Blog number 535 ******** 30 October 2011
I'm rereading my Booth Tarkington books and I've run across a couple of curious things. First off, he's a much better writer than I realized even back when I first started reading him in earnest. He won a Pulitzer prize back when and then got kinda dissed that he wasn't really that good. But he is.
A writer tells stories or imparts information. Poetry, I don't understand or appreciate so we won't go there. Tarkington tells stories. Tells them in an excellent manner - lots better than those things you find in the New Yorker or any of those other authors who seem to love to use archaic words whether or not you can make a story out of them.
If you haven't already guessed by now, these are just my opinions and have no relationship at all to anything real or important. You may ignore anything you find in the first two paragraphs of this tiny tome and continue on with your happy and successful life.
One curious thing about at least this one book Tarkington published in 1909. Instead of using the word, "didn't" or "doesn't", it's "did n't" and "does n't." Makes me wonder if maybe those contractions used to be always written that way and it's a modern things the way they are written now. I guess I could Google that or something, but I don't wanna.
And in the copyright page, we find, "All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages including the Scandinavian." Have the Scandinavian peoples been cheating with the copyright laws? Huh? Never have trusted them - they and their blond hair and blue eyes. 'cept the women. I trust them. A lot.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
CAN'T LEAVE PEOPLE HANGING.
Blog number 534 ******** 24 October 2011
As reported in Blog entry # 532 dated 11 October 2011, the cauterizing on my heart went nowhere. What I received instead was a prescription for a drug called Amiodarone. This seems to be working. I haven't had a chest pain for the past couple of weeks now, and before I started taking the drug, I was downing Nitroglycerine two, three times a day. So there's that.
This entry is just to keep up to date anyone wondering what was happening, since the last I wrote was that the cauterizing didn't work. I didn't mention the drug.
Like my nephew asked after he read that entry, "So what now?" So this entry is what is now.
I feel good!
As reported in Blog entry # 532 dated 11 October 2011, the cauterizing on my heart went nowhere. What I received instead was a prescription for a drug called Amiodarone. This seems to be working. I haven't had a chest pain for the past couple of weeks now, and before I started taking the drug, I was downing Nitroglycerine two, three times a day. So there's that.
This entry is just to keep up to date anyone wondering what was happening, since the last I wrote was that the cauterizing didn't work. I didn't mention the drug.
Like my nephew asked after he read that entry, "So what now?" So this entry is what is now.
I feel good!
Sunday, October 16, 2011
THIS IS FOR ANAND KAVIRAJ
Blog number 533 ******** 16 October 2011
This entry has been taken from a series of postings on a message board posted a couple of years ago.
*************
EthnAlln: Language has a huge amount of variety. I still regard myself as a novice in what Bertrand Russell called the "philosophy of logical analysis," so I make any pronouncements very hesitatingly.
I'm reading early Wittgenstein right now in my spare time
kennethamy: Early Wittgenstein is passe'. That doesn't mean it isn't true. Just passe'. But then, so is late Wittgenstein.
Bodhimalik: These two posts above illustrate the deficiencies of philosophy students. It has been said correctly, that they herd other people's cattle.
kennethamy: To cite a philosopher is not necessarily to argue from authority. It may be simply because the philosopher has put what I want to say, better. Or it may be to put what I want to say in context. In any case, you can't detach philosophy from the history of philosophy, in the way you can physics from the history of physics. Philosophy is imbedded in its history.
Bodhimalik: Yes, I agree with what you say here. You are correct.
But since philosophy is what we call one's opinions about what is, is there really such a thing as a "history of philosophy?" A history of opinions? Or even a science of opinions?
I am not against an occasional quote where it fits better than anything I could think of. I am against hearing someone else's thoughts about existence when I could hear a direct account.
I have talked with people who, when asked a question, invariably answer with, "Well, Sarte said..." Drives me nuts. It's like someone telling you about a movie instead of letting you see it.
You see that all through posts on philosophy. "Fill-In-The-Blank said..." "Yeah, but didn't Fill-In-Another-Blank say...?"
These later posts, here - these people, and you, are describing their direct experience. Very refreshing for me. I hope for others too.
EthnAlln: What in hell is wrong with testing my own thoughts against what has been said by people of great intelligence and power of expression?
Bodhimalik: I am not arguing that. What I am arguing is, why use what you read as a benchmark for what is true? Why quote an "authority" as if that alone makes what is said, true? Picasso scribbles a line of random marks, it sells for thousands. I make the same exact marks, it gets thrown in the trash. Where does truth, where do facts, where does "what is" come up in this?
Your first beliefs were "borrowed" from your parents. "Daddy says..., so it must be true." Later on it becomes, "Teacher says..." And still later, "experts say..." Facts determined not from what "is," but from "who says?"
What you believe now - about God, Life, America, is borrowed beliefs from your culture. Any new belief, in order to be accepted, must have all beliefs "rearranged" until the new belief will fit in. You never "test" your thoughts against others (look at what you do with my beliefs, for instance), you merely look for agreement for what you already "know."
kennethamy: The French writer, Madame de Stael, once wrote: "Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner" which in English means, "To understand all, is to forgive all". I think that's not only false, it is nefarious. No matter how much I would understand why Saddam did what he did, I would not forgive it.
The word, "understand" has two different meanings, often confused. It may simply mean that one knows why someone acted as he did. The explanation, in other words. But, it also means to sympathize with someone. de Stael's apothegm trades in on this ambiguity. (Semantics!). Do you agree with it?
Bodhimalik: I think "To understand all, is to forgive all". might be more acceptable if one were to use it in the same sense one may understand one's own behavior, given the same circumstances, thoughts, memory, instincts, emotions, etc.
In other words, if one were to look back on some horrible thing one did and realize that if everything were exactly the same - like a returning to the past, then one would have to do exactly the same thing again.
Using this idea then, if one were to have Saddam's exact memory, instincts, emotions, thoughts, circumstances, etc, then one would do exactly as Saddam did. Then one would understand and one would have to forgive, since it was completely out of the person's hands.
We are all exactly where we are today because of our past and our future - over both of which we have no control.
No es verdad?
Darth Dane: If there is no free will, and everything falls as domino pieces, no one/nothing has any responsibility: How could anyone/anything have behaved any different?
No free will is the same as everything is destined to behave in certain ways.
Bodhimalik: What you say is undoubtedly true. The only quarrel I have with any of it is that free will is either given to us or not given to us. We have no choice in the matter.
Responsibility is not a matter of what "is" - of fact. It is a matter of opinion - of thought - of belief.
I can see clearly that I have no free will, but that gives me an immense freedom. I cannot sin, I have no responsibity. I get to ride the roller coaster at no cost and no effort on my part.
I have had people argue that this philosophy gives a person the right to rob and murder. They always go on to say, "I would not do this, but he might."
My argument with this argument is based upon fact. I have this philosophy and I don't rob and murder.
Garrett: You have no ability to make conscious decisions?
Bodhimalik: No more than does a computer. My decisions are made for me by my remembrances, my instincts, my desires, my thoughts, my emotions, my ambitions, and so forth - none of these of which I get to choose. They choose me. I can't even "not do something." That is chosen for me also.
Garrett: I am sorry for your lack. I make conscious decisions, and commit voluntary actions. The world pushes me around, sure, but I push back on purpose.
Bodhimalik: You are a machine that thinks it has free will, is all. That's not a bad thing to be. A machine. There are immediate advantages.
Look closely at what you can "do." Grow another arm? Be interested in something that doesn't interest you - in other words, pick your interests? Choose what thoughts to have - how to make a time machine, for instance? Grow a different color bunch of hair? Digest rocks? Not digest bread?
Do you consciously raise your arm - pick which muscles to do what, or do you just will it to rise and it rises in a way totally unknown by you? Do you pick when to have your heart beat or lungs breathe? Do you pick when to get sexually aroused or when to get sleepy or hungry? Do you pick what to dream? Or when? Do you pick what your eyes are to see? Do you choose what sound is sensed by your brain? Do you choose what level of pain you wish?
What is it that YOU can "do"?
Hoodoo Ulove: You seem to be saying that because I can't do a lot of things, including wanting to do what I don't want to do, that I can't do anything.
Bodhimalik: No, I am saying that because you can't "do" anything - i.e., be the originator of an action, that you can't "do" anything. Ipso facto.
A plant can grow, and thus DO something, but can it "do" anything? Is the plant then a machine like you, or free willed like you?
Bye the bye, for various and sundry reasons, your belief in having free will is not in any way amenable to being changed. Why? Because your "free will" will not let you change.
A conundrum you say? You betchum, Red Ryder
Bodhimalik: To be conscious is to be aware. Having consciousness is to be conscious.
What are you people doing, complicating something so simple? Why do you have to add so many wines and herbs to a pair of fried eggs?
If you want to do some pondering, ponder upon your own consciousness. That'll keep you busy for your lifetime.
Besides that, by trying to comprehend consciousness, you must of necessity use consciousness to comprehend it, which is impossible.
The eye cannot see itself, the finger cannot touch itself, the ear cannot hear itself. These thing are impossible and with a little thought you could have figured this out for yourself. Don't be so lazy with your thinking. Stop looking for thoughts in other people. Do your own work. It might turn out to be fun.
jaboteer: With epistemology in mind, I doubt the validity of your arguments in such a way that the scorching conclusions you have made falls to ashes like a burnt house of cards.
Bodhimalik: I don't especially like dealing with arguments. Something is either true (real) or it is not. What I or anyone else thinks about it is irrelevant.
Besides, it is the facts upon which arguments are based that causes disagreements, not the opinions or thinking, as commonly believed.
What I said is either true or it is not. It doesn't change in response to our opinions."The eye cannot see itself." How can there be an argument about that?
jaboteer:The claim of impossibility needs to be adjusted seeing the same could have been said about trying to comprehend your thoughts. How could a thought comprehend a thought?
Bodhimalik: Well, first of all, thoughts can't think. And as far as being conscious of consciousness, You are conscious of the heavens - the stars, the space. You would not expect that you could be able to comprehend the inner workings of all matter of which you are conscious.
You do not comprehend exactly how it is that your digestive system turns carrots into blood, skin and hair. If you cannot comprehend just these small things that are in your consciousness, how can you expect to comprehend all of your consciousness? How can you ever expect to comprehend consciousness?
jaboteer: Do you doubt there has been advances in thinking?
Bodhimalik: : I don't know what you mean by this. Do I think people think better now than they did in olden days? Do I think that thinking has been built on previous thought?
jaboteer: why do you submit such an argument restricting our search for truth?
Bodhimalik: It is not the search for truth that I advocate restricting. It is the search for answers that are impossible to find that I do not recommend.
jaboteer: What may be impossible is the mathematical truth you have insinuated, but that very mathematical truth is based on another mathematical truth which may very well turn out to be false after all.
Bodhimalik: I didn't mean to insinuate a mathematical truth. What I am trying to do is to take things out of the mind and place them in their proper place as what "is."
As an example only, realize that mathematics is a made up game that humans play. There never was a mathematics "out there" waiting to be discovered. It was made up. Invented, not discovered. Logic and proofs deal properly with invented things. Another Mind is needed in order to deal with "discovered things".
Consciousness is a discovered thing.
Garrett: Quote:Bodhimalik "The eye cannot see itself." How can there be an argument about that?
The hand picks up a mirror - and lo! The eye sees itself!
Quote: Bodhimalik: "Consciousness is a discovered thing."
Garrett: Consciousness is an experienced thing. You had to have been there.
Ierrellus: If you believe Putnam, a mind is inadequate for the purposes of exploring the complexities of consciousness. Sorry, Putnam. A mind is all we've got for such exploring.
Bodhimalik: And it remains inadequate.
This entry has been taken from a series of postings on a message board posted a couple of years ago.
*************
EthnAlln: Language has a huge amount of variety. I still regard myself as a novice in what Bertrand Russell called the "philosophy of logical analysis," so I make any pronouncements very hesitatingly.
I'm reading early Wittgenstein right now in my spare time
kennethamy: Early Wittgenstein is passe'. That doesn't mean it isn't true. Just passe'. But then, so is late Wittgenstein.
Bodhimalik: These two posts above illustrate the deficiencies of philosophy students. It has been said correctly, that they herd other people's cattle.
kennethamy: To cite a philosopher is not necessarily to argue from authority. It may be simply because the philosopher has put what I want to say, better. Or it may be to put what I want to say in context. In any case, you can't detach philosophy from the history of philosophy, in the way you can physics from the history of physics. Philosophy is imbedded in its history.
Bodhimalik: Yes, I agree with what you say here. You are correct.
But since philosophy is what we call one's opinions about what is, is there really such a thing as a "history of philosophy?" A history of opinions? Or even a science of opinions?
I am not against an occasional quote where it fits better than anything I could think of. I am against hearing someone else's thoughts about existence when I could hear a direct account.
I have talked with people who, when asked a question, invariably answer with, "Well, Sarte said..." Drives me nuts. It's like someone telling you about a movie instead of letting you see it.
You see that all through posts on philosophy. "Fill-In-The-Blank said..." "Yeah, but didn't Fill-In-Another-Blank say...?"
These later posts, here - these people, and you, are describing their direct experience. Very refreshing for me. I hope for others too.
EthnAlln: What in hell is wrong with testing my own thoughts against what has been said by people of great intelligence and power of expression?
Bodhimalik: I am not arguing that. What I am arguing is, why use what you read as a benchmark for what is true? Why quote an "authority" as if that alone makes what is said, true? Picasso scribbles a line of random marks, it sells for thousands. I make the same exact marks, it gets thrown in the trash. Where does truth, where do facts, where does "what is" come up in this?
Your first beliefs were "borrowed" from your parents. "Daddy says..., so it must be true." Later on it becomes, "Teacher says..." And still later, "experts say..." Facts determined not from what "is," but from "who says?"
What you believe now - about God, Life, America, is borrowed beliefs from your culture. Any new belief, in order to be accepted, must have all beliefs "rearranged" until the new belief will fit in. You never "test" your thoughts against others (look at what you do with my beliefs, for instance), you merely look for agreement for what you already "know."
kennethamy: The French writer, Madame de Stael, once wrote: "Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner" which in English means, "To understand all, is to forgive all". I think that's not only false, it is nefarious. No matter how much I would understand why Saddam did what he did, I would not forgive it.
