Blog number 264 **** 22 December 2008
When I was in the Air Force stationed at Mather AFB in Sacramento you know where, we were one day called in to an assembly where this guy had a golden opportunity for us Air Force personnel. He would manage a credit union for us, and all he would ask for as payment was the small sum of 2 percent of the deposits, and out of that he would rent the building, pay for all machines and pay all salaries. Good deal, right? Two percent couldn't add up to much. Obviously a philanthropic person.
Anyhow, it got going and into it about a year came another "good deal" only for Air Force personnel. We could borrow a thousand dollars at one and a half percent interest and we would then deposit the thousand we borrowed into the credit union where it would earn us three percent. Wow! How could you lose, right?
They advertised this boon diligently - calling it, "Estate Planning." Posters extolling the virtues of Estate Planning promulgated ubiquitously. Our estate would grow effortlessly once we invested the seed of a borrowed thousand dollars. We were so lucky to have caring civilians looking out for us military. Just like they still do, from what I read in the papers.
I talked to someone on the credit union board once, telling him that it was a fraud, the borrowed amount was one and a half percentage a MONTH, the 3 percent return was for a YEAR. I could tell he thought I was in error somehow, and the fraud went on.
One night I was talking to a friend and he told me what a good deal this "Estate Planning" thing was, and I told him it was a hoax. A scheme.
He says, "No, no. I'm making money on borrowed money."
So I ask, "How much money are you getting for your deposit and how much are you paying for your loan?"
He looked. And he looked sick. He had swallowed hook line and sinker the fiction told by the cheats, never thinking to look at the actual money exchanging hands.
How many were cheated in this way? About half the depositors, maybe. Maybe even more. It was a very popular deal. How many could resist making money on someone else's money? Unfortunately, the average person isn't all that swift.
This phenomena also accounts for the proliferation of "Check Into Cash" stores who cheat the young, the poor, the ignorant and the unwary.
What kind of a person could take advantage of a person that would believe such a crazy story as that someone would loan you money and then pay you to give it back?
Or that stores that charge 300 percent interest are there for YOUR benefit?
People will sell their souls awfully cheap.
Bah! I say.
Humbug! I say also.
Monday, December 22, 2008
MY OWN PRIVATE I OWE
Blog number 263 **** 22 December 2008
I walked to the corner a few minutes ago to the mail box. On the way back I noticed a piece of paper lying on the sidewalk. Picking it up, I noticed it was a used Lottery ticket. There were four scratch-off bingo cards.
All across on card one, you get $2. All across on card two, $3. Card three, $10. Card four, $25.
Card one had three lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card two had three lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card three had two lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card four had three lines full. except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Each card came SO close to being a winner. Jest one leetle square. Two at the most.
Now, you could also win $25, $50, $150, $250 IF you get all four corners on each card. And again, we missed by one on each card except for two on bad luck card number three. Almost won again!
I could picture the buyer of this scratcher thinking, "Oh, oh, I'm winning! "I'm still winning! I'm still winning! Oh, damn!" four times in four minutes probably, and all it cost him was $2 for the privilege of being taken for a fool by the very people elected by him and his neighbors to make his life better than it is. His government.
If none of the scratch-offs on this card won and the numbers that came up were none of the numbers that could be used for winning, the end result would be the same, would it not? But wouldn't the result be more truthful? You ain't gonna win, why not just come out and show that right off instead of building up false hope? Because people would stop buying lottery tickets, that's why!
All lotteries used to be illegal. To protect the poor and the ignorant. Even church Bingos were illegal, but usually tolerated. Hard to believe, isn't it?
I remember when California first came out with a lottery, in one high school the seniors bought five hundred dollars worth of lottery tickets in order to raise money for their senior prom. They didn't win anything. Not a dime. I think those kids got a lot more than five hundred dollars worth of education the day they checked those losing numbers.
What kind of a moral, caring culture encourages things like lotteries to exist, advertise them with subtle lies and innuendoes as a way to make money? "You can't win if you don't play."
No, and you can't lose either.
Bah.
Humbug,
I walked to the corner a few minutes ago to the mail box. On the way back I noticed a piece of paper lying on the sidewalk. Picking it up, I noticed it was a used Lottery ticket. There were four scratch-off bingo cards.
All across on card one, you get $2. All across on card two, $3. Card three, $10. Card four, $25.
Card one had three lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card two had three lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card three had two lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card four had three lines full. except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Each card came SO close to being a winner. Jest one leetle square. Two at the most.
Now, you could also win $25, $50, $150, $250 IF you get all four corners on each card. And again, we missed by one on each card except for two on bad luck card number three. Almost won again!
I could picture the buyer of this scratcher thinking, "Oh, oh, I'm winning! "I'm still winning! I'm still winning! Oh, damn!" four times in four minutes probably, and all it cost him was $2 for the privilege of being taken for a fool by the very people elected by him and his neighbors to make his life better than it is. His government.
If none of the scratch-offs on this card won and the numbers that came up were none of the numbers that could be used for winning, the end result would be the same, would it not? But wouldn't the result be more truthful? You ain't gonna win, why not just come out and show that right off instead of building up false hope? Because people would stop buying lottery tickets, that's why!
All lotteries used to be illegal. To protect the poor and the ignorant. Even church Bingos were illegal, but usually tolerated. Hard to believe, isn't it?
I remember when California first came out with a lottery, in one high school the seniors bought five hundred dollars worth of lottery tickets in order to raise money for their senior prom. They didn't win anything. Not a dime. I think those kids got a lot more than five hundred dollars worth of education the day they checked those losing numbers.
What kind of a moral, caring culture encourages things like lotteries to exist, advertise them with subtle lies and innuendoes as a way to make money? "You can't win if you don't play."
No, and you can't lose either.
Bah.
Humbug,
Saturday, December 20, 2008
A GOOD NEIGHBOR
Blog number 262 **** 20 December 2008
My new little friend, Anna that I told you about that I met while pruning a tree in my back yard, I saw her once more. I look over the fence every day now, but it might be too cold and wet for her to be out playing. Her yard is not all that enticing anyhow. Full of tumbleweeds and junk. No grass or plants at all. Just wet sand. Wet sand and tumbleweeds and broken toys and a rototiller, a fertilizer machine and a soaker hose that is laid out along the fence where nothing is growing.
We carry small toys in a sack in the car in case we meet some cute babies and I went and got a small car from there, put it in a small plastic bag and threw it over the fence. I waited three days until finally one day Anna was there. I told her that there was a plastic bag "over there." She went to it and found the car. She started walking toward the house saying, "It's a car. It's not mine." I told her it was, that I had thrown it there.
An honest baby! How rare is that?
My new little friend, Anna that I told you about that I met while pruning a tree in my back yard, I saw her once more. I look over the fence every day now, but it might be too cold and wet for her to be out playing. Her yard is not all that enticing anyhow. Full of tumbleweeds and junk. No grass or plants at all. Just wet sand. Wet sand and tumbleweeds and broken toys and a rototiller, a fertilizer machine and a soaker hose that is laid out along the fence where nothing is growing.
We carry small toys in a sack in the car in case we meet some cute babies and I went and got a small car from there, put it in a small plastic bag and threw it over the fence. I waited three days until finally one day Anna was there. I told her that there was a plastic bag "over there." She went to it and found the car. She started walking toward the house saying, "It's a car. It's not mine." I told her it was, that I had thrown it there.
An honest baby! How rare is that?
ALWAYS ERR IN THE DIRECTION OF SEX
Blog number 261 **** 20 December 2008
In a perfect world, I would be an Executive Movie Director, answerable to no one. As the Executive Movie Director, one of my duties would be to pick a movie director to direct my movies. That way, since I know next to nothing about directing movies, I would be free to let Martin Scorsese et al, direct the movies.
But I would never let them;
(1), have any sex scenes that did not advance the plot. None, nit, nil.
(2) have any sex scene that lasted longer than necessary to advance said plot.
(3) There would be no kissing that began and ended with mouths opened as if to swallow an ostrich egg. That's it for the sex stuff. This is not a porno film, folks.
I would not allow the action to take place in the dark just to be "arty." I want to see the action, the horror, whatever. This idea that things are more scary in the dark is nonsense and the perfect example of that is the bright and scary movie, "The Shining."
There would be no more of this silly running down the middle of a street trying to escape an automobile.
No one would show their anger by sweeping things off a table or otherwise destroying inanimate objects. If I wanted to show anger, I would have the character hit somebody for little of no reason. They probably deserved it anyhow.
And wise up, movie people. No animal hisses or growls at their prey. Predators are silent when hunting. That knowledge should come from common sense. There is nothing more scary about predators than when they are coming at you with obvious intent and confidence, knowing full well that you will be there when it comes time to bite your leg off.
In my movies you will no longer see those "falling in love" scenes. You know the ones I am talking about - gleefully running along the beach hand in hand, laughing sillily at ducks or gooses or anything that happens to be handy.
I like realism in my movies. In that great movie, "American Beauty," tell me please, why were the only two cheerleaders that were not smiling during their performances, the two actors? Because they were actors, NOT cheerleaders. The forth wall was broken.
If I were the Executive Director of American Beauty and Sam Mendes was merely my assistant, I would say to him, "Sam! Come here! See those two? What in hell's the matter with you? Are you an idiot? Now fix that or I'll fix you!"
Why am I saddled with incompetence?
I twice saw on classy television programs, automobile batteries accused of being the cause of cars not being able to start EVEN THOUGH THE ENGINES COULD BE HEARD TO AGGRESSIVELY TURN OVER! There was and still is absolutely no excuse for an error like that.
In "The Shawshank Redemption," Tim Robbin's character busts through a drain pipe and is greeted with a violent gush of sewage. NO! NO! NO! Drains have pressure ONLY if they are blocked up. There has to be pressure IN the drain pipe in order for water to gush when the pressure is released. If a drain has pressure, it is not longer a drain. It is malfunctioning and it would have been noticed inside the prison when all the toilets started overflowing.
If the pipe gushed, it would mean that Tim's character would have to crawl through a hole tinier than what a turd could go through.
Sorry about the language. Nothing I can do about it. Computer malfunction.
And finally, if there has been made a classic movie, leave off the remakes. Please?
In a perfect world, I would be an Executive Movie Director, answerable to no one. As the Executive Movie Director, one of my duties would be to pick a movie director to direct my movies. That way, since I know next to nothing about directing movies, I would be free to let Martin Scorsese et al, direct the movies.
But I would never let them;
(1), have any sex scenes that did not advance the plot. None, nit, nil.
(2) have any sex scene that lasted longer than necessary to advance said plot.
(3) There would be no kissing that began and ended with mouths opened as if to swallow an ostrich egg. That's it for the sex stuff. This is not a porno film, folks.
I would not allow the action to take place in the dark just to be "arty." I want to see the action, the horror, whatever. This idea that things are more scary in the dark is nonsense and the perfect example of that is the bright and scary movie, "The Shining."
There would be no more of this silly running down the middle of a street trying to escape an automobile.
No one would show their anger by sweeping things off a table or otherwise destroying inanimate objects. If I wanted to show anger, I would have the character hit somebody for little of no reason. They probably deserved it anyhow.
And wise up, movie people. No animal hisses or growls at their prey. Predators are silent when hunting. That knowledge should come from common sense. There is nothing more scary about predators than when they are coming at you with obvious intent and confidence, knowing full well that you will be there when it comes time to bite your leg off.
In my movies you will no longer see those "falling in love" scenes. You know the ones I am talking about - gleefully running along the beach hand in hand, laughing sillily at ducks or gooses or anything that happens to be handy.
I like realism in my movies. In that great movie, "American Beauty," tell me please, why were the only two cheerleaders that were not smiling during their performances, the two actors? Because they were actors, NOT cheerleaders. The forth wall was broken.
If I were the Executive Director of American Beauty and Sam Mendes was merely my assistant, I would say to him, "Sam! Come here! See those two? What in hell's the matter with you? Are you an idiot? Now fix that or I'll fix you!"
Why am I saddled with incompetence?
I twice saw on classy television programs, automobile batteries accused of being the cause of cars not being able to start EVEN THOUGH THE ENGINES COULD BE HEARD TO AGGRESSIVELY TURN OVER! There was and still is absolutely no excuse for an error like that.
In "The Shawshank Redemption," Tim Robbin's character busts through a drain pipe and is greeted with a violent gush of sewage. NO! NO! NO! Drains have pressure ONLY if they are blocked up. There has to be pressure IN the drain pipe in order for water to gush when the pressure is released. If a drain has pressure, it is not longer a drain. It is malfunctioning and it would have been noticed inside the prison when all the toilets started overflowing.
