During this time-frame most of you out there (friends, family, and acquaintances) have had 200-250 days off.
The Sager Creek campsite I enjoy overnighting at the most, cat-hiking from the best, and which recharges my batteries the fastest is located in the east-central portion of the Clatsop State Forest, down a overgrown ½-mile dirt track which spurrs off a three mile-long gravel logging road.
Looking forward. Peace. Desolatitude. Bliss.
Heading out in October for a most-needed break. Gave two-week notice today; last day will be 1 Sep—one month before the wicked witch shrinks from daily to 3-days a week (+ a couple of free-product deliveries).
Haven't been trying very hard to locate another job; mental health is more important.
Re-collecting memories ❶ the first dozen
1959 0 Kennebunkport, Maine - no emotions - no movement - light coming through a window, reflecting off of white, peaked, ceiling walls - small flowers in the wallpaper on the short wall nearby - I've been told it is not possible to have memory of my second floor attic bedroom from this year. I do.
1961 2 Danvers, Massachusetts - a tin toy car garage/gas station with movable lift is presented to me by my dad while playing in the backyard - bright warm sunlight in my eyes - soft green grass under me. Happy.
Danvers, Massachusetts - a spider the size of my hand crawls out from under the bed next to me - I place a shoebox lid over it - mom panics - it is no longer under the box lid when we return to my bedroom - my mother is angry - I am afraid - it could be anywhere.
1962 3 Peabody, Massachusetts - my favorite birthday present from Nana and Papa is a disassemblable wind-up plastic robot that "swings his arms" when he "walks" - I take it apart and put it back together more than I wind it up and watch it roll around and "squawk". Interest. Curiosity.
Peabody, Massachuestts - mighty mouse has gone to commercial - with my blanket tied around my neck I zoom around the living room one fist out, the other clasped to my chest - I run into Papa coming around the corner to the kitchen - my fist strikes him low - he spanks me - hard. Surprise. Sore.
1963 4 Peabody, Massachusetts - Dr. December says big boys don't suck their fingers or keep a blanket - he says it's OK for a four year old but not five year olds - (with family reminders) I throw away my blanket and stop sucking my fingers the day before my birthday - Nana and Papa and Mom are all so happy - I am a big boy now. Independent.
Peabody, Massachusetts - I can't even get out of bed when they change the sheets draped around - the varnish on my headboard is soft because of the constant vaporizer - I'm very scared when they leave me alone in the huge everything-smells-funny hospital - even though it hurts my throat when I do, I cry a lot - every time a new person in white asks what kind of ice cream I want tomorrow after I wake up, I whisper 'vanilla'. Sick. Alone.
1964 5 Peabody, Massachusetts - First grade - Santa actually brought me what I asked him for when I sat on his lap at Marshall Fields: a Big Bruiser tow truck - shock and excitement crash into my chest and I cry my first happy tears. Elation.
Peabody, Massachusetts - First grade - not much school attendance this year - a few weeks after getting scolded for over two weeks to stop scratching my chicken pox, I come down with Mumps - A month later, Croup keeps me bedridden in a "croup tent" - Back at school, I catch Whooping Cough. Dismal. Dreary. Miserable.
1965 6 Peabody, Massachusetts - Second grade - a boyfriend of Mom's takes us to a carnival - 'pick a girls's name,' he says - Linda (my first crush and the teacher's pet) - he rolls a ball and it stops on Linda - 'pick any prize,' so I pick a plastic doll in a wedding dress (against his and Mom's and the barker's attempts to dissuade) - later, my sister "wins" and "chooses a pop-gun" - days and weeks later, every adult I know tells me the doll is hers and the gun mine - eventually I stop restisting. Confusion.
Peabody, Massachusetts - Second grade - Mrs Creane (whom we call Crayon) repeatedly strikes both sides of both my hands with a ruler after I slide Ronnie's chair back when he stood to read Fun with Dick and Jane - he sat, hard - his glasses bounced off his face - I stood in the hall for a while after "getting the ruler". Shame.
1966 7 Peabody, Massachusetts - Third Grade - day camp is oppressively jammed with unnecessarily loud, squealing, pushing, and bullying bigger kids - they all travel in groups except me - I sit quietly and do the crafts suggested by the staff - afternoons we walk to the lake - I have to stay on the beach or wade - a lifeguard shows me, every day, how to float; how to kick; how to breathe under my armpit - by the end I can swim - I swim out and jump off the raft. Pride. Accomplishment.
Peabody, Massachusetts - Third grade - my fort is next to the driveway where the snow is piled deepest - afternoon sun low behind me, I see Papa's car coming - gleefully, I make a snowball - as he parks, I spin and throw! - for some reason he rolled down his window - it hit him in the ear - upside down, I am crashed headfirst and buried in my fort - I struggle to get out - tears of 'didn't mean to' and 'window was up' fall on angry ears. Misunderstood. Unfairly punished.
1967 8 Fort Wayne, Indiana - Fourth grade - this house has more rooms than we have furniture - too hot to play outside - Mom and Step-dad's TV restrictions are loosened - I lie on the cool tiled basement floor - curtains drawn - watch Death Valley Days, Lost in Space, Star Trek, Batman, The Man From UNCLE, Mission Impossible, The Fugitive and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea - the only thing with me in this huge room is the smokey smell of long gone fires in the empty flagstone fireplace. Comfortable. Entertained.
