Abstruse Building - Hillsboro, OR

          Transit Center?... that sounds sooo invisible two-thousand four.  We are talking about a building which is to be built in the future; we need to inform those fellow Oregonians who'll eventually drive, ride, or pedal past in the flesh this is not just a parking garage near a bus stop.  It'll have charging stations for electric cars, public restrooms with showers and lockers, places to secure bicycles.  It'll be near a train stop.  For the love of everything international toll free—it'll have a bus stop inside!

          No, no, no...is your interaural transfer function not working properly?...the research, conducted by the Integrated Testing Forum, indicates that for individuals to fully understand what it's to function as, it needs an integrated-title-facade with an appropriate name in an impressively titled font.

          What?  Yes, I've tried fedora's.  Yes, I also have ironically tattooed forearms.  Well...I text fast, and I think, friend, that's waaay better than typing full sentences.  

          What's this have to do with selecting a name for the parking lot with a bus stop?

          Nevermind.  I've tentatively figured it out.

Lose Lose - a Metaphor?

          This is a spoiler-laden plot critique of Thomas McCarthy's 2011 film Win Win (☆☆☆-)*.  This is not a film review.  If I were reviewing it, I'd do so quickly because I saw it two days ago and almost all the dialogue and images have already yellow-browned and fallen.  Soon they'll all be gone—overwritten by stronger memories—like yesterday's lunch (turkey/swiss/onion/spinach/miracle whip on warmed buttermilk, with dill pickles & sourcream-n-onion chips on the side, and a glass of cold Pepsi).  Yum.

          The plot centers around the main character.  A schlub in every way save one.  You should imagine Jimmy Stewart as the schlub (because the HUGE flaw in this story wouldn't exist if this were a 1949 black and white film).  Jimmy is an incompetent lawyer who's going broke.  He works in a small neighborhood office building, which he owns.  It's falling into disrepair (in large part, due to his maintenance failures).  He also owns a huge suburban home and is the father of two young children (the only thing he isn't bad at).  His wife doesn't work (more befitting a 1949 setting) and Jimmy hides his financial situation from his wife (also an action from a bygone era).

          NOTE:  Jimmy is a metaphor for the United States.  Not just the US government, but a distillation of every American.  Of us all.  The blame for the poor economy is borne by all of our inner Jimmies.

          Jimmy's passion is wrestling.  No, that's inaccurate...Jimmy has no passion.  Decades ago, schlub-in-training-Jimmy wrestled in high school and didn't suck too much; now he's a terrible coach for a losing high school wrestling team.

          NOTE:  War metaphor.  America likes its wars.  Once upon a time it was better at them.

          Jimmy has a receptionist.   Red hair? check.  Tight sweater? check.  Snapping chewing gum? check.  Smarmy? check.  Files nails while talking? check.  Constantly complains? check.  Collects a paycheck (which is definitely more than $1,500.00/month...which is important) for doing little work? check.  Delivers an important line of dialogue: "He's LOADED, just read his file."

          Jimmy has a buddy.  He's everything Jimmy is not.  Buddy is rich, single, childless, and in good physical condition.  Buddy's only failure is being a good husband.  Jimmy never asks Buddy to lend him money (nor does Buddy offer anything more than vague ways to make money by investing).  

          NOTE:  A banking and credit company metaphor, as well as a "don't tax the rich" metaphor. 

          Jimmy reads the file.  An elderly client, with no locatable relatives and dementia, wants to continue to live in his own home.  The old guy receives a monthly payment of $1,500.00 (in 1949 that might have been plenty to live on).

          The state plans to move the old guy into an assisted-living home.  Jimmy convinces the court to personally award him guardianship in order to "keep him in his home" and then, Jimmy lies to the old guy and moves him into an assisted-living home anyway.  (All the additional fraud Jimmy would have had to commit is never hinted at...he'd have had to 'spend-down' and hide the old guy's assets, including the home and the monthly income, before medicare would pay for the assisted-living).

          The first month's "stolen" $1,500.00 is used, by Jimmy, to pay his own family's late medical insurance.

          NOTE:  Health insurance crisis metaphor.

          The second act introduces the run-away, high school aged, grandson of the old guy, who happens to be a great wrestler.  Jimmy provides him room and board.  The kid starts to wrestle and to turn around the entire wrestling team.  They begin to win a few matches.  Then the old guy's addict-daughter (wrestling-kid's mom) arrives and tries to get guardianship so she can have the much sought after $1,500.

          In the third act (with his lies exposed and to prevent the court from learning about his fraud) Jimmy strikes a bargain with the greedy addict to send her the $1,500 every month, moves old guy back into his own home, and volunteers to continue to provide room and board for the kid until he graduates.

