Cooking Thought

A toasted peanut butter sandwich is a fine thing. But don't think it is without its own set of complications.

Fickle Sports Fan

If I'm not actually playing a sport, I rarely get overly involved in the emotional turmoil that comes from pulling for a particular team Of course teams from home cities and colleges are my first choices for the bit of emotion I do devote to fan activities.

I like football, and always have. It must be the neighborhood games when I was a kid. Most of the guys were bigger and older but I could run through and around them with a football. It is one of the best feelings I recall from elementary school. Life got complicated after that. It was one place in which time did not exist.

So, now that I am in San Diego, it is required that I be a Chargers fan. And I am, to a point. I see no way they'll get to any playoffs, but I don't keep up enough to know the ins and outs. The good thing is that I keep a few teams on deck so I can have a favorite when San Diego punks out. And they are punking out.

My favorites are not teams my die hard Chargers fan friends like at all. They actually have disdain for a couple of my secret favs. Like Denver and New England. Long story on the New England thing, but a nice one which stems from a cool event in my life.

I'm a Miami fan, of course. I was more of one back in the day when Shula was coach and Larry Czonka was playing. I like Green Bay, so I won't mind when they win it all.

People really get tribal when it comes to sports teams, and sometimes people get beaten, shot or stabbed at games. We used to think that was just the stuff of Europe and South America at soccer games. Maybe it is a measure of our true level of advancement as a species, I don't know. That sounds kind of bizarre and pretentious, but could be true.

If everyone was like me, people would not get killed or in fights at games, but the whole sports industry would be broke and probably fall apart. The people now employed in that industry would end up doing jobs that Americans won't do--whatever that means. And I would miss out on the enjoyment of watching a game now and then and switching my allegiance depending upon who's winning or I just happen to like.

Good thing everyone is not like me.

The Reluctant Love of Machines

Fortunately, I am not the only one who gets attached to a car, a bike, a computer or some other inanimate object. I say "fortunately" because irrational emotion loves company. Then again, maybe it is rational.

Now that I think of it, this kind of emotion could be why it grieves me to see people ignoring the brilliance, hard work and persistence it takes for someone to bring a good idea to fruition. Without such people, we'd be fanning ourselves to cool off on hot days, and we'd be walking in something less than well made footwear. Certainly we wouldn't be driving machines which can go 100 miles per hour or more, and which have been so refined that semi-imbeciles can operate them--maybe not well, but well enough to get a license, or fake it.

People who are responsible for making these things happen ought to be rich. Richer that 99% percent of the population. Richer than 99.99%. Why not? It is a very dangerous thing when talk of disdain for such people, regardless how the money was earned, becomes some kind of self righteous key to peer acceptance.

Disdain for dishonest people and people, like elected officials, who abuse power to enrich themselves, usually at taxpayer expense, makes sense. If you look at the basic tax code, and how much of the tax pie is paid by the wealthiest one percent, it ought to be evident that this talk of "their fair share" not being shouldered is not all that accurate a statement.

Those who use government to control markets, market share of an industry, to reap subsidies for bogus enterprises which pay the top dogs big bucks to fail, to bail out their company, etc, are crooks--pure and simple. I don't care if it is legal. That is the problem; government officials should not have the power to so blatantly peddle corruption. It's OK. Tons of people can't see that point, or flatly disagree. They think regulation works, but who is regulating the regulators?

You start blaming the richest one in one hundred and you certainly begin to persecute some very good people who simply do not deserve your anger. Chances are, some of those people did something which in one way or another saved your life, enabled you to travel and see things you'd never have seen, made a difference that you probably take for granted. They don't demand that you use what they created in a particular way, so I see no reason to demand that they use the wealth it earned them as I see fit.

Uh oh. Sidetracked. The real story is that I finally broke down and got new brakes and timing belt done here, as well as changed out transmission fluid and a few things; needed items which I would have a hard time doing myself up here in the dusty place where I park by my front door. My first choice was Sewall Subaru in Dallas, but I just couldn't put the brakes off longer. I could tell by feel and sound that I was getting close to the point at which no pad is left and you tear up drums and rotors.

New brakes are almost as much fun as new tires. As trashed as the interior of this car is from dirt, grease and whatnot, it may have been concerned that I didn't love it. I think it has been reassured and will be happy for another several thousand miles.

When you get that much work done they arrange for a rental car. I ended up with a 2012 Nissan Versa with only 3000 miles or so. It was nice and did the job.

What struck me, when I got back in my car is how few times in my life that I owned a car which was better than the car I rented. My car seems tighter, tracks better at highway speed, and is all round more solid. Not to mention better visibility and better performance uphill. Even though it is frightening how much some maintenance items cost, I felt quite fortunate as I drove home. And I am now ready for a road trip.

I suppose 103000 is not bad for a set of brakes. I'm certain this is the first brake job for this car. To think it only had about 30K when I bought it. Well, it has been a little over two years.

I guess I will have to examine the finances and see how thin it will cut things to take this Christmas trip. I'm pretty sure I can swing the fuel bill, but lodging may have to go by the wayside. I've got a plan so it won't be too uncomfortable.

No reason the car should actually run better, but it seems like it does. It really feels great. It told me it is ready, as soon as I replace that one fog light that went out.

While being shuttled over to pick up a car with a few other people, I discovered that they all love their Subarus and all were in for normal maintenance, not breakdowns. They also gave the service facility good reviews since they had been there before.

I wonder when that one lady was there. She was about forty thousand miles past time for a timing belt and was in to finally do that. Maybe she'd been in for all the other regular service things. I doubt it. Maybe just one or two of those fluid things or brakes or something. And what a surprise, I think only one of the people was possibly a lesbian.

I'm telling you, this car is crossing over. I'm not the only non gay person to own one.

I hope that doesn't mean I am losing my uniqueness.

Maybe I Am Somebody's Secret Boy Toy

You can't prove I wasn't Faye Dunaway's secret lover. It seems she was in Memphis sometimes when I was there. So was Jesse Jackson. So was Al Sharpton.

I was in the same town as Ted Kennedy, too, and Gloria Estephan. And Jim Morrison. And Abalonia, though I'm not sure how she spells her name; I was too busy fighting my shame as she took advantage of me.

I'm pretty sure, now that I think of it, that Herman Cain forced me to do the windmill in his hotel room. He hired people to kidnap me at that conference.

I'm only coming forward now for purely altruistic reasons. It has nothing to do with secret payoffs, politics, or my narcissistic desire to be on talk shows and in the news.

You can't prove I did not have forced or voluntary sex with any of the people I've listed. It may even be difficult to prove you didn't sexually harass or abuse me, or have a consensual affair with me at some point in my life. So, I'm going to your enemies, and the media to tell the sad tale of my involvement with you. Hope you understand.

One thing I never did was visit any universities in NY or Pennsylvania. But I am not sure I can prove that.

Kudos to GQ

I do not read GQ or any other magazine. However, in waiting rooms, like at the tire store or elsewhere, I do read boating mags, and other things of that nature, depending on what is available. I don't read GQ even if nothing is available but that and Cosmo. In that case, I read nothing. Cosmo because it is evil propaganda designed to warp minds, and GQ because they haven't figured out what a fashion plate I am. They don't write about me, then what's the point of reading their publication?

But this bit of news caught my attention; they just published a list of the "25 least influential people alive". Obama is #25 and John Boehner is #24. #3 is Ed Schutlz of The Ed Show. #1 is Tim Pawlenty, one time republican hopeful in the presidential contest debacle.

For some reason it cracks me up. It is pretty much true, I think. The article didn't give the entire list. They mention some other people who are unknown to me, so I saw no point in relaying those names. I know who these people are. Not always sure they know who they are, though.

Well, GQ's accountants and tax attorneys should probably gear up because I suspect a nasty audit by the IRS will soon befall them.

Just judging by the way the GM thing was handled--you know, when dealerships were forced to close and it seemed based on who that dealer's owners supported for president more than on profitability. They ended up having to back pedal a bit on that but it wasn't loudly stated in the news.

The point is that when you displease this administration you get screwed. That may be true of any administration. It is my belief that this is why no one ever opts to get rid of the IRS. If you are in power, it is like having your own private KGB.

Got to wonder what's up when the most influential (and I'm guessing here) media person is probably Jon Stewart, a comedian.

Barring Certain Possible Obstacles, the Journey is On

Never mind what the possible obstacles are. A little scare is generally a wake up call, and being very fortunate on a regular basis, in my case there is no problem.

The really good news is that G1 of Memphis Snakedocs, my old band, is going to come through with the amp trade. Sometimes I wish I'd been less mad at him at times in the past. I think I could have handled things better. I'm sure I could have.

