What a Difference a Day Makes, . . .

 . . . twenty-four little hours, . . .  Remember that Dinah Washington hit, from 1959? Originally written in Spanish in 1934 (my birthyear) and now a classic of The American Songbook. (Aha! Cultural appropriation! For shame, for shame.) Well, Ann and I have now lived through our own What a Difference a Day Makes in a journey from hell.

It started Thursday morning. I decided to have eggs for breakfast to bank some protein for our trip to Cambridge. I forgot to time my soft-boiled eggs (in honor of Brits) and so just guessed at when. They were perfect! I thought to myself: a good omen for our trip. Do not trust omens.

We had chosen to use United miles for economy-plus. Afterall, we are frugal; my friends call it cheap; they insist on business class at this stage of life but neither Ann nor I, raised by depression-era parents can bear to pay such a premium even though we can afford to; her Swedish accountant father and my fiscally cautious mother are watching. It just isn't in us. So UA -- not our first choice -- and economy plus it is: Seattle to San Francisco to London (for United had long-ago abondoned SeaTac as a hub.) 

We had received an alert from the airline that an equipment change set our arrival in SFO back a bit, shortening the transfer time. That was the start. At SeaTac, we learned of further delays so United had re-booked us through Denver instead. Assured our baggage was also re-booked, we boarded for Denver.

The 90+ degree baking of the plains was cooking up thunderheads in Eastern Colorado. By the time we arrived over Denver, it's airport was closed. We are diverted to Rapid City, South Dakota. Then we learned that UA's flight ops center in Chicago was on fire -- literally! We sat on the ground; no, you can't leave the plane. We are returning to Denver but when is now not known.

Our seat-mate dozing against the window was jolted awake by the touch-down. The nice young entrepreneur was on his way to pick up his grandmother and escort her to a family wedding. He looked out the window, confused by what he saw, or didn't see, perhaps. He turned to us in sleepy wonder, "Welcome to Rapid City" I said. I wish I had had his phone for a photo; the look on his face was priceless: eyes bulging, mouth agape, total bewilderment. 

Time passed. Cleared for take-off. Arrived safely in Denver -- an hour and a half after our London flight had departed.

Gate agent standing by with clip board of re-booked flights and departure times? No. Customer Service desk with helpful problem-solvers? No! Are you kidding? Those customer service desks disappeared years ago, buddy. Point your camera at the QR code on that kiosk labelled customer help (Ha!) and be connected -- by and by. After an interminable wait, we got an agent who said no flights until the morrow, sent us a hotel voucher good for three cheap -- sorry, economy -- hotels from which we could choose, and told us to re-book at ticket counter.

We exited and found a customer service agent at United, which was closing up. No, she didn't know the hotels and had no advice. Yes, she could try and re-book us. Did we have a receipt for premium economy on the London flight? No. Well, I can book economy; the computer shows no premium or economy plus (?? are they the same thing? She didn't know.) But no seats together. So, book two and charge to card; we'll sort out the credits later, and negotiate seat swaps on board the plane tomorrow. What about these two rows further back? OK. Show passport and hit done: the machine spits out four boarding passes for four seats, none together and $450 some dollars charged to card. 

Now it's 10:15; where to have dinner? None of the voucher hotels have restaurants. Best to eat in the airport. We call hotel, make reservation, and set off for recommended restaurant which serves to eleven. It closed at 10:25. Try another. Closed -- no staff, no customers, yet airport is abuzz with abandoned passengers milling about. 

We go off to find shuttle to our blind selection: American Inns by Wyndham. More lost souls, hundreds of them, milling about waiting for shuttles. Midnight: at front desk. agent tells us there's a 7-11 across the street. Over we go, get chicken wings and a can of chardonnay, and back to room to dine in style -- no plate and no forks, but lots of paper napkins. 

In the meantime, I have to alert Panther Cab in Cambridge to pick us up at Heathrow a day later and the Fellows Hotel not to expect us Friday but to hold second day of our two-day stay for arrival Saturday.

Simple night clerk at hotel said reservations wouldn't be open until nine and we'd have to be charged for cancelling after July 20th. Could she leave a note for reservations? No. Reservation was booked through Booking.com; try them. Booking.com on phone proudly announced their adoption of AI and that we'd be helped by a virtual agent. Phone or text? I got a chipper, feminine virtualosity of considerable enthusiasm and no rationality. Did I wish to make a reservation -- press one -- or cancel or modify an existing reservation -- press two. Both. That is not a correct response. Hit 1 or 2. What is reservation code, starting with V in upper left of confirmation e-mail? Confirmation e-mail had no code. Repeat. Repeat, again. Hang up, go to bed.

