Morning Vent

I live in a town where “cultural diversity” refers to the differing ages of unsold yogurt on the grocery store shelf. There is a coagulation of thought amongst many natives and transplants that is illustrative: smoking is the default position; gays are beyond sinners – they need to be sought out and punished; motorcycles are phallic metaphors; football players are considered geniuses; no one refers publicly to minorities in derogatory terms, yet no one seems to have a friend with a different colored skin unless that friend is Italian. Bumper stickers shout allegiance to NASCAR, gun rights, and country music. Do you think they perceive the contradiction in “Country Music ROCKS!!”?

I’m conservative, own a gun that will be taken only from my dead fingers, and I enjoy sports. But I believe that most sports figures would be in prison, unemployed, or pushing a broom if not for freakish, abnormal physical attributes. I think modern country music sucks. Hank Williams wrote and sang well; these modern idiots are stuck in a time warp fashioned by Buck Owens – a drunken woman beater (what more would you expect from a guy that called his band the “Buckaroos”?).

I do not define myself through sitcoms and network news. I cannot watch the reality shows that are so thoroughly discussed every where I go. I think that when women on television act “provocatively” that they come across as intellectually vacuous and as sluts; the last thing on my mind is my pants getting tight.

There are pockets of inspiration here which would be recognizable by people from away as indicative of “culture,” as that term is generally understood outside this bubble. There’s a coffee shop that sells photographs from local folks (Joseph Jeanguenat is a youngin’ and presents well). There’s a local band (yes, just one – Symphonic Haze; they need a sound tech badly but have some very real, if not raw, talent). There’s, um, bear with me, I’m thinking. Um, did I mention the coffee shop? Yes, I see that I did. Um, well, let me talk about the band for a bit and maybe something else will come to mind.

I’ve seen them play a few times now. Same problems. Their sound guy must have a hearing issue: the mics and amps are way out of balance. Stevie needs to upgrade his guitar so that it stays in tune; his focus is too spread to accurately do it on the fly. Dan needs to sharpen his vocals; the stage presence is there, but maybe some voice lessons would help (if Eric Clapton could do it …). The drummer and bassist are both solid. They need to incorporate the mandolin and fiddle only when it fits the song; they seem forced too often. The chick has to step up to the plate and quit going through the motions, or get out.

Positively, Stevie can play some good bits (but he does play some things beyond his dexterity; a record and playback session would make it clear to him). They own old Neil Young songs. They really get the power, timing, and vocals down. They play a lot of their own music. It can be tortured at times, but that doesn’t matter – these are kids writing and playing their own music. The drummer is in a league beyond everyone else in the band, as well as most other drummers anywhere.

Wow. A rock critic. So funny.

OK, more local culture. Um, nope, sorry. Nothing. But that’s alright. I’ve vented for the morning. One last bit. I went to a local restaurant last week that proudly proclaims to be “Vegetarian Friendly.” Turns out that phrase means that they forbid physical intimidation of veges. I ordered “Nacho Supreme” without meat. It was chips, green olives, and cheese that was melted with a blow torch. I left hungry but unharmed. Vegetarian friendly.

Meanderings

I'm just going to freeform for a bit. Think of it as a jazz-set interlude.

Whenever I want a quick view of whether the planet still exists beyond my line of sight, I go to lucianne.com. The site has their headlines and a running log of stories linked by members. (btw, I tried to join a couple of times. They must have a lot of issues with liberals messing with their site. To join, you had to e them, that evolved to some "no new members" period. I haven't a clue what they do now.) The nice part of their site is the commentary. From the main page, you can go either to the linked story or to member comments on the story. When I don't have the heart to read a story and get filled with legacy-media bias, the comments usually do a good job of fisking.

So W authorized spying on American citizens without reasonable suspicion let alone probable cause? Good for him. Juxtapose that with Gov. Dukakis saying that if his wife were raped he would let the courts handle the matter. The only thing I would let the courts handle would be my own criminal case, following the unfortunate and painful disembowelment of the rapist. No dick and a colostomy bag make for a rather expensive piece of ass.

I enjoy going to other blogs but get frustrated quickly with the lack of discourse. Folks seem to jump ugly rather quickly these days. I understand jumping on libs for their intellectual dishonesty. They are such easy targets. "Bush lied!" they scream. "Selected not elected!" It is clear that they have no interest in advancing discourse. They are just trying to stir up the natives. Pathetic.

