This is the overflow crowd watching @realDonaldTrump’s speech on the big screen outside.— Tim Murtaugh (@TimMurtaugh) September 17, 2019
Rally in Rio Rancho, NM is crazy! pic.twitter.com/qrCNfwvjMi
The entire rally is great. Some are greater than others. This one greatly great. You can watch it on YouTube, [trump rio rancho]
RSNB was knocked off of YouTube for some bogus teeny-weeny copyright violation. You can watch through them if you like on their Twitter.
MASSIVE Overflow at Pres. @realDonaldTrump Rally from Rio Rancho, New Mexico https://t.co/YnDcHB4H8n
— RSBN 🇺🇸 (@RSBNetwork) September 17, 2019
I liked seeing all those flags in the first video.
The New Mexico flag is super cool. It's simple. And graphic. And historic. Not silly like the Colorado flag that looks like the winner of a grade school contest.
It's so simple it's nearly Japanese. The colors are perfect for New Mexico. This is graphic art at its finest. It's a brand. A hieroglyph. A tattoo. A design on a teepee.
I'll always love New Mexico. It's just such a mystical place.
On the way to Barksdale AFB from California, so across the lower states, Nevada, Arizona New Mexico and Texas, my dad decided he was tired of his car.
Fine with me. I was tired of it too.
A green 1959 Chevy Impala with fins out to there.
It looked like Batman's car.
Except green.
And it was a bitch to hand wash. (You missed a spot. You missed a spot. You missed a spot. You missed a spot. You missed a spot. F.U. for making me a car-washing slave.)
Imagine this car going down the streets of Tokyo mid 60's.
It was like the Imperial vee-hickle.
Everyone stared at us.
Millions of people stared right at us.
Because of this outrageous car.
Maybe he was tired of fixing it. Maybe something happened along the way. Maybe he blew a gasket or maybe a hose leaked. Maybe a fan belt broke. Maybe his piston popped and his lifter quit lifting. Maybe a tire leaked. Maybe the muffler dropped off. Maybe after driving the Bat mobile around Tokyo he had enough of its wild ass fins. I don't know the reason, but in Albuquerque New Mexico Dad decided to trade it for a 1964 Buick Le Sabre.
Except blue.
He traded cars at the drop of a hat.
Eventually he gave me the Buick.
But that was so I'd learn about car repairs.
He wasn't being generous. He was being an asshole. He insisted we all learn how to repair cars and I didn't like that subject.
One day I told my younger brother what working with my dad on a car was like where I was made to be his personal factotum. His mute personal factotum. But I couldn't ask any questions. I had to just watch and learn by osmosis. "Shut up, I'm trying to think!" After running all his stupid ass little chores, and after handing him tools like he was a heart surgeon.
And I was supposed to know the difference between a wrench and a plumbing wrench and a pliers, between a socket and a sprocket, between a fan belt and a timing belt, between a brake shoe and brake pad. Everything is so f'k'n technical!
"Get me a rag."
I couldn't find one so I dug one his t-shirts from the laundry.
"Get me a hose. Hand me a 7/13th socket."
James cracked up laughing.
I was being dramatic, not funny. What's so funny?
"Of all the numbers for you to choose from, you pick two numbers that don't exist in sockets."
How would I know? All the numbers are bizarre numbers.
That's what I mean. It was all quadratic equations to me. I didn't know why things had to be oiled. I didn't know about gaskets. Or engine timing. Or fan belts or alternators. Nothing made sense to me. And what was incredible was all that heat, all that intense pressure and torque and high speed, riding on air inside of rubber under specific pressure and turning incredibly fast, explosions, fuel, and combustibles and poisons, all the weight and force and momentum and danger and it all gets down to pieces of metal thin as a wire. Who can trust a machine like this? It's insane.
I honestly thought cars would heal themselves. Why not? Our bodies do. If a vibration caused a nut to work loose, then why doesn't that vibration work the nut back tight again? I actually visualized this.
Car engines are the worst.
We spent extra time in New Mexico, land of enchantment, and I was duly enchanted.
