Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from 2016

Mary's Picker

Over time, I’ve come to love my Mary with all my heart. I’ve also learned to become protective of her, because the lord knows she has the worst picker I’ve ever seen. It’s like she’s disabled but doesn’t know she’s qualified for a placard. This assumes that there is such a thing as a picker, and that it’s on your person somewhere, always hiding and waiting to make a decision. People decide to go to church based on less information than the average picker I’m talking about, so let’s just put the possibility that the picker exists on that level – God, picker – maybe? Really, who’s to say? (I’m not talking “American Picker,” an excellent show on cable TV that plays five times a day. They seem to have a generally good picker, though some of their choices seem overpriced to me.) I’ll point out right here and now the obvious – she picked me. But just as a tax cheat is what you need to put in charge of finding tax cheats, (or running the country), I’m exactly the kind of man

False weather reports

False weather reports It seems that false news is the talk of the day, and methods to fix it are all the rage. I am not totally sure, but the truth to be found in social constructs such as politics or hair care are, for the most part, going to depend on what you think the answer is before the truth is told. But I could give a crap about truth, and if it’s not dull, I say, ‘good on you mate’. My concern is false weather reports. I live in south San Jose, a fine bedroom community for less productive members of the tech community. We are in a rain shadow both evidently and chronically but are lumped into local weather reports that are always wrong. They (the weather reports) deny being wrong, which really is the worst part, since they knowingly exaggerate their reports to the worse possibility to excite the sheep listening to them for money. Reality doesn’t sell anything, so they tease and push to the worst in us in order to beef up their ratings – ratings they then use to sell mor

Why I did not vote for Hillary Clinton for President

I heard a dog barking every night for a week. I couldn't sleep. I decided to confront the dogs owner about the noise. I walked to Hillary’s home. It was surrounded by a high fence, so I rang her security people to let me in. As I stood on the porch I heard lots of talking coming from inside the main house. Heavy curtains kept me from seeing anyone. After a long bit of waiting the door edged open and Hillary stepped out to meet me. The door then sprung closed firmly behind her. She did not invite me inside. There was no seating on the porch. We didn't have drinks. We stood and talked. I gave her my complaint, and then suggested some possible remedies. She smiled, thanked me and, cracking open the front door, disappeared into the house. I heard talking as I walk away. I didn't recognize any of the voices. A week later, I met her on the street. She smiled, walked past me quickly and disappeared. --> The fucking dog is s

Homer's flying spider pig

I had a fat dream about this poem last night, probably from the stout Cortez reference. I might have heard it while vaguely dozing with the TV turned on one of my nightly pre-bedtime comedy shows (teeheehee). It was a jelly belly of a dream in which I awoke from a thousand years of slumberous ‘nothing is new’ sleep and, after being one of the first white guys to cross the Atlantic, (and then after climbing – sweaty in heavy armor, to the top of a mountain), only to find myself staring at another fucking ocean. It vexed me to no good end; it made me want to disengage my very tap root from all moorings. A wild surmise not first filled with wonder. It must have been like seeing Andy Kaufman for the first time, and then finding out he really did have a charter bus waiting for you (for a trip to milk and cookie land) -- when all you really wanted was to go home and sleep. Or, like seeing Jesus from my grave when the lights go off.   “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer”