Wednesday, August 31, 2016

WKRLEM: Misty Watercolor Memories



Been there, done that.

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Bleachbit

Ha ha. I just now tuned into Trump rally at Everett, WA today. Comments are flying on the side so it's happening now. although it says 2 hours ago,  and the video opens with the crowd chanting "Lock her up, lock her up, lock her up" my most favorite chant ever. But his next sentence is "Sad. And that's after she was subpoenaed by congress to turn over her emails. She bleached her computer, she use a very expensive chemical ..."  Not an exact quote.

Now that's funny. Bleachbit was in the title of a post on Insty and I hadn't heard of it before so I made a vocabulary card for it. It's an open source program and that means that it's free. His advisors didn't even do a simple internet search. It sounds to me.

But none of that matters to his worked up supporters and that's doubly funny.

Nothing matters anymore.

Immediately before that on T.V. an anti-Trump ad ran featuring a gold star mother condemning Trump for using another gold star mum in his campaign. She's seen holding up a plaque.

I'm sitting here thinking, "Sorry, Dear. That doesn't work anymore. Your candidate lied to several gold star mums all at once. No, sorry for your loss, but you're doing the same thing you condemn." Now this will work for dyed-in-the-wool Democrats blind to Democrat high crimes of State but it won't work on anyone else. Begone!

Nothing you say matters anymore. Flail all you like. Flounce off in a huff flapping your arms in frustration and anger. Nothing, nothing matters anymore. Your party is sunk. And it's broken as badly as the Republican party is smashed.

And all of this creates in me a burgeoning feeling of tremendous joy. Gone is the apprehension that evil prevails. This is the aspect of America that is just stunningly beautiful.

"Homeland eyes special declaration to take charge of elections"

WE:  Even before the FBI identified new cyber attacks on two separate state election boards, the Department of Homeland Security began considering declaring the election a "critical infrastructure," giving it the same control over security it has over Wall Street and and the electric power grid.

The latest admissions of attacks could speed up that effort possibly including the upcoming presidential election, according to officials.

"We should carefully consider whether our election system, our election process, is critical infrastructure like the financial sector, like the power grid," Homeland Security Secretary Jeh Johnson said.

"There's a vital national interest in our election process, so I do think we need to consider whether it should be considered by my department and others critical infrastructure," he said at media conference earlier this month hosted by the Christian Science Monitor.

Peaches

Palisade peaches are at peak season right now. Go out and buy some immediately. The window of opportunity so brief you'll be sorry ignoring this wisdom. Don't wait. Right now. Next week they very well might revert to hard mealy and useless.

So soft, so juicy, so full of intense flavor it's amazing. And only a week or so maximum. This is nature's way of saying, "pay attention." So do.

I feel this so strongly I must spread this peach joy. It's not about me, it's about peaches. The garden tomatoes are fine right now too. I've made three trips to nearby Tony's, an upscale market for snobs like myself. The boxes they've stacked are now nearly empty. Loaded my backpack and stopped at the bottle shop downstairs and offered Lurch two for himself and his boss. Then to more to the office downstairs. And encountered my neighbor entering his apartment the same time as myself. He refused.

"Come on!" I insisted. Why the hesitation? I don't understand that.  "This is the peak of their season. Would you like one too?" I offered his guest. "Sure."

"Ew, soft."

Now this was fun. Having people reach into my backpack and remove peaches. More fun than I thought it would be. But now I only have a couple of peaches. Make that one left, I ate one in two seconds flat. They're too good to describe. Just go out and buy some. And do this right now. Before the peach joy is over.

I discovered the soft ones stay arrested quite nicely stored cold. So buy a some extra for when next week when the peach joy come its sudden end. And you'll have to wait another whole year.

"Nurses who has to ask the famous "Sexual history?" question, what was the best answer you got?"

Reddit best answers...
an older lady. Maybe early 70's. There were 5-10 sexual history questions in a row. In the middle of them she blurts out, "honey, I've been dried up for years. Nobody has been diggin in this for a long time."

A 65 year old man came in with an abundance of genital warts and said "I kept sleeping with that same dirty woman. That's why I got these things"

I got a laugh out of hearing a young girl tell me she's not currently sexually active, because the last time she had sex was the day before

Paramedic here. I once asked a 20 year old female with abdominal pain:
ME:"Are you sexually active?"
HER: "Yes"
ME: "Any chance you're pregnant?"
HER: "Absolutely not, I could never be pregnancy"
ME: "Not all birth control is 100% effective."
HER: Mine is.
ME: "What kind of birth control is it?"
HER: "um...lesbianism."

