Wednesday, August 31, 2016


A friend wrote and asked me if I had any ideas for a new restaurant in town, and I do.

I went there but it was closed. I misread the hours. They do not open until 5:00PM and I still would like to try them.

This is the owner's second, their first by the same name is in Steamboat Springs. Or maybe I read Telluride.

The place gets great reviews all around. The kids love it. It's open late through the night. Interesting food and interesting drinks and the customers raved about the graciousness of the owners going out of their way to assure a great time by extending the menu and other offerings.

I wanted to try it so I went there and bummed out because they'd be closed for hours. They're located on ground floor of a new apartment building that a local woman referred to as "the snowflake building" due the white perforated balconies. And they really do look like snowflakes. Customers also rave about the interesting drinks that they concoct, based on a single alcohol mixed with a variety of other mixes, so you choose your mix.

Mistake. You choose a jam or preserve.

They start you out with a bag of popcorn. And a chess board is set up at the entrance. Several reviewers mentioned that, although of no interest to me. The platters are unusually long with unusual food items that customers really enjoy. They say so on all the review sites.

They're located near Speer and I-25, two major thoroughfares through town. Very close to the highway, but due to shifting angle of streets a bit confusing, the actual address is the name of an Indian tribe, Tejon, or something similar. Turns out to be Navajo, and you don't expect that. Their parking situation was dreadful the Sunday I went there. I know the area is called Highland. There are Spanish murals all over the walls that separate the highway.

I found them a few weeks ago by searching [denver, new restaurants] and they came out on top.

Now, that's quite a lot of search parameters to find them again, knowing the the name is annoyingly useless for search, don't you think?


Please agree that "There"  has be the stupidest f'n name that a restaurant could ever be named, short of 'The" or  "A" or 'And."

I spent 45 minutes trying to find the place again using all the Google fu I could muster, Google Earth, Google images, all the rest. Going down lists of new hotspot, new restaurants, new places to go, I became so cross that I began hoping the place had burned down already and in the mood to burn it down myself.

At this point I'm so angry I'm not sure I want to try them again and I don't care how good they are, how interesting, or special or how much other people like it. What an incredibly stupid name. And WHY don't they come up in searches anymore after being up front so short a time ago? I'm baffled.

storm with flashes.

This was last night, a right proper storm with thunder and fantastic lightning. A downpour. I set up the tripod with wide-angle lens and the darn thing missed all the good ones. I adjusted the setting from A, (aperture hold and calculate shutter speed) to M (manual) and then it began picking up flashes. By then no strikes occurred directly in front of the camera. Still, it's interesting, at least it is to me.

I'll get this down eventually. Even though wide-angle, the range is constricted to an area between the building's two wings and the floor above that form a window of viewing. The strike must occur inside the widow. And I saw with my own eyes a few fantastic strikes that the camera did not capture and would have made great pics had the shutter release been activated. But it wasn't.

And that made me go all, WTF?

I think the difficulty I'm having explains why the strike finders get such mixed reviews on Amazon. It does take a good deal of practice. The camera setting must be just so or else the effort doesn't work. It's been an interesting project.

Trump lands in Mexico

Washington Post: U.S. presidential candidate Donald Trump landed here in his private jet Wednesday for a hastily arranged meeting with Mexican President Enrique Peña Nieto, according to local media reports, marking Trump’s first formal international trip as the Republican nominee to a country where he is broadly despised for his vilification of illegal immigrants.

No word of a gun fight yet... stay tuned.

Mutualism symbiosis

garden of delight.

Delightful mess is more true. It occurred to me later, the little girl pressing 7 in the elevator two floors above mine, that it could be that this is what interested her mother looking down at it and caused her to hold the elevator for unreasonably long. They could have shot up. That was the thing to do, but instead waited for me to hobble down the entire hallway. It would have made more sense for me to call another elevator, it would have been there in seconds. She wanted to introduce herself and she did. Her name is Amelia. I forget the child's name.