New Haven, Indiana - Fourth grade - talking is only permitted after raising one's hand and being recognized - getting up to use the restroom (located at the back) is only allowed with permission - my hand has been in the air forever - throat clearing doesn't work - I ask outright several times - no response - I can not hold it anymore - I get up without permission - the boys-room door is locked - I knock - someone's been in there longer than forever! - I pace - can't hold it - as I pee my pants, I race across and enter the girls restroom. Extreme embarrassment. Victim of unjust ridicule.
1968 9 New Haven, Indiana - Fifth grade - my mother bends her "no two-wheel bicycle riding until ten years-old" rule - they gift me with a red, Huffy Cheater Slick bike with black and white banana seat and highrise handle bars. Ecstatic. Blessed.
Nashport, Ohio - Fifth grade - playing in the woods with a boy who is visiting our neighbors for the summer - chasing - splashing in the creek - friendly jokes - playing with sticks - swinging on grape vines - climbing rocks and trees - out-of-nowhere he unfolds a pocket knife and brandishes it - "How'd ya like it if I stabbed you? I could stab you to death." - running - being chased. Fearful of unexpected crazy, of not escaping, of receiving pain. Home brings relief.
1969 10 Nashport, Ohio - Sixth grade - at the end of a classmates birthday party, the popular kids are playing spin the bottle - I gradually realize my presence is unwanted and clumsily bow out (unkissed) - waiting for my ride, I discover Janice near the backdoor - she is uninterested in playing with the others - we talk - we giggle - I give her my candy bar. Glowy. Warm. Infatuated.
Nashport, Ohio - Sixth grade - playing in the woods with a large group of boys from my neighborhood - someone lights a fire - many begin to smoke stalks of straw - home so early? without your friends? - naรฏvely, I confide the reason for my discomfort - disregarding all protests, Mom calls all their parents. Untrustworthy. Ostracized. Sad. A tipping point...I never confide again.
1970 11 Nashport, Ohio - Seventh grade - my assigned seat on an overfull school bus is in front of a fourteen year old bully - he knuckles my head morning and afternoon - never hard enough to raise a welt - a complaint to the driver results in 'get back in your seat or be expelled from the bus' - for months I duck and shirk his sneak attacks. Put upon. Victimized. Nowhere to turn. Helpless.
Nashport, Ohio - Seventh grade - a cool windy afternoon - Bully whacks the back of my head as the entire neighborhood is disembarking from the bus - Keith (a smoking-straw boy who hasn't spoken to me in months) shouts 'leave him alone' - Bully threatens Keith - after the crowd thins, Keith jumps on Bully, sits on his chest, pins his arms, and pounds his face - blood spatters from Bully's eyes, nose, and lips - dozens of blows - I cheer the entire time. Schadenfreude. Glee. Comeuppance.
1971 12 Peru, Indiana - Eighth grade - up until now all bedtimes were chiseled in stone - Friday nights I no longer have one - after everyone goes to bed, I get to stay up and watch Sammy Terry's Nightmare Theater. Privileged. Spooked. Enthralled. Grown up.
Peru, Indiana - Eighth grade - all motorized two-wheel vehicles are off-limits and forbidden - I ride a fellow-Boyscout's minibike, one afternoon, in a different county - two months later, my sister Nanett learns about it - after school one day she proudly "tells" and reacts gleefully as Mom grounds me. Betrayed. Unhappy. Adamant that some form of statute of limitations must have lapsed. Sullen.
the second dozen →
Occasionally the inbox contains sufficient fodder (second edition)
Josh,
My first instinct was to delete and forget about your query, which is what I do with 99.9% of such requests.
In the past, I have accepted a small-few similar proposals. For example: a disc golf merchandiser (which I play and discuss online); another was a web application designer looking for input from a person of my demographic (relatively active, employed, middle-aged male with basic working computer/HTML knowledge).
Since I rarely receive requests written like yours, I decided to reply. At first glance, you appear to be offering a legitimate marketing arrangement, but I remain skeptical. To assuage my doubts, maybe you could explain what caused you to choose my site? I've yet to write about gambling (on-line or otherwise) and suspect you are merely "casting a wide less-than-perfect net".
I may be willing to append a banner to my sidebar (on the right of s n a p p e r h e a d) so it would be viewed without scrolling (on the "splash page" is the term). Also, maybe, I could write an article about your client—with embedded hotlinks—if there were incentives to do so.
But, I rarely permit outside authors to write on my site because most people have dishearteningly low standards when it comes to the use of proper grammar in their written communications. I also am disinclined to cut and paste the words of another writer without the liberal application of my editor's pencil.
For example, below is your query letter with underscores and highlights where I note that punctuation, capitalization, proper grammar and suggested elimination of clichรฉd or informal language is warranted.
A legitimate initial query letter should appear to have been written by a professional who understands the importance of first impressions. With no intended disrespect, this one does neither.
I provide all of this (albeit unasked for) guidance, Josh, because my intuition tells me you are not an internet troll, or working for a spam marketing company, but just someone who, maybe, could use a little free assistance with his endeavor (which I realize is a rarity in today's lightning-speed world).
Hi_
I work for a Discover Media, and i am acting on behalf of a casino client of ours who would like to place an article on your site, or potentially place a banner on your site.
The article would be a one off short piece (300-400 words). We would look to have the piece stay on your site for 12 months period.
The article will not necessarily be about casinos but will contain a link to our clients online casino site. In order to ensure the article is relevant to your site and will be of interest to your audience we have a specialist team of writers who will write a new and unique piece tailored to your site and readers.
Alternatively if you feel more comfortable creating your own content, we would be more than happy to work with you creating a piece that works for both of us.
Ideally we need this to be live as soon as possible we can finalize a deal quickly.