Not a nurse but the best response I've heard to this question was from a quiet guy in my freshman college English class. Somehow our discussion on vaccines led to this topic and he told a story about his doctor asking if he was sexually active. His perfect response was "Bro I'm not even socially active"

Are You Ready For Some Football?



Are you ready for some football?
I have been a football fan for over fifty years. My Dad took me to my first game when I was six in the first grade. We went to Yankee Stadium to see the Giants. They had a great team. Went to the Championship game and lost. Allie Sherman was the coach. YA Tittle. Frank Gifford. Dick Lynch. Sam Huff. The old Giants.
We got to go to one game a year. It was impossible to get tickets. They were handed down from one family member to another. There was a ten year waiting list. But we would scrounge and get a ticket now then through the down years with Fran Tarkington and Norm Snead and Joe Pisarcik. They had moved to Jersey by then so it was a hike.

Kerry: The media 'would do us all a service' if they didn't cover terrorism 'quite as much'

"Remember this: No country is immune from terrorism," Kerry said, according to a State Department transcript. "It’s easy to terrorize. Government and law enforcement have to be correct 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. But if you decide one day you’re going to be a terrorist and you’re willing to kill yourself, you can go out and kill some people. You can make some noise."

"Perhaps the media would do us all a service if they didn’t cover it quite as much," he continued. "People wouldn’t know what’s going on."

The audience then reportedly applauded the comment.

"The fact is we have to stand together, and the United States is standing with Bangladesh in this fight," he said.

"FBI Recovers 30 Hillary Clinton Emails Involving Benghazi Attack"

TIME.com:  The State Department says about 30 emails involving the 2012 attack on U.S. compounds in Benghazi, Libya, are among the thousands of Hillary Clinton emails recovered during the FBI’s recently closed investigation into her use of a private server.

Government lawyers told U.S. District Court Judge Amit P. Mehta Tuesday that an undetermined number of the emails among the 30 were not included in the 55,000 pages previously provided by Clinton to the State Department. The agency said it would need until the end of September to review the emails and redact potentially classified information before they are released.

The State Department has said the FBI provided it with about 14,900 emails purported not to have been among those previously released. Clinton previously had said she withheld and deleted only personal emails not related to her duties as secretary of state.

In a separate development Tuesday, a law enforcement official told The Associated Press that the FBI is expected to release documents soon related to its investigation, which focused on whether Clinton and her aides mishandled government secrets.

Vikings that aren't real, real people.

I find myself with somebody I already chased off. We have no good reason to be in each other’s company. He invited me to a celebration that centers on the customs of his heritage, their seasonal celebration. It’s one whacked vignette after another except much worse than mere folk dances in traditional costume. Far worse. Unbearably worse. One wearisome set piece after another. I cannot stand another moment. I resent being taken to this cultural event. And it does not even match the real thing. The individual is 2nd generation Italian immigrant. A very good man, actually, by any moral standard. 

IRL he cared for his aging blind father who presented him problems in series. Every day. He cared for his father every day, looking in on him and resolving the problems worked up by his dad’s girlfriend younger by decades but still quite old, another oldster who was stealing things from and abusing other old women at their nursing residence. Every day was a new vexation, but he stuck it out with dad resolving his issues right up to the day that he died. And I admire that. 

But good Lord, the man likes to argue. He challenges every single sentence I say and I don’t like that. Moreover he is typical liberal but even a bit more fierce than the usual dope. He jumps every bandwagon that goes trumbulling by and leaps ahead of it imagining himself trailblazer of the latest great human  insight. The chief one being at the moment cutting salt from the diet. 

But this celebration is Nordic and all of the skits and dances and historic recreations are ridiculously twee and born of Viking imagination. The food presented is inedible. The treats unfit for livestock. 

Finally, a woman dressed in extravagant long white gown similar to a wedding dress takes position as archeress. Her bow is oversized, decorative not utile, with impractical multiple pull strings that simply will not work in the physical world. To compensate for the bow’s contradiction of physics, the oversized arrow is channeled by a crude wooden chute. The chute is lined with revelers. The target an apple smaller than the arrow circumference. The entire thing is too much, too far, too demanding of patience.

“Goddamnit, I’m out!” 

I leave the celebration in anger. And not just regular anger. Hot anger for acquiescing to any of it. I’m pissed off at myself for agreeing to meet there. I knew better all along. I already chased off the guy from my life. I was tired of his habit of contesting every sentence, for his need to argue every last thing. And I mean it. His form of communicating with me. Absolutely everything is argument. Apparently he cannot argue with anyone else, so I’m the one he’s chosen to challenge and I became sick of it and told him so but he persisted to the point of ruining all contact. I honestly don’t know what the fuck the guy’s bag is or why he bothered pursuing a friendship. 

