Mummycicles

I came across this abso-fascinating article about scarily well preserved 500 year old Incan ice mummies found at the border between Argentina and Chile in March of 1999. It left me with a zillion questions so, naturally, I’ve jumped down the rabbit hole.

The Llullaillaco mummies are an interesting discovery for the scientific community because they give information on the ancient tradition of Incan sacrifice. All three were most likely killed in a ritual known as Capacocha, in which they were sacrificed to the Sun God. Their remains were astonishingly well preserved; the cold, thin air of the high highlands naturally converted them into frozen mummies. They appeared to have simply dozed off. (source)

There’s more complete info at the Museum of High Altitude Archaeology site.

The sacrificial victims on Llullaillaco were not beaten to death or strangled, as often happened in such rituals, according to chronicles. (Why were these particular sacrifices different?) After the hardships of a 1500 km pilgrimage as part of the Capacocha ceremony  (So, the sacrificial offerings weren’t laid out on an altar and stabbed through the heart? Oh wait, that was the Aztecs not the Incas. Nevermind) …and the extremely arduous climb to one of the highest mountains on the continent, the two girls fell asleep exhausted and froze to death (how can they know this with certainty?) in the extreme cold. The boy probably died of altitude sickness on the last part of the way….As analyses revealed, the children had been given alcohol and coca over a long period of time and the dose had been greatly increased in the days before the sacrifice. (Why were they doped up? To make them compliant? To make their deaths somewhat less painful? Both? Other reasons?) (source)

Why did the Inca sacrifice children? Why did teen girls need to be virgins?

In especially uncertain times, such as when an emperor died, or when volcanoes erupted or severe earthquakes or famine struck, priests sacrificed captured warriors or specially raised, perfectly formed children to the gods. The Incas believed in an afterlife and that the children they sacrificed would inhabit a better, and more abundantly provided for, world. (source)

Doesn't answer my questions but, if I’m understanding this correctly, the kiddles weren’t so much raised but cultivated like prize show dogs, future Toddlers and Tiaras victims or young calves bred to be nothing more than dinner. Captured warriors could be any old carousing, armored yob though. No virginity required. Huh.

Just FYI, the Vikings, Romans, Celts and a whole lot of others were in on the human sacrifice game too.

The complicated recovery was followed by years of interdisciplinary research, first at the Catholic University of Salta and then at the museum equipped with special technology for cryopreservation. Through paleoradiology, odontological studies, hair and DNA analyses, etc., important scientific conclusions could be drawn about the people, daily life and ritual practices of the Inca period. (source)

Fascinating! In college I was an anthropology major for, maybe, a whole semester. I wish I’d stuck with it and become an archeologist. Maybe I can do that in my next incarnation?

Marble-free

Ya know those birthday announcements that pop up on Facebook? Why is it, that, on a site where I either know my friends OR share a mutual connection, 50% of the send birthday greetings prompts are for complete strangers? I’ve checked, once or twice, and found that, yes, most are in fact ‘friends.’ Huh, waddya know. I must be approving requests in my sleep.
It’s not that I mind, it’s just confusing and makes me wonder if I’m losing my marbles. WHY don’t I remember this person. Also, if we’re ‘friends’ why don’t I ever see their posts?
~~~
Yesterday was a reading day… mostly. I’ve not been in peak form for more than a few days. Just tired I expect, but reluctant to take a rehab break. I really wanted to hit a new distance/speed goal but my damn body was all ‘slow and steady wins the race’ and ‘you NEED to take a few days off.’ Killjoy…fucker…ratbastid!

So, I took a few mornings off. See, I can SO compromise with myself.

My ever-present guilt was helpfully quieted by the new Richard Osman mystery, The Bullet That Missed. It’s the third in a FABOLA series about a group of septuagenarians in a retirement community who’ve formed a detective club of sorts—the Thursday Murder Club.

A local news legend is on the hunt for a sensational headline, and soon the gang are hot on the trail of two murders, ten years apart.

To make matters worse, a new nemesis pays Elizabeth a visit, presenting her with a deadly mission: kill or be killed… (source)

This was a totally fun page-turner!

