October 1, 2018

It’s not every day (or actually, year) that you get the remnants of a Pacific hurricane making a beeline towards the Valley of the Sun, but it looks like that’s going to be the case with Hurricane Rosa. Yesterday morning, thin clouds could be seen towards the southwest and by afternoon they started looking like a true storm system. We got 1/4″ of rain last night but the big rains are still a ways off. They’re saying we could get anywhere from one to three inches of rain overnight through later tomorrow, so we’ll have to see. There are Flash Flood watches up everywhere, but our little subdivision isn’t prone to anything like that.

What was quite welcome along with the clouds of Rosa was a lovely afternoon to do some yardwork – the temperatures were in the low 90s, so I did all the kinds of things in preparation for the coming of Arizona winter: trimmed some bushes, backwashed the pool, took what is probably the last swim in the pool for the year (82 wasn’t chilly but it wasn’t warm either!!), and switched all of my irrigation stations to winter settings. The queen palms have had their winter feeding, and they’ll shortly go into dormant stage until next April.

No matter how much rain we get out of Rosa no one around here will be complaining – anything we can do to help the Colorado River basin will not only help Arizona out, but our neighbors in Mexico, Nevada, and California as well!

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September 25, 2018

Took this pic late Sunday afternoon after rearranging the faux flowers bent all to hell by the summer dust storms and added a couple of “dead” leaves on the table to give it a fall kind of feel with the late afternoon sun on the palm trees in back. Nice, huh? BTW, that’s a half-finished Hemingway daiquiri providing the mood – it’s my go-to drink of late.

Since I posted that recipe seven years ago I’ve tweaked the ingredients some, primarily because Oronoco rum is no longer manufactured and my replacement rum of choice, Olo silver seems a tad sweeter than the Oronoco was. Or perhaps I just like my Hemingways a little on the tart side:

1 1/2 oz. Olo silver Rum
1/2 oz. Luxardo Maraschino Liqueur
1 oz. grapefruit juice
1/2 fresh-squeezed lime juice
1/4 oz. sweet syrup

Chill your martini glass in the freezer for ten minutes so that when poured you get little ice crystals for the first few sips. That’s key. Squeeze a small slice of lime for presentation, then delight in that lovely, unique gold-melon color provided by the grapefruit juice.

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September 24, 2018

Fall arrived in the Valley of the Sun as quiet as a mouse. The temperatures are still in the triple digits, but the heat god is ready to swip the flitch in two weeks and we’ll begin that joyful period known as “Arizona winter”. You can get all the stores and residents are gearing up for the first arrivals of the snowbirds from Canada and the Midwest – with the booming economy folks have more money in their pockets to spend.

Funny how you don’t hear much about that in the mainstream media…

A big congratulations to Tiger Woods for winning the Tour Championship (though not the FedEx Cup, won by Justin Rose). Like him or not, you have to respect the way he has come back from whatever injury he has come back from. (Supposedly he had discs fused together in his back, but I long ago learned to distrust and reject anything Woods’s management team ever announced publicly.) You have to tip your hat to the guy and the way he played this past weekend. Greatest comeback ever? I’m not ready to commit to that. I still believe the guy is a walking time bomb physically, and besides, while winning tournaments at this stage of his life and career has to be rewarding, they aren’t majors. Let’s see what happens 6 1/2 months from now at Augusta.

Now why am I not surprised?

A comprehensive new study on cholesterol, based on results from more than a million patients, could help upend decades of government advice about diet, nutrition, health, prevention, and medication. Just don’t hold your breath.

The study, published in the Expert Review of Clinical Pharmacology, centers on statins, a class of drugs used to lower levels of LDL-C, the so-called “bad” cholesterol, in the human body. According to the study, statins are pointless for most people.

“No evidence exists to prove that having high levels of bad cholesterol causes heart disease, leading physicians have claimed” in the study, reports the Daily Mail. The Express likewise says the new study finds “no evidence that high levels of ‘bad’ cholesterol cause heart disease.”

The study also reports that “heart attack patients were shown to have lower than normal cholesterol levels of LDL-C” and that older people with higher levels of bad cholesterol tend to live longer than those with lower levels.

This is probably news to many in government. But it’s not news to everyone.

Damned straight on that. I’ve been saying all along it’s all in the genes, baby.

My take on the whole David Kavanaugh / sexual abuse thing: unlike those freaking out on the various blogs I frequent, I’m confident Charles Grassley knows what he’s doing. I’m guessing his fellow GOP sens Flake, Murkowski, and Collins are insisting Christine Ford given a legitimate chance to tell her story before they’ll commit to voting in Kavanaugh’s favor. I’m in the same boat with them. Grassley has given her the opportunity on Thursday. If she appears she can tell her story and Kavanaugh can give his. If she doesn’t show, or (what I think will happen) her lawyers ask for another extension, it will be clear by then that they don’t have anything to testify to, and Grassley can then state he gave them every chance possible.

