|
|
|
No Kings
Saturday, June 14 2025
location: 940 feet west of Woodworth Lake, Fulton County, NY
Today Donald Trump would be celebrating his 79th birthday as only an overgrown unloved child can: by having a military parade through the streets of Washington DC. It would be complete with tanks just like the kind they have in North Korea or Moscow. In response, the resistance had organized a widespread set of demonstrations called "No Kings." This morning as we drank our morning beverages and played Spelling Bee, Gretchen said she definitely wanted to go to a No Kings protest today. She'd done some research and found that the nearest one was in Canajoharie, a village about 18 miles (as the crow flies) to the southwest on the Mohawk. She'd even found a Thai restaurant in that area that had vegan options.
I did a few little chores before we left, including draining the north gutter (which was plugged with leaves and had been overflowing for weeks, but my back had been too fucked up to do anything about it; I was able to unclog it without even having to climb up onto the roof).
When we set out for Canajoharie, we even brought the dogs. Google sent us there via Route 5, a road that goes along the north bank of the Mohawk. Canajoharie's downtown looks like something you'd see on a postcard as one passes it on the Thruway, so I was curious what it would look like to enter. (The closest I'd ever been to it was at the Betty Beavers gas station out on the edge of town.) After crossing the Mohawk, we didn't drive far before reaching the middle of the town, which has a stoplight mounted on a pole in the middle of something that resembles a small traffic circle. This was where the protesters had gathered. There were at least 50 people there when we arrived, and the protest hadn't even started yet.
We parked in a nearby parking lot, not far from a woman who looked to be a low-information citizen bewildered that anyone would have issues with the current president. (I heard her nattering on about it inanely.)
As we walked over to the protest, we passed an older couple making signs on the hood of their car. They gave us a piece of cardstock so we could make our own sign, though the borrowed Sharpie marker Gretchen wrote the message with wasn't really up to the task. The sign read "No Kings! Dogs for Democracy!" (We'd been trying to alliterate with "Pit Bulls" and hadn't come up with anything.) This couple told us they'd driven down from the central Adirondacks, much further than us, because evidently there were no No Kings protests anywhere near them.
We brought our dogs into the protest, which was really only possible because there were no other dogs in attendance. The protest was anchored by a stout man in a rubber Trump mask wearing a gaudy crown and orange jumpsuit with the number "8647" on it. There was also a guy in a reflective vest who would lead us in various chants in support of immigrants, rejecting kings, and what exactly democracy looks like. Our dogs were well behaved despite the chanting and even the beating of a drum.
Meanwhile the statistically less-enlightened public drove past on their way through town. A fair number of people honked their horns in support, but there were also a good number of idiots in pickup trucks whose only response was to rev their engines in disagreement. One even managed to roll coal on his way eastbound away from the protest. I wonder what a Trump support in a Cybertruck would do to register his displeasure given that those vehicles lack revvable engines. One group of Trump supports in an orange sports car kept driving past with a Donald Trump cutout sticking out of their moonroof, videoing our response with their phones. But nobody really cared. There were also a couple inbred-looking teens on eBikes who lurked near the protest for awhile before hurrying past while shouting "Make America Great Again." Truly devastating!
In truth, though, it was great to come together with fellow citizens infuriated with the direction of the country. Us finding each other and making a joyful fuss in public is precisely what a police state hopes we will not do.
At some point someone joined our protest with a corgi dog, and of course Charlotte started barking like a crazy dog, completely changing from a well-behaved pooch to a Cujo. So Gretchen walked Charlotte over to meet the dog, and once they'd met, Charlotte stopped barking.
By this point there were protesters at all five corners of the main intersection.
At 1:00pm, the protest reached its end, and everyone went their separate ways. Our goal at that point was to get lunch at that Thai restaurant, which was across the Mohawk in the village of Palatine Bridge. Its name was Isaan Thai and was in what looked like a large farmhouse on a stretch of Route 5 where the cars were moving at worrying speeds. When we arrived, we were the only customers. Looking at the menu, it was different from what Gretchen had seen online and there was no mention of anything being vegan. When we asked our waitress (who looked Thai) what could be made vegan, an older white gentleman on the other end of the dining room who had been clicking around in a MacBook piped up and told us that just about everything has fish sauce in it. At first we thought he might be a customer, but it later turned out he was at least a co-owner. While it was true that nearly everything contained fish sauce, the drunken noodle did not, so Gretchen ordered that. And, because I figured fish sauce was a minor ingredient, I didn't let it stop me from ordering the green curry with tofu. The spiciness scale at Isaan Thai ranged from mild to "uncomfortable" to "very uncomfortable." So I went with "uncomfortable."
