Cookies, Star Trek, Dylan, etc.

WHAT is the meaning of life, the universe and everything else?

Douglas Adams, in his fabola book Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, would have you believe that the answer to this eternally burning question is “42.” C’mon now, really? I lean heavily toward the concept of personal meanings of life, etc. Fer instance, this morning I’m pretty certain that the answer is actually “cookies.”

Jen’s sister-in-law, Lucy, makes outrageously good cookies. This morning’s was a cranberry/oatmeal sort of concoction. It was perfect.
~~~
You’re familiar with Seven of Nine? Her full Borg designation was Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. Kind of a mouthful, no? No wonder she truncated that shit and it’s no surprise that her crewmates further shorted it to Seven. Why didn’t she go back to her birth name, Annika Hansen? //shrugs// I’m just guessing here, but maybe it’s because she had been Borg—Seven of Nine—for so long that she was no longer Annika. You live through, survive, so much trauma and you change. Am I the same person now as I was at four years of age—pre-carnival days, before a zillion and a half neurosurgeries, prior to heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to? Yes and no.

If changing my name was easy, not a fucktangle of endless bureaucracy, I’d def consider it. I’m partial to Sopravvissuta—the Italian word for survivor—but you can call me Sopravvis.

You know what’d be awesome? A Star Trek universe show staring Michelle Yeoh as Philippa Georgiou (from Star Trek: Discovery NOT Section 31) and Jeri Ryan as Seven (from Next Generation or Picard). They would kick serious ass.
~~~
I was freaking out about my taxes yesterday. As I may (or may NOT) have mentioned already, I never finished my tax prep last year. Apparently I was mega overwhelmed by my latest brain op (in May of ’24 plus the preceding dental surgery) and the unexpectedly arduous, ongoing recovery. So much so that I misplaced all my paperwork and related scans. Luckily, the tax preparer folks are wonderfully on the ball and kind.

They’re helping me recover the missing paperwork. Yes, I’ll need to redo all my ’23 tax prep crap but at least it’ll be done and out of my head. Then I get to start on ’24’s returns. FUN!

The suck-ass part of all this? With our federal government as fucked up as it is now (with the idiot warmongering rapist and his billionaire destruction sidekick at the helm), I don’t want to pay taxes. I don’t want my tax buckos going toward Trump Towers (of shit) in Gaza or Musk’s exploding cars and rockets. I don’t want my money fueling their migrant concentration camps.

While the Trump administration has highlighted transfers of dangerous criminals and suspected gang members to Guantanamo Bay, it is also sending nonviolent, "low-risk" migrant detainees who lack serious criminal records or any at all, according to two U.S. officials and internal government documents. (source)

Nope.
~~~
I totally want to see the Bob Dylan bio flick A Complete Unknown. Will it bum me out (because I can’t hear the songs)? Yeah, probably. I still want to see it.

Dylan was Daddy’s favorite. He considered Dylan a god. Yup. Gotta say though, I’m more turned on by the covers of Dylan’s creations.

Hendrix, All Along the Watchtower
Richie Havens, Just Like a Woman
Indigo Girls, Tangled Up in Blue
Rage Against the Machine, Maggie’s Farm
Guns & Roses, Knocking on Heaven’s Door
Jeff Buckley, If You See Her, Say Hello
The Byrds, My Back Pages
Rod Stewart, Tomorrow is a Long Time
Nina Simone, Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues
Peter, Paul and Mary, Blowin’ in the Wind
Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash, It Ain’t Me Babe
The Byrds, Mr. Tambourine Man
The Band, I Shall Be Released
Eddie Vedder , Masters of War
Tom Petty, Rainy Day Women #12 & 35
Rolling Stones, Like A Rolling Stone
Robert Plant, One More Cup of Coffee

GODDAMN, I miss music.