Anyway, despite butting heads, we are friends. I guess, even in the old days, if he'd been in a bind and I could find a way to help, I would have. And, in most cases, I guess he'd have done the same.

I'll trade my Mesa Boogie for the Fender Bassman with the 12" speaker cab. It is better for playing my style of harmonica, and the other will serve better for his guitar adventures. I forget how many guitars he has now--maybe 13, if that is possible. And he rarely buys junk, if ever.

He sold me the Mesa for a song, relatively speaking, so trading it even for the Bassman means I am getting it for a song. I'd say I owe him one because I'd never have known what a suitable rig that is if I hadn't tried it when I was last through Memphis. He went to the trouble to bring it along when the guys set up everything to jam with me.

He's going to try to arrange for another jam of some kind when I go through on the 20th or 21st. That is the tentative time frame as things now stand. A few unexpected expenses came up which may cut into how I do this trip, but I have to go.

The new rig is so much easier to deal with, so I am more likely to try to find opportunities to use it.

This day was one in which I felt out of phase, like I must of said and done only stupid and offensive things for the last week. I don't really know specifics, just the way I felt.

Then Cliff, Kevin and Lauren, of Copper Creek, our group here on Ballistic Mtn, asked if I could make it to an open mic at a music store down toward El Cajon. At the last minute I found a way to make it. It was very quiet, low key, and lit up like retail stores tend to be. No ambiance in the mood light department.

Nice people. I say that because they gave me a good reception and acted like I was OK. Some of the regular hotshots--the ones that play other places and seem to be considered the big deal there, asked for "the harmonica guy" when they got up to play. So, I had my flattery fix for the day and it took my mind off of being paranoid and uncertain in my society of friends and acquaintances.

Not enough mics, and even though there was PA, I just played without any amplification. You could hear it throughout the room so it worked out. I just tried to play louder and really work on producing good tone. It is so easy to play harmonica sideman.

I may be a little bit not quite right in some ways, but I am pretty fortunate in how people treat me. I am very grateful for that. Kindness goes a long way, so never regret giving it out. You may never know the benefit it yields, but chances are a small gesture can be very uplifting to someone who needs it.

A Little Late for Eulogy

Even so, since I just finished reading Sphere by Michael Crichton, I realize I am sorry he is no longer among the living. The guy was really quite brilliant.

I think I want to read State of Fear again. So, there you have it; Michael Crichton made his mark on the world and was head and shoulders above those who made movies from his works when it comes to imagination and intelligence. I doubt he owned a Che T-shirt. If he did, I have this thing all wrong.

TV Review--X Factor

How I ended up watching that is of no consequence. The odd show, X Factor has not darkened my own TV screen, though. However, it can be perversely addicting.

So, they have a few people on there that ought to be touring and recording. One guy in particular. I think his name is Jason and he works at a Taco place. No question that this guy is the real deal, and has something extra that is hard to define, and that can't be taught. I'd want him to front my band, if I were putting one together.

They canned the next best person. I figure, if you are going for someone who could record and perform, appeal to a large audience and who shows the potential to last, then why do they keep that obnoxious, bratty 12 year old rap creep? This kid is useless. But I have a theory about their refusal to get rid of him. More on that in a sec.

There's a girl on that show from Florida somewhere who is also a quality performer and singer. They did not can her yet. Actually Simon did at some earlier point in this fiasco, then went to her house and said come back, that he was wrong. Good thing because she's OK in my book.

Now what I think is up with this kid who has dubbed himself "Asstro" (spelling is mine, not his), is that his parents have some pull and the panel is under pressure not toss the little psychopath back in the psycho bucket. I don't know all the judges names, but I think the one on the far left, L.A. something is the kid's bio dad.

Asstro's mom is as full of bad attitude as her darling mutant offspring. I do not believe these people are poor, so I'm not buying any hard luck sympathy story that may or may not have been put forth. I haven't watched enough or been told enough to know if any such drivel was put in the mix.

Since that judge is her bio dad, and Mrs Asstro has threatened to go pubic with the whole sordid affair and ruin his life if little A gets booted, he puts up with the kid refusing to follow the same parameters all the other contestants are required to meet. The reason the rest of the panel buckled is that L.A? hired thugs and private investigators to dig up dirt on them, blackmail them and threaten bodily harm to their loved ones.

They don't know it was their beloved colleague who is behind it. So, the poster boy for why abortion ought to be legal, or even mandatory sometimes, gets to continue to have his time in the spotlight.

It just goes to show that life is not always fair, and especially in show biz, pushy creeps get more than they deserve. But, in the long run I still believe life has a way of making sure consequences catch up. Not everyone believes that, but I've noticed it often works out in fairly short order. I've seen big drug families and mafia types back in Miami, and it is amazing how their lives are so rich in tragedy of one sort or another. Ill gotten gains spend poorly.

Still, that doesn't let this panel off the hook. At least if Jason wins we'll know they have at least a shred of integrity. I've rarely seen anyone on national velvet or whatever it was called--that's right, American Idol--never seen any of those people who had that presence and pure magic this guy exudes. It really is rare. And the vocal is at once haunting, engaging, and real. Not one of those show tune, overly vain pretenders who learn how to appear to have heart.

I used to dislike Simon, but from what I've seen of this, he is the sanest of the crew of judges. The production crap behind the singers is way over the top, but maybe they have some unknown reason for all the glitz and nonsensical production numbers. Makes Elvis and Graceland look tasteful. And I liked Elvis in his early days, but believe me, he's not one you'd want doing your home decorating, or picking out your clothes.

So, I'm curious to see if they do the right thing in the end, and if they ever get rid of that creepy kid in this process. If not then this is a ripe opportunity for an investigative reporter to discover the corruption which has allowed Asstro to hold them hostage.

I may have it wrong and he might be Simon's secret son. But I get the idea that Simon doesn't like the kid but he's being forced to pretend the kid has some kind of value and character. He spun the kid's public displays of disrespect, whining, and baby -like behavior as "passion". He had to be up all night to come up with that.

My impression was that he was trying to figure out how to avoid saying the kid deserved to be there because of his talent and performances, and at the same time appear to be paying him a compliment. Yea, I think Simon was under duress as were the two high strung women on the panel. Something very fishy about this whole thing.

That's the trick though. Get you to watch just because you know something is up and because you hate the creep they won't can. It is almost as bad as shows that have a laff track. Clever and not so clever mental manipulation.

But seriously, that Jason guy could be a great addiction to the world of contemporary music. I wouldn't pin him to a genre because he could do rock, country, maybe jazz, R&B, pure blues and do it very well.

Maybe I should be a promoter and/or music producer. I know what works, even though those around me rarely believe it. My picks and ideas have panned out in small time ways and more remotely in the big picture.

Which News Source Has the Worst Writers?

AP has often been one of my favorites when it comes to using annoying or unbelievably trite cliches. Often their sentences get lost midway, losing all sense of coherence.

There are others in the news game who are nipping at AP's incredibly incompetent, biased heels.

Here's an example from NBC:
Both her and her family are likely far from destitute, so they don't need capital right now, but current tax laws mean she will likely sell off a large chunk of it before 2013.

Dear NBC "her" is not the word you were after there. The whole thing is very trashy, if your goal is a level of professionalism.

Breaking part of it out we have, "Her is likely far from destitute...", and you, NBC, be's far from having yo' head not way the hell up yo ask.

Maybe the Season

There are days, like today, when I feel a distinct lack of patience for anything, especially fellow humans who cross my path in any way. Or those who seem slightly pushy in whatever way.

Right now, I want to bolt from here, go far away and not have to deal with anyone. Not that there aren't swell, nice, together, fine people here who seem to think I should say hello every now and then--especially on holidays. It is just that I'd rather be off somewhere as a stranger, unknown to anyone for miles around.

These are times when you just swallow the restlessness, hoping that your presence enhances the experience for the others at the gathering. It usually works out.

I'm pretty sure my entire outlook and chemistry have changed in some way beginning several years ago. I care, but inside I think I may be flipping off half of humanity at any given moment. It's like I really don't know if I give a damn if I end up alone in life forever, or not. I used to say I did not want to be alone forever. Now I'm not so sure.

That's right, just drop by, use me as you will, and then who cares. I'm more inclined to strive to be a slut than to be a permanent husband. We are talking hetero here. I realize, in these times, one must spell it out or the assumptions run amok. I'm almost as ignorant as one form of interaction as the other these days, so who knows.

Anger is a strange thing. It could make you drive off a one thousand foot high bridge or kick the cat. It is almost like dope or alcohol, it can induce behavior which you know won't work out well later. This is why I never get angry or raging mad.

I just lie instead.

