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Monday, January 31, 2005
Cat pee lasts forever. Good god, what's that smell on my hands?! A short break from TAXES taken to go downstairs for the first time in three or four years led to a lengthy perusal through old things. Never got back to the taxes. My last cat died five years ago. She was implacable and vindictive but could be very occasionally kind which was the only reason she managed to live so long despite our living on the tenth floor. Her vindictiveness generally took the form of a little pee spray in some inappropriate place. Apparently, the repository of old things that I uncovered tonight had been one of her targets long ago. My draft card, social security card and some old wallet pictures will feature her little gift forever. I'll get the last laugh, though, thanks to my new lamintater. heh-heh
Paying. A private pledge had been made that this space would not glean too much material from TAXES this year, and it won't. However, an occasional mention of the maddening migraine ritual is permitted. Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh! That's better. This year, I decided to do much of the work on the computer. Interesting idea, and poor idea. It's easier to read the details and erase mistakes, but having 14 pdf file windows open at the same time is a challenge. The four returns I have to do are related, so cut 'n paste is useful. But, is it a good idea to be working on four returns at the same time? Advice to people considering it: Don't. Too late to turn back now. Basis is something old people deal with, so you don't have to think about it. I had misplaced a paper and, no, Mr. Examiner, I don't remember what I paid for Consolidated Buggy Whip, so I guessed, okay?, so I went online to see what CBW was worth through all the spin-offs and acquisitions. That's about when I decided to quit for the night. "Therefore, the basis for Consolidated Buggy Whip would be zero." Like I said, don't worry your heads about zero basis for another forty years or so. Maybe, like me, you'll be getting senile and won't remember it for long.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Traveling. For the past few days, I've been trying to call the sister-in-law. There isn't any reason that I can recall that she should be mad at me, but the message thing is on all their phones. Her daughter doesn't even know where she is. That doesn't mean too much since the daughter is a bit like me, good grades but a lot of air upstairs, and could very likely have forgotten. So, today, I get this e-mail .. I'm sorry! I apologize! But I'm in Mazatlan! and she goes on and on telling me how great it is and how her back pain has cleared up and she is sleeping well and what not. If I remember right, the last conversation we had featured a very long list of complaints about the S.O. and how he wastes money. He surprised her out of the blue with this trip, and I will definitely not be bringing up the subject of money when they get back. I got to wondering, could this be an anniversary? Do people-living-together-in-sin have anniversaries? To tell you the truth, I do not remember. Was it the first date, or the first hookup, moving-in day, buying the silver service? It's been too long. For my many regular readers other than her, please go over here and give money. It IS a good cause and, if you give, she won't bother you anymore.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Shaving. Back when manly men roamed free there were two great westerns on television, 1955-56, Gunsmoke and Cheyenne. Both James Arness and Clint Walker were 6'6", rugged and tough. They could shoot a horse, if necessary, instead of sending it to the petting zoo. Gunsmoke had it's lighter moments, but Clint Walker played Cheyenne in a generally upbeat way that pleased everyone. Men liked him because he was rough and tumble. Kids dug his humor and unflappability, and the gunplay, of course. For the ladies, it was the looks; Clint was strikingly handsome. And hairy. They managed to get his shirt off in just about every episode, and that pelt was awesome to behold. My mother didn't bother to conceal her lust, but my father didn't care since he was as good-looking as Clint, though not as hairy. No one was. Nowadays, we have Leonardo and Brad and, yes, they are both pretty. Jessica thinks they are dreamboats but Clint was yucky. I'm just glad my boyfriend doesn't have all that gross hair. Missy, I've met your boyfriend, and I've seen him at five o'clock. So? By the time he's forty, he will have long-since lost interest in the Nair and razor burn and will look like King Kong. No!! That's okay; your store-bought tits will be on your knees by then too, but neither of you will really care anymore. Young love. I help when I can.