If you had some other website you may also be able to do a deal on then I would happily take a look and see if we can do a group deal, or if you have any friends that may be interested as well?
If you are interested and would like to discuss this opportunity further then please get in touch.
I wish you good luck with your site and look forward to your reply_
Best regards_
Josh
You may use the following revamped query letter verbatim, with my blessings. Or, throw it away, it matters not.
Begin with filling in the blank with a full name. You found their email address, use their name or, at a minimum, their web-name, or—last resort—use: Website Administrator for website name. Always close with your full name above a title.
Hello __,
Discover Media is currently representing an online casino interested in contracting with you, or the administrator of your website, for the purpose of advertising. Specifically, we are looking for websites willing to enter into a minimum obligation of one year. We would be excited to discuss one or more of these strategies with you:
- Webpage article(s) containing embedded hotlinks to the client's site.
- Short (300-400 words).
- On a variety of subjects or themes (not restricted to casinos).
- Authored by yourself (within specific guidelines).
- Authored by our staff.
- Banner advertising.
- Home page, sidebar, "sticky" page, etc.
- Click revenue, view revenue, etc.
Respectfully,
Josh _________
Online Marketing Associate
Discover Media, London
Josh, If you happen to be interested in adding to your "specialized team of writers," I might be amenable. I have some time each day to use as I see fit, I enjoy writing (wrote professionally before retiring) and am always interested in a unique challenge.
Very Respectfully,
Veach Glines
Hi
You talk about a first impression yet you start this business venture by picking up on my dyslixia and slating the way i go about my job, before going on to give the most basic of english lessons about how to address a letter to someone,
We will pass on this oppertunity
You talk about a first impression yet you start this business venture by picking up on my dyslixia and slating the way i go about my job, before going on to give the most basic of english lessons about how to address a letter to someone,
We will pass on this oppertunity
Josh
I didn't expect you to reply, Josh. Actually, I'm slightly amazed that you did.
As
soon as I read your query I realized you didn't belong to a real
marketing business and weren't representing a real company, which was
why I composed my more-than-rude response.
I don't think your specific not-grammar / no spell-check reads Nigerian, so I'm going to guess Ukrainian?
I
wonder if Josh is your real name or if you chose it as a joke, because
you're "Joshing with people"? If that's the case, you would need to be
familiar with the idiomatic usage of the term, which would then suggest
that English isn't your second language. Since it so clearly is, I'm
stumped.
I guess there's a slight chance you're a moronic teenage
failure using a parent's computer to fuck with people, but I'm still
leaning toward you being a scam artist, trying to con people out of
money.
I suggest, "Josh", that you refrain from future attempts
to foist the dyslexia flag (I correctly spelled it for you with an "e"
in the place where you erroneously put that pesky little "i"). I once
had a friend with the disorder and there was one word—besides his
name—which he always spelled right.
Your scam is probably
something like "...convince people they are entering into a business
venture, provide them with a contract, which means listing their
personal information, and slip in a need for their account numbers under
financial information..." Am I even close?
Thank you "Josh" for affording me this second, wonderful, opportunity to p0wn [a first! I 've never had opportunity to use this in a sentence before] an internet scammer such as yourself. It has been equal parts uplifting and giggle-inducing.
Oh and one last thing—just in case you are slightly curious about what all those squiggly red lines are doing under your words—when you right-click over one, a small list of words will appear. It's like magic! Just pick one. Oh...sorry...imbeciles can't pick the correct one...pick the top one. More than fifty percent of the time your word will be right. The rest of the time, you'll have a totally different word, but it'll be spelled perfectly and will be certain to make your rambling run-on groups of words without punctuation a much more humorous read.
Again, thank you so very, very, much. You've put a big smile on my face.
Veach
Thank you "Josh" for affording me this second, wonderful, opportunity to p0wn [a first! I 've never had opportunity to use this in a sentence before] an internet scammer such as yourself. It has been equal parts uplifting and giggle-inducing.
Oh and one last thing—just in case you are slightly curious about what all those squiggly red lines are doing under your words—when you right-click over one, a small list of words will appear. It's like magic! Just pick one. Oh...sorry...imbeciles can't pick the correct one...pick the top one. More than fifty percent of the time your word will be right. The rest of the time, you'll have a totally different word, but it'll be spelled perfectly and will be certain to make your rambling run-on groups of words without punctuation a much more humorous read.
Again, thank you so very, very, much. You've put a big smile on my face.
Veach
Stoker - film review (☆☆☆☆)
Yes, quality film fans, there are still some great ones being created for those of us with patience who know where to look.
As previously mentioned (more than enough times to suffice) I 'look to the director'—who in this case was Park Chan Wook.
That's enough information for fans of the film Oldboy and/or his 'Vengence Trilogy'. But for those unfamiliar with his films because they're foreign and subtitled, well...fuck on off and go away...you shouldn't be reading these opinions...there must be a Michael Bay film you could re-watch.
Still reading? Then I presume you like Mr Park's style of films and you'll not be disappointed by the amount of painstaking detail he devoted on every scene, every facial expression, and especially on every silence in this one. His pacing, score, and dialogue (which is English; his first, I believe) are all crafted with exquisite care. There isn't a second of film in Stoker which hasn't been carefully included with forethought. See it immediately.
As previously mentioned (more than enough times to suffice) I 'look to the director'—who in this case was Park Chan Wook.
That's enough information for fans of the film Oldboy and/or his 'Vengence Trilogy'. But for those unfamiliar with his films because they're foreign and subtitled, well...fuck on off and go away...you shouldn't be reading these opinions...there must be a Michael Bay film you could re-watch.
