Stray Thoughts

One thing I’ve learned online—do NOT respond to unknown dudes who send direct messages. Why not? They usually have poor social skills on top of having confused Bluesky, Threads and Facebook with Only Fans and dating apps.

In the beginning, to be friendly, I’d reply, as long as the person didn’t seem like an obvious wackaloon. Always and quickly it would become clear that they weren’t saying hello because they liked a pic I’d posted or had read one of my blog posts. Nope.

Now that I think on it, this is my own observational failures. When a guy sends a direct message to a complete stranger and all he writes is:

Hello Donna. How was your day today?

that’s a straight up neon flashing sign that he’s not read any of my posts, blogs or even my bio blurb. Also, fer fuck’s sake, I use a doodle as my profile pic. I could be a sentient, fluorescent, polka-dot tree frog for all he knows.

That’s just really sad. How lonely and socially awkward must you be to send DMs to cartoon characters who might very well be Argentinian amphibians?

Hey, it just occurred to me that, instead of being forlorn sad sacks, these might be skeevy, low-rent grifters. How many emails before they let me know they’re temporarily embarrassed Nigerian princes or they expose themselves as catfishing romance scamsters?

~~~
Socialism can never take root in America because Americans don't see themselves as a proletariat but rather temporarily embarrassed millionaires
~ John Steinbeck
~~~
The man who fucks furniture has doubled down on dissing women who haven’t given birth.

All I can say is:

Hi, my name is Donna and I’m, apparently, “sociopathic,” “bizarre,” and “deranged.”

By the by, Germans have the perfect word to describe old Many Aliases von Woman Hater. Of course they do!

Backpfeifengesicht — a face that’s badly in need of a fist.
~~~
A few Italian sayings:
La madre dei cretini é sempre incinta.
The literal English translation is: The mother of the idiots is always pregnant.

The meaning: You will meet fools and dimwits everywhere you go. It’s used to show disapproval when someone does or says something really stupid.

Apparently the U.S. doesn’t own the corner on asininity. Looking at the Republican Party, though, that’s hard to believe.

Non si può avere la botte piena e la moglie ubriaca.
The literal English translation is: You can’t have a full cask and a drunk wife.

The meaning: It’s similar to you can’t have your cake and eat it too. We need to make choices in life.

Far di una mosca un elefante.
The literal English translation is: To make an elephant out of a fly.

The meaning: don’t make a big deal out of something that’s not all that significant. Same as don’t make mountains out of molehills.
~~~
Cookies. I only mention it but they ARE the perfect mood lifter. Okay, carrot cake and Dutch apple pie are even more effective BUT sometimes all you need is a wee black and white frosted biscuit.

Putin's Pooch

In 2016 Putin’s Pooch, Don the Con, bragged that he could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue, shoot someone and wouldn’t lose any votes.

I only mention it BUT, due to Trump’s rabid incompetence 1,219,487 lost their lives to COVID. They weren't all standing on Fifth Ave.

How did he manage this?

Just a year before COVID knocked us all on our asses, he got rid of the office Obama had set up within the National Security Council—it was charged with anticipating and prepping for fresh pandemics which would inevitably blow into town.

Trump’s elimination of the office suggested, along with his proposed budget cuts for the CDC, that he did not see the threat of pandemics in the same way that many experts in the field did. (source)

Michael de Adder

The demented pumpkin head “did not see the threat of pandemics in the same way that many experts...did.” Isn’t that just the most delicately bullshit way to frame Trump’s profound ineptness, callousness and complete lack of intelligence.

The report, prepared by the House select subcommittee investigating the nation’s Covid response, says the White House repeatedly overruled public health and testing guidance by the nation’s top infectious disease experts and silenced officials in order to promote then-President Donald Trump's political agenda. (source) 

He promoted “herd immunity.” To achieve this a large enough percentage of the population needs to be exposed to the actual disease. Those who survive MAY then be immune.

A strategy of going for herd immunity from natural infection would lead to a massive death toll—estimates suggests the result could be somewhere between 1 million to 2.5 million dead Americans. (source)

One to 2.5 million dead peasants? To the MAGAt Party that’s nothing. It would never happen in their circle, right? I mean, they’re wealthy and probably white. Disease only affects non-whites and the Poors, right?

