This and That

Ouch

Sometimes it's best not to know what you are up against; if you are acutely aware of the challenges involved, you'd never do a damn thing. Being clueless is weirdly empowering.
~ Geraldine DeRuiter 

 She makes a tremendously good point but there are limits. I found 'em.

I had another post-dental procedure checkup yesterday. I figured they’d just give my extraction sites a quick once over, tell me I’m doing fine and send me on my way. I mean, the pain’s gone and I’m struggling less with my food intake (in case I hadn’t mentioned it, I have nerve damage that makes chewing, on the left side, a big horking challenge).

Did this bright scenario/all-clear happen? Fuck no!

As my rotten medical luck would have it, there’s one more broken fang (a wisdom tooth, also snapped during my surgery-a-thon of ’20-’21) on the other side of my mouth that needs to come out.

NOW?!  It's gotta come out NOW????!!!

C’MON dear doctors, I already have too damn much on my plate. Can I get a goddamn break here? Jesus Dentition Christ Almighty! Yeah, I kinda didn’t respond to the idea of another spur of the moment extraction with my usual “sure, let’s get it done!” can-do attitude.

Turns out, I can have a wee pause in the dental action. This extraction can wait until after the upcoming brain surgery. Phew and yea.

The good news—my gums are looking better/less swollen than before so I’m now super-officially cleared for May’s brain action. Yippee.

I’d truly like to be clueless BUT, if I was, I’d also be dead by now. The key, I think, is to be aware but not overwhelmed. I’m working on that. I suspect the first step in that direction is cake and Cake.

Welcome to Monday

The past was alterable. The past never had been altered. Oceania was at war with Eastasia. Oceania had always been at war with Eastasia.
~ George Orwell, 1984

Remember that brittle, anorexic looking twat—one of Dementia Don’s “counselors”—who referred to their spewed tsunami of lies as alternative facts? Yeah, she undoubtedly read 1984 as a training manual.

It, like every other restaurant, bar or gas station in Spain, served tapas. The Spanish invented these small dishes—usually tiny snacks speared with a toothpick—presumably in order to make amends for the Inquisition.

“Sorry we murdered everyone in the name of Christ. Here, try this ham. It’s made from a pig that spent its life drinking port wine while reading the works of Cervantes.”
~ Geraldine DeRuiter, All Over the Place: Adventures in Travel, True Love, and Petty Theft

DeRuiter is stunningly witty. Her dry humor and ability to transform disaster (or “disaster adjacent” happenings) into real laugh out loud hilarity is exactly what I need right now. When I grow up I want to write just like her. What's that you say? I'm already grown up? When the fuck did that happen?! //shrugs// FINE!

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.
~ Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night

I’ve been, more or less, pretending to be an elderly house cat these past two weeks (since my dental surgery). Ya know, there have been daily naps, very careful, slow eating of only the softest foods, staring out the window, biting those who annoy me and trips to the litter box (this being the exercise bits of my day).

I do a bang up job as an old feline. Possibly this will be a permanent shift in my being.

Also, I'm tired of mashed potatoes, soup and pudding. I WANT GRILLED ASPARAGUS, PAKORAS, CRAB RANGOONS AND POPCORN AND I WANT THEM NOW!

Some wise words from John Scalzi:

1. Everyone is entitled to their opinion about the things they read (or watch, or listen to, or taste, or whatever). They’re also entitled to express them online.

2. Sometimes those opinions will be ones you don’t like.

3. Sometimes those opinions won’t be very nice.

4. The people expressing those may be (but are not always) assholes.

5. However, if your solution to this “problem” is to vex, annoy, threaten or harass them, you are almost certainly bigger asshole.

6. You may also be twelve.

7. You are not responsible for anyone else’s actions or karma, but you are responsible for your own.

8. So leave them alone and go about your own life. 

~ Bad Reviews: I Can Handle Them, and So Should You (Blog post, July 17, 2012)

I’ve been spending entirely too much time on Threads lately. There seems to have been a dramatic increase in the number of trolls, rage posters and porn bots lately. Of these, the porn bots are the least obnoxious. They’re annoying but I just block ‘em and move on.

 The bullies, snide delusional nincompoops and rage baiters are another thing. These I also block but unlike the naked butts and zeppelin-esque cleavage shots (easily mistaken for party pics from Mar a Lago), the right wing ragers’ texts aren’t purring entreaties to engage. They drop barely coherent Fox bombs in hopes of engagement. (upsetting the libtards is their oxygen) You just KNOW the post’s “authors” take another pull on their wee, baby cyclops at the very idea of someone yelling back at them.