If the pipe gushed, it would mean that Tim's character would have to crawl through a hole tinier than what a turd could go through.
Sorry about the language. Nothing I can do about it. Computer malfunction.
And finally, if there has been made a classic movie, leave off the remakes. Please?
Thursday, December 18, 2008
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Blog number 260 **** 18 December 2008
The title of the book, "Between Silk and Cyanide" comes from a conversation the author had with two of his bosses. He was trying to get them to OK the use of one time codes printed on silk so they couldn't be detected by periodic random searches by the Gestapo on city streets.
Each time a code was used, the agent would clip it off the piece of silk and destroy it.
The author's bosses...why don't I just start using the author's name? It's Leo Marks. Now, Leo's bosses asked him if he could put the importance of using the silk as opposed to not, in one paragraph. He said he could do it in one sentence. "It's between silk or cyanide." Use the silk or use the cyanide that each agent was issued.
The title of the book, "Between Silk and Cyanide" comes from a conversation the author had with two of his bosses. He was trying to get them to OK the use of one time codes printed on silk so they couldn't be detected by periodic random searches by the Gestapo on city streets.
Each time a code was used, the agent would clip it off the piece of silk and destroy it.
The author's bosses...why don't I just start using the author's name? It's Leo Marks. Now, Leo's bosses asked him if he could put the importance of using the silk as opposed to not, in one paragraph. He said he could do it in one sentence. "It's between silk or cyanide." Use the silk or use the cyanide that each agent was issued.
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE PART ONE
Blog number 258 **** 18 December 2008
When I find a book I really love, I always wish it could be longer. I almost feel lost when I finish a really good book. Fortunately I recently found two excellent books in a row, and both of them were and are, very long. Goody goody, I say.
One of them I just finished - "The Steel Castles," 800 pages, and the other one, "Between Silk and Cyanide," 600 pages, I am half way through. This last book I first noticed on the book shelves at Barnes and Nobles a couple of weeks ago. I passed it up because it was about code-makers in WW Two and who wants to read about something as boring as that? Huh?
Last week it was brought to my attention again, only this time it reminded me of when I first saw "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" in a book store in Sacramento. I had also passed on that one at first, because who wants to read nonsense? Again, huh? But the second time I noticed "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," it seemed to jump out at me and I bought it and read it. Changed my life. Definitely.
So I thought, since I had the exact same feeling about the Code book, maybe it would be worth a read. And it was. Not life changing this time, but very, very interesting. Very, very entertaining.
Now a nonsequitur. NOW a nonsequitur?!
This entry is to be in two parts because I have been told that my entries are sometimes too long and therefore not likely to be read all the way through. I myself have discovered this phenomena when reading someone else's Blog that is too long.
See you in the next entry down.
When I find a book I really love, I always wish it could be longer. I almost feel lost when I finish a really good book. Fortunately I recently found two excellent books in a row, and both of them were and are, very long. Goody goody, I say.
One of them I just finished - "The Steel Castles," 800 pages, and the other one, "Between Silk and Cyanide," 600 pages, I am half way through. This last book I first noticed on the book shelves at Barnes and Nobles a couple of weeks ago. I passed it up because it was about code-makers in WW Two and who wants to read about something as boring as that? Huh?
Last week it was brought to my attention again, only this time it reminded me of when I first saw "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" in a book store in Sacramento. I had also passed on that one at first, because who wants to read nonsense? Again, huh? But the second time I noticed "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," it seemed to jump out at me and I bought it and read it. Changed my life. Definitely.
So I thought, since I had the exact same feeling about the Code book, maybe it would be worth a read. And it was. Not life changing this time, but very, very interesting. Very, very entertaining.
Now a nonsequitur. NOW a nonsequitur?!
This entry is to be in two parts because I have been told that my entries are sometimes too long and therefore not likely to be read all the way through. I myself have discovered this phenomena when reading someone else's Blog that is too long.
See you in the next entry down.
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE PART TWO
Blog number 259 **** 18 December 2008
The main plot in this book is that the author, "Leo Marks," is convinced that the agents in Holland have all been caught and therefore the messages being sent to London have all been written by the Nazi Gestapo, but he cannot get his superiors to listen to him.
The reason that Leo thinks that the Dutch agents have been compromised is that the Dutch are the only group that never sends indecipherables.
Indecipherables are coded messages that the agent has miscoded by misaligning the number columns, misspelling a word, or some other similar cause. If the London office cannot read them they must either be decoded or the agent asked to resend.
Since the Gestapo runs radio detection vans looking for illegal wireless operators, resending a message increases the chances that the wireless operator will be caught. Since the agent is naturally under stress when sending, it is not all that unlikly that an indecipherable will be sent. The fact that the Dutch never mess up a code suggests that they are under no stress, as would be the case if the Gestapo were the senders.
Leo notices that most of the Free French's indecipherables are never deciphered owing to the fact that there is an agreement between General De Gaulle and London that Free French messages are to be "hands off." He decided to secretly decipher them in order to make the Free French agents safer.
Called in to an interview with two of his top bosses one day, one of them springs on him the question, "What do you know about the secret French code?"
He replied, "I'm not allowed to know anything about it, sir."
The boss snapped, "That's not what I asked you."
The main plot in this book is that the author, "Leo Marks," is convinced that the agents in Holland have all been caught and therefore the messages being sent to London have all been written by the Nazi Gestapo, but he cannot get his superiors to listen to him.
The reason that Leo thinks that the Dutch agents have been compromised is that the Dutch are the only group that never sends indecipherables.
Indecipherables are coded messages that the agent has miscoded by misaligning the number columns, misspelling a word, or some other similar cause. If the London office cannot read them they must either be decoded or the agent asked to resend.
Since the Gestapo runs radio detection vans looking for illegal wireless operators, resending a message increases the chances that the wireless operator will be caught. Since the agent is naturally under stress when sending, it is not all that unlikly that an indecipherable will be sent. The fact that the Dutch never mess up a code suggests that they are under no stress, as would be the case if the Gestapo were the senders.
Leo notices that most of the Free French's indecipherables are never deciphered owing to the fact that there is an agreement between General De Gaulle and London that Free French messages are to be "hands off." He decided to secretly decipher them in order to make the Free French agents safer.
Called in to an interview with two of his top bosses one day, one of them springs on him the question, "What do you know about the secret French code?"
He replied, "I'm not allowed to know anything about it, sir."
The boss snapped, "That's not what I asked you."
Monday, December 15, 2008
DAMN THE TORPEDOES. DAMN THEM, I SAY!
Blog number 257 **** 15 December 2008
During most of WW 2, Germany was very reticent about using her submarines indiscriminately because of fear of pissing off the neutral countries, especially the United States. Late in the war, however, things were going so bad for her that she decided to begin unrestricted submarine warfare. It was a huge success. Besides sinking merchant ships, it also caused other merchant ships not to sail under fear of being sunk. Britain was beginning to starve. Britain was beginning to lose the war.
The subs were very vulnerable on the surface, but once they submerged they could not be found. They could travel 80 miles underwater and no one knew where she was likely to surface. Destroyers were about the only weapon available to the Allies for sub sinking, but there weren't enough of them and they had to be taken from other duties, leaving those areas in danger from subs.
One of the typical methods the Germans used was to surface by a merchant ship, wait until the crew got off, then place demolition charges in the holds, thus saving their expensive torpedoes for more valuable targets. This method however gave the English a counter method, which was to send "Q-ships".
Q-ships were reconstructed disguised merchant ships which had hidden guns that were brought out when the submarine surfaced. One ingenious Q-ship had a telephone line and a tow cable tied to a submerged sub. When the ship, flying a British flag enticed a German sub to surface, the British sub would be alert via the telephone line whereupon it would torpedo the German sub.
When the German sub, U-40 was sunk in this manner, the rescued captain complained bitterly that his sub had been sunk by a "dirty trick."
The crews of the Q-ships were all volunteer naval officers and seamen disguised as civilians who learned to mimic the appearance and crisis behavior of a freighter's crew. They would hurriedly tumble into lifeboats and row away, leaving the gun crews hidden until the sub surfaced and came within ranger of the four inch guns.
While awaiting a submarine captain finding them through his periscope, the very disciplined crew grew their hair long, grew beards, slouched about with their hands in their pockets and generally acted like ordinary merchant seamen. One man wore a blond wig posing as a Scandinavian seaman. Garbage was dumped carelessly over the sides - anathema in a man-of-war.
More on this later. Mine energy esta kaput.
During most of WW 2, Germany was very reticent about using her submarines indiscriminately because of fear of pissing off the neutral countries, especially the United States. Late in the war, however, things were going so bad for her that she decided to begin unrestricted submarine warfare. It was a huge success. Besides sinking merchant ships, it also caused other merchant ships not to sail under fear of being sunk. Britain was beginning to starve. Britain was beginning to lose the war.
The subs were very vulnerable on the surface, but once they submerged they could not be found. They could travel 80 miles underwater and no one knew where she was likely to surface. Destroyers were about the only weapon available to the Allies for sub sinking, but there weren't enough of them and they had to be taken from other duties, leaving those areas in danger from subs.
One of the typical methods the Germans used was to surface by a merchant ship, wait until the crew got off, then place demolition charges in the holds, thus saving their expensive torpedoes for more valuable targets. This method however gave the English a counter method, which was to send "Q-ships".
Q-ships were reconstructed disguised merchant ships which had hidden guns that were brought out when the submarine surfaced. One ingenious Q-ship had a telephone line and a tow cable tied to a submerged sub. When the ship, flying a British flag enticed a German sub to surface, the British sub would be alert via the telephone line whereupon it would torpedo the German sub.
When the German sub, U-40 was sunk in this manner, the rescued captain complained bitterly that his sub had been sunk by a "dirty trick."
The crews of the Q-ships were all volunteer naval officers and seamen disguised as civilians who learned to mimic the appearance and crisis behavior of a freighter's crew. They would hurriedly tumble into lifeboats and row away, leaving the gun crews hidden until the sub surfaced and came within ranger of the four inch guns.
While awaiting a submarine captain finding them through his periscope, the very disciplined crew grew their hair long, grew beards, slouched about with their hands in their pockets and generally acted like ordinary merchant seamen. One man wore a blond wig posing as a Scandinavian seaman. Garbage was dumped carelessly over the sides - anathema in a man-of-war.
More on this later. Mine energy esta kaput.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
FEELS GOOD TO HAVE HER BACK
Blog number 255 **** 11 December 2008
My youngest son told me the other day that his wife, Kiki, passed him in the kitchen while he was busy doing something or other and he said to her, "How's it going, Kiki?" or words to that effect. I forget what, exactly he told me that he had said, but it's not important. Is it?
He then turned around and Kiki wasn't there, she was in the other room and he heard her say, "Who you talking to, Honey?" Again, paraphrased. My memory ain't all that good.
He asked me what I thought had happened. I told him about tulpas.
Tulpas are, according to Eastern Philosophy, Mind creations. Supposedly, a person can concentrate his or her mind on an imagined person to such an extent that eventually that imagined person becomes real enough that the creator can see and talk to "it". Eventually, again supposedly, if the mind is kept on it, other people will also be able to see and talk to the tulpa.
I told the story in an earlier Blog entry about a little girl I met on my walk to the Post Office who, after asking me where I was going and I told her I was going home, she said, "I go too." She told me her name was Brittany, but I found out later from her grandmother that Brittany wasn't her name at all - that she just called herself that because Brittany Spears was her idol.
"Brittany" moved away before I could see her again, but I never forgot her over the course of I think, four years. Occasionally I would say to my good wife that I sure missed Brittany. I thought of her often.
A couple of days ago I was out pruning a large tree full of branches. Occasionally I heard this sweet voice, but at first I thought it was children playing and then it seemed to me I was being spoken to. I looked through the branches into the neighbor's yard and there was this sweet, sweet, child. She said, "Can you see me?"
I talked to her for a while and I came away with the definite impression that she was exactly like my Brittany. Maybe a year older, maybe not.
I guess I could say that my constant thinking of Brittany produced her as my tulpa if I wanted to live in a magical world instead of in this boring mundane ordinary commonplace undistinguished world, couldn't I?
Sure I could.
My youngest son told me the other day that his wife, Kiki, passed him in the kitchen while he was busy doing something or other and he said to her, "How's it going, Kiki?" or words to that effect. I forget what, exactly he told me that he had said, but it's not important. Is it?