It's careless as possible. Nearly random. The nurseries had limited offering the day I went shopping for plants and I didn't care to keep going back. This was a one shot deal. Save for the bulbs ordered online not offered at the shops around here. They are plants that I know will work in this area. Things that I learned from Wade's funeral reception at his little house near the center of town, going by street numbers numerically, were it a target it'd be in the red bullseye very close to 0 and 0. An unexpected sight that surprised everyone of us that day and especially inspired me. Wade was far more careful than I am and far more knowledgeable too. My attempt is careless and it's still the best thing around. Honestly, no other balcony comes close to this. And it's all because of Wade. And women especially appreciate the effort. While men generally think,"eh."

misadventures and morning light

I didn’t want to fall asleep but sleep overtook me. I saw shifting faces, real and recalled from distant past from very many places and times that surely have aged by now, and several unrecognized people slipping and sliding past each other as kaleidoscope images and nothing to connect. I awoke right away disappointed at falling asleep still grasping at what I just saw but with nothing to snag. I’m disappointed at falling asleep and having it slip off like that, I’m disappointed with my own mind, just poof and a story is gone. What a bummer.

Without getting up, no rolling over no shifting or lifting my head I’m dropped off again. A continuation of what I was doing IRL except a lot more complex. IRL a new file is created and some 100 or so photos adjusted in Photoshop wrongly dragged down to the new file for temporary holding. The original RAW files reprocessed and the adjustments going straight into the original file after reprocessing by their assigned numbers taking the places of the ones that I moved. A clean and straightforward way to handle that situation to correct best as possible. The dream version reviewed all that and made a huge mess of the files making the task much more complex, dividing the original RAW files unnecessarily into groups and creating new files to capture the adjustments to the point that I kept getting lost in the confusion of RAW and originally processed with reprocessed files that I created. I woke up thinking, “Well that was pointless. I did it the best way previously IRL” 

Awake again, shifted my body and dropped off again. And I’m in my family home. I am teenage now. The place is brightly lit and filled with life, my family members coming and going. Both parents alive and quite active themselves. Each of us more as our spiritual selves, finding ourselves in the same place but that is only a location where each of us is advancing our own individual interest. They are not conflicting interests, just intersecting at the location my father provided. The home is merely the loci or foci where each of us pursues our own choices. The vibe is completely different than IRL My father’s personality is not predominating, not controlling us, rather each of us pushing, forcing, our individual direction, seven lines that all intersect at the point of that house, our home. There is not conflict, the home is shown by its vibrations as similar to an airport where widely varying interests happen to intersect at the place that my father provided while his own interest is equal to my mother’s and to all five of their children. My parents are airport builders and providers, themselves pilots of their own lives.

My mother intends on traveling somewhere and she asks who would like to join her. One sister goes with her, they are like minded their interest in this coincide. and I decide to join in another vehicle. It’s not clear why it was appropriate for two vehicles. Just accepted. She’s leaving immediately and distressfully with no actual plan. No map. No consideration or planning whatsoever. Just go. I’m trying to pack and to plan for contingency and to anticipate everything that will be needed. I know in advance with my cash and my cards I can buy my way out of any mess I’m dragged into but I must at least have my wallet to do that. Do I have enough t-shirts? Underwear? Clothing? Shoes? Cell phone? Laptop, enough time to comfort my dog who's becoming anxious? I run my fingers through her soft fur and talk to my dog, lying to her that I’ll return in five minutes. My dog doesn’t trust what I’m saying. She wants to accompany me. Cash? Cards? I’m running all over the entire house. I’m in the basement, the first floor, the second floor bedrooms and bathroom. I’m gathering things that I’ll need. Mum and sis are in their car and ready to go. 

Where are we going anyway? Don’t we have map? Mum says, “Capital Nebraska, don’t you know where that is?” 

“No, I do not. I never heard of the place. That doesn’t even sound right.” 

