"How To Determine Why You’re Not Worthy of Being In Love With The Perfect Person Because You’re Color Blind"

I read in Smilla’s Sense of Snow, that Icelandic Eskimo’s have seventeen words to describe sleet, snow and ice. The next week an actress on TV said, “The Inuit language has twenty-seven different words for frozen water.” Both of these synchronistic snippets got stuck in the linked fence between my right and left hemispheres. The following week I overheard a conversation between a bruised-banana lady — yellow suit with patches of brown from high collar to low heel — and a silver haired, gray skinned woman wearing a purple and teal blouse that hurt my left eye more than my right. (Yes, I always eavesdrop in public; I’m a writer. Sue me.) Banana said, "Oh, I just love that color on you." And her mother snipped back, "You always love everything. Love, love, love; is there anything that you only like a little? Or simply don’t care for?"

At that moment the synergy of the two unrelated ideas handcuffed themselves together on a bench just behind my left temple and I realized: We need more than one word to describe love.

Love (which I shudder to use in a sentence without wondering what vague and disjointed meaning you — my reader — may confer upon it) can be distilled down to seven shades:

Red Love is the first primary love — the foundational love — or the love of Mother. It is also love of Father and parental love: the love of one’s children. A catch-phrase is 'family love'; even though Red Love is limited to blood relatives.

Red Love is unending. Red Love can incorporate, but often has very little to do with: generosity or kindness, caring, sharing, commitment, protection, and communication. Instead, Red Love rides on the shoulders of: obeying, trusting, teaching, learning and respecting.

Easily mixed with black (no color/no love), Red Love — regardless how dark it becomes — never can become completely black.

Reciprocity is never an issue with Red Love. It does not flow from one person to another. It merely exists, like air, which gives life. Liking or associating with Red Loves is irrelevant; as in, “I love my sister. brother. mom. dad. parents. daughter. son. children, because we’re family, but I can’t stand to be in the same room with him. her. them, for more than five minutes — or I lose my shit.” Red love is based on a soul-connection existing before a child’s birth and lasting after one’s death. Born from the small confidences, the large punishments, the hidden Kool-Aid stains and the decades of sharing the same silverware…Red Love only dissipates after every person, with a memory of that Red Loved person, has gone (and I don't mean to Tipperary).

Blue Love is the second primary love. Blue Love is the love of life-long best friends and extended family. This incorporates co-workers, family members one gains through marriage and partnership connections, as well as other long-term friendships.

Blue Love is reciprocal. In fact, reciprocation is a strong requirement for this love to survive. It’s difficult, but not impossible, to Blue Love an acquaintance if he does not Blue Love you in return. If you Blue Love your brother-in-law, divorce can cause your friendship to fade like a bruise. If you Blue Love a co-worker and leave your job, maintaining your Blue Love-friendship can become strenuous work.

It is possible to marry a Blue Love. Roommates marry to cut costs; acquaintances marry out of obligation, religious reasons, or financial responsibilities; and friends marry because of pregnancy. All these rational and un-emotional reasons are not necessarily bad reasons to commit to someone for a long period of time. Blue Love can be nice. It can be filled with comfort and caring; as well as kindness, sharing, commitment, protection, and communication.

Blue Love is not very sturdy. Like a favorite pair of blue jeans — it can fade over time without careful, constant attention. But, like a deep blue lake, it can be the center of two people’s enjoyment and camaraderie. However, since Blue Love doesn’t contain the emotions of bliss, euphoria or passion, it’s the easiest reciprocal-love to walk away from.

Yellow Love is the last primary love. This is the love or connection one feels for pets, infants, mentally challenged (including autistic and Alzheimer’s) and others who are incapable — or won’t — return our love.

This love is filled with empathy, commitment, teaching, sharing, and warmth; but Yellow Love is not a reciprocated love. If someone has a yellow love 'crush,' which becomes a shared feeling, the reciprocity causes that Yellow Love to bloom into a Blue, Violet or Green Love.

The yellow Sun’s rays shine down on the Earth. The Earth doesn’t give anything back. But — no matter — the sun keeps shining.

One who knows Yellow Love, understands the object of their love may never recognize it. This is not to say animals, newborn baby’s, or senile relatives are incapable of returning affection. But love of another’s attention, feeding, touch, and care is not really love for a person but merely a way of saying thank you.