I call back at 4AM and get car service agent who confirms they have the switch. I get a hotel reservationist -- it's now 11:30AM in Cambridge -- who advises just to suck it up, keep the reservation, have the empty room tonight available whenever you arrive tomorrow.

Breakfast: you've seen the scene: weakly reconstituted frozen orange juice or a peel-it-yourself orange; yoghurt and cold cereal; lumpy, lukewarm scrambled eggs of little taste; paper plates and plastic forks. Coffee was hot and OK. Catch the shuttle and off to terminal and United desk. My vision was to find a mature supervisor who would take us in hand, cancel our four seats, issue refunds, let us use lounge, and sort it all out.   

Cue Dinah Washington: my vision is to be realized! 

We hailed at "Additional Services" desk a 25-year veteran supervisor who takes us in hand. Tammy cancels four economy seats, re-books two together in "Premium Plus" (it's the one thing domestically, another internationally) authorizes refund credit to card, commiserates with us, guides her young agent on making changes, and urges us to use United's Club Lounge, though she can't do so gratis. Still, at $111 for two day-passes, lunch and snacks, free drinks or wine, chocolate chip cookies and a quiet, civilized place to spend the day, a good deal. She says our bags are undoubtedly still here in Denver. "They know exactly where you are and your bags are there." I doubted that but kept my skepticism to myself.

Aboard a 757 Dreamliner, my favorite plane, in two spacious seats in a row by ourselves, we depart on time and have a perfect flight. Excellent dinner served. Got some sleep. For breakfast, good eggs and mushrooms. Cleared immigration. Now the moment of truth: baggage. 

About one minute after arriving at the carousel, out pops my bag! Ann's follows in another two minutes. Oh ye, of little faith.

Sunny, of Veezu, nee' Panther Cab, is awaiting us with his Mercedes. Sunny whisks us away to Cambridge. "Whisks" is hardly adequate; we stay in the right-hand, high-speed lane moving over only once as I recall for an Aston Martin doing at least 170kph.

Check-in at Fellows is by Cecile, who authorizes on her own volition waver of the late cancellation charge. We have a lovely, high-ceilinged room with window looking out into a peaceful patio, solid cabinetry, comfortable king bed. Shower. Crawl into bed. Up up in the evening. Cocktail in the patio and out for a walk aside the Cam, with its canal boat/live-aboard homes tied along the banks. 

A fisherman, a Pole, showed me what he catches -- bream and chub, nice 15" fish -- and wonders at our tolerance for Trump. He is traveling to Vancouver, BC and Seattle later this month, his first visit to America. Cambridge, meanwhile, is alive with Saturday strollers and graduation weekend parents and students. So peaceful; so British.

Celine recommended we dine in at the Fellows restaurant. Excellent! Interesting, varied menu, well-prepared food, good service. But noisy with multi-lingual crowd. And to bed. A Good Day -- we are here and ready to put on our student IDs tomorrow. 

What a difference a day makes!

Who Are These Zealots?

Who are these zealots who sit around thinking up this stuff? (Zealot: fanatically passionate about a cause, such as restricting government’s roles to defending its citizens against foreign threats and invasion and protecting free use of private property, leaving social services and education to charities, willing communities, and private citizens.)

Who are these ideologues who believe scholarships for dreamer kids threaten the rights of native-born students? (Ideologue: a person who strongly advocates for and is deeply committed to a particular system of ideas.) 

Who are these jingoists who believe the role of schools and monuments is to foster uncritical thinking about America’s unblemished behavior and beauty, banishing historic truths about slavery, Japanese internment, treatment of Indigenous tribes. and observance of treaties? (Jingoist: someone who expresses extreme patriotism and believes that one's country is inherently superior and has a right to assert itself forcefully on others.)

Who are these libertarians who believe progressive taxation imposes on individual liberty, penalizes productivity and initiative, and fosters class discord. (Libertarian: a person who believes personal freedom of action, association, and belief comes before all else, including community and commonwealth; who believes government has no right to infringe on utilization of owned property or behavior that does no harm to others.)

Who are these Populists who elevate the wisdom of common folk and disdain or dismiss expertise and elite qualifications. (Popullist: one who caters to the mass population and postures as anti-establishment and anti-elitist (no matter how wealthy they become while doing so.) 