          The story ends with Jimmy coming home from the office and then heading out to a second job.  He is happy paying penance for the lies/fraud.  He's now paying the living expenses of the old guy, taking on the kid, and sending 18K a year to the addict.

          NOTE:  Hammering home the metaphor.  America is choc-full of addicts, elderly, and youth.  Our collective past greed (and many other of the deadly seven sins) has turned the entire world into a less nice place.  But, it's OK to forget about those improprieties...as long as we take care of those who can't take care of themselves (anymore or yet).  And don't lay off the over-paid sloths.  And don't ask for money from the wealthy.  Just work more.  Yuck.

Optical Illusion Dragon

      
          Download.  Print.  Cut out.  Fold.  Tape.

          Close one eye.  Stare at the dragon's eyes.  Its head seems to bend and follow as you move left and right, up and down.

          Watch the video to see it in action (as well as see how it works).

When someone else says exactly...

...what I'm thinking (only, their je ne sais quality, emphasis, and phrasing could never be improved upon) I embed it:
 

 

(It's really a rant worth listening to.)

Dear Neighbor,

          I am writing to you today because of the phone call you made to my employer last week.  According to my supervisor, you are adamant about not receiving anymore of the weekly free coupons wrapped inside a page of recipes and poorly-written articles about consuming, which I've been throwing in the general direction of your half-million dollar house, at the foot of your driveway, behind your fleet of massive urban vehicles and sleek-shiny sports cars, around the time your lawn sprinklers come on (even though it's been raining for the last two weeks).

          My boss said you want me to stop delivering the free "shopper" because:

          [  ]  You never read—always recycle—it, and want to reduce the waste of natural resources.
          [  ]  Are tired of having to walk to the end of your driveway to pick up "trash".
          [  ]  Get tongue-tied trying to pronounce, "deseche el comprador periódico" to your maid or gardener.
          [  ]  Hate hearing the grind-graction of tires/engine at wrong-side-of-the-road-speeds (and/or the thwack-sliizz of plastic wrapped paper on pavement at zero-dark-thirty).
          [  ]  Think what I'm doing is the equivalent of intentionally littering on your property.
          [  ]  All of the above and a bag of condescension.

          Please permit me to rebut thusly:

          I am a 20-year retired Army veteran (Yuup....the patriot card comes off the top of the deck).  Two months ago my fiancee lost her job at almost the same moment as her investment income disappeared; in one month my household wages were reduced by half...she's looking, but hasn't found a new job.  So.  I got a job delivering newspapers and "shoppers".  I have too much pride to be:

          And not just because it is impossible for me to be hypocritical (and pre-bless the charitable with the allure of sky cake) or that I refuserefuserefuse to hang a misspelled sign around my neck asking for charity.  Mostly—it's because I'm physically able to work.  They (advertisers) pay me approximately $1,500 a month to deliver about 450 papers a day as long as I work every day.  Which is enough.  For me.  To pay all my fucking bills.

          At this point I need an all-seriousness-aside bit, because this is getting too.  Way too.

          (1)  The combo-'refuserefuserefuse' makes me think about the first time I read the word 'orangered' and I thought, "Oranger-ed...as in a past tense state of more orange?  Why have I never heard that word before?"

          (2)  When I wrote the word physically in the paragraph above, I wanted to spell it fisically...but that's not right.  Right?  But it's not far off.

         Stop—dear neighbor.  Just stop.  Illuminating your façade with concern-colored spotlights draws attention to your garishly gargantuan footprint.  This is the point where the world that's off the hook on the other side of your television screen/computer monitor intrudes on your real day-to-day.

          Because I need that 8¢.

          Please.  Just take pride in the charity and throw away the evil plastic-wrapped (but still sopping wet) bundle of consumeconsumeconsumecoupons I'm paid to throw at the bottom of your driveway every week (or you could, maybe, learn to ask the help to do it).

Thnx,

—newspaperdudeveach (which, when you say fast, kinda sounds like nudebeach).

PS - If your 'stop delivery' rationale is natural resource based, please take a moment to pause and look at your residence from my vantage point.  Is stopping delivery of the "shopper" at the foot of your driveway the first place to start saving the planet?

PSS - I don't mind thoughtless condescension, I'm only asking that you don't stop the grocery/clothing/drug stores from paying me $3.84 a year to litter once a week on your property.

How to Train Your Cat to Come When You Call Its Name

          This new information is not new.  But—if your brain does not already possess this possibly-useful knowledge—you'll immediately grasp its common sense basis, as you palm-slap your forehead and say, "Where's this simple information been all my life?"

          Dogs come when they are called because their brains easily translate human-speak (no matter the language we use); I posit that German is the best human-language dogs can translate.  I say this, not because I lived in Germany for four years and witnessed it, but because many of the best dog training schools teach humans to speak to their dogs using German-language commands.