He then turned around and Kiki wasn't there, she was in the other room and he heard her say, "Who you talking to, Honey?" Again, paraphrased. My memory ain't all that good.
He asked me what I thought had happened. I told him about tulpas.
Tulpas are, according to Eastern Philosophy, Mind creations. Supposedly, a person can concentrate his or her mind on an imagined person to such an extent that eventually that imagined person becomes real enough that the creator can see and talk to "it". Eventually, again supposedly, if the mind is kept on it, other people will also be able to see and talk to the tulpa.
I told the story in an earlier Blog entry about a little girl I met on my walk to the Post Office who, after asking me where I was going and I told her I was going home, she said, "I go too." She told me her name was Brittany, but I found out later from her grandmother that Brittany wasn't her name at all - that she just called herself that because Brittany Spears was her idol.
"Brittany" moved away before I could see her again, but I never forgot her over the course of I think, four years. Occasionally I would say to my good wife that I sure missed Brittany. I thought of her often.
A couple of days ago I was out pruning a large tree full of branches. Occasionally I heard this sweet voice, but at first I thought it was children playing and then it seemed to me I was being spoken to. I looked through the branches into the neighbor's yard and there was this sweet, sweet, child. She said, "Can you see me?"
I talked to her for a while and I came away with the definite impression that she was exactly like my Brittany. Maybe a year older, maybe not.
I guess I could say that my constant thinking of Brittany produced her as my tulpa if I wanted to live in a magical world instead of in this boring mundane ordinary commonplace undistinguished world, couldn't I?
Sure I could.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
ASK THE EXPERTS
Blog number 254 **** 10 December 2008
Before WW 1, submarines were not very well thought of as weapons - they were more like toys, so no thought was given as to how to fight them.
When they started sinking British merchant ships, the British Admiralty decided to use coastal yachts and motorboats to patrol outside British harbors. Only one in ten of these boats carried any weapon larger than a rifle. A few motor launches carried two swimmers, one armed with a black bag, the other with a hammer. If a periscope was sighted, the black bag was to be placed over the periscope and if that didn't work, the hammer was to be used to smash the glass on the periscope.
Before WW 1, submarines were not very well thought of as weapons - they were more like toys, so no thought was given as to how to fight them.
When they started sinking British merchant ships, the British Admiralty decided to use coastal yachts and motorboats to patrol outside British harbors. Only one in ten of these boats carried any weapon larger than a rifle. A few motor launches carried two swimmers, one armed with a black bag, the other with a hammer. If a periscope was sighted, the black bag was to be placed over the periscope and if that didn't work, the hammer was to be used to smash the glass on the periscope.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
YEAH, THAT REALLY WAS STRANGE
Blog number 253 **** 04 December 2008
My daughter-in-law, Kiki, gave my dear wife a delicate ceramic wind chime and this morning Teresa (my dear wife) broke it. She said, "I don't know how it happened, it was really strange."
I said, "Did you drop it?"
She replied resignedly, "Yeah, I dropped it."
My daughter-in-law, Kiki, gave my dear wife a delicate ceramic wind chime and this morning Teresa (my dear wife) broke it. She said, "I don't know how it happened, it was really strange."
I said, "Did you drop it?"
She replied resignedly, "Yeah, I dropped it."
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
SUCCINCTNESS AND CLARITY IS THE KEY
Blog number 252 **** 02 December 2008
In Blog entry number 251 of this same date, as may be seen below this entry, I talked some of an Admiral Beatty. Now I want to talk a bit about his wife.
Beatty (and a few others evidently) was seeing in the Biblical sense, a married woman named Mrs. Ethel Tree. Ethel eventually wanted a divorce from her husband so she could marry Admiral Beatty, so she sent him this wonderful letter;
Dear Arthur,
I have thought over your suggestion that we should live together again and I can never consent to it. There is no use discussing our differences. I shall never live with you again.
Yours truly,
Ethel F. Tree
In Blog entry number 251 of this same date, as may be seen below this entry, I talked some of an Admiral Beatty. Now I want to talk a bit about his wife.
Beatty (and a few others evidently) was seeing in the Biblical sense, a married woman named Mrs. Ethel Tree. Ethel eventually wanted a divorce from her husband so she could marry Admiral Beatty, so she sent him this wonderful letter;
Dear Arthur,
I have thought over your suggestion that we should live together again and I can never consent to it. There is no use discussing our differences. I shall never live with you again.
Yours truly,
Ethel F. Tree
REMEMBER THE MAINE!!
Blog number 251 **** 02 December 2008
Today we will engage in an exercise in palliation. Look it up. I did.
I am at the present time - time being expressed as in the general area of "now", reading. "The Steel Castles" - a book about the world's large warships since their inception.
Before and during the First World War, there were two great British Admirals. There was Admiral Beatty, a fast burner, not too keen on military life, but a very brave and resourceful and lucky and politically social go-getter.
Then there was Admiral Jellicoe - an extremely brilliant military man, well versed in all aspects of ships of the line, a critical observer of the shortcomings of the British navy as opposed to the more well-built German navy.
"He [Beatty] lacked Jellicoe's knowledge of the vulnerability of British ships to enemy weapons; indeed, this information burst on Beatty suddenly at Jutland when two of his six giant battle cruisers blew up under German shellfire, each explosion killing a thousand men. Beatty's response was, 'There seems to be something wrong with our bloody ships today.' "
Today we will engage in an exercise in palliation. Look it up. I did.
I am at the present time - time being expressed as in the general area of "now", reading. "The Steel Castles" - a book about the world's large warships since their inception.
Before and during the First World War, there were two great British Admirals. There was Admiral Beatty, a fast burner, not too keen on military life, but a very brave and resourceful and lucky and politically social go-getter.
Then there was Admiral Jellicoe - an extremely brilliant military man, well versed in all aspects of ships of the line, a critical observer of the shortcomings of the British navy as opposed to the more well-built German navy.
"He [Beatty] lacked Jellicoe's knowledge of the vulnerability of British ships to enemy weapons; indeed, this information burst on Beatty suddenly at Jutland when two of his six giant battle cruisers blew up under German shellfire, each explosion killing a thousand men. Beatty's response was, 'There seems to be something wrong with our bloody ships today.' "
Monday, December 1, 2008
WELL THAT WAS A WASTE OF TIME
Blog number 250 **** 01 December 2008
Went to the doctor's today to discuss my November 30th experience. Had a cat scan, blood work, and electrocardiogram. All tests show that I had an aberration of physical machinations. Nothing serious, evidently.
I figured it was nothing. If a person doesn't know his own body, whose body does he know, yeah?
Worst part of the Emergency room experience was lying there for an hour or two waiting to get discharged. Second worst of course was the needle shoved into my unwilling arm and then left there to pain away.
Saw a few babies from a distance, nothing up close and personal. Although last Thursday we went to a Mexican food store - Food City. Walked in, a baby boy was trying to climb out of the cart. I said, "Where you going?" Nothing.
I asked again, "Where you going?" Blank stare.
I then asked, "?A donde vas?" and he started jabbering away until I finally had to say, "No comprende." I wish Teresa had been there to tell me what the baby was trying to tell me. He seemed pretty excited about it.
Went to the doctor's today to discuss my November 30th experience. Had a cat scan, blood work, and electrocardiogram. All tests show that I had an aberration of physical machinations. Nothing serious, evidently.
I figured it was nothing. If a person doesn't know his own body, whose body does he know, yeah?
Worst part of the Emergency room experience was lying there for an hour or two waiting to get discharged. Second worst of course was the needle shoved into my unwilling arm and then left there to pain away.
Saw a few babies from a distance, nothing up close and personal. Although last Thursday we went to a Mexican food store - Food City. Walked in, a baby boy was trying to climb out of the cart. I said, "Where you going?" Nothing.
I asked again, "Where you going?" Blank stare.
I then asked, "?A donde vas?" and he started jabbering away until I finally had to say, "No comprende." I wish Teresa had been there to tell me what the baby was trying to tell me. He seemed pretty excited about it.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
HAVE I EVER MET YOU BEFORE?
Blog number 249 **** 30 November 2008
I had an interesting experience today. Teresa and I went shopping at Trader Joe's, where I usually walk behind her reading a book, while she shops. In fact, today I went back by myself to look for pasta, couldn't find it because they had moved it, and when I asked a clerk where it was, she said, "Why are you shopping? Aren't you supposed to be reading?"
I wasn't reading because I couldn't see all the words in the sentences. Teresa told me years ago that when that happens, it is a sign that a small stroke in the brain is happening. It usually goes away in an hour or two, evidently when the body absorbs the leaking blood. At least that's the way I interpret it. I don't really care whether that is what is happening or not. It makes sense, and that's good enough for moi.
Today, after we had driven home and I was playing my favorite computer game - Empire, and Teresa was putting away the groceries, she told me that Tara and Joey had said that what we paid for our house was very reasonable.
Tara is our granddaughter and Joey is Tara's husband.
I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. I stopped playing my game and asked her to repeat what she said. She told me again, and I could not make it out again. She started again and I said, "Wait a minute. Say that name again."
She said, "Tara."
I said, "Say it again."
She said, "Tara, Tara and Joey."
I said, "No, one word at a time. Do I know Tara?"
She said, "Yes - your granddaughter."
I still didn't get it. Everything she was saying was way beyond my comprehension. I was eventually able to understand who Tara was, but I then had to ask if she was our granddaughter. Teresa said, "Yes."
I was then able to remember who Joey was.
All this lasted about five minutes. Teresa said it scared her. I was just confused. I knew what was happening, that I was not knowing something I should have known, but that didn't help. I wish now that she would have said something about airplanes and ships or something other than names, because I think I would not have been confused about that, although I was confused about "granddaughter," so maybe I wouldn't have known what an airplane was either.
That experience was very interesting to me. Too interesting to be frustrating.
I got another taste of really old age. It was a more interesting experience than when I fell down and couldn't get up. Not as funny, though. It was like hearing about an experience and then actually experiencing that experience.
When I had vertigo and could see all the dimensions but couldn't tell what was right or left or up or down, I thought at the time there must be a lot of abilities our bodies have that we just take for granted and don't really know what they are.
My Dad's stroke when he was in his body but couldn't do anything with it was one I haven't experienced yet, but must have been most enlightening. I know he changed from being garrulous to being introspective due to the experience.
My stroke didn't feel like loss of memory. It felt more like hearing a foreign language, but also not quite like that. I told Teresa I wanted to put that experience in my Blog, but I didn't want to scare the kids. Teresa said it is what it is, and it's not a good thing to hide stuff and she's right. So here it is, kids.
Enjoy.
I had an interesting experience today. Teresa and I went shopping at Trader Joe's, where I usually walk behind her reading a book, while she shops. In fact, today I went back by myself to look for pasta, couldn't find it because they had moved it, and when I asked a clerk where it was, she said, "Why are you shopping? Aren't you supposed to be reading?"
I wasn't reading because I couldn't see all the words in the sentences. Teresa told me years ago that when that happens, it is a sign that a small stroke in the brain is happening. It usually goes away in an hour or two, evidently when the body absorbs the leaking blood. At least that's the way I interpret it. I don't really care whether that is what is happening or not. It makes sense, and that's good enough for moi.
Today, after we had driven home and I was playing my favorite computer game - Empire, and Teresa was putting away the groceries, she told me that Tara and Joey had said that what we paid for our house was very reasonable.
Tara is our granddaughter and Joey is Tara's husband.
I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. I stopped playing my game and asked her to repeat what she said. She told me again, and I could not make it out again. She started again and I said, "Wait a minute. Say that name again."
She said, "Tara."
I said, "Say it again."
She said, "Tara, Tara and Joey."
I said, "No, one word at a time. Do I know Tara?"
She said, "Yes - your granddaughter."
I still didn't get it. Everything she was saying was way beyond my comprehension. I was eventually able to understand who Tara was, but I then had to ask if she was our granddaughter. Teresa said, "Yes."
I was then able to remember who Joey was.
All this lasted about five minutes. Teresa said it scared her. I was just confused. I knew what was happening, that I was not knowing something I should have known, but that didn't help. I wish now that she would have said something about airplanes and ships or something other than names, because I think I would not have been confused about that, although I was confused about "granddaughter," so maybe I wouldn't have known what an airplane was either.
That experience was very interesting to me. Too interesting to be frustrating.
