I had a nice low key day after Christmas. Nice walk in the warmish sunshine, good dogs, good company. Low key like JJ Cale:
Wednesday, December 26, 2018
President and First Lady Trump visit troops in Iraq
Daily Mail has the best photographs, but their writers have penis-breath. We'll take the best and leave the rest.
There was an early morning takeoff of AF-1 and the White House press room was silent, and Trump's Twitter account has been inactive. Then Sarah Sanders confirmed the president is in Iraq.
There was an early morning takeoff of AF-1 and the White House press room was silent, and Trump's Twitter account has been inactive. Then Sarah Sanders confirmed the president is in Iraq.
Thou Shalt Always Kill
Hate the title. A bit old, but so what.
Not really for you but maybe for your nieces or nephews or maybe even your grandchildren. I'm guessing you're going, 'Ew, I hate this" but check out comments to see why it appeals to others. It's a spoken song. Pedagogic. Not your sort of thing. British, not my sort of thing.
It's purposefully contradictory. And so far as the spelling of Phoenix goes, it should rightfully be spelled Feenix. Duh. Everybody knows that by the careful study of fonetix.
(I had a little comic routine thirty years ago in which I mispronounced every word by its spelling that included the words Phoenix and phonetics. It was derived from getting messed up receiving fingerspelling phonetically, sounding out syllables in my head as they came across in rapid succession allowing no time to process, not waiting for the words to complete, and leading to ridiculous outcomes. Abbreviations for street and for saint were particularly troublesome, as were ph for f sounds. Things like "His Street Bernard was seen running down Bernard saint." I'd say that I was a self-taught reader by the book Hooked on Phonetics that I found in a trash bin in Phoenix. I studied the book really hard but it was missing the c.d. that came with it. Thus "puh hone ix" and Puh hee nix spoken as if it were natural.)
Not really for you but maybe for your nieces or nephews or maybe even your grandchildren. I'm guessing you're going, 'Ew, I hate this" but check out comments to see why it appeals to others. It's a spoken song. Pedagogic. Not your sort of thing. British, not my sort of thing.
It's purposefully contradictory. And so far as the spelling of Phoenix goes, it should rightfully be spelled Feenix. Duh. Everybody knows that by the careful study of fonetix.
(I had a little comic routine thirty years ago in which I mispronounced every word by its spelling that included the words Phoenix and phonetics. It was derived from getting messed up receiving fingerspelling phonetically, sounding out syllables in my head as they came across in rapid succession allowing no time to process, not waiting for the words to complete, and leading to ridiculous outcomes. Abbreviations for street and for saint were particularly troublesome, as were ph for f sounds. Things like "His Street Bernard was seen running down Bernard saint." I'd say that I was a self-taught reader by the book Hooked on Phonetics that I found in a trash bin in Phoenix. I studied the book really hard but it was missing the c.d. that came with it. Thus "puh hone ix" and Puh hee nix spoken as if it were natural.)
Mathematics
The song title is Mathematics
So is the name of the album
The band name is Cherry Ghost
More at Wikipedia.
So is the name of the album
The band name is Cherry Ghost
More at Wikipedia.
Magic!
For this magical time of year when impossible wonderful things occur.
Read comments on YouTube and dis pear. Then you'll think, "Oh man, I can't stand it, these people actually vote." And then think, "Naw, they're of the types who blow it all off and then complain as directed, informed by others so much like themselves." It's hell Larry ass.
John Brennan
Hey, Buddy, turn that frown upside down.
Click on the little blue bird to follow the thread to see all the nice things people say on the nicest of all internet sites.
Nevermind.
They are turning on themselves! https://t.co/5E8YrzmM7W— David J Harris Jr (@DavidJHarrisJr) December 25, 2018
Click on the little blue bird to follow the thread to see all the nice things people say on the nicest of all internet sites.
Andrew Hart (Gottabeandrew), It's Cwistmas!
There is an original version of this that I'm fairly certain you don't care to see, that makes you go, "What am I watching?" It's become popular elsewhere. It's the version that's shown on the screen in this sing along live version led by the original singer. This live version is better for answering what it is that you're watching.
I met an unusual man
When Paul called to invite me over, to emphasize they planned nothing special he listed the few things they intended to make. In that moment I thought, "You need some vegetables" but I didn't say anything.
On the drive over I swung by a Chinese restaurant in my old neighborhood along the way for vegetable stir fry, but they were closed. How odd. Come on. It's Christmas! Further along I noticed another Chinese restaurant with "open" sign lit, so I made a sharp turn parked the truck and went in. I took the woman's first suggestion. She said, "give us 10 minutes." I waited alone as she answered the phone, ringing off hook, actually, they were busy with deliveries. As you know, Christmas is big for Chinese restaurants.