Violet Love is the first and most prevalent of the secondary loves. Violet Love is a mixture of Red and Blue Love. Combining family love with best friend love, Violet Love is the devoted love of a chosen partner.

This love, based upon trust, sharing, open communication, unending kindness, common interests and rational commitments, is not as unromantic nor as calculated as it sounds.

Violets are winter flowers; strong and sturdy in cold, bad weather.

A couple who is physically attracted to each other, enjoy each other’s bedroom abilities, respect each other’s values, and possess each other's pre-requisites (..."She enjoys watching all my channels"..."His farts smell like summer strawberries"...) may settle into a comfortable Violet Love full of passion and equality. A Violet Love jam-packed with respectful, mutual decisions can be the foundation for a fantastic relationship or wonderful marriage.

Violets die in direct summer heat. If communication fails, commitments change, or agreements become dashed by a summer monsoon, Violet Love can quickly blacken.

Green Love: the second secondary love, is a twisted-twisty love. Green Love is the combination of Blue and Yellow Love. This combination of ‘must be reciprocated two-way-love,’ and ‘never to be reciprocated one-way-love,’ is fickle, unpredictable, sometimes ugly, always irrational, and miserably difficult to scrape off the bottom of your Birkenstocks.

Green with envy is a reasonable catch-phrase; envy of another’s possessions runs along the same vein as it’s running mate: jealousy. Lust is the bloated poster child for Green Love.

Never enduring and certainly without a required direction — vanity and narcissism are Green Loves, just like their stepchildren: addiction and obsession. It can be bestowed on inanimate objects (“I love that ‘52 Chevy”) and it can be gone without warning or explanation. Manias are based on Green Love. When a crush turns into a stalking, ordinary Yellow Love molds into a sick Green Love.

Orange Love is the last, most valuable (and rarest) secondary love. Orange Love is the combination of Red and Yellow Love. This mix of family love with non-reciprocating love is confusing because Red Love simply is — and doesn’t flow from person to person — and Yellow Love only flows in one direction. Rain is merely air (always present) and water (flowing in one direction) and just like rain, Orange Love attempts to soak through and permeate everyone. It is self-love.

‘Orange’ rhymes with no other word in the English language and to possess Orange Love is unique. To love oneself is as strong and important as Red Love, and as simple and spontaneous as the Yellow Love of a puppy.

Religions claim the love of their deity is Orange Love. Of the several flavors of god available in your grocer’s freezer, all have 'love' somewhere in his or her résumé. But to claim Orange Love is god’s love is not wrong, it’s just not completely accurate.

Millions of people (conditioned by their societies, families, or by their intentionally confusing religions) believe it is wrong to love one self. They mistake 'selfish' with 'self worth', and preach: "Think of others first, not yourself."

If you don’t love yourself first, foremost, and — most important — before loving anyone else, you can’t (or won’t) understand why that person loves you. Until you learn to Orange Love yourself with all your rough spots and mistakes you will find it impossible to hear your inner voice, your awareness will be limited to the physical, tangible world, and you will only understand those things your five senses tell you exist. Consequently, love will fall outside your ken.

Two people who have not discovered Orange Love (before they discovered each other) are incapable of White Love. They can never leave the Blue-Green-Violet Love arena.

White Love is the combination of all the loves under one roof. White Love is connected and unconnected to the other love-colors. None of their traits or characteristics can withstand the brilliance, yet their combined descriptions are what constitute White Love.

Talking about or attempting to describe White Love (as I’m failing to do here) with someone who’s never experienced it first hand, is as difficult and near-impossible as successfully describing Quantum Theory (quantum theorists even have difficulty talking with each other).

Billons of people have never known White Love; it is as rare as being struck by lightning. Sure, everyone wants to believe they experienced it. It’s the ultimate! Who wants to believe they are one of the masses; one of the 'also ran'?

To shop for White Love (sound ridiculous?’s simple) the only thing required is a few minutes of conversation. Sit down. Talk. You can be blind or blindfolded, because a person’s looks have nothing to do with White Love. Sexual attraction does not enter into the equation. When you first met, did you think about her body or her looks? Were you first attracted to him physically? Is their appearance a factor in how you think of them? Yes? That would be Green or Violet Love — my sad, attentive, reader.