But she’s not going to show, and you know why? Because her lawyers knew that additional women with even shadier stories were going to come forward over the weekend. And because Grassley is going to consider these new women and their stories one step above bullshit – I mean, how obvious is the Democrats’ game plan right now? – they can say that they’re not being respected as victims, etc. etc. etc. and they’ll never get a fair hearing so of course they’ll decline to show.

You might ask yourself why the Democrats would stoop to such a thing, but you have to understand that abortion and the killing of the unborn is at the heart of their religion and the god they worship; therefore, any threat to that religion has to be confronted in any way, manner, shape or form possible. What is happening to Kavanaugh here is nothing more than a 21st century, high-tech lynching. And it is guaranteed to blow up in the Democrats’ faces. Because, in the end, this is all they have.

The European Tour always posts such cool videos. Here you’ve got a few of their stars playing with 1930s equipment.

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September 21, 2018

It was time.

For the past several months, I’d been batting around the idea of cleaning out all the books and artifacts associated with the eight-year stretch (1994-2002) seeking ordination to the priesthood in the Episcopal Church. The books have been just sitting there for the fifteen years (has it really been that long??) we’ve been out here in the Valley of the Sun with all my other, more recent books piling up in cabinets out in the garage. There were also pictures on the wall, palms from Easters long past, crosses, artifacts, linens in every color of the Church Year that once adorned the table I used for my prayer table, and incense and candles. The books, in addition to a half-dozen Bibles, are from those whom I saw (and still consider) as giants in terms of their spirituality and pedigree: St. John of the Cross, St. Teresa of Avila, Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection, Julian of Norwich, Henri Nouwen, Thomas Merton, Michael Ramsey, and Fr. Benedict Groeschel, among others, and all kinds of books on Anglican spirituality and history. All great stuff, my literary companions of whom I drank so deeply those many years ago.

It took nearly two hours to go through everything. Everything I touched seemed to conjure up memories of Massachusetts and our time in Kentucky. Their very covers reminded me of places and experiences from long ago (although, I guess, not that long ago at least in terms of physical time, but in terms of space, absolutely) – retreats I would undertake at the Society of St. John the Evangelist in Cambridge, Massachusetts and at Holy Cross Monastery in West Park, New York, sitting alone in their chapels for hours on end, meditating, praying, and allowing myself to emptied into the Presence of Christ.

In emptying my bookshelves I found it hard to reconcile my sense of calling to he priesthood then and how I look at it now. I still believe the sense of calling was real – and there were plenty of folks who affirmed that calling in a variety of ways – but whether it was to be a parish priest or not, it’s now hard to say. I do know that, had I been ordained, I would have been a damned good priest no matter what I ended up doing, but there comes a time when you have been so been and bruised by the process that perhaps self-preservation sets in and you have to get over it and move on.

It was a time I’ll never forget. I don’t really feel any regrets one way or the other. Things just happen for a reason and you either accept them and move on, or allow yourself to live the rest of your life filled with bitterness and resentment. In some ways, it probably turned out for the best because the Episcopal Church of twenty years ago is now long gone, having long been taken over by feminists and the LGBTQ community. You might not to hear that, but the facts are facts. You look at all the things that today’s Episcopal Church stands for in terms of priorities and mission, and you see the Holy Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit replaced with a new trinity of tolerance, acceptance, and diversity. No wonder the Church is declining in membership, it’s once-great churches that were pillars in the community now mere shadows of what they once were in terms of members. The full-time parish priest is increasingly a thing of the past – as outmoded as Polaroid cameras. And it’s not just the Episcopal Church – you can look at the rolls and see the same thing happening in the Lutheran, Presbyterian, and Methodist churches as well. Someone with my background and theology would have been like a salmon constantly swimming upstream against the tide and times that wait for no man.

So perhaps it’s just as well that things turned out the way they did. At any rate, it’s all good. My new problem is what to do with all the stuff I have. The Bibles I think I can find a home or – there are always organizations looking to distribute Bibles to folks in need across the world. I’ve sent some e-mails out to various seminaries and monasteries but no one seems to want them. I sure don’t want any of this stuff to get thrown in the trash – especially my religious artifacts. I may not need them anymore but they are still precious to me. I’m actually thinking of having a religion/spirituality yard sale and see what kind of luck I’d have. I might be surprised to see what happens.

In a year filled with so many transitions and turning the pages, it just seems natural that it’s time to turn my own page, in a very special and personal way.

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September 20, 2018

I find this story amazing. Maybe the folks at Superstition Springs Golf Club will offer him a consulting gig – with the loss of water having them to redesign holes they could use it!

