Saturday, September 15, 2018

Florence may leave now

We have been very fortunate - very little rain, no wind, and not even many branches to pick up out of my yard. All in all it has been a very mild hurricane. I doubt if a half inch of rain has fallen at my place. But enough is enough and I will be happy to see this storm leave.

The sky this evening:

Update - here is the radar picture as of 2:45 Sunday morning:

That certainly looks dramatic - perhaps my entrenched trench will become trenchant after all. Depending on rainfall amounts we may be in for some serious trouble this upcoming week.

Ancient grains; emmer, einkorn and spelt

You'll be interested to know the earliest wheat species are diploid genetic arrangement, the later species are tetraploids, and the historical latest are hexaploid through mixing up species. Generally, they're higher in protein but lower in glutens, higher in minerals, more flavorful, but worse for bread. They don't rise very well. But they make great crackers and flatbread.

Here is a very long video with more than you'll care to know and with an incredibly annoying overdub of "muted" and "unmuted" throughout. Apparently shutting down the last speaker and queuing up the next. If you can stick with it, and if you have the slightest interest, then it's worth a listen. They have very good information, interesting too, but I suspect most people won't care, and they go very slowly.

I bought emmer and einkorn one time but I didn't know what I was getting. I didn't know what to expect, I didn't know what I was doing so I wasn't impressed.

This man does an experiment using both for sourdough bread. He too is incredibly slow, and he measures everything to the gram. He's more science than intuitive or artistic, and he goes through each step in slow motion. I was all skip, skip, skippity-skip skip through the whole thing. And he uses something called Celsius, some kind of crazy heat-measuring system where water boils at 100° and water freezes at 0°. Pffft. How bizarre is that? Everyone knows water boils at 212° and freezes at 0°. It's logical. GAWL! He's like some kind of fer'ner or something. So his logic is obviously suspect.

Finally! Something interesting. Kids pretending to be Egyptians making bread. They're coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs but they're fun to watch having fun, as kids do, and they get the job done. I think. They edit the end so we don't see the result. The critical point and they just drop it. Kids. They're adorable. The white kid looks like a ghoul. They put eye makeup on their eyelids.

The thing is, my brother and his wife called yesterday to tell me Alona received the Ukraine cookbook that I sent her. She reviewed scanning the book, what she saw in it and what she intends to do. Then my brother took over and discussed his new Keto diet. 

He has a pattern of latching onto new ideas and going full bore with extreme enthusiasm into philosophy, religion, money management and diet. His enthusiasm is always for a personality behind the economic scheme. He's easily influenced by bullshit artists if their spiel matches his interest, and this new guy fits the pattern, successful in business otherwise, hooked onto the idea decades ago, gave up the old thing for his new consuming interest, wrote a book, holds seminars, discusses his own past excessively and his brilliant epiphany that he's indulging full force, his self-taught program that brought success for him that he wants to share from his empathy for travails of humanity, his decades of research, so that coming into the fad late he puts himself at the beginning, and contriving an entire line of available products from pill capsules to fully arranged diet programs, even prepared food and prepared meals. All of which a person can do themselves without an intervening personality profiting by their organizing this fad information. This must be the fourth or fifth such person my brother has described to me and they all fit the same pattern. Precisely. He wants me to be enthusiastic as he is. He wants my approval of his approval.

He told me that he and his wife spent over a month in Ukraine where they both overate the type things they avoid in America, sweets, things made with grain, everyday, in overabundance. And they both lost weight.

He didn't mention they both probably did a lot more walking around. 

They both felt better. Their cases of heartburn, disrupted digestive system, gas, unhealthy poo, burping, stomach aches, pains, all evaporated. 

Back to the U.S. and all those troubles returned immediatley. His wife is especially susceptible to all American wheat products. Not exactly celiac disease, not diabetes, just a good deal of trouble digesting American wheat. Both of them blame GMOs. 

We see in the videos that humans have been modifying wheat grain genetics since the beginning of time. We have the genetic proof of what humans have done. Lineages are traced by region. Movements of people and movements of wheat seeds are actually being tracked by genetic modifications. But now that Americans have applied actual gene splicing to evoke the best results in productivity and resistance to disease, if not in actual flavor, suddenly genetic modification is Frankenfood. Suddenly genetic manipulation is hazard. Suddenly genetic manipulation causes all kinds of body malfunctions. 

And they know what they know so shut up. 

That does it. They're moving from America because of its food. 

All food is better elsewhere.

You can buy unmodified grains food if like. Mill it yourself if you store it so long the bugs grow in it. But it's going to cost you. That's the real cost of archaic grain. The strains are less productive and they're more difficult to mill and its production occurs on small scale so you pay for all that. 

On Amazon, the lowest reviews for emmer flour and einkorn flour complain about bugs and having to throw it away. 

People buy it because they like to put the grain whole into soup and salads. They generally do not bake with it. I didn't see anyone split the grain with modern high-protein flour to compensate for ancient grain low rise. Seems that would defeat the whole point of using ancient strains. 

If you don't make very much baked products maybe the cost is worth a try.