“If you get lost just go to Capital Nebraska and we’ll reconnect there” How careless. I’m anguished, and thinking, “Jesus Christ you women are a couple of flakes. Nobody travels like that. You two know better than that.” My older brother senses my anguish and helps pack but doesn’t use luggage, he just carries out a laundry basket loaded with things he imagines I’ll need. He’s careless as they are. He’s helping me rush but I don’t want to rush, I want to take reasoned steps and make sure I won’t make my own trouble but none of my family is concerned with any of that. Just go. They each have more confidence than they have common sense.” And they’re off and into the darkness. 

I’m startled awake now. Thinking, our home never was that cluttered and messy. There never was crap all over the place. I thought back to how the place was in fact very well ordered but oddly how much of it was mine. I hadn’t appreciated that until just now upon waking. I created a lot of things that my parents actually used for their decoration. Odd and childish things. They accepted everything I created and actually used it. They actually liked the crap that I did just learning, just experimenting with various arts. They loved the things their kids did, and I was the most artistically inclined. And it showed. It still does show. My sibs saved all of that stuff. No matter what. They loved every bit of it and actually used it. Incongruent things. Decoupages, ceramics, objects in various and incongruent styles, plasters, drawings and paintings, all of that stuff went up and stayed up. Even a childish nativity, obviously the creation of a child, extensive and childish, goes up every year, lovingly, and faithfully, and an important part of their own expression. Even to this day. My older brother wrote that he told his grandkids if they mess with the nativity pieces he’ll break their little arms. While I’m charmed with the thought of them playing with it. No matter if pieces get broken. Not so to Barry. To him it’s more of a treasure. But it’s not. It’s actually quite stupid. I’m not so sure I’d do that myself. The dream forced me to confront that although my parents did not understand me hardly at all they still adored all things I brought into their home. All of it. And now at this late point I find all that quite extraordinary.

 Throughout I never did fully appreciate that. 

I could cry. 

Even past all that and all children well grown and creating their own families. In his final year my dad said to me in his kitchen, “It’s like that owl over there, Bobby, I just really like that owl.” I looked across two rooms at the owl just sitting quietly unobtrusively on the brick fireplace. A plaster that I poured and painted as a young boy. It looks like a real owl. “Dad, I made that thing.” 

He thought a moment trying to remember how the owl came into his house. As a boy, my dad had his own live owl that he found in a nearby park and that he build a cage for at his own parents back yard in Bethlehem. His parent’s accepted the things he dragged home too, and tolerated their son’s interests. The plaster owl reminded him of that episode, the disruption he caused by his own childhood live owl. He looked at me. “Oh. So you did.” Now that’s all past. 

And I realize we all really are like that. As humans we really are careless adventurers through life in the manner of our choices. No matter how careful our planning we cannot possibly account for all outside forces and influences, we really are winging it all the way through, from beginning to end, facing each challenge as they occur. That really is the characterization of our human existence. And this explains the interest in, say, playing cards. The game coincides with how our lives go. We really do play the hand we are given and everything devolves from that. A card game is wildly bizarre. So is real life, no matter how well or forcefully planned. Such as this bizarre election. Hillary Clinton and Democrat party could not possibly account for the sudden emergence of Trump. Everything was going so well, so excellently according to well plotted plans. Then boom Trump and all that is disrupted terribly. With Republican party left bewildered, discarded and, well, trumped. 

You couldn’t make up this shit if you tried, and if you did, it would come off as too on the nose. 

