is fucking me up. i’m refreshing the feed every two seconds because i need to know that’s she’s okay. i am manifesting it. she better be okay.”

19. “if anyone thinks naya rivera is a bad mother or has ANYTHING to say about her other than that it’s absolutely tragic what happened then please block me and seek some help.”

20. “I’m going to bed and in not waking up till naya rivera is found alive and well.” (editor’s update: this tweeter did wake up, making her a liar)

The Jog from Unreal to Absurd is Short

21. “Until now, I never knew whom Naya Rivera was. Honestly, I would hate to hear that anything awful happens to anyone, but I kinda believe she committed suicide. As for her leaving her kid, though…that doesn’t sit right with me.”

22. “Was there other boats around that day? Just wondering if maybe she was hit by a boat while swimming. This doesn’t make sense at all. It’s definitely suspect.”

23. “Maybe she’s not in the water. Look for tags on all cars going in out of the area after she was last seen. It’s possible the son took a nap and while she was swimming someone kidnapped her.”

24. “Can motorized boats be on that lake? I’ve seen instances of people getting carbon monoxide poisoning while swimming and passing out.”

Race Card. Because Each Moment These Days Demands One

25. “I bet if she was white they wouldn’t have stopped searching.”

Now … {drumroll} … the grand finale:

We go to the special winners in the final category: What THE Fuck?!

In 3rd place:

“Just drain the lake.”

In 2nd place:

“i have a theory that her ex baby daddy killed her to be with his son full time. naya and ryan didn’t get along and the song lyrics are abt the baby daddy killing the baby momma to be closer to his son. they match perfectly.”

And the winner of tonight’s WTF Award:

“Does anyone else think she might’ve been trafficked?”

+ + +

Incidentally, I didn’t touch the treasure chest bursting with conspiracy theories. Haven’t the time or patience for that and neither do you.

You’ve heard their input, now here’s mine:

Naya Rivera was not wearing the required life vest (supplied on the boat) while boating and swimming.

People make bad decisions every day. Some are fatal. Sadly, hers brought loss of her life and loss of a mother to her son.

All things considered, I predict the body of Naya Rivera will surface, possibly later than sooner. If not — also a possibility — the body is resting in a watery grave of thick entanglements.

On a closing lighter note — if by a miracle I’m proven wrong and the authorities establish that she was abducted by human traffickers (sprung from thin air) during a lake excursion, I hereby shall personally deliver to that top tweeter a juicy reward and handwritten apology for disbelieving her.