Donny Douchebag pushed myriad quack cures such as the anti-malaria drug hydroxychloroquin, eating horse dewormer, injecting disinfectant (FFS!) and shining UV flashlights up your ass!

Essentially, the astoundingly dim, wannabe mafioso DID murder 1,219,487. He just did it with lies, fantasies and fantastical bullshit instead of a gun. While Americans were dropping like flies, Von Shitzenpants was secretly sending Abbott Point of Care Covid test machines to his hero, Putin, for his personal use.

I’m not even touching on the miserable cockwomble’s other innumerable crimes while in office.

His gross actions and inactions led to the deaths of well over a million people and, if re-elected, he’ll have gotten away with it. He’ll do it again and much, MUCH worse too. Hell’s bells, he’s already promised to be a dictator on day one. He’ll gift wrap and deliver Ukraine to Putin, he wants to deport all Black and Brown people (he’s enamored of Eisenhower’s racist ‘Operation Wetback’ so citizenship status would be just a quibble), the ghoulish Stephen Miller has plans for massive detention/concentration camps. Trump’s mini me—his daughter-wife’s husband, Jared, is already making plans to raze Gaza and build pricey resorts.

The major media outlets know all this but keep on sanewashing the maniacal fuck and his despicable, miscreant henchmen. The major news outlets may as well don knee pads and cheerleader togs.

How many more human beings will die to bring about Trump and his minion’s vision of a wholly white country filled with worshipful, teary-eyed, 'strong' men and subservient blonde slave women.

Thanks and apologies to Martin Niemöller

Light in Dreamland

 No, I didn’t see the aurora last night. I didn’t even try. Why not? This is gonna come off as wickedly pathetic BUT the northern light show comes up between 10PM and 2AM—that’s when I’m in Sleepytime Land. IF, during the day, I’d been paying better attention to sky news versus depressing election reports, I could’ve planned/prepped for midnight viewing. I would’ve taken a nap, had a cuppa coffee, talked Ten and Jen into staying up to help me over to the seawall but NOOOOOOOOOO. By 10PM Cake and I were busy counting Zs.

These shots were taken by a wonderful neighbor.

Also, CBS has a sweet collection of shots from people in other spots here in Massachusetts. Looks wild.

Part of my reluctance to make a dark time effort may also be due to my rehab exercising. I’m currently trying to increase the amount I do each day. Ya know, boost my stamina and strength. I’m also upping the workouts from four to five days a week. This is my second week. By bedtime, I’m definitely ready for visits with Hypnos and Morpheus.

I’ve discovered that, physically, I really need lazy days off. Emotionally though, I totally need to walk or elliptical or SOMETHING. I’ve long known that exercise is my antidepressant. Pills just don’t work for me. At all. So then, what to do? How can I feed my head and, at the same time, give my bod the rest it needs?

Perhaps, on my next chill-out day, I should still exercise—just not as much. A shorter walk? Less time of the elliptical? Maybe instead of all strength and endurance building, I can work on stretching and balance.

There might be more aurora action tonight. Will I stay up for it? Dunno.

Hurricane

 Well, it seems Florida had a wickedly hard night. On top of Hurricane Milton making landfall (as a Category 3 hurricane) at least 19 tornadoes were reported. Christ almighty!

On the Atlantic coast police say there have been a number of deaths at a leisure resort after several tornadoes touched down in the space of 20 minutes. (source)

There were folks at a leisure resort with a giant hurricane predicted? Maybe it’s just me but I would NEVER visit Florida during hurricane season. Okay, honestly? I‘d never visit the state anyway. Between their dipshit power-mad, assholian governor, the negligent heed to building codes and safety standards, Florida Man and, oh yeah, alligators. Do I really need to be around 500 pound lizards who can run 20 mph (faster than me!)? No. No, I do not. Sure, we have sharks living in the water off Massachusetts but, hells bells, they stay in the water and I stay out of it (apart from a bit of wading). We don’t have creatures up here who are so tough and fierce that they've outsurvived the dinosaurs.