Still reading? Then I presume you like Mr Park's style of films and you'll not be disappointed by the amount of painstaking detail he devoted on every scene, every facial expression, and especially on every silence in this one. His pacing, score, and dialogue (which is English; his first, I believe) are all crafted with exquisite care. There isn't a second of film in Stoker which hasn't been carefully included with forethought. See it immediately.
The Last Of Us - Review (☆☆☆☆)
Those familiar with my gaming tastes willn't be taken aback by the idea that I very much liked The Last Of Us. It yielded more than the minimum requisite amount of invested gamehours-per-dollar to justify the new game price (about seventy hours for the first complete play-thru on Normal difficulty).
It was designed to quench one's puzzle solving thirsts; needle-in-the-haystack itches; stealthy closeup assassinations; distant sniper shots; as well as your everyday wade on in—full frontal attack—slaughter the monsters with molotov's, flamethrowers, handmade landmines, and melon-bursting heavy blunt objects. Yay verily.
If you are a hyper-gamer infected with the attention span of a prozac deprived fruit fly (or someone who gets antsy sitting thru cut-scenes) this game is NOT for you. The cut scenes aren't simple to skip. The "movie element" is a key element in one's "empathy with and investment in the characters". Although Saving/Re-Spawning is possible, one will not return to the saved point, but rather to the most recent checkpoint (discouraging rampant S/RSing, while encouraging contemplative strategizification, and a more stealthy stealthitude toward one's stealthiness).
The Last Of Us is similar to (and was made by the same designer as) the Uncharted game series, in that they both aren't open sandbox environments and both use third-person perspectives.
The reason I can't give The Last Of Us my highest rating is the complete lack of side/mini-games, the absence of which is driven home with a heavy lead pipe to the janglebells when, at the very beginning of the game, we stroll through an alleyway market area and are afforded brief glimpses of: people playing some kind of card game; a group of men fighting while onlookers jeer (and bet?); a cage of dogs (which we learn are already sold); and a few booths of items available for eventual purchase. Dear gamer, do not think any of this was foreshadowing. Not in any way.
Because this game was only designed by Naughty Dog (a second-tier developer) and not by Rockstar or Bethesda (both first-tier), there'll never be an opportunity to play cards, or fight in a ring, or bet on a fight, or buy a dog (to train to attack or even for you to kill and eat in a pinch...how first-tier would that have been?) nor will you ever see a store again or ever barter for goods. In fact, you will almost never see another living thing for the next year that is not trying to kill you. And when you do eventually see some wild animals (with one exception) you'll not be able to hunt them.
All that aside, it's very engaging and enjoyable and I recommend it to fans of its intended audience.
I'm currently replaying it at its hardest setting. Not many games keep my interest after I've finished them once (but, maybe, that's only because GTA V is two months away from release).
It was designed to quench one's puzzle solving thirsts; needle-in-the-haystack itches; stealthy closeup assassinations; distant sniper shots; as well as your everyday wade on in—full frontal attack—slaughter the monsters with molotov's, flamethrowers, handmade landmines, and melon-bursting heavy blunt objects. Yay verily.
If you are a hyper-gamer infected with the attention span of a prozac deprived fruit fly (or someone who gets antsy sitting thru cut-scenes) this game is NOT for you. The cut scenes aren't simple to skip. The "movie element" is a key element in one's "empathy with and investment in the characters". Although Saving/Re-Spawning is possible, one will not return to the saved point, but rather to the most recent checkpoint (discouraging rampant S/RSing, while encouraging contemplative strategizification, and a more stealthy stealthitude toward one's stealthiness).
The Last Of Us is similar to (and was made by the same designer as) the Uncharted game series, in that they both aren't open sandbox environments and both use third-person perspectives.
The reason I can't give The Last Of Us my highest rating is the complete lack of side/mini-games, the absence of which is driven home with a heavy lead pipe to the janglebells when, at the very beginning of the game, we stroll through an alleyway market area and are afforded brief glimpses of: people playing some kind of card game; a group of men fighting while onlookers jeer (and bet?); a cage of dogs (which we learn are already sold); and a few booths of items available for eventual purchase. Dear gamer, do not think any of this was foreshadowing. Not in any way.
Because this game was only designed by Naughty Dog (a second-tier developer) and not by Rockstar or Bethesda (both first-tier), there'll never be an opportunity to play cards, or fight in a ring, or bet on a fight, or buy a dog (to train to attack or even for you to kill and eat in a pinch...how first-tier would that have been?) nor will you ever see a store again or ever barter for goods. In fact, you will almost never see another living thing for the next year that is not trying to kill you. And when you do eventually see some wild animals (with one exception) you'll not be able to hunt them.
All that aside, it's very engaging and enjoyable and I recommend it to fans of its intended audience.
I'm currently replaying it at its hardest setting. Not many games keep my interest after I've finished them once (but, maybe, that's only because GTA V is two months away from release).
Dishonored - Review (☆☆☆+)
LIMBO - game review - ☆☆☆☆☆
Heavy Rain - review
busy now - keep movin along - check back later
Vote - When We Touch - In The Box - Not Too Shabby
This exquisite corpse has been on the slab for eight months.
I began the first slice (top fourth) in October of 2012, prior to the US presidential election, with my one-word title: Vote.
It was finished this month, May of 2013, which is a minor voting month in many parts of the US. Interestingly, local voters decided (for the fifth time since 1956) to keep our water free of added chemicals; Portland is now the only major-metropolitan US city which doesn't add fluoride to their water.