The word, "understand" has two different meanings, often confused. It may simply mean that one knows why someone acted as he did. The explanation, in other words. But, it also means to sympathize with someone. de Stael's apothegm trades in on this ambiguity. (Semantics!). Do you agree with it?
Bodhimalik: I think "To understand all, is to forgive all". might be more acceptable if one were to use it in the same sense one may understand one's own behavior, given the same circumstances, thoughts, memory, instincts, emotions, etc.
In other words, if one were to look back on some horrible thing one did and realize that if everything were exactly the same - like a returning to the past, then one would have to do exactly the same thing again.
Using this idea then, if one were to have Saddam's exact memory, instincts, emotions, thoughts, circumstances, etc, then one would do exactly as Saddam did. Then one would understand and one would have to forgive, since it was completely out of the person's hands.
We are all exactly where we are today because of our past and our future - over both of which we have no control.
No es verdad?
Darth Dane: If there is no free will, and everything falls as domino pieces, no one/nothing has any responsibility: How could anyone/anything have behaved any different?
No free will is the same as everything is destined to behave in certain ways.
Bodhimalik: What you say is undoubtedly true. The only quarrel I have with any of it is that free will is either given to us or not given to us. We have no choice in the matter.
Responsibility is not a matter of what "is" - of fact. It is a matter of opinion - of thought - of belief.
I can see clearly that I have no free will, but that gives me an immense freedom. I cannot sin, I have no responsibity. I get to ride the roller coaster at no cost and no effort on my part.
I have had people argue that this philosophy gives a person the right to rob and murder. They always go on to say, "I would not do this, but he might."
My argument with this argument is based upon fact. I have this philosophy and I don't rob and murder.
Garrett: You have no ability to make conscious decisions?
Bodhimalik: No more than does a computer. My decisions are made for me by my remembrances, my instincts, my desires, my thoughts, my emotions, my ambitions, and so forth - none of these of which I get to choose. They choose me. I can't even "not do something." That is chosen for me also.
Garrett: I am sorry for your lack. I make conscious decisions, and commit voluntary actions. The world pushes me around, sure, but I push back on purpose.
Bodhimalik: You are a machine that thinks it has free will, is all. That's not a bad thing to be. A machine. There are immediate advantages.
Look closely at what you can "do." Grow another arm? Be interested in something that doesn't interest you - in other words, pick your interests? Choose what thoughts to have - how to make a time machine, for instance? Grow a different color bunch of hair? Digest rocks? Not digest bread?
Do you consciously raise your arm - pick which muscles to do what, or do you just will it to rise and it rises in a way totally unknown by you? Do you pick when to have your heart beat or lungs breathe? Do you pick when to get sexually aroused or when to get sleepy or hungry? Do you pick what to dream? Or when? Do you pick what your eyes are to see? Do you choose what sound is sensed by your brain? Do you choose what level of pain you wish?
What is it that YOU can "do"?
Hoodoo Ulove: You seem to be saying that because I can't do a lot of things, including wanting to do what I don't want to do, that I can't do anything.
Bodhimalik: No, I am saying that because you can't "do" anything - i.e., be the originator of an action, that you can't "do" anything. Ipso facto.
A plant can grow, and thus DO something, but can it "do" anything? Is the plant then a machine like you, or free willed like you?
Bye the bye, for various and sundry reasons, your belief in having free will is not in any way amenable to being changed. Why? Because your "free will" will not let you change.
A conundrum you say? You betchum, Red Ryder
Bodhimalik: To be conscious is to be aware. Having consciousness is to be conscious.
What are you people doing, complicating something so simple? Why do you have to add so many wines and herbs to a pair of fried eggs?
If you want to do some pondering, ponder upon your own consciousness. That'll keep you busy for your lifetime.
Besides that, by trying to comprehend consciousness, you must of necessity use consciousness to comprehend it, which is impossible.
The eye cannot see itself, the finger cannot touch itself, the ear cannot hear itself. These thing are impossible and with a little thought you could have figured this out for yourself. Don't be so lazy with your thinking. Stop looking for thoughts in other people. Do your own work. It might turn out to be fun.
jaboteer: With epistemology in mind, I doubt the validity of your arguments in such a way that the scorching conclusions you have made falls to ashes like a burnt house of cards.
Bodhimalik: I don't especially like dealing with arguments. Something is either true (real) or it is not. What I or anyone else thinks about it is irrelevant.
Besides, it is the facts upon which arguments are based that causes disagreements, not the opinions or thinking, as commonly believed.
What I said is either true or it is not. It doesn't change in response to our opinions."The eye cannot see itself." How can there be an argument about that?
jaboteer:The claim of impossibility needs to be adjusted seeing the same could have been said about trying to comprehend your thoughts. How could a thought comprehend a thought?
Bodhimalik: Well, first of all, thoughts can't think. And as far as being conscious of consciousness, You are conscious of the heavens - the stars, the space. You would not expect that you could be able to comprehend the inner workings of all matter of which you are conscious.
You do not comprehend exactly how it is that your digestive system turns carrots into blood, skin and hair. If you cannot comprehend just these small things that are in your consciousness, how can you expect to comprehend all of your consciousness? How can you ever expect to comprehend consciousness?
jaboteer: Do you doubt there has been advances in thinking?
Bodhimalik: : I don't know what you mean by this. Do I think people think better now than they did in olden days? Do I think that thinking has been built on previous thought?
jaboteer: why do you submit such an argument restricting our search for truth?
Bodhimalik: It is not the search for truth that I advocate restricting. It is the search for answers that are impossible to find that I do not recommend.
jaboteer: What may be impossible is the mathematical truth you have insinuated, but that very mathematical truth is based on another mathematical truth which may very well turn out to be false after all.
Bodhimalik: I didn't mean to insinuate a mathematical truth. What I am trying to do is to take things out of the mind and place them in their proper place as what "is."
As an example only, realize that mathematics is a made up game that humans play. There never was a mathematics "out there" waiting to be discovered. It was made up. Invented, not discovered. Logic and proofs deal properly with invented things. Another Mind is needed in order to deal with "discovered things".
Consciousness is a discovered thing.
Garrett: Quote:Bodhimalik "The eye cannot see itself." How can there be an argument about that?
The hand picks up a mirror - and lo! The eye sees itself!
Quote: Bodhimalik: "Consciousness is a discovered thing."
Garrett: Consciousness is an experienced thing. You had to have been there.
Ierrellus: If you believe Putnam, a mind is inadequate for the purposes of exploring the complexities of consciousness. Sorry, Putnam. A mind is all we've got for such exploring.
Bodhimalik: And it remains inadequate.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
BOY AM I GLAD THAT'S OVER!
Blog number 532 ******** 11 October 2011
Went to get my cauterizing of my beating heart as mentioned a few entries back. It was not fun. Really good people though, and that is something to be grateful for.
Worst thing about it was having to urinate really bad and not being able to. Next worst thing was constantly being cold, followed by needles sticking in my arm and having to lie still for six hours with my arms tied down, bordering on claustrophobia at times.
And with all that, no cauterizing! Turns out the miscreants causing the erroneous triggering were all on the outside of the heart and the surgeon didn't want to chance cauterizing there because that's where the blood vessels for feeding the heart were, and if he had hit one of those, heart attack on the operation table!
Went to get my cauterizing of my beating heart as mentioned a few entries back. It was not fun. Really good people though, and that is something to be grateful for.
Worst thing about it was having to urinate really bad and not being able to. Next worst thing was constantly being cold, followed by needles sticking in my arm and having to lie still for six hours with my arms tied down, bordering on claustrophobia at times.
And with all that, no cauterizing! Turns out the miscreants causing the erroneous triggering were all on the outside of the heart and the surgeon didn't want to chance cauterizing there because that's where the blood vessels for feeding the heart were, and if he had hit one of those, heart attack on the operation table!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
IS THIS THE BEST YOU CAN DO?
Blog number 531 ******** 09 October 2011
Just saw the strangest movie. How strange? Strange enough to get me to write a Blog entry about it.
The movie stars Stephen Dorff and is called, "Somewhere." It is directed by Sofia Coppola and is supposed to be a drama, but winds up unintentionally being a comedy. At least for me.
Funny thing is, it was interesting to watch. It's just that there was absolutely no plot of any kind. No story.
We see Stephen's character, who is a "movie star," at a party where he falls down stairs and breaks his arm. We next see him lying in bed watching twin pole dancers he has evidently hired. They're good, I'll give you that. Very good. We watch them pack up their stuff and leave after they finish. Later we see them do their thing again.
Stephen brushes teeth, takes pill, stands on porch, looks around, next scene he is sitting at an outdoor restaurant drinking beer and looking at two girls at another table. A girl pulls up by him at a stop light and he follows her way out in the country on a winding road until she pulls into a gated house. He continues on.
We watch his daughter ice skate. For a long time we watch an eleven year old girl ice skate. Wheee!
He goes to get a mold of his head. We see him getting his head covered with goop, all except for two nostrils and then for one minute and thirty seconds (I timed it) we watch the goop dry with no other people in the room, and nothing else happening. Like watching paint dry, ya know?
He goes to another party and then to a photo shoot and then to a press conference.
"A day in the life."
We watch him and his daughter play Wii guitar and tennis for a time. Again, whee! Reminds me of my youngest son when I heard him plead with his younger sister to "come and watch me fly this kite."
I just realized that if I were to continue to describe this movie, it would wind up being somewhat like the movie, so I'll just hit a couple of highlights and leave.
Stephen's character and his character's daughter go to Milan so he can receive an award and the way they introduce him is to say that he worked with some of the biggest stars - Meryl Streep, Dustin Hoffman, Al Pachino, Sharon Stone. Here's this "star," getting an award for his work, and he's introduced as someone who has been close to real stars. Kind of a backhanded compliment, I think
Each scene in the movie is about nothing, and each scene drags on and on, but surprisingly, it was fun to watch. The pleasure off voyeurism, I guess.
Just saw the strangest movie. How strange? Strange enough to get me to write a Blog entry about it.
The movie stars Stephen Dorff and is called, "Somewhere." It is directed by Sofia Coppola and is supposed to be a drama, but winds up unintentionally being a comedy. At least for me.
Funny thing is, it was interesting to watch. It's just that there was absolutely no plot of any kind. No story.
We see Stephen's character, who is a "movie star," at a party where he falls down stairs and breaks his arm. We next see him lying in bed watching twin pole dancers he has evidently hired. They're good, I'll give you that. Very good. We watch them pack up their stuff and leave after they finish. Later we see them do their thing again.
Stephen brushes teeth, takes pill, stands on porch, looks around, next scene he is sitting at an outdoor restaurant drinking beer and looking at two girls at another table. A girl pulls up by him at a stop light and he follows her way out in the country on a winding road until she pulls into a gated house. He continues on.
We watch his daughter ice skate. For a long time we watch an eleven year old girl ice skate. Wheee!
He goes to get a mold of his head. We see him getting his head covered with goop, all except for two nostrils and then for one minute and thirty seconds (I timed it) we watch the goop dry with no other people in the room, and nothing else happening. Like watching paint dry, ya know?
He goes to another party and then to a photo shoot and then to a press conference.
"A day in the life."
We watch him and his daughter play Wii guitar and tennis for a time. Again, whee! Reminds me of my youngest son when I heard him plead with his younger sister to "come and watch me fly this kite."
I just realized that if I were to continue to describe this movie, it would wind up being somewhat like the movie, so I'll just hit a couple of highlights and leave.
Stephen's character and his character's daughter go to Milan so he can receive an award and the way they introduce him is to say that he worked with some of the biggest stars - Meryl Streep, Dustin Hoffman, Al Pachino, Sharon Stone. Here's this "star," getting an award for his work, and he's introduced as someone who has been close to real stars. Kind of a backhanded compliment, I think
Each scene in the movie is about nothing, and each scene drags on and on, but surprisingly, it was fun to watch. The pleasure off voyeurism, I guess.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
HEART ACHES, HEART ACHES.
Blog number 530 ******** 08 October 2011
So.
A few weeks ago.
On a weekend.
Late at night.
I got a minor chest pain.
I took a nitro pill, but it didn't help. I took another one. No help. A doctor once told me that if I ever got a chest pain, to sit down and rest. If that didn't help, to take a nitro. If no help, take another one. If still no help, take another. If the third one didn't help, scurry over to emergency room.
Two pills didn't help, I thought I'd skip taking the third one, so I told my wife what was happening and that I thought we had better go to the emergency room. On the way there, I started feeling much better, so I said we might as well turn around and go home. So we did. Got home, pain started again so I took another nitro. No help. Took another one. No help. Told wife we might as well go to emergency room. So we did. Wound up staying in hospital a few days.
Found out later by studying the directions on the nitro bottle that the pills had to be kept cool and they had an expiration date for about a year before. Aha! Nitro pills no good. They had turned into placebos. Placebos never have worked on me. Something to do with my body chemistry, I suppose. Yeah, I know. I know. Schizophrenic joking - my forte.
Heart doctor wanted to call in a specialist that he called an "electrician." Electrician gave me a ten second electrocardiogram, said I had a portion of my heart that was triggering a beat of my heart that showed up as a spike on the electrocardiogram tape, followed by a period of flat line. I asked him if this period of flatness combined with stress or activity could have caused the chest pains. He said, "likely."
Look at me! A medical diagnoser!
He said what we could do is cauterize that part of my heart that was triggering an erroneous beat. So in three days I am going to Phoenix to have this happen. It will be an out-patient procedure, taking about six hours which includes three hours waiting for blood to clot from an incision in my groin where they run the "cauterize" up a vein to my heart. Sounds like fun.
So.
A few weeks ago.
On a weekend.
Late at night.
I got a minor chest pain.
I took a nitro pill, but it didn't help. I took another one. No help. A doctor once told me that if I ever got a chest pain, to sit down and rest. If that didn't help, to take a nitro. If no help, take another one. If still no help, take another. If the third one didn't help, scurry over to emergency room.