I got another taste of really old age. It was a more interesting experience than when I fell down and couldn't get up. Not as funny, though. It was like hearing about an experience and then actually experiencing that experience.
When I had vertigo and could see all the dimensions but couldn't tell what was right or left or up or down, I thought at the time there must be a lot of abilities our bodies have that we just take for granted and don't really know what they are.
My Dad's stroke when he was in his body but couldn't do anything with it was one I haven't experienced yet, but must have been most enlightening. I know he changed from being garrulous to being introspective due to the experience.
My stroke didn't feel like loss of memory. It felt more like hearing a foreign language, but also not quite like that. I told Teresa I wanted to put that experience in my Blog, but I didn't want to scare the kids. Teresa said it is what it is, and it's not a good thing to hide stuff and she's right. So here it is, kids.
Enjoy.
Monday, November 24, 2008
THAT'S SOME GOOOOD FOOD!
Blog number 248 **** 24 November 2008
Driving to Phoenix yesterday, we were passed by a truck pulling a horse trailer that had as the logo on the back of the horse trailer, "Porter's Gourmet Jerky."
Driving to Phoenix yesterday, we were passed by a truck pulling a horse trailer that had as the logo on the back of the horse trailer, "Porter's Gourmet Jerky."
Sunday, November 16, 2008
KARMIC JOURNEYS
Blog number 247 **** 16 November 2008
Sometimes reading a book is like probing open sores. Fresh wounds are touched thoughtlessly.
Fair enough, I say.
Sometimes reading a book is like probing open sores. Fresh wounds are touched thoughtlessly.
Fair enough, I say.
A DAY IN THE LIFE
Blog number 246 **** 16 November 2008
Mine wife and I went to the Big Fry's Grocery and Notions today. Spoke to a cutie sitting in a grocery cart. She turned her head away from me. "If I can't see you, you don't exist."
Strolled over to the in-house Starbucks. Bought a cup of coffee - actually, a "Black Eye." I ordered a tall coffee with a shot of espresso in it, and the baristo said, "You want a Red Eye."
I aked, "That's what it's called?"
He said, "Yeah. If you have two shots, it's a Black Eye."
I said, "Gimme a Black Eye."
So he hit me.
Naw, Just kidding.
I paid for my Black Eye with a two dollar bill, a fifty cent piece and some change. He commented that it seemed a shame to spend a two dollar bill like that. I told him they were real easy to make. He jerked straight, looked at me, looked at the bill, studied the bill a bit, looked at me again. I think my grin might have clued him in that I was joking.
Writing "clued" in the above paragraph reminded me that while I was on the streets in L. A. back in my younger days, I spotted a newspaper on a stand that had a big headline with clue spelled, "Clew." The headline. Ain't that weird?
They had movies that all night long - all day, every day, showed newsreels. Only. That's weird too, right? L.A. is a weird town.
Mine wife and I went to the Big Fry's Grocery and Notions today. Spoke to a cutie sitting in a grocery cart. She turned her head away from me. "If I can't see you, you don't exist."
Strolled over to the in-house Starbucks. Bought a cup of coffee - actually, a "Black Eye." I ordered a tall coffee with a shot of espresso in it, and the baristo said, "You want a Red Eye."
I aked, "That's what it's called?"
He said, "Yeah. If you have two shots, it's a Black Eye."
I said, "Gimme a Black Eye."
So he hit me.
Naw, Just kidding.
I paid for my Black Eye with a two dollar bill, a fifty cent piece and some change. He commented that it seemed a shame to spend a two dollar bill like that. I told him they were real easy to make. He jerked straight, looked at me, looked at the bill, studied the bill a bit, looked at me again. I think my grin might have clued him in that I was joking.
Writing "clued" in the above paragraph reminded me that while I was on the streets in L. A. back in my younger days, I spotted a newspaper on a stand that had a big headline with clue spelled, "Clew." The headline. Ain't that weird?
They had movies that all night long - all day, every day, showed newsreels. Only. That's weird too, right? L.A. is a weird town.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
EVEN FIGHTING DOGS TAKE A BREAK NOW AND THEN
Blog number 245 **** 11 November 2008
I think I may have just had an epiphany. We'll see.
It is extremely difficult - for me at least, to write an entry in my Blog every day. That newspaper columnists can do it has been a source of amazement for me ever since I have seen for myself just how difficult it is.
Three times in the past, I have had nothing to write about, so I just sat down and started writing. Each time I got what I thought was an interesting entry.
Today I'm reading a book, The Night of the Gun, an autobiographical story about a newspaperman's descent into crack addiction and his eventual return to the living. He is going back to his old friends and acquaintances and asking them to relate what they remember about their relationship with him.
About one of his friends, he is grateful because he remembers the guy entreating him to write every day - whether or not he had anything to write about. Maybe I was accidently onto something and didn't know it?
I talk a lot - about trivia my son says, about nonsense my wife says, but I DO talk a lot. I can kinda feel that this that I am doing now - just off the top of my head kinda thing, is how I talk.
Now I'm writing off the top of my head.
Kinda thing.
Our daily newspaper's obituary column has gotten really weird and unexplainable the last two or three days. I tried writing about it, but it got to looking like I was making fun of the deceased, so I dropped it.
I was making fun of the writing of whomever wrote the things. One was five hundred words in length, all one paragraph. The other day one was even longer than that. I am pretty sure you have to pay to put those things in the paper, so how much is something like that going to cost? And to what end?
One of the things it mentioned was the long trips the deceased made to visit family - never going more than two miles an hour over the speed limit. I'll leave it to you to ponder over that information in that context.
This morning, my wife driving, we were behind this car coming up to a red light and at the last minute the car ahead of us veers quickly to the left and into another lane at the last minute, stops at the red light.
Teresa - my driver, says, "Look at that man. He's got his arms crossed over his chest."I looked, and sure enough the driver is sitting behind the wheel, arms crossed defensively over his chest, an irritated look on his face. I opinion that there was an argument with his passenger - probably his wife, as to whether to go to Mimi's in Casa Grande or get on the freeway to go to Mimi's in Phoenix. I think he lost the argument and peevishly jerked the car around.
Well, I'm done. Your work begins...NOW!
I think I may have just had an epiphany. We'll see.
It is extremely difficult - for me at least, to write an entry in my Blog every day. That newspaper columnists can do it has been a source of amazement for me ever since I have seen for myself just how difficult it is.
Three times in the past, I have had nothing to write about, so I just sat down and started writing. Each time I got what I thought was an interesting entry.
Today I'm reading a book, The Night of the Gun, an autobiographical story about a newspaperman's descent into crack addiction and his eventual return to the living. He is going back to his old friends and acquaintances and asking them to relate what they remember about their relationship with him.
About one of his friends, he is grateful because he remembers the guy entreating him to write every day - whether or not he had anything to write about. Maybe I was accidently onto something and didn't know it?
I talk a lot - about trivia my son says, about nonsense my wife says, but I DO talk a lot. I can kinda feel that this that I am doing now - just off the top of my head kinda thing, is how I talk.
Now I'm writing off the top of my head.
Kinda thing.
Our daily newspaper's obituary column has gotten really weird and unexplainable the last two or three days. I tried writing about it, but it got to looking like I was making fun of the deceased, so I dropped it.
I was making fun of the writing of whomever wrote the things. One was five hundred words in length, all one paragraph. The other day one was even longer than that. I am pretty sure you have to pay to put those things in the paper, so how much is something like that going to cost? And to what end?
One of the things it mentioned was the long trips the deceased made to visit family - never going more than two miles an hour over the speed limit. I'll leave it to you to ponder over that information in that context.
This morning, my wife driving, we were behind this car coming up to a red light and at the last minute the car ahead of us veers quickly to the left and into another lane at the last minute, stops at the red light.
Teresa - my driver, says, "Look at that man. He's got his arms crossed over his chest."I looked, and sure enough the driver is sitting behind the wheel, arms crossed defensively over his chest, an irritated look on his face. I opinion that there was an argument with his passenger - probably his wife, as to whether to go to Mimi's in Casa Grande or get on the freeway to go to Mimi's in Phoenix. I think he lost the argument and peevishly jerked the car around.
Well, I'm done. Your work begins...NOW!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
SOMETIMES THINGS GET A LITTLE SILLY
Blog number 244 **** 05 November 2008
SCENE: A dark and winding road. an automobile's headlights illuminate several deer standing in and around the roadway.
Suddenly squealing breaks are heard and we see a pair of still lighted headlights wrapped halfway around a tree. Steam rises from a smashed radiator.
We hear a female voice-over: THIS IS ON STAR. I'VE RECEIVED A SIGNAL THAT YOU'VE BEEN IN A CRASH.
The face of the automobile's driver changes from a look of confusion to one of relief.
He speaks: THANK GOD! I WONDERED WHAT THE HELL THAT WAS!
SCENE: A dark and winding road. an automobile's headlights illuminate several deer standing in and around the roadway.
Suddenly squealing breaks are heard and we see a pair of still lighted headlights wrapped halfway around a tree. Steam rises from a smashed radiator.
We hear a female voice-over: THIS IS ON STAR. I'VE RECEIVED A SIGNAL THAT YOU'VE BEEN IN A CRASH.
The face of the automobile's driver changes from a look of confusion to one of relief.
He speaks: THANK GOD! I WONDERED WHAT THE HELL THAT WAS!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
SOMETIMES EXCITEMENT COMES TO YOU
Blog number 243 **** 04 November 2008
We went to Phoenix today - to the mall to take back the FORTH coffee grinder that has broken in the last two or three months. The way they break is they just stop working. The motor won't run.
Anyhow, I was sitting in one of two easy chairs with a table between them right by the "up" escalator, reading, waiting for my wife to get done window shopping. Another old man like me was sitting in the other chair, waiting for his wife.
I watched this petite little girl, about eighteen months old I think, walk by with her mother and older brother. The little girl was fascinated with watching the up escalator, so I couldn't catch her eye.
A short while later all three came back and the little girl went first onto the escalator, where she promptly fell, not being adept at catching a moving step. Her mother rushed forward, and reached down out of my sight where I couldn't see what was going on, but then lo and behold, she raised up, clutching an ankle and holding it up like a prize fish.
All I could see was the top half of the mother and the little girls' one leg from the knee to the foot.
The guy sitting in the other chair yelled, "Wow ! "
I laughed.
Shortly thereafter the old man's wife and daughter arrived to collect him and excitedly, he told them what we had just seen. I added my two cents worth too.
What are babies for if not for our enjoyment?
We went to Phoenix today - to the mall to take back the FORTH coffee grinder that has broken in the last two or three months. The way they break is they just stop working. The motor won't run.
Anyhow, I was sitting in one of two easy chairs with a table between them right by the "up" escalator, reading, waiting for my wife to get done window shopping. Another old man like me was sitting in the other chair, waiting for his wife.
I watched this petite little girl, about eighteen months old I think, walk by with her mother and older brother. The little girl was fascinated with watching the up escalator, so I couldn't catch her eye.
A short while later all three came back and the little girl went first onto the escalator, where she promptly fell, not being adept at catching a moving step. Her mother rushed forward, and reached down out of my sight where I couldn't see what was going on, but then lo and behold, she raised up, clutching an ankle and holding it up like a prize fish.
All I could see was the top half of the mother and the little girls' one leg from the knee to the foot.
The guy sitting in the other chair yelled, "Wow ! "
I laughed.
Shortly thereafter the old man's wife and daughter arrived to collect him and excitedly, he told them what we had just seen. I added my two cents worth too.
What are babies for if not for our enjoyment?
Monday, November 3, 2008
WHEW
Blog number 242 **** 03 November 2008
I don't know why I didn't think of this before, but I just Googled "oil+dinosaur" and discovered that the jury is still out on whether oil really came from dinosaurs, and if I can read between the lines, it is a pretty doubtful thing that it did.
I have for many years seriously doubted - for many reasons, that dinosaurs devolved into crude oil, but I had nothing with which to back that up except common sense. Now I got something else. I got Google.
Next on my list - The source of the creation of the physical world. Does it come from the brain?
I don't know why I didn't think of this before, but I just Googled "oil+dinosaur" and discovered that the jury is still out on whether oil really came from dinosaurs, and if I can read between the lines, it is a pretty doubtful thing that it did.
I have for many years seriously doubted - for many reasons, that dinosaurs devolved into crude oil, but I had nothing with which to back that up except common sense. Now I got something else. I got Google.
Next on my list - The source of the creation of the physical world. Does it come from the brain?