The legacy media coverage of that Cindy Whatever is over-the-top funny. She loses her kid in Iraq and then dogs W to the ranch and all over. Her views are absurd. Not far from Farrakhan telling us a spaceship is hovering just out of view in space watching and waiting. Yet the legacy media portrays her as some goddess. Follow her money. She’s a housewife. Her husband throws her out. Now she’s jet-setting the world? One-hit wonder. She’ll be forgotten when the next crisis comes along. I hope she take it to hard. Maybe she can quilt. I understand that takes a long time to do properly.

My wife had a test at the hospital the other day. I wandered the halls for about 40 minutes. It was morning and Regis was on. Wow. From what I caught of the show in my mental-ward pacings, it was devoid of anything to stimulate the brain. The crowd noise was high-pitched and delusional. The co-host chick wore this clingy dress that outlined every bump from her breasts to just above her knees. She did a ten-second dance like one of those drunk girls advertising her loneliness and availability at a bar after midnight. The crowd went wild. Regis feigned embarrassment. The hospital crowd smirked and sat forward. I wanted to throw up. I would enjoy putting Regis and that chick in separate sensory-depravation tanks. The spectrum from silence to one-sided conversation to tears to self-mutilation would be 20 minutes, 30 tops.

I got a puppy. About three months old. He barked for the first time just a minute ago. He’s a Border Collie. My other dog is also a Border Collie and is two years old. Ceiligh (my older one; Irish Gaelic for “festive”) was bred for herding. Fast, smart, lean. Trean (the pup; pronounced tray-en; Irish Gaelic for something) is an evolving pig. He’ll be 50 pounds when he’s done. That’s a big BC. His bark is so deep. Sounded like a Mastiff. He’s smart, but Cei is smarter. I think it’s funny when people have dogs and say, “Watch this!” and then they get the dog to roll over. With on-line banking, I am teaching Ceiligh how to pay my bills and when to best transfer funds from the Money Market account into checking. She brought up a good point about getting back into Covered Call options now that my employer gets me stock at a market discount. I could parlay not just the discount but also the option income into a 50% or more paper gain with little risk. I hadn’t put all of that together before. I’ll have to buy her a new toy. It was good advice. Just remembered that her cello lesson is today; darn, thought I had the day off.

I was just reading a physics lecture and learned the science behind the comment I recall from years ago that electrons behave differently if we are looking at them. Has to do with the interaction of photons, regardless of where on the spectrum we drawn our light source. It was interesting. Feynman is the author of the lectures. Here is the book. Fun read.

Do you like to walk alone at night? I take Ceiligh; being completely alone is weird for me. With a dog by my side, I can look through windows from the street and observe without guilt. If I were completely alone, I would feel more like I was intruding on their space. I am amazed at how common is wood paneling these days. I thought that started to die a natural death in the late 1970s. And do people spend a lot of money on televisions!! My word, $3K to $5K for the flat-panel-bigger-than-a-yardstick models. The screens are beautiful, no doubt. But I can’t see spending more money on a television than a good used car. I like to have friends that have no financial-management skills whatsoever. It’s fun to play with their toys. I don’t have any of those anymore. Oh well. It was fun for several years.

I haven’t had a card game in a very long time. I enjoy real poker. Kids these days can’t think beyond Texas Hold ‘em. Give me a hi-lo game, two winners (the best and worst poker hand). No wild cards. Several rounds of betting. Last bettor or raiser declares first. Money on the table. Not some stupid two cards down and everything else community. It’s cute, but not intricate.

Wife just got up. Time to start my day …

Male disease

The Christmas season reminds me of a lot of things. One is my acute medical condition. I've got Male Disease (MaD) big time. There is no cure.

It manifests itself differently from man to man. For me, the most observable presentation is that I can't find things. Spatial issues are irrelevant: something can be in the corner of the basement or directly in front of me - my inability to find it is equal in both instances.

Temporal issues are likewise secondary. I have remembered the precise location of a screw I dropped months ago, yet need to ponder deeply what I ate when a burp presents.

Importance of the item doesn't matter. My glasses go MIA as often as a drink coaster.

I've tried to convince myself that the problem is merely psychological. Perhaps I am getting older and more forgetful. Perhaps I can use mental tricks to overcome the deficiency. The frustration experienced in my self-designed rehab problem are too torturous to share.

The problem is not age. It is maleness. I can't find things because I am a guy. They say that recognition is the first step to recovery.

Hi, my name is Clyde. I can't find things.