~~~

Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey—WHY have I not heard about this before?

The 100 Acre Wood was a place we all dreamt of visiting, but now it's turned into a nightmarish hell that cannot be escaped. The slasher film sees Pooh and Piglet go on a murderous rampage after being abandoned by Christopher Robin when he goes off to college. (source)

Honestly, can you blame them? The boy goes off on a new, exciting uni adventure and does NOT take his best (and conveniently portable) friends with him? How fucking heartless is that?
From the same creative team comes Bambi: The Reckoning.

Ever wanted to know what Bambi would be like if — instead of processing his grief and falling in love alongside bunny rabbits in meadows full of flowers — the orphaned animal just went beast mode and killed all the hunters? Then this one is for you, I guess. (source)

You KNOW I’m on Rambo Bambi’s side!
~~~
A Harvard astronomer says his fellow space scientists are being, essentially, fuddy-duddy sticks in the mud for saying the rock that zoomed past us in 2017 was just an asteroid.

The weird cigar-shaped object that flew past Earth in 2017 could've been alien technology, claims the head of Harvard's astronomy department, but humans didn't realize it because we're not the "smartest kid on the block."

(I can’t argue with that—not at all.)

It was moving unusually fast as well, tumbling head-over-heels, and accelerating in speed as if being pushed. (source)

Who know? Maybe it was aliens who observed humans in Florida, fer instance, and decided “nope, hard pass” and flew on by.

Maybe Mr. Ivy League astronomer dude was just looking for some super delish media time to feed his ego? Given that lying attention whores like Ted Cruz, Tom Cotton, Elise Stefanik, David Vitter and the oh-so-appropriately named Mike Crapo, attended that otherwise fine institution, I’m unimpressed.

Mind you, Paul Chodas, manager of NASA's Center for Near Earth Object Studies, (NOT Harvard) says:

“That's a very unusual shape,”…”We don't see that in our solar system. None of the asteroids in our solar system look like that. So it's very puzzling how it could've obtained this shape.” (source)

Me? I’m entirely agnostic on this business of a sentient beings from another planet visiting us. Honestly, I recommend they avoid us at all costs. We humans have shown ourselves to be incessantly violent, power-mad, greedy, thoughtless AND, on top of that, we don’t share well.

I’d do a flyby on us as well.

Burnt Toast

Is there anything more sad than the final day of a four day weekend? Yes, of course there is but I'm living in the moment here. This is a crap moment but it's all I've got right now. Okay, there's more to this morning's melancholia than the fact that it's Sunday and Jen and Oni go back to work tomorrow. My endless doc visits ramp back up tomorrow, bills need to be paid, I've got to get back into a more challenging rehab workout routine and I've simply GOT to get on the stick and renew my damn passport...amongst other things.

After a couple weeks of progress, of hitting new walking heights, my rehabbing hit the skids. Yesterday I didn't even manage half a mile. This morning's ramble was a very slow, piddling quarter mile. Sure, it's cold and windy (the wind makes everything mega challenging)—I understand how this can crimp my speed and balance but, fer fuck's sake, I feel weak (also whiny which you may have already noticed).

I need to bring some fun into being. All work and no playtime makes Donna a dull slice of dry, burnt toast. Happiness gives me energy. 

I saw this (at left) and thought, HEY, I need a tattoo like this! I no longer wear earrings (or jewelry of any sort) and I'm MOST def not into makeup but I could use some embellishment. I wonder if I could get a dragon inked into my ear? As my sister Celeste has said, our ears are purely ornamental (she also has Nf2) so why not art it up a bit? Do tattoos hurt? I've never had one before and I am SO not into pain. 

Depression is melancholy minus its charms.
~ Susan Sontag, Illness as Metaphor

I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on the top of the beer can.
~ Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

It’s how I fill the time when nothing’s happening. Thinking too much, flirting with melancholy.
~ Tim Winton, Breath

Dominance Displays and Names

C’MON, it’s Thanksgiving weekend! You can’t expect me to be a rehabbing queen on a goddamn four day holiday weekend—or can you? By ‘you’ I, of course, mean ‘me.’ I’m feeling guilty for having only walked .73 of a mile yesterday. Granted that was all in one go AND I walked a mile on Thanksgiving so, ya know, cut me some damn slack, okay!? (that was me battling the heinously strong guilt monster who rides me 24/7/365–366 in leap years)

So far today, I've only done .43 of a mile but it’s windy out there! I’ll do another walk later plus some indoor balance shit (like standing up, folding clothes. I swear, my existence is nonstop, edge-of-the-seat thrills).

And speaking of Elon Musk (weren’t we?), what’s finally gonna drive me off the Bird app are the incessant tweets about and from the pasty, racist, born-on-home-plate/thought-he-hit-a-home run prick. He’s nothing more than a younger version of TFG with a better hair replacement job. Like Trump, Musk craves constant press and the media is obliging this freakshow. It's both good for clicks. Muskrat's incompetence, bigotry, malevolence and fragile, bloated ego are spotlighted on center stage. Bored now.