Learning. Joe Skelly was so moved by a visit to the former concentration camps at Auschwitz, that he was inspired to create a symbol to commemorate the six million who died at the hands of the Nazis. Now he�s calling on the government to adopt the symbol - the star of David with a tear-filled eye in the middle - as a logo for Holocaust Memorial Day. (The Whitehaven News, Copeland, West Cumbria, UK.) Indeed. The Holocaust should have a logo. A member of the French delegation, the Polish-born writer Marek Halter, said he was "torn and confused" by his first visit to the camp, and on seeing the buffet lunch set out for the delegates asked, "Can one eat zakuskis (hors d'oeuvres) at Auschwitz?" (Turkish Press, Detroit, Michigan.) Evidently, one can. Today was the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, and remembrances were observed along with a nighttime visual display with fire. And a buffet. Although the affair was not as spectacular as those for which the Nazi's were renowned, attendees seemed generally pleased. An old woman in the audience could be heard murmuring, Darfur ... Darfur. Someone asked her to stop it and be quiet, so she did.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
This one is going nowhere. I can tell you that upfront, in case you have other plans for the next ninety seconds or so. First off, I realized today that I've never had a Mountain Dew. Even had the chance to remedy that today, at the Safeway. Never thought of it. There must be something about The Dew since so many folks, mainly down south, I reckon, still buy it even with the dominance of the two Sugar Monsters. I can't drink either of those at home, too sweet. Funny, away from home they go down just fine, along with trans-fat and cholesterol-laced food products that go along. Distractions in the commercial environment are designed to immunize us from sensibility. When you are a few decades behind on the music, besides being tune ignorant and title memory impaired to begin with, it's hard to write about songs without first doing a little fresher upper (on the internet.) So I did. My point was ... what a tragedy that so many good 'ol songs have become common ho's these days. I think the last straw might have been The Weight by The Band. You know: I pulled in to Nazareth, was feeling 'bout half past dead being USED by Cingular Wireless. This was a song most everyone liked and no one understood, which was JUST FINE. The kind of song that you linger a moment in the car for, that you nod to someone else over, that seems ten times better when you're variously impaired during. And now Cingular owns it. Friends, The Weight works, somehow; Cingular does not work, nohow. The research was done because I never did know the name of that song or who performed it. I had to check two sites because I didn't believe it was really The Weight by The Band. As you might have guessed, between the car radio and the Safeway, Mike and I had an outing today, in the fog. It was thick enough that I slowed down from 35 to 30 in the 35-zone because it would not have been possible to react and stop in 51 feet had it been necessary. At the same time, a 747 took off and roared over my head. I dunno, it just struck me odd, comparing my caution at 30 mph in my SUV, what, 2200 pounds or so, with the pilot of that million pound aircraft who had to hit about 175 mph to get off the ground and couldn't possibly have seen anything but white. Might as well have done it with his eyes closed. There are two elderly baggers at the Safeway. One is an alcoholic, I'm fairly sure, or else she is extremely rheumy. The other one, I am not exaggerating, is over eighty years old and about four-foot-six. So, today, she bags our stuff and looks up at my giantness and Mike's obvious strength and agility, and says, "Want some help out with that?" One of these weeks, I'm going to accept her offer and let her push the cart out just for the sheer madness of it.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
As promised. No, this won't be scholarly (as if) or long (attention span,) but it is time for us to take a moment to talk about Social Security. I wonder if people today realize just what a momentous thing Social Security was in its day. Most Americans had Nothing at that time, and nagging, hopeless fear was life. Our economy had already caused families to fragment, so there were millions of aging people looking to a time when they could no longer work and did not live with their children. The government stepped in, as it should when there is a society-wide change which requires a society-wide intervention. Social Security was virtually magic. Trouble is, there is no such thing as magic. In 1940, the average benefit was $22.71 a month. Twenty-two bucks a month, and that was enough to stay warm and not starve! In 2004, the average person received $895.00 a month. That is still enough to stay warm and not starve, but barely. We expect a bit more than that sixty-five years later. When you hear Ted Kennedy sound off, keep a perspective. There were sensible people in 1940 who KNEW that (1) birthrates would decline, (2) average life expectancy would rise (it was 60 in 1940 with a retirement age of 65,) (3) retiree/worker ratio would fall, etc. It was not a perpetual motion machine. If you do a little interpolation, you can scare yourself. 1940-2004 --> 2004-2064 calculates out, with a 1:2 ratio, where the average benefit is $35,710 a MONTH, and the average employee pays $17,635 a MONTH in FICA to support it. If the percentage taken for FICA remains at 7.65%, you will have to make $230,529 a MONTH. See, none of it can possibly add up. I've cooled a bit on President Bush's partial privatization plan. Having the courage to tackle Social Security is commendable, but it's only half the courage needed. The other half is sacrifice, something we Americans are always eager to do, except when it comes to money. The main problem with PP, in addition to those already mentioned, is that people who subscribe are going to be fighting mad when they realize that their regular benefits will be reduced to pay, in effect, for full benefits for the slackers who don't opt for the partial investment option. The only sensible solution is higher taxes god, did he actually say that? and lower benefits. The annual COLA has to be reduced, as I've said before, at least by the amount that it itself contributes to inflation, the FICA rate has to be increased gradually, and the cap on taxable earnings must be removed. At some point, we will have to expect people to work until age 70 if they're going to live and enjoy good health until 90, on average, so the full retirement age has to continue to rise with life expectancies. Finally, the reason old people want and love grandchildren isn't entirely sweet. Yes, they're cuddly and fun to spoil (up to about 8 when you can have them back!) but they are also the nest egg for later on. So, much as I hate to say it, y'all better start having more kids.