Ptahhotep Maxim 21 and 22

Two maxims for the price of one.

That is to say "free."

Boy, we sure are learning now. The same phrasing is repeated, the same definitions of groupings drilled like nobody's business. The same material handled repeatedly, first copied character for character, and that takes a good deal of cognition along the way, our minds are working with each character, active engagement right there. Then arranged in Photoshop as it is in the book except in the reverse direction so we're seeing it frontward and backward. Then the whole thing again with their sounds, then the whole thing again for their groupings, then the whole thing again for their English translations, then the whole thing again at the granular level for each word, for each phrase and grouping, then again for the notes that clarify a few of the more difficult things that don't make sense without them, and tell us what experts think of the phrases. Nobody does this. Rather, they read the book, zip, in both eyeballs, processed then evaporated out the back of their heads. But our method is drilled into our thick skulls like a jackhammer and embedded there. Forever.  And that's why we'll get an A on the imaginary test and everyone else gets C and D and they miss more than they get. We get it all and bend the curve on them, having fun with the material as we go.

We can go to a museum and gaze upon 4,000 year old objects with writing all over the place and go, "I know what that says." We'll read it better, more accurately, than the museum curators do.

We're over the hump with the maxims and moving along steadily. There are 36 maxims with 7 conclusions. They're mostly short like this; about 10 lines each and every line fairly short. It's all more the same phrasing, more of the same drilling. More of the same stuff that we already know.

Maxim 21 is about close friends.

Content your intimates with what has come to you,
for it has come to one whom the god blesses.
As for him who fails to content his intimates,
one says, "He is a stingy ka."
What might happen cannot be known:
he should think of tomorrow.
The proper ka is the ka that one can become content by.
When occasions of blessings happen,
intimates are the ones who say, "Welcome!"
Contentment is not fetched to harbor,
but intimates are fetched when there is ruin.

Maxim 22 is about gossip.

You should not repeat gossip
about a speech you have not heard:
it is the mark of belly-heat.
Repeat a speech that is seen, not heard,
when the one it belongs to is entirely out of the discussion.
Look, your interlocutor knows all too well,
for robbery is decreed when it is done.
The instigator will customarily do it out of hate:
look, it is a nightmare that ought to be covered over.

Friday, September 14, 2018

Evening update

The storm continues, but it is taking it easy around these parts. Folks down east are in bad shape - my friends who bailed out and drove up here are glad they did - while their house is still above water, power is out and many of their neighbors have water in their homes or are trapped by rising water. Their town has been all over the news and my friends were able to point out local landmarks in the news videos.

We are getting some rain right this minute but as is often the case with hurricanes the rain comes and goes as the rain bands move through the area.

Here is a picture I took just before sunset:

The clouds were racing by and the sun broke through for just a moment.

Joe diGenova: Walls closing in on Obama DOJ officials

This video is a keeper. A lot of great quotes, such as this one about James Comey, by Joe diGenova, former US attorney for the District of Columbia:

"He's going down. The dirty cop is gonna go down."


Morning sky:

It is windy and rainy, it was hard to get a nonblurry picture due to how much the trees were blowing around and the speed at which the clouds are moving. Things are picking up out there.

The eye of the storm is just about to hit Wilmington. We will probably get wind and rain for the next day or two, but the worst of it will miss us with any luck.


I bought my sister-in-law a cookbook. I hope she likes it.

It gets good reviews. The bad reviews are stupid.

One so-so review complained about the Kindle version dropping a recipe that she wanted to try; pelmeni. What a shame. Now she is helpless without any other resources to compensate for her loss. Just gone. Forever. And it's such a shame there is no other place to turn to for help. If only someone would invent something that could fill the gap, if only there was something like those ancient libraries we keep hearing about, or perhaps some online version of that. Oh well. Maybe in our next life.

Pelmeni, pierogi, tortellini, ravioli, potstickers, Chinese dumplings, pffft, they're all the same things.

When I was seven years old I loved LOVED LOVED Chef Boiardee ravioli. I could eat a whole can of them not even cooked. I never did, but I could. I was sitting there eating them and thinking, oh man, these things are brilliant! What an invention. What a world. What a world. What a wonderful time to be alive.

Then I had a real ravioli and my mind expanded to embrace all of Italy. Truly. They are masters of the culinary universe. And then I tasted the Chef Boiardee ones again and thought, oh Jeeze, these things are crap. There outta be a law. Italy should sue us for defamation.

A fancy-pants restaurant very nearby here, just a short walk away, and attached to the Art Museum serves truffle egg yolk ravioli that is to LIVE for. And I mean it. It is the perfect balance of simple ingredients. Plus their outstanding bread. If only I could drink wine then it would be really perfect. And nobody ever serves Kool-Aid. Have you noticed that? I have to settle for iced tea or something carbonated. Hang on. I got pictures of that.

*rustles through photos*

Here they are.

I like these girls.

Step one: Dye your hair red.

Step two: Put on your little black dress for working with flour.

Step three: Call your twin to come over to do the same thing.

Ruth Ginsburg

She seems nice.

Click over to YouTube and read through the comments. Ew, Lordy. People are ugly sometimes. 