What are some of the AKAs for the overly entitled twatman?

• Apartheid Clyde
• Space Karen
• Elon MusKKK
• Muskrat (an insult to those cute little critters)

Speaking of douchenozzles…

How about Kanye West’s unflattering AKAs? I’ve only seen one so far—Skeezy, a play on the name of his sneaker and heinously ugly Croc knockoff brand—Yeezy.

And speaking of Skeezoid, the proud antisemite has announced he’s running for president…of the U.S.! Yeah, good luck buddy. Better still, he shared the big news at a Mar-a-Whatever dinner with TFG and the miscreant Holocaust denier Nick Fuentes. (It’s the first line of a joke—three white supremacists walk into a room but only one of them is white…)

Skeezbag followed up by asking TFG to be his VP running mate. Hilarious! That went over real well. True to form, TFG responded with insults about Skeezy’s ex-wife (shades of Cruz). What a class act, n'est-pas?

The only hate-filled, egomaniacal and mentally banjaxed shitstain missing from the dinner party was Apartheid Clyde. I’m sure he’s heartbroken that he wasn’t included. Wonder if he's upset enough to fuck off to Mars? An old tart can dream, ya know.

What do you call a group of narcissists? Is it a riot of narcissists? 

I think this works. A riot is what I would expect to happen when a group of NO, I’m the best! puke puddles are within two meters of each other. Rabid Chads and/or Karens fighting for dominance is inevitable.

The Day After

Thanksgiving here in Valhalla was lovely. Ten made a brill dinner—Brussels sprouts roasted in white wine vinegar and extra virgin olive oil with sea salt and diced habaneros, tempura green beans, kung pao cauliflower and biscuits with apple maple grain sausage gravy.

I ate so much that I could barely get down a sliver of my beloved pecan pie. Of course this meant I had to have it for breakfast this morning (TWO pieces and I swear I could easily choke down a third).

I managed to mostly avoid doomscrolling by walking (two half mile jaunts) and reading a new book, You Had Me at Woof by Julie Klam.

Puppies are constantly inventing new ways to be bad. It's fascinating. You come into a room they've been in and see pieces of debris and try to figure out what you had that was made from wicker or what had been stuffed with fluff.

This is just one of the myriad reasons why I’m not a dog person. I like cats. Okay, I revere cats...possibly deify. Still, I’m enjoying Klam’s writing style and hope the library has other non-dog Klam books.

I did catch some news but it was a ridiculous bit courtesy of the Trump Clown Family.

Junior (is he Beavis or Butthead—I always get those two confused) has rushed to defend Qatar’s draconian homosexuality laws while also going full metal Q-anon. He pushed the utterly bizarre Dems are pedophiles and groomers projection horseshit and then, in the very same sentence, went off about vaccines.

What makes me laugh here is that Junior’s shacking up with an obviously failed drag queen. How can he be anti-LGBT? I understand his sexual confusion though—who was his male role model? Don the child rapist Con who was the BFF of serial child rapist and sex trafficker Jeffrey Epstein. Still, Coke Jaw’s an adult now—he should know better. Surely he’s seen one or two examples of nontoxic, sane male behavior by now. Oh wait, he’s a Republi/Fascist so that’s entirely unlikely.

Apparently Junior’s too dimwitted, coked up and soullessly corrupt (just like Pop) to pick the righteous and honorable life path. Hell’s bells, even daughter-wife (AKA the feckless cunt) has dumped dear old dad (via Instagram—how charmingly trumpian). For her, I expect, this was purely a business decision and in no way signifies any real disagreements with the fascist mountain of poo. Her father’s becoming unpopular, hence bad for her and JarJar’s brand—she had to cut him loose. Understandable, no?

Enough of those losers though. What’s on for today? Certainly NOT shopping! I’ve already got a half mile walk in and would do another but rain is expected soon. I suppose this means I’ll be ellipticalling which is totally NOT as enjoyable as a nice ramble. I’d love to trike again but the local traffic gives me the heebie jeebies.

Aside from more exercise and reading, I plan to follow the example of my brilliant Cake. NAPS and SNACKS!

God and Other Fairy Tales

So, today’s the big day when the fairy tale, sanitized-for-your-protection myth of Thanksgiving is trotted out.

The first national Thanksgiving Day did not invoke the Pilgrims at all. In 1863, President Abraham Lincoln declared a Thanksgiving Day on the last Thursday of November, looking to reconcile a country in the throes of the Civil War.
~~~
As Americans looked for an origin story that wasn’t soaked in the blood of Native Americans or built on the backs of slavery, the humble, bloodless story of the 102 Pilgrims forging a path in the New World in search of religious freedom was just what they needed, according to Silverman. Regardless of whether it was rooted in historical fact, it became accepted as such. (source)