White Love is immediately identifiable. A person who feels White Love for another is totally enthralled by that persons thoughts, feelings, words, emotions, and (like a junkie in need of a fix) will do anything, within value limits, to be in the continued company of that person. Every word flows effortlessly and smoothly; time moves without notice. The soul connection is so strong when talking with a White Lover, it seems as one is talking with oneself. "I feel as if I’ve always known you," is a common sentiment. Ideals, values, goals, characteristics, all seem identical; differences seem to melt away like white snow on white sand in the white desert.

Reciprocation is not required to feel White Love. One person can feel White Love for someone who feels Violet, Green or Blue Love in return. This usually happens because the person who does not feel White Love has yet to know Orange Love and it’s impossible to attain White Love if you don’t already possess Orange Love.

If my relationship ended today I would consider all the time I spent with him/her:

(1) A big wasted chunk of my life.

(2) A good excuse to cut off his balls with a filet knife from his tackle box, as soon as he falls asleep; the bastard. Teach him to end a relationship with me.

(3) Impossible. I've earned and received tenure. No way, after all this time, is she walking out of this relationship! I’ll take everything she owns and her bratty kids!

(4) A period in my life, filled with happy and sad times, but I wouldn’t be the person I am today if it were not for our time together.

Although an attempt at humor — 1, 2, and 3 are answers from a person without Orange Love, living life through the eyes of their partner. Always thinking: "His/her love of me proves I’m a good person." Everyone without Orange Love blames the demise of his or her Blue-Green-Violet relationship on the other partner.

If both feel Orange Love, and are equally self-aware, both know they are valuable individuals, no matter who they are sharing their toilet paper roll with. And both realize neither is wasting their life doing anything, anywhere, for anyone, except themselves. Past experiences are all valuable and necessary, directly resulting in the person they are today (whom they Orange Love).

So if the love of a partner fades away, there should never be blame. (Unless, of course, she wants to take the ‘52 Chevy, because I Green Love that hunk of metal and I’ll bash it into a pile of glass and paint chips before I’ll let her take it).

Magpie Love is the epiphany of love. Magpie love occurs when two Orange Lovers (pre-approved to maybe, eventually, find White Love) bump into each other, recognize feelings of White Love for the other, and, while discussing their feelings, learn of the others White Love.

Magpies mate for life. Two White Lovers — when recognizing shared White Love — are hit in a mutual rush of torrential greatness. Bliss. Euphoria. The dancing-on-a-cloud be-all, that ends-all.

Experiencing life in Magpie Love makes every mundane action and routine, a task worth doing if done together. No idea is too unimportant, no topic unspeakable, every conversation orgasmic.

Unending, selfish, unselfishness is a description for Magpie Love. I like that concise label so much, I’m going to repeat it.

  • Unending - forever lasting with no ability to wane.
  • Selfish - putting one’s own interests first.
  • Unselfishness - doing everything for another and putting one’s own interests last.

In Magpie Love, one White Lover will do anything to bring pleasure to the other, because doing so brings the pleasure-giver, more happiness than it delivers.

And so, patient reader, you have the color chart. Hold it up to yourself; examine your past and present relationships. Once you determine what you had/have, and what you want — then…

…as long as the two magpies doing the méringue don't bump into Rane Beaux, our waitress, causing your slice of lemon-kiwi pie with cherry meringue, to slide off the dessert tray and plop upside down on my grape and blueberry mango surprise — forcing her to become white hot enraged and throw us all out into the dry, desert, blackness — then, once you pay for our dessert, I’ll treat you to the story of,

Love’s Living Centers


"Seven Locations Where Love Settles When You Aren’t Paying Attention"

Book Recommendation: The Face

This par-level Koontz romps around in a wintry-SoCal-familiar-territory and intentionally remains not too supernaturally over-the-top. His smooth writing style (although riddled with repetitious exposition in places) compliments the routine plot, which is equally comfortable-predictable while the suspense is slightly restrained. In this story, city detectives with guardian angels are pitted against one caotic-obsessive kidnapper. Not as good as From the Corner of His Eye, or Odd Thomas, but better than dozens of others. This book can be found in second-hand bookstores.