Thursday, September 13, 2018

News from Waterworld

In my area people have been driven to panic buying - there is no gasoline available, no bottled water, heck, I was just in the Wal*Mart and there wasn't a banana in the place. Yes, we have no bananas, I have never seen that before.

The eye of the storm will hit the coast later, as near as I can tell, and we just started getting rain from outer rain bands at 8:00 PM sharp. It is heavy rain but not steady.

My friends who live on a river down near the coast decided, after much hesitation, to leave their house which is a few blocks from the waterfront. They own a house right down the road and so we did some visiting and galavantin' and wood working and sittin' around visiting, which is what they call it around here. The weather was warm, a bit breezy, there were some clouds, even some blue sky visible. Not the worst hurricane I ever saw, that's for sure.

But the interesting part, at least to me about this storm's track is that rather than the initial forecast that it was going to run straight at us, it has looped south of us and then it will run west of us. At least that is the current projection. I am okay with that.

In any case, that's the first report from hurricane alley.

Last evening's sunset:

We went for a walk and my dog was keeping an eye out for a hurricane:

Afternoon sky:

Evening sky:

It's not even raining now, but then again, the storm has not yet come ashore.

More as conditions warrant.

One more thing?

"I am so glad I am here with you Robert." 
"That's nice Pat. But you should know I am not into the fish taco." 
"Well this is 1972 Robert. We can order what ever you want." 
"This is San Fransisco Pat. What do you think I want?" 
"Oh. Sausage?" 
"Yes. And one more thing." 
"Yes. What can I do for you?" 
"Please stop touching my tits."

#Me Too

Whose that Secretariat?

Whose that Secretary?

Don't cheat and to to Youtube.

It looks like Jeanie is getting a little jelly?

Eleanor Rigby, ASL

I recalled an old song, ancient, actually:

All the little people, where do they all come from?"

All the little people, where do they all belong?"

Of course that's wrong. It's lonely people not little people.

That would have been helpful for an intro to the next Ptahhotep maxim about friends. I'll use it anyway. Let it be wrong. No one cares.

This video is blessedly short. Shorter than my critique of it. She's very good showing the song. So what is it about her handwriting that's bugging me?  Why am I so fussy? I hate myself sometimes.

Her "people" sign goes straight down as the "personification" sign does, as a double karate chop indicating the torso, but her style for "people" does properly use two "P" hand shapes. Her style turns "people" into a "person."

Handspeak: [people asl] Signing Saavy [people asl]

"People is two "P" hand shapes bouncing around. You can go simply boink boink with two "P" shapes, for 4 people, or you can rotate them around like peddling a bicycle, to show a crowd, but when you go straight down slowly outlining the torso of a single body then you turn people into a singe person.

Two open flat hands as two karate chops going straight downward means "er" in English added to a word to change it to a person doing the thing that preceded the sign, such as "paint" + "er" or "teach" + "er".  It's used a lot. It's a very useful sign. An enclitic particle, to we grammarian types. <--- improper grammar.

Europeans do the same thing more eloquently with one hand, thumb and index finger moved straight downward, outlining a human torso. I like their way better than ours.

"Eleanor Rigby" is shown as a big fat "E, R" instead of it being spelled rapidly as a Selectric typewriter. God, those things were cool. I loved those typewriters. They gave me the idea of holding my wrist in the air firmly in place as the typewriter's ball, rigidly as the typewriter does, and spelling words rapidly as that like b-r-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-p so fast and so clearly it makes your head spin and with no doubt what was just spelled because each letter is perfectly formed so that it reads like something typed, Jeff taught me that, and done just like that interchangeable ball typewriter.

Jeff was a mind-blowing speller. Best of all the deaf. Clear as a bell. Perfect hand forms. No slurring. And his actual handwriting is also textbook perfection. He's a veritable schoolbook calligrapher.

But she doesn't do that. She supposes you already know the name. "E,R" for "Eleanor Rigby" is  like the K-Mart thin textile version of jeans compared with Detroit Denim quality of jeans.

Similarly, "Father McKenzie" is shown as the old sign for "preacher" the one that refers to the white collar. And she adds a reversed "M" sign going back the opposite direction from the neck band to substitute for "McKenzie." So you must know the name "Father McKenzie" in the lyrics to know what she's doing. She does not say "Father" + spell "McKenzie" for her there is not enough time. She cannot spell clearly fast enough. So she gives us the Play-Doh version instead. This is why I'm so bugged all the time.

"Preach" is an Obama tautologic sign, the Chef Boyardee "fine" sign, an "F" hand configuration tapped twice in the air as if delicately annoyingly pontificating. For "Preacher" then, the "er" personification sign is added. Here she uses this sign for "sermon" that nobody hears.

So then, "Father McKenzie writing a sermon that nobody hears" is shown (old school) "preacher" white collar, backward M from chest right to chest left, a wholly idiosyncratic signal substituting for McKenzie, writing a "preach" that nobody hears. It's goofy AF and and that's why I'm bugging a little bit as I watch it.

