Sunday’s Theme Music

Raucous dreams consumed the night. Oh, yes, there was too a floof fight.

4:30 AM. In this corner, wearing long black and white fur and weighing in at sixteen pounds…Tucker.

In the other corner, by the kibble bowl, that eleven pound ginger blade who used to be called Meep!…Papi.

I know Tucker started it because it’s always Tucker. Little combat was involved because Papi is a shrieker. His first one bought us awake and out of bed in one leap, and it was done. I swear that we moved like ninjas…little aging, graying ninjas…

But it’s email that gives me today’s theme music. Money…financing…sales ending today…the calls for assistance and donations and contributions dominated the box in a depressing blitz. Pelosi claimed her email wasn’t about money but Biden openly asked. Amazon and Costco crowed, look at what everyone is buying. Animal shelters and rescue groups wanted cash. The USPS needs help…

Such an AM gut punch even before my brekkie and coffee. Making them was when the theme song came: “Money (That’s What I Want)“.

The Beatles had a big hit with it, but I was channeling The Flying Lizards’ 1979 cover with Deborah Evans-Stickland. The Beatles were nakedly raw and emotional in their money demands. The Flying Lizards brought a mocking, flat monotone to their appeal.

My email solicitations were across the gamut: fear — they’re winning, they’re winning, give me money to fight back — to logic — no, it was all fear, fear of what will happen if you don’t give or buy, because you will be losing.

Anyway, that’s my music choice for today. Please listen and send me money. And stay healthy. Wear a damn mask.

The end?

 

Sunday’s Theme Music

As commercials rev up — “Come see us. We’re all wearing masks and are following the guidelines and taking precautions!” — and election day grows nearer, everybody is trying to seduce us as consumers and voters in America.

Buy, buy, buy! Vote for me, vote for me!

It’s right in my head that today’s theme music is Billy Squier singing “Everybody Wants You” back in 1982.

Simple Sunday Stuff

  1. Went off script today. Bounced with spouse to store in early A.M. Decided thereafter, screw it, movie. Who doesn’t love Sunday Afternoon at the Movies? Streaming options came through: Palm Springs on Hulu offered an afternoon respite from the daily drone.
  2. Next four months with COVID-19, political campaigns, protests, riots, Feds abducting protesters, and POTUS insanity and lies (along with his administration’s lies, and well, most of the right wing’s offerings) will be a trial. Add to that a heat wave, and now, wildfires (the Badger Fire). My soul is getting stretched pretty thin.
  3. On the COVID lines, cases in my state and county (Oregon, Jackson) are on the rise. No worries; to save our small businesses. the local Chamber of Commerce convinced the town to close some streets and parking so al fresco dining can be expanded. I’ve not checked it out — and won’t — but observers are saying, no masks and no distancing there. Yes, businesses and officials are lip syncing the requirements but enforcement seems to amount to some brief tsk, tsk. Not reassuring.
  4. Had a follow up with my doc. Arm (xrays) looks good but remains in a sling. His wife is friends with my wife and related a brief tale. “I was with Glen when the ER doctor called. They said they had a broken arm. Glen told them they could set it. They replied, no, I’m not touching this. We’re sending you film. Glen took a look and said, I’m on my way. Glen called it quite deformed.”
  5. Six more weeks and my arm will be free again.
  6. I have my writing, though, but limited to one-handed typing. Writing with pen didn’t work as the splinted arm/hand combo failed to keep the notebook from sliding around. I also have time and coffee. Guess I’ll try to write like crazy, at least once more.

Saturday’s Theme Music

Today’s theme music, “Every Breath You Take” by the Police (1983), was an obvious and unoriginal choice. Coaxed out of the cerebral cortex by images on the TV and net of law enforcement officers watching and attacking protesters, it works on multiple levels about watchers, watching, and being watched. Besides those confrontations, we’re watching COVID-related numbers, election events, and government actions as we gyrate about the best course to kickstart the money machines and normalize life as the case numbers rise.

The Police’s stalking song feels about right on this day in 2020.

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Well, here we go. The mid-term elections are done. Results are mostly in. Almost all issues are decided. A few exceptions are out there. Let’s go to James Brown singing “Living in America” (1985) for some reflection about WTF it all means.

 

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.

 

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