I shouldn’t kink shame but this seems to be a truly overcomplicated way to satisfy one’s sexual needs. They need therapy—a lot of it. Also, more hand cream. I’m imagining there are an awful lot of desperately chapped dicks out there. 

That and damp, crusty sweat socks.

"Good" Guys with Props

The other day I commented on a person’s Threads post. The individual had taken a pic of a family sitting near them in a fast food joint. The husband/father, presumably, had a big ol’ handgun strapped at the belt of his cargo shorts and a mean look on his face. Was this a “good guy with a gun” or an angry rage-aholic itching for a excuse to go all ballistic Dirty Harry on the first person who looks at him “funny.”

All I said, addressing the post’s writer, was that they should be careful because the guy was staring at them with a nasty look on his face. What followed was a bunch of tantrum twats calling me names for daring to suggest the idiot showing off his prosthetic penis could be viciously unsafe.

Yeah, I blocked them all. Unsurprisingly, every last one was a white guy. Shocking? Not so much. (Before you get your "Not All White Men" knickers in a twist, I KNOW not all...but there are enough that this segment of humanity is renowned for its inflated egos and out of control, often violent insecurity.) These ever-so-dim, now blocked, boys also chose to mansplain that OF COURSE the gun toter was pissed—someone was taking a snap of him without his permission. Gee, I’m just a little old Vagina American, I NEVER would have thought of that! 

 Did the armed ass (and my commenters) think a cell phone snap is lethal in the same way as his death dealing emotional support sidearm? Maybe it's just me but I’d wager that mister dickless gun fetishist always sports a resting angry-asshole face.

I wonder...if the restaurant is so horrorshow that he can’t enter without a Glock at his hip, WHY is he taking his, supposedly, cherished loved ones there? Hmmmmm?

If he feels he absolutely MUST pack heat when frequenting his local Panera or McDonalds, maybe, just MAYBE, he needs to find less dangerous dining establishments. Possibly invest in psychotherapy as well.

From the Giffords: Courage to Fight Gun Violence blog:

Despite what the gun lobby wants you to believe, the truth is that self-defensive gun use is rare, and that guns are many times more likely to be used for suicide or homicide than they are for self defense. In 2018, for every justifiable homicide with a gun, there were 34 gun homicides, 82 gun suicides, and two unintentional gun deaths.

• People successfully defend themselves with guns in less than 1% of crimes in which there is contact between a perpetrator and a victim.

• States with higher rates of gun ownership have higher rates of gun death, confirming the commonsense conclusion that more guns create more opportunities for injury and death, not fewer.

• An FBI analysis of 160 active shooter incidents from 2000–2013 found that active shooter incidents were rarely stopped by armed individuals who were not law enforcement returning fire. In fact, four times as many shootings were stopped by unarmed civilians restraining the shooter. (source)

Go read the full page and hit the links. Worth it!

 You're a Good Guy with a Gun™? That's just an excuse to assuage your feelings of inadequacy with dangerous props.

Art, Ink and Edits

First, to all who celebrate, HAPPY 4/20!

In case I haven't mentioned this before, I am forever editing as I read. E.g., in a book I’m reading now, the author refers to Paul Klee and Piet Mondrian as Cubists. I was stunned. NO, they were most def not! I may have been a crap student in college but I remember my 19th and 20th century art history…or I think I generally do. I looked it up to be certain—it’s been a lot of years since art school, ya know.

What did I find out? While Klee was influenced by cubism, his work falls way more in line with Expressionism, Bauhaus and Surrealism. 

Paul Klee (1879-1940) has been called many things: a father of abstract art, a Bauhaus master, the progenitor of Surrealism, and—by many an art historian…a very hard man to pin down….

Klee’s body of work isn’t easily bucketed into a single category, thanks in large part to the system of throbbing forms, mystical hieroglyphs, and otherworldly creatures that he developed to populate his compositions. (source)

Mondrian? He was a founder of the art movement called De Stijl which was related to Neo-Plasticism (in Dutch—Nieuwe Beelding i.e., New Visualization).

By the unification of architecture, sculpture and painting a new plastic reality will be created.
~ Piet Mondrian

Sounds kinda sci-fi, no?