Awake again, drop off again. I’m with a group of males of various ages who I know and we decide to explore a forest that comes into our sight. A lovely copse of spaced trees with thin white trunks, cool shade, speckled light and well arranged for being a forest. We go into the trees and see beyond an open space and another stand of trees like the one we are in with human figures gathered in there. We decide to make our way toward them to see what the group is doing over there, and possibly join them. The ground is wet, then very wet, then exceedingly muddy. I have on the wrong kind of footwear for this adventure. My shoe is solidly stuck in the mud. I pull out my foot from my shoe to move forward. Turn around and pull the shoe from the mud while chiding myself for not preparing properly for such a hike as that. I know better than wear street shoes for that. In the moment it takes to recover the shoe moving water filled it with mud. Emptying out the mud from the shoe I must confront a large earthworm took up the space inside. Fast as that. So worms are desperate for safety too. The muddy worm entirely filled my shoe. It’s a big one. Getting the worm out took a good deal of effort and tugging it out I marveled at the size of the worm. This place has the biggest fastest worms ever. Pleased that it’s not a slug. I hold up the worm, amazed at its size and announce the group of explorers, “Hey! Imagine fishing with this!” The entire party of friends-explorers were amazed at its size, and well pleased at this discovery of the natural world. This is something new for the books. 

The quality of light changes. I rouse and open my eyes and look out the opened sliding glass door. Cold air is filling the room. The sun is beginning to lighten the sky. I’m cheered. I beat the sunrise again to see its magnificence happen again. My impulse is rise and set up the tripod and capture the change of light on the buildings and the mountains behind them. But I’m too lazy for that. I watch the buildings illuminate and the mountains light up and come into view. I stay put and take it all in without moving, knowing this display of natural wonder, cosmic in nature, is available to everyone who cares to watch, while enjoying my own private show, this sunrise is for me. This morning is mine.

"Clinton emailed classified information after leaving State Dept."

NY PostOn May 28, 2013, months after stepping down as secretary of state, Clinton sent an email to a group of diplomats and top aides about the “123 Deal” with the United Arab Emirates. But the email, which was obtained by the Republican National Committee through a Freedom of Information Act request, was heavily redacted upon its release by the State Department because it contains classified information.

The markings on the email state it will be declassified on May 28, 2033, and that information in the note is being redacted because it contains “information regarding foreign governors” and because it contains “Foreign relations or foreign activities of the United States, including confidential sources.”

The email from Clinton was sent from the email account — — associated with her private email server.

The email’s recipients were Deputy Secretary of State William Burns, diplomat Jeffrey Feltman, policy aide Jake Sullivan, diplomat Kurt Campbell, State Department chief of staff Cheryl Mills, and Clinton aide Huma Abedin.

The “123 Deal” was a 2009 agreement between the United Arab Emirates and the US on materials and technological sharing for nuclear energy production.

“Hillary Clinton’s mishandling of classified information was so pervasive, it continued after she left government,” Republican National Committee research director Raj Shah told The Post. “She clearly can’t be trusted with our nation’s security.”

Clinton is believed to have sent 2,101 emails that contained at least some classified information.

Candle wax scream

Despite being widely known, a mystery has surrounded the masterpiece for more than 100 years – an unknown white mark beside the distinctive figure.

While it was previously thought to be a bird dropping, researchers have now analysed the painting and discovered that the white mark is in fact wax.

"Social Justice Warrior Abuses Her Lyft Driver Over ‘Offensive’ Hula Girl Bobblehead"

HeatStreat:  A (we’re guessing) drunk turbo-feminist entered a Lyft car, and instead of quietly enjoying the ride, she decided it was best to berate the driver for five minutes over a hula girl bobblehead sitting on his dashboard.

“You thought that was adorable,” she said to him. “You didn’t think of the pillaging of, like, the continent of Hawaii.”

For the crime of insulting the “continent” of Hawaii, the Lyft driver had to endure some of the worst entitled valley girl speak that California has to offer. Finally he decided to kick her out of the car after miraculously keeping his cool through her profanity-laden rant.

WKRLEM: Misty Watercolor Memories

Been there, done that.

Tuesday, August 30, 2016


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.


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"  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."

Why did the SF QB decide to become a Muslim!

Everybody is talking about scumbag 49er QB Colin Kaeperdick deciding not to stand for the National Anthem. The current theory as promulgated by a Sports Gossip site called Terez Owens the reason is that he has converted to Islam because of his girlfriend MTV star Nessa Diab.