About five minutes in a very tall and thin young black man, I'd guess 25 years-of-age or so, came into the restaurant to pick up an order he had called in. On sight, he is an unusual person. About six feet seven inches, I'm guessing, dressed as Paris fashion model. He wore a toque wrapped of different scarves in different patterns, and more scarves around his neck in more patterns, a loose knitted plain brown coat that went down to his knees and very long loose voluminous slacks disguising his Big Bird legs, with tall leather boots. But most unusual of all, tucked underneath his neck scarves he wore an Egyptian style collar of gold with hundreds of small blue lapis lazuli gems and rubies, so, gold dark blue and dark red in uninhibited glittering magnificence, but partially concealed, just so.
You don't see that everyday. Now, how can I let that go?
He was quiet, self-contained. His intention was come in, pick up his order and leave. He had his own thing going on.
"I really like your Egyptian collar,"
Suddenly he exploded with animation and vocalizations. He threw one arm upward and the other arm stretched downward to opposite angles. He twirled a circle, tossed his head back and splayed his hand in an arc as demonstrating his fabulous Egyptian necklace while saying, "OMG, I know, right? I love this thing. You have a good eye. Still modeling, still moving in place as if for a photoshoot, presenting various angles, "I bought this for Halloween and then realized ... hey... I can wear this beyond ... Halloween."
"Smart choice. It looks great on you."
"Aaaaaaaaaay. Thank you. I love it. Still modeling. He went full blown flame on me right there. Gayer than a mantel filled with elves on a shelf, with his height and his spindly long arms, he could not be held back, could not be contained, he is continuous motion, continuous speech. All that was needed is someone to push his "on" button and that's done with a simple complement.
"You found a good one. That's actually the best that I've seen." No idle lie. It really is the best that I've seen.
"Aaaaaaaaaaay, thank you very much. You sound like you appreciate Egyptian art."
"Yes. Actually, I'm learning to read hieroglyphs."
"Aaaaaaaaaay that's outrageous. What an insane language. (still turning, still moving, shifting his poses continuously like liquid, having his fabrics shift forms) His interest is not surface either. He knows what he is appreciating sufficiently to wear. "Since all those, you know, little pictures, all mean several things." He crossed his ams over his chest and bent his wrist inward so his fingertips touched his jeweled Egyptian collar. He posed, with a wry smirk pursing his lips so that his eyes and his lips triangulated on my face.
"Yes. It's a very strange language. Their phrases are weird."
*ding* His order is up and he's gone through the door, "Have a merry Christmas!"
On the drive over I swung by a Chinese restaurant in my old neighborhood along the way for vegetable stir fry, but they were closed. How odd. Come on. It's Christmas! Further along I noticed another Chinese restaurant with "open" sign lit, so I made a sharp turn parked the truck and went in. I took the woman's first suggestion. She said, "give us 10 minutes." I waited alone as she answered the phone, ringing off hook, actually, they were busy with deliveries. As you know, Christmas is big for Chinese restaurants.
About five minutes in a very tall and thin young black man, I'd guess 25 years-of-age or so, came into the restaurant to pick up an order he had called in. On sight, he is an unusual person. About six feet seven inches, I'm guessing, dressed as Paris fashion model. He wore a toque wrapped of different scarves in different patterns, and more scarves around his neck in more patterns, a loose knitted plain brown coat that went down to his knees and very long loose voluminous slacks disguising his Big Bird legs, with tall leather boots. But most unusual of all, tucked underneath his neck scarves he wore an Egyptian style collar of gold with hundreds of small blue lapis lazuli gems and rubies, so, gold dark blue and dark red in uninhibited glittering magnificence, but partially concealed, just so.
You don't see that everyday. Now, how can I let that go?
He was quiet, self-contained. His intention was come in, pick up his order and leave. He had his own thing going on.
"I really like your Egyptian collar,"
Suddenly he exploded with animation and vocalizations. He threw one arm upward and the other arm stretched downward to opposite angles. He twirled a circle, tossed his head back and splayed his hand in an arc as demonstrating his fabulous Egyptian necklace while saying, "OMG, I know, right? I love this thing. You have a good eye. Still modeling, still moving in place as if for a photoshoot, presenting various angles, "I bought this for Halloween and then realized ... hey... I can wear this beyond ... Halloween."
"Smart choice. It looks great on you."
"Aaaaaaaaaay. Thank you. I love it. Still modeling. He went full blown flame on me right there. Gayer than a mantel filled with elves on a shelf, with his height and his spindly long arms, he could not be held back, could not be contained, he is continuous motion, continuous speech. All that was needed is someone to push his "on" button and that's done with a simple complement.
"You found a good one. That's actually the best that I've seen." No idle lie. It really is the best that I've seen.
"Aaaaaaaaaaay, thank you very much. You sound like you appreciate Egyptian art."