Certainly, Trump does not lay awake at night thinking up these radical ways of tearing down institutions that have well served we Americans for 150 years or more. Who are these zealots, anyway? Well, there’s Russell Vought, head of Office of Management and Budget and chief author of the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025. He has said that only Christians should hold government positions and has condemned Muslims as anti-Christian. He favors making it easier to fire civil servants, despite The Civil Service Act’s protections against politicization.

There’s Stephen Miller, former Communications Director for segregationist Sen./A.G.Jeff Sessions, and now Trump’s Deputy Chief of Staff for Policy and the United States Homeland Security Adviser. Miller is chief architect of the Muslim Ban and Immigrations' family separation tactic. There’s Doug Burgum, Secretary of Interior, who wants to slash environmental regulations and encourages oil drilling on public lands. There’s Lee Zeldin, a global warming skeptic who wants to roll back climate protection regulations while serving as Director of the Environmental Protection Agency! There’s Paul Dans, Project Director of Project 2025, who believes in loyalty tests for government positions and has amassed a personnel list of “deep state” suspects. There’s Chris Wright (no, not our musical friend Chris Wright, but Sect. of Energy Chris Wright) who believes in energy exports, helped freeze Inflation Reduction Act funds for infrastructure, and opposes subsidies for renewable energy projects. There's RFK, Jr. who believes in scientist conspiracies and folk remedies, and disbelieves data-based evidence on wellness and illness.

And so it goes. Trump has surrounded himself with zealots, radicals who seek to tear down, displace, destroy institutions and legal structures and precedents that have served us well for five generations. These aren’t small-d democrats, neither are they the kind of progressive conservatives I wish we had more of. These are malevolent voices to which Trump gives ear. God deliver us from ideologies, from jingoism, libertarianism, populism, and all the other isms (Fascism, Communism, Socialism, Fundamentalism, Sexism, Authoritarianism, Nationalism, etc., etc.) that seek to cloud the minds of rational humanists.(Yes, I know; rationalism. It takes an exception to make the rule. No one can charge me with perfectionism.)

Ya picks yer poison and ya takes yer chances . . .

The Primary race for King County Executive is a microcosm of what is bedeviling Democrate all across the country: is it time for young voices espousing rather bold changes in social systems and priorities, or should Democrats stay with trusted, familiar, moderate voices that might make Independents and moderate Republicans more comfortable? King County is a perfect model for what is happening in New York with mayoral candidates Cuomo vs Mamdani. On the national level, you’ve got AOC pushing both Hakeem Jeffries and Chuck Schumer. In Arizona’s 7^th, it’s Foxx, 25, vs Grijalva, 54. In California’s 11^th and 22^nd the same pattern is emerging. And here in our own King County (the nation’s 14^th largest, BTW) we have Girmay Zahilay, 38, battling it out with Claudia Balducci, 57.

To some of my friends, Girmay is a vibrant, articulate leader with sound values, bold vision for the future, and empathy for those in need. He has raised money and garnered impressive endorsements. To others of my friends, he is a show horse up against the work horse Balducci: former mayor of Washington’s 5^th largest city, former state corrections chief, King County Council member, with a track record of delivering results.  

Ours is a top-two system; it’s quite likely that these two Democrats of two different generations will be on the General Election ballot in November. So, the core question may be which one has the best chance of winning it all in the fall.

Ann and I have voted already because we are off Thursday for summer school at Cambridge University. It turns out we have cancelled each other’s vote. So, there it is . . .

. . . ya picks yer poison and takes yer chances.   

Remove Barrietrs to the American Dream

During our trip in Germany (see tomorrow), I saw a bit of Trump through European eyes and thought about how to beat these guys in '26 and '28. Removing Barriers is still sound but let's reinforce it with an added plank: Removing Barriers To The American Dream, barriers which Trumpenomics is imposing on middle class households: 

• increased costs of imported necessities (e.g., vegetables, diapers, underwear, school clothes, batteries);
• increased cost of student loans;
• closure of technical and community colleges;
• increased costs of autos;
• increased costs of lumber for building homes;
• increased costs for solar and wind power;
• loss of medicare and medicaid coverage;
• increased cost of imported pharmaceuticals;
• closure of small town hospitals;
• closure of public TV-affiliated local stations and their news, weather, and Sesame Street; 

--- and many more obstacles that Trumpenomics is imposing right now on Middle Class America.  

Removing Barriers to the American Dream 

That should be our banner. And note: no talk about elite colleges and university grants, infectious disease research, foreign aid, USAID, tax cuts for the wealthy, income disparity, cult of personality, privacy, freedom of speech, interest rates, deficits, and all that admittedly very important stuff we care about: talk to the middle class about their daily lives. Talk up the backbone of America,