Auto Repair In Simplest Context

By simple context, I mean the easy stuff. So much is controlled by computer and sensor that it is hard to know what's what. The path of all that can be very contra-intuitive.

But there are many simple things which can affect the complex things. For example, if you are out of gas, the car won't run at all, yet the fix is easy enough that the dimmest of wits can do it.

Sometimes a problem can be sensed, but, due to the expense most problems represent, and the likelihood that it is too complex for the reluctant handyman to tackle safely, we don't even open the hood to take a look see. Just turn up the music volume or the talk radio, or open the windows a bit at highway speeds so that wind noise drowns out any audible irregularity.

Perhaps ignoring things which pose potential hardship can become a reflex. One may not even realize he is ignoring the red flags of imminent repair.

I noticed some odd behavior of my power steering a time or two while on my last land voyage. It was frequently herky jerky and peculiar in a parking lot situation.

Once in a rare while I'd hear a bit of squeak or squeal which quickly disappeared. Maybe a belt could use a little tightening. That is probably complicated so I'll think about it later. And the power steering pump must be shot and that is probably complicated. I'll look at it in my next life.

That steering thing seemed to be getting worse. Finally, while at a bank in Poway, I could take it no more. I decided to check to see if there was any steering fluid in there or if something else obvious might show up.

I pressed the outside of the belt which runs power steering and alternator and it felt tight enough. It is mostly covered so you can't see every detail. Then for some reason I reached in and felt underneath it. It is one of those low profile belts with a bunch of grooves in it, not the old style V-belt.

It not only felt like half the grove things were worn away and that it was falling apart, but I could feel a longitudinal split. If it had continued all the way around, then I'd be running on two skinny belts instead of one wide belt.

This thing could blow at any minute!

I got new belts from the parts place, and figured I could make it home. All I had was a multitool leatherman and a small crescent wrench in the car.

As it turns out, it is far easier to change these belts on a Subaru than on my old Honda. Dear Honda owner, check that main belt and be sure it is OK. It runs everything and is not easy to change out.

You can change the Subaru belt from up top, in front. No extreme reaching or difficulty. A few nuts and bolts come out or loosen, but nothing extreme.

I last put the belt on the Honda while working at the airport. It went south right there, or close enough that I made it in on the battery. I was in the special lot for supervisory people, close to the airport but outside.

I have no idea how I got to the parts place for the belt. Maybe someone gave me a ride, or I risked running down the battery.

What I do recall is having to work from underneath the car, in the middle of the night, in a light rain. It was raining on the hill when I changed the Subaru belt too. The Honda was more of an accomplishment, I can tell you. I got good at it because the first belt they gave me was the wrong one.

Somehow I got it worked out. Taxi cab I think. I rarely call anyone for anything and at that time in my life, I felt like a misfit and I was angry enough at everyone not to want to ask any favors.

The truth is, I am regularly angry at everyone to the point of being somewhat incommunicado. Or angry at myself. I don't get it a lot of the time so I avoid.

Either way, the Honda belt worked fine, and the Subaru belt resulted in no more power steering oddness. It did not seem like it was slipping that much but the thing is working far better. It is doing better at speed too. I guess it was slipping enough not to cut out as soon as it should so it made steering at lower speeds a bit funky at times.

So, a case of an easy fix which could have affected more complex systems. I had no idea their belts were so easy to change. Good move with a car supposed to go anywhere so you can be an environmental whiner. You can change the belts with minimal tools regardless where you are.

What? You Live Under A Rock?

The argument that illegals are necessary because the do the work that legal citizens in the USA refuse to do has never been overly convincing. At least, not to me.

I think it sidesteps the issue. In California, anyone of Mexican or South American descent, legal or not, has come to believe that un-hyphenated Americans won't clean houses, do yard work, landscaping, painting, and a host of other tasks. That is because they believe the self appointed leaders, even those who become mayor and have lived here all their lives in privilege.

My view on all that gets a little off the norm so I won't go into the folly of the DEA, the tax structure, and the distribution of tax funded benefits. That is not the topic here.

Recently I discovered that there is a guy living under a rock further up in the maze of dirt roads on Ballistic Mountain. I haven't actually seen his dwelling but I am told it consists of a sort of cave formed by three huge boulders. So, in reality, he does live under a rock.

This hill has many dips and little valleys creating sections which have trees, bugs, and more vegetation than exists at my place. As a result they actually have some form of landscaping. Well, even here, my landlord has flowers and plants and things, but they do their own work. But that is different.

Many people up the hill do not do their own work, the guy under the rock does it. He is not here legally. He charges how ever much plus breakfast and lunch when he does yard work. Fine and dandy. I would have thought they'd be hiring some of the miscreant youth who reside in this back country community. Guess not.

I'm assuming that they like hiring this guy because they think they are getting more work for less pay. Many people are like that.

So far he has only been linked to one questionable incident; he grabbed a lady's boob while doing work--presumably on her property.

What I find puzzling is that no one cares. She did, from what I understand. But to the hotshot of our equivalent of a homeowner's association I think the feeling of paying dirt wages outweighs the potential for danger to women and girls up here. He's allegedly a big fan of the rock dweller.

Very bizarre. Maybe they think the lady shouldn't have had her boob right there asking to be groped. Anyone would have given it a squeeze under such conditions. That seems to be the implied thinking.

Just another of those things that makes me wonder what else I don't know about this mountain. I was wondering how the guy managed to get anywhere to spend his money. He has a bicycle is the best I could discover, and he doesn't like to go into Alpine. That's because he's an illegal squatter who grabs breasts without asking or being invited to do so!

Maybe people include his shopping list when they go to town to buy their own supplies.

Yea, but what a bargain!! Illegal labor! No way he has any recourse. Or something like that. From what I've seen, they don't really get paid less than a desperate citizen would. My laissez faire mindset is such that I don't care who they hire. But the reasoning is often rather mushy.

I won't rat him out unless we cross paths and I think he poses and danger, or if he grabs me in some way.

The bigger picture here is that some people really do live under a rock. So that expression, "What, you live under a rock?" is not actually a rhetorical question when you get down to the nitty gritty.

Personally, I do not see rock man as a victim. I probably would not hire him, but who knows?
I may picket his cave with a sign complaining about him taking work away from me. I'm thinking of an Occupy the Rock protest.
Damn fat cats living in a cave on ez street. Talk about your 1%.

Finally, I Found the Ideal Candidate

A little uneasy with the Obama administration? Not convinced the alternatives seen in the Republican debates will be anything but Pelosi lite?

I found the guy that can beat Obama, won't take any flak from the media, could care less if you call him names---if you dare, whose grades and history are as vague as the president's, and who is not a political insider. Even less a crony of billionaire market manipulators than Barack (but then I'm less a player in crony capitalism than the big O, but no matter).

Ladies and gentlemen I give you Mr. H. Heidelbergensis. Worried about the gay vote? His first name is Homo. I dare you to make a crack about that to his face. And I can tell you, he is plenty territorial enough to put a big dent in the industries which abuse the integrity of our borders.

It's time we had a no nonsense president who doesn't owe anyone anything, doesn't even comprehend the idea of pandering to special interest groups, and could care less if you see him naked.

A distant relative of Homo Sapiens--probably a namesake--he's got all the breeding he needs for this job.



You really want change? Let's get rid of these mamby pamby wannabes and put someone in who is neither beholding to special interests nor the academic and financial elitists.

Put him in the next debate and I dare them to ask loaded questions, cut him off before he's finished, or smirk at his answers.

I know what you are thinking, but you are wrong.
Sure they thought that's what they were electing when they let Arnold be governor of California. Arnold was a cheap imitation and caved to every boondoggle scheme and special interest in the book.

Homo is who Arnold wishes he was. Arnold was merely a moral midget in a Homo suit. This guy is the real deal.

Homo Heidelbergensis for president! Bringing us back to basics. Homo: Stickin' It To The Man

No logo yet, but I'm sure someone will come up with one when Mr. Heidelbergensis comes from behind in the polls, as I'm sure he will.

Cooking With Hermits; part 112011

Today's tip is for a good breakfast omelet which includes green food groups as well as white and some other colors. If I didn't know better I wouldn't think this was any good.

What you do is heat a large pan on your hotplate while you get everything ready. That is because your hotplate takes its sweet time when it comes to heating things. If you have an actual stove, you should probably just set it on low for now.

Get a bowl out and don't forget where you put it.

Grab a handful of raw spinach. Wash it off in cold water, and shake it out. Then lay it on your handy cutting board and chop it up into little bitty pieces with your sort of sharp big knife. If yu kind of clump it up and make it into a cylindrical mass you can do that chef thing of holding the point of the knife down and feed the spinach in as you rotate the blade down like a paper cutter. Go fast and keep your fingers out of the way.