Yeah, the story we were all taught in school is unmitigated sheep shit. I swear, the real reason the Puritans left England was because they were kicked out for being stone dicks who wouldn’t quit trying to convert everyone to their personal sky daddy delusions. “Religious freedom” my beautiful fat derrière.

Which brings me to this—the the latest Walmart massacre (this one in Virginia).

“It is by the grace of God that a bullet missed me,” Tyler said. “I saw the smoke leaving the gun, and I literally watched bodies drop. It was crazy.” (source)

So…what? This god of yours didn’t choose to show bulletproof grace to the six people who died? This god likes you best? The murdered six weren’t christian or not christian enough for your god to save? God was too focused on plucking the bullet meant for you out of the air and couldn’t be fussed about the others?

“In the aftermath of the El Paso Walmart shooting, the company made a decision in September 2019 to discontinue sales of certain kinds of ammunition and asked that customers no longer openly carry firearms in its stores.” (source)

Let’s see that ridiculousness again—“asked that customers no longer openly carry firearms in its stores.” Walmart “asked.” Isn’t that just nine kinds of precious? They asked. Did they say”pretty please” too? Do they not understand that open carry freaks aren’t exactly all there? They’ve got the maturity and mental stability of meth addled squirrels.

That El Paso bloodbath? The killer, Patrick Crusius, drove 650 miles to stop what he, in a manifesto, called “the Hispanic invasion” of Texas. He obliterated 23 lives.

The Buffalo grocery massacre? Payton Gendron drove 230 miles to murder Black people. 

The guy who gunned down five people in a Colorado Springs gay bar? His father and his maternal grandfather are profoundly execrable and dimwitted human failures.

Brink said he's a Mormon and his first reaction was to question why his son was at a gay bar.