Ms. Diab is a vocal supporter of "Black Lives Matter" and supposedly a devout  Muslim although we don't know if her clit was clipped and I found a bunch of photos where she is not wearing a burka. So it is hard to see how she could be a devout Muslim even though she has the hate America and all it stands for down pat.

I wonder how she would do with ISIS. Maybe we should ship her and Kaeperdick over there to find out?

Rest in Peace you curly headed freak!

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Well, dear, are you ready?
Inga: Yes, Doctor.
Inga: Now? Right here?
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Yes, yes, raise the platform.
Inga: Oh. Ze platform. Oh, zat, yah, yah... yes.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein Wow. What Knockers!
Inga:: Why thank you, Doctor.

Unsavory Agents, the right kind of rebels

Right meaning political right.

Sabo strikes again with a poster of Hillary Clinton tattooed with very well done black and white picture of vulture replacing American eagle, wearing a pearl necklace and clutching roses. The fully naked body unattractively slathered with various iconography signifying corruption of every type including distasteful allusion to abortion, Persia, piles of money, devil worship, Jame Crumb moth, feminism, the numerous tattoos executed with varying degrees of skill.

He's very good as artist drawing other artist's at different levels of tattoo proficiency. Impressive as art. He sells his posters at his site, but honestly, who would want to decorate their home with political messaging? I just cannot see it. But there it is. 

Have a look. It's interesting. Very interesting. To me, anyway. You must go there to see because this is a family friendly site and we mustn't stir unwelcome trouble with AdSense.

Sabo strikes in the darkness of night. I admire that. He hits some twenty places. I'm certain he scopes out his targets beforehand, not just wandering around looking for good places to smear up adhesive for his posters. This takes planning to place them in well trafficked spots that are sure to attract attention and annoy the right people. He wants the most people possible to see them. You can see what Sabo looks like and observe his demeanor yourself by these videos that Sabo uploaded after he was visited by two agents two different times. He recorded the sessions against their disapproval.

First by two Secret Service agents who appear at his home and oddly interview him through his studio window. They seem friendly enough.

Second by FBI agents who challenge him outside his home and are decidedly more menacing.

The four agents do not look like their Hollywood representation. This is California after all. It's too warm for wearing a suit and tie. Things are different there. Sabo is hardened. He is not intimidated by their customary approach that would have softer subjects trembling. We see Sabo, let's be honest here, a real hardened asshole aware of his rights.

And that's why I like him so well. That and his artistic skill, that and his physical ability to pull all this off. I cannot do that. I cannot do any of that. So I admire it.

Having said all that, I notice on Sabo's site something completely unrelated to all this that also arrests my attention. Maybe not yours. I'll understand if/when you dismiss it.

Sabo plasters his poster over previous posters advertising some upcoming music event, some rave, or just some artist advertising themselves. Behind Sabo's poster of tatted up Hillary is another poster of a rapper, I'm presuming, possibly a DJ., the image repeated four times and far less artistic, the edge sticking out from behind the image of tatted up Hillary Clinton. The man is wearing his sunglasses positioned on top of his head and he's wearing a shirt with an image of an Egyptian hieroglyphic owl. What? A good one too. And to me and to others studying this subject that image says very clearly, "M". We actually hear the sound mmmm in our ears when we see that specific hieroglyph owl.

That is all.

You can buy this owl M shirt if you like, but what would be the point?

Google images [shirt, hieroglyphic owl]

Oh. Other versions have more hieroglyphics, the image reversed so read right to left, the direction the animals are facing, it reads "d - dj +t - st"

Most likely a musical DJ then. I bet.

human foot and lower leg = d
that type snake = J (dj, actually)
that type loaf of bread = t (feminization)
throne, stair step = Isis, st, ah-s, htm, and ws.

I cannot make any sense of dejetest. I have no idea what they're trying to convey. Especially with the larger m.