"Yes. Actually, I'm learning to read hieroglyphs."
"Aaaaaaaaaay that's outrageous. What an insane language. (still turning, still moving, shifting his poses continuously like liquid, having his fabrics shift forms) His interest is not surface either. He knows what he is appreciating sufficiently to wear. "Since all those, you know, little pictures, all mean several things." He crossed his ams over his chest and bent his wrist inward so his fingertips touched his jeweled Egyptian collar. He posed, with a wry smirk pursing his lips so that his eyes and his lips triangulated on my face.
"Yes. It's a very strange language. Their phrases are weird."
*ding* His order is up and he's gone through the door, "Have a merry Christmas!"
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
Smoked turkey
A friend made this.
I intended to have a quiet day at home for Christmas but then a friend called to say they're smoking a turkey on the Big Green Egg, nothing big, not an actual party, they're not celebrating Christmas the usual way this year, no kid, no tree, no present exchange, but the Big Green Egg caused them to think of me because I gave it to them.
Run, sentence, run!
The heavy grill was stored unused and there's nothing worse for a grill than not being used. These people already have a grill. A large one too. But it's gas. I thought for a long time about to whom I should bequeath it and I know I chose well. George tells me about the videos he watches about this specific grill to the point he has so many crossed opinions that it's confusing. That tells you, go for it, and do what you want. These Big Green Egg owners who upload videos are a very opinionated group, an entire world to themselves. He said he talked to the salesman at Ace Hardware for so long he felt that he needed to buy something. So he bought new felt gaskets for the top and bottom pieces even though he didn't need them.
It was a very nice dinner. And that turkey is smoked!
George loves this grill. And I love seeing it used.
I intended to have a quiet day at home for Christmas but then a friend called to say they're smoking a turkey on the Big Green Egg, nothing big, not an actual party, they're not celebrating Christmas the usual way this year, no kid, no tree, no present exchange, but the Big Green Egg caused them to think of me because I gave it to them.
Run, sentence, run!
The heavy grill was stored unused and there's nothing worse for a grill than not being used. These people already have a grill. A large one too. But it's gas. I thought for a long time about to whom I should bequeath it and I know I chose well. George tells me about the videos he watches about this specific grill to the point he has so many crossed opinions that it's confusing. That tells you, go for it, and do what you want. These Big Green Egg owners who upload videos are a very opinionated group, an entire world to themselves. He said he talked to the salesman at Ace Hardware for so long he felt that he needed to buy something. So he bought new felt gaskets for the top and bottom pieces even though he didn't need them.
It was a very nice dinner. And that turkey is smoked!
George loves this grill. And I love seeing it used.
Seven is kind of marginal for believing in Santa Claus, don't you think?
Trump asking the boy who called about the whereabouts of Santa Claus if he still believed in Santa Claus at age seven, thus putting doubt about Santa Claus where his parents might not have, caused me to recall the moment my dad told Barry and me.
It was an innocent enough morning. The kitchen in the little house in Doushore Pennsylvania. (I laugh every time I say that name.)
Barry was just about to turn seven and I am nearly two years younger. Barry was ready to have the truth but I was not.
Barry's attitude was "Fine with me if it's Dad who buys our presents and not Santa so long as I get presents."
But I was all, "Goddamnit! Another lie. Here I am struggling my hardest to figure out how the world works and everybody, and I mean EVERYBODY, I talk to including my own parents, all of my adult relatives, purposefully fake me out. And that delays my comprehension of how the world works. New rule: Never trust anything that anybody tells me about how things work. Question everything."
So how am I supposed to believe in Jesus and all his miracles when I've been bullshitted so seriously about everything. Including where presents come from, North Pole, flying reindeer, fat man coming down chimneys even when there is no chimney to be seen.
In the Coplay Pennsylvania church I was dropped off while services ran upstairs, all the children were singing.
"Jesus loves me yes I know for the bible tells me so."
I ask the nice lady running the little Sunday School.
"Ok, how do I know Jesus loves me?"
The kids looked at me like I'm a freak.
"Because the Bible tells you so! You just sang the song. That's how you know."
"So it's in a song. So it's in a book. Still, how do I know for certain that Jesus love me. Are you telling me to believe every song, everything that I read when I learn how?"
"You believe everything in the Bible."
"How can you believe everything in a book? How can you be so sure?"
"You just sit right there, young man, and your mother is going to hear about this."
"Good. Maybe she'll have a better answer than you. (But she's a huge faker outer too. "Eyes in the back of my head" and all that." Nobody can be trusted. Nobody.)
At my mother's mother's place I did something reasonably good, I forget what, but I asked my Nana, the sweeter of two grandmas, what do I get for it. She said, "You'll be rewarded in heaven."
What a cheapskate. Come on. Shake it out. Give me something material for reward.
