Well, I figured it up, and over a period of time
This four thousand-dollar car of mine
Cost fourteen thousand dollars and ninety-nine cents.
Archive for Ventually
In which I bewail the state of the world while quoting both Karl Marx and Danny Glover. It’s a nasty job, but somebody has to do it.
Not that you were wondering, exactly, but since I seldom have passengers, this may be your one and only chance to find out what I’m thinking while I’m driving home.
Not that you were waiting for them, exactly, but here are some thoughts on the sacking of Oklahoma City Thunder coach Scott Brooks.
(Warning: Contains several gratuitous pop-culture references.)
If you were anywhere within four or five miles of downtown Oklahoma City on this date in 1995, it’s a pretty safe bet that you heard it. Felt it. First you wondered what; then you wondered why. We’ve pretty much settled the first question.
For those of you who might have thought that academia is overrun with sexual non-binary types and other individuals hard to characterize, well, that might be true in the Ivies, but it doesn’t work out here on the Plains.
Were you ever in a darkened room with a fan running? And if so, did you ever hear what seemed to be fragments of voices coming from its general direction?
I have always been a firm believer in What You See Is What You Get. Or, you know, not.
Time was, every young American was equipped with, as Hemingway is supposed to have said, “a built-in, shockproof crap detector.” And they would keep that invaluable device all their lives — until they ran for political office.
I’m not saying I’m the expert on Too Much Information, but I’m the expert on Too Much Information. Maybe.
Dear teenage girl: No, you should not send nude photos of yourself to some boy you
barely hardly know. Strange things happen when your clothes are off.
Advertisers want your attention, and they’re going to get it — any way they possibly can.
If ever I had a reason to reject that particular description — and I’m pretty sure I did — it’s stronger, not to mention louder, now.
If your memory serves you well
We were going to meet again and wait
So I’m going to unpack all my things
And sit before it gets too late
Bob Dylan/Rick Danko, “This Wheel’s On Fire,” as recorded by Brian Auger and the Trinity with Julie Driscoll on vocals.
And they will tweet unto you God knows what. I, for one, shrug.
Depressed? “Buck up,” they say. “Smile a little.”
They are, of course, full of crap.
Can I pass myself off as 51 instead of 61? I wouldn’t have thought so, but what the hell do I know?
She loves me; she loves me not. It’s a lot easier for me to believe the latter.
I’ve mentioned before that occasionally I page through the archives, and sometimes, I have to admit, I like what I see.
And then there are the times when I don’t.
The 24-hour bug persisted for a lot longer than 24 hours, and all of a sudden things look a great deal bleaker than they did a couple of days ago.
Once I’ve posted something, I never, ever want to see it again — unless I do.
It’s a year, a number of years, and a time to reflect that there may actually be some crying in baseball — and some laughs, too.
Does this time of year actually suck, or is it just me?
Addendum: A second opinion:
Snow and inclement conditions aside, I think winter gets a bad rap. Believe me, I’m the first to complain when I am forced to grab a plastic shovel and dig my way to freedom. However, if you take away the ice, snow, and slush, winter can be a lazy person’s ticket to paradise. Although it may appear that I am trying to find the silver lining, trust me when I say: I lean more towards lethargic than evolved.
I’m definitely down with that latter point.
Or, “Things stuck together for no reason other than that I happened to be thinking about them this week.”
In fact, the POODLE chews it, and the little bastard needs to be put out of its misery.
(Title from the late Frank Zappa.)
On the off-chance that automakers are going to push self-driving cars with the idea that “Look how much work you can get done during your daily commute!” — well, thanks, but no thanks.
The Mamas and the Papas had a song by this title; it was apparently about a brief affair. This isn’t. Instead, it’s about this:
Just made eye contact with someone with whom I probably should not have.
— Charles G Hill (@dustbury) October 10, 2014
Why shouldn’t I have, you ask? There are places I should not go.
One of the reasons human evolution, as distinguished from the purely technological advances that either decorate or desecrate our lives these days, seems to have slowed to a crawl, if not actually stopped altogether, is that there is apparently no punishment for stupidity. You can imagine what I think of that.
Only three this time around, and two of them are kissing cousins. (Okay, they’re not about cousins, or kissing either, but they did sort of grow up together.) As always, I have my own take on all the measures under consideration, and also the ones that aren’t.