"No one is safe" where "Safe" is conflated with "Save." The signal given means "save" as in save up to buy a bicycle, or save something for the future. Tapping coins into a purse, similar to the sign for "potato" that indicates the eyes of a potato. "Safe" as in unharmed is near to the sign for "Liberate."
Signing Saavy [safe, not harmed].

See how English synonyms and homonyms can goof you up in other languages? The concept of save something for the future is not the same thing as safe from harm, and both of those English words have various meanings that are shown differently as signs. Save a rescue animal is a different idea from a safety box with a combination lock. She shows us literally, "no one saves (up)". She's thinking in English words and not thinking in concepts, not thinking about people being safe and how to show that concept. This is why I'm so fussy. In hieroglyphs they'd be completley different signs.

She shows us "join" for "belong." "Join" as the links of a chain, the linkage coming together from opposite sides, the joining of them being the thing, while "belong" is that same linkage shoved forward hard as an established linkage, really belonging, unbroken when shaken; it's a not so subtle difference using the same hand configurations. For her there is no difference between them, so there is no difference in conceptualizations and if I didn't already know the lyrics then I wouldn't know if she's saying "Where do they all join?" or "Where do they all belong?" Good Lord, I'm fussy.

Good background. Well chosen. Very nice. Plain with no distractions.

Bad neck scarf, too distracting for the essential area of signs.  We translator types avoid all distracting clothing and jewelry.

Technically, very bad text over content, the English lyrics are covering the lower portion of signs. Poor camera setup that doesn't show the waist and causes the conflict of text added over the lower signs.

Thick, slow signing. Like piping text on a cake with a big fat fitting laying down thick layer of cursive writing with all the loops closed, or a giant bread pretzel that's closed to a huge lump of hard bread. "Past" for example. Used in the phrase "where a wedding has been"; a backward flick over the shoulder. We learn it as pushing something behind us over our shoulder. She flicks her "Past" downward like tossing a tissue over her shoulder or shooing a fly from her shoulder.  You'll notice the CODA signers in the video for "Somebody That I Used to Know" video does the same sign like an open hand brushing past the side of her face backward, flicked twice, a beautiful way of showing "something back there." Not fully formed, not shoving something back, just chopping something back there. The two styles show the difference between someone who uses the language everyday and speaks as if talking to someone they know, contrasted by someone just now learning the language from a class or a book, using textbook style and not getting it exactly right. Her flicking down back there "Past" for English "has been" bugs me while Azora's brush by the face "Past" delights me with her breezy expert insouciance.

She's beautiful when she smiles.

And tie back your g.d. interfering hair.

9-11 eagle

It was a crow dressed up in an eagle suit. And nobody mentions the salmon tossed into the aerial. 

Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Chrystia Freeland's awesomely weird negotiating techniques

Chrystia Freeland thinks that Canada's special relationship and its propinquity to the US means it can protect its market from US competition while using US market to pass along Chinese subsidized cheap steel. She seeks special exemptions from US negotiators while slipping out of negotiations to participate in Trump is a dick symposium. Taking on the Tyrant, see video.

Then back from that symposium Freeland speaks to the press about 9-11 and our special relationship, and friends help friends. Comments to this video on YouTube are brutal from both Canadians and from Americans.

What kind of special treatment does Chrystia Freeland think she can expect from the US negotiators after pulling a stunt like that?

The sense of entitlement is astounding.

Here's something mental only vaguely related, barely tangental.

The maps and the globes that put north at the top are purely European conceit. In space, there is no up and there is no down. Earth sails along its orbit irrespective of our maps and our globes. For all intents and purposes we can very well put the south pole at top and do all our calculating and navigating from that perspective.

But politically, the farther north you go, the more intense the sense that you can ride the entities south of you like a pony. Conversely, this is the attitude that South American project onto us, they think that we think we can ride them to our unique success and they resent us for it.

When you do turn the globe upside down, there's hardly anything at all at the top. Just points of land masses, while the weight of the continents goes to the bottom. It's weird-looking. But that's how they'll have their Mercator maps and their globes.

[south up map orientation]

Speaking of cheap Chinese steel. 

I had to do my pickles in two batches because I don't have a pot large enough. 

So I looked at steel pots on Amazon. Some large pots are surprisingly inexpensive. Generally, they get good reviews. Except some people are unhappy with their purchase. I read all the negative reviews for all the pots that I'm interested in, and to a person, (except one) complained about the quality of steel. It's supposed to be stainless steel, but it stains. It's supposed to be nickel-free, but it has nickel in it. It's supposed to be coated with porcelain but there are uncovered areas. The steel comes dented, and the dents and imperfections rust. The steel exudes a black and gray tarnish into the food. The steel imparts unpleasant flavor into the food. The glass top shattered on first use. The metal lid doesn't fit properly. The pot dances around on the stove. The steel is so thin that it burned in areas. One pot melted and ruined the burning element. They're ALL made with Chinese steel. Even the ones that say "made in the USA." 

So I bought one. A rather large and heavy and somewhat expensive one. One from a well known reliable company. We'll see what's wrong with it. 