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Mr. Fong. Thinking about Hawaii. No, it isn't so much reminiscing as being stuck for material. Hawaii was the longest time spent in the strangest place away from any life I knew. My old friend B always has a joke or two whenever he calls, by way of Leon, his barber, the Dane. There are people from all over the world in Hawaii who have found little niches and stayed there, forever. Then there's Mr. Kim, from Korea. Okay, there are several Mr. Kim's from Korea. Often I'll ask B, Jeez, is he still alive? Most of the expat fixtures spend no time at all enjoying the things special to Hawaii - surfing, snorkeling, hiking to inspect rare flora. They just soak it up generally, especially the sun. Leatherfaces. The thing is, once you get a fine tropical tan, you can never let yourself get white again. What remains under the leathering is frightening to behold. As long as people keep the crust on, they seem not to get skin cancer. Besides, if they ever did you couldn't tell. That's the expats from the west; the ones from Asia work. And work. And do very, very well, though you would never know it. One of the jobs of the junior haole bosses was to roam the property and pop in on people. For me, it was boring unless I ran across the Hawaiian security chief and could spend an hour drinking coffee and listening to crime stories. Popping in on the Chinese Chef was odd. He always acted like I'd just caught him boinking a waitress. Many of the very old time Asian employees were "entrepreneurs" as well, a situation the Big Boss nurtured. I would like to tell about how all of that worked, but didn't ask, didn't know and didn't want to. Good grief. Even I'm bored with this piece tonight. I know, me too; it's the weekend, though. Yeah, no one will come here. Anyway it's probably better than what I was planning to write on. What was that? Social Security: An Analysis, 1940-2004. Indeed.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Electricity night. The dynamic duo, that would be Mike and me, decided to do some electrical work. I can't get down behind furniture and stand on my head very readily, screwing left-handed. He doesn't see too well. However, between the two of us we frequently manage to get work done. Electricity demands extra care and preplanning, what with my having previously been electrocuted and all. I even read labels, including the ones from China. The Chinese have definitely heard of lawyers. So, what are you supposed to do when the extension cord, that wonderful extension cord with the click switch and three outlets spaced along its length, says it is only to be used for Holiday periods not exceeding ninety days? Am I supposed to believe this cord knows what time of year it is and perceives the passage of time? The question did give me enough pause to go to the Internet where I quickly found myself in an Electrical Inspectors' forum. That's where they go and complain about the goofy things people do with electricity and how inept government regulations are in controlling them. There is a forum for everything. I read and read but could not find the reason why the PTB even allow the continued manufacture of power strips, AKA surge protectors (sometimes,) and extension cords when they should never be used on a permanent basis. Permanent? I'm taking that to mean so long as there is life on earth, in which case my use is well within limits. I believe what they mean is that you may plug in a power strip to add an outlet long enough, say, to brew a cup up coffee, while watching it with a fire extinguisher in hand. Seriously, somewhere in between is supposedly all right. But they don't say where. You know why? Because they don't know. What they do know is that the things catch fire and burn houses down sometime between the day they are first plugged in and thirty or forty years later. If the people are poor. That settled, we moved on to install the 2:3. Now there is the wink-wink product of the century if there ever was one. You unplug the screw in the wall plate, install the whatever-it's-called, put the screw back in, thus insuring your safety from ... something having to do with ground. While we were working on the first one, I wondered aloud about how many people probably have their grip slip and jam the screwdriver into the power hole and fry themselves. He felt that it likely happened quite often. I let him do the second one, since my head was pretty woozy from screwing upside down, but I stood ready to yank him off the socket should he ... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzttttt. Tomorrow, I think we'll do laundry. That's only 20-30 gallons of sloshing water and 220v.
Auntie frequently gets me thinking. Bookstores. Commercial/public establishments in general. I've yet to meet anyone who enjoys a chain bookstore, Oh, I love it! All the pink and blue and 500 copies of the livre de la semaine. And so clean. and very few who bought something in one to read themselves. Same goes for restaurants and civic centers. To my (addmittedly a bit conservative) eye, very little has been built in the past century or so which has any of the character, warmth and comfort of the most average structure pre-1900. Restaurants, especially luncheon places, notice how they compare: Restaurant A: old. noisy. vinyl table covering. ancient waitresses. cooks. hearty food. lots of cholesterol. decor from thrift shop or destined for thrift shop. pay at cash register. tip in coins. Restaurant B. airy. ferny. cool chirpy waithelp. exotic weed and mysterious fruit garnish. chef. place cash or plastic unobtrusively in leatherette. where's the beef?! Guess which one is packed at lunchtime and guess which type they keep building more of. I don't get it. Public spaces. Go to any courthouse/city hall in just about any small midwestern town and soak in the oldness and craftmanship. Then go to the Civic Center in a progressive city. More often than not it comes off as an image of hell in a vast open cacophony of angles and soaring with an art centerpiece screaming EXISTENCE IS OVERRATED! And back to bookstores. Seattle has lots of them (no surprise.) The ones people love are like this one. And yet, whenever an old bookstore changes hands, the first thing the new owners do is remodel it: new shelves, better lighting, more pink and blue and tables for 500 copies of the livre de la semaine. At this moment, there is more machinery on my street than I've ever seen. Plus, it is grocery, trash and recycling day. And there's at least one chipper and one chain saw. And the plumber just drove up. And that is why this entry is a mess.