“You know Mormons don't do gay. We don't do gay. There's no gays in the Mormon church. We don't do gay,” Brink said. (source)

“There's no gays in the Mormon church. We don’t do gay” but, apparently being a porn actor and MMA brawler is AOK with the mother church. Ain't religion grand? With a sperm donor like that (and maternal grandfather like this) OF COURSE the murderer is violently twisted.

I'm sure the killers all feel that god was on their side.

Today, for me, is about pie (not π ) and being generally thankful for the good things in my life. A short and desperately incomplete list:

• Ten, Jen and Oni, without whom I’d be living in an old folk’s home and wouldn’t be walking at all.
• My own dogged determination, without which I wouldn’t have gone from wheelchair to walker and, for now, sometimes even free-stepping—all in the space of one year.
• Cake who, while not my Coco cuddle monster, is cozy, hilarious and a brilliant guard beast.
• The bay which, in all weather, never ceases to thrill me.
• Great books and by ‘great,’ I’m talking about stories by Vonnegut, Scalzi, Gardner, Richard Osman, Louise Penny, Martha Wells, Sherman Alexie—I could go on and on. Books have been a huge help and comfort in getting me through these past very hard few years.
• My fabulous med pit crew.

And PIE!

Imaginary Me , etc.

Let’s start the day with a few good haiku-esque koans from Duchess Goldblatt.

Wherever there’s organic matter,
a water source, and darkness, reality will grow.
Get after it with vinegar, baking soda, and dynamite.

Maybe every truck on the road is filled with eels.
We have no way of knowing.
It would certainly explain why we never see eels roaming free.

Don’t let anyone shame you
for your love of an imaginary friend.
Religions have been founded on less.

If I were to create my own imaginary friend (which would actually be an aspirational version of myself a la Duchess), who would I be?

A world traveler and bon vivant?
A highly respected archaeologist?
An acclaimed visiting artist/sculptor?

Yes, thank you!

My imaginary me would have always been fabulously self confident, diplomatic, direct and oh so kind but never a doormat—not once...ever. If you underestimate or piss on Imaginary Me just once, you risk losing your precious bits on the shiny scalpel edge of my calm yet withering wit. I would have given Dorothy Parker solid competition.

Imaginary Me would be effortlessly thin and rock the hell out of raw silk sheath dresses, sweats and black leather trousers.

IM would now be retired but, instead of spending ridiculous amounts of time at MGH and MEEI, she would be Nf2-free—jetting off to music festivals around the globe, gawking at pictures and sculptures at the Whitney, MoMA, the Scottish National Gallery, Neue Nationalgalerie, etc. IM would be checking in on the hot, happening digs on the Orkney Islands, Shetland and Iceland.

Yeah, IM is having some big-ass fun.
~~~

Ten and I were discussing what we’d like for Thanksgiving dinner. My first thought was, naturally, pie. We agreed on one pecan (MINE) and one Dutch apple, (I’ll sneak a piece—how could I not?).

Now then, pie is the most important part of this holiday (it’s what we’re thankful for after all) but, I guess we should have something more. Ten said he’s got a good recipe for biscuits and gravy. He’ll make it with the apple sage vegan sausage that we both love. I’ll roast up a mess of Brussels sprouts.

Jen and Oni are spending the day out in Amherst with the rest of the McMurrer brood. She says she’s making saag paneer and will make extra for our din-din.

I’m psyched!
~~~
I’m feeling more than a bit frangible of late. Warum? I need more eyelid surgery to counter some of the nasty-ass results from one of my many brain ops. Joy. This’ll be my third go ‘round with this type of surgery. I’m afraid that my field of vision will be greatly reduced (now that my vestibulocochlear nerves are dead, this is where I, mostly, get my sense of balance). This’ll totally up my already prodigious walking challenges. Worse yet, I'll bear a striking resemblance to the worst first lady of all time. Not ideal at all.

I’m feeling a bit Sisyphean this morning.

Welcome to America

Home of the violently deranged.