Speaking of pickles, I gave away two jars today. One of them I drove out to Cheesman Park and the other was right here nearby. Two people actually said that they'd wanted to try my sweet ginger pickles. Even though they're shriveled due to my pickle ineptitude. The wrinkly little things are delicious. And crunchy. And intense. I cannot keep off them. Soon they'll be gone and I can make a new batch with new knowledge of what not to do. 

Fermented sauerkraut

The jars are overstuffed. But who cares?

I wanted to fit the full 3LB cabbage into two 1Qt. jars.

I followed what one of the Green Brother said in his video; salt the cabbage 3Tbsps to 5LB of cabbage. But I only had 3LB of cabbage so that took a bit of algae bra.

3/5 x 3/3  =  9/15 ÷ 5/5 = 1.8/3

Maths! Innit.

The cabbage being stuffed to the brim is a problem. The fermentation is fast. The next day the jars were burped and both jars fizzed and spewed brine through their caps as I twisted them off messing the jars and the counter and my hands. But that's how fast the fermentation goes. Faster than sourdough starter. Faster than beer with its slow yeast.

This is eight hours. But the balloon was, er, erect in less than one hour. It's trying to snap off the jar and cabbage inside is fizzed to the brim. 

They must be burped over the sink.

Fifteen years ago I was talking to my sister about sourdough and told her the sponge produces CO2 this same way. Observably by the cap exploding off by pressure when the lid is twisted off.


Sure. You can even see it and measure it if you want. 


I thought back to university biology 200 where we did such a thing. It involved jars with stoppers and tubes curving around and displacing water to measure the activity of photosynthesis. We measured the level of water as the gas inside the tube moved the water up the tube and made notations in our little experiment notebooks in increments by the clock. 

I chose my lab partner by her virtue of beauty, but it turned out she was very smart too. But that particular day we were measuring the photosynthesis she was just totally whacked. She didn't make sense when she spoke, she was beside herself throughout, "Is it time to check?" It wasn't. She grabbed the grease pencil marker without checking the clock, without thinking and carelessly went whap with the marker, smacking the glass tube and marking it at the wrong place, grabbing her notebook in a flurry of bizarre activity and it wasn't even time for it. Not even marking the level of water properly, just a careless random mark on the tube. 

That does it. What's wrong with you? You're way of character today.

"I don't know." 

At that historic era, when your grandchildren were born in late 70's a fad was making the rounds called "biorhythms." A friend had a biorhythm calculator. He was really into it at the time. Swore by its accuracy, but I was doubtful such a thing can apply to everyone equally. You enter the date and you enter your birthdate and the calculator produces three wave calculations; green for intellectual, red for emotional, blue for physical. The tops and the bottoms of each wave are when you are at your best in each category, but the center line of each wave is critical because your body is in the in-between state of up and down. It was supposedly a way of being aware of these three states. 

I borrowed that calculator and took it to class, had her enter her birthday as she was resistant to tell me the year. Turns out that day (a few days earlier) all three of her bio-waves were at critical. Each wave intersected on a single dot at the center line. Perfectly. 

She goes, "Wow." 

But all that is irrelevant to speaking with my sister about sourdough, except for recalling it reminded me how we measured the increasing gas, by displacing water in a tube. 

But I got no scientific equipment around here such as tubes. 

What can substitute for glass tubes? What do I have that can fit over a jar and show gas being formed inside the jar?

It took a good deal of thinking to come up with the idea of a balloon. Something I can show my sister.

But I got no balloons. 

Yes I do. 

So I used what I had.

And it worked. 

And it was hilarious! 

This was after Dr. Fred's wife died and we were spending a lot of time together, going out to lunch everyday. During the day I was photographing the sourdough jar with the balloon, Fred was sitting opposite me at my dining room table with the jar between us. He thought my idea was ridiculous. I said, "No, actually the sourdough sponge is quite active right now and the balloon fills up fairly quickly. Observably."

"Well, we'll see."

The balloon is limp at the side of jar looking pathetic and wrinkled and flattened. It slowly fills with gas, plumps up, then sticks out sideways from the jar, then its angle increases from 45° to 50° to 60° filling out more as it rises to 70° then 80°. Fred and I are talking about something else entirely, our conversations were always intense, our minds were elsewhere when between us boing 90° straight up and Fred cracks up laughing because it looks exactly like a penis becoming erect and that last bouncing increment is just too funny. 

I tug the edge of the balloon and it deflates. Immediately it begins to fill again. We resume our conversation from Fred's outburst of laughter, and within ten minutes the balloon does that exact same thing again, boing, 90° straight up, and Fred cracks up all over again.

I tug at the edge of the balloon and it deflates again. Immediately it begins to fill again. We resume our conversation from Fred's outburst of laughter again, and within ten minutes the balloon does that exact same thing again, boing, 90° straight up, and Fred cracks up all over again.

And so on for up to ten iterations. It never stopped amusing Fred the exact same way each time and I must say having him laugh hysterically like that over something so silly was very good to hear and be part of. We spent the whole afternoon in deep conversation and I got some very good pictures of the jar to send to my sister that proved visually CO2 production of sourdough starter. 