I’m OK with everyone and their brother investigating the charges against Supreme Court justice nominee Brett Kavanaugh as long as Democrats equally agree to investigate rape charges against Bill Clinton and abuse charges against congressman and Minnesota Attorney General candidate Keith Ellison. I won’t hold my breath…

I’m not optimistic about the Red Sox chances in the post-season. Sure, they could run up the score against the awful American League East, but I’m not sure they’re built for the playoffs. Personally, my money is on the Cleveland Indians and the Houston Astros.

Here’s the optics problem for Democrats:

Grassley has offered Ford a public hearing, a closed-door hearing, and even to send investigators to her to gather evidence if the idea of coming to Washington is uncomfortable. Trump enemies like Jeff Flake and Bob Corker have done everything they could to signal to Ford and her liberal friends that if she shows up on Monday and seems sincere, there’s a good chance they’ll vote to blow Kavanaugh up. Democrats had two farking months to push this accusation and demand an extended hearing, which the calendar easily would have accommodated. Instead they engineered an ambush, after Kavanaugh’s hearing had already concluded, to try to drive him into a ditch before the vote. As of this afternoon, Feinstein still hadn’t given Grassley a complete copy of Ford’s July letter. There are a lot of things about this process that look like a “sham” but Grassley’s hearing isn’t one of them.

You can’t all of a sudden send a letter with nefarious charges against a Supreme Court nominee, then hide behind your lawyer and the very Democrats seeking to torpedo his nomination by refusing to appear at a hearing designed to hear those very same charges. And don’t get me started on the request for a FBI investigation: the FBI wouldn’t touch something that supposedly occurred 35 years ago, under local jurisdiction. Anyone (including Ford’s lawyer) knows this. Hint to Senator Feinstein: if you’re going to sabotage a Republican president’s Supreme Court nominee, try to find someone who at least knows where, when, and how the sexual abuse she claims happened, happened.

In the end, this will be seen as a gamble where the Democrats rolled the dice thinking that the same thing that happened to Roy Moore would work with Kavanaugh. Instead, I guarantee this is all going to backfire on the Democrats, and in a big way. Even casual observers are now going to see this as just another example of Democrats in Washington for what they really are.

…hint to CNN: If this is the best you can do

The Patriots looked awful against the Jacksonville Jaguars this past Sunday, but you don’t learn much from football played in September. Let’s see where everything – and everyone – stands come the first week of December.

Question: is there a dumber U.S. senator than New York’s Kirsten Gillibrand? I don’t think so. Compared to her, Dianne Feinstein is Henry Clay.

…and speaking of dumb, can we all agree that Hillary Clinton should just go away. I read stories like this and can only imagine the nightmare of a life this bitter, old hag is living. Frankly, she deserves it. Politically speaking, she’s the political equivalent of herpes.

Olivia Newton-John did a lot of great songs, but this is my favorite. A truly great and innovative arrangement – something I blogged about, BTW, years ago.

Silly me, I thought liberals were all about tolerance, acceptance and diversity.

Dead senator walking. Come six weeks, she’s toast.

Just evidence that there are dickheads in management everywhere, not just at my company. People like them have no soul, no humanity. They suck. Avoid them at all cost, lest you lose your own soul in the process.

Music to make you cry. Ennio Morricone’s music to Sergio Leone’s “Once Upon A Time In The West” has gotten well-deserved accolades over the years, but no one has sung “Jill’s Theme” as beautifully as Patricia Janeckova did back in 2012. If I have this played at my funeral (whenever that is) it would be one helluva way to go out. It is a true “life song” of mine.

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September 17, 2018

…as in, gone like yesterday. Sure, the temperatures here in the Valley of the Sun are still in the low 100s, but that’s soon gonna change, the sun’s angle is all askew, the shadows showing their length even at the noon hour, regardless of the heat. Most symbolically, I just opened my last Sam Adams Summer Ale of the year. After this it will likely be a mix of Octoberfest and Boston Lagers for a month or two before the Winter Lager starts drifting in.

This has been an unusual summer. Stressful, emotional, lots of sense of endings more so than beginnings (even though there have been a few of them as well). Of course, the whole process of moving my dad to his new retirement community digs has been a focal point, but I sense in my own way, whether it be at work, or the Goodboys, or just life in general, a change in philosophy, a realization that it’s all going away and I need to prepare for my own next phase of life. I’m not sure exactly what that all means, but I feel it coming in its own personal way.

Perhaps it’s just the realization that there is no longer a “place” for me anymore in Massachusetts: after all, my folks’ second bedroom was always a home away from home, a place I could just check into and out of whenever the spirit moved me, knowing I’d be welcomed there with open arms to hang around with my peeps. Now that’s gone. Whenever I go back now I’ll be no different than anyone else traveling back to that part of the country. Sure, I can grab a spot at my dad’s community guesthouse or a nearby hotel, but either way I’ll be paying for it and living there as a stranger. In other words, no more “home away from home”. It’s all gone.

