The December holiday season — encompassing Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, and the countdown to a brand-new year — is a time when we turn our thoughts to giving . . . giving of ourselves to those closest to us, and often donating to those around the world whom we’ve never met but who are in dire need.

And thus I have found it oddly appropriate to share with you this tale of perhaps the ultimate giver: Russian-born, exiled billionaire entrepreneur Pavel Durov . . . and why he made me think of the legendary “Johnny Appleseed.”

Though “legendary,” John Chapman was a real person. Born in 1774 in colonial Massachusetts, he developed an early interest in conservation that led him to a career as a nurseryman, and to the discovery of a means of growing trees from apple seeds rather than the traditional grafting method. He introduced his methods to the far-flung areas of Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, West Virginia, and even the Canadian Province of Ontario, becoming a folk hero who earned the nickname of “Johnny Appleseed,” and inspired the creation of numerous poems and songs in his honor.

Pavel Durov, on the other hand, probably doesn’t give a great deal of thought to trees. The creator of the original VKontakte (now simply VK) social networking service in Russia, he fled his native country to escape pressure from the Kremlin to reveal confidential information about his clients. Settling for a time in France, he turned his talents to the new network we now know as Telegram. He holds multiple citizenships and spends most of his time in Dubai; his net worth has been estimated by Forbes at $17 billion.

So, other than inventiveness and perseverance, what do these two men — from different centuries and different lands — have in common?

Well first of all . . . look at their pictures.

Now, that’s just eerie!

But setting aside the doppelgänger effect, these two men share another common passion: procreation. Johnny Appleseed grew trees from apple seeds; Pavel Durov grows children from a whole other kind of seed: his endless supply of human sperm.

Durov is a passionate advocate of pronatalism: a movement that has been likened to a rebirth of the theory of eugenics (selective breeding). Sometimes dubbed the “Russian Elon Musk,” he is said to have fathered 100 biological children across 12 countries by means of in vitro fertilization (IVF).

But unlike Musk — who boasts of having convinced multiple wives and girlfriends to become the “baby mamas” for his estimated 14 offspring, and actually takes an active part in their lives — Durov does not know the recipients of his largesse. His first donation occurred around 2010, when he helped out a friend who was having difficulty conceiving a much-wanted child. He later had the idea of providing his supposedly “high-quality” genetic material to others, in an effort to reverse the trend of a decreasing world population . . . and to help create a race of physically and intellectually superior — and, not incidentally, white — Homo sapiens.

Durov is busy operating his business interests and dealing with his legal problems in France, and apparently no longer has time to spend in that private little room doing you-know-what for the future benefit of mankind. But when he fled Russia, he left behind sufficient sperm, safely frozen, with a Moscow fertility clinic known as AltraVita. The clinic now advertises — on its website, on social media and news sites, and at conferences — that it has Durov’s “biomaterial” available for free IVF treatment of qualified women . . . meaning that they also must be physically and intellectually superior.

A former doctor at the clinic said:

“The patients who came, they all looked great, were well-educated and very healthy. They wanted to have a child from, well, a certain kind of man. They saw that kind of father figure as the right one.” [Sam Schechner, Daria Matviichuk and Thomas Grove, Wall Street Journal, December 22, 2025.]

I’m not sure that “father figure” is the right description of someone the children will never know, but nevertheless . . .

Now Durov has generously offered an added incentive to those women who may be hesitating to undertake an IVF protocol for financial reasons: in addition to covering the cost of the IVF treatments, he announced in a podcast with Lex Fridman in October that his biological children could each receive an equal share of his inheritance:

“As long as they can establish their shared DNA with me, someday maybe in 30 years from now, they will be entitled to a share of my estate after I’m gone.” [Id.]

What a guy! There are others — some of the wealthiest and most influential men in the world — with a similar interest in producing as many little likenesses of themselves as possible . . . even to the extent of using genetic testing and experimental gene splicing. But I haven’t heard of any of the others offering the possibility of future inheritance. (Not that there’s any guarantee of fulfillment of that half-hearted promise from Durov, “someday maybe in 30 years from now.”)