Could all that be nonsense? Some rapper thing the youngsters are up to? Some way for them to be ironic?

Yes. Come to find out. Keep digging a bit and all is revealed.

Don't Challenge Drake on Ancient Egypt -- The Cut

Drake likes the owl, and that's all, the cover of his mix-tape and he wears on this clothes. Also a symbol of his collaboration group OVOXO

He should have asked for some help from students on this subject. Or else this shirt is  knock off. I just now looked at one Yahoo group studying three Middle Egyptian hieroglyphic texts. I was surprised to see the list 753 members. I was stunned, imagining there to be only some 20 or so of us.

I am pleased to see that. It shows me I'm not just being a crackpot. There are a lot of other weird-os like me out there. I am comforted by knowing that. And better than that, they are actually worse! Wouldn't you be comforted in discovering your kindred spirits?

If the musician wanted OVOXO in hieroglyphics, that's easy enough. Any online translator can serve that up without any effort at all.

The "V" will be problematic. As with Spanish V and B and F are all voiced bilabial fricatives. So, pick either B or F, whichever little pretty picture strikes Drake's fancy. As seen, the B is a human foot, a tall sign while the F is a desert horned asp, a short and smaller sign. In design terms, it's a matter of style here. Drake likes the owl, that's all there is to it. Nothing more to discuss really, I expect the snake will have more appeal but it must be placed in the center of the space for it and not at the bottom or else graphically it will appear strange (the F snake means a lot of other things too having to do with paternity and distinguishing between the bits of helping verbs, all rather technical to Egyptian grammar that's as messy as English irregulars) Best stick with the foot sign. It's grammatically a lot more simple. But Drake is not concerned with proper Egyptian grammar.

Egyptian hieroglyph signs denote consonant sounds not vowels, and OVOXO is 3/5 vowels not present in Egyptian hieroglyphs. Although there are several near-vowel vocalizations that do have signs, but the phoneme "O" is not one of them. We cannot specify "O" but we can come a bit close to it.

The online hieroglyph servers will show the sign of a rope tether for cattle with an actual value of "wa" another choice is the chick with a value of "W" sometimes "U" as in the name "Tut."

See, this transliteration from the sounds of one language into another is not so simple as appears. Not the least bit direct. But anything that we do will be better than what the t-shirt designers have already done. At least ours will have some effort behind it.

The "X" sound is represented "K+S" while proper Egyptologists might prefer one of the guttural H sounds not shown on any of the simple online hieroglyphic servers.

Reading left to right, then, for poster behind Sabo's tatted up Hillary faces left, and going for something graphically attractive in mind we can have


Unless you prefer an F instead of a B
and prefer K+S instead of the harsh guttural H.


Unless you prefer the chick W/U then, 

As self-appointed designer for Drake's more appropriate hieroglyphic t-shirts, this is what I offer for OVOXO if that is what Drake wanted.

Weiner, official trailer

A tweet by National Review was noticed in Instapundit sidebar, now disappeared, that linked to National Review. A site that I do not bother reading. The author Stephen Miller is fascinated by this new documentary on Anthony Weiner, fascinated by how the film producers imagine they are assisting Weiner's political rehabilitation, fascinated by Weiner's bizarre behavior throughout, and especially fascinated by how very calculated Huma's few moments onscreen.

I'm a bit fascinated by Miller's fascination.

National Review is a site dedicated to seeing Hillary Clinton elected and having blame for that fall to Trump supporters. For reasons unstated they're dedicated in maintaining status quo with a faint preference for Republican executive branch but with very little difference. Reading through comments to the article confirms this perception.