Book Recommendation: The Sixth Commandment

Maybe, in the early years of Vietnam, Mr. Sanders found himself holding a gem, after weeks of banging on a Smith Corona, and attempted—but failed—to locate the correct combination of PCP-laced crank, which made that bestseller possible. Probably not. Instead, he penned bad sentence after worse and people bought the NEW YORK TIMES #1 BESTSELLING AUTHOR covers.

Having left him on shelves for decades, I forgot about the incessant adverbs ('His flaky eyelids rose slowly.'; '… she asked bluntly.'; and '...I said softly to him...') as well as his passive voice ('I had been right'; '....I'd fingered her as the author...’; and '...they had noticed me...'). Reading the late Mr. Sanders encourages using inconcise and grammatically incorrect sentences. Avoid him (and Vincent Lardo, who capitalizes on the dead author's name).

Quill Cog Native

"We are not a blanket: one piece of unbroken cloth of the same color and texture; we are more like a quillt: many patches, many colors, all woven and held together by a common orange thread." - Snapperhead misquoting Jesse Jackson

digital rendering by veach st. glines, creative commons license 2005

Life Meme - from aibee's tag

What were three of the stupidest things you've done?
  1. Married in 1982, divorced in 1985.
  2. Married in 1986, divorced in 1991.
  3. Married in 1992, divorced in 2002.
I’ll let that stand alone in all it blazing stupidity.

Who has the most influence in your life?

I do.

My fox-point Siamese and my paramour exert the only external influences, all of which I love (except for the incessant yowling).

Who would you pick up for 'Dinner For Six' with your time machine?
  1. Jack Ruby (ran a strip-club in Dallas, died in prison of syphilis, shot Oswald, what stories he could tell!)
  2. Adolph Hitler (guarantees one interesting conversation: his explanation as to why he never eats meat).
  3. P.K. Dick (I would need someone much more crazy-intelligent than me to ask the others bizarre questions and then argue with their answers). I suspect Phillip would refuse to get into the time machine (paranoia was his forte). If so, I’d find H.D. Thoreau after he spent 22 months living in the woods.
  4. Eleanor Roosevelt (I bet she could — and, with a little coaxing and after-dinner drinks, will — kick Adolph’s ass in a bare-knuckle fight).
  5. Vincent Van Gogh before he removed his ear. (He and Adolph can swap suicide stories; besides that, he and I were both born on the same day…only 106 years apart).
If granted three non-supernatural wishes, what would they be?
  1. My ex-wife would die peacefully, in her sleep. Tonight.
  2. My paramour would get promoted. Next week.
  3. My sister would find someone with the je ne sais qua that makes her blissful. Soon.
Name two things you regret your city not having and two things people should avoid.

Phoenix, Arizona would be better if it had:
  1. A better art-house theater catering to a quick turnover of crunching-the-top, fringe, indie, and foreign films.
  2. White Castle or Krystal Burgers.
  1. Going outside in June, July, and August unless wearing SPF 189 while dashing between an air conditioned space and a swimming pool or vice versa.
  2. Staying indoors the other nine months of the year.
Name an event that changed your life.

I joined the Boy Scouts. I learned to love and respect nature, camp, hike and explore the outdoors before I became an Eagle Scout. All of which were gateway experiences for the US Army, where I learned to protect, serve, defend and explore a big chunk of the world before I retired.

Tag five people.

I tagged my dinner guests. They accepted my tag, but apologize for not posting. Most were more amazed about my description of blogs and the web of internets than they were of the time machine.

Of course, if you read this meme and want to do it...consider yourself tagged.

film reviews (early summer 2005) and Keeper Alert (Hustle & Flow)