*. *. *

Aside from the ethical questions that have always surrounded the concept of selective breeding in humans, my first reaction to Pavel Durov’s story was:

“Selective breeding” is how we pair race horses to produce winners, cows to supply us with high-quality milk and beef, and dogs to take Best of Show at Westminster. Is it also how we want to produce our next generation of children?

Seriously?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/26/25

For those of you who are too young to remember him, ask your parents or grandparents, or Google him. Sorry to say, you missed a lot by being born so late.

Bob Hope was an incredible entertainer — stand-up comic, song-and-dance man, actor — and a true humanitarian. For half a century, from 1941 during World War II, to Desert Storm in 1991, he spent every Christmas with America’s troops stationed overseas, together with his wife Dolores and a retinue of stars from Hollywood and the music industry.

And this is how he summed up the meaning of Christmas:

“My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: loving others. Come to think of it, why do we have to wait for Christmas to do that?” – Bob Hope

Disproving the old saying that the good die young, Bob lived 100 years; Dolores made it to 102. They were married for 69 of those years.

And that, to my mind, is how you keep Christmas . . . every day, your whole life long.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/25/25

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/25/25

‘Tis the day before Christmas, the gang is all here.
Any more, and the house may explode, I do fear.

Seven people, including a one-year-old tot,
Two dogs and one cat, though she’s hiding a lot.

The house, which is normally neat as a pin,
Now shows that a baby indeed has moved in.

A high chair has taken its place by the table,
While the stroller just fits in wherever it’s able.

The toys are all scattered wherever I go,
And it all takes me back to a time long ago,

When my own precious children were learning to walk,
And just on the verge of beginning to talk,

And wondering where that big tree had come from,
And who was this “Santa” I said would soon come.

Those days were two short generations ago;
Where those years have vanished, I never will know.

But the memories still linger, some better than others,
Which is always the way with us fathers and mothers.

So we look at the high chair, the stroller, the clutter,
And stifle the instinct to grumble and mutter,

Because it all means, though our end may be near,
We’re leaving the world to the ones we hold dear.

And that little one-year-old soon will be grown,
To fashion a future for kids of her own.

I wish her good luck, endless joy and good health,
And just for her comfort, a measure of wealth.

She’ll need it, for surely the mess that she brought
Isn’t half the disaster we adults have wrought!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/24/25

I’ve decided the news can exist without my commentaries for a couple of days while I give my mind and soul a holiday break from the mayhem. But I can never remain entirely silent for long, and so I’ve gone in search of some appropriate words for the time of year that is supposed to bring us peace, love, and hope for the future.

And I found the words in, of all places, a thought from that most joy-stealing evildoer of all . . . the Grinch himself:

“Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!”
– Dr. Seuss: “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”

Regardless of our individual religious beliefs, there is something magical about this season: the lights, the music, the gatherings of family and friends . . . and the genuine desire to do something special for others, both for those we know and those we’ve never met who may be in need.

That spirit shouldn’t come to an end when the year does. This year especially, which has been so difficult for so many, we need to carry the love and hope with us into 2026, to make it a better year for all.

And, if I may be permitted one more quote . . . from that other reformed grouch, Ebenezer Scrooge, who perhaps said it best:

“I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”
– Charles Dickens, “A Christmas Carol”

Happy Holidays, Everyone!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/24/25

On September 11, 2001, the United States — the country that had always been the first to jump to the defense and aid of others — was itself devastatingly attacked by foreign terrorists, resulting in the horrific deaths of some 3,000 innocent people.

Suddenly, the free world rushed to our side, there to return the decades of kindness we had shown them. Because we were the good guys.

And we “good guys” were there for each other, offering, at the very least, moral support to those who had lost loved ones and friends on that dark, oddly sunny autumn day. We rushed out to buy American flags of all sorts — big ones to drape from our flag poles or balconies, small ones to wave from our car antennas, and tiny ones to pin to our lapels.

