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.