Beforehand Dad purchased a small t.v. so we could watch it in the back of the car. That didn't turn out so well because everything changes as you drive through a state. Your channel keeps getting shut off. The television was a tiny squarish box and it had an auxiliary antenna that attached to the roof. It was so sturdy we kept it and used it for decades afterwards. It just never died. It was dropped several times and kept going. I used it in my own house right up through my twenties. That's like what *counts fingers* fifteen years! Six houses and two apartments later.
I wonder what happened to that little t.v.
It must have met an unfortunate fate. I recall watching the first Gulf War on it.
New Mexico was brilliant. Literally. The long sunsets are incredible. The scenery is Spartan and gorgeous. Layered as it is in the Westerns. The colors are their own unique palette. The dry atmosphere lets you see forever. And most important to us the cartoons are in English!
Can you know what it means to watch t.v. in English after three years of straight Japanese?
Now when Bugs Bunny comes blazing in from the far background in sinewy underground tunneling and pops up right in front of the (imaginary) camera and says, "I should'a turned left at Albuquerque," I know exactly where he should have turned left.
Albuquerque. What an amazing place.
You can actually feel the tempo relax. You can actually smell the fragrant southwest. You can see the layered fading pastels. You are in the living geography. New Mexico has its very own vibe. It's no wonder to me the spiritualist collect there. And it's no wonder they sense the convergence of energy flows into psychic power points.
The people are lovely. When I see the crowds above in the videos, inside and outside, I see all lovely people.
As a teen when an older friend asked me if I cared to accompany him to Albuquerque to show his Belgian Groenendael in confirmation and in obedience I jumped at the chance. It was the same the second time as the first. The dog show people are at their best in Albuquerque and the people we had dinner with at their house were perfect New Mexico hosts.
A third time to Santa Fe for the opera and the whole place is even more splendid. This trip was much more upscale. The hotel and the restaurants are all top notch. The Magic Flute is indeed magical but not nearly so magical as the electrical storm occurring in the distance behind it. I could sit there all night and watch it. And the architecture of Santa Fe and Taos all adhere to rather strict lines so that no building can stick out in height or in style or materials and blow the whole vision. New Mexico is a community. One unmatched by anything else in America.
The New Mexico flag is super cool. It's simple. And graphic. And historic. Not silly like the Colorado flag that looks like the winner of a grade school contest.
It's so simple it's nearly Japanese. The colors are perfect for New Mexico. This is graphic art at its finest. It's a brand. A hieroglyph. A tattoo. A design on a teepee.
I'll always love New Mexico. It's just such a mystical place.
On the way to Barksdale AFB from California, so across the lower states, Nevada, Arizona New Mexico and Texas, my dad decided he was tired of his car.
Fine with me. I was tired of it too.
A green 1959 Chevy Impala with fins out to there.
It looked like Batman's car.
Except green.
And it was a bitch to hand wash. (You missed a spot. You missed a spot. You missed a spot. You missed a spot. You missed a spot. F.U. for making me a car-washing slave.)
Imagine this car going down the streets of Tokyo mid 60's.
It was like the Imperial vee-hickle.
Everyone stared at us.
Millions of people stared right at us.
Because of this outrageous car.
Maybe he was tired of fixing it. Maybe something happened along the way. Maybe he blew a gasket or maybe a hose leaked. Maybe a fan belt broke. Maybe his piston popped and his lifter quit lifting. Maybe a tire leaked. Maybe the muffler dropped off. Maybe after driving the Bat mobile around Tokyo he had enough of its wild ass fins. I don't know the reason, but in Albuquerque New Mexico Dad decided to trade it for a 1964 Buick Le Sabre.
Except blue.
He traded cars at the drop of a hat.
Eventually he gave me the Buick.
But that was so I'd learn about car repairs.
He wasn't being generous. He was being an asshole. He insisted we all learn how to repair cars and I didn't like that subject.
One day I told my younger brother what working with my dad on a car was like where I was made to be his personal factotum. His mute personal factotum. But I couldn't ask any questions. I had to just watch and learn by osmosis. "Shut up, I'm trying to think!" After running all his stupid ass little chores, and after handing him tools like he was a heart surgeon.