POKING THE BEAR DAY
Blog number 241 **** 03 November 2008
My left eyeball got all red from a broken blood vessel under the membrane. It looks pretty gross. I wear sunglasses so as not to scare the babies, but since I can see normally, I often forget to wear them. After all, I can't see my eyes.
Yesterday the kids came. I was in the house so I didn't have my sunglasses on and my daughter-in-law, Kiki, went kinda nuts when she saw me. I found out later that she thought I had gone blind in one eye and didn't tell anyone - I was keeping it a secret, you know.
Really fast, frantically, and with her Thai accent, she says, "Dahdi! What you do? How many fingers I hold up? What's the matter with him? Dahdi! Why you so mean? NO! Close one eye! How many fingers? No! The other eye! Dahdi!
She starts looking around for help, but everyone is laughing so hard nobody can do anything but. The instructions she gave me and the questions, came so fast one after the other that I couldn't respond or answer with anything but laughter. It was all so funny. But not to her, of course.
She's a trip, I tell you.
She has been working really hard on becoming a good person - a saintly person. And she has made really good progress. I am so proud of her because I know what it takes to change one's self. One has to suffer humiliation for one thing.
With that in mind, we were sitting in a booth at Mimi's, talking about her, and Derek started telling us about when they first got married and she got angry, saying that was the old Kiki. She got real mad and said, after a few choice words, "You want to see the old Kiki?" A threat that sounded like she might call up the Devil to inflict some serious hurt. Scared the hell out of us, I'll tell you.
Derek calls it "poking the bear " when anyone teases her.
And she's so tiny and sweet! Very strong personality, which makes me all the more impressed with her spiritual development.
I love her to pieces.
It's kinda scary writing this entry. I don't think she reads my Blog, or even what she would think if she read it, but I do know she gets kinda antsy when anyone is talking about her. One kinda has to feel one's way about how far one can go with her.
My left eyeball got all red from a broken blood vessel under the membrane. It looks pretty gross. I wear sunglasses so as not to scare the babies, but since I can see normally, I often forget to wear them. After all, I can't see my eyes.
Yesterday the kids came. I was in the house so I didn't have my sunglasses on and my daughter-in-law, Kiki, went kinda nuts when she saw me. I found out later that she thought I had gone blind in one eye and didn't tell anyone - I was keeping it a secret, you know.
Really fast, frantically, and with her Thai accent, she says, "Dahdi! What you do? How many fingers I hold up? What's the matter with him? Dahdi! Why you so mean? NO! Close one eye! How many fingers? No! The other eye! Dahdi!
She starts looking around for help, but everyone is laughing so hard nobody can do anything but. The instructions she gave me and the questions, came so fast one after the other that I couldn't respond or answer with anything but laughter. It was all so funny. But not to her, of course.
She's a trip, I tell you.
She has been working really hard on becoming a good person - a saintly person. And she has made really good progress. I am so proud of her because I know what it takes to change one's self. One has to suffer humiliation for one thing.
With that in mind, we were sitting in a booth at Mimi's, talking about her, and Derek started telling us about when they first got married and she got angry, saying that was the old Kiki. She got real mad and said, after a few choice words, "You want to see the old Kiki?" A threat that sounded like she might call up the Devil to inflict some serious hurt. Scared the hell out of us, I'll tell you.
Derek calls it "poking the bear " when anyone teases her.
And she's so tiny and sweet! Very strong personality, which makes me all the more impressed with her spiritual development.
I love her to pieces.
It's kinda scary writing this entry. I don't think she reads my Blog, or even what she would think if she read it, but I do know she gets kinda antsy when anyone is talking about her. One kinda has to feel one's way about how far one can go with her.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
FUN IS WHERE YOU FIND IT
Blog number 240 **** 01 November 2008
Sometimes things just come together when you don't expect it.
I was sitting in one of two easy chairs situated across a table from each other in Barnes and Nobles, reading a book, when this lady walked by me coming from behind. As she passed by my side, a piece of paper - a receipt or something like that, fluttered from her hand. It landed right by me, so I leaned over to pick it up and at that moment she noticed that she had dropped the paper, so she turned around to retrieve it and I handed it to her, and said, "It wasn't a handkerchief, but it was a really nice try."
She got kind of flustered, I was grinning ear to ear, and as I looked away from her and across the table there was a young man sitting in the other chair, a big grin on his face, and as our eyes met, he said to me, "Good one!"
Hah!
Sometimes things just come together when you don't expect it.
I was sitting in one of two easy chairs situated across a table from each other in Barnes and Nobles, reading a book, when this lady walked by me coming from behind. As she passed by my side, a piece of paper - a receipt or something like that, fluttered from her hand. It landed right by me, so I leaned over to pick it up and at that moment she noticed that she had dropped the paper, so she turned around to retrieve it and I handed it to her, and said, "It wasn't a handkerchief, but it was a really nice try."
She got kind of flustered, I was grinning ear to ear, and as I looked away from her and across the table there was a young man sitting in the other chair, a big grin on his face, and as our eyes met, he said to me, "Good one!"
Hah!
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
TAKING ANOTHER TRIP ANY TIME SOON?
Blog number 237 ******** 29 October 2008
Today I was out back trimming a native weed that sprouted alongside the sidewalk I put in the first year we lived here. I let the thing grow because it looks kinda nice and I like native things anyhow. I used to get into a hassle with our landscaper back in Sacramento because I told him not to cut down a pretty weed that was growing by the house. He almost got it twice, but he saw me looking at him just before he did his dastardly deed, so he ceased and desisted.
Dandelions to me are flowers, not weeds. They look pretty in lawns. Sure, not when they are spreading their seeds, but before that.
I digressed, didn't I?
This native scrub I was trimming back, I was barefooted and I had branches lying all about. I tripped on one branch, stepped hard with my bare feet on sharp rocks, tripped again. It seemed a long time before I finally made it to the ground after tripping and stumbling between rocks and branches until I finally realized I was going to ground. I relaxed and hit the cement wall with my shoulder and settled on my ass.
Sitting there after such excitment, I had to laugh. The way I went down was ridiculous. I had shorts on, so I looked at varicose veins I had never seen before for a while. I think they came up because of the effort I had just gone through because later, sitting in front of the telly, they weren't there.
I realized almost immediately that I couldn't get up. "I fell down and I can't get up," ran through my mind, causing another bout of laughter.
I Yelled, "Momma," not because I expected her to come and help me, because I knew she wouldn't be able to hear me. I yelled it because it fit the joke.
It was pretty relaxing sitting there leaning against the wall, relaxing in the sun, grateful I didn't get hurt. I sat there for a while, but I knew I would have to get on my feet before night fell and daylight rolled around. So I very carefully got on my hands and knees - on sharp rocks, remember. In this way I crawled all the way onto the sidewalk where I rested again and planned the next move. I pushed as hard as I could with one hand and sort of willed myself erect. Viola! In the land of the living once again.
I went inside and the first thing I said to Teresa was, "I fell down and I couldn't get up."
After cursing at me for a while, she tells me she wants me to tell her whenever I go outside to do anything. I told her I never know what I am going to do until I see something that I want to do. She wouldn't buy that, so I guess I will have to sign out from now on.
But that was a hell of a lot of fun!
Today I was out back trimming a native weed that sprouted alongside the sidewalk I put in the first year we lived here. I let the thing grow because it looks kinda nice and I like native things anyhow. I used to get into a hassle with our landscaper back in Sacramento because I told him not to cut down a pretty weed that was growing by the house. He almost got it twice, but he saw me looking at him just before he did his dastardly deed, so he ceased and desisted.
Dandelions to me are flowers, not weeds. They look pretty in lawns. Sure, not when they are spreading their seeds, but before that.
I digressed, didn't I?
This native scrub I was trimming back, I was barefooted and I had branches lying all about. I tripped on one branch, stepped hard with my bare feet on sharp rocks, tripped again. It seemed a long time before I finally made it to the ground after tripping and stumbling between rocks and branches until I finally realized I was going to ground. I relaxed and hit the cement wall with my shoulder and settled on my ass.
Sitting there after such excitment, I had to laugh. The way I went down was ridiculous. I had shorts on, so I looked at varicose veins I had never seen before for a while. I think they came up because of the effort I had just gone through because later, sitting in front of the telly, they weren't there.
I realized almost immediately that I couldn't get up. "I fell down and I can't get up," ran through my mind, causing another bout of laughter.
I Yelled, "Momma," not because I expected her to come and help me, because I knew she wouldn't be able to hear me. I yelled it because it fit the joke.
It was pretty relaxing sitting there leaning against the wall, relaxing in the sun, grateful I didn't get hurt. I sat there for a while, but I knew I would have to get on my feet before night fell and daylight rolled around. So I very carefully got on my hands and knees - on sharp rocks, remember. In this way I crawled all the way onto the sidewalk where I rested again and planned the next move. I pushed as hard as I could with one hand and sort of willed myself erect. Viola! In the land of the living once again.
I went inside and the first thing I said to Teresa was, "I fell down and I couldn't get up."
After cursing at me for a while, she tells me she wants me to tell her whenever I go outside to do anything. I told her I never know what I am going to do until I see something that I want to do. She wouldn't buy that, so I guess I will have to sign out from now on.
But that was a hell of a lot of fun!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
YOU GOTTA UNDERSTAND
You might notice that some of these Blogs are out of sequence and some are missing. What happened is that I got messed up and wound up with three separate Blog addresses, so sometimes I would write an entry and it would show up on one Blog and no other. So some entries were missing.
I went back and found the most complete Blog - which is this one, and went to the others and picked out what didn't get printed in this Blog and printed them here.
So we should be all caught up.
You might notice that some of these Blogs are out of sequence and some are missing. What happened is that I got messed up and wound up with three separate Blog addresses, so sometimes I would write an entry and it would show up on one Blog and no other. So some entries were missing.
I went back and found the most complete Blog - which is this one, and went to the others and picked out what didn't get printed in this Blog and printed them here.
So we should be all caught up.
ONCE MORE, WITH FEELING
Blog number 222 08 October 2008
Last week I had slight chest pains whenever I did some walking or moving. Not bad enough to take nitroglycerin, and they disappeared whenever I rested, so I went with that. The day before, however, and yesterday morning, they didn't go away with resting, so I took the nitro and it worked. I decided to get in touch with a heart doctor, 'cause it sure seems like I'm gonna be visiting a hospital bed some time in the future.
I was given a stress test and a sonogram yesterday, and it looks like I might get by with a stent. I sure hope so. I'll know for sure Tuesday when I go in for my appointment.
I watched my heart beat in the sonogram picture and I was struck with the image of the valve opening and closing with such precision and regularity without anybody doing anything. It looked like two drumsticks alternating hitting a drum. Seemed exactly like a magic miracle to me. I was fascinated.
I didn't like the stress test at all. Yukkers! Nausea. I hate being nauseous. Fortunately I had three people talking me through it, which helped. When one of them said, "Twenty seconds more," I knew I could make it. The first time I had one of these, two people were standing there, saying naught. I kept saying I was sick in a strange way. They didn't care. It felt like my head was nauseous, not my stomach. Can one's head vomit?
Posted by Don Reynolds at 6:09 PM 3 comments Links to this post
Last week I had slight chest pains whenever I did some walking or moving. Not bad enough to take nitroglycerin, and they disappeared whenever I rested, so I went with that. The day before, however, and yesterday morning, they didn't go away with resting, so I took the nitro and it worked. I decided to get in touch with a heart doctor, 'cause it sure seems like I'm gonna be visiting a hospital bed some time in the future.
I was given a stress test and a sonogram yesterday, and it looks like I might get by with a stent. I sure hope so. I'll know for sure Tuesday when I go in for my appointment.
I watched my heart beat in the sonogram picture and I was struck with the image of the valve opening and closing with such precision and regularity without anybody doing anything. It looked like two drumsticks alternating hitting a drum. Seemed exactly like a magic miracle to me. I was fascinated.
I didn't like the stress test at all. Yukkers! Nausea. I hate being nauseous. Fortunately I had three people talking me through it, which helped. When one of them said, "Twenty seconds more," I knew I could make it. The first time I had one of these, two people were standing there, saying naught. I kept saying I was sick in a strange way. They didn't care. It felt like my head was nauseous, not my stomach. Can one's head vomit?
Posted by Don Reynolds at 6:09 PM 3 comments Links to this post
HIT AND RUN
Blog number 224 28 October 2008
I went to the library yesterday with a twelve year old friend. I was carrying two books to the checkout when my friend asked me what books I had. I told him they were novels about hit men. He asked me what a hit man was. I told him if you wanted someone killed, you would give someone else a thousand dollars and they would kill him for you.