Mr and Mrs Smith (2005) directed by Doug Liman (The Bourne Identity, 2002); starring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie: Snaprating=Cheaper, PROBLEM theme. Although the Smith's fight can be compared to the fight in War of the Roses, the steady humor and over-the-top shoot-n-blow-em-up's, make this more 'Grosse Point Blank meets Léon, The Professional' with a nod to Butch and Sundance.
Batman Begins (2005) directed by Christopher Nolan (Memento, 2000); starring Christian Bale and Katie Holmes: Snaprating=Keeper , CHARACTER theme (secondary theme elements: Problem and Milieu). This is, hands-down, the best superhero-film to date. This saga incorporates over-the-top action sequences, vehicle chases, fight scenes, and witty rejoinders (with far less CGI) as if Van Helsing, Die Hard and Indiana Jones were morphed with the first Batman.
Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith (2005) directed by George Lucas (Star Wars, 1977); starring Ewan McGregor and Natalie Portman: Star-Wars-fan Snaprating=Cheaper, all-others Snaprating=WFC, PROBLEM theme. The script was cribbed from a videogame sound-byte tech (no sentences over six words) and most scenes are CGI hand-me-downs from one of it's older, wiser, siblings or are attempts at humorous nods to films like The Fifth Element and Frankenstein.
War of the Worlds (2005) directed by Steven Spielberg (Minority Report, 2002); starring Tom Cruise and Dakota Fanning: Snaprating=WFD, PROBLEM theme. Fans of Independence Day and The Day After Tomorrow may enjoy this dark, awfully edited, CGI-dominant, retread.
La Marche de l'empereur (March of the Penguins) (2005) Luc Jacquet's directorial debut; starring thousands of emperor penguins: Snaprating=WFD, MILIEU theme. Old fans of the 'Wonderful World of Disney' and younger fans of the documentary Winged Migration will enjoy this tale of Antarctic-nature's hardships and triumphs.
Hustle & Flow (2005) directed by Craig Brewer (The Poor and Hungry, 2000); starring Terrence Howard and Taryn Manning: Snaprating=Keeper, CHARACTER theme. Comparison to 8 mile is easy and simply wrong because this film has the warmth of a great script, wonderful directing (at one point, a woman's song made me tear) and superb acting, which are missing from Slim's hollow autobiography.