And I was supposed to know the difference between a wrench and a plumbing wrench and a pliers, between a socket and a sprocket, between a fan belt and a timing belt, between a brake shoe and brake pad. Everything is so f'k'n technical!
"Get me a rag."
I couldn't find one so I dug one his t-shirts from the laundry.
"Get me a hose. Hand me a 7/13th socket."
James cracked up laughing.
I was being dramatic, not funny. What's so funny?
"Of all the numbers for you to choose from, you pick two numbers that don't exist in sockets."
How would I know? All the numbers are bizarre numbers.
That's what I mean. It was all quadratic equations to me. I didn't know why things had to be oiled. I didn't know about gaskets. Or engine timing. Or fan belts or alternators. Nothing made sense to me. And what was incredible was all that heat, all that intense pressure and torque and high speed, riding on air inside of rubber under specific pressure and turning incredibly fast, explosions, fuel, and combustibles and poisons, all the weight and force and momentum and danger and it all gets down to pieces of metal thin as a wire. Who can trust a machine like this? It's insane.
I honestly thought cars would heal themselves. Why not? Our bodies do. If a vibration caused a nut to work loose, then why doesn't that vibration work the nut back tight again? I actually visualized this.
Car engines are the worst.
We spent extra time in New Mexico, land of enchantment, and I was duly enchanted.
Beforehand Dad purchased a small t.v. so we could watch it in the back of the car. That didn't turn out so well because everything changes as you drive through a state. Your channel keeps getting shut off. The television was a tiny squarish box and it had an auxiliary antenna that attached to the roof. It was so sturdy we kept it and used it for decades afterwards. It just never died. It was dropped several times and kept going. I used it in my own house right up through my twenties. That's like what *counts fingers* fifteen years! Six houses and two apartments later.
I wonder what happened to that little t.v.
It must have met an unfortunate fate. I recall watching the first Gulf War on it.
New Mexico was brilliant. Literally. The long sunsets are incredible. The scenery is Spartan and gorgeous. Layered as it is in the Westerns. The colors are their own unique palette. The dry atmosphere lets you see forever. And most important to us the cartoons are in English!
Can you know what it means to watch t.v. in English after three years of straight Japanese?
Now when Bugs Bunny comes blazing in from the far background in sinewy underground tunneling and pops up right in front of the (imaginary) camera and says, "I should'a turned left at Albuquerque," I know exactly where he should have turned left.
Albuquerque. What an amazing place.
You can actually feel the tempo relax. You can actually smell the fragrant southwest. You can see the layered fading pastels. You are in the living geography. New Mexico has its very own vibe. It's no wonder to me the spiritualist collect there. And it's no wonder they sense the convergence of energy flows into psychic power points.
The people are lovely. When I see the crowds above in the videos, inside and outside, I see all lovely people.
As a teen when an older friend asked me if I cared to accompany him to Albuquerque to show his Belgian Groenendael in confirmation and in obedience I jumped at the chance. It was the same the second time as the first. The dog show people are at their best in Albuquerque and the people we had dinner with at their house were perfect New Mexico hosts.
A third time to Santa Fe for the opera and the whole place is even more splendid. This trip was much more upscale. The hotel and the restaurants are all top notch. The Magic Flute is indeed magical but not nearly so magical as the electrical storm occurring in the distance behind it. I could sit there all night and watch it. And the architecture of Santa Fe and Taos all adhere to rather strict lines so that no building can stick out in height or in style or materials and blow the whole vision. New Mexico is a community. One unmatched by anything else in America.
3 comments:
One state at a time.
Rio Rancho is near Albuquerque and that's hardcore Lefty country, so, if he's getting a wall-to-wall crowd there, P{arscale is on the right track.
I was duly enchanted.
So was The Blonde
Albuquerque. Imagine having that for a name.
Now you can call me Al, or you can call me Buh, or you can call me Cur, or you can call me Kee, but ya doesn't haf ta call me Johnthon.
Albuquirckans call it the Duke City.
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