In our grief, we resurrected a song that had been written and recorded by American country singer Lee Greenwood in 1984. It became the anthem of the day in the wake of inconceivable tragedy; and it is stuck in my head now, as we suffer through the slower, more drawn-out, even more demoralizing agony of an internal attack on democracy itself.

And I wonder: Why aren’t we listening to Lee Greenwood now? For those too young to remember the events of 9-11, let me remind you, in part:

“If tomorrow all the things were gone
I worked for all my life,
And I had to start again
With just my children and my wife,

I thank my lucky stars
To be living here today,
’Cause the flag still stands for freedom
And they can’t take that away.

And I’m proud to be an American
Where at least I know I’m free,
And I won’t forget the men who died
Who gave that right to me,
And I’d gladly stand up next to you
And defend Her still today,
’Cause there ain’t no doubt
I love this land.
God Bless the U.S.A.”

– Lee Greenwood; copyright Peermusic Publishing

We should be gathering together again, as we did in 2001, and shouting his lyrics from the rafters — only this time shouting, not at Middle Eastern terrorists, but at the White House, the houses of Congress, and the Supreme Court. At the Departments of Justice, and Defense, and Health & Human Services. And at anyone and everyone who doesn’t truly love and honor the America that has stood for a quarter of a millennium as a beacon of light and hope and freedom to the world.

“God Bless the U.S.A.”

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/23/25

Lest anyone entertain the misguided notion that the political turmoil we’re experiencing is new and unique, let me refer you once more to the insight of George Orwell, who wrote the following 76 years ago, in 1949:

“Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.”
– George Orwell, “1984”

Perhaps it feels different today because the lies and the wind are amplified and disseminated exponentially by the modern media. But from the days of Julius Caesar’s forum, to the Spanish Inquisition’s tribunal, to Donald Trump’s bully pulpit, it’s all been the same.

Only the names and the choice of weapons have changed.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/23/25

He already owns a dozen or more golf resorts around the world, a string of skyscrapers bearing his name, a New York City penthouse and a West Palm Beach palace . . . not to mention a king’s ransom in bitcoin, and a stash of who-knows-what-else-because-he-refuses-to-disclose-his-financials.

But that’s not enough for Donald Trump. Now he has his eye on the three public golf courses in the nation’s capital — the only local courses available and affordable to the general public in Washington.

He’ll have a fight on his hands; but when has that ever stopped him from going after something he wants? Those courses are overseen and operated by the National Links Trust, which is five years into a 50-year lease with the National Park Service (NPS). The NPS, in turn, is part of the U.S. Department of the Interior, which owns the land and whose head, Secretary of the Interior Douglas Burgum, is a member of the Presidential Cabinet.

So now Trump claims the Trust is in default on its lease, and has had a notice of default served on it — but without specifying how it has allegedly defaulted. And the Trust, quite naturally, is opposing the action. [Dominick Mastrangelo, The Hill, December 22, 2025.]

I smell another law suit in the offing, from an individual who probably deserves a place in the Guinness Book of Records as the most litigious human being who ever lived.

But that’s not all.

*. *. *

We all know how he loves to see his name emblazoned on everything, and the bigger the better. In addition to all of those Trump Towers, he illegally — because he didn’t bother with the requisite Congressional approval — had his name added to (and above) JFK’s name on the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.

And now, just when we think it can’t get any worse, he has announced from his little cottage at Mar-a-Lago his plan for the U.S. Navy to build the first “Trump-class” battleship as part of what he says will be a new “Golden Fleet.”

(Clearly, someone must have told him about the Golden Fleece of ancient Greek mythology, which is said to have symbolized kingship, authority and adventure. And we know about his love affair with all things golden.)

Flanked by Secretary of State Marco Rubio, Secretary of Defense (for now) Pete Hegseth, and Secretary of the Navy John Phelan, Trump described his vision of the ships, the first of which is proposed to be named the USS DEFIANT:

“They’ll be the fastest, the biggest, and by far 100 times more powerful than any battleship ever built.” [Konstantin Toropin and Aamer Madhani, Associated Press, December 22, 2025.]