Have you heard about the SUV driven through the glass front of an Apple Store in Hingham, Massachusetts yesterday morning? The store is right around the corner from Jen’s printshop. A friend’s father used to work at that Apple. He spoke with former co-workers who were there. They said the murderer (so far one fatality but 17 are in hospital, many in critical condition) was a “disgruntled former employee.” That's an horrific level of disgruntlement.

How twisted is it that I’m relieved this wasn’t specifically an attack on LGBTQ folk, Black and/or Brown people, school children or Jews...as far as we currently know anyway. Also, while the killer weaponized his car, at least he didn’t have a semi-automatic rifle. Jesus AR-15 Christ—the killer could’ve taken out everyone in the damn place.

Meanwhile there was that very targeted mass murder in Colorado. An unarmed, heroic army vet tackled the 300 pound ammosexual while a drag queen stomped on the cretinous bastard with her high heels.

By the by, the killer was Mormon and, don’cha know, the church was quick to condemn the killing but just as fast to go on the defensive. How very christian of them.

Also, his grandfather is state Rep. Randy Voepel, a Republican assemblyman who in the past has aligned himself with the tea party movement and spoken in favor of the Jan. 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol. Who knew, irrational hate, in addition to mind boggling violent imbecility, is genetic.

I’m a bit stunned that Colorado Springs isn’t Lauren Boobert’s district. Given her gun-happy, desperately ignorant, flaming stupidity and warped perspective, it’d make sense that Aldrich/Brink would be one of her worshipful constituents.

If you click the New York Times link at the Joe My God post, you can get past the Times’ paywall and read the wonderful interview with the army vet hero, Mr. Fierro. Here’s a snippet:

It was supposed to be a chill family night out — the combat veteran and his wife, Jess, joined their daughter, Kassandra, her longtime boyfriend Raymond Green Vance, and two family friends to watch one of his daughter’s friends perform a drag act.

It was Mr. Fierro’s first time at a drag show, and he was digging it. He had spent 15 years in the Army, and now relished his role as a civilian and a father, watching one of his daughter’s old high-school friends perform.

