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PSA

Your immortal soul is in peril if you fail to honor the International Day Of The Nacho tomorrow, October 21st.

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Fall in Dinkytown

We had some wild turkeys goofing around in the yard yesterday. In case you’re not familiar with them, goofing around is what wild turkeys do best. One of the jennies somehow got trapped in the dog run — chain link fencing confounds the hell out of ’em. Most often, it’s not until the bulk of the flock leaves the area that the “trapped” bird will Einstein up the idea of flying over the fence. I can’t stand to witness turkey anxiety so I opened the gate for the jenny to enable her to walk, like the dignified bird that she is, to rejoin her chums (likely her mother and sisters) in the back yard. Also because Amethyst cringed every time the goofy jenny stuck her head through the mesh as if she expected that the rest of her might follow.

Amethyst seemed to hope that the turkeys might make a habit of roosting in our trees, though poplars are a poor choice with brittle wood not much favored by heavy birds. Me, I’d just as soon they not roost here. I’ve no desire to be startled awake at whatever unreasonable hour it is that turkeys start their day by the sound of them landing like sandbags on the roof above our bed.

Fall means bitching about hunters season in Dinkytown, of course. As we made our way across the parking lot at the market yesterday, a hunter who’d just exited from the passenger side of a pickup pulling a fifth wheel camper and, behind that, a trailer full of ATV’s, called out to the driver, “Hey, looks like you blocked a car in there”. The driver, closing the pickup door behind him, replied, “Fuck it. I don’t care”. The passenger looked around nervously but lodged no protest. I hope the whole lot of ’em go home with nothing more than credit card bills, poison ivy, and blisters. And that the forced air furnace in the RV punks out on ’em at two o’clock in the morning. And that their satellite TV reception sucks, too. The elk deserve better ends than to be shot by that sort.

Ye olde sleep disorder is taking its traditional Fall swing so my sleep period lately is about 6AM to 2PM and I’m not fully awake until East Coast business hours are drawing to a close. Coincidentally, all of the clients I’m working with lately are in the Eastern or Central time zones. I worry that my oddity annoys them more than they let on. It works out in my favor that the wife of the boss dude at one place has the same disorder.

I read recently that “the tendency to be a night owl” may be the result of Neanderthal genes. After all these millennia, the family secret is out: my ancestors dated outside of their own species. Which I find amusing, given where in the human population those Neanderthal genes ain’t.

Jus’ thinkin’

I watched the CNN debate-like show night before last, just because the ewe toob suggested it to me. I didn’t even know there was going to be one, and, well, I was high so I thought I might as well give it a look.

Holy shit.

We keep an old cathode ray clunker of a television around to enable Amethyst to play her antique video games, and we like it this way just fine. I don’t even watch streamed television content, so CNN came as a shock to me. I found myself wondering if some previously unknown protege of Paddy Chayefsky were behind it. It was like Chayefsky’s dark humor but without his devotion to literacy and coherence. It was jarring to me to realize that what I was watching was a real and ostensibly serious event. It’s not a metaphor any more: we’ve reduced our political engagement to reality television.

What was interesting about it to me was that it seemed that CNN must have intentionally set a trap designed specifically for the GOP. The stupid bill was a stinker that never claimed any more than about 20% public support, while Sanders, who represented the opposition, remains far and away the most popular politician in America. It just seems unfathomably stupid on the part of the GOP to put two caricatures of the southern republican stereotype on a stage with Bernie to contrast their very unpopular bill with the very popular one bearing his name. Especially so when there’s just no good reason to do it — the only thing the people hate more than Obamacare is the idea of trading down from it so there was no hope of increasing public support for their stinker bill. Assuming CNN knows this, the non-debate looks a lot like CNN providing implicit support for Medicare For All and repudiating Trump right to his nasty face.

I do wish Bernie would learn to articulate his vision so he could rely less upon the broken record tactic, but… whatever… not gonna happen. Hopefully someone who is more articulate will be allowed to snatch the microphone away from him now and then. We can fix a lot of problems if we can get the bankers away from the hospital doors, and the easiest problem with the biggest bang for the buck is the third leading cause of death in America, encounters with doctors — medical errors, that is. 400,000 deaths and millions of injuries per year due to medical error is a lot of destruction and cost that we would all be much better off without. With a single payer free of profit motive for the whole country, that single payer would have plenty of power to bring to bear upon the industry to compel it to get its shit together. I’ve often wondered why Bernie has never mentioned this.

For comparison: our military has to really work at it to kill 400,000 people in a year, with military armaments, on purpose. And they don’t bill the dead and wounded for services rendered.

I’d like to hear Bernie say that. I bet he’d get a standing ovation. But being the one who lifted the taboo, and only recently, he probably doesn’t want to (and is perhaps wise not to) speak in those terms. Nice things. Denmark. Yeah. Trees an’ shit. Advanced industrialized labor union trees that get free education and health care, yeah. Not revolutionary shit like taking power from capitalists, as Medicare For All is designed to do. No, not that. Nice things. Like Canada. Trees an’ shit. Why can’t we have nice things?