Then you clump it up the other way and chop like a maniac. It ain't rocket science so I guess no more explanation is needed.

Poor some half and half or milk in the bowl. Throw in a glob or two of sour cream. Add a dash of Richard's Delicious Seasoning or some Howling Wolf seasoning. If you don't have any, let me know and for $50.00(US) I'll send you some. Or just toss in some of the GOOD salt, maybe a bit of garlic powder and spit in it.

Mix that stuff up, then dump all that spinach in. If it doesn't look like you have too much spinach for any of this to make sense, then you don't have a enough. Mix it up a bit.

Dump two extra large eggs or three regular eggs in the bowl with the green mass you created. Mix it up well. Beat that sucker until blended well.

Put some butter or oil in the pan, if you didn't already do that. If you have a regular stove up the heat to medium or medium high.

Oh yea, you should have cut a bunch of slices of cheddar cheese by now. Don't forget where you put them.

Empty the bowl into the pan and mess with the pan so the mixture spreads out over the whole thing. I think m pan is twelve or fourteen inches, not sure. Lay the cheese on, and if you like bacon, you should have cooked some by now to a bacony crisp so you could put that on there too. If you want to add tomato and whatever else, go ahead. I prefer the tomato slices raw and put on the plate uncooked. Do what pleases you.

Cover the pan with your big stainless bowl or a normal lid if you have such exotic cookware. Go ahead and make some coffee.

By the time you are done making coffee or setting that process in motion the omelet will almost be done. When the cheese is melted it should be about ready.

If you can fold over from two sides so that it is folded in thirds. You can fold it in half if you must.

If you were really hungry, you probably had some hash browns going too, or maybe some grits, possibly toast as well. Put the omelet and all that other stuff on the plate. Pour yourself some cafe Cubano and chow down.

You will catch yourself exclaiming, "Holy smoke, this is great!! Who would have thought that greenish mess would have been edible? John0 is a genius and he doesn't even eat meat. He deserves the Nobel Peace prize--and may be the first person in awhile who actually earned it!"

People rarely make war while enjoying a good breakfast.

This process doesn't take very long. I've been pleasantly surprised how quick it is, and I have the slow heating hot plate. Sometimes I let the stuff cook while I take a shower or do whatever so I never feel like I am waiting around for it to cook.

I found it works out even though I couldn't imagine how so much spinach in there could possibly yield a good result. Must be that sharp cheddar makes everything work.

Send me a large self addressed stamped envelope--one of those with the wing nut looking fasteners, along with $38.50, and I'll mail you a hot, fresh custom made omelet like the one described. Add your own bacon.

All The Ballistics Over Achieve

It would be easier on the ego if those of my natal family and their offspring were dimwits. The one who used to wear ultra baggy pants and wanted his grandma to spike her hair has now just finished restoring a 100 year old printing press to working order and is printing out wedding junk on it.

Possibly I won't be invited, depending on how private or remote this thing is. I was not advised of another wedding in that bunch but they had just a few people and went to the Virgin Islands somewhere. No doubt they thought I'd not "fit" and couldn't afford it anyway. The fact that both items are correct kind of hurts but I can't hold that against them. Just the way it is.

I saw a short video of the press in operation and it looks like a new machine. It must have an electric motor powering it, or else it is operated by treadle. It could be one of those things that hooked to a belt from a shaft driven by a water wheel, like early textile machinery. The video did not have that wide a view. I did see a belt and the thing was continually in motion. A page was laid on, the rollers got inked, then went over the plate--a reindeer in this case--then it pressed the page and a hand exchanged the printed page for a fresh one, quickly.

That house he managed to buy and refurbish has as many machines and products of the young engineer's efforts as a scene from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He's not as goofy or exuberant as Dick Van Dyke was in that, but he's a pretty cheerful sort in his way. Just don't cut across his yard.

When my nephews passed me up in lifetime achievements, income, and success of love life, it was hard to be as happy for them as I ought. Young punks. I taught them most of whatever they know. They were supposed to ignore the knowledge like I always have, then look back and say, "Uncle John0 was right. Guess he really is a genius".

It isn't going to go down like that. I take this as a sign that some people escape childhood with far less baggage than others. They are simply more stable than I have ever been. For that I am glad. I don't know of anyone in my family who could have survived what I have. I hope they take pity on me in later life.

That press is impressive. Oh, even I am groaning at that. But it is. A beautiful machine and looks like new from what I could see.

I always go through this thing of being sorry I'm not the big hero, or more than I am, when I know I will see my people soon. I do not think that is a healthy thing on my part. Most of what makes me more defective than the rest of them is not something I can change. The underachievement part could be changed and if I am to be honest I should just own it.

Kindergarten--Good or Evil?

In my case, I vote evil. You may not know this but I don't even think it was required when I was that age--younger than dirt. The kindertorture institutions were private, and apparently not expensive. My brother was spared the experience of kindergarten, and look how he turned out. (shining example of success, accomplishment, family and not really any stranger than I am. And not that much smarter--depending on how you measure smart, not any smarter)

The evil Mrs. Anderson was a kindly old woman on the surface, but in reality she was a nazi, man hating sadist. [maybe not nazi--it was Miami and most people like her treated everyone except Jewish kids like dirt]

Most of all she hated the truth, hated me I think, and loved the dogma only educational institutions and government could bring --at that time--the 'private sector' made great strides toward zealous enforcement of policy and rules which ignore context, morality and common sense over the years that followed. Much of it by government decree and example. But that's another story.

The big kids at the school, grades 1 through 3, had some good looking teachers who seemed to have better hobbies than pretending niceness while making the lives of misfits like me a living hell. Private school would have been a good fit for me, but I got shipped off to public school after Mrs Anderson's kindergarten weirdness.

I think the one and only thing I learned that year was that teachers were not necessarily to be trusted. And that truth was not the thing that sets you free when under the thumb at an educational facility. 1st grade landed me under one of Mrs Anderson's coven homeys, I think. Piece of work. It got better in subsequent years, sometimes.

Still, in my mind I figured it was me. I thought it was like with my father, something about me was just wrong and I could never guess on a given day what it was. It obviously changed and was rarely defined. Adults in authority were often mean and pissed off for reasons unknown. I was clueless, but inside I considered them cowards and never really believed I deserved any of their abuse.

At least I tried to hold to that throughout school, but I never did get how to play the game. That is why it was such a relief when I learned to make fake IDs at 15, and learned how to get beer and other alcohol.

I had to carry a hobo bundle on a stick. No fiddle for me

Foreshadowing is fine as a literary device, but I find it disconcerting to see it in one's own life history. Perhaps Mrs. Anderson was...THE DEVIL!!

She cast me as the lazy, no-account grasshopper in the play we put on--The Grasshopper and the Ants.

The goody goody kids were cast as industrious little ants, doing their goody goody work so they had plenty during winter or whatever it is. I should re-visit that grim tale. I actually did have to work at home. Those other kids didn't. It was an outrage.

I was like the lonely hobo outcast. The little goody goody collectivist bastards were all there together sitting around on stage. In I trod without a clue as to what was going on or why I was there. Was this type casting, was it a statement that at five years old I had been stamped the misfit who would be screwed forever for not being an ant?

My gut feeling is that Mrs Anderson was an evil witch and this play was part of a curse or spell she was casting on me, and that my father was in cahoots.

My mother went along like a nincompoop because she always deferred to her spouse at that time--best way to avoid listening to loud yelling. I think he was in on it because that is the only school or sporting event connected with me that he ever attended. I'm pretty sure he went along with witches and other evil doers because they'd give him pot or sex.

Guess he had more issues than I do, but I am naturally strong even though it may not be obvious. Stronger than most evil doers, and in some ways stronger than he was. In other ways he had some real gumption, though. Just not always put to optimal use.

I should have taken him under my wing at a young age. Didn't realize I probably could have pulled it off at the time. Too busy trying to figure out what it was they wanted to teach in school, and too busy second guessing myself because I couldn't make sense of authority and the culture of government institutions--schools.

Sometimes I feel as if I have been irresistibly compelled to be the grasshopper. The times I broke away required three times the effort the endeavor at hand actually required. I think it is the Mrs Anderson spell that I've been fighting all this time. Took me until now to put two and two together. I put some garlic powder on the popcorn and I bet that may have loosened the evil spirit's hold just enough for me to see a glimmer of the truth. Better late than never.

Now, how do we reverse this thing? Do I go find the final resting place of Mrs Anderson and use it for a urinal? I just do not know. Holy people will suggest I forgive her. OK, forgiven, but I still need to break the spell. This isn't about the late misanthropic teacher, it is about from now on in my life. Fulfilling my destiny and all that.