He said, "Isn't that illegal?"
Posted by Don Reynolds at 6:53 AM 0 comments Links to this post
I went to the library yesterday with a twelve year old friend. I was carrying two books to the checkout when my friend asked me what books I had. I told him they were novels about hit men. He asked me what a hit man was. I told him if you wanted someone killed, you would give someone else a thousand dollars and they would kill him for you.
He said, "Isn't that illegal?"
Posted by Don Reynolds at 6:53 AM 0 comments Links to this post
BE A WINNER, NOT A WHINER.
Blog number 227 12 October 2008
A couple of years ago I got an epiphany while listening to two radio talk show hosts. These two had a program that was pretty funny, so I thought of them as humorous people. That is until they got to talking about the 100 funniest movies.
One of them declared that he thought "Singing In the Rain" was not only one of the top hundred funniest movies, but the top number one funniest movie of all time! His CO-host agreed with him.
It was then that I realized that not everyone looked at the universe in the same way. I thought if something was funny, it was funny. If someone didn't think it was funny, then that person had no sense of humor. That's what I thought.
Apropos to this, I heard a funny joke on a television program called, "The History of Jokes." I'll tell the joke later.
I first told it to my youngest son, Derek, and I laughed before he did, but he laughed. Then I next told it to my second oldest son, Kavi, and he said, "That's not funny." Then I told it to Maryanne and she looked at me like I was nuts. Yesterday I told it to my granddaughter, Tara, and she burst out laughing right away.
I realize now that I can use that joke to kind of scientifically investigate the "joke focus" of different people. Since people are patterns of patterns, I can then use this information to predict the future behavior of individuals and then I can offer this information to Homeland Security and make a lot of money. Then I can use that money to buy an airplane and flying instructions, hire a cook, a butler and a cleaning woman, build a new house with a huge kitchen with lots of copper pans hanging from the ceiling, a workout room with a live-in personal trainer, and a gardener to care for my extensive flower and vegetable garden.
I'll move to New York across from Central Park. My garden will be on the roof of my condo. Ah, life is good when you make good plans.
This is the joke I will use to make my fortune:
A priest, a rabbi and a whale went into a bar.
The priest said, "I believe Jesus is the messiah, so I'll have sacramental wine.
"The rabbi said, "I believe the messiah hasn't come yet, so I'll have Manischewitz wine.
"The whale said, (and here you make a "eeeeeee" sound like a whale singing.)
It's funny. Trust me.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 1:45 PM 7 comments Links to this post
A couple of years ago I got an epiphany while listening to two radio talk show hosts. These two had a program that was pretty funny, so I thought of them as humorous people. That is until they got to talking about the 100 funniest movies.
One of them declared that he thought "Singing In the Rain" was not only one of the top hundred funniest movies, but the top number one funniest movie of all time! His CO-host agreed with him.
It was then that I realized that not everyone looked at the universe in the same way. I thought if something was funny, it was funny. If someone didn't think it was funny, then that person had no sense of humor. That's what I thought.
Apropos to this, I heard a funny joke on a television program called, "The History of Jokes." I'll tell the joke later.
I first told it to my youngest son, Derek, and I laughed before he did, but he laughed. Then I next told it to my second oldest son, Kavi, and he said, "That's not funny." Then I told it to Maryanne and she looked at me like I was nuts. Yesterday I told it to my granddaughter, Tara, and she burst out laughing right away.
I realize now that I can use that joke to kind of scientifically investigate the "joke focus" of different people. Since people are patterns of patterns, I can then use this information to predict the future behavior of individuals and then I can offer this information to Homeland Security and make a lot of money. Then I can use that money to buy an airplane and flying instructions, hire a cook, a butler and a cleaning woman, build a new house with a huge kitchen with lots of copper pans hanging from the ceiling, a workout room with a live-in personal trainer, and a gardener to care for my extensive flower and vegetable garden.
I'll move to New York across from Central Park. My garden will be on the roof of my condo. Ah, life is good when you make good plans.
This is the joke I will use to make my fortune:
A priest, a rabbi and a whale went into a bar.
The priest said, "I believe Jesus is the messiah, so I'll have sacramental wine.
"The rabbi said, "I believe the messiah hasn't come yet, so I'll have Manischewitz wine.
"The whale said, (and here you make a "eeeeeee" sound like a whale singing.)
It's funny. Trust me.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 1:45 PM 7 comments Links to this post
THE ECLECTIC HORSEMAN
Blog number 228 13 October 2008
Ever since I was able to obnserve the magic machinations of mine own mind during psychoanalysis, I have been fascinated with minds. Both mine and others. Memories especially intrigue me.
A few years back, while visiting my youngest son Derek, he arranged for me to copy a bunch of his music from his computer to mine. I told him I liked R. E. M., and he volunteered the information that I would probably like "Orange Crush" by R. E. M. He said it was his favorite R. E. M. song. I told him I had never heard of it, but to transfer it. When I got home, I listened to it, and he was right. It's a good song.
That's act one.
A few years pass and there comes a time when I mention him liking "Orange Crush." He said he never heard of it. I dragged it up on my computer and had him listen to it in order to refresh his memory. He said it was the first time he had ever heard it, and not only that - he didn't like it!
That's act two.
There is no act three.
Now to me, the most interesting point of these "false memories" - either his or mine, is that when I think of the time he wanted to download it for me, it is like a video in my mind. I can see the whole event playing out once again, just like it did back then.
Of course, his video of this event is missing from his mental store of DVDs.
When two people remember a single event in different ways, each is seeing a replay of what they saw the first time. Tell me that ain't weird.
Tell me God isn't sometimes jerking us around for no apparent reason except to amuse Himself at our expense.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 2:21 PM 2 comments Links to this post
Ever since I was able to obnserve the magic machinations of mine own mind during psychoanalysis, I have been fascinated with minds. Both mine and others. Memories especially intrigue me.
A few years back, while visiting my youngest son Derek, he arranged for me to copy a bunch of his music from his computer to mine. I told him I liked R. E. M., and he volunteered the information that I would probably like "Orange Crush" by R. E. M. He said it was his favorite R. E. M. song. I told him I had never heard of it, but to transfer it. When I got home, I listened to it, and he was right. It's a good song.
That's act one.
A few years pass and there comes a time when I mention him liking "Orange Crush." He said he never heard of it. I dragged it up on my computer and had him listen to it in order to refresh his memory. He said it was the first time he had ever heard it, and not only that - he didn't like it!
That's act two.
There is no act three.
Now to me, the most interesting point of these "false memories" - either his or mine, is that when I think of the time he wanted to download it for me, it is like a video in my mind. I can see the whole event playing out once again, just like it did back then.
Of course, his video of this event is missing from his mental store of DVDs.
When two people remember a single event in different ways, each is seeing a replay of what they saw the first time. Tell me that ain't weird.
Tell me God isn't sometimes jerking us around for no apparent reason except to amuse Himself at our expense.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 2:21 PM 2 comments Links to this post
RETREAT HELL, WE JUST GOT HERE
Blog number 230 15 October 2008
I'm now reading a book about General Rommel and General Patton of WW TWO fame. Although it is a serious book - no mucking about, it has twice made digs at the Italians. One dig concerned both sides trying to get Italy on their side and the author makes a comment about knowing what Italy was, all that had to be determined was its price.
The other dig concerned Italy's ready acceptance of the fascist salute because "Its easier to raise one hand than both of them."
After recounting the brilliant strategy and opportunistic methodology employed by Rommel in an attack upon the Italians during WW ONE, the summing up reveals that Rommel attained his successes with never much more than five hundred men, and accounted for "nine thousand prisoners, eighty guns, and more horses, mules, and assorted supplies than anyone could count." The cost to his force was six dead and twenty wounded.
He was once ordered to stop an attack because his superiors were cautious about attacking with so few men, but instead he sent most of his detachment back to hill 1096 as instructed, including all his officers, keeping a hundred enlisted personnel and six heavy machine gun crews "because they could not be court-martialed for obeying orders from a direct superior," and proceeded to successfully complete another campaign. The guy just wouldn't stop!
I haven't read anything about Patton yet, but when I do, I will report his exploits too.
Unless they don't amount to much, of course.
Or I just don't feel like it.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 8:29 AM 1 comments Links to this post
I'm now reading a book about General Rommel and General Patton of WW TWO fame. Although it is a serious book - no mucking about, it has twice made digs at the Italians. One dig concerned both sides trying to get Italy on their side and the author makes a comment about knowing what Italy was, all that had to be determined was its price.
The other dig concerned Italy's ready acceptance of the fascist salute because "Its easier to raise one hand than both of them."
After recounting the brilliant strategy and opportunistic methodology employed by Rommel in an attack upon the Italians during WW ONE, the summing up reveals that Rommel attained his successes with never much more than five hundred men, and accounted for "nine thousand prisoners, eighty guns, and more horses, mules, and assorted supplies than anyone could count." The cost to his force was six dead and twenty wounded.
He was once ordered to stop an attack because his superiors were cautious about attacking with so few men, but instead he sent most of his detachment back to hill 1096 as instructed, including all his officers, keeping a hundred enlisted personnel and six heavy machine gun crews "because they could not be court-martialed for obeying orders from a direct superior," and proceeded to successfully complete another campaign. The guy just wouldn't stop!
I haven't read anything about Patton yet, but when I do, I will report his exploits too.
Unless they don't amount to much, of course.
Or I just don't feel like it.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 8:29 AM 1 comments Links to this post
THE YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS
Blog number 229 14 October 2008
When I was getting checked for my chest pains and was about to lie on a table and have photographs taken of my beating heart, the man-in-charge asked me if I wanted to listen to some music. "Sure," I said.
"Sinatra?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
At the time, I thought he might be a one of those strange Sinatra fans and wanted to listen to him, but as I got to thinking of it, I think he thought that, since I was an old man, I probably liked old time singers like Sinatra, Tony Bennett, et al. all of whom I hate with a passion.
We settled on Iron Butterfly.
This thought reminded me of when that fifteen year old girl asked my wife and me if we knew who the Beatles were. I think that to youngsters, they see themselves as living in the world and old people are "off there" somewhere, not attuned to what is really going on.
They are SO cute!
When I was getting checked for my chest pains and was about to lie on a table and have photographs taken of my beating heart, the man-in-charge asked me if I wanted to listen to some music. "Sure," I said.
"Sinatra?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
At the time, I thought he might be a one of those strange Sinatra fans and wanted to listen to him, but as I got to thinking of it, I think he thought that, since I was an old man, I probably liked old time singers like Sinatra, Tony Bennett, et al. all of whom I hate with a passion.
We settled on Iron Butterfly.
This thought reminded me of when that fifteen year old girl asked my wife and me if we knew who the Beatles were. I think that to youngsters, they see themselves as living in the world and old people are "off there" somewhere, not attuned to what is really going on.
They are SO cute!
PEG O MY HEART
Blog number 231 16 October 2008
I had my "heart conference" today. No operations of any kind to do. That's a GOOD to-do list. Soooo, not much to write about, but I promised. Kinda.
Th-th-that that's all, folks!
Posted by Don Reynolds at 3:34 PM 3 comments Links to this post
I had my "heart conference" today. No operations of any kind to do. That's a GOOD to-do list. Soooo, not much to write about, but I promised. Kinda.
Th-th-that that's all, folks!
Posted by Don Reynolds at 3:34 PM 3 comments Links to this post
SAME TO YOU!
Blog number 233 22 October 2008
A week or so ago I read a book called, "Waiter's Rant" about a waiters experience waiting on tables. The author mentioned reading a book called, "Waiting," by waitress Debra Ginsberg.
So I started reading that.
Debra mentions being told an anecdote concerning a group of patrons sitting at the same table where one of them kept cursing at the waitress for twenty minutes before one of the group told the waitress that the cursing patron had Tourette's Syndrome.
In case you don't know what Tourette's is, it's a syndrome whereby the sufferer of it uses offensive and dirty words shouted out in a loud voice.
I once saw a documentary about a Tourette's sufferer and he kept cursing, saying dirty words, and throwing haymakers that came awfully close to the documentarian's nose. At one point the documentarian nervously said, "You're not going to hit me, are you?"
Watching this documentary, I was struck by both the cursing and the haymakers. I wondered why, if the behavior was entirely involuntary, did the sufferer pick only obscene words? And why were the haymakers ALWAYS thrown toward the man making the documentary?