Speaking of creatures, Milton hit just south of the zoo in Tampa. I haven’t found any updates but, from a Reuters story (posted at 1AM), it sounds like the animals were as protected and cared for as possible. They were put in hurricane-hardened buildings.

After millions of people were ordered to flee along Florida’s Gulf Coast, the African elephants, Caribbean flamingos, pygmy hippos and about 1,000 other animals were riding out the monstrous Hurricane Milton at Tampa’s zoo.
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The dozen zoo keepers riding out the storm with their furry and feathered charges include a veterinarian and maintenance workers.

The zoo is supplied with generators and fuel, along with extra food and supplies for all the critters, in case the zoo is cut off. (source)

In the book of Things I Would Not Need to be Told:

Pinellas County issued a stern warning to residents Thursday after Hurricane Milton left the county in shambles.

“ALL RESIDENTS REMAIN SHELTERED. SEVERE DAMAGES COUNTYWIDE,” the emergency alert read. (source)

If I’d been unable to evacuate, I sure as hell would’ve made sure all anticipated supplies were in house IN ADVANCE. Also, I wouldn’t be engaged in any disaster sightseeing. Hey, maybe that’s just me though.

Pre-touchdown, a radar scientist and storm chaser, who had died in ’23 of a stroke had his remains appropriately released.

On Tuesday, Oct. 8, 20 of his colleagues in the NOAA’s “Hurricane Hunters” paid tribute to his legacy by dropping his ashes into the eye of Hurricane Milton, about 300 miles southwest of Florida.
     ~~~
Former coworker and longtime meteorologist Jeff Masters told USA Today that Dodge “understood hurricanes better or as good as anyone alive.” Masters told the outlet that Dodge’s burial is the fourth time in the past 50 years a meteorologist’s ashes have been dropped into the eye of a hurricane. (source)

I’m curious—how the fuck do you dump ashes into the eye of a hurricane without getting yourself killed? How did anyone figure out that this could be safely done? AND doesn't this mean, as the ashes are dispersed in tumultuous air, that little Dodge bits, pieces and dust could conceivably float down into your morning coffee? So much for having go-juice on your deck or balcony, eh?

Under the banner of Missed Opportunities, three hours ago (as I write this at 8AM EST), a tornado was reported just fifteen miles from Crazy Donnie’s tatty golf motel and home for plastic surgery addicts. Sadly, it seems to have failed to connect with its target. Possibly von ShitzinPants was wielding his magic Sharpie again?

Hurricane—Bob Dylan

Distractification

Humans live through their myths and only endure their realities.
~ Robert Anton Wilson

Look, I’m just beyond tired, annoyed, angry and fucking sick of seeing that deranged orange rat bastard’s face. That goes for his yappy, insecure, woman-hating, weasely little veep choice too.

I’m not following the polls. I can’t see how they could be accurate given that they’re usually conducted by phone and most Americans don’t pick up if they don’t recognize the caller’s number. Hell’s bells, if I had hearing I certainly wouldn’t answer calls from random numbers.

Even with the inaccuracy, I’m tempted to peek at them. I want to see that Harris is ahead, that this isn’t a horserace, that we aren’t doomed. It’s 27 days until November fifth. Can I survive that long, sitting at the edge of my seat, waiting to see if democracy’s death is iimminent? I don’t know.

Meanwhile, in my attempts to distract myself, I just reread John Scalzi’s Android's Dream. It’s funny, I’d forgotten the storyline almost entirely.

A human diplomat creates an interstellar incident when he kills an alien diplomat in a most . . . unusual . . . way. To avoid war, Earth's government must find an equally unusual object: a type of sheep ("The Android's Dream"), used in the alien race's coronation ceremony. (source)

That most . . . unusual . . . way? Apparently, one of the ways the the aliens communicate is through smell—farts actually. I know, I know, we ALL can imagine death by fart but this shit’s way more subtle.

Dirk Moeller didn’t know if he could fart his way into a major diplomatic incident. But he was ready to find out.

The bulk of the book is deeper than this vaporous interplanetary episode implies. Naturally, I’d completely forgotten about all but the fart death incident so the story was almost entirely fresh and new.