“These kids want to live that way, want to have a good time, have at it,” he said as he described the night. “I’m happy about it because that is what I fought for, so they can do whatever the hell they want.”
~~~
“I don’t know how I got the weapon away from that guy, no idea. I’m just a dude, I’m a fat old vet, but I knew I had to do something.”
(this link might work too: source)

This past Sunday, the day of the massacre, was Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR)—an annual observance honoring the memory of the transgender people whose lives were lost in acts of anti-transgender violence. Did the killer know this?

Fitting in

I’m reading the book Becoming Duchess Goldblatt. The author is Anonymous.

Part memoir and part joyful romp through the fields of imagination, the story behind a beloved pseudonymous Twitter account reveals how a writer deep in grief rebuilt a life worth living. (source)

Who is Anonymous? Does it matter? Nope—it’s her story and the way she tells it that matter most (to me). While the author is a wordsmith, she’s not a novelist or, necessarily a pro-memoirist like Joan Didion, Mary Karr or Augusten Burroughs. She’s mainly a copywriter, grant writer, journalist and editor. This book is, likely, a one off. I’m loving it.

Anonymous speaks of growing up with a wholly unsupportive nasty-piece-of-work mother, a violent and mentally ill, alcoholic, drug addicted brother and an ill but saintly, doting father. To a certain extent it sounds like a version of my own family but with fewer players.

Like in Anonymous’s household, all life revolved around my mentally banjaxed sibling. Mother coddled him—worse than I spoil cats. This, naturally, only resulted in my brother’s violent, obscenely selfish and delusional qualities flourishing, blooming like flowers in May.

In an effort to hide her wretched family life, Anonymous, outside the home, tried to behave as though everything was fine. She made an effort to conform.

I tried that too (to those who knew me in high school…NO SERIOUS AND TRUE, I honestly made an effort to fit in). It didn’t work out—AT ALL. Ya see, after moving every year or two (starting at the ripe ol’ age of 18 months), I had no idea what normal, age appropriate behavior was. The only input I got from mother was that I was to be quiet, not have any needs or wants and I was to act as the family’s servant. I was to grow up, marry a nice Catholic boy and pop out grandkids for her. It was okay that I played the flute and liked to draw but, Bast forbid I color outside the lines…EVER.

On the other hand, Daddy encouraged me to be myself—whatever that might be. It probably wasn’t until the end of senior year in high school that I started down that path. BUT, when you live in a very small town and your family is tumultuous and more than a bit odd, self discovery and exploration is a long, slow and desperately awkward slog. I believe I may have finally attained my goal—to be true to myself—at the age of 40. Better late than never, eh?

I was listening to Aerosmith’s Dream On yesterday (yes, on my internal turntable) and this Faulkner line came to mind:

The past is never dead. It’s not even past.

Dream On

After a night of nasty-ass bad dreams, I have less than no energy today. Ya know what this means? YES, it's a cat day!

Last night was a night of bad dreams and ambiguous visions.
~ Sophocles, Electra 

Of all the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose what your nightmares are. You don't pick them, they pick you.
~ John Irving 

They've promised that dreams can come true - but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too.
~ Oscar Wilde 

Every time that I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
Oh, it went by like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way?
~ Aerosmith, Dream On 

For the Birds

I keep reading more and more bad news about Twitter. Elon took over with, apparently, no other aim than destroying it. He claimed he wanted to make it ground zero for Free Speech™ but somehow failed to grasp that unrestrained free speech means that people are free to mock the shit out of him, his fellow right wing, greedheaded and soullessly incompetent biz and political buddies. It was never, ever gonna be just asswipian, dead-toad-brained incels shrieking the n word and praising the orange obscenity 24/7.

Poor little steaming pile of Muskox poo—he didn't realize that liberals can be incisively, acerbically funny and quick on the draw.

Snowflake boy can dish it out but he can't take it.The thing that makes me less thrilled about watching the richest man in the world light a $44 billion bonfire is this—I'm deaf, almost totally housebound (I can't risk catching COVID again) and there's only so much ellipticalling and book reading I can do. I like the small amount of chit chat socializing that I do on Twitter. 

I'm not alone here at home—Ten, Jen, Oni and the cats are all fab company (and Hillel and I often text back and forth) but I so enjoy the bird convos (even if I'm not active participant). I like meeting new people and, right now, I can only do that online.