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Just a bit about today. The sister-in-law came over for the day. I think she had a hangover, though I would never bring it up. She brought her son to help us with some heavy work. Now, I've always been a bit leery of this kid because he is a mite strange. He seems at present to be in a goth-recovery phase of some kind, though some of his vampire demeanor remains. I shouldn't tease about him because he is a very decent lad and strong as an ox, which is a definite plus. He picked up a 27" television set several times today (we had a little trouble deciding,) including once off the floor! That one made me twinge in the lower regions, but it was nothing for him. A box spring that Mike and I couldn't even slide was also moved down a hall and through several doors effortlessly. He refrained from starting any political discussion, the unspoken pact seeming to be agree-not-to-disagree. He is very young and far left wing, a product of The Hill where no one pays taxes yet. I think he believes I am thoroughly reactionary and too hopelessly out-of-touch to bother with anyway. Which is fine; arguing that stuff with youngsters is exhausting. The inauguration was going on when I got up the first time this morning, and it was still on when I got up the second time after nap. It's a bit hard to tell on the west coast since they replay a lot of things and we pretend it's live. Like the Oscars; it seems odd to watch people in your time zone walking down the red carpet in blazing sunshine when it is definitely dark outside here. Not that I watch the Oscars. Sorry to be so bland tonight. Got nothing on the sister-in-law, what with the hangover and all. I did notice that she works like a pack mule when she doesn't stop to say things.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
The SAT. It's that time of year again. The Washington Post article on the SAT's was timely because I had just awakened from having an essay-question nightmare. Pretty ridiculous, huh, so many years removed from a task like that? Someone else's essay had gotten stapled to my test, and I was unable to convince the teacher of the error. Gosh, I wish I could remember who the teacher was. This image of Nicole Kidman keeps flashing, but I never had her for a class. This year, the SAT features an essay portion. So, for the first time, there won't be a statistical certainly that x% of the students will sport 1600's. Thousands of teachers are being trained to grade the essays on a scale from 0 to 6, a zero being a blank sheet of paper and six a piece of work which is imaginative, creative and skillful without being formulaic, pedantic or overly grammatical. I think they feel more comfortable seeing a few split infinitives as an indication the student is not excessively anal. "Holistic scoring" is a euphemism for scanning while yawning. This won't be poetry night. Some poor kid's 25 minutes of terror and sweat will get about 25 seconds of scrutiny. I can see two ways of approaching this test. Either you go in with a writing plan that you will stick to regardless of the topic, and risk pedantry creeping in and being caught - or else approach it cold and take the chance of the dreaded blank sheet zero. Either way, some variation of from the perspective of a latina lesbian from a poor but proud broken and abusive home should get in there.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Dude, it's biblical. The Snoqualmie, Black, Cowlitz, Tolt, Stillaguamish, White, Skykomish, Skokomish, Snohomish, Skagit, Satsop, Nooksack, Green, Puyallup, Skookumchuck, Bogachiel, Deschutes and Carbon Rivers are flooded. Trickle Creek isn't, yet. Are there really that many rivers? Surely most of them must be glorified cricks. No, they're real, raging torrents, all of them. Each year, new people move here and find ridiculously inexpensive property in our lovely valleys (lakes) and on our hillsides (islands.) After it's all over, and it does end, there is generally a run on U-Hauls, and some ridiculously inexpensive property comes on the market again. When you've been around for a long time, and I have, you take your prognostication partially from Channel 5, partially from your aches and sinus, but mostly from umpteen years of doing this before, and my prediction is that this season will be a real doozie. It's only the second day and already the salmon are in the street and the single-wides are in the fields. Forlorn cows are standing on the high spots, such as they are, looking bewildered. True, cows often look bewildered, but this look has the extra urgency of knowing what's going to happen. Most Seattleites don't carry umbrellas. Oh, we have them, thirteen per capita, but all thirteen are either at home or at work. For some reason, no one ever has an umbrella in their car, because we are a relentlessly confident people, confident that we will find a parking space right by the door. When you live on a hill, as I do, and you have water in the basement and an upstairs bathroom, then you know it's a good one. After all, water doesn't accumulate on a hillside, does it? I don't think the bathroom mini-flood is actually coming from outside. The pipes are just joining in the spirit of the occasion. Then there's mudslides. Californians know about these, but we should be more akamai since we have them every year. Note to prospective homebuyers: Avoid neighborhoods and addresses with BLUFF in the name. Californians (and some others) are always getting trapped in their cars in raging water. We don't do that, having learned long ago that cars will float. That's my ode to the flode, such as it is. I have to warn readers that the topic may be revisited in the coming days because, after all, it's gonna be a doozie.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Return of the sour note. They held a celebrity telethon for the tsunami victims. I hate telethons, but not because they're revoltingly maudlin. It's the entire idea: A terrible thing happens, and people will open up their hearts and donate to the victims, but only if you amuse them first. And the talents "giving of their valuable time?" Depends if they have a project coming along which needs some exposure. Valuable time? That would be 20-30 days work a year at $100,000 a day. I didn't watch it. I didn't watch the Golden Globes either, partly because I knew Leonardo of Caprio was going to win for The Aviator but mainly ... well, I shouldn't have to explain why at this point. The paper reported that Leo put in an appeal for tsunami relief. Good for him! It would have had more impact if he had managed to get by on only $50 million for the movie and donated the other $10M, or $1M, or maybe a thousand bucks. Still, they had a bit of his valuable time. No, the spaghetti on my new T-shirt isn't entirely responsible for this. I won't be completely over the subject until The Aviator goes into the dustbin of history.