Summer’s gone
Summer’s gone away
Gone away
With yesterday

Old friends have gone
They’ve gone their separate ways
Our dreams hold on
For those who still have more to say

Summer’s gone
Gone like yesterday
The nights grow cold
It’s time to go
I’m thinking maybe I’ll just stay

Summer’s gone
It’s finally sinking in
One day begins
Another ends
I live them all and back again

Summer’s gone
I’m gonna sit and watch the waves
We laugh, we cry
We live then die
And dream about our yesterday

Brian Wilson’s words pretty much sum up my life right now. What is left to say? What is left to do? Everything I’ve known and loved has changed, and not for the better. Whether it be at work this past year, or the past two Goodboys weekends, or my extended family since my mom and my Auntie Marge passed away, there’s just the sense that there’s nothing much left of my past and no point in wondering why or how that is. It’s just the passage of time. I recently – finally! – cleaned out all my religious books and artifacts from the mid-90s to the early 2000s (more on that in a later post). I’m sixty-two years old, five years or less from retirement, and then what? I guess what I’m saying is it might be time to find a new philosophy, outlook, and regimen. A new gig. A new self-identity.

But that all just sounds too complicated right now. For now, it’s good enough to enjoy the last Summer Ale of the year, think about all the things I’ve accomplished in helping my dad out, and try to focus on getting myself and my team disengaged from “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless”. My goal is to be done with those clowns before my trip to Vegas the first weekend of December (when the $hit initially hit the fan last year and my last time there), and then just float my way through a hopefully-uneventful holiday season. Then maybe with the New Year and perhaps a fresh slate, think about what I want to accomplish in 2019. Maybe big changes, maybe not. Who knows, after all, what the future holds?

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September 15, 2018

An unusually hot weekend for this time of year, but there are hopes that the long-term forecast shows us dropping below the century mark in temperatures late next week. Even more interesting is Joe Bastardi over at Weatherbell.com dropping hints about a tropical system potentially affecting us in 2-3 weeks time. We shall see. In the meantime…

I have to say that I am really enjoying the Travis McGee series of novels by John D. MacDonald. What I find myself really enjoying is his retro attitude towards females, before before the women’s lib movement paved the way to all the damned stupid political correctness and LGBTQRSUVWXYZ movement that has turned our culture into an insane asylum. In MacDonald’s books, the women are no different than the men: they are conniving, sex-starved, lost, flighty, unfaithful, and as systematically corrupt as their male counterparts. There’s no pedestal in MacDonald’s novels, neither should there be. The women’s lib movement always wanted it both ways: on one hand they’re supposed to be equal to men in every way, yet when there’s sexual harassment they’re too weak as a species to do anything but create a #metoo movement. Please.

The biggest problem with the women’s movement is that they sold their soul to the issue of abortion on demand. If you need further evidence of chat you need only hear Chelsea Clinton’s recent comments on abortion. Y’know, I always tried to keep poor Chelsea out of things – after all, when you are the child of a rapist and the most vile and repulsive woman God ever created, you want to try and allow them a little slack. But in this case she’s revealed herself to be nothing more than a village idiot on “women’s issues”. My recommendation is that she runs for political office – she’s perfect for what goes as the Democratic Party these days. What a friggin’ moron.

I have to say, I don’t see the last-ditch attempt by California senator Dianne “Chinese Spy” Feinstein to abort the selection of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court doing the Democrats any good. I mean, how many times can you go to the well with anonymous, unsubstantiated rumors about sexual misconduct by a Republican or conservative before you are completely tuned out? If this is the best the Democrats have they need to find another playbook.

Now that we’re heading into October, expect every day to see polls saying this or that – primarily that this Republican or that Republican is in trouble. The fact that these clowns continue to perpetuated headlines given their abysmal record in 2016 ought to tell you one thing: the pollsters don’t know shit. Given the political climate we find ourselves in, do you really think if I were polled I’d express my support for President Trump? Given the crap I put up with from – ahhh, never mind, think I’ll stop here before I say something I might later regret.

Y’all might not be able to handle the truth, but regardless of what the mainstream media says, Trump was right about Puerto Rico.

Were I Julian Assange I’d have round-the-clock bodyguards. Politically speaking, (and literally so when it comes to the Clintons) he knows where all the bodies are buried.

John F. “Did you know I served in Vietnam?” Kerry: once a traitor, always a traitor.