Let this be a lesson to you--if you leave your kid in the care of alleged educators, you better make sure they don't hate your kids even more than you do.

Did I Re-Review Sandpaper Already?

Too lazy to check.

3M, Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing Company--or so it used to officially be called--is a company that one would think makes things in Minnesota.

Their sandpaper is still the best I've found readily available. Home Depot has it. But it is not made in Minnesota or anywhere else in the USA. It is made in Canada. Maybe we can talk Canada into becoming a gigantic state. They might prefer to keep their independence from us, though. So that idea is probably never going to fly.

Wonder why they don't boot the queen. Oh well. They make great sandpaper. Maybe there is some advantage I can't see to them helping prop up Britain. We should all be good pals with the Brits, but being subjects of the queen or anyone is a creepy concept in my view. To each their own. I know diddly about the affairs of foreigners. Better for them to mind their business than for me to do it.

Doubt they really want to add us as a province, either. Pros and cons to everything. I don't know why we don't boot our own versions of royalty. It was never supposed to be monarchy lite. People want to serve a monarch or feudal lord. They just won't quit it.

The stuff at Ace Hardware just doesn't compare, especially the wet and dry. Gator, made in Finland by Finnies. It is OK, but if you have a choice get the 3M at home Depot or wherever else they sell it. Best bargain is the job pack. I've gone through a boat load of 220 grit, as well as 400 and 600 wet and dry.

I've also gone through the Ace excuse for sandpaper and it lasts about 64.7% as long, if that.

The other day I had reason to use sandpaper and I thought, Hey, you should again sing the praises of 3M's product, and ask why it isn't called Manitoba Mining and Manufacturing, since it is made somewhere up in Canuck land.

Did you know there are over 110,000 lakes in Manitoba? How do they have room for any housing except houseboats? I guess in winter they would be ice boats.

That's a place to watch--Canada may take the world by surprise and subjugate us all using high quality sandpaper. It will be a smooth transition ultimately. At least they almost speak American. Maybe more so than we do any more.

How to Handle Holidays

There are many ways to approach the festive season. First, one must determine his/her/its holiday goal.

If you want to fuel your anxiety, and raise your level of misery, then watch all the TV ads and insist to yourself that your life be just like the guy who gives the woman the 20k diamond bracelet, like the family who has a big fireplace in a stately home and whose members are all good looking, well dressed and smiley. Convince yourself you must shower all with gifts beyond your paygrade or you are admitting failure and the world will end. Once you have spent some weeks soaking up the ads, comparing yourself in a less than favorable light, spend the rest of the season getting rip roaring drunk, especially at inopportune times, like when your kids wake up on Christmas morning, or when it is time to stand up the tree and decorate it.

If you want to enjoy the season, then just hope you have the good sense to appreciate the friends and family you have, the cleverness to not lead them to expect gifts and bribes which you can't afford, and the sense to know that good people appreciate it when whatever they do for you is accepted graciously with sincere gratitude.

It is mostly a choice. If your kids are being raised by peers, public school and TV, you are probably screwed. Resign yourself to the fact that they will be disappointed and have no clue what you are talking about if you try to discuss what is real and what really matters. Too late. You should have raised the little munchkins yourself.

If you aren't married, it is often a great stress reliever to break up with the current squeeze prior to Thanksgiving. That way you don't have someone placing uncomfortable expectations upon you. Especially if it is a female who is fond of jewelry store commercials. Get a big poster which expresses outrage at blood diamonds, or something like that. My view is that diamonds and those who promote them are the devil. Nothing good can come of the path they push.

You know you have trained your loved ones well if you can give them each a gift wrapped raisin and they react with a smile and a hug, telling you how happy they are you could be with them for the holidays.

Believe it or not, I think I actually have come very close to achieving that. The last part. You could never get away with that if you have kids in the picture. Hmmm. Maybe some of this explains why I am single. Oh well, my blood pressure is low and I know what it is like to be with the wrong person, so single is by no means the worst condition one can experience.

This is going to be a great Christmas season. I can see it now.

Generations and Quality and I Don't Know

You hear all this "greatest generation" talk because, in England, they were tougher than nails while the Germans were bombing them to pieces, after they naively pretended that there was nothing to worry about. A little friendly diplomacy would do the trick and peace would reign from now on.

For our part, we managed to bail out England, France, plus others, and a bunch of Asian crap as well. I doubt we will ever know the exact 100% truth about any of it. People who read a lot of history often think they know it all, but judging from more recent events and twisted way it is viewed, I doubt the most elegant, leather bound, heavily footnoted tome is going to adequately explain how and why people are moved en masse to blow each other to bits in any given instance.

I've been skeptical when it comes to calling my father's generation "the greatest generation" because they are the ones who gave us baby boomers, the suburban culture of cheating husbands and wives, ideas like "driving is a privilege", a petty sense of status and false pride based on nonsense, did I mention that they produced the baby boomers?

But in their defense they still had remnants of the idea that quality matters, and that one should at least revere values like honesty (regardless of one's practice of such principles), hard work, inventiveness, respect for others, etc. Men shouldn't hit women, and you definitely weren't supposed to call them bitch, whore (before we gave in to the ignorant who think it is said and spelled Ho), brag about the number of baby mommas we have around town. Idiocy may have been practiced to some degree, but it wasn't revered by that bunch.

The baby boomers are the ones who made the worship of total nonsense an art form. It began pretty early on in the game and the parents of the boomers played enough of a role.

When you really think of it, what actual value, what crumb of constructive idea, thought or action did James Dean represent? A confused and spoiled teen ager full of angst? Who cares? But the greatest and the boomers turned depressing anxiety into genius and role model. I can't say I believe James was reasonably either. He was famous.

I'm not just picking on JD here. Just trying to make the point. Maybe it explains why you call up a place and get run through computerized madness, and the quality of service is no good at all. Here we have all the technology which is supposed to make providing products and services easier, more efficient, cheaper, better, and all it serves to do is depersonalize both customer and vendor, and results in bad experience.

People who can think past the normal expected view at any given time saw this coming. I'm not talking about those who think invention, flight, and birth control are evil. I'm talking about those who create, but see how good things get put to bad use. It is not the fault of computers that they've been used to place a barrier between consumer and supplier rather than enhance communication. They work great when it comes to buying, but beyond that they are the wall. It needn't be that way. It is a bastardized view of business and capitalism that leads to that. I've worked for those people. They don't know it can be done honestly. Shallow pricks.

It is not the fault of technology that those who seek to rule use it to take freedom while telling the gullible baby boomers and their offspring it will make them safe and cozy. People have suckered for lies and accepted that they need others to lead them for so long that they accept any garbage thrown their way, especially if they can maybe get a dollar out of it, or be classed as a potential victim. Brats.

It is typical of current and past generations whose hypocrisy has become a cultural lie that must be believed. Like the flower children--all peace and love, innocence and honesty. Hell no. Flower children were and are, for the most part, greedy little brats who supplied the most love and piece to whomever had the drugs, the cool van, etc. And they were no more non-violent in the long run than the occupy wallstreet crowd.

There was a kernel of creativity and sense which got lost in the process. The "movement" was peppered heavily with phonies. And idiocy was revered. I remember hearing people self-righteously proclaim in that stoner, semi-valley girl tone, "Eiu, mon, I dewnt rally doo logic. I'm more in to feeling and intooition, like y'knoo mon" WTF? Ever try to reason and make a point without logic and to someone who does "not do" logic?

Anyway. If you wonder why your company and other companies are always halfway dishonest, and why it is so hard to function otherwise, I would suggest it is because of the power the greatest generation and their lunatic offspring have had in the realm of governing, corrupting, and controlling that which should not have been theirs to pervert.

I hope this made no sense to you because I may be angry at something else.

Some products are actually better now. Mostly we are dealing with degrees of respect, and a growing acceptance of an elite class of rulers, bosses, "thinkers" who pretend to know best but don't have any right to even think about my best or worst interests.

Cars are actually better now, but they cost a bundle. And they've been, unnecessarily, designed so that diagnostic and other work can't be done by a normal person without sophisticated equipment. That's the respect part. Like potato chip bags which won't open right--they split down the side so all the chips go everywhere. What's that about?

Maybe it is because I saw a documentary about The Who, and realized what a prick Roger Daltrey is today, and probably always was. But a lot of those guys were total jerks in reality. Did good work on stage but best off locked in a trunk between shows because they're jerks.

The greatest generation is unknown, and non-existent. Maybe the ones who founded this country were our best. But they weren't perfect either. At least they didn't give birth to the baby boomer generation.