Funny, sort of. That's what he might say, the comedian this blog discovered. No, we didn't discover him absolutely, just in this space. He's wry. He does use the F-word, but only about once in a routine. This shows that he isn't a goody-goody despite the general cleanliness of his routine, yet it illustrates that he doesn't need bad words to be funny. Wry humor is like that. What is also intriguing is that fairly sophisticated people "get" and enjoy his material right along with stoner snow boarders. Maybe the country needs some of that about now. Oh, yeah ... his name is Demetri Martin. Check him out on cable or some supermarket opening.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Don't shop when you're hungry. That is an old houseperson's caution, and it applies to more than food. It was food that tripped me up tonight, however. I went onto Albertson's to add one item for this week before I forgot and just happened to wander over to the Stouffers aisle to see if they had put on any new dinners. Aha, and yuuuum, some new Lean Cuisine Spa Classics. Spa must mean low carbs, but that's okay; I'll add all kinds of carbs on the side. They had one, a salmon dish, that I KNOW we will never eat. The right night for it will never come, and it will gradually get shoved farther and farther back into the freezer and go through several power outages until we don't remember how long it has been in there, and out it will go. Yet, I bought it anyway, 'cause I'm HUNGRY; I mean yawning emptiness hungry. What is it, midnight? People should be in bed by now so they don't go crazy and eat again, which I am about to do. I also bought some plastic garment bags at another site. And a yo-yo.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Chomping at the bits. That isn't the proper expression, as typed into a forum by some furriner, but what is? Is it chomping or champing? According to Google, 78,300 say "chomp," and 30,300 vote "champ." Guess the chomps have it, and I'm in the minority as usual. Me and Peter Langston.
From around the world. In a poll of Ukkers, "Nearly three-quarters of Britons believe Prince Harry was wrong to wear a Nazi costume to a fancy dress party, a newspaper poll revealed tonight." Nearly three-quarters. I suppose that's pretty damning, though it's a bit worrisome to consider what the other quarter thought about it. Then again, their polls might be like ours where anywhere from 8-15% of respondents can't answer if it's night or day. The Times of India took a shot. I always like reading the Times with their clipped and fussy style, and lotsa commas, more than me even. Locally, the PTB have decided to go with plan 4A and replace our waterfront viaduct, the one I told you about that might fall down during the Big One which is expected sometime between tomorrow and 250,000 years from now. It will take 7-9 years and cost $4-7 billion. (That means twenty-five years and $29 billion. Hey, we can out-screwup Boston any day of the week!) During that time, we will be without six lanes of freeway in the only corridor between here and there. NOT TO WORRY. They anticipated our concerns and accompanied the news release with a Plan. The traffic lights will be adjusted downtown and people will be encouraged to take mass transit. Given the completely self-absorbed way which the average person looks at things, it worked. This is great. Everyone else will take the bus, and I can sail right through downtown at rush hour with green lights as far as the eye can see. Not to be outdone in the absurdity department, the Gates Foundation purchased probably the most prime piece of land in downtown Seattle on which to build their new 300,000-600,000 square-foot headquarters building. That's almost 14 acres of office space devoted entirely to the administration of giving away money. The city got $50.4 million for the land which had been used for a bus barn and skateboard park. These two operations will be relocated to the Ravenna district in a neighborhood which presently houses only a daycare, needle-exchange clinic, elementary school, halfway house for sex-offenders, a cemetery, one church, and an adult movie theater. Our State Supreme Court ruled recently that all previous convictions for Homicide must be set aside if the victim died as a result of an assault. Unless the murder was premeditated, it's manslaughter, and they go free with time-served if the jurisdiction decides not to re-try. So far, they're haven't, and on average one killer a day has been skipping out the prison gates. Furthermore, for some reason they started with the child-killers, even the ones who appplied multiple cigarette burns over the brief lifetime of their victims. What follows every day is a pair of dueling press conferences, one tearful and the other celebratory, with the rest of us yelling at our television sets. I'm still sunny though.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Clash of the Titans. That's the Sister-in-law vs Sears. This should be good. Her sewing machine is twenty-six years old, and it had a twenty-five year warranty. She is convinced it was engineered that way. Sears, on the other hand, hasn't delivered an instance of "Service" in the one hundred and thirteen years of its existence, and it isn't about to start now. As for me, today marks the end of my victimhood. For the time being. I found the damned thing; somebody put it on a lower shelf of the telephone table in the downstairs hall. It beeped in all directions from there. Interestingly, and maddeningly, the device was on a direct line and about thirteen feet away from my trying-to-sleep head. I don't know if the dryer is working or not, and I don't care. I hung my new yellow T-shirt up in the bathroom and, thanks to our 1° humidity due to the fact that all Seattle's usual rain is havocking elsewhere, it dried in no time and I am now completely sunny in disposition and appearance. We'll see how long an old man can wear the same T-shirt.