Two pills didn't help, I thought I'd skip taking the third one, so I told my wife what was happening and that I thought we had better go to the emergency room. On the way there, I started feeling much better, so I said we might as well turn around and go home. So we did. Got home, pain started again so I took another nitro. No help. Took another one. No help. Told wife we might as well go to emergency room. So we did. Wound up staying in hospital a few days.
Found out later by studying the directions on the nitro bottle that the pills had to be kept cool and they had an expiration date for about a year before. Aha! Nitro pills no good. They had turned into placebos. Placebos never have worked on me. Something to do with my body chemistry, I suppose. Yeah, I know. I know. Schizophrenic joking - my forte.
Heart doctor wanted to call in a specialist that he called an "electrician." Electrician gave me a ten second electrocardiogram, said I had a portion of my heart that was triggering a beat of my heart that showed up as a spike on the electrocardiogram tape, followed by a period of flat line. I asked him if this period of flatness combined with stress or activity could have caused the chest pains. He said, "likely."
Look at me! A medical diagnoser!
He said what we could do is cauterize that part of my heart that was triggering an erroneous beat. So in three days I am going to Phoenix to have this happen. It will be an out-patient procedure, taking about six hours which includes three hours waiting for blood to clot from an incision in my groin where they run the "cauterize" up a vein to my heart. Sounds like fun.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
IS IT FUNNY OR IS IT JUST WEIRD?
Blog number 529 ******* 14 September 2011
Cox is our supplier for our television programs. My wife owns the good TV - the one in the living room, so when she is watching TV and there is something I want to watch, I go in the bedroom and watch the one in there. It doesn't have as many channels as the other TV, but it's good enough for me.
So today I'm watching Judge Joe and when the ads come on, I switch over to a local news channel. This is a strange channel, because I'm watching the news at about 4:30 PM and every once in awhile the news lady says, "It's now 9:30 and we're going to show you some news." Well, that's not actually correct that she said that, but that's the gist of it. The point being that it is a news program in the morning of the afternoon I'm watching it. Breaking news, I guess. Or maybe broke news.
We have a PIN for when we want to watch movies we have to pay for. The PIN is so that nobody else can watch movies and make us pay for it. Like when you use a PIN to get money out of an ATM.
So today I'm watching and all of a sudden across the screen I read, "YOUR PIN FOR WATCHING MOVIES IS 0000." That's supposed to be a secret, isn't it? Why is my television letting the world know my PIN - if indeed it is telling more people than just me? I don't know who all saw that. Probably just me, but one never knows, does one? And why is it telling me anyhow? For what purpose?
I didn't even ask the television what my PIN was. It volunteered the information, as if I was some idiot that needed taking care of by an inanimate object
And shouldn't I be telling the television what my PIN is instead of the television telling me?
You understand my confusion?
Cox is our supplier for our television programs. My wife owns the good TV - the one in the living room, so when she is watching TV and there is something I want to watch, I go in the bedroom and watch the one in there. It doesn't have as many channels as the other TV, but it's good enough for me.
So today I'm watching Judge Joe and when the ads come on, I switch over to a local news channel. This is a strange channel, because I'm watching the news at about 4:30 PM and every once in awhile the news lady says, "It's now 9:30 and we're going to show you some news." Well, that's not actually correct that she said that, but that's the gist of it. The point being that it is a news program in the morning of the afternoon I'm watching it. Breaking news, I guess. Or maybe broke news.
We have a PIN for when we want to watch movies we have to pay for. The PIN is so that nobody else can watch movies and make us pay for it. Like when you use a PIN to get money out of an ATM.
So today I'm watching and all of a sudden across the screen I read, "YOUR PIN FOR WATCHING MOVIES IS 0000." That's supposed to be a secret, isn't it? Why is my television letting the world know my PIN - if indeed it is telling more people than just me? I don't know who all saw that. Probably just me, but one never knows, does one? And why is it telling me anyhow? For what purpose?
I didn't even ask the television what my PIN was. It volunteered the information, as if I was some idiot that needed taking care of by an inanimate object
And shouldn't I be telling the television what my PIN is instead of the television telling me?
You understand my confusion?
Sunday, August 14, 2011
THEY ALWAYS COME IN THREES, DON'T THEY?
Blog number 528 ************** 14 August 2011
I had some unusual things happen lately. A couple of days ago I got a speeding ticket. The only thing unusual about that is that I am eighty years old and it is my very first speeding ticket. Ever. I was going 25 MPH in a posted 15.
The really odd thing about it is that the ticket has on it, in bold print, the words, " YOU MUST APPEAR AT: and then, Casa Grande City Court" AT THE DATE AND TIME INDICATED followed by, "August 25, 2011 @ 10:00 AM.
No options. I gotta do what it says. Why they don't give me the option of just paying a fine, I dunno. I think maybe the judge wants to yell at me personally.
Then at a restaurant I got to hold a baby. This is a rare deal, not like in the seventies and eighties when all I had to do was ask a mother if I could hold her baby, and viola!
The same day, later, my cat caught a gecko. I hate it when he does that. He never eats them. He always brings them in the house - a present, I guess. The first time I saw him with one, it was a large one and the tail was missing. I think he tried to eat it and found it tasted so bad he never tried that again.
He let it go in the house and it ran under the electronics of my wife's entertainment array. I thought, "Uh oh. Gonna have to wait until it dies and the smell leads us to his body. Damn!"
Later I was making coffee and I noticed what looked like a piece of paper lying on the kitchen floor. When I went by it on my way to throw the grounds out, I saw that it was the missing gecko. I carefully lowered my hand over it. It didn't move a muscle until I touched it and then it didn't try to get away, just kinda wriggled a bit. I picked it up and took it outside.
The really weird thing about this is that the gecko came out of a secure hiding place to lie in an open area where I was moving around. It was like he knew I could or would be of help. It's a bit difficult to realize that because my culture has conditioned me to think intelligence and brain size are directly correlated. But from what I experienced, I really think the gecko knew exactly what he was doing, and like my youngest son said, "remember the wasp that let you save him." Ah, yeah. Weird.
ADDENDUM: I took a nap after I posted the above and woke up with THE solution as to why I have to show up at the court. It's because with a parking ticket, they already have determined how much the fine will be, but with speeding tickets, they don't know because it depends upon how fast you were going and what you were supposed to be doing.
I do my best thinking when I'm sleeping.
I had some unusual things happen lately. A couple of days ago I got a speeding ticket. The only thing unusual about that is that I am eighty years old and it is my very first speeding ticket. Ever. I was going 25 MPH in a posted 15.
The really odd thing about it is that the ticket has on it, in bold print, the words, " YOU MUST APPEAR AT: and then, Casa Grande City Court" AT THE DATE AND TIME INDICATED followed by, "August 25, 2011 @ 10:00 AM.
No options. I gotta do what it says. Why they don't give me the option of just paying a fine, I dunno. I think maybe the judge wants to yell at me personally.
Then at a restaurant I got to hold a baby. This is a rare deal, not like in the seventies and eighties when all I had to do was ask a mother if I could hold her baby, and viola!
The same day, later, my cat caught a gecko. I hate it when he does that. He never eats them. He always brings them in the house - a present, I guess. The first time I saw him with one, it was a large one and the tail was missing. I think he tried to eat it and found it tasted so bad he never tried that again.
He let it go in the house and it ran under the electronics of my wife's entertainment array. I thought, "Uh oh. Gonna have to wait until it dies and the smell leads us to his body. Damn!"
Later I was making coffee and I noticed what looked like a piece of paper lying on the kitchen floor. When I went by it on my way to throw the grounds out, I saw that it was the missing gecko. I carefully lowered my hand over it. It didn't move a muscle until I touched it and then it didn't try to get away, just kinda wriggled a bit. I picked it up and took it outside.
The really weird thing about this is that the gecko came out of a secure hiding place to lie in an open area where I was moving around. It was like he knew I could or would be of help. It's a bit difficult to realize that because my culture has conditioned me to think intelligence and brain size are directly correlated. But from what I experienced, I really think the gecko knew exactly what he was doing, and like my youngest son said, "remember the wasp that let you save him." Ah, yeah. Weird.
ADDENDUM: I took a nap after I posted the above and woke up with THE solution as to why I have to show up at the court. It's because with a parking ticket, they already have determined how much the fine will be, but with speeding tickets, they don't know because it depends upon how fast you were going and what you were supposed to be doing.
I do my best thinking when I'm sleeping.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
MY FELLOW CITIZENS
Blog number 527 ************** 28 June 2011
This morning I was woken from a pretty nice dream by a ringing phone. A machine told me that it was calling from Something Something Customer Service and asked if I was being audited by the IRS. I hung up since I was too sleepy to listen to such nonsense, but now I wish I had listened because it probably would have informed me of some other nonsense that I could write about here and now. I come from scarcity when it comes to writing.
Later I got to thinking about this. I am more than 80 years old and I have never been audited and I have never known anybody that was ever audited. So why did these people think they could blind call someone on the off chance that they were being audited? Seems like it is a pretty rare occurrence, population-wise.
And even if someone was caught that was being audited, what was the guy doing, sitting there wringing his hands hoping a machine would call asking if he was in any trouble with the IRS? I don't think so.
I can't help but think it is those aliens checking in on us without having a clear concept of what humans are up to. I could be wrong, but why else would I have gotten that phone call? Huh? Huh?
This morning I was woken from a pretty nice dream by a ringing phone. A machine told me that it was calling from Something Something Customer Service and asked if I was being audited by the IRS. I hung up since I was too sleepy to listen to such nonsense, but now I wish I had listened because it probably would have informed me of some other nonsense that I could write about here and now. I come from scarcity when it comes to writing.
Later I got to thinking about this. I am more than 80 years old and I have never been audited and I have never known anybody that was ever audited. So why did these people think they could blind call someone on the off chance that they were being audited? Seems like it is a pretty rare occurrence, population-wise.
And even if someone was caught that was being audited, what was the guy doing, sitting there wringing his hands hoping a machine would call asking if he was in any trouble with the IRS? I don't think so.
I can't help but think it is those aliens checking in on us without having a clear concept of what humans are up to. I could be wrong, but why else would I have gotten that phone call? Huh? Huh?
Monday, June 27, 2011
NIKKI, NIKKI, NIKKI
Blog number 526 ************** 27 June 2011
This was sent to me by my stringer.
"My friend Nikki was telling me about how her gay friends met, how they liked each other for a long time etc. I said, 'Nikki! I don't wanna hear about any gay stuff.'
She said, 'but it's Jeremy,' and continued so I marked her hand with my felt pen to get her to stop.
I said, 'every time you talk like that you get a mark.' So then she was showing me a picture of this guy she met and said 'he's handsome isn't he?' So I marked her again.
A little later I told her to watch - that this dude coming in was going to stare at me. Then I watched her and she didn't even look at him.
I said, 'see?'
She said 'oh, he wasn't staring.'
'How could you tell when you weren't watching him?'
People amaze me, man.
They really do.
I guess zombies have reached Sacramento and are pretending not to be zombies.
But I can tell."
This was sent to me by my stringer.
"My friend Nikki was telling me about how her gay friends met, how they liked each other for a long time etc. I said, 'Nikki! I don't wanna hear about any gay stuff.'
She said, 'but it's Jeremy,' and continued so I marked her hand with my felt pen to get her to stop.
I said, 'every time you talk like that you get a mark.' So then she was showing me a picture of this guy she met and said 'he's handsome isn't he?' So I marked her again.
A little later I told her to watch - that this dude coming in was going to stare at me. Then I watched her and she didn't even look at him.
I said, 'see?'
She said 'oh, he wasn't staring.'
'How could you tell when you weren't watching him?'
People amaze me, man.
They really do.
I guess zombies have reached Sacramento and are pretending not to be zombies.
But I can tell."
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
OH ALEX. WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH YOU?
Blog number 525 ************** 21 June 2011
This was sent to me by my stringer.
So April, my friend whom Alex called a very bad word because another girl stood him up, was bugging me to ask Alex if he would apologize to her.
So I tried. "Alex, you should apologize to April."
"Why? I didn't call her anything."
"Who said you called her something?"
Alex changed the subject, eyes glazed over. You know the drill.
This was sent to me by my stringer.
So April, my friend whom Alex called a very bad word because another girl stood him up, was bugging me to ask Alex if he would apologize to her.
So I tried. "Alex, you should apologize to April."
"Why? I didn't call her anything."
"Who said you called her something?"
Alex changed the subject, eyes glazed over. You know the drill.
Monday, June 13, 2011
THAT'S A FACT, JACK
Blog number 524 ************** 13 June 2011
So I'm assuming you've done your homework and have seen that you know only truths. If you haven't seen this, you're really not interested and there is no reason for you to continue reading this entry.
If you saw for yourself that you never think of anything that is not true, you can see, can't you, that this concept can't be real. I mean, how can anyone think only of things that are true?
But which of our thoughts are not true? How can we find the ones that are false so that we can throw them out? How can we ever find something that is real to be not real? Is the sky real or not? How can we tell? We cannot.
The only thing open to us is that we throw everything out. Believe nothing. Nada.
There is a thing in Eastern philosophy called, "Shoshin." Also called, "Beginner's Mind." What that is, is that you set your mind as if you were just born and knew absolutely nothing. You become an open vessel.
Now, you begin to look at what "is." First, is there "existence?" Look and see. See anything existing? If so, you have your first fact about existence.
Notice that the intellect was not used. Not a smidgeon of logic anywhere. Just "seeing."
"Do thoughts occur?" I look, and yes, there are those processes I call, "thoughts." So now I have two facts that have been found in what "is" and not at all from what anyone told me or from my having "figured it out.".
Now I can watch my thoughts and eventually see that they create what is real to me. Which gives me another fact. From this I can begin to see the world in a new light and facts will begin to spring up willy nilly.
I use my intellect to make hypothesis, but if I cannot see it with the knowing mind, I absolutely do not believe it. I keep it on the back burner.
I never ever use my logic or intellect as a function of my beliefs. Because that would mean I would believe something about "out there" that is not out there, but is instead, in my head.