And now, this is fifteen years later, I'm reading all over the place a story originating from Reuters about Cuban citizens finding new ways for multi-purposing condoms; to cast their shoreline fishing lines out farther due to restrictions placed on boats (due to defections), as children's toys, as hairdresser's ties, for producing better wine. The articles don't mention sourdough bread or sauerkraut, but it's the same idea. 

Cubans are so creative with making the most from the least. 

Kevin Hassett, Chairman of the Council of Economic Advisors

White House nerd.

His self-description, not mine.

I saw this first at the Treehouse, then at the Daily Caller then again at the Gateway Pundit, then again at Lucianne.

You can't even swing a cat around here without hitting a copy of this video.

↑ That was a cartoon by Pugh of the guy swinging a yellow cat around inside a living room and the cat going, "Again! Again!" As children do when you wear yourself out and dizzy yourself senseless swinging them upward and around as personal amusement park rides. Kids always want more.

It's a very good video. And exactly like a 202 macro economics class; boring as h-e-double X and Y axes. <--- plural of axis, not the Paul Bunyan hand tool.

Obama, in his appearances, suddenly out of the darkness to protect his withering legacy to 750 avid followers, risibly claimed Trump's economic success is the natural extension of Obama's policies trending beyond his term, that Trump inherited Obama's success; Trump didn't build that Obama did. Hassett says, "Au contraire mon mulâtre." Je voulais dire mon frère.

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

How I spent my day

I refinished the eastern red cedar (Juniperus virginiana) box a woman ordered for her 25th anniversary present for her husband. Due to fact that there is a hurricane on I drove over to her town to deliver it so she would have it before the actual anniversary. She was very pleased with it and is certain her husband will like it too. Here is what the sky looked like over there:

On my way home I drove past a friend's house and saw her tending her garden. I stopped and we had a great talk. We usually walk together but the heat has prevented that since June so it was good to see her. I took pictures of the flowers in her garden - she does great work:

Seventeen years ago.....Never forget....

For my father in law James Joseph Kelly and all of the firefighters who risk their lives....especially the ones who gave their lives on 911.....take a moment to think of them.

Yes it's a cake.

"It looks delicious."
"Yes I whipped it up for my master."
"Well I hope he appreciates how tasty it looks."
"I am talking about the cake sister. Stop staring at my tits!"

Ptahhotep Maxim 20 -- Treatment of a wife

This is the most difficult maxim so far.

The thing is, each grouping of consonant sounds can be spelled different ways using different signs that represent the same sound. Sometimes slight variations mean the same group of things and other times they mean wildly different things, and often contradictory things. Sometimes three or four different ways, other times a dozen different ways and other times up to a hundred or so different ways. I enter the consonant signs in the dictionary find feature and it takes over a hundred clicks to get through the whole dictionary and none of them match the group that I'm looking for. This maxim has that all the way through from beginning to end. Hardly anything matches what's in the dictionary I'm using.

S is interchangeable with Z
T is  interchangeable with Th
The four different H sounds are sometimes interchangeable.
So are the two D sounds.
D is interchangeable withe Dj and J.
Q is interchangeable with K

The Egyptologists that Allen relies on, global resources, all give up on the last line of this maxim. There are too many interpretations available for each group, and each one apposite to the subject, and finally no combination of groups can make any sense. No known metaphor or adage is available. No one can make sense of this. Especially the last line.

It's the worst so far.

So much misogyny taken as natural that's unacceptable today built right into maxim, the way of life, as proper treatment.

The last two weeks I am dreaming in hieroglyphs. They are frustrating dreams that go through multiple meanings of groupings then trying and failing to string through them for something sensible and with no context to help, no theme to the puzzle. And even those frustration-dreams make more sense than this maxim.

WKLEM- Funny How Time Slips Away

Monday, September 10, 2018

Holy Hekawis Batman!

"Ugh. Gay man in blue tights scare chickens. Please do not rub against my wariors. Especaily Bald Eagle. Just because he manscapes does not mean anything."
"Well my good fellow. You are mistaken. I am very heteronormal. You need not worry."
"If you no bang Julie Newmar as a Catwoman you no bang her as Indian maiden. You are fooling no one Berdacheman."
"I bet you I can bed one of your squaws before the night is over Chief."
"Fine. We seal bet with old Indian tradition. Pinky swear."
"You bet Chief. Bring me to the girls. Get me some with big tits. But first I have to pinch a loaf. Clouds."
"Pogan me Berdacheman."

Dear Serena Williams

Dear Serena Williams,

You don't know me but you might my ex-husband John McEnroe. My name is Tatum O'Neil and you might have heard of me. I was a actress for a while. I even won an Oscar before I had hair on my pussy. So I know a little about fame and tennis and how fucked up this world can be.

I see where you got bent out of shape by that half a chink girl beating your cat suit off at the open. Hey why did you dress like that anyway. I mean if I had an ass as big as yours I wouldn't want to call attention to it. I mean you have the big black girl booty I don't give a shit how many steroids you take.