It continues. The five ten-year lithium battery smoke alarms that I just bought online should see me through. After that, if I'm still here, I should be deaf anyway. I cannot find the running-down smoke alarm. This seems ridiculous, I know, but it's true. Last night at bedtime, I prepared in the usual way: turned on the three white noise machines, put on my hooded sweatshirt with a Polartec scarf over the top of my head and snuggled down under lots of blankets. To the routine I added a pillow against the crack under the door and cotton in my ears. I could still hear it. This morning, I felt a very ominous lump just under my right ribcage. Oh, god! An aneurysm. It was one of the cotton balls. So, another day begins, with a BEEP coming from every direction about twice a minute. Who's going to tell the Queen? went the whispers at Buckingham Palace. I was thinking that maybe they should assign someone to hang out with Prince Harry to make alternate suggestions when he gets ideas. It turns out they already have - he has TEN minders. Not very good ones. At least one of them must have been along when he went shopping for a NAZI UNIFORM. This comment may or may not belong in an offensive category, I don't know if they're covered, but, he is a redhead, you know. If he hadn't had the good (?) fortune to be born a prince, he just would be a normal English hooligan. Sister-in-law reports that her sewing machine is broken. It's a Kenmore, which means dealing with Sears. It continues.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Of course not. Who takes cell phone insurance? ALL I ever wanted back when this disconjunction began was to wear my new yellow T-shirt because yellow makes me look sunny, and people like me. That was three days ago. The well-organized trip out to the laundry room was stopped short by, well, you heard about all of that. This morning, I headed out there again or was just about to when the new cell phone fell off the counter. It was just shy of one day old. Knowing, as you do, more about my life's mishaps that you probably need to, you don't have to hear the episode related. You mean that none of that vast quantity of information which the previous Service Associate spent so much typing came over to you? Name?!" I have to send the broken one back before they will send me a new one. But, it's our only phone since the land-line broke, I lied. SIOP. How 'bout if I just PAY for the danged thing (only $9.95)? SIOP. Do the PTB really think that some frail, old man would try ..., I lied. SIOP. Name?! So, don't try calling me. At this moment, brother is typing words into his new translator and listening to them in scratchy Russian. He is doing this about eleven feet from me instead of in some far reach of the house behind six or eight doors. At the same time, a smoke detector battery, one of eight, is running down somewhere. The faulty one will be the eighth one I test when I finally head out with my ladder to find it. When I was twenty, I could pull a smoke detector off the ceiling while standing on my toes. Dang. This would have all been fine, just the daily grind of a houseperson, except I forgot to comb my hair this morning and got all the way up here before realizing it. That shouldn't make any difference, one might say. That's true, if one is mentally balanced. Note to self: bring a comb upstairs. This may be the beginning. Dear, sweet brother, recognizing the level of agitation in the air, just brought me my new yellow T-shirt from the dryer. It is wetter than when it went in. Tomorrow, the dryer, then I'm checking myself in. Where? Anyplace that will take me.
The Universe is out of alignment today. That's all I can say about it at this time. More later, perhaps, assuming anything is still working by then. By the way, take a look at this map. Note the donut hole of absent Wal Mart stores within the Emerald City. This is no accident.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Final plumbing entry. If my home is anything like most of the other homes in America, and there is every reason to imagine that it is, then there must be millions of White Van Men. All day long they are delivering and fixing, and explaining things to people who cannot possibly understand. Most of the people in the homes are women, I figure, or unhandy men like me. I say unhandy because I freely admit to it; most men won't and thus, like my other brother, have houses which are about to explode. Richie is back this morning, that's his name, Richie. He's sort of an elfish bodybuilder, if you can picture that, and is full of enthusiasm. I detected a slight glint of the herb in his eye (we can spot it, y'know,) which might account for his being able to remain jolly and upbeat all day while working in crap. He's outside now, happily digging holes. Funny, the WVM come here All The Time, yet you never hear of anyone visiting the old ladies who get found, you know, like long after, with the cats? Wonder why. You have a credit card. Oh.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
The plumbing was not just a dodge. Honest, I wasn't trying to get out of wrapping up a lame train of thought that wasn't going anywhere. Anyway, Gary was the first Chinese-American governor to give a final state-of-the state message today. It was reportedly an emotional and good one, perhaps the best and most emotional farewell speech ever given by a Chinese-American governor, at least that's what they said on the news, and it contained a lot about what it was like growing up in Washington, Chinese. Only half the people were there because the R's failed to show up, as they were in a snit. Our new governor isn't the first female one, but she sort of counts that way since no one cared for our first one. Dixie liked nuclear energy, and she also had the misfortune of a Volcano tearing up her state. The new one is the former attorney general who chucked away all the money but accepted full responsibility. She didn't have to pay it back though. Today was an ordeal but not only only because the plumber was chatty, happy and friendly, a demeanor you can't always take. You know that gigantic dirty machine they bring in your house to root to the ocean? Well, you'd think someone would make one which can fit inside the average bathroom, especially if that particular hardly-ever-used bathroom is through two doors which would be juuuuust wide to get to if we moved (1) 1 scanner and table, (2) 1 turntable** and cabinet, (3) 1 folding table with tools and toys on it three feet high, (4) 1 six-shelf bookcase with two more shelves on top of it, and (5) 1 four-drawer filing cabinet forty-years full - to get into the hall onto which opens those doors. Turned out, thank god, it wasn't even the right bathroom, or any bathroom for that matter. Root ball. Or so the television they sent down the pipe illustrated in living color. No, I don't have any idea what this is going cost. They're coming back tomorrow. While they were here (he called for reinforcements, so we had a two-trucker,) the UPS man came by and took a few minutes to get a free consult on Drano vs. Plumber's Helper. I observed this and couldn't help noticing that all the people who come to your house seem to have the body english of some secret club, like they know something you don't. Well, aside from the fact that homeowners are complete morons. ** Turntable: A device for playing records. See records; 45's; 78's; 33.3333..'s.