I'm not suggesting that those with Tourette's are consciously perpetuating this stereotype. What I am suggesting is that there might be an unconscious "bent," an unconscious passive aggressive drive causing the symptoms to be what they are. After all, it is difficult to conceive that the sufferer would think, "let's see now. I could say, "rabbit," or "look out," but I think I'll say shit. Yeah, that's what I'll do! Shit."
The laws of probability prevent the symptoms from being randomly produced, they are too orderly.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 4:02 PM 4 comments Links to this post
A week or so ago I read a book called, "Waiter's Rant" about a waiters experience waiting on tables. The author mentioned reading a book called, "Waiting," by waitress Debra Ginsberg.
So I started reading that.
Debra mentions being told an anecdote concerning a group of patrons sitting at the same table where one of them kept cursing at the waitress for twenty minutes before one of the group told the waitress that the cursing patron had Tourette's Syndrome.
In case you don't know what Tourette's is, it's a syndrome whereby the sufferer of it uses offensive and dirty words shouted out in a loud voice.
I once saw a documentary about a Tourette's sufferer and he kept cursing, saying dirty words, and throwing haymakers that came awfully close to the documentarian's nose. At one point the documentarian nervously said, "You're not going to hit me, are you?"
Watching this documentary, I was struck by both the cursing and the haymakers. I wondered why, if the behavior was entirely involuntary, did the sufferer pick only obscene words? And why were the haymakers ALWAYS thrown toward the man making the documentary?
I'm not suggesting that those with Tourette's are consciously perpetuating this stereotype. What I am suggesting is that there might be an unconscious "bent," an unconscious passive aggressive drive causing the symptoms to be what they are. After all, it is difficult to conceive that the sufferer would think, "let's see now. I could say, "rabbit," or "look out," but I think I'll say shit. Yeah, that's what I'll do! Shit."
The laws of probability prevent the symptoms from being randomly produced, they are too orderly.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 4:02 PM 4 comments Links to this post
AND A GOOD DAY TO YOU TOO, SIR!
Blog number 234 24 October 2008
Today I had one of those experiences that comes to one every once in a while. You know - the kind that warms the heart, the kind that is in a way, a "secret" because there is no way to transmit it to another human so that they will understand - the kind that belongs just to you and to no one else.
The lovely Teresa took me to the new Fry's Grocery and Vacuum Cleaners and Radios and DVDs and Tool Bins and Starbucks on Pinal Avenue. While Teresa shopped, I sat and drank a cup of four-shot espresso and read the most delicious novel translated from Japanese. At one point I raised my head and stared off into space, thinking about what I was reading.
A mother walked by, trailed by her slight four-or-five year old boy. It seemed the boy was looking at me, but I wasn't sure - my eyes aren't all that good, and the boy had pale eyes. I waved at him to check it out. He quickly turned his head away from me and caught up closer to his mother. So he WAS looking at me.I followed him with my eyes and just before he went behind a display, he looked back at me and gave a big shy smile.
We connected and nobody else in the whole wide world, including his mother, was aware of this.I don't think he would ever tell anyone about this, because to a little boy, it was nothing. So up until I started writing this entry to my Blog, only two people knew of this event and only one (me) thought anything about it.
That event is mine and nobody else can have it.
No use begging, either.
Nope.
Today I had one of those experiences that comes to one every once in a while. You know - the kind that warms the heart, the kind that is in a way, a "secret" because there is no way to transmit it to another human so that they will understand - the kind that belongs just to you and to no one else.
The lovely Teresa took me to the new Fry's Grocery and Vacuum Cleaners and Radios and DVDs and Tool Bins and Starbucks on Pinal Avenue. While Teresa shopped, I sat and drank a cup of four-shot espresso and read the most delicious novel translated from Japanese. At one point I raised my head and stared off into space, thinking about what I was reading.
A mother walked by, trailed by her slight four-or-five year old boy. It seemed the boy was looking at me, but I wasn't sure - my eyes aren't all that good, and the boy had pale eyes. I waved at him to check it out. He quickly turned his head away from me and caught up closer to his mother. So he WAS looking at me.I followed him with my eyes and just before he went behind a display, he looked back at me and gave a big shy smile.
We connected and nobody else in the whole wide world, including his mother, was aware of this.I don't think he would ever tell anyone about this, because to a little boy, it was nothing. So up until I started writing this entry to my Blog, only two people knew of this event and only one (me) thought anything about it.
That event is mine and nobody else can have it.
No use begging, either.
Nope.
LESS ARTISTS, MORE CRAFTSMEN
Blog number 235 25 October 2008
Today is Sunday. Tonight I get to watch "Dexter," "Mad Men," and "Entourage." Goody.
These programs are produced, written, directed and acted by craftsmen.
On the other hand we have "Crash," a new series with nice camera shots, nice opening credits, lots of money invested. And then it all goes to crap. I knew from the first scene that there were going to be problems with this turkey. It opens with a long sex scene. Obviously a precursor to what is coming.
So humans have sex.
Amazing!
The problem with this series is that nobody cares. A cop with no stripes on his sleeves starts ordering other cops around like a top sergeant, and then when he is out on patrol, he wears sergeant stripes.This same cop hassles a sexy Latina after accidentally ramming into her car, feeling her up, going to her house and kissing her while her husband is out of sight, but in the same room, and then has sex with her on the side of his car while stopped at a stop sign. And she obviously hates him. Guess you have to really insult a woman if you wanna have quick sex with her.
Then we have a Black architect trying to get a job designing some alterations a white woman wants on her house that her husband is very much against. You just KNOW the Black man and the white woman is going to have sex. Because it's cutting edge, you see. And sure enough, they do.
Then a Black poet is talked into doing rap for a powerful music mogul even though he insists he is NOT a rapper, that he writes poetry, period. So after no rehearsal, he proceeds to wow the crowd and is promised that he is going to be "the next big thing."
Crash could have been up there with Dexter, Mad Men, et all. You can see it has the potential, but the insistence on sex, juvenile nonsense and carelessness makes it into nothing more than a teenage sex thriller.
Obligatory sex scenes are like car chases, hand to hand combat and gunfire. They eat up the time while adding nothing to the story. You can almost hear the director saying, "I need something here. I know! I'll put in a sex scene (chase scene, fight scene, gun battle scene).
"I don't really like being a critic, but if not me, who? Somebody's got to say these things. Otherwise trash will tend to propagate its self.
Today is Sunday. Tonight I get to watch "Dexter," "Mad Men," and "Entourage." Goody.
These programs are produced, written, directed and acted by craftsmen.
On the other hand we have "Crash," a new series with nice camera shots, nice opening credits, lots of money invested. And then it all goes to crap. I knew from the first scene that there were going to be problems with this turkey. It opens with a long sex scene. Obviously a precursor to what is coming.
So humans have sex.
Amazing!
The problem with this series is that nobody cares. A cop with no stripes on his sleeves starts ordering other cops around like a top sergeant, and then when he is out on patrol, he wears sergeant stripes.This same cop hassles a sexy Latina after accidentally ramming into her car, feeling her up, going to her house and kissing her while her husband is out of sight, but in the same room, and then has sex with her on the side of his car while stopped at a stop sign. And she obviously hates him. Guess you have to really insult a woman if you wanna have quick sex with her.
Then we have a Black architect trying to get a job designing some alterations a white woman wants on her house that her husband is very much against. You just KNOW the Black man and the white woman is going to have sex. Because it's cutting edge, you see. And sure enough, they do.
Then a Black poet is talked into doing rap for a powerful music mogul even though he insists he is NOT a rapper, that he writes poetry, period. So after no rehearsal, he proceeds to wow the crowd and is promised that he is going to be "the next big thing."
Crash could have been up there with Dexter, Mad Men, et all. You can see it has the potential, but the insistence on sex, juvenile nonsense and carelessness makes it into nothing more than a teenage sex thriller.
Obligatory sex scenes are like car chases, hand to hand combat and gunfire. They eat up the time while adding nothing to the story. You can almost hear the director saying, "I need something here. I know! I'll put in a sex scene (chase scene, fight scene, gun battle scene).
"I don't really like being a critic, but if not me, who? Somebody's got to say these things. Otherwise trash will tend to propagate its self.
BABIES ARE MORE THAN YOUNG HUMANS
Blog number 236 28 October 2008
We went to Phoenix today for our weekly visit. A good baby day, it turns out.
As we were led to our booth in Mimi's, I saw in the first booth, a cute little girl, about two years old, brunet page boy, laying her head on her mother's shoulder, sleepy eyes, slowly rubbing her mother's pregnant belly.
A few minutes later, getting up to go out to the car to get my pen and paper which I had forgotten to bring in, I passed the child's booth where she was now sitting up, eating. I put my hand on her head and she gave me a beautiful smile. She smiled again at me as I came back through there on my way back from the car and as I sat down, she said, "Hi." I said "hi" back.
Sweet!
************
When we lived in California we occasionally went to a Catholic mass that always had SRO. Along the whole back of the circular room, adults would be standing, holding babies which very often squawked and talked. Again, sweet!
At the end of the services the priest always called the young up to stand around him and be blessed. After services The priest would stand out in the yard and greet the parishioners as they left, and the children he would engulf in a big hug. It's the only time I ever felt envious of not being in the priesthood. I wanted to do that!
One service I was sitting on the aisle and Teresa was to my right. To her right was a couple that had an active one year old. The baby tried to climb over Teresa's leg to get out and Teresa moved her leg so the baby couldn't. The baby, noticing this, looked up at Teresa with big puzzled eyes and kept trying, like a duckling trying to climb over a high step.
Teresa asked the dad if he wanted me to hold her. The Dad agreed, so all through the rest of the service I got to cuddle that sweet, sweet child. That was a good service!
Another time I was watching this two year old boy ahead of me and across the aisle. He was giving his dad fits, squirming and trying to get loose. I noticed him give his Dad a "look" and he quieted down. I knew what was coming, so as he made a sudden dart up the aisle for the back of the room, as he went by me, I scooped him up and gave him to his dad who had just begun the chase.
The Dad sat him down, and every once in a while the boy would look back at me. Trying to figure out my place in his scheme of things, I guess. I would just grin at him.
I think of those two experiences a lot. Highlights in my life.
We went to Phoenix today for our weekly visit. A good baby day, it turns out.
As we were led to our booth in Mimi's, I saw in the first booth, a cute little girl, about two years old, brunet page boy, laying her head on her mother's shoulder, sleepy eyes, slowly rubbing her mother's pregnant belly.
A few minutes later, getting up to go out to the car to get my pen and paper which I had forgotten to bring in, I passed the child's booth where she was now sitting up, eating. I put my hand on her head and she gave me a beautiful smile. She smiled again at me as I came back through there on my way back from the car and as I sat down, she said, "Hi." I said "hi" back.
Sweet!
************
When we lived in California we occasionally went to a Catholic mass that always had SRO. Along the whole back of the circular room, adults would be standing, holding babies which very often squawked and talked. Again, sweet!
At the end of the services the priest always called the young up to stand around him and be blessed. After services The priest would stand out in the yard and greet the parishioners as they left, and the children he would engulf in a big hug. It's the only time I ever felt envious of not being in the priesthood. I wanted to do that!
One service I was sitting on the aisle and Teresa was to my right. To her right was a couple that had an active one year old. The baby tried to climb over Teresa's leg to get out and Teresa moved her leg so the baby couldn't. The baby, noticing this, looked up at Teresa with big puzzled eyes and kept trying, like a duckling trying to climb over a high step.
Teresa asked the dad if he wanted me to hold her. The Dad agreed, so all through the rest of the service I got to cuddle that sweet, sweet child. That was a good service!
Another time I was watching this two year old boy ahead of me and across the aisle. He was giving his dad fits, squirming and trying to get loose. I noticed him give his Dad a "look" and he quieted down. I knew what was coming, so as he made a sudden dart up the aisle for the back of the room, as he went by me, I scooped him up and gave him to his dad who had just begun the chase.
The Dad sat him down, and every once in a while the boy would look back at me. Trying to figure out my place in his scheme of things, I guess. I would just grin at him.
I think of those two experiences a lot. Highlights in my life.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
IT'S NOT MY FAULT I'M IGNORANT
Blog number 221 17 September 2008
Judge Joe says to the defendant, "You know that the constitution prohibits incarceration for debts."
The defendant responds, "No. I didn't know that."