So that is where all the facts lie - within us. Not out there at all. What lies out there are opinions, guesses, theories. The physical world is the gateway to the real world. It is not the real world.
So I'm assuming you've done your homework and have seen that you know only truths. If you haven't seen this, you're really not interested and there is no reason for you to continue reading this entry.
If you saw for yourself that you never think of anything that is not true, you can see, can't you, that this concept can't be real. I mean, how can anyone think only of things that are true?
But which of our thoughts are not true? How can we find the ones that are false so that we can throw them out? How can we ever find something that is real to be not real? Is the sky real or not? How can we tell? We cannot.
The only thing open to us is that we throw everything out. Believe nothing. Nada.
There is a thing in Eastern philosophy called, "Shoshin." Also called, "Beginner's Mind." What that is, is that you set your mind as if you were just born and knew absolutely nothing. You become an open vessel.
Now, you begin to look at what "is." First, is there "existence?" Look and see. See anything existing? If so, you have your first fact about existence.
Notice that the intellect was not used. Not a smidgeon of logic anywhere. Just "seeing."
"Do thoughts occur?" I look, and yes, there are those processes I call, "thoughts." So now I have two facts that have been found in what "is" and not at all from what anyone told me or from my having "figured it out.".
Now I can watch my thoughts and eventually see that they create what is real to me. Which gives me another fact. From this I can begin to see the world in a new light and facts will begin to spring up willy nilly.
I use my intellect to make hypothesis, but if I cannot see it with the knowing mind, I absolutely do not believe it. I keep it on the back burner.
I never ever use my logic or intellect as a function of my beliefs. Because that would mean I would believe something about "out there" that is not out there, but is instead, in my head.
So that is where all the facts lie - within us. Not out there at all. What lies out there are opinions, guesses, theories. The physical world is the gateway to the real world. It is not the real world.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
THIS ENTRY IS UNDER ORDERS FROM THE SUPREME BEING
Blog number 522 ************** 12 June 2011
My wife told me this morning that Blog number 521 - the one about people mistaking opinions for facts, was an interesting entry, but that I didn't tell how to look for these facts that surround us.
The reason I didn't was that I have told how to do it hundreds of times, but it seems that cultural conditioning is so entrenched that nobody - well, not nobody, but you know what I mean, thinks it makes any sense. Therefore, they don't try. Mea culpa? I don't think so.
Ok, so here it is. This is the start.
Everybody, but everybody, nobody is excused, knows only what is true, what is real. Nobody knows anything that is false or imaginary. Nobody can find any thoughts they are having that are not real, are not true.
Now it is very easy - in a way, to find out if that statement is not true. All you have to do is to find one thought you have that is false. Nobody can do that, and very, very few will even try. Since this is of paramount importance in looking for facts, to dismiss trying to find a false thought in your head puts the kibosh on finding any facts about your existence.
I said, "It is easy - in a way" because not too many people know what a thought "looks like." Odd, isn't it? We are immersed in thoughts. If you ask a person if they have any thoughts, they will say, "Sure." Because they have been told that, you see? But if you ask them to tell you one, they cannot find any. They cannot find any because they don't know what they look like and they don't know what they look like because they have never looked at them.
Hint. Whenever you say something, say anything, THAT is what a thought looks like. "I look fat." That's a thought. "Senator Weiner is a hottie." That is a thought.
The reason it is so important that you try to find a thought you have that is not true, is that you will have that experience, and all wisdom has to entertain experience. If you just believe me when I say you don't have any thoughts that are not true, you will have knowledge, but not wisdom. And knowledge changes with the person.
OK, that's enough for today. I have been told that some of my earlier writings were way too long and people tend to tune out. So do your homework and we'll talk more about this later.
My wife told me this morning that Blog number 521 - the one about people mistaking opinions for facts, was an interesting entry, but that I didn't tell how to look for these facts that surround us.
The reason I didn't was that I have told how to do it hundreds of times, but it seems that cultural conditioning is so entrenched that nobody - well, not nobody, but you know what I mean, thinks it makes any sense. Therefore, they don't try. Mea culpa? I don't think so.
Ok, so here it is. This is the start.
Everybody, but everybody, nobody is excused, knows only what is true, what is real. Nobody knows anything that is false or imaginary. Nobody can find any thoughts they are having that are not real, are not true.
Now it is very easy - in a way, to find out if that statement is not true. All you have to do is to find one thought you have that is false. Nobody can do that, and very, very few will even try. Since this is of paramount importance in looking for facts, to dismiss trying to find a false thought in your head puts the kibosh on finding any facts about your existence.
I said, "It is easy - in a way" because not too many people know what a thought "looks like." Odd, isn't it? We are immersed in thoughts. If you ask a person if they have any thoughts, they will say, "Sure." Because they have been told that, you see? But if you ask them to tell you one, they cannot find any. They cannot find any because they don't know what they look like and they don't know what they look like because they have never looked at them.
Hint. Whenever you say something, say anything, THAT is what a thought looks like. "I look fat." That's a thought. "Senator Weiner is a hottie." That is a thought.
The reason it is so important that you try to find a thought you have that is not true, is that you will have that experience, and all wisdom has to entertain experience. If you just believe me when I say you don't have any thoughts that are not true, you will have knowledge, but not wisdom. And knowledge changes with the person.
OK, that's enough for today. I have been told that some of my earlier writings were way too long and people tend to tune out. So do your homework and we'll talk more about this later.
PLEASE DON'T LET YOUR IMAGINATION BECOME YOUR REALITY
Blog number 521 ******* 12 June 2011
In the spirit of full disclosure and transparency, I must confess that this Blog entry was not originally intended to be a Blog entry. No indeed. What happened was that I was reading the letters page of "The Humanist" magazine and I came across a letter from one David C. Mark declaring, "...I determined God doesn't exist..."
My immediate gut response was, "And you determined this how?"
My second gut response was to write a letter to the letters editor of The Humanist. But I know there is no way this letter would be published in that letters page or any other letters page in any part of the country and parts of Asia. This Blog entry, then is that letter. I didn't want to waste all that writing. Confession over.
If David C. Mark had determined that God does exist, I would give the same response. I am an equal opportunity letter writer answerer. Besides, how can anyone possibly know what cannot be known?
And besides all that, none of us has the same mental "picture" of God. So there's that.
My real problem with this is, how are we as a species ever going to get it together if we keep insisting that our theories, our opinions, our guesses are just as real, just as true, just as pertinent as facts?
Opinions and theories are what people put together because they think this is the same thing as knowing. They don't realize, because nobody ever told them, that you can know nothing unless you know facts. Not realizing this, many people - I would say most people, make up a theory, an opinion, a guess about how something operates and then argue with others about their guesses. What we call science these days is almost universally of this caliber.
Technicians we have in abundance. Scientists? Pretty rare. In fact, so rare that we usually call our technicians, "scientists." Probably so that we will have some, like we had back in the old days.
We don't have to guess about what IS, about what exists. About existence. The facts are there. They aren't hidden anywhere like an Aladdin's treasure cave. My God, the facts are all around us constantly. In abundance. A plethora of facts? Well, yeah.
Why can't we see these facts? Because when we were very young, our parents gave us our facts about what IS. As we grew older, our teachers gave us our facts. As we grew still older, we began to get our facts from those we considered authorities, never realizing that all these people got the facts they were imparting to us from their parents, their teachers, their authorities.
Since we already had all the facts, why look for them? Waste of time, yeah? And since we don't look for them we never see them. The purloined letter ad infinitum.
Nobody ever checked these facts that were given to them. Nobody was ever taught that it was necessary to check them, nor was anyone ever taught how to check those facts. I don't mean checking facts by asking other people, but by checking them from direct experience of what IS, which is staring us right in the face 24/7.
The first time we were told that light reflected from an object hit the retina, traveled up the optic nerve and into the brain and THEN we saw the object and not before, that should have triggered a mind boggling realization. But it didn't. We just accepted it as a truth and went on. Didn't we?
In the spirit of full disclosure and transparency, I must confess that this Blog entry was not originally intended to be a Blog entry. No indeed. What happened was that I was reading the letters page of "The Humanist" magazine and I came across a letter from one David C. Mark declaring, "...I determined God doesn't exist..."
My immediate gut response was, "And you determined this how?"
My second gut response was to write a letter to the letters editor of The Humanist. But I know there is no way this letter would be published in that letters page or any other letters page in any part of the country and parts of Asia. This Blog entry, then is that letter. I didn't want to waste all that writing. Confession over.
If David C. Mark had determined that God does exist, I would give the same response. I am an equal opportunity letter writer answerer. Besides, how can anyone possibly know what cannot be known?
And besides all that, none of us has the same mental "picture" of God. So there's that.
My real problem with this is, how are we as a species ever going to get it together if we keep insisting that our theories, our opinions, our guesses are just as real, just as true, just as pertinent as facts?
Opinions and theories are what people put together because they think this is the same thing as knowing. They don't realize, because nobody ever told them, that you can know nothing unless you know facts. Not realizing this, many people - I would say most people, make up a theory, an opinion, a guess about how something operates and then argue with others about their guesses. What we call science these days is almost universally of this caliber.
Technicians we have in abundance. Scientists? Pretty rare. In fact, so rare that we usually call our technicians, "scientists." Probably so that we will have some, like we had back in the old days.
We don't have to guess about what IS, about what exists. About existence. The facts are there. They aren't hidden anywhere like an Aladdin's treasure cave. My God, the facts are all around us constantly. In abundance. A plethora of facts? Well, yeah.
Why can't we see these facts? Because when we were very young, our parents gave us our facts about what IS. As we grew older, our teachers gave us our facts. As we grew still older, we began to get our facts from those we considered authorities, never realizing that all these people got the facts they were imparting to us from their parents, their teachers, their authorities.
Since we already had all the facts, why look for them? Waste of time, yeah? And since we don't look for them we never see them. The purloined letter ad infinitum.
Nobody ever checked these facts that were given to them. Nobody was ever taught that it was necessary to check them, nor was anyone ever taught how to check those facts. I don't mean checking facts by asking other people, but by checking them from direct experience of what IS, which is staring us right in the face 24/7.
The first time we were told that light reflected from an object hit the retina, traveled up the optic nerve and into the brain and THEN we saw the object and not before, that should have triggered a mind boggling realization. But it didn't. We just accepted it as a truth and went on. Didn't we?
Saturday, June 11, 2011
AN UNASKED FOR IM
Blog number 520 ******* 09 June 2011
Aymannimer [1:30 P.M.]: hii
Bodhimalik [1:31 P.M.]: Now what do you want?
Aymannimer [1:31 P.M.]: wow a real person finaIIy... i been gettin hit up by bots all day ... you are real right???
Bodhimalik [1:31 P.M.]: I yam as real as they get
Aymannimer [1:31 P.M.]: lol, i had to double check aim is crazy with them anymore what ya doin tonite????
Bodhimalik [1:32 P.M.]: To night I am going to soak my feet in hot water laced with Epsom salts and take my meds and go to sleep.
Aymannimer [1:33 P.M.]: yea it was a longggg day over here i had a few drinks and was gettin a littIe lonely so i'm glad you're here
Bodhimalik [1:33 P.M.]: I'm glad I'm here too. If I wasn't here, where would I be, I wonder.
Aymannimer [1:33 P.M.]: i was bout to change real quick wanna hang on a sec???? or better yet wanna cum watch????
Bodhimalik [1:34 P.M.]: Nah. Don't wanna watch. Gotta keep my eyes working in case the aliens land.
Aymannimer [1:35 P.M.]: i got a sweet site we can play around on and you don't even have to have a cam to join wanna cum :) ehm i mean join??
Bodhimalik [1:36 P.M.]: Nah. Sex bores me. I drather drink vinegar. Now THERE'S a trip!
Aymannimer [1:36 P.M.]: great babe i love meeting people on here i just hope you're not to shy to tell me what to do, you're not a "shy guy" are you lol?????
Bodhimalik [1:37 P.M.]: Not shy at all. Kinda pushy, actually. I always ask people if they got any spare change I can have.
Aymannimer [1:37 P.M.]: k http://eee.u//syby i setup a private cam for us just go tehre and accept the invite i have there for you see it?
Bodhimalik [1:38 P.M.]: I see it, but Dammit! I already forgot what it was. Ain't that a bitch?
Aymannimer [1:38 P.M.]: i started ussing this site cuz some aim kid recorded my friend and put her on youtube, and this site doesn't aIIow people to record me you know????
Bodhimalik [1:39 P.M.]: Aww. That's a shame. Can't you sue somebody?
Aymannimer [1:39 P.M.]: yeah the credit card is only to check your age cuz it's iIIegal for kids and i'm not trying to have dateIine visit me loll
Bodhimalik [1:40 P.M.]: I dunno. You ought to rethink that. You'd be on television, might get a movie contract out of it, or a position on a pro football team. One never knows.
Aymannimer [1:41 P.M.]: k let me know when you're in so we can get this party going!!!!! and if you need any help let me know but it's pretty simple
Bodhimalik [1:41 P.M.]: Well, I could use some help pulling weeds around here. You any good at pulling weeds or any kind of farming labor?
Aymannimer [1:42 P.M.]: you in yet hun??? what's taking so long i'm getting lonelyyyyy
Bodhimalik [1:43 P.M.]: Hang in thar, Honey. Daddy's doin' the best he can with the abilities he has.
And she signed off.
Aymannimer [1:30 P.M.]: hii
Bodhimalik [1:31 P.M.]: Now what do you want?
Aymannimer [1:31 P.M.]: wow a real person finaIIy... i been gettin hit up by bots all day ... you are real right???
Bodhimalik [1:31 P.M.]: I yam as real as they get
Aymannimer [1:31 P.M.]: lol, i had to double check aim is crazy with them anymore what ya doin tonite????
Bodhimalik [1:32 P.M.]: To night I am going to soak my feet in hot water laced with Epsom salts and take my meds and go to sleep.
Aymannimer [1:33 P.M.]: yea it was a longggg day over here i had a few drinks and was gettin a littIe lonely so i'm glad you're here
Bodhimalik [1:33 P.M.]: I'm glad I'm here too. If I wasn't here, where would I be, I wonder.