An artistic philosophy that called for the renunciation of naturalistic representation in favor of a stripped-down formal vocabulary principally consisting of straight lines, rectangular planes, and primary colors. First articulated by Piet Mondrian in the journal De Stijl (The Style),  (source)

Most def NOT cubist—neither of them.

Why didn’t the author’s editor catch and correct this? I mean, isn’t this basic, recent (as in just this past century!) Art History? I can understand the writer, who was relatively young and probably majored in English, being confused about artists and genres but the editor? The majority of book editors are well past 30 years of age and, with all their experience, should know better.

I’m also assuming here that because I know what styles and movements these painters were a part of, well, simply everyone must! I think, as usual, I’m guilty of underestimating my knowledge levels. I’ve always done this.

At least I’m consistent, eh?

By the by, who were the Cubists? Pablo Picasso, Juan Gris and George Braques to name a few.

By the by Take 2: Back in my carnie days I thought I'd get inked. I was the only one on the lot sans skin art (the horror!) AND there were tattoo "artists" on almost all the midways. This was well before tattoos became the art form they are today so I wanted to keep it really simple—no Hygieia from Klimt’s Medicine for me. *sigh* I figured I'd get Mondrian's Broadway Boogie-Woogie (seen above, right) on my ass. Did I? Heavens no. I knew myself well enough to understand that I'd be unhappy about my choice moments after the last ink was inked.

Also, what if I gained weight? The art would be nastily distorted. More reason to nope out.

In case you were unsure…

I have NO fashion sense. Zero. Mind you, if you think an almost fanatical devotion to faux fur leopard-skin prints (pajamas, coats, vests, hats—name it, I have or had it), tie dye, graphic Ts and Vans are fashionable, I’m your ultra haute Jackie O., Audrey Hepburn or, more accurately, Mae West.
~~~
I LOVE biscuits and gravy! Yes, those can be vegetarian. Ten makes it with some absolutely heavenly vegan sausage and other stuff and IT IS PERFECTION!!!

Yes, I’m gonna need some of that goodness soon.

Meanwhile, since eating (with my mouth still recovering from dental surgery hell) is still problematic, breakfast today will be a VERY soft burrito filled with scrambled eggs and saag paneer.
~~~
No, I still haven’t gone for a proper walk. Not in two-ish weeks so far. Neither have I finished my tax prep. Yes, I’m a slag but part of the joy of being an actual grown-ass adult (I am SO an adult!) is that I can take time outs without getting a permission slip from anyone. This little break from being a mature, conscientious adult WILL end. I’ll get back on track but it doesn’t have to be today. Also, I’m giving myself permission to take baby steps.

I mean, hell and damnation, I’m approaching my seventh brain surgery (20th op overall) I deserve some motherfucking downtime!