I especially enjoy these nice coincidences:
- bugs in my slice are mirrored by Doctormatt's spider in his bottom slice
- continual grey background in all four
- the bending "pipe" threading through them all visually ties the entire corpse together
- that the heads in beatsoul's slice (In The Box) could also accidentally suggest "politicians"
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| veach | bluesboy | beatsoul | doctormatt |
from last year:
On terror conspiracy theorists - definitely not the final word
Another tragedy...this (reference to latest one) is even more horrific than the one from (reference to previous one) with a death toll larger than the (reference one which happened prior to previous one).
Calm down. Because of population growth, these events just appear larger than their predecessors. When you factor in world-wide technological advances and media over-saturation the world is no more evil than it was. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was, same as it ever was. Same. As. It. Ever. WAS.
While you hum the rest of the Mr Byrne's tune, let me deviate.
If I measure from the year of my birth and non-objectively assume there was only one person occupying my fair share of this wondrous planet at that time, today—my portion has been halved. From my grandmother's perspective there are now four bodies occupying her plot. To be fair, only half the world's population are born from morons, are raised to be idiots, and die imbeciles...which brings me to the theorists mentioned in my title.
Last week: two bombs + two criminals + Boston marathon = a handful dead/many injured. The result has been conspiracy theorists outdoing themselves; ridiculously farfetched claims abound.
Yet—strangely—almost the same day (an "anniversary week" which is significant for loons and those who follow conspiracies): one fire + massive explosion + near Waco, Texas = death and destruction many times worse than that of Boston. But...no conspiracies (or very little).
I always doubt "coincidences". I suspect the explosion in West, Texas was arson. Intentional.
Today, another large fire/explosion near Mobile, Alabama. All the normal conspiracy nuts are still silent (I've checked). I find it curiouser and curiouser that no one has posited any connections.
But... why are conspiracies on my mind lately?
True story: A short while ago a friend of my fiancee's came over to visit us. A conversation starter was asked of her, "What have you been up to lately?"
She replied, "I was sitting out in my yard this morning watching a whole bunch of chem-trails being sprayed overhead."
Pause. Longer pause. Still no talking.
I glance sideways at her. No body language hint that she's joking around. I glance at my fiancee to gauge her reaction (she never told me of any mental impairment, so maybe this is new for her too).
My fiancee asks, with a smile in her voice, "Is that something you do a lot?" (I thought that was a very smooth way to determine if she was a full-on whackjob or if she just goofed around every other weekend with being mentally unstable).
And whackjob said without a hitch, "Oh yeah. They're up there spraying us all the time. A couple weeks ago my neighbors and I watched...must have been...over two dozen chem-trails being sprayed inside of less than a half hour.
I got that cringe in the nerves running between the back of my brain and my diaphragm, which cause me to twitch my shoulders inward a little bit. I tightened my lips slightly. And...
Here is what I'd have said if she wasn't a friend of my fiancee's: "Don't you live in Longview, Washington? Under a major flight corridor, with all of the north-south traffic to and from Sea-Tac? And since there's no mystery behind what happens when hot exhaust meets the cold atmosphere, you must be bananna-shit crazy if you believe millions of conspirators are spraying the air with poisons."
I didn't say any of that. I smirked, shook my head, and (politely) bit my tongue.
So... my fiancee is still acquainted with a crazy woman from Longview.
Calm down. Because of population growth, these events just appear larger than their predecessors. When you factor in world-wide technological advances and media over-saturation the world is no more evil than it was. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was, same as it ever was. Same. As. It. Ever. WAS.
While you hum the rest of the Mr Byrne's tune, let me deviate.
If I measure from the year of my birth and non-objectively assume there was only one person occupying my fair share of this wondrous planet at that time, today—my portion has been halved. From my grandmother's perspective there are now four bodies occupying her plot. To be fair, only half the world's population are born from morons, are raised to be idiots, and die imbeciles...which brings me to the theorists mentioned in my title.
Last week: two bombs + two criminals + Boston marathon = a handful dead/many injured. The result has been conspiracy theorists outdoing themselves; ridiculously farfetched claims abound.
Yet—strangely—almost the same day (an "anniversary week" which is significant for loons and those who follow conspiracies): one fire + massive explosion + near Waco, Texas = death and destruction many times worse than that of Boston. But...no conspiracies (or very little).
I always doubt "coincidences". I suspect the explosion in West, Texas was arson. Intentional.
Today, another large fire/explosion near Mobile, Alabama. All the normal conspiracy nuts are still silent (I've checked). I find it curiouser and curiouser that no one has posited any connections.
But... why are conspiracies on my mind lately?
True story: A short while ago a friend of my fiancee's came over to visit us. A conversation starter was asked of her, "What have you been up to lately?"
She replied, "I was sitting out in my yard this morning watching a whole bunch of chem-trails being sprayed overhead."
Pause. Longer pause. Still no talking.
I glance sideways at her. No body language hint that she's joking around. I glance at my fiancee to gauge her reaction (she never told me of any mental impairment, so maybe this is new for her too).
My fiancee asks, with a smile in her voice, "Is that something you do a lot?" (I thought that was a very smooth way to determine if she was a full-on whackjob or if she just goofed around every other weekend with being mentally unstable).
And whackjob said without a hitch, "Oh yeah. They're up there spraying us all the time. A couple weeks ago my neighbors and I watched...must have been...over two dozen chem-trails being sprayed inside of less than a half hour.
I got that cringe in the nerves running between the back of my brain and my diaphragm, which cause me to twitch my shoulders inward a little bit. I tightened my lips slightly. And...
