I was helping others create security devices. That’s how it was put in the dream. It was a firm, and we were working outside, in the world. My security device ended up looking like a lawnmower chassis, the sort with a little gas engine that you push and walk behind. There was no engine, handle, or wheels, just that shape, from below. Hope you get the visual from this explanation. The kicker was that it was huge, and high up in the sky.
I pointed it out to people, laughing about its lawnmower resemblance. “I didn’t realize that when I created it,” I said. Then I went on to tell them that it would perpetually filter the world against security threats, and never come down. Then they showed and told me about their security devices.
Weirdest thing about this dream is that I had three other dreams. In them, I’d look up, and there was my security lawnmower. I laugh even now remembering that.
Facebook notifications won’t load/display this morning. After playin’ with it five minutes as I sipped coffee and doing a few searches for fixes, I shrugged it away and reported it. Not a big deal, really.
After reporting it and sending a screen shot, I noticed my FB support inbox was showing four new messages. I opened it.
None were new. One was over sixteen months old. They were all about my violations of their community standards. They’re a laugh.
One was a Bored Panda post I’d shared about people working from home and dealing with their dogs. This affronted Facebook’s spam standards.
Whaaat? They don’t want me to share humorous animal stories because they’re ‘spam’? Geez, I think I’ve been using FB wrong lo’ these many years.
Two others were messages updating me about my protests. They’d blocked two others because they violated their community standards. I’d appealed. These were notices that they were wrong, and had restored the posts. Well, good for me. Good for FB.
The fourth was an appeal I’d put in about another post they’d removed. They were reviewing it and would get back to me soon. Dated June 12, 2019, I figured their idea of ‘soon’ and mine doesn’t match.
Now, the most interesting thing is that the notifications that I can’t see on FB, I can see when I’m in my FB support inbox. Intrigued, I went back to FB and attempted to see the notifications through various feeds. No go. But the push notifications still pop up and load.
Well, it’s modern technology, innit? When it works, it’s great. When it fails, it’s a big friggin’ mystery. In the ol’ days, we’d clean the cache, or reboot, or sumpin’. I’m going to have more coffee, and see if that takes care of it.
Former Vice-President Joe Biden has been declared the winner over Trump. Mr. Biden will become the next POTUS.
Many have cried, “At last, the four-year-nightmare is over!”
Yeah, no.
I’ve seen this movie before. Just when you think the Terminator was dead and Linda Hamilton was safe, here he comes again. When you finally believed John McClain had vanquished the terrorists, one more shows up with a final effort to shoot and kill him.
That’s where we’re at in this election scenario. It’s not time for the credits yet.
Trump embraced America’s worst ideals and created a nasty legacy. Raising conspiracy theories and outlandish challenges to science and common decency to new levels he’s enabled the same in people who would otherwise be mostly decent, friendly, capable members of society.
He wasn’t alone, no. Fox News remains out there amplifying the trumpshit. Trump’s GOP enablers, like Mitch McConnell, were re-elected. The slug who screwed the United States citizens countless times during Mr. Obama’s terms, who has stonewalled legislation, remains in office.
Trump and his minions will be out there on Twitter and Facebook, continuing their shameless litany of absurdities and outright garbage. And Trump is still in office for a few more months. As petulant, petty, hateful, cruel, and shallow as he is, I don’t expect these next few months to go without incident. He’s also not likely to accept the results, but continue going to court, demanding recounts, and posting lies about the situation. And his supporters will lap it up and amplify it. So, no, it’s not over.
Chris Rea had the perfect song for it, though. Here’s his 1978 hit, “Fool (If You Think It’s Over)”.
Fool if you think it’s over ‘Cause you said goodbye Fool if you think it’s over I’ll tell you why
Okay, I blew my nose this morning, one of the first things I did after peeing. Then I looked at what I’d blown out.
Not the sort of thing to think about, isn’t it?
Some people don’t like to. Bodies may be temple, but whatever is in it should stay hidden.
That’s not what I believe.
I started thinking about this because a rant on Facebook was about how horrified someone was by another blowing their nose and then looking at it. I thought, why not? This is a discharge from my body and its processes. Of course I’m going to look at it. I want to know what the hell is coming out of me. Especially if I’m feeling a little under the weather, more stopped up than usual, or I’m recovering from something, or coping with a health issue, or, like today, dealing with unhealthy air. Doctors and nurses will ask you about its color and consistency; you should know it.
Likewise, I check out my urine and feces. I want to know the results of my bowel movements. Again, it’s part of my body and evidence about what’s going on in there. If I could check my blood regularly and get test results, I would. One thing learned as I’ve aged is that symptoms of underlying conditions don’t usually reveal until they combine into something serious that starts taking me down.
I’m tired of people being dainty about these things. Hiding it, not looking at it, not discussing it unless they’re being closed doors. Ridiculous. Knowledge and information can help us understand and grow. Hiding your knowledge about your body from yourself and others just spreads ignorance.
So don’t turn away. Look at what comes out of you. Talk about it with others. How the hell are you supposed to learn otherwise?
I’m weary of all the silos we’ve built in the name of conventions, norms, and polite societies. I don’t think these manufactured artifices serve us.
So come on. Stop crying, “TMI,” and join the information revolution.
My dreams remain plentiful and involved. Sometimes, it feels like my brain is switching channels between realities as I sleep.
In this segment, I’d arrived to conduct an inspection. Three gentlemen in sites, all white, but of different ages, met me.
They knew why I was there. The oldest, with receding, thick white hair said, “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Do you have what I want?” I asked.
“Yes, but we must find it.” He nodded to the youngest man. “Go tell the others he’s arrived.” After going up white steps, the young man entered a tall, narrow building.
We followed him. The oldest man said, “It’s in one of the safes. We don’t know which one.”
We were walking down a narrow hall. I asked, “How many are there?”
“Twenty-three.”
I’d not expected so many safes. The oldest man nodded at the other. “Open number six.”
The other turned and opened a door, revealing a silver vault door within with a silver combination dial in the center. Stepping forward, the man put his hand on the dial.
Infloofmation(floofinition) – Facts provided or learned about animals.
In use: “Living with an animal provided people with infloofmation, but didn’t necessarily make them animal experts. They often learned wide gulfs of differences usually existed between animals, even when they were of the same species.”
— National Floofographic Magazine, Floofuary 32, 2009.
Pickup truck is an interesting expression. Why is it used? According to Wikipedia.org, it’s of unknown origins, but was used by Studebaker in 1913, although it was hyphenated as two words then.
Saying good-bye on the phone has become interesting in America. I know some that say nothing when the call is due to end. They’re done, and, saying nothing, they hang up.
It’s weird when it’s experienced. “Hello?” I say. “Are you there?”
Then I listen.
No; they’re not there.
I hang up with the assumption, I guess the call was done, but they didn’t say good-bye. Maybe they were disconnected. Maybe they were nuked, or dropped their phone in the commode. Whichever and whatever it is, the lack of a formal good-bye, farewell, or so-long leaves me feeling that closure is missing.
Others are like me, saying, “Bye-bye.”
Bye-bye, like a child. Yeech. I don’t like saying that, but it seems my rote response. I don’t know where the hell I picked it up, but I even often used it in the military. “Yes, sir,” I’d say to the wing commander. “I’ll call you back when I have an update on the bomb threat.”
“Good. Thank you, sergeant.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Bye-bye.”
Very professional.
This came to mind today because of an early morning call. The stranger, who called to confirm a service, ended with, “Okay, thank you, see you later, bye.”
Michael Seidel, writer 