The Governor of King County. That's what the protest signs say, the ones being carried by the R's. There are messages: FRAUD! CHEAT! LET EVERY VOTE COUNT! What they don't know is that the sign companies just picked up the old signs carried by the D's when they were behind, at one point by ten votes out of a couple million cast, and painted over the red with blue. Or was it the other way round? Anyway, same message: FRAUD! CHEAT! LET EVERY VOTE COUNT! This is completely true from me - I don't care which one becomes governor. Didn't care that much at first and certainly not now. Our outgoing governor is Chinese-American. You might not have known that. He was our first Chinese-American governor, and Mona Lee Locke was our first Chinese-American state first lady. Also, the children they had while living in the mansion, all eight of them, were the first Chinese-American children born in the governor's mansion. Gary Locke was the first Chinese-American governor to go to China, sixty-one times. And then Nutz. Plumber's here. Happy New Year.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Recycle. Caption under a photograph in the Washington University (St. Louis) student paper: A student recycles a plastic bottle in one of the many co-mingle recycling bins on campus on Oct. 27, 2004, 3:17PM. The story went on to say that the campus recycling program works really well in the summertime but falls apart when the students come back. Gee, that seems odd; you wouldn't think 27,000 walking-around-eating-and drinking students would have that much of an effect. This has me scared to death. A few weeks ago, a loud truck went up and down our street, depositing a clean blue toter at every single house, except ours. Was everyone recycling but me? Possible, this is Seattle. I waited awhile, then called Trashco. No, it seems, we were just missed. They would send a new co-mingling toter out to us this week. I've been studying up. It's weird about the plastic, anathema to Trashco despite a rigorously scientific labeling system on every piece of it in existence. Okay, no plastic. Apparently, slippery paper and magazines are welcome. That's a relief. So many rules, and I still have a nagging doubt that they can handle paper, cans, glass and newspapers all "co-mingled" (sounds a bit lurid, doesn't it, kind of like "hooking up") which I take to mean dumped in like ... trash. Ah well, four days to get ready, then wait and see what happens.
Remembering the sick. Since it isn't possible right now to take leek soup to ailing friends, a virtual get-well will have to do. That's why tonight's thoughts will be only peripherally about death. Lately, there has been a great deal of focus on retarding the aging process. There are even some higher number cable channels and several mainstream programs devoted entirely to it. So, here's a message to those people: it doesn't work. You do look "different" all right, but still old. Have you ever stood behind someone in line? You can tell by the hair if they're young, middle-aged or old. It is quite easy to tell how old hair is, regardless of what has been done to it. Ditto with faces and bodies. I'm sorry, but botoxers look botoxed. I saw Robert Stack up close one time. Fine-looking gentleman, good posture and bearing, some excellent work done too, but old. Who's Robert Stack? See how easy it is to tell you're not old? Okay, so, who's Usher? Uhhh.. Germany is a bit agitated about our missile defense plans. They have agreed in principle to accept the possibility of minor casualties, a few dead cows and such, if one of our missiles intercepts an ICBM headed toward the U.S. and drops debris on their land. That is, IF we give them the opportunity for input to the systems development. Sorry, Hans. If we share it with you, you'll just tell the Russkies. I recommend that should some wreckage land on your turf, you take it up with the folks who shot it off in the first place. Have you ever woken up with someone you didn't know? You don't have to answer that and I won't either. It is, however, an intriguing idea in this age of being ascared of everything.
