Sidebar: when in soi-disant “adult” company, I do sometimes become a wee tad irritated by neo-Victorian Bowdlerizers who define anything that offends their po’ widdle feewings as “cussing.” *meh* It’s my curse just barely more than literate. . . unlike the neo-Victorian Bowdlerizers who are almost universally very nearly illiterate.
N.B. Sometimes a vulgar term is the best term to describe something/someone. Just sayin’.
It’s Thanksgiving season, but I’m trying to keep a grateful mindset as much as I can at more than just this season.
Here’s one: Thankful to live in America’s Third World County™ in spite of the town’s lazy, dishonest, incompetent, nepotism-riddled public “works” department. *heh* The rest of the county balances those dishonest morons out very well. 😉 (Working on 3rd week with almost no water flow–neighbors as well. Took the threat of involving an alderman again, like the last time, when it still took more than a month for them to do a bad job, repair hasn’t lasted any better than the last four before, and they failed to properly backfill their excavation.)
Frequent readers (OK, the frequent reader *heh*) here have seen me refer to “the voices in my head.” They’re not really there, at least not as delusional thoughts. But I do “overhear” arguments with myself, and I imagine that’s something Kierkegaard, at least, could have related to. But I do hear strange, distracting, annoying, and sometimes painful sounds.
Tinnitus is a real PITA.
One of the most irritating things about tinnitus is the way it seems to effect a distraction to certain frequencies, at least as I experience it, in effect covering over certain pitches. Other freqs, higher and lower? Nope.
So, I can be sitting quietly playing a game of “Zen Freecell”1 with all the “tintinnabulation of the bells, the bells, the bells” ringing and roaring in my head, and yet a clock ticking in the next room impinges on my subconscious and I find myself CLICKing and making moves with a steady one second rhythm. Once I realize I’ve been caught again, I can then not do so, but that “tick-tick-tick. . . ” in the other room still hounds me.
1“Zen Freecell” is just regular old everyday Windows Freecell played as near as possibly in a mindless state. My current scores on each computer where I do that for relaxation (in place of “meditation”) are each above 8,800 games played with no losses. It’s just patterns. It’s a bit like seeing the solution to an equation without performing the intervening steps, only with “Zen Freecell” the steps have to be taken even though the solution’s a foregone conclusion.
Civil Asset Forfeiture: a procedure by which government thugs can seize the property of citizens who have NOT been convicted of a crime, and especially NOT of any crime in any way associated with the use of that property/asset.
It’s nothing but government-sponsored theft, and those who practice it should
Have their assets seized–all of them
Be horsewhipped through the streets of whatever jurisdiction they committed the theft in
Serve a real life sentence on a chain gang manually making gravel from BIG rocks.
Should, but in our corrupt society, instead they are rewarded with sinecures, jobs protected by a so-called “qualified immunity” that amounts to a functional immunity that is little other than a license to bully, steal, and–if they can get a wink and a nudge–kill.
Anyone have a solution short of bringing such vile, despicable, completely depraved individuals before their Final Judgment? Since the PTB have made self-defense and the defense of one’s property rights unlawful in today’s Amerika *sigh*, I’d very much appreciate someone smarter than me to offer a lawful solution to this kind of rampant brigandage.
N.B. Apart from “thought crimes” (wishing ill of these evil people), I know of no laws I have broken that would open me up to such brigandage, and nor do I own assets that would make seizing such amount to much more than petty theft, but since these corrupt law enFARCEment looters DGARA about any such thing, I have to assume I could be put out on the street any time some petty bureaucrap wants. *sigh*
One term for what these people do is “anarcho-tyranny.”
The joys of good grammar include clearer communication, but also include the “joy” of sometimes making an otherwise enjoyable set of lyrics grating to the ear. *heh* For example, John Jacob Niles should be retroactively slapped upside the head for,
I wonder as I wander out under the sky,
How Jesus the Savior did come for to die.
For poor on’ry people like you and like I…
I wonder as I wander out under the sky.
No, “like you and like I” has the pronouns in the objective case position, not subjective case. The often made lame excuse of adding a mental “are” is no better than correcting it to “like you and like me.” In fact, it’s worse, apart from “like you and like me” ruining Niles’s rhyme scheme.
It’s unfortunate that Niles died in 1980, because he really deserves a dope slap for this abomination. I’d offer remediation for this stanza, but then I’d have to fix the rhyme schemes of the other two verses to match, and I’m not quite sure it’d be worth the effort. Of course, that would afford the opportunity to fix the really awkward last line in the second stanza. . .
I have a quirk, I guess one might say. An example might be, I need to have my cooking utensils hung in EXACTLY the right place–the place where I expect them to be. If a spoon I need to stir a soup is hung just two places off from its place, I have a devil of a time finding it, sometimes (OK, oftentimes). I’ve been known to look all through the kitchen for the RIGHT spoon, because not only is it not in its place, but imagining it being in another utensil’s place is just. . . wrong.
I have experienced something similar if someone referred to “The Messiah” (as a musical work). I am–or was for years–prone to ask “Who is that by?” since Handel’s work is “Messiah.” Now, I know every single note of the Spicker score for “Messiah,” but for years “The Messiah” used as reference to that work kinda threw me. *shrugs* Of course, this usually only causes problems with things I know well.
No, I do not fit the loosey-goosey DSM-IV OCD diagnostic criteria.
Son & Heir’s (otherwise _perfect_ pooch) just filled the room with a “gaseous aroma” that is several orders of magnitude worse than a cat dead three days, left out in the sun to rot. After recovery and airing the room out, I’m still almost afraid to breathe. . .
Read a book blurb. Aloud: “Highballs in the Hamptons? Not interested.”
My Wonder Woman: “You’re not interested in other people’s balls.”
Me: “You really lowballed that one.”
MWW: “If the cup fits. . . “