Here is what I'd have said if she wasn't a friend of my fiancee's: "Don't you live in Longview, Washington? Under a major flight corridor, with all of the north-south traffic to and from Sea-Tac? And since there's no mystery behind what happens when hot exhaust meets the cold atmosphere, you must be bananna-shit crazy if you believe millions of conspirators are spraying the air with poisons."
I didn't say any of that. I smirked, shook my head, and (politely) bit my tongue.
So... my fiancee is still acquainted with a crazy woman from Longview.
other conspiracy related stuff:
Killer Joe - review (☆☆☆☆)
Although I don't think everything William Friedkin has directed is worthy of a standing ovation (or even your applause in some cases) Killer Joe combines the Grit he captured in The French Connection with nearly the same quality of Visceral he achieved in The Exorcist.
The script, written by Tracy Letts, is tight and near-perfect. The actors (all five of them) could not have been better. In fact, until I saw this performance, I thought Matthew McConaughey was a bland movie actor playing the same dude in different clothes.
This film wasn't seen in many theaters because of its NC17 rating (which still scares the distributors away) but is now available on red envelope slash box slash download. Find it.
Post script for blood-relatives: If you accidentally read this and decide to follow my advice and find this film - stop. If you're someone I talk to and I haven't personally told you about this film? That's because I know you won't like it. You'll be revolted by the violence, sickened by the sex and nudity, and disgusted by the raw and ugly story. My second paragraph was supposed to point that out. "But" you might say, "I liked The Exorcist and French Connection"; and then I might reply, "those films were edgy forty years ago; this film is edgy today".
Every subsequent Y in the road is affected by those who preceded
I think a lot. I ruminate. Ponder. Plan for contingencies. Meditate about the me of today who's composing this beginning sentence of a beginning paragraph which I've just begun with only the title above as my stanchion and which is, at the moment, only based on a couple-to-three ephemeral ideas without a solid bridge betwixt them.
Today, I think I should list these ideas because that'll make it easier to see where to begin to build bridge-abutments and also will—I hope—help me to remember them before they, like most of my mental messages-in-a-bottle, drift out of reach.

When thinking about the me of yesteryear, I recall the major decisions which had the most geographical, emotional, financial, and intellectual effect on the me-outcome (more specifically, the where, who, how's, and why's that comprise the me that is today-me). I realize that I made some of the more drastic course corrections in my life because of the few women I loved in yesteryear and the one I'm currently in love with.
Bridge.
Human sexuality is a very complex amalgam of thoughts, emotions, suppositions, hormones, taboos, and facts. Tens of billions of humans have simplified all that, in order to make it easier to understand, relate to, and explain to others (which begins with their children). I too, simplified it to understand it.
Not very long ago, I considered everyone who wasn't heterosexual to be homosexual. When someone claimed to be bisexual—as far as I was concerned—they were homosexual. I (erroneously) thought this way because I viewed all sexual attraction relative to my own and, for me, there's no choice involved. I love breasts (especially, the pert variety); the shape of the female buttock is wondrous; and I can't get enough pudenda. Conversely, the penis and scrotum are ugly; testosterone-packed male physiques are as attractive, to me, as inanimate objects, and androgyny is a blah.
I formed my early simplistic left-handed/right-handed understanding of human sexuality by talking with hetero schoolmates. The boys I talked with said they also didn't choose. The girls talked about their unflinching attraction to hard muscles and body hair with the same tone I use when adoring all that's smooth, svelte, and hairless. I also talked with a few gay guys (who I knew well enough to talk specifics) and they assured me their sexuality had been formed in adolescence and couldn't choose any more than I could—one said he considered bisexuals "straights and breeders at heart and said they'd never be fully accepted by the gay community".

Bridge.
In high school, I was informed that approximately ten percent of the population was left-handed and almost everyone in the world was right-handed, like me. At the same time (probably in the same class) I learned there existed a small number of exceptional people who were ambidextrous.
The textbook went on to explain these gifted people were capable of doing everything equally well with either hand. I remember a story about a dead-before-I-was-born president who was innately left-handed but taught as a child (I think the book used the word forced) to become right-handed. It said he occasionally would show-off his talent by writing simultaneously with both hands and may even have related that he could write in two different languages at the same time (but that might be confabulation on my part). I also recall something about tutors and nannies being involved in forcing/re-training him to be right handed. And I recall feeling scorn for the reason he had been was forced to stop writing with his left hand: some fucktard in his family believed the left hand was the devil's hand. It's possible the school book encouraged my scorn by its choice of phrasing (although I'm sure it didn't use the word fucktard, that's all me). A quick search would turn up this president's name but since I don't recall it off-the-top of my gulliver I'm disinclined to embellish poor memory with moot facts.
In college, I was told that about ten percent of the population were homosexual, that almost everyone in the world was heterosexual like me. At the same time (probably in the same dorm-room bullshitting session) I was informed of the existence of a small number of people who were attracted to both sexes.
Specifically, one bullshit session attendee alleged, some bisexuals (more of whom, he said, were female than male) were not turned-off by the body, physique, or genitals of their own sex, which garnered nods of understanding from that roomful of hetero-men. We could get our brains around how a hetero-woman might be capable of seeing beauty in the female form—what was confusing, to us, was how a hetero-man could be attracted to another man. A joke was re-told (which originated from an unfunny comedian who I can't recall the name of) which said the upside of being bisexual was doubling one's chances of a date on Friday night. Another bullshitter related a story (which probably began with: my junior high school neighbor's cousin's best-friend once told us...) about how this nameless boy he knew was groomed over a period of years by one of his older relatives to first receive and then give blowjobs and then, later, to give and eventually receive anal sex (his story never contained the word forced). It was the first time I'd heard the word 'groomed' in that context (and I wasn't alone, because someone went off on a 'bridegroom/groom' tangent). The nameless boy's story concluded with the allegation that before, during, and after the years of abuse, he was innately attracted only to girls. The bullshitter telling the story surmised that because the nameless boy had been intimate with a member of the same sex for such a prolonged period of time that he might, now, be able to choose. At this point the bullshit session switched its focus to the sexual proclivities of Greek philosophers (someone had a philosophy class) and the term "conditioned bisexuality" was thrown around the room.