The official trailer is posted there. But not here, I wouldn't do that to you. It's awful all the way through. And extremely annoying besides. Each moment is cringing. Every single second, compressed annoyance. Anthony Weiner really is awful, he cannot escape his own behavior. Huma's attachment to him is inexplicable but that doesn't stop all observers, and I mean all observers, from offering their own explanation anyway, ranging from presumed size of Weiner's penis to Huma gaining access to the White House through Hillary Clinton. Oddly, throughout all this, through the film and through the discussion in comments, it is Huma who comes through most sympathetically.
Everything she does, every expression aimed at the camera she treats almost as an intruder, is calculated, measured, and done in the interest of protecting not only her young son, but her boss and the future Democratic presidential nominee, Hillary Clinton.
The whole time I read through Stephen Miller's reaction to this obnoxious film and his mentions of Clinton's camp keeping tabs on Weiner's erratic behavior expecting the next mess for them I was thinking, "We know all this already. We internalized all this well long ago. There is no pleasure, no enjoyment, no fascination in seeing it all again like a video file stuck on repeat. It's annoying, extremely so, and not the least bit fascinating. How can anyone find it so?

Sensible people pursue pleasant interests like gardening, photography, cooking, drawing and the like, not sitting through obnoxious cringe inducing political films. Sensible people become anxious viewing psychological disorder acted out, observing power struggles of worked up psychological cases.

All this is my excuse for digging up from the remote past (in political terms) a GIF made a long time ago and already shown, just to get this nonsense out of my system. To purge him, and her and herself, but here they all are again, vexing us doing the same things again, for it's not just Anthony Weiner who is stuck. Clearly, it's all of them stuck in their ways, Anthony, Huma, Hillary, her supporters, Stephen Miller, and every last one of his commenters there, all still very stuck.

Go on, have a look. Torture yourself if you like, the way Stephen Miller likes. But I prefer my own take from very long ago. It's more entertaining and a lot less annoying. To me.

I don't know where this photo is taken. When Anthony was profiled in some magazine that I now forget the name of, I was struck by its impressive Spartan design better than any college dorm that I've seen. Most likely a Washington pied-à-terre, seemed too bare, too nakedly college level to actually abide in full time. The few rooms had no decoration whatsoever, nothing comfortable in them. Except, as I'm recalling now, a single political poster. As worked up loyal Democrats do. Their only art. 

Now I'm sad again. 

Come to think of it, these flowers shown above could have been brought in just for the shoot, to add spots of color to that profile intended to humanize the nearly non-human. It is how they think. "This place needs a few pops. Get a pillow in here and order some flowers." During the documentary covered by Miller at National Review, the filmmakers keep adding suggestions to help Anthony come across better, they know what they're doing while Anthony does not, and Anthony Weiner keeps telling them to shut up.

YouTube, Weiner documentary.

National Review (with the same video) 

(Jesus Christ, you two, talk about stepping on a guy's post! There was nothing there scheduled when I started this thing. I had to leave momentarily. I ate an entire pizza all at once last night and its remnant portion came out today the same way. BLAM!)

Having a bad monday: Weiner and Huma separate and the Daily News breaks ties

Huma Abedin separates from Anthony Weiner after latest sexting report.

According to the Daily Beast, Anthony Weiner is no longer going to be writing columns for the New York Daily News.

Greatest Drudge Headline Ever!

Drudge posts the greatest headline ever after Huma dumps Weiner when he sexts another dic pic. This one had his kid in the photo! Holy crapola. Heres the photo:

That's the girl he was texting and his kid in the photo. What a Dad!

Here is the story from the NY Post. I don't want to cut and paste it because I am laughing too hard.

I know that Chip and Lem have posts as well so lets all join in! Enjoy!

"New Yorkers are having less sex"

"NO sex and the city: latest annual health survey shows"
According to the latest Community Health Survey, New Yorkers are having less sex, with a surprising number of young adults abstaining.

Results of the survey were reported by the New York Post.

The annual study compiled by the city's Health Department shows that about one in three adults between the ages of 18 and 24 have not had sexual intercourse in 2014.
2014... Does it take that long to put the numbers together? and more to the point, what do you think is causing this apparent trend?