In another diversion from reality, Jen, Oni and I have started watching Only Murders in the Building.

Three strangers share an obsession with true crime and suddenly find themselves wrapped up in one. (source) 

It stars Steve Martin, Martin Short and Selena Gomez—two old men whose careers are long past peak and a young, sharply intelligent, beautiful woman with a mysterious past. Question: they couldn’t find an actress of an age similar to Martin or Short? Were Lynda Carter, Phylicia Rashad or Sally Field unavailable or uninterested? Possibly they weren’t deemed eye candy-ish enough to draw in the key 18-49 boy demographic? So far that’s my only quibble with the show.

Anyway, it makes me wistful about New York. I used to take the train down fairly often—a few times a year. I’d visit friends, go to museums and galleries, hit some live music spots and just people watch in cool bars (Hello Dive 75 and White Horse Tavern). I really miss New York. Why haven’t I been there in forever? Eh…life. The Amazing Bob was sick for so long—I didn’t want to leave his side. After he died? Grief, COVID and my own ultra-crappy health made the trip unwise and/or impossible.
Back to Only Murders though, the building where the trio live, where most of the action occurs, is on the Upper West Side, right along Central Park. The pre-war architecture is tremendous with its divine spaciousness, hardwood floors and fireplaces. The apartment furnishings, in Short’s and Martin’s cribs, are a mix of new and antique. Reminds me of my late Aunt Mary Ann’s place (she lived in the Turtle Bay neighborhood though).

Jen, Oni and I are late to Only Murders viewing but, hell, this just means that we can binge-watch without fear of running out of episodes.

Social Suggestions

I was scanning through Shoutyface yesterday and stopped to read a post Social Rules That Might Help You. Now then, I don’t like the word “rule.” It’s limiting and doesn’t take in the nuances of particular situations. What might work when you’re having high tea at the Ritz is NOT gonna help you at work when your supervisor is being a full blown, assholian turnip brain.

So, I prefer to think of these as tips. Suggestions versus rules. I'm a wicked misanthrope and can always use a few fresh reminders and tips.

Number four on the list was, don’t ask awkward questions such as:
     ‘Oh, so you aren’t married yet?’
     ‘Don’t you have kids?’
     ‘Why haven't you bought a house?’
     ‘Why haven't you bought a car?’

I had a night nurse in rehab (after one of my bazillion neurosurgeries) ask me, more or less, the first two. I understood that she was trying to make conversation as she took my vitals BUT:

1. It was midnight and I’d had brain fucking surgery the previous week so I wasn’t exactly up for anything deeper than ‘do you have a favorite color’ or ‘are you a cat person or a dog person.’
2. My personal views on marriage and kids aren’t so very straight-up and mainstream. I don’t have simple answers. That is, for various reasons, I’d rather live in ‘sin’ than get married. Kid-wise, while my neuro docs strongly advised me to never get up the spout (the hormone surges would act as industrial fertilizer on my little tumor garden), I had less than zero interest in being a mother. That last bit is an understatement.

As to whether I have a house and/or car—‘the fuck kind of chit chat questions are those? WHO would ask that? Someone trying to assess my financial worth in order to run a con, that’s who. It’s bullshit.

Another ‘rule’ was that we should respect different shades of opinions. Not sure exactly what the author was getting at. Are we talking about the degree of spiciness in hot sauce? Is this about whether it’s cultural appropriation or appreciation to wear a squash blossom necklace? Dogs versus cats as pets? OR is the rule writer including human rights in this 'respect'  opinions business. Are equality and equity just matters of opinion? FUCK no, they are not. It’s impossible for me to respect a wealthy, white, racist, misogynist or anyone who glorifies them.

Rule number eight was ‘never interrupt people while they are talking.’ This is generally good social advice HOWEVER, there are some folks who confuse conversation with oration. Please, unless you’re at a lecture, in class or church, sometimes you have to hold up your hand, jump in and cut off the rolling ego, the preacher without a flock, the teacher lacking a classroom, the monologist in need of an audience. Like Kamala Harris against Mike Pence in the 2020 VP debate, I’m speaking.