I'd also ordered a coffee, which was surprisingly good. But when Gretchen ordered a lemonade, what she got was a plastic bottle containing a drink similar to Sunny Delight. So she asked for water instead. When that came out as a plastic bottle of water, she asked for just tap water. At that point the older white gentleman, evidently thinking that Gretchen is one of those anti-vax people who freaks out about microwave ovens and fluoride in the water, advised her that it would contain chlorine. "That's fine!" she said, adding that she's also okay with vaccinations, just to make it clear what kind of vegan she is. (Gretchen had mentioned to me on the drive up yesterday something she'd recently heard explaining the seeming sudden rightward shift in America. Evidently a good fraction of the anti-vax hippie types who had been part of the leftie coalition switched over to being on the right during the covid pandemic because they felt alienated for not having their irrational concerns about vaccines validated. And of course the right welcomed them with open arms.)
When our food came out, I found mine was indeed very spicy, but part of the problem was just that it was very hot temperature-wise. Once it had cooled down a bit, I didn't have much trouble eating it. Early in this process Gretchen pointed at my face and said I was visibly flushed, something I reacted negatively to, as I do not like having any attention (let alone the exuberant kind) drawn to me while I am eating.
A couple other groups of people came in while we were dining. At one table, we heard some approving things said about the No Kings protest, and at the other table sat a couple we'd seen carrying signs in Canajoharie. So yes, the demographics for not supporting Trump and eating Thai food have considerable overlap. Gretchen struck up conversations with both of these other tables. One of them was even driving a Chevy Bolt.
On the drive back to our cabin, Google sent us first north away from the Mohawk into decidedly Amish country. It was some of the most intensively agricultural land I'd seen in New York outside of the Esopus Valley. What was striking was how little of it was forested. But because it was also rather hilly, one could occasionally reach the top of a hill and see for twenty miles. Another strange thing was that many of the roads were extremely straight (at least as they appear on a map) as they climbed up and over hills, completely ignoring the terrain.
Back at the cabin, I eventually got around to installing some aluminum non-skid tread on the five steps up to the front door in hopes of never again slipping and falling on those steps, something I have done a few times when they have been wet or covered in snow. Of course, the last time I'd slipped and fallen on those steps, I hurt my back so badly that it has taken two weeks to recover. It's probably the worst injury I've ever suffered in my life. Fortunately, the only legacy of that injury now is occasional dull aches and itching; the intense stabs of excruciating pain now seem to be behind me.
Roughly five hours after I'd eaten that spicy Thai food, it made itself known on the way out, which was a much faster turnaround than I'd expected. (Usually I think of food as taking 24 hours to make it through my alimentary canal.) Typically when it comes out this quickly, something is wrong and I'm being hit by diarrhea. But, initially at least, what came out seemed normal. The only way I knew it was that Thai food was the searing heat it gave on to my anus as it exited. But this time I had a great way to deal with that problem: the bidet hose. (Such hoses are common throughout the part of the world where food tends to be spicy, suggesting that this is another good reason for having one.)
Unfortunately, the discomfort was not just limited to my anus. It also felt like something bad was happening in my large intestines generally, and for a half hour or so it was difficult to get comfortable. Eventually, though, most of the rest of that meal came out as diarrhea and I began to feel better. This was a lesson for me: spicy food can be more of a problem than just what it does in my mouth and what it does on the way out. I will definitely be more careful when ordering spicy food in the future.
At the time, that curry had been so good that I'd managed to eat all of it. But Gretchen had lots of leftovers from her drunken noodles. This evening she added more noodles and vegetables and made it into a whole other meal.
The fake Trump at the Canajoharie protest. Click to enlarge.
Gretchen with Charlotte and Neville in the protest with her weakly-lettered sign. Click to enlarge.
Neville looking regal at the No Kings protest in Canajoharie. Click to enlarge.
The main group of protestors during the peak of the protest. Click to enlarge.
The child of the low-information citizen woman who didn't seem to get why we were protesting, looking like part of an Eastern European tableau circa 1983. Click to enlarge.
Amish countryside north of Canajoharie. Click to enlarge.
For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?250614 feedback
previous | next |