I know everyone is all excited about Tiger Woods and his future; I just can’t escape the nagging feeling that he’s going to get hurt again and that will be that. Sure, he’s had a great year – surpassing everyone’s expectations, for sure – but it’s not as if his health history all of a sudden became moot.

People always question the sanity of folks who insist on riding hurricanes out, but the nasty truth is that they are doing it and putting their lives at risk because of looters. I’ll refrain comment about the racial aspects involved…

To me this is a news item that deserves more attention, given the amount of people that lives in the Southwest and the West. And given that it’s the 21st century and we’re creating robot bartenders, one would think we have the technology and know-how to bring plentiful water to this vital region. I guarantee some budding genius 14 year-old has already got it figured out.

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September 14, 2018

I’m back from Massachusetts just in time to settle in to that awkward period here in the Valley of the Sun known as post-monsoon. The clouds over the mountains to the east, north, and south have completely disappeared – retreating back to wherever they came from in early July, the sky returning to that shimmering phosphorescent blue of pre-monsoon June. The temperatures are back to the low-to-mid 100s, the witching hour of 3-4 PM back to its, well, former witchiness. The forecasters say we’ve got one more week in the 100s before the daily temps drop below the century mark in the drift towards October.

Back in Massachusetts the signs of fall are everywhere: the Sam Adams Summer Ale has turned into Octoberfest. The trees there are starting towards their own silent, evolutionary timelines – some shedding of leaves, others displaying that whitish shade of foliage when the light is just right. Still others actually starting to turn into early oranges and yellows. The nights are cooler and the dew heavier, the humidity making up for the early summer heat in its own different way.

Not here, though. The palm trees rustle in the soft wind that now comes in from the southwest or west instead of the south or southeast. The bougainvillea is just as bright and full as it has been all year. The days, of course, are noticeably shorter: my 7 AM calls with the India team require the light to be turned on in the office room; I no longer have to slightly shut the plantation shutters as the sun comes over my neighbor’s roof to our east – its angle is now lower and delayed so that I don’t have to touch the shutters at all.

And it seems that the relationship between my boss and me has survived “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless”. For the first time in like nine or ten months, on our weekly call today he seemed much like his old self, joking, asking for input, being, like, a human being again. Maybe it’s because we all survived the latest round of layoffs and we’re all here to stay (at least for the present!). Maybe it’s because the gig at “TCWSRN” really and truly – I kid you not, big fella – seems to be drawing to a close. (It’s not as if the work there will end – it’s just that everyone knows that there’s really not much more either party can do to make the other truly happy. At some point you just have to go Bill Belichick and just say, “it is what it is” and move on.)

The most important thing above all is that my dad’s transition from the apartment he shared with my mom for the better part of fifteen years to his new senior living studio apartment is now complete. It took a lot of time, planning, and stress, but it really worked out for the best and better than anyone could have possibly imagined. At his new digs at Summer Place, the old routines have been replaced by new ones, the lifestyle lived in the vacuum created by my mom’s passing two-plus years ago now replaced by an entirely different one shared with dozens of folks his own age, in similar or different situations, from similar or different backgrounds. The stress of having to drive, or wonder how to plan for his next meals are a thing of the past: he can come and go as he likes, have his breakfast at his own time, then go down for lunch and dinner with familiar faces and do as much or as little with his time as he wants.

While traveling back on yet-another delayed Jet Blue flight (I’m not sure I’ve ever had a flight to or from Phoenix this year that ever took off on time) I couldn’t help but think of the process and how it all worked out. Visiting Summer Place for the first time last January (or was it February?) I somehow knew in the back of my mind that this was the place for my dad’s next phase of his life; I just didn’t know how it was going to happen. But it did happen, and I’ll allow myself a pat on the back for making it happen as (I think) as stress-free for my dad as could be expected. I consider myself a damned good planner who leaves very little to chance, yet allowing for the wiggle-room of chance and opportunity to make things happen in a way that benefits everyone. And it all worked out – almost flawlessly. I know Mom would be pleased to see Dad in the kind of arrangement he’s now in.

So that’s that. This whole year, between work and my dad’s situation, has left precious little time for me. (So shut up and suck it up, Great White Shank – since when has it all been all about you, anyways?) There’s been a lot of travel, and I’ve grown to hate air travel. The way you’re treated, the way people dress and act when traveling (since when has it become fashionable to rush forward ahead of the rows before you?), the delays, the overall hassle of it all. I’m worn down and tired, my golf game sucks, and I’ve really kind of lost sight of who I am, where I am, and where the road leads from here. Staying at the guesthouse at my dad’s place and seeing all the folks there, I couldn’t help but wonder what my own future is. What’s the purpose in my life, if there is one? Am I just supposed to kind of work my way into retirement, drink Pinot Grigio under happy pineapple lights until I get cancer or have a stroke, or keel over dead from a widow-maker?