I'm angry all over again just thinking about it. 

But outside in the parking lot, the revelers anticipated all this. They knew in advance that some outsider is going to find the whole thing intolerable and cut out. All this happened before, and they are ready. They know in advance someone invited will be leaving in anger, and exactly like stupid shit stories that Rose Nylund tells the two other Golden Girls they prepare what they find an hilarious punk. They removed the battery from my truck. And now I am furious. 

I demand the gang outside return the battery post haste and stop fucking with me. I’m cross as I ever get. My blood vessels are bursting with anger and they find that hilarious. This is their top fun.

I charge the gang leader arms outward to shove backward to smash his head on the parking lot. But he stands there like a man made of concrete. They knew all this in advance. Their most powerful person is made leader of the gang specifically for this purpose. It’s all a joke to them and that adds to my fury. I use my truck to press against my back, lift both legs and shove him with my boots backward using both feet and the man doesn’t budge an inch. Everyone laughs hysterically. This is their moment they’ve been hoping. John, the argumentative friend is abashed by the scene that I’m creating, my inability to take a joke. Everything I do falls into their joke and it flat pisses me off to extreme. 

To demonstrate their good nature contrasted with my predictable bad behavior, a guy begins soaping up my windshield. I scream at him to leave my goddamn truck alone and get off it. They intend to leave my truck better than it arrived to prove their high spirits and good intentions, but I want my battery back right now, I want to leave immediately and they’re all preventing me like  goddamn bunch of stupid Vikings with sorely displaced sense of humor. 

I lamely call the police and the police’s attitude is, “here we go again, another victim of the Nordic party.” They’ve been through all this before. A few cops are Nordic themsleves.

Additionally I had a good deal of trouble separating out the two keys needed, one to open the door to the truck and the other for the ignition. The frustration of keys added to my misery. I never did see the them return my truck’s battery. My intention is sue the whole goddamn lot of them, both inside and out, their entire community, and put an end to their weird party and very strange ways of celebration.

I wake up mad as hell. The most irate that is possible for me. It took a very long time to calm down. It made me despise the real guy, J. Orlando, even more. I blame him for the whole thing, even though he has nothing whatsoever to do with what just happened. I still blame him. I’d never even think of anything like that were he not so goddamn contentious, again, apparently only with me. I don’t know why, I never will know why, J. Orlando chose me to be his backboard to bounce off all his whacked liberal opinions. He’s wrong about everything. And too thick for me to even be around. 

I’m awake. Sat up and fuming. Reviewing all that went wrong and how and why. I conclude again I’m better off not having the guy visit anymore. I recall the woman I met right before all this. How she entered through the opposite door nearest the elevators and saw me enter at the far end. She’s with a small child draped in an adult’s t-shirt that become a cotton maxi gown on her. The woman explains to the child why they are holding the elevator. The door is programed to shut its doors. They are fighting to keep the doors open for me. And all that is quite unnecessary. They can easily bolt with no hard feeling. It would be perfectly reasonable. The woman is young, I’d say millennial age and her daughter only four years or so. Both are fighting the door as I walk the long length of the hall. It’s  embarrassing but the mum insists the two wait.

I thank them for doing that, they could shoot off perfectly reasonably. Another elevator will be right there. 

No, no, no, we want to hold it for you.

Inside now. 

“Who gets to push the buttons? Do you?”

“Yes, the mum answers, she can do it.” 

“Five, please. Wait, you know your numbers? “ I ask the child incredulously. 

“Yup.” The child reaches way up to touch 5 then tippy toe to touch 7. She turns around and looks up at me, well chuffed at handling the elevator situation.

I act amazed. 

Still inside the woman introduces herself and extends her hand to me and asks my name. She introduces the child and  I shake her tiny hand too. 

Now all of that is unusual and it left a lasting impression. Women are never that assertively friendly, but this young woman is. She wanted to meet me and I’m left wondering why.

Recalling the woman IRL that occurred a few hours previously covered and tampered the raw anger that the dream caused in me. 

I dropped back to sleep and dreamed immediately of another woman IRL, another frustration similar to to J.Orlando but not nearly so serious. Had I married this woman back then it’d be nothing but psychological disruption thereafter. Although very smart about nearly everything, much smarter than me, she is a thorough emotional mess about personal relations. She has more expectations derived from literature than is possible for any man to fulfill. Honestly, she is a character out of a Jane Austin novel, and not the timeless heroine that makes those books great, archaic in her impossible views and ever unhappy, and it’s everyone’s fault but her own. 