Now I know you got pissed that the umpire tried to make you obey the rules. Girl you got to realize that the rules are there for a reason. I know because I broke everyone of them. I did drugs and fucked guys and screwed up my marriage, career and life beyond repair. I had it all once and I threw it away. Because I was angry.

Did someone sign Willie Nelson?

My ASL teacher has given the class homework - learn ten signs and teach them to the class. I have no idea where to begin, but being the diligent student that I am I decided to reach back to my Frederick roots - home of both Patsy Cline and the Maryland School For The Deaf, so here it is - a mash up of bad signing and great song writing:

For whatever reason...

...I recalled a song this morning - one I hadn't listened to in a very long time. It was written by John Hiatt and this version was on Willie's 40th studio album. May God bless and keep an American original, Willie Nelson.

Meanwhile we sit and await our fate at the hands of hurricane Florence.


Sunday, September 9, 2018


Where is "there"?

Given The Staple Singers' background I'd guess "there" is Heaven.

But from the lyrics:
Ain't no smilin' faces*...
Lyin' to the races

* A reference to this 1971 song?

Full lyrics after the break

Everybody Loves Shamsky

Dear Julia Salazar

You don't know me but I have been where you are today baby. I was married to that lowlife Art Shamsky who was a big Met Star just like your boyfriend that coke head Keith Hernandez. He did me wrong just like Keith did you wrong.

You see Art promised me a life of champagne wishes and caviler dreams. Instead I got Yooho and Ring Dings. He dropped me like a hot potato after I found out he was molesting my dog. My life has never been the same.

I bet you are feeling abandoned too. I know you are running for State Senate but that is no substitute for a normal life. Look at the Governors race. You have that criminal Fredo Cuomo running against Dick=less Nixon the muff diver. Politics is a prescription for sexual dysfunction. It is almost as bad as baseball.

I mean look at the Mets history. They have nothing but perverts and rapists on their team. Rusty Staub used to molest the bat boys. Cleon Jones used to have sex with crack whores in a van outside the field in Spring Training. Ron Swoboda loved to have hookers pee on him. Dwight Gooden would gang bang David Cones ex girlfriends with everyone in the crack house. Even the GM's like Steve Philips would screw the Crack of Dawn. So why would Keith Hernandez be any different. You had the right idea when you tried to make some coin from his wife's bank account. Your mistake was in getting caught. Nobody every believed me. Even when I photos of Art sucking on my puppies nipples. You see everybody loved Shamsky.

You should have tried to date a Yankee. The worst that could happen is that Jeter would give you herpes.

I had my own problems with the law but now I am all reformed and an upright citizen. The thing is once you are in the news it is hard to meet someone nice. So I am all alone tonight when it is Rush-a-Homa and I am reduced to rubbing honey on my monkey so my doggie would lick it off. Plus I am going to have another use for that loaf of Challah bread. I just have to wait for it to get stale and hard.

So Julia I want you to call me to talk. The women who were screwed over by the Mets organization have to stick together. Maybe you can meet with me and my friend Brooke and we can compare notes.

Your pal,
Kim Shamsky

Instant Repaly the Unedited Edition

Coach Lombardi was surprisingly political. He didn't advertise it because he didn't to alienate the fans who might be Democrats. There were some in Green Bay after all and some of them were owners of the team. In fact there was this slutty nurse named Inga who used to service some of the players after the game who was a big liberal. He didn't want to piss her off because they might give them the clap or bite their dick off or something. Luckily she stuck to the Negroes so there weren't many players at risk.

Coach did make a big deal about his friendship with Richard Nixon. Everybody knew that Coach Lombardi liked Dick so it was no secret. They were photographed at games and at dinner and hanging out all the time. Vice President Nixon always supported Coach and offered his advice. He even diagrammed plays and offered to find out the play books of the other teams. Coach never took him up on that. He felt you just made your five or six plays and executed them. You did what you did and made the other team stop you. If you had the right players you could make the play.

Vice President Nixon decided to follow the Coaches advice when he ran for Governor of California. But it didn't work out for him. I hope he has a better team now that he is running for President. I know Coach Lombardi is behind him all the way.

Because you know that Politics and Football go together like Ham and Eggs.

 (Instant Replay- The Unedited Edition, Jerry Kramer & Dick Schaap Random House 1968)

Kate Mara supports the Players Protest of the National Anthem

Her grandfather Wellington Mara must be spinning in his grave that she is such a nasty ungrateful slut bag.

If only this could happen to her in real life there might be some justice.

But what do expect from someone who worked with and praised Kevin Spacey and never said a word about the shit he was pulling.

She knew.

The National Felons League is back at it and I don't give two shits.

The National Felon League is back and I don't give two shits. Ratings are in the tank, down big from last season. The League can't get it together on the National Anthem controversy. My team the Giants are one of the worst offenders. They have a couple of morons who protested all season. They didn't do jack. But then the Giants always tolerated criminals and lowlifes like LT and the shit head who shot himself at the club. So I shouldn't be surprised.