Rule number nine: If you tease someone, and they don’t seem to enjoy it, stop it and never do it again. There’s an incredibly thin line between teasing and bullying. Even if you’re playing it passive aggressively, you’re not fooling anyone and you’re an antagonistic, unfunny twatzilla.

Rule 11: Praise publicly. Criticize privately. Agreed and I’ve got nothing to add.

Rule 12: There’s almost never a reason to comment on someone’s weight. Just say, “You look fantastic.” If they want to talk about losing weight, they will. Maybe the weight loss OR gain is due to health problems? If you’re concerned, ask your friend/acquaintance/sister how they’re doing. No need to preface with ‘you’ve lost/gained an awful lot of weight.’

Maybe they’re pregnant? I had an appointment with my neurologist’s nurse practitioner—I hadn’t seen her in a few months and she looked, well, a lot rounder. At our next appointment she let me know she’d be out on maternity leave. Oh.

Rule 14: If a colleague tells you they have a doctor's appointment, don’t ask what it’s for, just say "I hope you’re okay.” From the standpoint of someone who ALWAYS has upcoming, scary doc appointments, yeah. Unless you’re aware of my complicated history and rare disease, neither of us have time for a comprehensive answer to that. 'Good luck' and 'I hope you get good news' are encouraging and respectful wishes.

Rule 15: Treat the cleaner with the same respect as the CEO. Are you guilty of treating those you perceive as superior with deference and those you see as inferior with dismissive coldness? Congratulations! You’ve just shown everyone around that you’re a spineless, callous, toadfucking mark AND an asshole.

Rule 16: If a person is speaking directly to you, staring at your phone is rude. This one is a total DUH. A friend of mine came up to visit me. He lives about four or five hours away so this wasn’t a casual drop-in. He spent a fair amount of time staring at his phone and texting. HELLO, why’d you bother driving the whole way here if you’re going to be interrupting our convo to text with others who are not present?!

Bottom line? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Practice empathy. Don’t be a dick. Exhibit some fucking grace. Stop assuming...and shit.

Okay?

Mostly Memes

Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal by Zach Weinersnith

Mike Smith

Caturday

Did you know? There are no wild tigers in Africa. In fact, according to Live Science, the cat family members who evolved into our stripey buds, booked outta Africa for Asia about two million years ago. They’ve never returned.

Sadly, due to human activity like hunting, the global tiger population has dropped by 97% in the last 100 years. Now, the remaining tigers call only the following 13 countries home: India, Nepal, Bhutan, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Russia, China, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam. Over 70% of the global wild tiger population lives in India alone.
     ~~~
Land development for roads, logging, and human settlements has led to around 96% of the tiger’s natural range being lost in the past 100 years. That combined with high levels of poaching has led to a sharp decline in tiger populations around the world. Tigers are now globally listed as “endangered.”  (source)

Wildlife Conservation Society figures show that there are only around 3,000 tigers left in the wild. We did that—us. People.

You know who else is endangered as fuck (by us!)? Amur leopards, that’s who. There’s only around 100 left. They live in eastern Russia and northern China.
The Iberian lynx is an apex predator but there are only 1,111 left in the wild. Why? Humans and our total lack of respect for others. We steal and build on their homelands. We hunt them. WHY?! And we hit them with our stupid cars and trucks.

The flat-headed cat (yes, that’s really its name) of Southeast Asia is about the size of a housecat. It’s found in Malaysia, Sumatra, Borneo and southern Thailand.

This cat is endangered due to its habitat being converted to agricultural lands (including oil palm plantations), pollution and hunting. (source)

Wild cheetahs can go from zero to 60 miles an hour in only three seconds. They can’t outrun humans destruct-o tendencies though.

Did you know? Cheetahs generally hunt alone but male siblings will sometimes form a hunting party. These groups are called a coalition. Sounds like they were labeled by some corporate human resources suits, eh?

Snow Leopards? They’re classed as vulnerable—a small step up from endangered. Why are these beauties vulnerable? Humans. Poaching, our theft of the leopard’s habitat, declines in natural prey (due to human predation) and other assorted stupid human shit.

Christ almighty, as a species, we suck.

My fabulous house panther, Cake.