It might just be me, but I think it’s pretty damn impressive that the volcano in Hawaii has been getting more and more jiggy, but it’s only today after two weeks, that the first major injury was reported.
I appreciate technology more with this eruption. It’s amazing to see those explosions and flows, something that I can see from my home’s safety in Oregon as the volcano blows thousands of miles away. Jaw-dropping is the term I often hear when the footage is described. I, with my limited imagination, think, stunning and powerful.
The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists’ summary noted that the Doomsday Clock was set to two minutes to midnight last January, 2018. I was thinking about that today as I streamed Aerosmith’s “Livin’ on the Edge”. The song, about the world’s sorry state, was written and released in 1993, after the 1992 Rodney King Riots, sometimes also called the LA Riots.
A quarter of century later, and I think we’re closer to the edge now then we were in 1993. Unfortunately, nobody has a tracking mechanism like the Doomsday Clock to declare how close we are to the edge. Is it a foot? A mile? A million miles? I suppose the edge is different for each of us, and varies by attitude and world events. On some days, I feel like I can stand on my toes, lean forward and look at over the edge. On other days, it’s a distant horizon.
So, reading and listening to news reports (“He was only shot three times in the back, not eight, with three shots in his side” — doesn’t change that he was armed only with his cell phone and was in his own backyard), an old Rolling Stones song started streaming through my mind.
The police in New York City
They chased a boy right through the park
In a case of mistaken identity
They put a bullet through his heart
Heartbreakers with your forty four
I wanna tear your world apart
You heart breaker with your forty four
I wanna tear your world apart
This song was released in 1973, over forty years ago. Pathetic how little has changed, with police shooting black men for little or no probable cause in America, a trend that’s being carried over to homeowners, who fear fourteen-year-old black boys asking for directions. Sad. Sickening.
Here it is, with the bizarre title “Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker)” by the Rolling Stones, from 1973.
420 came and went. We had a lot of ads for marijuana conventions and sellers on the radio, but little else. Nobody had a parade around here. Hallmark didn’t put out any cards, and very few places had specials.
Which is really sad and short-sighted. Do restaurants not know that people smoking grass often want a munchie? They should have been all over that.
Don’t know where Hallmark Cards and the other card producers were for Weed Day, eituer. These companies have impressive holiday/recipient card matrixes. Need a card? What’s the occasion? How much do you want to spend? Do you want it to be funny or religious? Who is the recipient? Is it for you father, mother, sister, brother, uncle, aunt, or a step parent? Is it to a child? What age? The card is available!
But not for Weed Day. I couldn’t find a single card to send mom. As far as I know, only Denver really seemed to get behind it. Which is why I’m so ashamed of Ashland. You’d think this place, which celebrates beer, wine, and food, along with chocolate, movies, plays, and the outdoors, would have had some kind of celebratory marketing campaign.
Even as I write, though, I’m sure marketing mavericks across America are toking while thinking, “How did I miss that opportunity?” I’m sure they’ll fix it soon, I mean, look how quietly the SuperBowl started, and what it’s since become.
Oh, wow, now I see it: the Marijuana Bowl. The halftime show can be Jim Stafford singing “Wildwood Weed.”
To all those politicians, political parties, companies, and organizations who like to shade the truth, cut corners, exercise doublespeak, dismiss ethics and principles, and flat-out lie and cheat, you shouldn’t be surprise if your customers and supporters can no longer be trusted because they do the same thing.
Don’t you hate it when you decide to sign up for a newsletter or magazine delivered by email, or sign a petition, or join a group, and they just inundate you with emails? One a day isn’t enough – they have to send you three a day. Doesn’t that suck? It’s like they all believe that the more emails that they send to you, the more you’ll remember and support them.
Yeah, I remember them, all right, but for the wrong reasons. I come to remember and resent them for all the emails they send me, and for making it difficult for me to unsubscribe or “manage” my subscriptions with them.
Politicians and political causes seem like the worst. I’ve reduced my donation levels because I don’t want them to have my name any longer. I’m tired of hearing from them. So often, they send things with weaponized headlines to grab your attention. “YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT’S HAPPENING.” “WE NEED YOUR NAME TO STOP THIS! WON’T YOU STAND WITH US?”
That’s why I attempt to cap my posts to five a day. I know, they’re innocuous, with little thought behind them (yes, it shows, right?), and it’s mostly about me and my endless string of complaints, but they’re part of that greater burden of emails roaring into your inbox, demanding your attention.
Feel free to unsubscribe from me to reduce your load, because I feel your pain, brothers and sisters.
Ever read a news article, like the one from the other day, when a thirty pound tumor was removed from a sixty-something year-old man, and think, hey, I wonder if that’s what’s wrong with me?
No? Just me, then?
(As an aside, I realized this could be tagged as tumor humor.)
Michael Seidel, writer 