I guess in the back of my mind it’s this: at the ripe old age of 89, my dad has a great little situation. Is that what my future is? I’m not saying anything or any outcome is good or bad. I don’t know what’s coming down the pike. But for the first time in my life I’m fearful of the future. Something’s gonna happen – it’s bound to – and I’m just not ready for it. They say you’re only as young as you feel, but I feel tired, old, and washed up. And maybe that’s understandable: I’ve had enough drama these past 2+ years since my mom’s passing that I’m just tired both mentally and physically. Most folks in my situation would bury themselves in their work as a form of relief from the personal stuff, but in my case work has done nothing but contribute to the overall stress of things.

And the same thing with golf: I’m sick of fighting with my golf game to the point where I’m just going to leave them in the travel bag until something makes me want to look at them again. The whole Goodboys thing I think I’m done with. I’d rather putter around the house and keep ahead of the dirt and the dust than fight with something that offers nothing in return for the effort put forth.

As it turns out, this year has been one of transition far more than I ever could have imagined at its start. And probably even more for me than what I thought it would be for my dad.

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September 7, 2018

So I’m guessing you’re wondering what the two chicks from ABBA, Anni-Frid “Frida” Lyngstad and Agnetha Faltskog, doing on a post titled after a dumb Elton John classic? Actually, the song sucks, but I sure like its sentiments.

The other day I made myself a Hemingway daiquiri (since the Oronoco brand is no longer manufactured I’ve switched to Olo Silver) and sat out on the back patio under happy pineapple lights. There was a bit of a breeze out of the southwest stirring the queen palms keeping the heat of the day at bay and the sunset a dust-free (thankfully!) clean and shimmering gold, allowing me to just take a breath from another long, hard day at work and a long, hard year. Another call with “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” and another dick-head management moron trying to tell me how to do my job, but I’ve grown hardened to where point where it’s just another shitty day in paradise, right? My company had completed another round of layoffs but they’re not going to get rid of me – at least just yet – because there’s too much unfinished business on my watch (not to mention the fact that my team brings in revenue). I have little doubt my time will come, but the executioner’s chair will just have to wait.

So there I was, just trying to veg out, me and my daiquiri. No music playing. Thinking about just how stressful this year has been. Not just from work, but all the planning involved with getting my dad into housing he can feel comfortable in and enjoy. The past nine months has me completely worn down and mentally fried to the point where I don’t even feel like hitting balls – let alone playing golf – as a form of distraction. The good thing is, I’m just a week away from starting back at the gym, and the Eades diet and its two weeks without alcohol and caffeine, but that’s the way it’s gotta be: I want to look and feel great when I go to Vegas the first weekend in December. Maybe by that time I might even feel like hitting balls.

In the meantime…

Be careful what you watch on TV. The other night Tracey was watching some show on the history of ABBA. It didn’t seem bad, so I sat down and watched it with her. That was six days ago, and six days later I still can’t get this stupid song out of my mind. Well, it’s not stupid, it’s a damned finely-crafted piece of confection pop that deserved to be a hit. But, how to get the damned song out of my head?

Somewhat related, in a “guy” sort of way is the news that Dawn Wells, Mary Ann of “Gilligan’s Island” is soliciting donations on GoFundMe because of some health issues that require expensive surgery and money she doesn’t have. A thought: can you imagine if every guy who, at one time or another, over beers with friends and strangers at a local watering hole, debated “Ginger or Mary Ann” and argued for Mary Ann, sent Ms. Wells $10 for her trouble? Why, she’d be swimming in dough-re-mi! Having always been firmly and unequivocally been on the “Mary Ann” side of that universal debate, perhaps I ought to do just that.

…I say somewhat related above because the same kind of argument rages over on YouTube for every ABBA video ever posted. Is it Agnetha (that cute blonde kitten with one of the finest asses you’ll ever see on a girl), or Frida, the brunette with that mischievous look and seductive eyes. Check this alternative video of “I Do…” out and you’ll know what I mean. Two very different and attractive kinds of girls, right? For two very different kinds of guys. I know who my Goodboys pal The Funny Guy would pick: he’s an Agnetha dude if I ever saw one. And I’m guessing the same for fellow Goodboys Goose and Cubby as well. They’re all such dopes for cute blondes. My Goodboys pal Killer? I think be would be a Frida guy. Me? Unlike with the Ginger and Mary Ann debate (which to me is no contest), this one is really too close to call. But were you to put a gun to my head, I’d have to go with Agnetha by a nose because of that cute little gap between her front teeth that just makes my heart melt. (Sad to say, she got her teeth worked on somewhere down the line because “the gap” disappeared in later videos.) But then I look at Frida’s long, brown bangs and eye makeup and I’m conflicted all over again.