Aymannimer [1:33 P.M.]: i was bout to change real quick wanna hang on a sec???? or better yet wanna cum watch????
Bodhimalik [1:34 P.M.]: Nah. Don't wanna watch. Gotta keep my eyes working in case the aliens land.
Aymannimer [1:35 P.M.]: i got a sweet site we can play around on and you don't even have to have a cam to join wanna cum :) ehm i mean join??
Bodhimalik [1:36 P.M.]: Nah. Sex bores me. I drather drink vinegar. Now THERE'S a trip!
Aymannimer [1:36 P.M.]: great babe i love meeting people on here i just hope you're not to shy to tell me what to do, you're not a "shy guy" are you lol?????
Bodhimalik [1:37 P.M.]: Not shy at all. Kinda pushy, actually. I always ask people if they got any spare change I can have.
Aymannimer [1:37 P.M.]: k http://eee.u//syby i setup a private cam for us just go tehre and accept the invite i have there for you see it?
Bodhimalik [1:38 P.M.]: I see it, but Dammit! I already forgot what it was. Ain't that a bitch?
Aymannimer [1:38 P.M.]: i started ussing this site cuz some aim kid recorded my friend and put her on youtube, and this site doesn't aIIow people to record me you know????
Bodhimalik [1:39 P.M.]: Aww. That's a shame. Can't you sue somebody?
Aymannimer [1:39 P.M.]: yeah the credit card is only to check your age cuz it's iIIegal for kids and i'm not trying to have dateIine visit me loll
Bodhimalik [1:40 P.M.]: I dunno. You ought to rethink that. You'd be on television, might get a movie contract out of it, or a position on a pro football team. One never knows.
Aymannimer [1:41 P.M.]: k let me know when you're in so we can get this party going!!!!! and if you need any help let me know but it's pretty simple
Bodhimalik [1:41 P.M.]: Well, I could use some help pulling weeds around here. You any good at pulling weeds or any kind of farming labor?
Aymannimer [1:42 P.M.]: you in yet hun??? what's taking so long i'm getting lonelyyyyy
Bodhimalik [1:43 P.M.]: Hang in thar, Honey. Daddy's doin' the best he can with the abilities he has.
And she signed off.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
I WOULD FILE THIS UNDER "GOOD DAY" WITH ADDENDUM.
Blog number 519 ******* 05 June 2011
Traveled to Phoenix today, went to BJ's, ordered Thai shrimp rolls, drank two glasses of Porter beer. Yummy yummy beer. Not the taste, primarily, but more the texture. It's like drinking velvet. Although the taste is terrific, the texture is unbelievable. Nobody believes it.
I fell in love with porter the first time I tried it. People ask why I don't marry it, then. I just say, "maybe I will." That usually shuts them up.
Left BJ's, two women, one carrying a baby, and a little girl with short pigtails, lanky form like a seven year old, but probably between four and five. I put my hand on the little girl's head, fully expecting to be either ignored or glared at, but she looked me right in the eye and gave me a big hug! Wow! Didn't expect that. Very rare experience. Joyous experience.
We think maybe her grandad touches her head like that and she reacted thusly. Dunno for sure, don't really care.
Went to Barnes and Nobles where my lovely lady ran into a Protestant lady who wanted her to come to her church where the lady knows another lady who channels Jesus to heal people.
Why can't the lady talking to the light of my life use Jesus to heal? Why does my one and only need to go to another lady? This lady is probably not holy enough. I can't think of any other reason.
This lady was pretty adamant, My lady got kinda short with her. I pretended to be listening to my headphones, but I had the radio turned off so I could listen in. Like James Bond.
The lady was kinda scary lookin' too. That probably didn't help.
This reminded me of the time I went back to Graettinger, Iowa for a visit and ran into a woman who was an alumna of my High School. She told me that she was waitressing in her dad's cafe, and this crippled man often came in and one day because she felt so sorry for the man, she stood over him, placed her hand on his head and spoke in tongues, trying to heal him. She said the cafe was crowded with lunch guests at the time
She told me that she was so scared when she thought of doing that, that she hesitated doing it for a long time but she finally screwed up her courage and went ahead and did it.
I was very impressed with her bravery in doing what she thought was right even though she knew others would look upon her as a kook. Not everyone can do that. To me, she was a spiritual warrior, but I never told her that and I often wish I had.
Oh, yeah. Tomorrow is June sixth and you know what anniversary that is, don't you? Well, don't you?
My nephew who still lives in Iowa sent me the following after he read this Blog entry.
"Very good looking lady. Was our neighbor. She got a bit strange as she got older. Took to taking in stray dogs. Fenced in her yard so she could keep more. Sis Glazer I believe. Glazer's cafe. The crippled guy drank a lot. Made his own beer. Drank a bit with him now and again."
Traveled to Phoenix today, went to BJ's, ordered Thai shrimp rolls, drank two glasses of Porter beer. Yummy yummy beer. Not the taste, primarily, but more the texture. It's like drinking velvet. Although the taste is terrific, the texture is unbelievable. Nobody believes it.
I fell in love with porter the first time I tried it. People ask why I don't marry it, then. I just say, "maybe I will." That usually shuts them up.
Left BJ's, two women, one carrying a baby, and a little girl with short pigtails, lanky form like a seven year old, but probably between four and five. I put my hand on the little girl's head, fully expecting to be either ignored or glared at, but she looked me right in the eye and gave me a big hug! Wow! Didn't expect that. Very rare experience. Joyous experience.
We think maybe her grandad touches her head like that and she reacted thusly. Dunno for sure, don't really care.
Went to Barnes and Nobles where my lovely lady ran into a Protestant lady who wanted her to come to her church where the lady knows another lady who channels Jesus to heal people.
Why can't the lady talking to the light of my life use Jesus to heal? Why does my one and only need to go to another lady? This lady is probably not holy enough. I can't think of any other reason.
This lady was pretty adamant, My lady got kinda short with her. I pretended to be listening to my headphones, but I had the radio turned off so I could listen in. Like James Bond.
The lady was kinda scary lookin' too. That probably didn't help.
This reminded me of the time I went back to Graettinger, Iowa for a visit and ran into a woman who was an alumna of my High School. She told me that she was waitressing in her dad's cafe, and this crippled man often came in and one day because she felt so sorry for the man, she stood over him, placed her hand on his head and spoke in tongues, trying to heal him. She said the cafe was crowded with lunch guests at the time
She told me that she was so scared when she thought of doing that, that she hesitated doing it for a long time but she finally screwed up her courage and went ahead and did it.
I was very impressed with her bravery in doing what she thought was right even though she knew others would look upon her as a kook. Not everyone can do that. To me, she was a spiritual warrior, but I never told her that and I often wish I had.
Oh, yeah. Tomorrow is June sixth and you know what anniversary that is, don't you? Well, don't you?
My nephew who still lives in Iowa sent me the following after he read this Blog entry.
"Very good looking lady. Was our neighbor. She got a bit strange as she got older. Took to taking in stray dogs. Fenced in her yard so she could keep more. Sis Glazer I believe. Glazer's cafe. The crippled guy drank a lot. Made his own beer. Drank a bit with him now and again."
Friday, May 27, 2011
OH, GO BE WITH JESUS!
Blog number 518 ******* 27 May 2011
So this morning I take the van to get washed because it's dirty, you know. At the corner where you turn in to get into line for the car wash, there is a long line of about fifty cars waiting for a right turn at the corner. Street workers doing what they do. You know about that, right?
So I wait in front of a city truck, fully expecting him to NOT pull forward so that I can get into the lot and we both can be on our way. But this doesn't happen. Oh, no. He pulls forward with the cars in front of him so that here is no way I can turn. I had the windows open 'cause I like to drive that way when I'm alone - radio full blast. You know about that too, right?
So I put both my arms and my head out the window in a beseeching manner at the driver of the city truck, He pretends he doesn't see me, but I know he does because he never once looks my way. The guy behind him waits for me to go around the truck and into where I want to go. I wave my appreciation at him. I think bad thoughts at the truck driver.
WTH is the matter with that city truck driver? It would have inconvenienced him in no way to let me through. He would have done a service to a fellow exister. How did he know that my house didn't just burn down due to my careless use of my weedburner, and he treats me like this? Huh? For nothing? What's the matter with people? Karma doesn't bother with him? Is that what he thinks?
Life is a chore for everyone. Why make it harder on them? Doesn't make any sense.
I guess I'll tell you my little secret. I'm not at all upset by what happened. I got to reading this over and I thought it might seem that way to some. In fact, I enjoy little events like this. Especially ones that I deem blogworthy. It's things like this that I most enjoy about people. Makes them seem real, you know.
So this morning I take the van to get washed because it's dirty, you know. At the corner where you turn in to get into line for the car wash, there is a long line of about fifty cars waiting for a right turn at the corner. Street workers doing what they do. You know about that, right?
So I wait in front of a city truck, fully expecting him to NOT pull forward so that I can get into the lot and we both can be on our way. But this doesn't happen. Oh, no. He pulls forward with the cars in front of him so that here is no way I can turn. I had the windows open 'cause I like to drive that way when I'm alone - radio full blast. You know about that too, right?
So I put both my arms and my head out the window in a beseeching manner at the driver of the city truck, He pretends he doesn't see me, but I know he does because he never once looks my way. The guy behind him waits for me to go around the truck and into where I want to go. I wave my appreciation at him. I think bad thoughts at the truck driver.
WTH is the matter with that city truck driver? It would have inconvenienced him in no way to let me through. He would have done a service to a fellow exister. How did he know that my house didn't just burn down due to my careless use of my weedburner, and he treats me like this? Huh? For nothing? What's the matter with people? Karma doesn't bother with him? Is that what he thinks?
Life is a chore for everyone. Why make it harder on them? Doesn't make any sense.
I guess I'll tell you my little secret. I'm not at all upset by what happened. I got to reading this over and I thought it might seem that way to some. In fact, I enjoy little events like this. Especially ones that I deem blogworthy. It's things like this that I most enjoy about people. Makes them seem real, you know.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
ALEX! YOU DOG, YOU!
Blog number 517******* 22 May 2011
So Alex sat down next to me (this is my stringer talking - ed. note.) all satisfied and announced he had asked out the coffee girl who is cute and about 18. I asked him what he had said, exactly. He told me that he had asked her what she was doing after work. He said she told him that she had to do some errands, so he asked her what she was going to be doing after the errands and if she wanted to have dinner with him. He said she told him, "probably."
I found this story incredible and I was so curious about this whole thing that this morning when I walked in to where the girl was working, I asked her, "you went out with Alex last night?"
"No"
"But he asked you out?"
"Yes."
"Why did you say yes? Why didn't you just say you had a boyfriend or something like that?"
"Because that doesn't work. He will still keep asking. So I just say yes so he'll leave me alone."
I left to drink my coffee and pondered on this. I decided I wanted an additional nugget so I came up to her again.
"So you just didn't call him?"
"Right"
"He can't call you, right? He doesn't have your number?"
"Oh hell, no."
"So what did you tell him when he came in and asked why you didn't call?"
"I just told him I was busy"
I was drawing after Alex told me about his "date" and this blond girl walked in and he did the, "Check it out. Check it out," idiocy.
I ignored him, but he persisted, "HEY! Check out the blond."
I replied "I don't ogle women," and kept drawing
He did this in full view of the girl with which he had a "date."
The girl told me later that she doesn't usually work at this store. The first time she did, Alex immediately hit on her. She didn't know better and told him she works at the other location.
For the next week he came in there trying to talk to her without buying anything.
She finally told him, "dude. You can't just lurk around here."
And he still had the balls to ask her out after that!
So Alex sat down next to me (this is my stringer talking - ed. note.) all satisfied and announced he had asked out the coffee girl who is cute and about 18. I asked him what he had said, exactly. He told me that he had asked her what she was doing after work. He said she told him that she had to do some errands, so he asked her what she was going to be doing after the errands and if she wanted to have dinner with him. He said she told him, "probably."
I found this story incredible and I was so curious about this whole thing that this morning when I walked in to where the girl was working, I asked her, "you went out with Alex last night?"
"No"
"But he asked you out?"
"Yes."
"Why did you say yes? Why didn't you just say you had a boyfriend or something like that?"
"Because that doesn't work. He will still keep asking. So I just say yes so he'll leave me alone."
I left to drink my coffee and pondered on this. I decided I wanted an additional nugget so I came up to her again.
"So you just didn't call him?"
"Right"
"He can't call you, right? He doesn't have your number?"
"Oh hell, no."
"So what did you tell him when he came in and asked why you didn't call?"
"I just told him I was busy"
I was drawing after Alex told me about his "date" and this blond girl walked in and he did the, "Check it out. Check it out," idiocy.
I ignored him, but he persisted, "HEY! Check out the blond."
I replied "I don't ogle women," and kept drawing
He did this in full view of the girl with which he had a "date."
The girl told me later that she doesn't usually work at this store. The first time she did, Alex immediately hit on her. She didn't know better and told him she works at the other location.
For the next week he came in there trying to talk to her without buying anything.
She finally told him, "dude. You can't just lurk around here."
And he still had the balls to ask her out after that!
Friday, May 20, 2011
DISAPPOINTED? HELL YEAH.
Blog number 517 ******* 20 Day 2011
We went to see the movie, "Water For Elephants" today. I read the book the movie was based upon, months earlier. I been waiting for that movie because I so loved the book. I loved that book to death. Well, not to death. I'm still here, right? Wherever this is. Or whatever this is. Or whatever.
The movie? Not so good. The book was an adventure story, the movie of the same name, a love story. Way too much of the movie plot was taken up with kissin' and huggin' and deep soulful looks.
In the book, almost half the story was about this old man in a nursing home and the problems he had with the fellow "tenants" and the nursing staff. He's the one telling the story and when he does, it flashes back to when he was with the circus. So we got two plots working here. Both of them fascinating.
In the movie, the old man is there in the beginning and there at the end and nowhere to be found in the middle. In the book we get to know the old man. We get to know his wants and desires, his annoyances, who he has the most trouble with, things like that.