Of course, they will. Isn’t everything of Trump’s, including his signature, bigger and better than everyone else’s has ever been in the history of the world?

He also said he would have a direct role in the design of the new ships, declaring:

“The U.S. Navy will lead the design of these ships along with me, because I’m a very aesthetic person.” [Id.]

*. *. *

Sorry, I had to stop for a moment . . . I was laughing so hard my iPad slid off my lap. But I’m back now.

This dream of his involves spending countless billions of dollars on a behemoth to be armed with hypersonic missiles, nuclear cruise missiles, rail guns, and high-powered lasers: all technologies that are now in various stages of development by the Navy. And all of this from the wild imagination of a man who knows nothing — zip, zilch, zero — about ships, or naval architecture or engineering, or warfare in general. But that apparently doesn’t matter, because he is, after all, “a very aesthetic person.”

Admittedly, the project is only in the beginning design stages, and isn’t slated for actual start of construction until the early 2030s. By that time, a successor in the White House may just copy a page from Trump’s playbook and decide to place his or her own name on the finished product instead.

And wouldn’t that be the ultimate comeuppance?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/23/25

As I once again watched Charles Dickens’ immortal “A Christmas Carol” (the George C. Scott version is my personal favorite), I was struck anew by Ebenezer Scrooge’s infamous dismissal of those disadvantaged persons who would choose to die in poverty rather than enter the notorious workhouses or debtors’ prisons:

“If they would rather die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”

– Charles Dickens, “A Christmas Carol”

And I couldn’t help thinking of Vladimir “Scrooge” Putin, sitting in his gilded Kremlin palace or luxuriating in any of his far-flung hideaways, lambasting the people of Ukraine for choosing to fight, and possibly die, rather than surrender their homeland’s sovereignty and their personal freedom.

My thoughts next seemed naturally to turn to Donald Trump, partying through the Christmas season at Mar-a-Lago as Congress adjourns for the holidays, leaving millions of Americans facing the new year without affordable medical insurance.

And it occurred to me, not for the first time, that we average citizens — in the eyes of the ruling elites — are of no more concern than Scrooge’s “surplus population.” The difference is that, in real life, we probably can’t depend on three spirits to bring us an overnight Christmas miracle.

It seems that we’ll just have to find a way to fix things by ourselves. And until we do, as Dickens’ Tiny Tim would say:

“God bless us, everyone!”

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/22/25

If you’re anything like me, you probably greet each new year thinking that the next one is going to be better than the last, and that you’re going to do everything in your power to help make it better.

This year, however, I’m feeling powerless . . . and I’m certain I have a lot of company. The world seems to have spun out of control, with the bulk of the chaos being created by one sick old man who will never willingly hand over the reins of power. And for all of our sins — including the sin of having carelessly allowed the inmates to take over the asylum — it seems that we’re being punished by Mother Nature with a shitload of natural disasters to boot.

So this is not my most joyous holiday season in memory. In my usual ecumenical fashion, I lit the menorah at sundown on each of the eight nights of Chanukah, and I shared in the lighting of the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. The gifts are piled around the tree, ready to be torn into on Thursday morning; other relatives will be arriving soon; the big dinner is being planned; and I’m trying my best to find some joy in all of it.

Yet all I can feel thus far is sadness for the millions of people around the world whose lives have been thrown into turmoil this year, and trepidation at the thought of more to come. Will Vladimir Putin maintain his mad march through Ukraine and farther into Europe? Will Benjamin Netanyahu continue taking revenge on the people of Gaza? Will Donald Trump declare all-out war against Venezuela . . . or, for that matter, his own country?

But no . . . enough of that!

With just ten days remaining of the year 2025, I will continue to hope, albeit beyond reason, that the turning of the calendar page to January 1, 2026, will bring with it a magical transformation wherein the majority of the world’s citizens will finally opt for peace, freedom, democracy, brotherly (and sisterly) love . . . and, just for kicks, free Haagen-Dazs for all.

It doesn’t take much to make me happy.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/22/25