From beautiful downtown Bishkek. It's all right to admit it: you don't know where Bishkek is. Neither did I. Most eighth-graders do, or they're supposed to. We didn't have to know that, of course; eighth-grade is getting tough in this new world. To end the suspense, Bishkek is the capital of Kyrgyzstan. (That's the smallish one nearest to China.) I think it may have the distinction of being the greatest distance from, and requiring the crossing of the most countries to reach, any coast. But, it's next to China, and that is the real reason we're building an Air Base there, not too far from the Hyatt Regency. There's a Hyatt Regency Bishkek? Indeed. I've got to get more in touch. It just dawned on me suddenly this morning. We're encircling China, same way we did the Soviet Union. Oh, it's a good idea all right in the sense of our devotion always to fight the last war effectively, but it's pretty silly when you take the long view. China will rule, and people who plan to live for quite some time should probably learn to speak Chinese. China already has a GDP in the six-trillion dollar range, but no one really knows since their currency is artifically pegged to the dollar. They passed Britain, Germany, France and Japan like a speeding locomotive. Should we worry about all of this? Naw. They're bellicose, but sensible. So long as we send money, we're okay. So keep shopping WalMart.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Mind entertainment. Earlier today, I was amusing myself by translating phrases containing the word "donkey" into French and back again via the compter translator. That's pretty much all there is to do on New Year's Day when the Rose Bowl makes no sense at all. Yes, friends, that is the sum of what I've been able to accomplish, pull a few lines from a previous mediocre effort which had been relegated to draft/delete. Earlier this evening, just before the top of my head blew off, I had written a perfectly acceptable entry about .... something ... and then it vanished. Possibly, I hit control-Vanish. Just wanted to let y'all know I was thinking about y'all.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Chatting with Rick. For no particular reason, I thought it might be time to bring the blog up to date on recent events hereabouts. Heck, other people do it. I've no breakups, rants or recipes to share, however. Sister-in-law did come over to spend the day, attracted, no doubt, by my report on the exploding closet. She wasn't in here five minutes before she had the measuring tape out. I was content simply to throw out half the stuff and hang the rest of it back up (temporarily, of course) on the shelf above where the rod was. She will give that project her full attention and spare no effort until she has it replaced. It drives her nuts that the phones quit working and I just had the telco forward the numbers to the cell phone (temporarily, of course,) and a few other things of a similar nature. All these jobs will get done - we just have different senses of time and urgency. In the two weeks since she was here last, she got fat. I mean noticeably fat. All the holiday goodies. It's hard to imagine something like that could happen so quickly. Yes, I brought it up, in a most gentlemanly fashion, of course. By the way, take a look at the jackets-and-coats closet in your house some time. Amazing. Those things never get thrown away. Oh sure, someone might wear that one, it was noted three generations ago. Let's keep it for the fabric then. Who's gonna sew all this fabric, anyway? I may open up a fabric shop. Not to forget brother - I served beans last night. We weren't expecting company then. There was an entree and some other items, but the Feature was Beans. Ummm, lovely and so-healthy beans. So, this afternoon, I had to take him aside for a moment, You don't have to say 'Excuse me' for the ones which are undetectable. Oh .... okay.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Somewhat of a sour note. One of two things is happening: either they are doing nothing and have somehow been immobilized by some kind of unfathomable inertia, or they have been active and effective and are receiving no publicity at all. They comprise: Regular army personnel strength is 190,000 with approximately 80,000 conscripts organized in: 4 Regional Army HQ 2 Corps HQ 3 armored infantry divisions 3 mechanized infantry divisions 1 light infantry division 2 cavalry (armored) divisions 1 special forces divisions 1 artillery division 1 air defense artillery division (6 � ADA battalions) 4 development divisions. In addition to these major formations, there are several independent units: 19 engineer battalions; 1 independent cavalry regiment; 8 independent infantry battalions; reconnaissance companies; 1 air cavalry regiment with 3 air mobile companies. There are 3 reserve infantry division HQs. There are approximately 200,000 reservists who have completed two years of national service and remain subject to recall until aged 55.The Royal Thai Army, that is. They also have a substantial navy and air force and many, many helicopters. On a per capita basis, the same numbers apply in Sri Lanka, India and Indonesia. So, what gives? Why are we seeing lonely U.S. Navy helicopters showing up to deliver relief to a few hundred linear feet at a time.? I hate always to be such a stinker, but it seems that what we are experiencing here is the greatest outpouring of caring in human history, without having to touch or smell anything, of course. Within a mile or so of the coast in each of the countries affected, there is no evidence of disaster at all. Life goes on. This presents an odd contrast to the actual scope of the tragedy which covers thousands of miles. History may record this event as the greatest of everything since the dawn of civilization. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the stupid. Some kid is mailing a bottle of Evian, and his mom makes sure he gets on television. A sleek woman was back in her chair, sunning, as soon as the waves subsided. Children are being sold. Somebody called us cheap, so we .... well, you know. Countries don't like to be seen as cheap, so there is an actual War of Giving now. I'm saddened, but disgusted. And no, I don't know what to do about it either except throw money.
Monday, January 03, 2005
The Storage Strikes Back. It was the middle of night, 4:13am to be exact since my eyes popped open to those glowing red digital numbers. Something had clunked in a closet, very loudly, though I couldn't tell which one over the humm-buzz-waterfall of my white-noisers. Was it ominous enough to get up for? Not sure, I cycled through the options. If it was a burglar, did I really want to get into a brawl to the death right now? No. I'll go back to sleep - it'll keep. Damn. Pee. Make what is already a longish boring story short ... the two-inch thick rod in the hall closet had snapped (has that ever happened?) and all the hanging things had spilled out due to the door having been left ajar. That was just too much for 4:14am, so I stepped over it, peed, and went back to bed. I know. This is more than you need to know about my night. This weekend they held the Polar Bear Dip. Just another example of Seattle trying to do something that everyone else does. Thing is, #1, we don't have the bodies for it, at least to be seen on television and, #2, the water is just as cold in July as it is on New Year's day. Still, about fifty incredibly white fat bodies took the plunge, shrieked, and then got inteviewed. How was it? Cold!! Really?
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Notice. Although this would ordinarily be a day and time positive for a writing attempt, the fact that Monty Python has been on in the background all day makes it not a very good idea. There is already quite enough silliness in this place.
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