In the movie, we have one plot and it ain't fascinating. We have the obligatory sex scene put there, I am sure, due to committee plagiarizing. It is a scene we have seen in a thousand movies, at least. One director uses something and forever after, all movies must have it. Because it works, see? Not because it is good, but because it works. Kinda like still using a stick to plow a field because we don't trust tractors.
But the worst thing from my point of view was that the book gave you the idea that a certain person was going to kill another certain person and at the end there was a switch that made sense, but that I, for one, never saw coming. In the movie, that was lost in the love story. Phffft!
We went to see the movie, "Water For Elephants" today. I read the book the movie was based upon, months earlier. I been waiting for that movie because I so loved the book. I loved that book to death. Well, not to death. I'm still here, right? Wherever this is. Or whatever this is. Or whatever.
The movie? Not so good. The book was an adventure story, the movie of the same name, a love story. Way too much of the movie plot was taken up with kissin' and huggin' and deep soulful looks.
In the book, almost half the story was about this old man in a nursing home and the problems he had with the fellow "tenants" and the nursing staff. He's the one telling the story and when he does, it flashes back to when he was with the circus. So we got two plots working here. Both of them fascinating.
In the movie, the old man is there in the beginning and there at the end and nowhere to be found in the middle. In the book we get to know the old man. We get to know his wants and desires, his annoyances, who he has the most trouble with, things like that.
In the movie, we have one plot and it ain't fascinating. We have the obligatory sex scene put there, I am sure, due to committee plagiarizing. It is a scene we have seen in a thousand movies, at least. One director uses something and forever after, all movies must have it. Because it works, see? Not because it is good, but because it works. Kinda like still using a stick to plow a field because we don't trust tractors.
But the worst thing from my point of view was that the book gave you the idea that a certain person was going to kill another certain person and at the end there was a switch that made sense, but that I, for one, never saw coming. In the movie, that was lost in the love story. Phffft!
Friday, May 13, 2011
LISTEN UP, MEN!
Blog number 515******* 13 May 2011
This entry was given to me by one of my stringers. (I only have one so far.)
"I was teaching this class and everyone was wanting a drawing. The first student to ask for one - a girl, said she wanted rubber ducks, crowns and her name. I went to get my pen and came back and she said, 'ok I want...'
I said, 'I know what you want. I am an adult. I listen.'
She said, 'ok I want...'
I said, 'I know what you want. I am an adult, not a teenager. I listen.
Then I stared at her.
Teenagers are so funny. They are like babies you can talk to.
This entry was given to me by one of my stringers. (I only have one so far.)
"I was teaching this class and everyone was wanting a drawing. The first student to ask for one - a girl, said she wanted rubber ducks, crowns and her name. I went to get my pen and came back and she said, 'ok I want...'
I said, 'I know what you want. I am an adult. I listen.'
She said, 'ok I want...'
I said, 'I know what you want. I am an adult, not a teenager. I listen.
Then I stared at her.
Teenagers are so funny. They are like babies you can talk to.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
SWIM! SWIM LIKE THE WIND!
Blog number 514******* 05 May 2011
This here ain't no big deal, it's more of a one of those "What the hell?" kinda things I so love.
I'm channel surfing and I come across "Animals on the loose" - a program about animals that are on the loose. I catch the program where these two guys are taking the cover off a swimming pool because some animal is underneath. One of the guys says, "I think it's a bear."
They take the cover off and find an American bison - a "buffalo." The get a rope around the buffalo's horns, play tug of war with it for awhile and finally get the animal out of the pool.
So now what we have is a buffalo in an area with two or three men, with a rope tied around its horns. In case you don't know, buffalos have no compunction at all about trying to gore humans. Two of them once escaped from the San Francisco zoo and proceeded to chase every human they could find, several years ago. Luckily, nobody hurt.
The animal starts trying to get away from the rope, gore the two men and be on its way, but it runs around a tree and is now stuck there. The men tighten the rope until the buffalo's head is tied to the tree and the poor thing can't go anywhere. Here's where it gets interesting. For me, anyhow.
One guy says things like, "Well, I'm glad we got him out of there. I feel really good about that. I'm glad I got to film it." And shortly thereafter, the filming stops. It's all over, see? The buffalo has been saved, everybody can go home. But wait! Instead of being stuck in a swimming pool, the buffalo is now stuck with its head pressed against a tree. Is that really much better?
How are they going to get this animal back into the wild? As far as I can gather, they are done with him. What's next is all up to the animal. What he does with the rest of his life is no concern of theirs.
Or! Is this animal going to be served once again, but in a different way?
This here ain't no big deal, it's more of a one of those "What the hell?" kinda things I so love.
I'm channel surfing and I come across "Animals on the loose" - a program about animals that are on the loose. I catch the program where these two guys are taking the cover off a swimming pool because some animal is underneath. One of the guys says, "I think it's a bear."
They take the cover off and find an American bison - a "buffalo." The get a rope around the buffalo's horns, play tug of war with it for awhile and finally get the animal out of the pool.
So now what we have is a buffalo in an area with two or three men, with a rope tied around its horns. In case you don't know, buffalos have no compunction at all about trying to gore humans. Two of them once escaped from the San Francisco zoo and proceeded to chase every human they could find, several years ago. Luckily, nobody hurt.
The animal starts trying to get away from the rope, gore the two men and be on its way, but it runs around a tree and is now stuck there. The men tighten the rope until the buffalo's head is tied to the tree and the poor thing can't go anywhere. Here's where it gets interesting. For me, anyhow.
One guy says things like, "Well, I'm glad we got him out of there. I feel really good about that. I'm glad I got to film it." And shortly thereafter, the filming stops. It's all over, see? The buffalo has been saved, everybody can go home. But wait! Instead of being stuck in a swimming pool, the buffalo is now stuck with its head pressed against a tree. Is that really much better?
How are they going to get this animal back into the wild? As far as I can gather, they are done with him. What's next is all up to the animal. What he does with the rest of his life is no concern of theirs.
Or! Is this animal going to be served once again, but in a different way?
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
THE LIVING DESERT MYSTERIES
Blog number 513******* 03 May 2011
On the road north to Phoenix this morn, I saw, going south on the other freeway, a flatbed hauling what looked like bicycle wheels. Shiny spokes, black tires, new. The only thing is that these tires were six to eight feet in diameter, standing upright four across and I imagine about six deep. Twenty four "bicycle wheels"? Give or take.
For what they really were to be used, I cannot imagine. They could have been going to Davis Monthan Air Force Base for some air force rigmarole, they could have been going to protect our border from the people whose land we forcibly took away in 1864 in case they were thinking of trying to get it back, or they could have been going to the east coast. I dunno.
So a short time later I saw this police car pull out from the median on our left, right in front of a car, causing the car to veer to the right in order to avoid a collision, then the police car lit up and drove rather slowly in front of us. About a mile down the road, a red car I didn't notice until it pulled out, also came off the left median and drove across both lanes of traffic and went onto an exit road.
The story I imagined for this episode is that the police car got a call to catch the red car, pulled out for the chase, but the red car noticed the lights, knew the game was up - he was caught, so he pulled over to wait.
The cop, not ever expecting such a short chase did not notice what the car had done, so he went right by it. When the driver of the red car noticed the cop going by, he figured his best bet was to get off that road and thankfully, there was another road right there, going a different way.
Makes sense. And that's all that counts.
On the road north to Phoenix this morn, I saw, going south on the other freeway, a flatbed hauling what looked like bicycle wheels. Shiny spokes, black tires, new. The only thing is that these tires were six to eight feet in diameter, standing upright four across and I imagine about six deep. Twenty four "bicycle wheels"? Give or take.
For what they really were to be used, I cannot imagine. They could have been going to Davis Monthan Air Force Base for some air force rigmarole, they could have been going to protect our border from the people whose land we forcibly took away in 1864 in case they were thinking of trying to get it back, or they could have been going to the east coast. I dunno.
So a short time later I saw this police car pull out from the median on our left, right in front of a car, causing the car to veer to the right in order to avoid a collision, then the police car lit up and drove rather slowly in front of us. About a mile down the road, a red car I didn't notice until it pulled out, also came off the left median and drove across both lanes of traffic and went onto an exit road.
The story I imagined for this episode is that the police car got a call to catch the red car, pulled out for the chase, but the red car noticed the lights, knew the game was up - he was caught, so he pulled over to wait.
The cop, not ever expecting such a short chase did not notice what the car had done, so he went right by it. When the driver of the red car noticed the cop going by, he figured his best bet was to get off that road and thankfully, there was another road right there, going a different way.
Makes sense. And that's all that counts.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
EAT BEFORE READING
Blog number 512******* 01 May 2011
This that I am leading up to has to take a little side trip before landing.
Years ago I read a book written by a Dane that lived in Greenland with the Inuits back in the late twenties and early thirties. He told of a special dish an accomplished hunter sometimes brought out for special occasions. The dish consisted of small birds stuffed into a sealskin and buried for no less than a year.
When he described the taste of this treat, the scrumptious way you peeled the fat off the skin by running it through your closed teeth, the taste of the blood clot formed when the bird was killed by pressing on its chest to burst the heart, you got the idea that this was akin to our surf-and-turf ^ or pigs-on-horseback*, put together by a world class chef. Made me want to try it.
So I'm watching a NATGEO program on the telly and this polar bear and its cub are stranded on an island barren of food due to melting ice flows. They eat grass and kelp and finally they find an old rotten whale carcass at the bottom of the ocean just off the shore. The mother dives down and brings back a piece of this carcass. Watching them eat this rotten meat is kind of disgusting because it is slimy, rotten-looking.
Then on the same program I see Eskimos digging up this sealskin treat I mentioned in the first two paragraphs. The voiceover said they always eat this treat outside because of the smell, and the stench has to hurt your eyes and skin or it isn't any good. And they start tearing off hunks, and it looks exactly like the rotten meat the polar bear and her cub were eating. Now comes the part for which all of the above was written.
A piece of this rotten meat is given to this baby - probably under two years old, and he relishes it!
I have had babies and I can tell you that their favorite foods are very bland. So what's going on here? Evolutionary gene pools? How did a baby come to love rotten raw meat?
Wasn't that fun, reading that?
As an aside, the Dane who wrote the book I found out just a few months ago, died from poisoning by eating that special dish.
^ lobster and steak
* Oysters wrapped in bacon, preferably grilled. Unbelievably delicious!
This that I am leading up to has to take a little side trip before landing.
Years ago I read a book written by a Dane that lived in Greenland with the Inuits back in the late twenties and early thirties. He told of a special dish an accomplished hunter sometimes brought out for special occasions. The dish consisted of small birds stuffed into a sealskin and buried for no less than a year.
When he described the taste of this treat, the scrumptious way you peeled the fat off the skin by running it through your closed teeth, the taste of the blood clot formed when the bird was killed by pressing on its chest to burst the heart, you got the idea that this was akin to our surf-and-turf ^ or pigs-on-horseback*, put together by a world class chef. Made me want to try it.
So I'm watching a NATGEO program on the telly and this polar bear and its cub are stranded on an island barren of food due to melting ice flows. They eat grass and kelp and finally they find an old rotten whale carcass at the bottom of the ocean just off the shore. The mother dives down and brings back a piece of this carcass. Watching them eat this rotten meat is kind of disgusting because it is slimy, rotten-looking.
Then on the same program I see Eskimos digging up this sealskin treat I mentioned in the first two paragraphs. The voiceover said they always eat this treat outside because of the smell, and the stench has to hurt your eyes and skin or it isn't any good. And they start tearing off hunks, and it looks exactly like the rotten meat the polar bear and her cub were eating. Now comes the part for which all of the above was written.
A piece of this rotten meat is given to this baby - probably under two years old, and he relishes it!
I have had babies and I can tell you that their favorite foods are very bland. So what's going on here? Evolutionary gene pools? How did a baby come to love rotten raw meat?
Wasn't that fun, reading that?
As an aside, the Dane who wrote the book I found out just a few months ago, died from poisoning by eating that special dish.
^ lobster and steak
* Oysters wrapped in bacon, preferably grilled. Unbelievably delicious!
Saturday, April 30, 2011
...AND MANY MORRRRRRRRRRRE
Blog number 511******* 30 April 2011
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday dear Kavi.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday dear Kavi.
Happy birthday to you.
Monday, April 25, 2011
LION WHISPERER
Blog number 510******* 25 April 2011
I know that most of you don't like me telling you about things I have read or seen on the telly, but Brubaker damn it, this one boggles my mind.
There was an old man - an African native that was going to teach these two young fellas how to steal meat from lions. The lions catch the prey, he steals the meat. Says it's easier than doing the hunting themselves. It's like going to the market, I guess.
So they start tracking a pride that is on the hunt. He wants to see the lions before they see him. The three come upon a pride of at least six lions, including a big male, eating a gnu they had just killed. They hide in the bushes for awhile, then all three men stand up and start walking toward this pride of bloody-faced feeding lions.
The old man says the important thing is to show no fear. They walk steadily toward the lions, who are all staring at the three men. Suddenly one of the lions bolts, then two or three heartbeats later, another bolts, then another and then all run off.
The men start cutting a haunch off the gnu. This is the dangerous part and the old man says his heart is pounding. The fear is the lions will get their courage back and come seeking revenge. And you can see, they have come back and are standing in the bushes, looking. One man picks up the haunch, flings it over his shoulder and the three leave. Here, relief sets in because the men are safe. The lions just want to eat - they really don't want a confrontation.
Now what boggles my mind about this is that lions do not give up their food to anything without a fight. And these are big, strong animals with sharp teeth and claws. Men? Nothing. Just a reputation, evidently. How did humans get such a fearful reputation?
I know that most of you don't like me telling you about things I have read or seen on the telly, but Brubaker damn it, this one boggles my mind.
There was an old man - an African native that was going to teach these two young fellas how to steal meat from lions. The lions catch the prey, he steals the meat. Says it's easier than doing the hunting themselves. It's like going to the market, I guess.
So they start tracking a pride that is on the hunt. He wants to see the lions before they see him. The three come upon a pride of at least six lions, including a big male, eating a gnu they had just killed. They hide in the bushes for awhile, then all three men stand up and start walking toward this pride of bloody-faced feeding lions.