Ya know what else I deserve? New Vans. Also some supportive, comfy, stylish sandals. My balance is too banjaxed for any of that strappy/barely there footwear but there MUST be some good shit out there for the fashion forward walker-bound set. If not, there should be!
~~~
If I was a patron saint I’d be Saint Donna of the Hospital. No, I would NOT be interceding with your Lord God du jour to shield you from the slings and arrows of outrageous medical fortune and such. I would be the bringer, accordant with Adonai’s commands, of ill health.

WHY in fuck’s name would you petition Saint Donna for this brand of intercession? Who the hell wants to be frail, feeble, diseased and disabled? Not me and that’s a fact.

Quite likely my venerators would be mostly masochists. Possibly there’ll be thrill seekers in the mix as well. I could see Iron Man competitors joining in. Ya know, the same old run/swim/cycle routine can get dull after a while. Let’s add in some Nf2 action—yeah, sounds like a great new challenge! (said nobody, ever)

Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be doing boffo box office in the saint biz. I would however be the swankiest, style-setter of all the saints. Saint Francis de Sales can eat his damn heart out.

“External seemliness is a sort of indication of inward good order”

“As to the quality and fashion of clothes, modesty in these points must depend upon various circumstances, age, season, condition, the society we move in, and the special occasion”

“For my own part I should like my devout man or woman to be the best dressed person in the company.”

Yeah, tell it, Frankie!

Bon Mots

Below are some words that I just like the sound of. Their meanings are somewhat irrelevant (to me). With a few exceptions, it’s not entirely likely they’ll find their way into my usual conversational styling (or maybe they will!).

Balderdash
     noun
senseless talk or writing

This word’s tremendously apt in this era of Republi/Fascist idiocy. Pretty much everything spewed from the mouths of Trumpers is utterly toxic balderdash.

Spatchcock
     noun
a chicken or game bird split open and grilled.

Now that I know what it means, I don’t find it quite so amusing. I was thinking a spatchcock was akin to a shuttlecock on steroids.

Diphthong
     noun
a sound formed by the combination of two vowels in a single syllable, in which the sound begins as one vowel and moves toward another (as in coin or loud)

.

Sounds more like a type of pointless and desperately uncomfortable underwear.

Spermologist
     noun in botany
one who treats or collects seeds

Alternatively, in humans, this is a person who studies and determines whether a man's seed is worth a damn. If not, a spermologist makes the call as to whether you should be banished to an ice cave in the Arctic OR sentenced to live out your existence on a completely barren island off the coast of Florida. (the barren island, while ensuring you can’t reproduce, is more humane in that you could conceivably swim to the mainland before becoming a shark's mid-day snack. Of course, IF you survive, you’d be in Florida so…emmm… lose/lose)

Malarkey
     noun
meaningless talk; nonsense

The shit Dark Brandon is totally done with.

Shenanigans
     noun
secret or dishonest activity or maneuvering.

This word sounds like it should be more lighthearted and harmless than the dictionary definition. Like it should apply to actions such as glitter bombing anti-abortion protesters and white supremacists and NOT the vile, slimy, heinous lies and crimes committed daily by the Cheato Party.

Nincompoop
     noun
a foolish or stupid person

i.e., anyone in the GFP party (Grifters for Putin)

Kerfuffle
     noun
a commotion or fuss, especially one caused by conflicting views.

To me it sounds like a description of Sarah Huckabee Sanders fashion sense (nonsense that is).

Governor Sanders enjoys carrying out her official duties dressed in her kerfuffled Halloween cowgirl attire.

Bulbous
     adjective
resembling a bulb especially in roundness

Cheato’s figure most closely looks like as an upside-down, squishy lightbulb.

Queef
     noun
an audible release of air from the vagina, typically during or after sex.

The word sounds funny and it IS hilarious when it happens (or, if you’re humorless, deeply embarrassing) BUT when I read it I immediately think “spliff,” “doobie,” or “blunt.” Why? Beats the fuck outta me but don’t Bogart that Camberwell carrot if you please.

Titillating
     adjective
arousing mild sexual excitement or interest; salacious.

*giggle* the word tits is sort of titillating *giggle*

Blunderbuss
     noun
a short-barreled large-bored gun with a flared muzzle, used at short range.

Dunno, this sounds more like an archaic term for breasticles as in “he tried to grab her blunderbuss but she ducked out of his reach just in time.”

Haboob
     noun
a violent and oppressive wind blowing in summer, especially in Sudan, bringing sand from the desert.

NOT actually a reference to mammory glands but it ALWAYS brings a childish grin to my face.

Cockwomble
     noun
slang for a person, usually male, who is prone to making outrageously stupid statements and/or inappropriate behaviour while having a very high opinion of their own wisdom and importance.

e.g., Cheato

Collywobbles
     noun
stomach pain or queasiness.

When I imagine the horrors we’re in for if the party of Putin wins anything in November, I get a radical case of the collywobbles.

Regina del Dramma

I only mention it but life’s a bit on the exhausting side of late. How so? You know, brain surgery delayed by dental issues. All of this has been complicating and slowing my endless efforts to rehab so's I can walk, travel and otherwise function semi-normally again.
 
I’ve done precious fucking little since last Monday’s teef removal production and that’s okay. Really! Yesterday I took not one but TWO naps and still managed to sleep (mostly) through the night. Huh, waddyaknow. I guess that just proves my hypothesis (to me, who was, possibly, the only one needing to be convinced) that the accumulated weight of all my health bullshit is roughly equivalent to lugging around a 270 pound sack of greasy Cheato entrails all day, every day for the past four years. I guess I needed the rest (DUH).

The dental surgery was just:

• The penultimate straw which has been threatening to bust this water buffalo’s back?

• The silver bullet that might pierce this werewolf’s heart?

• My Waterloo? My Rubicon?
  

• The, maybe, next-to-last payment to Charon before he floats me across the River Styx?

• The desiccated cherry on top of my surgery sundaes?
  

No, sorry, that’s all just TOO drama queeny, even for me. Shockingly, even I have an upper ceiling vis-à-vis hyperbole.

Today’s a new day. I will attempt a seawall walk (this time for sure!).

pics by Jen