"How do you know that? How can I be sure of that? "
I'm five years old and already a philosophical little shit.
Because of the Santa Claus lie.
"We know it, you know it, by faith."
"I don't have any faith. I don't know what that is."
I never saw her change so rapidly. From kind sweet harmless Nana to vicious fire breathing dragon lady. She grabbed my two shirt collars and lifted me off my feet by my shirt and put her scowling face directly in front of my face and spit out, "Well you just better get you some faith." Then dropped me back onto my feet. Disgusted with my faithless little self. I'm certain she told my mother.
I could never look at her the same since. Absolutely every adult was dangerous. Unpredictable. Unfathomable. And Bullshitters.
I spent the next decades trying to get me some faith. Looking for faith. Trying to understand what it is. And I did that with everyone bullshitting me.
It's nearly impossible sorting fact from fiction. And the opinions and saying of others are virtually useless. I am on my own. And the story of Santa Claus was only the beginning. But it was the beginning, when this sorry state of never ending bullshitting from everyone became clear.
It was an innocent enough morning. The kitchen in the little house in Doushore Pennsylvania. (I laugh every time I say that name.)
Barry was just about to turn seven and I am nearly two years younger. Barry was ready to have the truth but I was not.
Barry's attitude was "Fine with me if it's Dad who buys our presents and not Santa so long as I get presents."
But I was all, "Goddamnit! Another lie. Here I am struggling my hardest to figure out how the world works and everybody, and I mean EVERYBODY, I talk to including my own parents, all of my adult relatives, purposefully fake me out. And that delays my comprehension of how the world works. New rule: Never trust anything that anybody tells me about how things work. Question everything."
So how am I supposed to believe in Jesus and all his miracles when I've been bullshitted so seriously about everything. Including where presents come from, North Pole, flying reindeer, fat man coming down chimneys even when there is no chimney to be seen.
In the Coplay Pennsylvania church I was dropped off while services ran upstairs, all the children were singing.
"Jesus loves me yes I know for the bible tells me so."
I ask the nice lady running the little Sunday School.
"Ok, how do I know Jesus loves me?"
The kids looked at me like I'm a freak.
"Because the Bible tells you so! You just sang the song. That's how you know."
"So it's in a song. So it's in a book. Still, how do I know for certain that Jesus love me. Are you telling me to believe every song, everything that I read when I learn how?"
"You believe everything in the Bible."
"How can you believe everything in a book? How can you be so sure?"
"You just sit right there, young man, and your mother is going to hear about this."
"Good. Maybe she'll have a better answer than you. (But she's a huge faker outer too. "Eyes in the back of my head" and all that." Nobody can be trusted. Nobody.)
At my mother's mother's place I did something reasonably good, I forget what, but I asked my Nana, the sweeter of two grandmas, what do I get for it. She said, "You'll be rewarded in heaven."
What a cheapskate. Come on. Shake it out. Give me something material for reward.
"How do you know that? How can I be sure of that? "
I'm five years old and already a philosophical little shit.
Because of the Santa Claus lie.
"We know it, you know it, by faith."
"I don't have any faith. I don't know what that is."
I never saw her change so rapidly. From kind sweet harmless Nana to vicious fire breathing dragon lady. She grabbed my two shirt collars and lifted me off my feet by my shirt and put her scowling face directly in front of my face and spit out, "Well you just better get you some faith." Then dropped me back onto my feet. Disgusted with my faithless little self. I'm certain she told my mother.
I could never look at her the same since. Absolutely every adult was dangerous. Unpredictable. Unfathomable. And Bullshitters.
I spent the next decades trying to get me some faith. Looking for faith. Trying to understand what it is. And I did that with everyone bullshitting me.
It's nearly impossible sorting fact from fiction. And the opinions and saying of others are virtually useless. I am on my own. And the story of Santa Claus was only the beginning. But it was the beginning, when this sorry state of never ending bullshitting from everyone became clear.
Iraq officially makes Christmas Day a national holiday
CNN, could be an apple is a banana thing.
The Cabinet voted on an amendment to the national holidays law in the country that Christmas Day is a holiday for all Iraqis, and not only for the Christian community, as it had been for decades.
"Happy Christmas to our Christian citizens, all Iraqis and to all who are celebrating around the world," the Iraqi government said on Twitter.More details about Christians in Iraq at the link.
Christmas tree ornament
Make your own Die Hard Christmas tree ornament. I bet you $10.00 you can figure it out without instructions. (No fair playing dumb just for $10.00)
If these aren't mass marketed already then budding American entrepreneurs aren't what they're cracked up to be.
Let's check Etsy.
Etsy [die hard christmas tree ornament] Ha! They're all over the place.
Kevin Sorbo, Silent Night, music video, The Tabernacle Choir
Loaded with sweet little touches throughout, the mechanic's name tags, for example.
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