          The reason is simple once you know it.  All dogs bark in a staccato manner; their brains are conditioned to hear other-dog communication this way:  noise. silence. noise. silence.  Since German words are barked (even by the most smooth-voiced German orators) teaching non-German speaking humans to use German words when communicating with their dog insures the animal hears sharp, distinct, clipped commands.  There's not much difference between "stop" and "halt"; "come" and "komm"; or "stay" and "bleiben"; but training with German words prevents the human from slipping from "Skipper— pause —come!" to "cummereSkipperboyURschagoodboyThatzrightcummere".

          Cats meow in a tonally escalating-to-descending manner; their brains are conditioned to hear other-cat communication this way: NoooOoiiiIisennNoiseee.  So when you want your cat to come when you call...you need to sing his or her name.  It doesn't matter what words you use in the song as long as it includes the cat's name.  Just yowl in as plaintive a manner as possible.  If your cat knows its name, it'll come to you.  Probably not the first time you sing it, but if you practice sing-calling every day, several times a day, and stroking and praising it when it comes, "My cat never comes when it is called." will soon become, "My cat comes when I call some of the time." and eventually will become, "My cat comes almost all the time."

          Why almost all the time...why not all the time, like dogs?  Because dogs are like Germans.  Punctual.  Practical.  Reliable.  Cats are like you and me (and—if you're German—this is a metaphor.  Stop. Taking. Things. So. Literally.  Good boy).  When our phones ring we check caller ID, decide if we're in the mood, too busy, too tired...and maybe-sometimes we even turn off our phones because we don't want to be bothered.  When you sing-call for your cat in the middle of its nap on the laundry you took out of the dryer but haven't gotten around to folding yet, don't be surprised if it "hits ignore" and goes back to sleep.

          This truth is buried in everything we innately know about dogs and cats.  The best names for dogs are short and roll off the tongue in a punchy, almost monosyllabic manner (Rex, Fido, Jack) while the best names for cats are long and drawn out (Cecil O. Zonkey).  Sure, you may use its short nickname but you realize that's for your own benefit.  Not his.  All he hears is dog-speak.

          When my cat is off doing his own thing and I sing, "whereismyCECILBoy-o-boy-o-ZooOooNKeEeYBoOy..i-sure-missMyCECILloO-ZOoooonKeeey."  He comes.  90% of the time.  I understand it'll be done at cat pace and not dog pace.  Cats need to stretch.  Focus.  Think about their next inactive action.  Smell and listen to check if danger is present.  Then mozy.  It may take a few sung phrases.  He may not arrive for a few minutes.

          I think it's fantastic he only blows me off once in a while since I ignore phone calls from family and friends at least that often.

Autumn Peeked at Me Today

          For a brief half-minute he walked about 200 meters ahead.  When he turned, looked over his shoulder (saw me) and casually marched into the forest, I could see his very bushy brownish-gray tail.  I immediately knew it wasn't a domestic dog.  I thought it wasn't low enough to the ground or as small as (I believed) a gray fox should be (but that outdated glossy magazine and zoo-based belief was in need of an internet refresher—now, I'm not so sure).  It definitely wasn't tall or gangly or large or light-gray enough to be a wolf.  My best guess: male coyote.

          When I got to the spot I thought he entered the woods...I paused.  He was observing me from behind a fallen log.  For one long, slow, breath, we stared at each other.  Then, he turned, and I watched the tops of twigs shiver and the leaves of underbrush vibrate marking his path as he moved away into his forest.

          A male coyote with toxoplasmosis.   

          Toxoplasmosis is an infection in mammals caused by a protozoa.  (As you recall from Biology 101, protozoa are extremely tiny organisms which are easy to see under a microscope and are more fun to identify than other things found in a drop of pond water because most of them are motile.)  Almost every mammal on earth can be infected by it.  You might be infected right now—might have been infected your entire life—there are very few symptoms after the initial infection which is normally misidentified as the flu.

          The toxoplasmosis protozoan thrives on the inside of felines and insures its life-cycle continues in a very unique way [more on that soon].  (It's safe to assume the protozoan is/was incapable of differentiating between the guts of saber-tooth tigers and those of your housecat.)

          The protozoan infects the tissue of its feline host as well as passes cysts (eggs) into the feline's feces.  Those cysts are passed to new hosts both when the feline is eaten as well as when a cyst is transferred from the feline's feces to the paw of another mammal who later ingests the cyst when grooming (or when your pet uses the litter box and happens to get a cyst on his paw, which transfers to the carpet where your baby crawls and...baby's first "cold").

          Very unique way:  when mice get toxoplasmosis, they tend to exhibit behavior which can best be described as "risky".  They are less scared of open spaces than their uninfected brethren; and, strangely, they don't avoid the odor of cat urine (as do all uninfected mice) but, instead, they are either incapable of noticing the odor or are attracted to it.