"Can you use this photo, please and thank you"

"Woman offers media more flattering photo to replace mugshots after Sydney jailbreak"

The police statement alerting the public to her escape was accompanied by two images they had taken of the young woman, wearing a glum expression and a red blanket over her shoulders.

Both the photos and the statement were shared to Sydney’s 7 News Facebook page.

Almost immediately, Sharp commented on the post from her personal profile with a more flattering image of herself and a simple request. 

roasted jalapeño closeup

Look at that. What an amazing combination.

They don't even care that you consume all those seeds. Like they don't care when you eat tomato seeds either. Or cucumbers seeds and the like, they just leave the seeds in there. And they don't care what happens after you eat them. 

We could end up with things growing inside of us somewhere in there. That's what I thought before kindergarten. Who knows? Mum said, "Hold still! Let me clean out your ears. Or you'll have potatoes grow out of them." What a freaky liar. She had me totally faked out. I believed her. I had to. 

 Or if they weren't fast enough for that we could end up introducing invasive species like Johnny Appleseed did carelessly evacuating all over the place without a thought to native species. 

As if we're no more thoughtful than animals. 

That won't happen with these jalapeños. For one the chiles are green so unripe and their seeds not fully formed so their seeds are not viable. I learned this because I planted some. And secondly they are roasted and the intense heat denatures them. Two strikes against the seeds growing no matter how rich the fertilizer that accompanies their random deposit. 

All that is a joke. 

I want to point out this pizza is so good. It tastes unusually hot even though jalapeños are quite low on the Scoville scale, just a bump above Poblanos that are mild and two bumps above Bell peppers that have no heat to measure, and all three types are picked before they ripe or else they'd be red, and they lose some of their heat when they do.

That's why the are best roasted. Nobody likes unripened things. 

And this pizza, so simple, just 4 elements on top of the bread is the best that I've tried around here with jalapeño. Because they roast fresh chile peppers while all the other places I've tried so far use the kind that are pickled and that is worse with additional vinegar and just lazy. 

Denver Pizza Company, three short blocks away, kudos to them for doing things right.

The earlier reddit discussion asks for your golden rule that you live by and one answered "under promise and over deliver" and so far, these are millennials I'm talking about here, all gorgeous young people, they've all adopted that philosophy. As a matter of survival. I said so, and they smile broadly. If they promise the real expected time they'd have to deal with complaining customers. "You said you could be here in twenty minutes!" While promising forty-five minutes to an hour and accepting the terms then we're delighted when they show up in twenty. Simple psychology that works very well. Clever, these young people. Every one, to a person, that I come into contact and speak with is utterly delightful and hardworking and fun, and often treated unfairly.

Sunday, August 28, 2016

Running on Empty : Jackson Browne

Writer: Browne
Producer: Browne
Released: Jan. '77, Asylum
17 weeks; No. 11
The Running on Empty album was Browne's grand experiment: a set of all-new songs recorded onstage, in hotel rooms and on the tour bus. The title track was actually written while Browne was driving to the studio each day to make The Pretender. "I was always driving around with no gas in the car," he said. "I just never bothered to fill up the tank because — how far was it anyway? Just a few blocks."
Appears on: Running on Empty (Elektra)

Mayo says best if used by Mayo

Link to source

What is your golden rule?

Reddit Top comments....
mine is, under-promise, over-deliver.

The customer is not always right. But they are always the customer.

If you're gonna break the rules, only break one rule at a time.

You can't give what you don't have. Improve/help/love yourself properly, because only by doing so (or at least trying to) will you truly gain the potential to affect others and make the world a better place.

At least think about the arguments the side you are opposing has.

To never make fun of or criticize someone's job. If they are working hard to provide for themselves and their family, then that is something that should be admired and respected no matter how unglamorous the job may be.

Be a leader, not a boss.
I'm reminded of a Synova post:  "I could have been her friendly acquaintance but she wouldn't allow it. She didn't have any of those."