The Same Things Repeat

There have been times in my life when I yielded to the pleading or push of others to make a choice that I thought was not so good. It usually involved something which falls in the foggy zone of my understanding, generally in the category of something social. Often I think that I must be weird and I guess x or y is what normal people do, so I acquiesce. It never works out. Or almost never, can't recall everything so I'll leave it at 1 time in 100 that it works out.

Certain situations seem to arise again and again which have similar characteristics. You do it over and over until you get it right. Or so I thought. if you aren't careful, it will sneak up on you again even though you thought that lesson had been learned.

I should know better than to let such trouble surface. I do know better, but it is easy to ignore it under some conditions. Wish I could be more explicit, but I can't. Anyway, I'm on top of it and not going to let it happen.

In other news, I guess in not much more than a month I'll be riding down that long lonesome highway once again. If all goes well I'll arrive in the sunny Keys in time for the Buena Noche party--I think that's what they call it even though I thought it was supposed to be bueno noche. Who knows. Cuban Spanish. I doubt they can understand one another. If I was in school I'd be expelled for saying that. But I mean it in the best possible sense.

I look forward to being in the Keys, not much to being in Miami, which is going to be part of the deal. That is one hyperactive place, especially on the roads. And Florida is a boring drive from north to south.

Yikes, now I'm talking myself into not wanting to do the drive. I'll find ways to make it interesting, I'm sure.

Dear Self Proclaimed 99%

If you are blocking traffic, or preventing an area from being used for its normal purpose -playground, sidewalk, etc-you are infringing on the rights and mobility of others. That is force. It is not peaceful.

I must be in the 1%. Who knew? Those claiming to be the 99% absolutely do not speak for me. Most couldn't relate to me anyway--they have too much money.

Fix is In, I Guess

In response to some complaints that the various media outlets are effectively enforcing a near blackout on certain candidates during debates, we get responses like this:

“We are in the business of kicking candidates out of the race,” CNN host Howard Kurtz responded.

They have decided it is up to them to decide who has a chance and who should be given voice. An already closed shop is being closed off even more. Some candidates are barely given time enough to introduce themselves in these kangaroo debates while others are encouraged to blather on and on.

The arrogance of news media is beyond the pale. They sincerely believe it is up to them to shape and narrow the choices of the unwashed masses. But many people believe in a class of ruling elites. Obviously I do not.

The whole thing is a bit questionable.

Random Compulsion to Think Out Loud

I call it thinking out loud if I write it here. It has a different feel than if I write it on paper or even in Word or Mac's version of that, Pages. Writing in the new post box has a different feel altogether.

One of the things I was thinking is that my favorite story from Mark Twain, of his work that I've read, is his short story, The Mysterious Stranger. It has to do with the variables in life which you can't see or predict.

Recently, I heard people discussing someone's suicide trying to think if they should have done something differently which might have changed the course of events. No one knew what he was up to, but in a morbid way some of those in the conversation seemed to think they could have changed it all. You don't know.

It may have been a chance event in his youth that resulted in all this. It may have been because he was forbidden from going to the movies with that cute girl, Gayle, when he was 12, and that led to another chance thing which landed him in bad comapny, and on and on. He was forced to cut the grass that day, didn't go the the movie, then went down the street and ran into Tony, who talked him into sniffing glue.

If he'd gone to the movies he'd be a physics professor at a large university in some great coastal city, have two intelligent well behaved kids, a wife who gets better looking every day, and he'd be happy as a clam, and alive.

Instead he led a troubled life, dropped out of college, flirted with various addictions, was a full blown alcoholic at an early age and his troubled brain and addled mind simply could not see life through the chaos.

All because his slave driving, nazi parents couldn't wait until later in the day that Saturday for him to mow the lawn. Or let it go until Sunday. Either they thought they were instilling a good work ethic, or else they were just dogmatic creeps who hated their children. Well, it could be that they had some obsession and/or compulsion related to length of grass or yardwork in general.

I don't remember the specific events in the story told by Mark Twain, but it was that sort of thing.

And if the guy above did NOT off himself, he would have entered the 10 items line at the grocery story behind Mary Smartypants, causing Barry Brilliant to choose another line, thereby preventing the chance meeting of Mary and Barry, who would have mated and produced the next Einstein, and also the next Joan of Arc. A very interesting brother and sister combination.

So, since things have gone as they have, all starting with the slave driving parents and the lawn, ending in the sad suicide, we can look forward to a brilliant scientist and one bad ass, freedom loving chick to enter the scene in a couple of decades.

See how it works? It is what we call the unknown factor which is everywhere in life. That covers many things in science, politics, etc. So ignore anyone who thinks there are only so many ways to skin a cat, or that skinning the cat won't lead to a different path than not skinning the cat. You just don't know.

That's why it sort of irks me when people go on about how could God let this or that happen. If you ever created an invention with moving parts and a control system you would understand. You build it, set it up and let it run.

If you are lucky, or the creation is lucky, when it breaks you can fix it. That's divine intervention. You didn't make it break. You just lovingly set your machine into operation, hoping for the best. So bad things happening neither proves nor disproves the God concept. I tend to think it is such a different deal than we traditionally think that it would be very mind blowing to actually know.

But in my own life, I swear it feels like something other dimensional saves my ass over and over, and occasionally sprinkles me with lucky dust. How that works, I haven't a clue. But, from the standpoint of building a working model, I don't really know how my own happy-parts work either. Glad for the good things, understood or not, and that's about all you need to know.

Dear Whatever is God

Am I really as hopeless and lost as I feel?

Please answer in a way which will mold the truth into something like,
"Hell no, son, you are destined for marvelous things, all of it exciting happy and perfect, with plenty of wild sex, money, travel, good health, and lots of respect from your fellow earthlings, both human and inhuman--like bears."

Secret Life of [name withheld by my request]

My friend who lives in or on the North Pole, whose name may or may not be Sally, has been holding out. Before I go further, the reason I don't give a name and then stipulate, "not real name" is because that gives you one name to rule out, narrowing it down a little. I prefer to keep you completely in the dark.

Who knew? This chick plays great finger picking on guitar. She hasn't even been playing in ages and picked it up and went to town without once having the dead fret thing that happens if your fingers aren't chording hard enough, and not once did I see one of those instances of falling out of rhythm because she forgot a particular fingering. It was quite surprising. Even good players who haven't played in months and possibly a year or so before that will fumble a bit.

Not Sally. And she can sing. I had no idea she was that much better of a musician than I am. Most people are, but still, not everyone. And then I heard her daughter sing. She sang with her fiance and the blend was spectacular. I thought their sound and style was the kind of thing that could really go somewhere. They have other lives and I doubt the poverty life of trying to get your music out there appeals to them. But making music certainly does.

Sally was down here to see family and they invited me to a gathering at her brother/and/or sister's (see I am not going to give too many clues, but the item in question is in no way gender confused) home at an undisclosed beach, right on an undisclosed ocean. The fiance who is in a branch of the armed forces, which I will call the possibly air, land or sea Militants, wrote some pretty interesting stuff while based somewhere other than here.

I don't know what it was I expected, but the quality of the Sally crew when it comes to playing music exceeded whatever I must have expected. Sally was looking good, too, which creates lots of confusion, partly due to her citizenship in The North Pole, and because lots of things tug at me in various directions lately and I have no map of my future.

It is quite obvious this mild mannered popcorn cook woman has been hiding the musical mojo within. Previously she led me to believe she didn't even care if she played an out of tune guitar, and acted like she didn't know how it worked anyway. Wimmins, they will fool you any chance they get. They won't admit it, but it is a key element in the Secret Code of Wimmins.

I was nice to witness such art after watching the Chargers throw away yet another game. I'm convinced that the mob is threatening to harm Phil Rivers' family unless he throws X amount of passes per game to the other team, and that they are paying his line to let the other guys in to chase him around and tackle him. Either that or the coach has handed out different playbooks to the receivers so they cut left when Rivers thinks they are supposed to go right.

I'm highly skeptical of Norv, the coach. He's a good guy, I think, but lets his team and the other teams walk all over him. I've offered to counsel him but I get no reply.

Too Confused to Know

Sometimes I have no idea what to do with some situations. Just do not know.

I think this is why I hide away. When I don't I miss the simplicity and freedom.

The matters of time and space and logistics etc can be a bit daunting. It is always feast or famine in so many aspects of life. Usually the feast lasts a very short time then the table gets rudely cleared by the Ur life suks police, and somebody gets pissed off because you didn't rave about the duck beak soup, or select their pie for desert.