Bridge.
I have grown into the knowledge that gender and human sexuality is a very complex spectrum. I picture a two dimensional xy Cartesian graph. The horizontal line depicting the genitalia one is innately sexually attracted to. On the left is the female pudenda (the minus 5 position); on the right is the male penis (the plus 5 position). Someone who is equally attracted to both sexes and who chooses his or her next partner based solely on the fickle winds of chance mutual attraction is a 0.
I think of the top of the vertical line as a measure of how strong one's attraction feels, or how often one thinks about sex, or how often one has the urge to engage in their preferred sexual act (it's subjective and doesn't matter if one plots one's strength point for a given moment in time or for the average over a period of time). At the top, the plus 5 position, is sexual addicts and those incapable of controlling their constant sexual urges. Where the vertical meets the horizontal (the zero point) is those who are asexual and incapable of any attraction. Just above the zero point, the plus 1 position, is those who exclusively pleasure themselves (which would include iDollators).

The bottom of the vertical line is for all the paranormal innate attractions. At the bottom, the minus 5 position, is for necrophiliacs. All of the minus positions cover the range of attractions which society considers abnormal from sexual attractions to inanimate objects, BDSM, and rape.
To be accurate and complete, this graph now needs to become an xyz three-dimensional graph in order to measure fantasy versus reality. What one thinks about when one is engaging in the sexual act is important because it's the brain that's sexual, not the body. The further along the plus z line the more fantastic one's mental images are from what's currently happening to one's body (within societal "norms"). 100% focus on the sex one's body is experiencing—no fantasy—is 0; the further along the minus z line the more disparate the brain's focus is from what is currently being experienced by one's body (outside of societal "norms").
Bridge.
Mental moving snapshots with sound: My first significant other is berating me for my unwillingness to attend catholic mass. Her sharp words are intended to make me feel guilty for my lack of materialism and lack of concern for our toddler's spiritual upbringing, which is my final straw (Snap.) My second so insouciance is unbearable. No words becomes no love (Snap.) Which drives me to find my third who works toward attaining "marital tenure" and I decide, while she is on a relationship-sabbatical to locate my current love (Snap.) Now we are ten years together. Everything is as wonderful as I imagined it could be. Better, having chosen not to tolerate the bad behavior of her predecessors, who taught me what type of woman to look for and what, who, and where not to be.
Bridge.
So hey. I've stopped saying "people don't choose" because some people do. Maybe a lot of people do (maybe the world is equally divided in thirds: 1/3 hetero and can't choose otherwise; 1/3 homo and can't choose otherwise; and 1/3 are attracted to both, can choose, and do...or let their government/church choose for them).
There seems to be a large quantity of fundamentalists and conservatives who use the word "choose and choice" with an definite air of certainty...maybe that's because every one of them are near the 0 point, in the middle of the horizontal axis and they've all decided to let their religious and political leaders tell them what choice to make.
The most important point is everyone should be happy with what they've got (between their ears). If you haven't yet found what makes you happy (between the sheets)...keep looking. If you aren't yet as happy as you could be (because you see others who have chosen wisely and found their happy) stop attempting to make them as unhappy as you are; misery doesn't really love company.
Today, I think I should list these ideas because that'll make it easier to see where to begin to build bridge-abutments and also will—I hope—help me to remember them before they, like most of my mental messages-in-a-bottle, drift out of reach.

When thinking about the me of yesteryear, I recall the major decisions which had the most geographical, emotional, financial, and intellectual effect on the me-outcome (more specifically, the where, who, how's, and why's that comprise the me that is today-me). I realize that I made some of the more drastic course corrections in my life because of the few women I loved in yesteryear and the one I'm currently in love with.
Bridge.
Human sexuality is a very complex amalgam of thoughts, emotions, suppositions, hormones, taboos, and facts. Tens of billions of humans have simplified all that, in order to make it easier to understand, relate to, and explain to others (which begins with their children). I too, simplified it to understand it.
Not very long ago, I considered everyone who wasn't heterosexual to be homosexual. When someone claimed to be bisexual—as far as I was concerned—they were homosexual. I (erroneously) thought this way because I viewed all sexual attraction relative to my own and, for me, there's no choice involved. I love breasts (especially, the pert variety); the shape of the female buttock is wondrous; and I can't get enough pudenda. Conversely, the penis and scrotum are ugly; testosterone-packed male physiques are as attractive, to me, as inanimate objects, and androgyny is a blah.
I formed my early simplistic left-handed/right-handed understanding of human sexuality by talking with hetero schoolmates. The boys I talked with said they also didn't choose. The girls talked about their unflinching attraction to hard muscles and body hair with the same tone I use when adoring all that's smooth, svelte, and hairless. I also talked with a few gay guys (who I knew well enough to talk specifics) and they assured me their sexuality had been formed in adolescence and couldn't choose any more than I could—one said he considered bisexuals "straights and breeders at heart and said they'd never be fully accepted by the gay community".

Bridge.