She and I go to Morrison to partake in another seasonal cultural celebration hosted by the Fort restaurant involving life on the  plains of indians and interaction with white invasion of the old West. Again, one frustration after another, too many details to enumerate all centering on my expected behavior regarding every detail of my interaction with her and with others. Truly she really is impossible and all that adds up to permanent unhappiness. 

The dream segues to driving in an open automobile. An older man who I don’t know or recognize is driving. He understands my plight. Traffic out of the place is backed up for miles. The situation appears dire, we’re in for a very long wait.  The man pulls off the ramp and drives over the divider and right through the median, ignoring all of the traffic rules, and the highway ramp. He turns right onto the road leading into Morrison and we’re free! And sailing with the wind in the sun. Just like that. I tell him, “That’s brilliant!” He answers, “I know.” 

He says, “You know, Bo, you’ll need two two braces to work the stone.” 

I think, “WTF?” 

He’s talking about me chiseling stone. I visualize a stone block braced with two clamps to hold the block solidly steady in all directions. I say, “Okay. I can see that.” 

We reverse direction on the road, the traffic is cleared and the most outstanding geology is shown all around. I can choose any type stone of my heart’s desire. He is showing me stone. It’s all a matter of my choosing. Layers of color of stone cliffs without any vegetation on them. It is a breathtaking sight to behold. Cliff after cliff of colorful layers of stone. We drive by cliffs of perfectly white marble, there for the picking. All I have to do is make my selection, go up there and take it. Marble for taking. I can do whatever I want. I am bewildered by the vast choices of stone.

And I never chiseled anything. All this is suggestion for the future. Only my Egyptian bas reliefs out of plaster. Like scratching away background to raise faces of coins. The man is showing me possibilities heretofore unimagined. And not actually real. The stone is not actually there, but there is similar. A place actually named Marble Colorado, stone quarried and used for the Washington obelisk. I think. My housekeeper retired there IRL. And I don’t even know who this man driving the convertible is. 

I wake up well pleased and happy and cheered. Recalling how the dream man covered the unfortunate woman IRL, and how the elevator woman and her daughter IRL, a resident here, covered the unfortunate dream of J.Orlando’s Viking gang.


It was an emotional night filled with misadventure and pleasant encounters, for real and in dream. 

Dave Chappelle’s Rare NYC Gig– “Black Lives Matter is the Worst Slogan I’ve Ever Heard”

Showbiz 411He began the hour by saying, quite jovially: “This will be a racist show. I’m telling you now.” His jokes about blacks and white were evenly divided. But the subjects of the day were right up there. “Black lives matter is a terrible slogan,” he said. He much prefers Dwayne Wade’s hashtag “enough is enough.”

As for the killing of Wade’s cousin, and Donald Trump’s immediate vulgarizing of it, Chappelle said: “Oh yeah, now I’m voting for Donald Trump.” That drew peals of laughter from the mixed race crowd. But I couldn’t help wonder what black comics and their audiences are saying around the country in similar clubs. Trump’s message–“What do you have to lose?”–is now a set up for various punchlines.

Chappelle talked about wanting to vote for Hillary Clinton. But it also turns out that he and his wife are friendly with outspoken conservative black actress Stacey Dash. That gives the argument balance, although he conceded that he and “Stacey are not soulmates.” He also touched on the very recent stabbing at Cornell. Is it too soon? “Who stabs anymore?” he added: “Very OJ.”

"White House defends Obama evading Senate on Paris climate deal"

"White House senior adviser Brian Deese said the president has the legal authority to ratify the accord without the two-thirds Senate vote required for treaties. He said the pact negotiated by 195 countries in December is merely an “executive agreement.”"
“The president will use his authority that has been used in dozens of executive agreements in the past to join and formally deposit our instrument of acceptance, and therefore put our country as a party to the Paris Agreement,” Mr. Deese said at a White House press conference.

He noted that both presidents announced in March that they “would seek to formally join the Paris Agreement in 2016.”

“That’s a process that is quite well-established in our existing legal system and in the context of international agreements and international arrangements,” Mr. Deese said. “There is a category of them that are treaties that require advice and consent from the Senate, but there’s a broad category of executive agreements where the executive can enter into those agreements without that advice and consent.”

Monday, August 29, 2016

Pure Imagination


"Random fact. The tune that Wonka plays to open the door to the edible room was in fact the Marriage of Figaro. Mrs. Teevee claims it's Rachmaninoff. Additionally, the kids in the movie were really seeing all of that for the first time, and a lot of the room really was edible.   Additionally, the 'buttercup' that Wonka eats was made of wax, tasted awful, and he immediately spat it out off camera."