Papa's Auto Opinion

          Recently a friend's dichotomy regarding her car purchase stirred thoughts from mental-compost-heap depths to my mind's surface, my keyboard, my screen — now it's on your screen ... in your mind.  This electronic artifice of passing along thoughts, replaces the decades-old verbal guidance my grandfather gave me.  Papa's wisdom is as vital today as it was when I was first-car shopping (only the dollar amounts are somewhat more than quadrupled).
          "Kiddo, there are four things everyone must keep in mind when owning and operating an automobile."  He used longer words rather than some of their available shorter equivalents and his voice carried decades of unfiltered Lucky Strikes in it's timbre.
          "Most important is maintenance and operating costs, which includes gasoline, oil, replacement rubber and repairs when the goddamn thing breaks down."  He said the word goddamn without emphasis.  Just another descriptor.  As if he was really saying, 'when the rusty-metal thing breaks down'.
          "And the insurance premiums, which for someone your age is gonna be a kick-in-the-nuts unless you can convince your parents to include you on their policy."
          He never called either of them by name, leastways never that I recall.  Only pronouns seemed to exist in his dialogue.  He even called his own wife the same thing everyone called her, Nana.  I never noticed it until thinking about him after he died.  When I asked her about it, Nana said, "Of course he called people by their names.  You're mistaken.  You were young, Sonny."  Yeah.  Sonny.  The pronoun used by both of them for Uncle Milt, their son.  But I'm the mistaken one.
          "And then, of course, there are the annual registration and license plate costs.  And in this state there is an excise tax, as well as a fee for getting an inspection sticker."  He raised his voice a little at this point.  He didn't seem to be at all pleased with government-directed costs.
          "The very last thing to consider is the payment price. When I say price, do not get confused and think I mean the amount listed on the sticker unless you are paying cash on the barrelhead — and even I'm not walking around with seven grand in my pocket.  Price means: the amortization of the interest and the principal amount you borrow, all wrapped together into a monthly payment.  All the money you pay the bank, over the years you pay, is the price tag on your automobile.  The ONLY price tag."
          When I asked for his advice in selecting an affordable car, he responded with questions about my income and current expenses, did some calculations and said, "You can afford to spend about two-hundred a month on an automobile, give or take a few dollars."
          I immediately forgot almost everything he told me.  My mind clicked through current interest rates and how much I could borrow to keep my payments around two hundred.  Maybe he suspected what I was thinking, but his laugh-lines didn't show it.  Instead, he asked, "How many miles a week do you think you'll drive?"  I said, "To and from college a couple weekends a month, to the movies once in a while, in the summer I'd drive to work and around town; maybe a hundred miles a week or so?"
          Then he did some murmuring and thinking out loud for a long minute.  It sounded like, "...rate at that...per gallon...a year...seventy cents...every three...maybe quarterly..."  Then he looked at me and said, "You might be able to afford a $1,300 car as long as it gets over twenty miles to the gallon."
          I must have looked crestfallen or even crushed, because he laughed. "You paying any attention to me?"  I said, "Yes, Papa."  "Well, do the math.  500 miles a month is 6,000 miles a year.  If you get 20 miles to the gallon that's 300 gallons of gasoline you need to buy next year.  An easy way to predict the rest of the maintenance costs — hoses, windshield wipers, fluids and the like — is to figure 100 dollars for every 1,000 miles.  At the current cost of gasoline, your maintenance costs will be around 900 dollars a year.  Liability-only insurance, on your parent's policy, should be around 500 a year and taxes and shit should be no more than 150 or so.  Now, that's over $1,500 a year on an automobile you have yet to put a price tag on.  If I co-sign, you might could get an 18-month loan for about $1,300 at a reasonable interest rate, and that is a $75-a-month payment, which would bring your monthly costs to the two-hundred mark."
          I told him I would think about what he said.  I went away and did my own calculations.  The result looked like this: $4,500 at ten percent interest for five years is $95 a month (I could afford the extra $20, he was being too conservative). I knew I could get a really great car for forty-five hundred dollars.
          When I talked to Papa on the phone later, I explained my calculations.  He said, "Why don't you borrow your mother's automobile and do a price comparison on automobiles with $4,500 stickers and then on similar cars on the same lot, but which are five years older.  See how your newer car fares after five years in the value-department.  Don't forget that your tastes in automobiles will probably change over the next five years as well."
          The following week, I did what he recommended.  I found a sporty-looking Datsun for $4,900, which was only slightly over a year old (and I was sure I could talk them down).  Then I was shown several older cars: A seven year old Toyota was marked at 1,900; an eight year old Honda was $2,000; and I found a six year old Ford for 1,750.  Papa said on the phone that night, "Seems you have learned that the car you spend almost six thousand dollars to purchase over a five year period will be worth less than two grand once you actually own it.  Why don't you see what kind of value you can get purchasing a twenty or even forty-year-old automobile?"
          I think my response used catch phrases like 'clunker' and 'gas hog' but it couldn't hurt to humor him.  I checked classifieds and drove my stepfather's van to a local farm.  The farmer was selling three antiques: a 1953 Oldsmobile tank for $750; a 1961 Corvair for $1,000; and a four-door 1949 Pontiac with one of those external windshield visors and no back seat (he said it was made that way for traveling salesmen to store their wares).  He wanted $650 for it because it needed a new paint job and the tires were in bad shape.  All three ran perfectly.  He didn't seem to be bothered at all by some teenager showing up and asking to drive his cars up and down the county road in front of his place.
          "So, those old cars seem to have gained their value back." Papa said after I told him about my test drives.  "I doubt if that Corvair cost much more than a thousand when it rolled off the assembly line."  I told him I suspected maintenance and gas would cost more, since these cars were older, probably harder to find parts for, and said they would get worse mileage (especially the eight-cylinder Olds).
          "Bullshit," he said. "That Corvair will get at least 20 miles to the gallon and I bet it is easier, and cheaper, to fix and find parts for.  But don't take my word on it.  Call any shop-mechanic and ask him.  Tell him what you are considering purchasing and what your concerns are about repairs.  Just ask how much he would charge to examine a car before you purchase it, to provide his mechanical opinion of it's condition."
          The mechanic said he loved working on old classics.  He preferred them.  They were the cars on which he learned.  Parts were always available and they cost no more than new-car parts.  He said, "There's nothing better made than Detroit-steel."  And, "all cars need repairs, but newer ones sometimes cost more in labor, because everything is jam-packed together under the hood and I always haveta move major components outta the way just ta do simple stuff, like change spark plugs.  If you want my opinion, buy a older car."
          Papa shared this wisdom with all his "grandkiddo's."  Although I don't think his granddaughters listened (or his guidance was drowned out by all the fear-based auto-industry commercials).  Now my sisters and nieces drive always new, trade-before-it-needs-tires, money-sinkholes, with the best fear-induced 'extended warranty' they can feel comfortable paying for.  Papa's grandsons did listen.  If there is one clear demarcation between the sexes in my extended family it's seen in our vehicles.
          $35K, new.  Insurance is not too bad.  Mostly garaged except winters and whenever she needs to tow her horse trailer (because it has a ten-cylinder engine which makes a fill-up cost two arms and one leg).  She only repairs it at the dealer she bought it from, so maintenance costs are not equitable to any other sane person I know.  She combats her fears by driving something that one needs a gangway to embark into and debark from.  WORTH LESS THAN $18K IN TRADE (which will happen soon).
          $5K, when it was 37 years old.  Maintenance negligible, fancy improvements and paint cost more than anything.  He drives it every day.  It's orange and that almost makes up for no air conditioner.  Rarely needed in the Midwest, he says.  WORTH OVER $8K TODAY.
          $8,500, when it was fifty years old.  Almost no engine maintenance (but it came with a new engine and new interior).  An extra car which is driven weekends, when it's raining, or when his motorcycle is in the shop (which seems to be more than just once in a while).  It is great to drive and has an after-market air conditioner.  He has already put 70K miles on it.  WORTH ABOUT $12K TODAY.
          About 20K new.  Insurance is phenomenal (because she drives as if she's the only person on the road, fast).  Maintenance is acceptable if you disregard the cost of the accident repairs.  WORTH ABOUT 11K TODAY (More, if the next owner doesn't check accident history).
           $3K, when it was 31 years old.  Almost no maintenance costs.  Liability insurance less than two hundred dollars a year.  Drove it for six years and over 30K miles and sold it for the same price I bought it.  I don't presently own a car.
          65K or more, new.  This is her toy.  She doesn't know how much anything costs because she doesn't 'do the bills'.  It gets picked up by 'the garage' for all routine maintenance, and nothing is ever wrong with it unless there is a light or a noise.  Nonetheless, IT IS WORTH ABOUT 50K TODAY (and it will be traded next year).