Voodoo Eye Ailments

It was a dark night, and I was minding my own business. I'd just walked in the door and turned on the light when I noticed an upside down couplet of musical notes floating in the periphery of my left eye's field of vision. When I moved my head or my eye or changed focus it moved too.

I could make it dance right in front of my face. I tried to snatch it out of the air but it was more elusive than a quick housefly. It was black like how notes are printed on the page. And it was dancing around like it didn't have a care in the world, and in my line of sight. No respect whatsoever.

Soon, I was on the computer searching for answers to black spots in my vision. The results were predictably off subject, with links promising answers landing me on pages with links promising to explain "black spots on penis". Who cares?

Finally I scored some info which indicated I probably wasn't going blind. This has gone on for a couple of days with day one being a day which consisted of me trying to avoid a migraine by not moving much. It felt like one of those that goes through the back of your eyes and rips your brain out. I am good at heading those off at the pass if I am left alone, so I managed to avoid the pain while only experiencing the dull wittedness that comes with it. I had to do some work over at the big O's pal's house.

Whether the musical notes, which changed into that Batman logo that the commissioner projects up in the sky, were related to the rare headache, I don't know.

I decided I better get checked in case the retina was falling apart or something. It turns out it is just the voodoo thing peeling off and it happens and is generally OK. It "should" eventually fall away from where it is in my eye and go away. At least I learned that all other aspects of my eyes are very healthy and my blood pressure was 98 over 63. Maybe I should update my glasses more than once every five years.

What made this voodoo vicious thing happen all of a sudden is unknown. I'll bet I got bumped by something or a ball bounced off my face and that is what happened. I am not good at keeping track.

The difficult thing was that I went in at 3 and they dilated my pupils. It must have been around 4 when that happened and it must take hours for the stuff to wear off. I had to hang around forever before I risked driving. I did end up buying some sunglasses but they won't be ready for a week or so--progressive lens and curved shape blablabla. So that took some time.

It was dark by the time I got out of there and all the lights looked like starbursts with long rays. I waited until maybe 630 after eating an overpriced pretzel. This place is at the edge of a mall. I do not like malls. It is as if they took the ghetto, separated it into various parts, put designer names on those elements, and presented them in very clean nice stores in the mall. What is that about?

Anyway, I got impatient put on cheap shades to cut the glare and risked it. Once I got on the straight stretch of highway the going was not too bad. Getting to that stretch was a game of guess where the lanes are, and is that guy on my tail going to kill me with those headlights or not?

My Batman logo and I made it home fine. I catch myself making it appear, moving it around like you would a cursor with a mouse, seeing if I can make it hover over various items in my view. The thing is, it is actually a little left of direct vision so I have to play little tricks looking at one thing while thinking of what is in my near peripheral vision.

Tomorrow I plan to file for disability due to Batman logo eye. I think that comes with pension, medical marijuana, and a direct line to the mayor and the commissioner. Perhaps this is God's way of telling me my destiny is to be a super hero. Well, He can wait. I want the pension and some perks.

I hate to pick out glasses and I had plenty of help. Nice store ladies.. That was mostly for the regular glasses which I will purchase later. If I was rich, I'd be in the eyeglass place a lot. I'd have all kinds of gasses and sunglasses.

The Job I Want

Here's the silver lining to the cloud in which we find ourselves. There was a time when no one would have dreamed that America would have fallen into such dysfunction that you would become socially or legally forbidden from thinking and expressing an ever growing list of sentiments. The world of political correctness, and the Big pretense. But this opens new opportunities. New agencies. JOBS!

And I want to be the first to apply for the position of thought cop.

I catch you looking askance at someone in a burka or at a homo or even thinking that certain racial groups claim more members per capita who might harm you, I'm taking you down. You can think race or ethnicity as long as you only do it from the point of view that certain segments of the population are victims more than others; victims of bullying, hurricanes, particular diseases, price of sugar, earthquakes, paparazzi, you name it. As long as your thought or rhetoric suggests that the correct groups are victims, OK, you have nothing to fear. But you must know to whom this applies.

That goes for gender issues of most varieties as well, and for anything female, unless you are citing someone from one of the untouchable groups as the victimizer, in which case it depends on certain factors who will officially be deemed victim. There is a hierarchy which suggests what trumps what, so be up on that before you think or speak.

I get it. I know instinctively how the hierarchy of political correctness works, so I am the guy for this job. It involves more than just race and other condition of birth. It covers religious matters, nationality issues, illnesses and all sorts of things relating to sex and genitalia, and also a coolness index as defined by the Code of Dead Kennedys and pop culture.

Much of the PC handbook is unwritten and has not been put into law, yet it is being enforced in businesses and governments throughout the nation. More and more it is being incorporated into legislation and I expect this trend to continue.

Why it takes a true specialist to enforce correctness correctly is because this is not something which applies equally to everyone. It depends upon condition of birth, your associates, friends and acquaintances, where you are from, where you live and various characteristics of whomever is being attacked, hired, fired, scrutinized, or considered in any way in one's thoughts.

I know all of the nuances so I always know who to cite in cases which may confuse the less savvy. Recognizing this new and growing field and the wonderful opportunity it presents causes me to feel like I am at last in the right place at the right time. That perfect vocational fit has finally materialized.

We in the thought policing business would not have such opportunity had it not been for hate crime legislation. That opened the door wide. By gaging the severity of the crime by what the perp was thinking (beyond normal consideration of premeditation and such) rather than solely on what he did, thought and opinion entered the realm of possible crimes. And crimes bring punishment.

Such laws made the thought behind the rape, murder, beating, robbery, etc. a factor in how severely the perpetrator is to be punished. So, having the wrong thought during a crime carries the punishment of the extra jail time. Separate that out and you find what thoughts and feelings, and against whom, carry what punishments. I'll bet I could catch people thinking the wrong thing before they actually do the crime.

I could fry them for the thought, then maybe add a little wrist slapping for the crime they may have committed in the future. I believe some of that is already going on---dealing with crimes that haven't been committed but could be some day.

But don't worry, if you don't think or feel, you are probably safe.

Occupy Naubinway, Michigan

This just proves what I've been saying about the audacity of the animal kingdom. Moose are now staging Occupy events in Michigan's upper peninsula.

This moose chick decided to occupy an innocent citizen's front yard, then gave birth right there in plain view. Her demands are unclear, but many vote-hungry politicians say they have sympathy for this demonstration. The Teamsters are sending her a megaphone to better conduct her Occupy effort and so she can more forcefully announce her demands, provided she and her young mooseling reach consensus regarding what they want; demands, etc.

Wisdom From The Ether

How these things happen to cross my desk (which consists of me sitting atop my bed cross-legged with a laptop in front of me, propped up on a book for better cooling) I cannot say. Perhaps I have friends who delve into sources of information where even angels fear to tread. Perhaps they, or I, are strange people.

Here is an excerpt from this site which eloquently discusses some do's and don'ts for the lady who wants the man to be of interested:

The second is you very love to say dirty, it is good but when you communicate it at the right time, by saying it repeatedly then you just make your man shame, find out how to talk dirty at the right occasion, to raise the connection between you and your man. The third awful approach is always feeling displeased with your own body, it has been a normal fact that most women do not pleased with their own body, this situation turns into the special difficulty for your man also for the reason that when he tries to respect you, and too bad you assume it as a scornful action.

The "how to talk dirty" part is a link I did not follow. Go to the site link, above, and you can find the dirty talk link in the article and follow it to educate yourself further. I know millions of women are eager to learn "some uncomfortable manners that should be kept away by a woman".

No need to thank me. Just another public service I provide which costs tax payers not even the dime.

Update: I see the talk dirty link came through in the copy and paste so you can go straight there if you so choose. I have not actually read the page as it may make me blush, barf, or fear for my life.

I Wanted To Be The Non-Leader

It looks like this guy (I think, but could be a she) stole my plan of Occupying ATM machines in places where Wall Street and larger banking institutions can't be found.

So, all I can say is Dear Sir, and/or Madam, You stole my idea, and I do not recall any consensus being established which would give you the popular mandate to do so.

I must ask that you cease and desist immediately. You are welcome to come join the Occupy Descanso movement which is actually an occupy the ATM inside Perkin's Store situation. At that time you can seek consensus on any initiatives or blocks you might want to put forth. Right now the consensus is that I get to be the one with the megaphone, so hands off, Buddy/and/or Missy.

Quick Word To Anarchists

Do you not find it ironic, and a bizarre mixed message to have a logo and actual organized groups? You are supposed to be anarchists, meaning you do not support authority of any kind outside your own good judgement. (an obvious stretch there)

As soon as you organize, ally with the most archist of all archy, communist groups, and strategize group activities, you are only being hypocrites. Fake anarchists. Bubble anarchists.