The old man says the important thing is to show no fear. They walk steadily toward the lions, who are all staring at the three men. Suddenly one of the lions bolts, then two or three heartbeats later, another bolts, then another and then all run off.
The men start cutting a haunch off the gnu. This is the dangerous part and the old man says his heart is pounding. The fear is the lions will get their courage back and come seeking revenge. And you can see, they have come back and are standing in the bushes, looking. One man picks up the haunch, flings it over his shoulder and the three leave. Here, relief sets in because the men are safe. The lions just want to eat - they really don't want a confrontation.
Now what boggles my mind about this is that lions do not give up their food to anything without a fight. And these are big, strong animals with sharp teeth and claws. Men? Nothing. Just a reputation, evidently. How did humans get such a fearful reputation?
Sunday, April 24, 2011
DOG WHISPERER
Blog number 509******* 24 April 2011
New people moved in down the street. Lots of kids. I walk by their house when I go to get the mail.
Last night two of their dogs were out with the lady of the house and both of the dogs bumped me as I went by. One was a weimaraner. A weimaraner is a hunting dog - short hair, brown in color.
When I was a teenager, there were no weimaraners. I hope that's right. That's the way I remember it.
I also remember when Cherrios first came out, but they were called Cherrioats. That sentence is called a nonsequitor.
On my way back to my house, the weinmaraner bumped me again as I walked by him. He then went ahead of me, sniffing the ground. He turned into the driveway where I had walked on the way out of the house. He sniffed his way up to the door and then held his nose high up and against the door as if signaling that he wanted to be let in.
I realized that he had followed my scent from his house to mine.
I thought about letting him in, but soon realized that it might not sit too well with the head of the house. But it's nice to feel wanted.
Even by a dumb animal.
I could have had a new dog!
New people moved in down the street. Lots of kids. I walk by their house when I go to get the mail.
Last night two of their dogs were out with the lady of the house and both of the dogs bumped me as I went by. One was a weimaraner. A weimaraner is a hunting dog - short hair, brown in color.
When I was a teenager, there were no weimaraners. I hope that's right. That's the way I remember it.
I also remember when Cherrios first came out, but they were called Cherrioats. That sentence is called a nonsequitor.
On my way back to my house, the weinmaraner bumped me again as I walked by him. He then went ahead of me, sniffing the ground. He turned into the driveway where I had walked on the way out of the house. He sniffed his way up to the door and then held his nose high up and against the door as if signaling that he wanted to be let in.
I realized that he had followed my scent from his house to mine.
I thought about letting him in, but soon realized that it might not sit too well with the head of the house. But it's nice to feel wanted.
Even by a dumb animal.
I could have had a new dog!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
WRITE AND WRITE AGAIN
Blog number 508******* 19 April 2011
You remember when I wanted to write but didn't have anything to write about, don't you? Well, it's back again, only this time the impetus is a little weaker. Not likely anything blogable will come from this, but you never know. Well, some times you do. But not always.
I got a belated birthday present from my one and only. She gave me a handheld camcorder. I can only hope that I will someday capture something fascinating. What I really want to video is cute babies doing what cute babies do. But of course that is not possible. Oh well.
I used my flame thrower today and didn't catch on fire once.
I went to the post office and a guy there with a cute little two year old boy told me of a package that was in a locker with the lock open. The boy found it by going to every opened locker and opening the door to it.
I looked in the locker, took out the package and somebody had written on the label, "Wrong box." Evidently the key to that locker was put in the wrong post office box.
My motto in circumstances such as this is, "If not me, who?" The person that wrote the note left the package in an unlocked locker for anybody to take and the man with the boy that told me about it was going to leave it there. So that left it up to me, didn't it?
So I took the package and gave it to a postal employee with an explanation.
While I went through the door into where the postal employees were, I kind of kept my eye on the man that told me about the unattended package, imagining that he would want to see if I was going to steal it or what, and from his actions I was pretty convinced that he did do just that.
Maybe not. Who knows? Seemed like it to me. After all, he didn't know me from his senate representative and you know how dishonest those people are.
I sometimes wonder if people are trained from childhood by parents not to get involved in anything not pertaining to them by saying, "Don't touch that!" From then on it gets to be one of those unconscious conditionings that I so abhor.
It does seem awfully curious to me how many people could fix what they see as wrong quite easily and effortlessly, but don't. Must be something preventing them.
Well, I guess this is about as good as it's going to get. Good thing you didn't have to pay for this, huh? You didn't even have to watch any ads. Which, by the way, is something Google asks its Bloggers if they want ads in their Blogs and if they do, they will get so much money for every so many people that read that entry. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.
You remember when I wanted to write but didn't have anything to write about, don't you? Well, it's back again, only this time the impetus is a little weaker. Not likely anything blogable will come from this, but you never know. Well, some times you do. But not always.
I got a belated birthday present from my one and only. She gave me a handheld camcorder. I can only hope that I will someday capture something fascinating. What I really want to video is cute babies doing what cute babies do. But of course that is not possible. Oh well.
I used my flame thrower today and didn't catch on fire once.
I went to the post office and a guy there with a cute little two year old boy told me of a package that was in a locker with the lock open. The boy found it by going to every opened locker and opening the door to it.
I looked in the locker, took out the package and somebody had written on the label, "Wrong box." Evidently the key to that locker was put in the wrong post office box.
My motto in circumstances such as this is, "If not me, who?" The person that wrote the note left the package in an unlocked locker for anybody to take and the man with the boy that told me about it was going to leave it there. So that left it up to me, didn't it?
So I took the package and gave it to a postal employee with an explanation.
While I went through the door into where the postal employees were, I kind of kept my eye on the man that told me about the unattended package, imagining that he would want to see if I was going to steal it or what, and from his actions I was pretty convinced that he did do just that.
Maybe not. Who knows? Seemed like it to me. After all, he didn't know me from his senate representative and you know how dishonest those people are.
I sometimes wonder if people are trained from childhood by parents not to get involved in anything not pertaining to them by saying, "Don't touch that!" From then on it gets to be one of those unconscious conditionings that I so abhor.
It does seem awfully curious to me how many people could fix what they see as wrong quite easily and effortlessly, but don't. Must be something preventing them.
Well, I guess this is about as good as it's going to get. Good thing you didn't have to pay for this, huh? You didn't even have to watch any ads. Which, by the way, is something Google asks its Bloggers if they want ads in their Blogs and if they do, they will get so much money for every so many people that read that entry. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
YOU CAN'T STOP PROGRESS
Blog number 507******* 14 April 2011
He was once quite handsome. He was once what you would call a hunk. He was once the darling of those with female pulchitude. Not any more and not for some time.
Now he's got scraggly thinning hair, wrinkled arms where once boasted rippling muscles. Beautiful white teeth? Oh, no. Yellow.
And the whole upper right quadrant of his dentures is missing. Not that he gets any break on having his teeth cleaned because of that. One forth the teeth, one forth the price. Right?
Wrong.
And his body - it sags. His vision was once that of a sharpshooter. Now? Not so much. His strength? All gone.
If he happens to find himself lying on the floor for any reason, he has to exert tremendous effort, gathering all his strength in order to get himself up on his hands and knees and from there make a final heroic push to stand upright once again. This is the only exercise he allows himself.
That this is only occasional and accidental bothers him not a whit.
He dresses like a curmudgeon because that's what he is. It is after all, the clothes that make the man.
His hobbies are solving jigsaw puzzles, reading and napping. Long walks are limited to the mailbox and back, taken slowly.
He listens to music whenever he can do so without his loving wife noticing what he is doing.
She will not allow him the use of the piano because he is sometimes wacko. Cannot be trusted around music, evidently.
He no longer dances.
And his memory. Ah yes. Long past its prime. But he doesn't care. Mostly nonsense anyhow. His memory has been replaced by fantasy.
He thinks he traded up.
This gentleman we are talking about is today, for the first time in this life, eighty years old.
MADE IT!
He was once quite handsome. He was once what you would call a hunk. He was once the darling of those with female pulchitude. Not any more and not for some time.
Now he's got scraggly thinning hair, wrinkled arms where once boasted rippling muscles. Beautiful white teeth? Oh, no. Yellow.
And the whole upper right quadrant of his dentures is missing. Not that he gets any break on having his teeth cleaned because of that. One forth the teeth, one forth the price. Right?
Wrong.
And his body - it sags. His vision was once that of a sharpshooter. Now? Not so much. His strength? All gone.
If he happens to find himself lying on the floor for any reason, he has to exert tremendous effort, gathering all his strength in order to get himself up on his hands and knees and from there make a final heroic push to stand upright once again. This is the only exercise he allows himself.
That this is only occasional and accidental bothers him not a whit.
He dresses like a curmudgeon because that's what he is. It is after all, the clothes that make the man.
His hobbies are solving jigsaw puzzles, reading and napping. Long walks are limited to the mailbox and back, taken slowly.
He listens to music whenever he can do so without his loving wife noticing what he is doing.
She will not allow him the use of the piano because he is sometimes wacko. Cannot be trusted around music, evidently.
He no longer dances.
And his memory. Ah yes. Long past its prime. But he doesn't care. Mostly nonsense anyhow. His memory has been replaced by fantasy.
He thinks he traded up.
This gentleman we are talking about is today, for the first time in this life, eighty years old.
MADE IT!
WELL, THEY'RE AT IT AGAIN
Blog number 506******* 13 April 2011
In the April 18th issue of Time, it is announced that there is going to be an exhumation of a Florentine woman suspected of sitting for the Mona Lisa. Archaeologists hope to prove whether she was the model.
This is really exciting! At last we are going to find out whether or not at least one person is or isn't the model for the Mona Lisa. Oh joy!
I imagine they might be going to use the DNA method. We didn't have that procedure to do in years past, but now with modern science we can get the DNA of the corpse and match it with the DNA of the painting. Brilliant!
Or maybe fingerprints! Yeah! We dig up that five hundred year old body and look behind the painting and get the fingerprints off old Mona and if we get a match, Viola! And if we don't get a match, Viola! again, 'cause we will have eliminated one out of the millions it could have been, and that's good, yes? One step closer?
Or maybe - just maybe, we can get the old woman to talk - to tell us whether or not she sat for old DaVinci. That would be interesting.
Whichever way it goes, I'll sure be glad when we get this puzzle solved. It's been keeping me and a lot of folks up at night worrying over it. And once we get that solved, maybe we can start work on finding out who the models were for those boys on that sailing boat with the old man in that Homer Winslow painting.
And kudos to Time Magazine in its unfailing efforts to keep us up to dately informed of the important work being done in the world of pure science. Kudos, I say.
In the April 18th issue of Time, it is announced that there is going to be an exhumation of a Florentine woman suspected of sitting for the Mona Lisa. Archaeologists hope to prove whether she was the model.
This is really exciting! At last we are going to find out whether or not at least one person is or isn't the model for the Mona Lisa. Oh joy!
I imagine they might be going to use the DNA method. We didn't have that procedure to do in years past, but now with modern science we can get the DNA of the corpse and match it with the DNA of the painting. Brilliant!
Or maybe fingerprints! Yeah! We dig up that five hundred year old body and look behind the painting and get the fingerprints off old Mona and if we get a match, Viola! And if we don't get a match, Viola! again, 'cause we will have eliminated one out of the millions it could have been, and that's good, yes? One step closer?
Or maybe - just maybe, we can get the old woman to talk - to tell us whether or not she sat for old DaVinci. That would be interesting.
Whichever way it goes, I'll sure be glad when we get this puzzle solved. It's been keeping me and a lot of folks up at night worrying over it. And once we get that solved, maybe we can start work on finding out who the models were for those boys on that sailing boat with the old man in that Homer Winslow painting.
And kudos to Time Magazine in its unfailing efforts to keep us up to dately informed of the important work being done in the world of pure science. Kudos, I say.
Friday, April 8, 2011
FLY ME TO THE MOON
Blog number 505******* 08 April 2011
When I was in the United States Air Force, I worked on T-29 aircraft which were used to train bombardier / navigators.
In my shop we had this master sergeant that somehow talked a pilot into letting him pilot his aircraft on its missions. Now, enlisted men - of which sergeants are a member, are not allowed to pilot military aircraft - let alone pilot one without any formal training at all.
One day I was flying on the same ship that this sergeant was and I watched him fly a bit, and I was standing in the doorway behind the copilot and the sergeant, who was sitting in the pilot's seat. The sergeant was going to make a landing attempt. About 15 feet off the ground, the sergeant made a move on the controls which caused the copilot to give him a look of fear and then reach over too late to do any good, and the aircraft dropped straight down, bam! It hopped a couple of times before it settled down.
I remember at the time wondering what the people in the control tower would be thinking of this landing, and of course they would think it was the pilot that had made such a grave error. The plane probably had to be checked later to see if any damage had occurred due to a "hard" landing. Would the pilot be given a "bad mark" anywhere in his records?
I heard the copilot explain to the sergeant that when he cut the engines down like that, the props would change pitch and no longer be pulling the plane forward, resulting in loss of power and propeller at the same time and thus the sudden meeting of aircraft and runway sans grace.
That was the last mission the sergeant was allowed to fly as pilot. In fact, I never saw him ever fly again on those aircraft.
Just as a curious aside, when we enlisted were being considered for promotion, our records would be given to the promotion board. In the case of officer's promotions, they had their photograph placed in their promotion records. We didn't. Evidently they didn't care how handsome we were, but to an officer, that must have been important.
Furthermore, the base commander was a general and in an article about him in the base newspaper, it was said that he was known as, "the Silver Fox." Think about that.
Please.
When I was in the United States Air Force, I worked on T-29 aircraft which were used to train bombardier / navigators.
In my shop we had this master sergeant that somehow talked a pilot into letting him pilot his aircraft on its missions. Now, enlisted men - of which sergeants are a member, are not allowed to pilot military aircraft - let alone pilot one without any formal training at all.
One day I was flying on the same ship that this sergeant was and I watched him fly a bit, and I was standing in the doorway behind the copilot and the sergeant, who was sitting in the pilot's seat. The sergeant was going to make a landing attempt. About 15 feet off the ground, the sergeant made a move on the controls which caused the copilot to give him a look of fear and then reach over too late to do any good, and the aircraft dropped straight down, bam! It hopped a couple of times before it settled down.