Minimum blogger standards revisited

I wrote a post in May explaining my winnowing three blogs from the applaudable ranks. Others, who will also be missed, now join them. Writing less than twice a month was the issue in my May post; now here are a few other reasons to lose my applause.

Uninteresting writing: Some bloggers become enmeshed in describing daily details or environment up toand beyondthe point where their writing is as interesting as watching my Hayward AquaPilot suck dead bugs (which is actually interesting for about 23.57 seconds).

Self-promotion: Overly narcissistic blogs have a friends and family niche; unless I'm related to the ugly-in-every-picture I prefer not to see your digital storeroom. Along the same artery, those who seem to have a need to throw their shoulder out of joint with self-aggrandizement: less is more, even when it comes to masturbatory-back-patting.

Jerry's kids: Some blog-reads are very much a romp in Springerland. Although I'm oddly interested when I stumble across the show and may even watch for a few minutes (mesmerized by toothless, mouth-breathers) I don't program the show on TeVo.

By request: Asking to be removed from applaudable status to avoid being listed here if one's writing (or my opinion of it) flagged in the future, seemedat first glanceabnegation bordering on fatalism. But I suspect it's far more confusing and falls somewhere between 'shouldn't pander approval' and 'control-curtail stressors'. So, although I still applaud their writing, I bow to their wishes.

To these bloggers, I wave a hypertextural goodbye (even though some may have been gone long, long, ago)...

After slip-skipping thru the atmo-blog, I complied an informal census, which indicates all blogs fit into these cubbies:

  • 20% - written in a language I could not read (unfortunately)
  • 18% - focused on political or religious subject matter (with proselytizeable foaming and rants)
  • 14% - advertisement or word-cache for another site
  • 12% - yet to be determined, as the blog was too new
  • 11% - caught my attention and held it (and were appended to my clap-pending list)
  • 9% - fan site (sports, pr0n, celebs)
  • 7% - juvenile (creative over-attempts)
  • 5% - digital album niche (friends and family oriented)
  • 4% - simply dislikable (for various reasons)


digital rendering by veach st. glines, creative commons license 2005