The Cat in the Bush

Evening was drawing down on Half Moon Bay. Swirling and descending night fog crept in from the ocean. Some dim light remained from sunset and I’d opened our front door to step out and smell the night. The ocean’s fragrance was strong and fresh and beautifully mingled with the scents from Half Moon Bay’s damp vegetation and soil, a pleasing libation for the nose. Cars were heard on Highway 92 less than a quarter mile off but cars heard on 92 almost all hours of day and night. People liked our small town. It benefited from being located on the Pacific Coast Highway between Santa Cruz to the south, Pacifica and San Francisco to the north, and the Pacific Ocean owning the west. Our beaches presented precious beach access.

Noises drew my attention to the right. I wasn’t wearing my glasses but saw well enough to spot a small animal dart between bushes. It looked like a young dark colored cat.

I love animals but cats manifest a hypnotic power over me. My wife likes to claim that I’ve never met a cat that wasn’t hungry. Naturally, this was my first thought. I wanted to see the animal to determine who it was, that it was physically okay, and that it wasn’t hungry. Well, I also just wanted to visit with it. So I went after it, moving slowly but quickly in a crouch and softly calling, “Here, kitty, kitty.”

The animal rushed from one bush to another. I followed, closing the gap to it. Then, it did a weird thing, shaking the entire bush. Perplexed, I lowered myself and moved closer to see. It shook the bush again. I realized, in my half blind state, that it was stamping its legs. That’s odd, I thought. I’ve never seen a cat do that before….

Because this wasn’t a cat.

Skunk.

Carefully, I backed away.

Very…very…carefully.

Once a few feet from the bush, I ran back to the house on my tiptoes, gingerly closed the front door and locked it. You know, in case the skunk came after me.

And then I laughed.

Yeah, I know how lucky I am. I’m a little more careful when approaching unknown animals in the dusk, without my glasses.

You never know what it might be.

A Bullshit Free Day

I’d like to declare a national day free of bullshit. We can call it National No Bullshit Day. NNBD. Although bullshit is spelled as one word, some call it as BS, or more colloquially, B.S.. So we could do NNBSD. Naturally, I like my idea better. We can have shirts and tee shirts, and raise money, or some other bullshit.

You know BS when you hear it and you call it by your expression. Mularky. Bull. Bullshit. B.S. Garbage. Crap.

We were used to it in the military. Bullshit inundated us, which, if you think about it, which I try not to do, is actually a lot of B.S. We had our bullshit meters. Hearing something that we knew as bullshit, we’d say, in a sort of laconic way, “That just pegged my bullshit meter.” That statement meant that the needle went all the way to the right. Another expression used was, “That buried the needle on my bullshit meter.” Buried the needle was an old expression referencing tachometers and opening throttles to the point where the needles entered the red zone or went as far as it could. Of course, the ultimate bullshit expression was, “My bullshit meter just broke.”

Most bullshit meters used to go to ten. Mine, of course, went to eleven. It was the Spinal Tap Special. (rim shot)

I suppose, in this precise digital age, that bullshit meters are way more accurate. They’re probably on a scale of one to a thousand, enabling the ability to assign a more accurate bullshit value to a given statement, action or news. There are probably apps that can be downloaded and installed on your smart phones, iPhones, iPads and tablets. Being sixty, I don’t need a bullshit meter, and will tell you, with a sniff, “I don’t need a meter to tell me when something’s bullshit. I’ve experienced enough bullshit to know bullshit when bullshit is around.”

But many naive and gullibles do not recognize bullshit. They believe you can get something for nothing. I, of course, believe that’s bullshit. Of course, the problem with bullshit is, once it’s in your system, you can’t get it out, debilitating your immunity to bullshit. You soon can’t even detect it.

Still, there times when my bullshit meter gets broke. For example, when a car manufacturer, like Ford, declares they’ve completely re-invented a car, I think, that’s bullshit.

When they announced literally no longer means literally, I shook my head and said, “What bullshit.”

When I see the price of my quad shot mocha is five dollars, I think, that’s outrageous bullshit, even though it’s not, really. Bullshit often depends upon your frame of reference. I have some years behind me so my frame of reference has gotten pretty damn big. First, I would tell you, “Nobody sold mochas when I was a kid. We didn’t have a Starbucks or coffee house on every corner. Coffee houses were part of the beat generation. Only artists and poets went there, not people.”

And then I will tell you, “I remember when a cup of coffee cost less than a dollar.” Someone with a bigger frame of reference will naturally top that and declare, “I remember when it cost ten cents a cup,” and another will say, “I remember when it was free.” I’m not sure if coffee was ever free, so that moves my old bullshit meter needle a little bit, but that’s okay, because they’re old, and it’s honest bullshit.

The Internet doesn’t help. I mean, come on, there is so much bullshit on it that it seems possible that the bullshit will take it down. Which would be a pretty good news lead: “In today’s top story, bullshit broke the worldwide web. More coming up, after this word from your sponsors.” Which is bullshit in its own right, to need to wait to hear about this important news until you’ve heard someone try to sell you something.

I may be showing my age there.

You’d think some tech company could design an application that not only detects bullshit but blocks it, just as intrusion detection and prevention software works. Then, as you’re downloading a page, a little popup arrives on your screen and says, “Warning. Bullshit was detected and blocked.”

We could even assign the bullshit levels of threat: faint, mild, average, serious, dangerous, and OMGWTF infuriating.

I dream of a time when television commercials could contain the disclaimer, “This commercial contains no bullshit,” and you can sit back and listen and know, you’re not hearing any bullshit. Because if they were spreading bullshit when they made the commercial, some great Bullshit God would zap them with a laser and declare in a thunderous voice, “No bullshit allowed. Not on my watch.”

But, yes, that’s a fantasy. For now, I’ll dream of a bullshit free day, or even just, like an hour when I don’t read something and say to the cats, “Can you believe this bullshit?”

I don’t think it’s going to be until after November 8th.

 

Today’s Theme Music

Today is Whoosh Back Wednesday, because when I get into my time machine, it makes a sort of whooshing sound, and this is Wednesday where I’m sitting.

Many of us in the United States are remarking that we live in perilous, divisive times. I claim that such times have existed before, although enduring this one seems heartbreaking almost every day. Websites, voters, blogs, pundits and editorials damn one candidate as a sexist, racist lying buffoon while others declare another one as a lying murderer. These are the major party candidates, and there are pockets around the country where each party believes the other’s candidate has absolutely no chance. Meanwhile, two other parties and their candidates prowl the stages’ edges, trying to break into the passion play, but staying mostly ignored except as possible spoilers.

But remember 1968 in America? Riots took place in Chicago, Washington, D.C., Baltimore, and other places. Anti-war demonstrations flared across the United States. Sometimes violence exploded. And then the country came together and elected Richard Nixon, re-electing him by a huge margin in 1972, only to see him impeached and gone before September, 1974….

Well, back in 1968, one musical group sang a song pleading for peace and harmony. Lyrics like these keep it germane to today’s conversations:

There is a long hair that doesn’t like the short hair
For bein’ such a rich one that will not help the poor one
And different strokes for different folks

Here is Sly and the Family Stone, with ‘Everyday People’, with ‘Dance to the Music’ as a bonus.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6q1vAa0br0w

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