But if Paddy Chayefsky were behind it, it would have looked precisely the same right down to the plastic, stinky Chinese plastic feel of it, but then his respect for the audience would have become evident. The Bernie muppet might not have spoken of power transfer, but it would have hinted at it. Then one of the republican cartoons would have seized upon it, and erupted in poor grammar in accusing the muppet of wrapping the baby Jesus in the American flag with a bar of lead and throwing him into the sea of heathen communism. The cute little Midwestern girl senator would have cried but found the courage to stand up for all that is good, right, and just, but not been called upon to do so and no longer certain of her judgment in such matters anyway. And the muppet would be elected president of the network and king for a day and then collapse, dead, smiling, having achieved all of his life’s goals and secured his wildest dreams.

Twenty seconds before it came over the news wire that the dead bill had been revived and passed and was on its way to the House where passage was assured.

Well, Shucks.

Well, shucks, the world didn’t end when some preacher feller said it would. Again.

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting kinda tired of those guys always being wrong. I mean, the end of the world is one of things you tell your grandkids about. Then one day they explain to their parents, your darling child and that idiot it married, that the reason they never call is that they’ve heard your end of the world story a thousand times already. Kids these days, huh?

It would be far better, I think, if we could convince the religious crazies to go around preaching that the world is going to be here, and very much under our stewardship, for a very, very long time. That’d scare a lot more people a lot more, I think.

I feeeel good

This morning was a real stinker, ultra-high on the pain scale and ultra-low in sleep duration, so thanks to someone’s god the abstinence is over.

The pain was a real stinker all day, but it kept me going. Then Amethyst got home and the truck and I made a dope run. Oh yeeeeahhhhhhh…

I had hoped to score a strain that just sold out, so I just blindly went with the special of the day because nothing on the shelf in the small shop seemed any more interesting, and also because it’s only $60/¼oz. And I got my card punched despite it being the daily special, which isn’t supposed to happen. Who am I to argue? Deserved punches in the past have been forgotten, so we’re not up to even yet. No worries. The game is fun even if you don’t keep score. It’s fun just having a marijuana punch card, The Baker’s Dozen: Buy twelve and get the thirteenth free. It reminds me of the bakery truck that serviced the neighborhood when I was a kid, which sold donuts by the baker’s dozen.

How can ya not love a bakery truck, ya know? Other kids got excited by the approach of the ice cream truck, but my thing was the Helms Bakery truck. And that 13th donut. The contrast between that world and this one is so violent that I’m glad to have the excuse to reminisce every time I go to the pot shop.

Turns out the special of the day is quite strong at 24.79% THC, if the label is to be believed. Not exactly a bear claw from the bakery truck… Yep, times have changed.

 

I feel the need for weed

I recently fell into the “someone is wrong on the internet” trap, which I admit is ironic as hell.

From http://xkcd.com/ of course.

Note to self: Attempting to reason with a donkey is folly, and especially so when addressing the end of the animal opposite that upon which the ears are installed. One should already know what’s going to come from it.

I just couldn’t help myself. The subject was one near and dear to my neurons, namely Cannabis, and the donkey holding itself out as a physician made many of and nothing but the common and already positively debunked claims about the great societal harms to be expected after legalization of medical marijuana. So, me being me, of course I commented something not too disrespectful, just two short sentences, asking him to become informed on the subject. And he emailed me about it rather than discussing it publicly, presenting absolutely nothing beyond logical fallacies.

What to do, what to do? The unwise choice was to reply. So I did. I presented logical arguments and backed them up with links to high quality references — PubMed and NHTSA rather than NORML. My thinking was along the lines of well, nothing about his facility with language or logic indicates true sentience, but he seems to be of a strongly authoritarian disposition so maybe these authoritative references will excite a brain cell out of its catatonic state. Click send. God damn it why do I do this stupid shit to myself? Oh yeah. I’ve been off the weed for a month, which is enough to make anyone of sound mind kinda nuts.

Sho ’nuff, a response comes back. More logical fallacy and not even one reference. So I sez to myself, I sez, Self, ain’t no way this donkey is a doctor. And oh, by the way, Self, you gots this here internet machine rotcheer in front of ya so it’s as easy as ticklin’ this here button box yer already touchin’ on to find out fer sher an’ fer certain.

Note to self: Do your homework first. I was far too respectful of the despicable piece of subhuman shit and far too disrespectful of the Equus africanus asinus species by way of my chosen metaphor. I was engaged in something similar to conversation with a former physician and nursing home operator who plead guilty to criminal neglect of his resident patients and was sentenced to prison for it. The few details reported in the news of his local area are disgusting. To reply now to the slimy parasite’s email would feel like raping my inner child.

The good news is that the motherfucker will never legally practice medicine again. Instead, he spends his time impugning the professional integrity of those who stopped him, and those who now refuse to restore his license or even entertain the idea of it ever again. I suppose it’s understandable that a subhuman parasite would think it unreasonable for humans to protect each other from it.

And the slimy parasite is fear mongering about a plant. Fuck.

It’s going to take quite a lot of weed to help me forget that I actually addressed a dangerous parasite with a modicum of respect.