Oh yeah, I'm wicked deep

A person posted this question on Threads:

Who are the five writers who made you?

Oh please, that is such a limited way of looking at things. There are works (or a singular work) by a great many authors that have really spoken to me, caused me to stop and think deeply, reconsider and/or totally expand on my beliefs. There are also myriad books that transport me — whether it’s due to the incredible way the author wields words or the heights of creativity they’ve attained.

But to ask or assume that an author or any artist “made” me — as though they’re some grand Poobah of a cult leader — is just wicked odd. Sounds like we're getting into Scientology, Mormon or MAGA territory here. I’d like to get the questioner’s definition/explanation of what they mean by “made.” Possibly they meant to say "influenced" or "greatly inspired?"

What are five books that have made me think a LOT? So much so that I come back and reread them ... maybe even get something new out of them too.

1. Alan Watts, The Wisdom of Insecurity
2. Christopher Moore, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal
3. Dee Brown, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee
4. John Scalzi, Old Man’s War
5. Martha Wells, The Murderbot Diaries

There are are so many others:

•  Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale 
•  Virginia Woolf, Orlando 
•  Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-five 
•  Catherynne M. Valente, Space Opera
•  Philip K. Dick, Man in the High Castle 
•  George Orwell, 1984

to name just half a dozen.

That’s not even touching on Shakespeare, fer fuck’s sake!

Do you get the same thing out of, fer instance, the B side of Abbey Road or The Downward Spiral every time you listen to it? Or, at different times does it hit you in a fresh way? I kept discovering new things on repeat Aladdin Sane listenings — at least I did until my hearing went kaput. Same with David Byrne's The Forest.

How about a Klimt, Kandinsky or a Kokoschka painting. Do you see the exact same things when you come back and look at them 10, 20 or 30 years after first seeing them? Do they tell you something new? These are three painters, amongst many, who spoke deeply to me. My own work looks nothing like theirs but still they talked to me as did Max Beckmann, Otto Dix, Käthe Kollwitz, Max Ernst, etc.

“Who made you” is a rookie question. I’m in the back end of life — there aren’t five writers, five artists, five composers/musicians, five anyTHING that made me who I am today.  More like 5,000,000 plus me.

What makes anyone is a wickedly complex mixture not unlike the intensely complicated chemistry that goes into making a pot come out of a kiln a certain way.

It depends on:

• The clay body – the minerals in the clay can interact with the glaze layered over top.
• The base chemistry of the glaze plus the colorants and opacifiers. 
• The firing method – just to start, the oxygen levels inside the kiln.
• The firing temperature. 
• The pot’s placement in the kiln.
• The glazes that are on the pots that are next to your pot. Depending on the chemical compositions of each, the firing temperature, the kiln atmosphere, the glaze used on one pot can flash/interact with the glaze on another. This can be really awesome or … you know … not, depending on your needs and expectations.
• How fast or slow the kiln was fired and left to cool down. 

And this is putting it incredibly simply.

So, like yeah. Who we are, what “makes” each of us who we are can’t be reduced to a list of five people, events or things, let alone authors. That’s just abso-fucking-ridiculous. 

If we’re gonna be all blindingly reductive, well, let's fucking go! The five big-ass events/people, outside of my immediate family, that “made” me who I am today, are:

1. Martin Luther King’s assassination on April 4, 1968 (so I guess I should send James Earl Ray a, wut, note of acknowledgement? He's been dead for 28 years. I'm a little late.)
2. RFK’s assassination on June 5, 1968 (same note to Sirhan Sirhan? Dude's 82-years old and in a state prison in San Diego. I guess he'll die there.)
3. The 1973 71-day occupation of Wounded Knee by the American Indian Movement (AIM). 
4. The humor of Jonathan Winters, George Carlin, and the Smothers Brothers.
5. Paul Simon, The Beatles, Emerson, Lake and Palmer, and Led Zeppelin.  

Also, let's give a big, special shout-out to neurofibromatosis type 2! 

And that’s my short list. Of fucking course.

Doctorville

Well, Ten and I are headed in to my doctor’s office this afternoon to see about my banjaxed stubbed toe. It’s not getting any better. Joy. Based on past experience, I’m expecting the worst and am preparing for a dull, uncomfortable weekend spent in hospital where they’ll pump me full of antibiotics and remove my toenail AGAIN. 