Judge Joe, incredulously, "you didn't know that the constitution prohibits anyone from being thrown in jail for owing money?"
Defendant replies, "No. I was educated in Kansas."
Judge Joe says to the defendant, "You know that the constitution prohibits incarceration for debts."
The defendant responds, "No. I didn't know that."
Judge Joe, incredulously, "you didn't know that the constitution prohibits anyone from being thrown in jail for owing money?"
Defendant replies, "No. I was educated in Kansas."
Thursday, September 11, 2008
I LOVE IT TO PIECES
Blog number 220 11 September 2008
I just read this and I gotta share it. It's from one of Booth Tarkington's books.
He sent Bibbs to "begin at the bottom and learn from the ground up" in the machine-shop of the Sheridan Automatic Pump Works, and at the end of six months the family physician sent Bibbs to begin at the bottom and learn from the ground up in a sanitarium.
I just read this and I gotta share it. It's from one of Booth Tarkington's books.
He sent Bibbs to "begin at the bottom and learn from the ground up" in the machine-shop of the Sheridan Automatic Pump Works, and at the end of six months the family physician sent Bibbs to begin at the bottom and learn from the ground up in a sanitarium.
CHARLEMAGNE'S SON ROLAND, WAS MY FIRST ROLE MODEL
I got to thinking about this guy this morning. When I used to hang at Weatherstone's, there was this guy that used to come around a couple of times a month. He never sat down and drank coffee. He would say, "hi," to a couple of guys, and then he would engage in a short conversation with one or two of the regular hangers -- like he knew them. He was always smiling, very pleasant, very clean, but he seemed different somehow.
One day a friend and I got to talking about him. This guy told me that he and that guy used to be meth freaks. He told me some of the things they did. He found the guy one morning passed out on the hood of a car -- his feet on the ground, his chest and head on the hood, dried puke under his face. That's just an example.
He then said that there came a time when he didn't see the guy for a very long time. Then one morning, there he was. He said he looked so weird, so different. He asked him what had happened. The guy said, "I got cleaned up."
"Yeah, I know, but WHAT happened?"
"I got cleaned up."
The guy I was talking to thought the guy meant that he had taken a bath or something, but that wouldn't account for his radical appearance. Finally my friend said he got it through his thick skull that the guy meant that he no longer took drugs, and that THAT was what accounted for his radical appearance.
He had met the guy when they both were on drugs, so to him this was an entirely new and strange person. He had had no idea that doing drugs made that big a difference.
This guy that I was talking to, I never suspected that he had been a druggie, not for a moment. What had happened I guess, was that the guy's shocking appearance had so impressed my friend that he too got off drugs. I then realized that what the guy had been doing, and now it made perfect sense, and in hindsight, I kind of suspected something like that, that he was trolling for users, using himself as an example of what one could become. He never preached. He just "presented himself." He was a role model. One of the best I have ever seen. A lot better than Donald Trump, lemme tell you.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
STILWELL
Blog number 218 10 September 2008
General Stilwell was not only a magnificent soldier's general, but a prolific writer. Notes, messages, diary entries, poems, plays, treatises, plans.
Here's one of his short "plays."
The Messenger
The Messenger has returned from (presumably) delivering a letter.
Q. Did you deliver the letter?
A. Yes.
Q. To whom did you give it?
A. I gave it to Mr. Oleson.
Q. But Mr. Oleson was not there. He is here now. You could not have given it to him.
A. Oh, no. I gave it to the interpreter.
Q. But the interpreter is also here with Mr. Oleson, and says you did NOT give to him.
A. Oh, yes. I gave it to the cook.
Q. What cook?
A. The cook up there.
Q. Up where?
A. At Hsich Kung Ling.
Q. But there is no cook, or house, or anything at Hsich Kung Ling.
A. Yes. I really gave it to the cook.
Q. But listen to me! There is NO COOK there! To whom did you give the letter?
A. I gave it to the ma-foo [groom].
Q. What ma-foo?
A. Mr. Oleson's ma-foo.
Q. But Mr. Oleson has no ma-foo, so you did not give it to him.
A. Ma-foo?
Q. Yes, ma-foo-ma-foo.
A. Oh, I gave it to the letter carrier.
About this time the average foreigner gives it up and either writes another letter, murders the messenger, or goes home by the next boat. The next morning the letter is probably found on the dining-room table.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
DON'T WORRY, IT'S JUST POLITICS
Blog number 217 09 September 2008
President Franklin Roosevelt appointed General Hurley as an intermediary between General Stilwell and Chiang K'ai-Shek because of the "tension" between the two. Hurley immediately asked to be made an ambassador, but that was refused.
Roosevelt then startled Marshall, who had recommended Hurley, by asking that a former Sears CEO, Donald Nelson, go too. When Marshall asked why, Roosevelt said that he wanted to get Nelson out of the country.
Marshall sympathized and consented on condition that Nelson was not to meddle with policy or strategy, but was to confine himself to selling razor blades. For purposes of public announcement this was translated as "studying China's economy."
President Franklin Roosevelt appointed General Hurley as an intermediary between General Stilwell and Chiang K'ai-Shek because of the "tension" between the two. Hurley immediately asked to be made an ambassador, but that was refused.
Roosevelt then startled Marshall, who had recommended Hurley, by asking that a former Sears CEO, Donald Nelson, go too. When Marshall asked why, Roosevelt said that he wanted to get Nelson out of the country.
Marshall sympathized and consented on condition that Nelson was not to meddle with policy or strategy, but was to confine himself to selling razor blades. For purposes of public announcement this was translated as "studying China's economy."
I GIVE YOU...THE BRITISH!
Blog number 216 09 September 2008
Barbara W. Tuchman, the eminent historian and author of the brilliant, Stilwell and the American Experience in China, states in that book, "No nation has ever produced a military history of such verbal nobility as the British. Retreat or advance, win or lose, blunder or bravery, murderous folly or unyielding resolution, all emerge alike clothed in dignity and touched with glory.
Every engagement is gallant, every battle a decisive action. There is no shrinking from superlatives: every campaign produces a general or generalship hailed as the most brilliant of the war. Everyone is splendid: soldiers are staunch, commanders cool, the fighting magnificent. Whatever the fiasco, aplomb is unbroken. Mistakes, failures, stupidities or other causes of disaster mysteriously vanish. Disasters are recorded with care and pride and are transmuted into things of beauty."
Just so you know.
BITCH BITCH BITCH
Blog number 215 09 September 2008
I don't visit the library in Casa Grande, where I live. I go thirty miles to Phoenix to vist their library. "Why?" you ask. Because the library here doesn't have all that many books, the "new books" section is filled with magazines and "how to" books, and the Library circulars seem to be for the sole purpose of recommending films and lectures, and enumerating the many new features of the library's computers. Anything ever about books? Sure. Book clubs. That's it.
So I have noticed that whenever I try to put a hold on a new book lately (in the Phoenix library. Good luck trying to put a hold on a book in Casa Grande), I have noticed they often have the book in CD form, or audio form, but NOT as a book! I'm afraid books are on their way out.
The only things of value you can be sure will not be stolen except accidentally, is one shoe or a book.
I needed to get that off my chest. I'm getting a bit crabby in my old age.
It'll get worse.
I don't visit the library in Casa Grande, where I live. I go thirty miles to Phoenix to vist their library. "Why?" you ask. Because the library here doesn't have all that many books, the "new books" section is filled with magazines and "how to" books, and the Library circulars seem to be for the sole purpose of recommending films and lectures, and enumerating the many new features of the library's computers. Anything ever about books? Sure. Book clubs. That's it.
So I have noticed that whenever I try to put a hold on a new book lately (in the Phoenix library. Good luck trying to put a hold on a book in Casa Grande), I have noticed they often have the book in CD form, or audio form, but NOT as a book! I'm afraid books are on their way out.
The only things of value you can be sure will not be stolen except accidentally, is one shoe or a book.
I needed to get that off my chest. I'm getting a bit crabby in my old age.
It'll get worse.
WELL, I LIKE 'EM.
Blog number 214 09 September 2008
I am enamored with pithy, clever or funny sentences. I was going to list my favorites from movies and TV and leave it to the reader to remember where they had heard them or wonder what they were all about if the sentences were unfamiliar to them. Then I thought I might have a contest, and whoever guessed where the sentences came from, would have a chance at a $100,000 prize. But I decided not to do that. I decided instead to list them, and the circumstances of their origin. So here 'tis.
"Didn't your masters teach you that before they sent you here?"
Wife, fighting with her husband in The Ref.
In Death Becomes Her, when Meryl Streep's character was told there was a warning after Streep's character had already taken the potion, she says, "NOW a warning?" .
Michael, in The Office, explaining to his girlfriend why he was breaking off with her, "It's not me. It's you."
"Spider Pig, Spider Pig..."
Homer's song, from The Simpson Movie
From Brother Where Art Thou. The really dumb one's partner has figured out that he will be eighty-seven when he finishes his sentence because of the added fifty years for their escape from a road gang. You can see the really dumb one working out that this means he will also receive fifty extra years, and you can see his face light up as he proudly proclaims, "Why, I'll only be eighty-two!"
In Romy and Michele's High School Reunion, discussing a fellow alumni, Romy says, " She's like a little girl except she smokes and says shit a lot. " By the way. This is really a funny, funny movie. Not a good title, but a good movie.
In The Perfect Murder, the wife's boyfriend, who was supposed to kill the wife, but things went wrong, is discussing with the husband what to do now. After it is decided to do nothing for the moment, he says, " One thing. Do I keep f***ing your wife or what?"
In Once Upon A Crime, George Hamilton's character - a gigolo, is being questioned about his alibi during a murder, and when he says he was servicing a wealthy dowager for three or four hours, the police looked at him with disbelief and awe. George shrugs his shoulders and says, "It's my job. It's what I do."
In HBO's The Wire, the cry, Omar's coming! Omar's coming! sends the street rabble scurrying for cover. Omar carries a shotgun and uses it often.
On King of the Hill, Bobby has accidentally seen his cousin, Luanne, naked. Telling this to his friend Joseph gets Joseph all excited.
Joseph asks Bobby if she had on high heels. Bobby says, "no." Joseph says, with a dreamy look, "I'm gonna imagine her in high heels."
Near the end of the episode, after numerous futile attempts by Joseph to see Luanne naked, Luanne catches Khan, the Laoion neighbor innocently looking in her bathroom window and yells out, "Peggy, Mr. Khan saw me naked." Joseph, riding outside on his bicycle, hears this and disgustedly says, "Aw, man!"
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
WAR MAY BE HELL, BUT READING ABOUT IT IS FUN 2
Blog number 213 02 September 2008
Reading a book called, Iwo Jima in Barnes and Noble's this morning. Found a bit of trivia. That flag that was raised on Mount Suribachi, that is so famous? It has a bullet hole in the second stripe.
The way it happened was that the guys were so short of people because of their casualties that they were waiting for replacements, so they dug in and slept right by that flag. The guy telling the story heard noises during the night, and thinking it was Japs, he fired at the noise, found out that the noise was the flag flapping in the wind.
There is an asterisk by the word, "Japs" in this book. The asterisk's explanation for existing is that "Jap" was commonly used during the Good War, but the proper word is, of course, "Japanese." I thought that curious because I, myself have used the word, "Jap" in my blog, with the explanation that that is what we called them during WW 2.
I was a little nervous using that word when responding to Maryanne's comment on one of my entries, because her mother is Japanese, but I expected that she would understand I didn't mean anything derogatory to the Japanese. It's just the way I think of the WW 2 Japs, that's all.
Reading a book called, Iwo Jima in Barnes and Noble's this morning. Found a bit of trivia. That flag that was raised on Mount Suribachi, that is so famous? It has a bullet hole in the second stripe.
The way it happened was that the guys were so short of people because of their casualties that they were waiting for replacements, so they dug in and slept right by that flag. The guy telling the story heard noises during the night, and thinking it was Japs, he fired at the noise, found out that the noise was the flag flapping in the wind.
There is an asterisk by the word, "Japs" in this book. The asterisk's explanation for existing is that "Jap" was commonly used during the Good War, but the proper word is, of course, "Japanese." I thought that curious because I, myself have used the word, "Jap" in my blog, with the explanation that that is what we called them during WW 2.
I was a little nervous using that word when responding to Maryanne's comment on one of my entries, because her mother is Japanese, but I expected that she would understand I didn't mean anything derogatory to the Japanese. It's just the way I think of the WW 2 Japs, that's all.
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