Having a nifty logo which is easy to spray paint on private and public property, and doing so, suggests that you are more a member of a vandalism cult. I know that the term "anarchy" is usually associated with chaos and crime, but I'd think that one who thinks governments can be done without would think that because he/she feels that such organizations have less respect and conscience than the vast majority of people.

What the logo, the destruction of property, the alliances do is paint a picture of a group of very bratty people who love to destroy that on which they depend for sustenance while pretending to possess a philosophy.

I've been accused of being very close to anarchist in my social philosophy, and neither I nor my accusers ever considered that title meant one who seeks to create chaos. It just means without rulers. Not the kind the nuns use, you nincompoops, the kind who run your organization and the groups with which you ally.

You play right into the hands of those who love a jack boot, all powerful central authority, and you give those who are highly skeptical of most regulation a bad name.

Rock n Roll In The Back Country

Sometimes where I live in East San Diego County is called the Back Country. I think there is even a little rag publication called Back Country news or gazettee--some such thing.

We've been having news worthy rain the past day. Rain is not a common occurrence here or anywhere in SoCal. The place is just not built for it by man nor nature.

There I was on the winding two lane road between Ballistic Mountain and Alpine. Actually, I was headed home. It was raining hard enough, temperature in the 30's (! that's cause for alarm in and of itself!!), when I see what appeared to be clods of weeds and mud on the right side of the road.

It was dark and visibility was poor. As I passed I wondered if that was debris caused by someone running their car over the side. It goes down a ways on that side. So, I drove up the road until I found a wide enough place to turn around.

Now the clifflike bluffs are on my right. I see some more cloddy looking masses in my lane as I headed back to the potential accident site, but couldn't make out clearly what they were.

I took the path that avoided most of them, doing about 40. This path meant that I'd straddle one prominent one. I'd estimated that I had enough clearance, and I did until it reached somewhere toward the rear of the car. At that point I heard and felt a pronounced thump.

My brakes still worked and I didn't hear sounds of car pieces dragging the road or falling off so I continued to see if the other debris was from an unfortunate motorist. There was no sign of people that I could see and no tire marks so I once again turned around.

When I reached the place where the thump occurred I was able to find enough shoulder to get off the road. Still raining a cold nasty rain--one of my favorite things when performing outdoor tasks. Really.

The clods turned out to be some heavy boulders which had fallen from the bluffs. A mini landslide I guess. It seemed only right to get them off of the road. A lower car could be in big trouble if the driver didn't see what was there. My car may have suffered, although a flashlight inspection of the underside, in the cold cold rain, revealed no damage.

In predictable California fashion, as soon as I was underway again, a rude idiot in a pickup truck races up to tailgate me, on a slippery road, with debris, in a very dark area, in the rain. This is why I carry no firearm. I probably would have shot a hole in his radiator. Or her radiator, whatever the case. It is usually a guy in such cases. The women jerks who drive like that are normally in different types of vehicles which I won't describe. My generalizations tend to get out of hand if I am not careful.

That is one thing about this state, there are some very nice people, but the basic culture is a bit edgy and rude in a pushy yet not quite mano a mano sort of way. On the road, they tend to be what can best be described as pricks. Still not as stupid and bizarre as Memphis, mind you, but certainly not as polite as Seattle or Boise. Unlike Memphis, the prickishness is purposeful, not the by-product of incurable ignorance.

So, though it ended with thoughts of doing violence to a back country moron, I did my good deed. It would have been two good deeds had someone been off the side down the hill. And, considering the thump and the annoyance of some tailgating redneck moron, the deeds did not go unpunished.

On the up side I got to enjoy performing a task in the dark, rainy, cold night and that was kind of fun.

Guess There Is A Reason For Success

I hate her for being smarter and way more interesting to others than I am, but the best description of a certain state of mind that I have seen can be found at hyperbole and a half. on blogger. The difference in my case is that I am not a girl, and I have had a war with myself and sadness for decades to one degree or another. And lately, a whole lot. Except I don't cry, other than when watching advertisements or westerns.

The Gods Must Be Crazy; part 11042011

It seems I have little material to write about ever since I attempted not to include much from current events, as fed to us from various media sources. That may have been a bad bit of advice, and a mistake on my part. Whenever I try to change to make better sense to others, or to please them, it results in failure or worse.

The "that" which I discovered people have to get past in order to appreciate or accept me may actually be the essence of what keeps me alive. I don't expect that to make sense to anyone. Some people don't find there is anything much to get past or overlook. Others find it maddening and think it is unnecessary and voluntary. I guess it is the way things go; different people find different things appealing, annoying, and worthwhile.

People can be very weird, to put it kindly. Just look at the way people gossip, trashing others to make themselves feel better. Look at the world of politics and the magic appearance of scandal whenever the wrong candidate shows popularity.

It is also interesting in politics how some people get tainted with a little scandal and it is excused, while others go under the bus, and the bus backs up runs over them, then backs up and does it again. And often in those cases, the scandal is trivial or largely fictitious. It only works because so many people thrive on that sort of thing. Or they are sadly gullible, not sure which.

Who was it that said "it isn't the legitimacy of the charge so much as the seriousness of the charge that counts"? I'm paraphrasing there. Seems like it was a prominent senator regarding something some anonymous source said about a political foe of his. Was it Kennedy who said it? I vaguely recall it was someone who'd managed to get away with murder in the past. Good thing those people don't live in glass houses. If they do it is bullet proof.

I've never seen so much national rhetoric which passes for thought which only demonstrates a total lack of understanding of what a republic is and what limits on power were meant to do. Obviously it doesn't occur to many of the Occupy crowd that you can't have bought off government, excessive lobby influence, without first giving those officials too much power to begin with. And without the government/business partnerships they so proudly announce.

What is the definition of crony capitalism if not a government-business partnership?

Good thing the president is not all powerful, is not a monarch, and is not elected to be supreme leader and dictator. Bad thing that most people don't realize that, and that many who seek that office feed the ignorant, erroneous view.

Of course trial lawyers love the people who make the most laws, add regulations in lieu of enforcing existing laws, and dream up convoluted rules which get through with few people noticing. Keeps them in the money.

I've not heard anything more about PETA suing Seaworld on the basis that they are violating the Constitution by enslaving whales and dolphins (persons who happened not to be born human). It does warm the heart to think that tax money which comes out of what we get paid would finance all the court time, judges salaries, etc., to handle such a worthy cause and circus.

I guess we've seen people who appear to not have been born human be the cause of considerable tax expense as well. I don't think PETA worries about them.

Oh well. There are organizations with slogans like, "because the earth needs a good lawyer", and a big push to be the legal representative of rodents and bears, so why not trees, bees, mosquitoes and poison ivy?

Friends and Lovers

A cliche title, not necessarily to be taken literally.

I should be a politician or a lawyer, the way I can say yes and no at the same time, but make it sound like I actually said something.

Today was one of those days when it was good to know I have a few friends around the country who somehow make me look at things in a more hopeful light, even though the conversations had little to do with the fact that I needed that boost. That is how it is.

In general, people confuse me, even though I consider myself one who likes people. Maybe I like people because I am one and hope it will help me approve of myself more than I do. Who knows.

That is why it is quite a treasure to know people who don't confuse me and who tend to be uplifting just because of the mutual respect.

In the case of Sally it also goes into the realm of extended laughter. We should take notes and make scripts for movies and TV series from the fruits of our conversations. It just happens, and pretty soon imaginary worlds, intrigues and complicated events are created from one simple statement or observation. And it is the sort of story that has weight and quality, bizarre as it may be.

Now that I think of it, maybe I can recall some of those things and write something. The trouble is I often can't recall the scenarios at will. That's just a minor obstacle most likely. At least I remembered to tell people I get my protein on the black market if they ask me, "So, if you don't eat meat, where do you get your protein?", which is a question posed with a tone of accusation most of the time.

It is freaky how often that question has been thrown my way. I can only conclude that I worry less about where my protein is copped than many carnivores. You'd think it would be the other way around. So far no one has shined a bare bulb lamp in my eyes and trapped me in an interrogation room when quizzing along those lines. It has often been clear that they wanted to and would if they could.

That's the kind of wisdom that comes out of having a few good, trusted friends. Also, they tend to point out the plus side of my existence without lecture or overdoing it. It just seems to flow and then I realize that I am not doomed, living in hell, or in much of a bind if I don't want to be.

They can't do much about that toenail that wants to fall off. I keep it taped there. I do not want to know what is underneath, or to deal with that last bit of tissue holding just one millimeter of it to my body still. Even friends don't want to deal with your toenails, in most cases. Hence the old saying, "It is lonely in a shoe".