I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be – I have a new library book and I’m about to download the next Murderbot (just finished Network Effect. Fugitive Telemetry is next). I’ll pack up all my chargers and anything else I’ll need for a couple of days away from home. Maybe they won’t make me go inpatient but it’s good to be prepared.

This is all just SO fucking annoying and tedious. I really need a replacement body.

Here are some pics, comix and editorial cartoons in place of non-kvetching content from me today.

You’re welcome.

Nick Anderson

Jack Ohman

OY!

I woke up on the cranky side of the bed this morning. I know, you’re probably thinking “my, how unusual of you, Donna.” Yeah … well, fuck you too. It’s Monday. 

I stubbed my toe last night – the one that’s still recovering from that nasty ingrown toenail debacle from this past winter. The one that put me in hospital for a couple of days. Yeah, that fun time. Healing has been encumbered by having to wear a stupid, tight compression sock due to my stupid vascular issues which are magnified by the stupid nerve damage I have from the stupid brain surgery complications of a few years ago. 

Wanna know how I stubbed my toe? I rolled over in bed funny. Aren't I a major talent? Must’ve caught my toe in the sheet as I tried to avoid booting Cake who was sleeping at the foot of the bed.

Fuck my life.

I just did a search on how to treat a stubbed toe. R.I.C.E. Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. So, today I'll not wear my strangling compression socks, stay off the elliptical, keep my foot elevated and see how things look tomorrow. MEGA sigh!

If you can't annoy somebody, there is little point in writing.
~ Kingsley Amis, Lucky Jim 

Fatigued?

I’m tired. No, that’s not quite it. I’m weary. Maybe flat out exhausted best describes it? It’s the nonstop evil from this administration and the entire soulless, spineless, ethically putrefied, greedheaded, morally bankrupt Republican Party. Add in the complacent and, often enough, confederate media. Then there’s all the absolute, mind-bendingly astounding stupidity. 

This clown orgy of diarrhea beset half sentient turnips couldn’t manage the job of governing even with a complete set of the best books on political history, access to the sharpest advisors, 100 years of apprenticeship with Abe Lincoln, JFK and Obama, and three fast espressos from Sant' Eustachio Caffè in Rome.

Watching Republicans in control of all three branches of our degenerate, corrupted government is like watching drunk frat boys, after a massive kegger, driving a school bus full of sweet kindergartners through the Rockies. Roads are thin, guardrails are weak, the drop-off is lethally steep, and the frat rats are blotto. Buy your tiny caskets now before the rush!

Maybe it’s time to take a few days off from the news. Ya know, read murder mysteries and watch horror movies. Something comparatively calming and restorative.

Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
This is the thing I find to be: 
That I am weary of words and people, 
Sick of the city, wanting the sea.
~ Edna St. Vincent Millay, Second April

The bags under your eyes? That’s the luggage you took, on a trip straight to hell that you didn’t even book.
~ Lokesh Tuli, Notes From Exile: The “Manual for the Broken”

...because I want to see the last one fall. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.
~ O. Henry, The Last Leaf

Hope was a thing you lost when simply trying to imagine better days became so exhausting, overwhelming, and depressing a task, that one opted for despair out of sheer weariness. Giving up brought a kind of peace. 
~ Sunyi Dean, The Book Eaters

Hermitage

It’s currently 20 motherfucking degrees out but with the windchill factor it’s down to -3. Jesus Frigidaire Christ, I hate this month. I was gonna say, “could be worse – I could be in Minneapolis” which is usually MUCH colder. It’s a balmy 30º there right now. I was hoping for MUCH worse for the barbarous ICEhole grotesques who are terrorizing the town. I’d love to see more of those vids of them running and falling on black ice.

One of the reasons I’ve never been keen on January and February is that these are rich people months. If you’ve got the bucks, you go on posh ski getaways or vacays to sunny tropical destinations.

Once everything's taken into consideration, a single day of skiing can easily run over $300, BARE MINIMUM! That's going on the cheap too.

Here in Massachusetts there’s a place called Berkshire East out near North Adams. It's in the northeast part of the state near the Vermont border along the Mohawk Trail. Midweek lift tickets there start at $44.79 if you book early. Night skiing is way less expensive – Wednesday through Saturday lift ticket prices start at $28.99.