I am really happy that I don't have tickets or have to go to the game. Today is a rainy miserable day. I would have to take the train to the City and then get on a bus. Sit in the rain and be miserable. Not for me anymore. The abdication of responsibility by the team has freed me from fandom. To be a fan is to be a fanatic. You put up with a big ration of shit to root for your team. The Giants used to have a devoted fan base where you couldn't get season tickets. There was a waiting list 50,000 strong. People handed down their tickets from father to son. I only got mine because the real owner didn't want his son to use his ticket because after he graduated from college he had to kick in for it and he refused. So for ten years he sold the single seat to me. It was a great seat on the Aisle. But that guy gave up his tickets when they ripped everyone off with the new stadium. They wanted to charge him thirty grand for a seat license plus the cost of the tickets. So he gave them up after they had been in his family from Yankee Stadium through the Yale Bowl all the way to the Meadowlands. Like thousand of other real fans they screwed and abandoned him for the money.

Instead of watching football I read, wrote a little and cooked a very nice stew for this cold and nasty day. The first cold weather food of the season. I don't miss the game. I didn't watch a play last season. I won't watch one this season. This is the last post I will do for the year about football. Well unless Jerry Kramer sends me another chapter of the unedited "Instant Replay." Otherwise I don't give two shits.

Obamaland, Gaslight Galaxy

* Washington Examiner Obama prosecuted Staff Leaker, Gave Lie-Detector tests, ‘Paranoid’
Breitbart Big government.

“This is the most closed, control freak administration I’ve ever covered,” said David E. Sanger, veteran chief Washington correspondent of The New York Times, in the report

USA Today said of the report, it “portrays an administration gripped by strict policies about information flow and paranoid about leaks across all executive branch departments.”

* Fact Check: Obama’s Speech Attacking Trump at University of Illinois
Breitbart Big Government 

Obama thinks he deserves credit for Trump’s economy. See, Obama’s miserable eight-year economy was actually Bush’s economy so it’s natural that Trump’s booming economy is actually Obama’s economy due to lag.

And that pretty much plumbs the depth of Obama’s knowledge of economies. Obama thinks stimulus bills get the economy going,  increased taxes (Obamacare), regulation frenzy, actual attacks on business that do not support him (Gibson guitar for example, Hobby Lobby, etc.) coal because it gets your hands dirty, you didn’t build that, and a general antipathy for people and groups who actually create wealth, all have nothing to do with the most dismal recovery in recent memory. While all those things removed with a new attitude about the general brilliance of people and their ambitions, from someone actually successful in business and deal-making; along with tax reduction, stripping regulation, and general business friendly and with  fair trade proactive policies change the scene completely, a precise 180, but to Obama they also have nothing to do an economy suddenly bounding, rather, to Obama it’s all economic lag. In Obamaland in Gaslight Galaxy, Obama gets the credit for Trump’s national policies, not Trump.

He cannot sit back and learn. He must criticize and attack and take credit.

Obama mocked Trump’s promise to bring back manufacturing jobs to the U.S. “What magic wand do you have?”

That wand  is common economic sense.

Many more ridiculous Obama conceits at the link. Obama thinks he made the world safer, he who presided over the rise of the Islamic State. He claims to have achieved having Iran abandon its nuclear program when he actually emboldened Iran, he did nothing to stop N. Korea. Obama completely forgets his own appeasement toward Russia. He forgets, at lest omits, his own Russia “reset” and his rush to eliminate America’s nuclear weapons, his retreat from Syria, His attack on Libya that opened the floodgates, His support of Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt and the disruption that caused, his open mic promise to show more flexibility to Putin after the 2012 election.

Obama is telling his audiences that "Trump is appealing to tribe", something that Obama would be acutely aware. Still dividing. Still separating according to tribe.

On and on with Obama’s fallacious claims.  There are dozens at the link.

* Obama cracks up with Trump Derangement Syndrome. American Thinker.

“Obama is angry.  He called on his followers to get out and vote in November to defeat Trump.  He is angry that the voters rejected him in 2016 by electing Trump instead of Hillary.  He knows that this was a rejection of his policies, and more importantly, it was a rejection of Obama personally.  Obama cannot accept this.  He and Joe Biden campaigned for Hillary daily, and Obama even said he would take it as a personal insult if black voters didn't vote for Hillary.”

Article after article the writers discuss how ridiculous Obama sounds in his speeches in Illinois and in California, how odd to have him break with tradition and suddenly appear before mid-term elections to sway voters toward Democrats. The writers all accept this is typical Obama being himself. They all leave out one critical element that defines the entire activity.

Obama is worried. Deeply so. Not just for protecting his legacy but also protecting his legitimacy. He's protecting himself. He’s behaving obviously as a man who knows that a midterm win for Trump means all the discovered corruption during Obama’s administration will surface to general knowledge. Obama says today, “things can get worse.” While things are obviously better. What he means is “things can get a lot worse for Obama.” A Republican win means further disaster for Obama, for Democrat politicians, for former administration officials who distorted government departments to retain power.

Obama looks like he’s merely breaking tradition, he’s actually trying to save himself. Desperately. We’re seeing a magnificent flounce, with swirls of money. Money tornadoes you say? We can expect Hillary to be right there drawn to the eye of it. 

WKRLEM: Sleepless Nights