In high school, I was informed that approximately ten percent of the population was left-handed and almost everyone in the world was right-handed, like me. At the same time (probably in the same class) I learned there existed a small number of exceptional people who were ambidextrous.
The textbook went on to explain these gifted people were capable of doing everything equally well with either hand. I remember a story about a dead-before-I-was-born president who was innately left-handed but taught as a child (I think the book used the word forced) to become right-handed. It said he occasionally would show-off his talent by writing simultaneously with both hands and may even have related that he could write in two different languages at the same time (but that might be confabulation on my part). I also recall something about tutors and nannies being involved in forcing/re-training him to be right handed. And I recall feeling scorn for the reason he had been was forced to stop writing with his left hand: some fucktard in his family believed the left hand was the devil's hand. It's possible the school book encouraged my scorn by its choice of phrasing (although I'm sure it didn't use the word fucktard, that's all me). A quick search would turn up this president's name but since I don't recall it off-the-top of my gulliver I'm disinclined to embellish poor memory with moot facts.
In college, I was told that about ten percent of the population were homosexual, that almost everyone in the world was heterosexual like me. At the same time (probably in the same dorm-room bullshitting session) I was informed of the existence of a small number of people who were attracted to both sexes.
Specifically, one bullshit session attendee alleged, some bisexuals (more of whom, he said, were female than male) were not turned-off by the body, physique, or genitals of their own sex, which garnered nods of understanding from that roomful of hetero-men. We could get our brains around how a hetero-woman might be capable of seeing beauty in the female form—what was confusing, to us, was how a hetero-man could be attracted to another man. A joke was re-told (which originated from an unfunny comedian who I can't recall the name of) which said the upside of being bisexual was doubling one's chances of a date on Friday night. Another bullshitter related a story (which probably began with: my junior high school neighbor's cousin's best-friend once told us...) about how this nameless boy he knew was groomed over a period of years by one of his older relatives to first receive and then give blowjobs and then, later, to give and eventually receive anal sex (his story never contained the word forced). It was the first time I'd heard the word 'groomed' in that context (and I wasn't alone, because someone went off on a 'bridegroom/groom' tangent). The nameless boy's story concluded with the allegation that before, during, and after the years of abuse, he was innately attracted only to girls. The bullshitter telling the story surmised that because the nameless boy had been intimate with a member of the same sex for such a prolonged period of time that he might, now, be able to choose. At this point the bullshit session switched its focus to the sexual proclivities of Greek philosophers (someone had a philosophy class) and the term "conditioned bisexuality" was thrown around the room.
Bridge.I have grown into the knowledge that gender and human sexuality is a very complex spectrum. I picture a two dimensional xy Cartesian graph. The horizontal line depicting the genitalia one is innately sexually attracted to. On the left is the female pudenda (the minus 5 position); on the right is the male penis (the plus 5 position). Someone who is equally attracted to both sexes and who chooses his or her next partner based solely on the fickle winds of chance mutual attraction is a 0.
I think of the top of the vertical line as a measure of how strong one's attraction feels, or how often one thinks about sex, or how often one has the urge to engage in their preferred sexual act (it's subjective and doesn't matter if one plots one's strength point for a given moment in time or for the average over a period of time). At the top, the plus 5 position, is sexual addicts and those incapable of controlling their constant sexual urges. Where the vertical meets the horizontal (the zero point) is those who are asexual and incapable of any attraction. Just above the zero point, the plus 1 position, is those who exclusively pleasure themselves (which would include iDollators).
The bottom of the vertical line is for all the paranormal innate attractions. At the bottom, the minus 5 position, is for necrophiliacs. All of the minus positions cover the range of attractions which society considers abnormal from sexual attractions to inanimate objects, BDSM, and rape.
To be accurate and complete, this graph now needs to become an xyz three-dimensional graph in order to measure fantasy versus reality. What one thinks about when one is engaging in the sexual act is important because it's the brain that's sexual, not the body. The further along the plus z line the more fantastic one's mental images are from what's currently happening to one's body (within societal "norms"). 100% focus on the sex one's body is experiencing—no fantasy—is 0; the further along the minus z line the more disparate the brain's focus is from what is currently being experienced by one's body (outside of societal "norms").
Bridge.
Mental moving snapshots with sound: My first significant other is berating me for my unwillingness to attend catholic mass. Her sharp words are intended to make me feel guilty for my lack of materialism and lack of concern for our toddler's spiritual upbringing, which is my final straw (Snap.) My second so insouciance is unbearable. No words becomes no love (Snap.) Which drives me to find my third who works toward attaining "marital tenure" and I decide, while she is on a relationship-sabbatical to locate my current love (Snap.) Now we are ten years together. Everything is as wonderful as I imagined it could be. Better, having chosen not to tolerate the bad behavior of her predecessors, who taught me what type of woman to look for and what, who, and where not to be. Bridge.
So hey. I've stopped saying "people don't choose" because some people do. Maybe a lot of people do (maybe the world is equally divided in thirds: 1/3 hetero and can't choose otherwise; 1/3 homo and can't choose otherwise; and 1/3 are attracted to both, can choose, and do...or let their government/church choose for them).
There seems to be a large quantity of fundamentalists and conservatives who use the word "choose and choice" with an definite air of certainty...maybe that's because every one of them are near the 0 point, in the middle of the horizontal axis and they've all decided to let their religious and political leaders tell them what choice to make.
The most important point is everyone should be happy with what they've got (between their ears). If you haven't yet found what makes you happy (between the sheets)...keep looking. If you aren't yet as happy as you could be (because you see others who have chosen wisely and found their happy) stop attempting to make them as unhappy as you are; misery doesn't really love company.
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