          It's safe to assume the protozoan can't differentiate which warm blooded animal has consumed it, therefore, the obvious question:  Is the behavior of all animals, including humans, affected just like that of the mice?

          Within the last few decades a small number of studies have been done on how toxoplasmosis affects humans.  The indication is that toxoplasmosis acts in concert with hormones in humans to exaggerate behaviors.  Infected men tend to be risk takers; they exhibit jealousy more often than uninfected men, and are more willing to disobey laws (one study showed infected men were 2.5 times more likely to have automobile accidents than uninfected men).  Infected women tend to be more compassionate, warm, and more conscientious than uninfected women.

          I couldn't find a study to determine if the kind little old lady who always has something nice to say and who keeps 23 cats in her house on the corner, can't smell them or is actually attracted to the smell...but there's little doubt about the fact that she's infected with toxoplasmosis.

          Just like the male risk-taking coyote who paused to get a closer look at the noisy man on the first day of autumn.

          Post Script - - - I've cared for and been friends with the full gamut of cats my entire life (indoor only, outdoor only, and indoor-outdoor).  It seems improbable to me—with all the cat puke I've cleaned, scratches I received, and scat I've dumped with bare hands since the invention of clumping cat litter—that one cyst hasn't found its way inside of me.  However.  I'm a pretty strict law abider; I never understood what getting jealous accomplished; and I've very rarely intentionally risked harming myself (Avoid Pain At All Costs - a good subtitle for my life story).
           Clearly, I don't have any of the male behavioral symptoms of toxoplasmosis.  On the other hand, although I don't think the term "warm" has ever been used in reference to me (a term which I think applies to extraverts not introverts) I would agree I'm more compassionate and conscientious than the average bear.  Which means (operating upon the assumption of being infected) that I have less testosterone and more estrogen inside me for the protozoa to amplify.
          But, I hate the smell of cat piss and can detect the tiniest whiff from several meters away...so maybe I'm just one of those guys who's immune to the brain control of the catbug aliens.

Thievery Corporation Concert

          Two pictures containing me in one week!  The first marking the endpoint in the goody bygone days of yore when I intentionally cropped myself out of everything (including bare legs) to impose a facade of pseudo-zorroloneranger-esque anonymity, while this pic is just some vaingloriously ridiculous Where's WaldVeacho foolishness.

          I'm wearing an orange shirt.

How to Improve the Entire World

          Since all card-carrying members of the narcissistic personality disorder club refuse to carry membership cards almost as vehemently as they deny their own membership, this bumper sticker won't cause your car (or your ass) to get kicked like zombies definitely would if you had a bumper sticker that said: 'first ... kill all the ZOMBIES'.

          Unlike zombies, identifying narcissists is not always easy.  Along with seven myths about narcissism, there are many signs to look for in others.  Of course—only in others, as I already pointed out, it's impossible for a narcissist to recognize their own traits:

• Believe they are better than others
• Fantasize about power, success, and attractiveness
• Exaggerate their achievements or talents
• Expect constant praise and admiration
• Believe they are special (and act accordingly)
• Lack empathy; fail to recognize emotions or feelings of others
• Expect others to always go along with their ideas and plans
• Take advantage of others
• Express disdain for those they think are inferior
• Express jealousy of others as well as believe others are jealous of them
• Incapable of maintaining healthy relationships (especially long-term)
• Set unrealistic goals
• Thin-skinned; feel easily hurt and rejected
• Possess a fragile self-esteem
• Display a tough-minded or unemotional appearance

          Just like you can't convince a zombie to stop trying to eat anyone's and everyone's brains, you can't convince a narcissist to stop ruining the world with their constant manipulative yet disdainful blathering-on-and-on about themselves.  The best way to stop them both is with a headshot.

          One problem...a world without narcissists is a world without celebutantes, celebutards, and most other reality television participants who not only stoke the coals but fan the flames of our schadenfreude.

This Is How We Do It

Five mile hike and we feel alright
Both feeling hearty up on the mountain
Take my kleen kanteen and sip it up
Cecil O. Zonk jump along the path
Parading together and we're hummin'
Birds 'n the breeze cry, "Zonkey's coming!"
It feels so good in my woods today
With chitterin' squirrels and butterfly play
Flash-glimpsing thru the leaves and needles
Kitt ya oughtta pad on up to th' shade
So lift your nose and throw up your tail
Me all I meow'z my trekkin' partner says:
          Kinda jazzed and it's all because (this is how we do it)
          State forest does it like nowhere else (this is how we do it)
          We—my hikin' feline and I—will beeline (this is how we do it)
          Venture back to this woodland track 'cause (this is how we do it)