Here’s an idea: if you guys out there can’t decide, use as a tie-breaker how the ladies look in their infamous cat outfits. I’ll spare with the obvious and sexist guy comment that comes to mind.

So much for this being an intellectual blog post.

I have to admit, between the Democrats meltdown at the Kavanaugh hearings, the “revelations” contained in the Bob Woodward book, and that infamous Op-ed in the New York Times, one has to admit President Trump has had a pretty good week. Breitbart’s Nick Nolte is right:

I don’t care how Trump makes his decisions, I care about the end result of those decisions.

All this long con over Trump’s “fitness” is based on is his management style; which is meaningless inside-inside gossip for the stupid and shallow to masturbate over – a hoax, a con, a carnival barker’s sideshow.

How about if we focus on the substance for just a moment…

Our economy is booming for the first time in a freakin’ decade, manufacturing jobs are finally coming back, North Korea has stopped launching missiles, the War on Terror feels like a bad memory, ISIS is no longer lighting people on fire, Putin’s adventurism has been halted, the rule of law is returning to the Supreme Court, someone is finally paying serious attention to the plight of the working class, were out of the Paris Hoax Treaty, the Iran Deal is dead, we’re not funding the Palestinians, we’re not transporting billions in cash to terrorist nations, the media are finally being treated like the Democrat operatives they are, the Obamacare mandate is dead, black and Hispanic unemployment has hit record lows, and, and, and…

Look at that. Look at all of those accomplishments, all the substantive substance above and tell me again why I’m supposed to give even a scintilla of a damn about Trump’s style.

As long as Trump lives inside the Democrats’ heads they are powerless to think and do anything else. I hate the very idea of helping the opposition party, so I won’t bother giving them any talking points they could be using to help their cause. Because they could turn the tables on Trump and use his own campaign words against them (again, I don’t want to give them any hints). Instead let them freak out and act like the juveniles and morons they are. Heck, if they can’t conjure up any effective strategy beyond Trump being unfit for office, and that he’s Hitler personified, and that his latest Supreme Court nominee will kill all women and children, why not just let them continue digging the hole they are digging for themselves?

…speaking of which, Massachusetts senator Elizabeth Warren is a jackass.

R.I.P. Burt Reynolds.

This is way beyond cool.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 02:09 | Comments (0)
September 5, 2018

Because my Goodboys mate Goose asked for it in his comment on yesterday’s post, I’ll respond. But not directly to the first day of the Brett Kavanaugh confirmation hearings, which in and of itself ought to show everyone by every reasonable doubt (how’s that for language a future Supreme Court justice would understand?) that the liberal left is – there’s no other term for it – batshit crazy:

It strikes me that the Democratic Party crossed a Rubicon of sorts today. They abandoned all norms not just of civility–something they purported to yearn for just a few days ago!–but of sanity. They deliberately turned a Senate confirmation hearing into a farce. There was no distinction between the howling left-wing mob that infiltrated the hearing room and the Senate Democrats.

Not long ago, some Democrats resisted the crazier fringes of their party. No longer. There is no daylight among the violent fascist group Antifa, the crazed Democratic activists bleating about impeachment, and the establishment Democratic Party. They are now one and the same. So, disgusting as today’s hearing was, it at least achieved some clarity. There is no longer any wing of the Democratic Party that can be described as sane.

Keep in mind, these are (supposedly) adults here, yet they’re acting like friggin’ idiots, worse than children. Talk about a total lack of self-awareness! Do they really think they accomplish any measure of sympathy for their cause by their actions? And the Democrat senators who allowed this circus to happen around them – even encouraging it – are no better.

What on God’s green earth has happened to the Democratic Party? I mean (and I offer this up to Democrats everywhere), is this what constitutes your Party’s leadership in the Senate? Elizabeth (“Fauxcahontus”) Warren? Richard (“Mr. Vietnam”) Blumenthal? Kamala Harris? Cory Booker? Diane (“Chinese Spy”) Feinstein? “Little Dick” Durbin? Chuck Schumer? I’m not saying there aren’t Republican senators that couldn’t blow a 0.8 on the intelligence scale if they tried, but at least they conduct themselves in a manner befitting their office. I truly doubt this does the Democrats any good when they, and their supporters, behave in this fashion on national television. What is their intent? Political theater? Donations from their base? If it’s designed to turn a Republican senator against Kavanaugh and therefore block his nomination, after today’s circus I highly doubt that to be likely.

And maybe that’s the problem: the whole idea of televising these hearing is not doing our Republic any good that I can see. Look, I’m all for governmental transparency. You want transparency? Release transcripts of the hearings immediately upon completion of the day’s session. The technology is there. We don’t need to see the histrionics, the playing to the camera, the rudeness, the circus that televising these kinds of things devolves into. Close the doors, tell the moron activists to take their collective acts out on the steps of the Capitol, instruct all senators to behave like grown-ups, and allow the hearings to serve the purpose they were designed for. I’ll bet you find that the process ends up going far more smoothly and professionally than if they were televised.