I remember at the time wondering what the people in the control tower would be thinking of this landing, and of course they would think it was the pilot that had made such a grave error. The plane probably had to be checked later to see if any damage had occurred due to a "hard" landing. Would the pilot be given a "bad mark" anywhere in his records?
I heard the copilot explain to the sergeant that when he cut the engines down like that, the props would change pitch and no longer be pulling the plane forward, resulting in loss of power and propeller at the same time and thus the sudden meeting of aircraft and runway sans grace.
That was the last mission the sergeant was allowed to fly as pilot. In fact, I never saw him ever fly again on those aircraft.
Just as a curious aside, when we enlisted were being considered for promotion, our records would be given to the promotion board. In the case of officer's promotions, they had their photograph placed in their promotion records. We didn't. Evidently they didn't care how handsome we were, but to an officer, that must have been important.
Furthermore, the base commander was a general and in an article about him in the base newspaper, it was said that he was known as, "the Silver Fox." Think about that.
Please.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
TRAVELOG W/O PICTURES
Blog number 503******* 06 April 2011
On our weekly visit to Phoenix this morning, we saw, going South, a flatbed semi hauling a rusty anchor that was large enough for a cruiser or at least a destroyer. I don't know my ships that well, but it also could have been for a battleship. Whatever, it was huge. We figured it was going to San Diego, but my question is, where was it coming from, this used anchor?
We see lots of strange things on highway 10. Tanks and armored carriers on flatbeds, military convoys, parts for wind turbines, lots of very large stuff covered and if uncovered, indescribable. We used to travel a lot between Sacramento and San Francisco and we never ever saw equipment like this. The desert is a very strange place anyhow. Stuff like this just makes it stranger.
We arrived in Phoenix, turned right towards my favorite restaurant and heard this strange soft flap flap flap. I looked behind to see if I ran over anything. Nope. Then I realized it sounded like a broken fan belt. We pulled over into a parking lot, I got out and raised the hood and saw the alternator belt lying in tiny strips on the floor of the engine compartment.
Drove to Purcell's on Ray Rd. Left the car there to have three belts replaced, rejoiced that I had changed the timing belt a few weeks before, 'cause I sure didn't want that sucker to fall apart.
While waiting for the repair, we walked over to Fry's Market, had free coffee and free donuts. Wify talking to other people sitting there. Me, I'm just watching for babies.
I hear this female voice shout angrily, "Don't you go there! You've already had your carbohydrates this morning! George! Stop!" I look and there's this old man who already has a donut in his mouth and is cramming in another one before his wife can get hold of it.
As he walks by me, I say, "Good, huh?" He gives me a thumbs up, grinning as much as he can with his mouth full of donut while his wife complains, "He has diabetes and this is why."
Delightful couple.
Saw babies.
Car fixed.
Drove home.
Here now.
On our weekly visit to Phoenix this morning, we saw, going South, a flatbed semi hauling a rusty anchor that was large enough for a cruiser or at least a destroyer. I don't know my ships that well, but it also could have been for a battleship. Whatever, it was huge. We figured it was going to San Diego, but my question is, where was it coming from, this used anchor?
We see lots of strange things on highway 10. Tanks and armored carriers on flatbeds, military convoys, parts for wind turbines, lots of very large stuff covered and if uncovered, indescribable. We used to travel a lot between Sacramento and San Francisco and we never ever saw equipment like this. The desert is a very strange place anyhow. Stuff like this just makes it stranger.
We arrived in Phoenix, turned right towards my favorite restaurant and heard this strange soft flap flap flap. I looked behind to see if I ran over anything. Nope. Then I realized it sounded like a broken fan belt. We pulled over into a parking lot, I got out and raised the hood and saw the alternator belt lying in tiny strips on the floor of the engine compartment.
Drove to Purcell's on Ray Rd. Left the car there to have three belts replaced, rejoiced that I had changed the timing belt a few weeks before, 'cause I sure didn't want that sucker to fall apart.
While waiting for the repair, we walked over to Fry's Market, had free coffee and free donuts. Wify talking to other people sitting there. Me, I'm just watching for babies.
I hear this female voice shout angrily, "Don't you go there! You've already had your carbohydrates this morning! George! Stop!" I look and there's this old man who already has a donut in his mouth and is cramming in another one before his wife can get hold of it.
As he walks by me, I say, "Good, huh?" He gives me a thumbs up, grinning as much as he can with his mouth full of donut while his wife complains, "He has diabetes and this is why."
Delightful couple.
Saw babies.
Car fixed.
Drove home.
Here now.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
BRUBAKER ES MIT US
Blog number 502******* 28 March 2011
Sometimes the parking lot at the post office is very crowded. At such times there are cars arriving and leaving. Many a time I have started backing out and a car looking for a parking place down the way will honk at me. "I'm coming by. Stop backing up."
Why can't the guy just stop and wait for me to back out and then we can both continue on our merry way? 'cause he or she is still in the two year old stage, that's why. "Me first and me only."
A couple of days ago the lot was really crowded and I waited for one to back out, went forward a few feet, another one backing out, I wait. Coupla cars down, another backing out and then another and then I hear a horn behind me. This guy/girl has urgent business and I am blocking him/her from his/her assignment to save the world and all its populace. Brubaker!
So today I am backing out at the post office and this guy/girl coming up behind stops and waits for me. I am shocked! I think this is the very first time in eight years here visiting this post office that someone has done this. That he/she did not honk at me and continue on. Thinking about it, I guess I should be glad that they even honk.
Anyway, I back out and I reach the street and a big white pickup pulls up alongside, to turn to the left. I am turning right. Now usually when this happens, I have to keep edging out into the street so that I can see around him/her. Usually he or she then pulls further ahead, which causes me to do the same until we are both in the middle of the street. OK. I exaggerated a little there.
I wait for him (I can see the driver) to edge forward like they always do, but surprise, surprise, he backs up! The only reason I can see for him to do this is so that I can see around him. In 65 years of driving, I have never had this happen to me.
First someone waits for me to back out, and then this guy backs up so I can see around him. Two unselfish caring people in the space of two minutes. The Resurrection can't be far off.
Sometimes the parking lot at the post office is very crowded. At such times there are cars arriving and leaving. Many a time I have started backing out and a car looking for a parking place down the way will honk at me. "I'm coming by. Stop backing up."
Why can't the guy just stop and wait for me to back out and then we can both continue on our merry way? 'cause he or she is still in the two year old stage, that's why. "Me first and me only."
A couple of days ago the lot was really crowded and I waited for one to back out, went forward a few feet, another one backing out, I wait. Coupla cars down, another backing out and then another and then I hear a horn behind me. This guy/girl has urgent business and I am blocking him/her from his/her assignment to save the world and all its populace. Brubaker!
So today I am backing out at the post office and this guy/girl coming up behind stops and waits for me. I am shocked! I think this is the very first time in eight years here visiting this post office that someone has done this. That he/she did not honk at me and continue on. Thinking about it, I guess I should be glad that they even honk.
Anyway, I back out and I reach the street and a big white pickup pulls up alongside, to turn to the left. I am turning right. Now usually when this happens, I have to keep edging out into the street so that I can see around him/her. Usually he or she then pulls further ahead, which causes me to do the same until we are both in the middle of the street. OK. I exaggerated a little there.
I wait for him (I can see the driver) to edge forward like they always do, but surprise, surprise, he backs up! The only reason I can see for him to do this is so that I can see around him. In 65 years of driving, I have never had this happen to me.
First someone waits for me to back out, and then this guy backs up so I can see around him. Two unselfish caring people in the space of two minutes. The Resurrection can't be far off.
Friday, March 25, 2011
FIRE DOWN BELOW
Blog number 500 ******* 25 March 2011
This time, after I put out the fire on my pants leg, I went around the house to the Aloe plant, cut a piece off and rubbed the juice on the burn.
I get smarter every day.
This time, after I put out the fire on my pants leg, I went around the house to the Aloe plant, cut a piece off and rubbed the juice on the burn.
I get smarter every day.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
WARNING. THIS IS A RANT
Blog number 499 ******* 23 March 2011
Several weeks ago we (my wife) called the Arizona Republic paper to cancel our subscription. Since then a man has called, waking me up from a deep sleep, to say that they can renew our subscription at a lower price. I said,"no." He asked why.
I replied, "Because there isn't any news in it and it is mostly a whole bunch of ads and every time I load up my recycling bin with nothing but his newspapers, I feel guilty."
He say ok.
Then a couple of days later a lady called with the same story, waking me up again, and I told her my same story. I also told her that a man had called earlier and she said that she would take me off her list. I said good.
So yesterday I got a call, same story, only this time from a machine. I hung up on it. Then just now I get another call, probably from the same machine, right? This time I listened to its spiel and it said that I didn't have to respond to that call, but if I wanted to speak to them, I could call...and it gave me their phone number.
Now what really irked me was my old bugaboo, stupidity. If I wanted to call them, wouldn't I already have done so? Huh? Huh?
And then yesterday we went to Phoenix and they are putting in another freeway and we ordinarily turn off on Chandler Blvd. So we come up on the road work and there is a big sign "Chandler Blvd. Exit Only." "Oh, good," I thought. At least that's open.
My wife, darling that she is, said, "we better turn off on Pecos Road. Chandler is closed."
"No it isn't, I say. That sign said, "Chandler Blvd. Exit Only."
Then another big sign came up. "Chandler Blvd. Exit Only."
I say, "see?" And we stay in that lane.
Then another big sign came up. "Chandler Blvd. Exit Only."
Then Chandler Blvd. Exit came up and it was closed.
We had to change lanes.
Wound up in Iowa.
No we didn't. That's a lie.
I do that sometimes.
Drives my wife crazy.
That's why I do it.
It's either her or me.
Dum de dum dum
Several weeks ago we (my wife) called the Arizona Republic paper to cancel our subscription. Since then a man has called, waking me up from a deep sleep, to say that they can renew our subscription at a lower price. I said,"no." He asked why.
I replied, "Because there isn't any news in it and it is mostly a whole bunch of ads and every time I load up my recycling bin with nothing but his newspapers, I feel guilty."
He say ok.
Then a couple of days later a lady called with the same story, waking me up again, and I told her my same story. I also told her that a man had called earlier and she said that she would take me off her list. I said good.
So yesterday I got a call, same story, only this time from a machine. I hung up on it. Then just now I get another call, probably from the same machine, right? This time I listened to its spiel and it said that I didn't have to respond to that call, but if I wanted to speak to them, I could call...and it gave me their phone number.
Now what really irked me was my old bugaboo, stupidity. If I wanted to call them, wouldn't I already have done so? Huh? Huh?
And then yesterday we went to Phoenix and they are putting in another freeway and we ordinarily turn off on Chandler Blvd. So we come up on the road work and there is a big sign "Chandler Blvd. Exit Only." "Oh, good," I thought. At least that's open.
My wife, darling that she is, said, "we better turn off on Pecos Road. Chandler is closed."
"No it isn't, I say. That sign said, "Chandler Blvd. Exit Only."
Then another big sign came up. "Chandler Blvd. Exit Only."
I say, "see?" And we stay in that lane.
Then another big sign came up. "Chandler Blvd. Exit Only."
Then Chandler Blvd. Exit came up and it was closed.
We had to change lanes.
Wound up in Iowa.
No we didn't. That's a lie.
I do that sometimes.
Drives my wife crazy.
That's why I do it.
It's either her or me.
Dum de dum dum
Friday, March 18, 2011
YOU MAKE ME SICK!
Blog number 498 ******* 18 March 2011
My substitute teacher friend told me that yesterday some student stole a bunch of Jolly Rancher candies out of his jacket that was on his chair.
So this morning he told the class that he had put one of the candies in his mouth, but he wasn't feeling so good - that he thinks he might be coming down with something (this was not true) so he put the candy back in its wrapper so that it wouldn't soil his jacket and put it in his pocket.
He then told them that he hoped that whoever took the candies didn't eat the one he had in his mouth with his saliva all over it and he hoped it wouldn't make the person sick.
He said these kids are unbelievably germophobic that, "You should see the looks on their faces for instance, if a trash can is full of paper only, and you put a package of unopened cookies in there, then take it back out. Not a single kid will eat one of the cookies."
This next might not seem like a segue at first, but it is. I was riding the bus in Sacramento, sitting right behind the driver. We were coming up on a traffic light and she said, "Watch this." She pushed a button. Once, twice, three times. "Darn! This is supposed to make the light turn green." She pushed again. And again. Then gave up and we waited at the red light.
At first I thought, '' What a great gadget. She can catch all the green lights." But then I got to thinking, "Why would they give a bus driver the power to control traffic lights? Answer? They wouldn't."
What happened, I am pretty sure, is that someone was playing a prank on her and told her that story and she believed it. Hell, she had me believing it.
My substitute teacher friend told me that yesterday some student stole a bunch of Jolly Rancher candies out of his jacket that was on his chair.
So this morning he told the class that he had put one of the candies in his mouth, but he wasn't feeling so good - that he thinks he might be coming down with something (this was not true) so he put the candy back in its wrapper so that it wouldn't soil his jacket and put it in his pocket.
He then told them that he hoped that whoever took the candies didn't eat the one he had in his mouth with his saliva all over it and he hoped it wouldn't make the person sick.
He said these kids are unbelievably germophobic that, "You should see the looks on their faces for instance, if a trash can is full of paper only, and you put a package of unopened cookies in there, then take it back out. Not a single kid will eat one of the cookies."
This next might not seem like a segue at first, but it is. I was riding the bus in Sacramento, sitting right behind the driver. We were coming up on a traffic light and she said, "Watch this." She pushed a button. Once, twice, three times. "Darn! This is supposed to make the light turn green." She pushed again. And again. Then gave up and we waited at the red light.
At first I thought, '' What a great gadget. She can catch all the green lights." But then I got to thinking, "Why would they give a bus driver the power to control traffic lights? Answer? They wouldn't."
What happened, I am pretty sure, is that someone was playing a prank on her and told her that story and she believed it. Hell, she had me believing it.
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