Yeah sure there are other, similar apps BUT that means starting over. Puts in mind my childhood where I was always the new kid at school. This time though, we're all the new kid. A lot of my fellow twits (is that what people who tweet are known as?) are headed over to Mastodon. I've attempted to join but haven't succeeded yet. The site's set up is more complicated and I'm, at the mo, lacking the bandwidth to deal with it.

In the grand scheme of things, this is so NOT a big deal. Also, it's great to see a shitheel publicly exposed as the dimbulbed, spoiled rich boy he is. Too bad 45 didn't buy Twitter before running for prez—if he had, maybe he wouldn't have 'won' the election and hundreds of thousands would still be alive.

More on Elon Musk’s Twitter Takeover

• Targeting Critics: After laying off nearly half the company, Elon Musk has continued cutting Twitter’s work force by firing employees who had criticized him.
• Musk’s Tweeting Spree: Under tremendous scrutiny since buying Twitter, Mr. Musk is using the platform to push back, spar and justify his actions.
• Users’ Confessions: Sensing that Twitter’s days might be numbered, users are disclosing long-ago indiscretions, making pleas for money and revealing silly quirks.
• ‘Hard Fork’: In an episode of The Times’s tech podcast, two Twitter employees described the atmosphere inside the company. (source)
  

Cake and Jen Text

I ran outta gas yesterday. That is, this fried old bod insisted that I take the day off. Warum? Between the greater walk lengths/speed and not having slept more than three hours the previous night, I was a slice of burnt toast.

Me: Cat butt

Jen: Nice buttock Cake!

Cake: Thank you, Jen. Donna never compliments me.

Jen: You poor kitten! I’ll flatter you more when I get home 😍

Cake: Which will be…when exactly? My buddy Ghost was here and Ten, of all humans, had to give him dinner.

(ed. note: Ten is VERY much on top of providing our man Ghost Cat with his midday repast. Cake just enjoys dissing Ten to Jen. It’s all about manipulation and machinations)

Jen: You tell Ghost not to worry! Oni will be home soon with more canned cat food for him :-) Ghost is lucky to have a good friend like you.

 Cake: Phew (on Oni’s imminent arrival) and you’re damn right Ghost’s lucky to have me looking out for him!

Jen: You are on fire Cake!! Love it!

🐈‍

Me: Cake asked if you’re home yet. He wants to play but NOT with me.

Jen: He’s wondering where his staff is?

(another ed. note: Jen always thinks that the cats regard her as nothing more than a servant. You know,' play with me now, Peon.' 'Pick me up and carry me to the bedroom this instant.' 'Drudge, fetch me my breakfast. NO, I require the Tuna Feast with extra gravy this morning, wench!'

Nope. All the cats consider her to be their BFF and, most of the time, no one else’s company will suffice. I’d feel all slighted and shit but, what can I say, our furry friends want what they want. Who am I to disagree?)

Cake: Don’t you love me anymore, Jen? Why are you not here? Did that bitch Donna say something mean to you? COME HOME, I’M SUFFERING HERE!

Jen: Worse than Donna slams, my coworkers made me do UPS this afternoon! How uncivilized!
Donna: 😑 between mouthfuls, Cake said he’s horrified on your behalf and thinks you should come home (he was a bit of a one note nag yesterday).

Jen: Tell him I’m on my way!!! When he’s right, he’s right!

Donna: Can you pick up my meds from CVS on your way home?

Jen: Si—is this Cake or Donna?

Cake: It’s me, Mister Adorbs. The numpty asked me to text as she’s busy doing nada at the mo. Lazy slag—why I put up with her is a complete mystery to me, your favorite feline.

Jen: What a good boy!

Cake: Twatzilla won’t get out of bed so I had no choice.

(Still more ed. notes: Cake lies!)

Jen: Cake, I think you may be the one preventing Donna from getting up.

Cake, insulted, rolled over onto the phone so that neither of us could respond to Jen. After I finally wrestled the cell out from under my Momoa-esque boy, I texted to let her know that Cake had hypnotized me with his coziness rays. Obviously I was unable to rise and address the day. Also, Ten brought me a frosted shortbread cookie which totally sealed the deal. I had a book, cat and cookie—WHY would I get up?! Honestly…

Jen: Clearly you are a tragic victim !!! The cookie really was the final brick in the wall.

(you may have noticed over the years—Jen is exceptionally empathetic and supportive.)

Donna: Am having another cookie in hopes it’ll reverse my lethargy. No luck so far.

Cakeless

Donna: I’ve been abandoned. Now I have to get up ☹️

Jen: Heheheh
💕
I’m disappointed in Cake. He was on a roll, especially with the cookie assist.

Donna: See? GONE! I’m hurt and offended.

Jen: That really ain’t right 🤨

(SEE? What did I just tell you about Jen?!)

Cake: Donna is a giant, smelly, liver eating slug.

Jen: Mr. Adorbs, you owe Donna an apology! Though I suspect she typed that, pretending to be you…. I guess she owes you one.

Cake: She would NEVAH try to impersonate me nor could she ever succeed at such an endeavor!

…soggy wench.

Jen: Hmmmmmm—I’m laughing yet remain suspicious. Your spelling and grammar skills are uncat-like to say the *ahem* least.

Cake: How dare you?! I’ll have you know that I graduated top of my class from an elite feline academy for smart, elite felines. I AM WICKED ELITE AND SMART and shit.

I really shouldn’t have taught him how to text.