But to a larger point. And anyone who has Yahoo! for their main page will know what I’m talking about here. Maybe it’s just me, but increasingly I see the internet nothing more than a massive outrage-of-the-day gripe session for people who really and truly need to get a life. It could be something someone said, or wore, or wrote, or texted, or did, but Yahoo! appears to think it’s news when folks who have no life and undoubtedly live in glass houses critique, ridicule, badger, bitch about, or attack people for the most insignificant and moronic things. One need only to look at today’s Kavanaugh hearing: supposedly, some idiot was obsessed with some chick sitting behind the judge and swore that said chick had her hands arranged in a white-power symbol. Really?? And it got so bad that the poor woman’s husband had to go out on social media to refute the moron’s claim, knowing that a shitstorm of leftist lunacy is going to crash down on her, to the point where her car will probably get keyed and her life threatened.

Seriously. What on earth is going on here? What kind of people have we become? Is that’s what it’s all about now – personal destruction by social media if the mob detects any deviation from their own idea of what constitutes their idea of right and wrong? And who are these people anyway? Intellectual midgets who would be the first to express outrage if someone – anyone – were to investigate their own private lives. Do they think their own shit doesn’t stink? Any idiot can hide behind a computer and toss vile tweets or instagrams or whatever the frig these platforms call themselves. They’re nothing more than faceless, nameless bullies who spend their entire days looking to troll people and gin up outrage by hundreds, if not thousands of others, then crawl back under their collective rocks waiting for the next opportunity to pounce. And they do it with an evil glee, caring not one iota if and to what extent it harms.

These people are losers. With a capital “L”.

But that’s what we’ve come to as a society, I’m afraid. It seems worse than it’s ever been, but that’s only because Donald Trump serves as a lightning rod for social media. In some ways, he promotes it, to the good and the bad. But if anyone thinks that the end of Trump’s presidency (whenever it comes) is going to change anything, you’re dreaming. The genie is out of the bag. There will always be new targets of opportunity (most likely Republicans and conservatives, mostly) for these miserable cretins. The only good thing is that – primarily because of Trump – people are starting to fight back. If you saw some of the comments I get you wouldn’t believe it. I’ve gotten threats, but I respond back in no uncertain terms to go f**k themselves and go back to watching kiddie porn. That usually shuts them up.

In the grand scheme of things, none of this even matters. We all make a big deal out of it, but were you to your doctor and be told you have cancer, lose your job, get in a bad auto wreck, suffer a stroke, or all of a sudden have to take care of a sick child or parent, the whole social media thing is reduced to its true denominator. Social media, at its very core, is nothing more than wasted keystrokes for people with time and lives to waste. It’s a losers game played by losers and propagated by losers. Losers who actually think their opinions matter. Losers who think their comments can change the world because deep down they’re afraid that nothing else in their lives matters as much and that they, indeed, don’t matter.

Which, BTW, they don’t.

Think about it: count the number of people anyone either knows or cares about, say, from the 14th century. You can fit them all on a thimble. We’re all going the same way someday. You think your life has meaning? I got news for you – it doesn’t. Oh, it might for a while, or perhaps even for a generation or two. But after that? Who will you or I be one hundred years from now? Digitized pictures on some media device, perhaps, but not much more than that. Perhaps we think our lives will matter if we have children, but four generations down the line they’ll all be gone and forgotten as well. We are grains of sand on the beach. We are dust in the wind. All we have is today: our pasts are past, and, as Jim Morrison so famously sang, the future’s uncertain and the end is always near.

If folks want to social media their lives to death, that’s fine with me. But it all seems such a hideous waste of time and effort. But, as I’ve said in this space countless times, the liberal left has no god – the only religion they know is politics and their so-called gods of acceptance, tolerance, and diversity. None of which they practice, BTW – one look at their antics on display at the Kavanaugh hearing today will tell you that. Me? I can’t help but think just how shallow their lives to care so much about something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Any sane person knows that no one, let along Brett Kavanaugh is going to prevent them from seeing a beautiful sunrise or sunset, or hear the rain falling all around them, or hear the trees rustle in a gentle breeze, or watch geese in flight, or hit golf balls, or make a child laugh, or make love to a beautiful woman (or handsome man), or make someone’s day with a smile or a kind thought. There’s so much more in life, and all these people do is try to suck whatever joy out of it they can. And that’s what makes them soulless, asshole losers.

Avoid them at all cost, lest you find yourself losing your soul along with theirs.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 02:29 | Comments (0)


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