Adult equipment rentals (skis/board, boots, poles) at Berkshire East are $60 per person.

There are three restaurants noted on their website but no menus or price ranges listed. Let’s say you ate breakfast before you left home, packed a sammy or two, a thermos of coffee, and a couple granola bars – you’re still gonna want a solid meal when you get off the slopes, right? Figure, that’ll cost you $30, at least.

As for transportation – let’s say you’re driving from Boston to North Adams and back (~440 round trip miles) in your Subaru Forester. That’s about 15-ish gallons of gas at a cost of, more or less, $46.

Now, after a day of skiing and the relatively long drive across Massachusetts, you’re probably NOT going to want to drive all the way home. You’ll get a room for the night. Berkshire East doesn’t have a lodge but there are plenty of hotels nearby. That’s another $100 minimum. By the time you get home, from one single day of econo-skiing, you’ve spent $281 and that doesn’t include the cost of the granola bars you packed, the coffee in your thermos or the sandwiches you made.

Also, what about ski clothing? You need moisture-wicking synthetics or wool. I have wool sweaters and socks. I doubt that’s enough though. A fleece jacket or a puffy coat for insulation is important. A puffy coat? Those things are fucking hideous! I would never. A waterproof/water-resistant ski jacket and snow pants too. I haven’t had snow pants since I was seven years old – sheesh. Also, I very much doubt that my gloves, bought for fashion versus warmth, would be up to the task.

If you have big buckos and love skiing, January and February are awesome. OR, if you have the dosh, can ditch work and other responsibilities for beaches in the tropics, I’m sure these months are lovely for you. The key here is money, money, money.

Me? Well, now that I think on it, the cold, windy, snowy weather, the bleak days, mean that I can stay inside, curled up under blankets. I can read, doodle, watch cat videos, cosset Cake, eat cookies, and NOT go outside. There are people outside...ewwww. 

 Okay, never mind. January and February are my No Guilt Hermit Months. 

Random

Late summer here in Valhalla is lovely. Temps are in the 70s during the day and the 50s-60s at night. Am I getting outside to enjoy this splendid weather? Fuck no. My left foot, ankle and calf are still being uncooperative – swelling up if I elliptical too many days in a row. So I’m sitting. Attempting chair and bed level exercises and trying not to become ridiculously disheartened.

Also, I’m trying not to give in to my tendency to doomscroll. This would be easier to accomplish if I was more of a teevee watcher OR if buying the complete set of eps of Roger Ramjet and the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show weren’t so pricey.

There is some good news though.

Our governor, Maura Healey here in Massachusetts (along with JB Pritzker in Illinois, Newsom in California, and others) is fighting back against Trump and Bobby Brainworm’s determined efforts to kill us all off.

Governor Healey has taken several steps in recent months to ensure that vaccines remain available in Massachusetts. Earlier this month, she proposed giving the state Department of Public Health (DPH) authority to set independent standards for vaccine recommendations rather than rely on the federal government’s recommendations. Massachusetts is also leading a bipartisan coalition of states to coordinate on vaccine recommendations. (source) 

…Governor Maura Healey is planning to coordinate on the purchase and distribution of pediatric vaccines, should the federal government restrict access to them, according to a source familiar with ongoing discussions. This will likely include big states like New York and Pennsylvania. (source) 

Also, even the usually realistically bleak No More Mister Nice Blog kind of sees a ray of light.

Trump might die before his term is over. That would be a good thing on balance, but I don't think it would solve all or even most of America's problems. We'll still have a Republican Party totally committed to the decades-long project of overturning the Great Society, the New Deal, and the Progressive Era. 
~~~ 
The key thing J.D. Vance will do if he becomes president after Trump's death is wrap himself in Trump's mantle and act as the great preserver of Trump's legacy. He'll keep all the tacky gold decorations in the Oval Office. He'll continue planning the ballroom, which he'll call the Trump Ballroom. In fact, he'll preside over a massive campaign to name practically every inanimate object in America after Trump -- airports, roads, schools, military bases, maybe even the White House. (source) 

Mostly that bright spot is that Stinky dies. I’ll take it.

So, I need to take yet another day off from the elliptical (stupid swollen ankle) but maybe I can manage a short (minuscule) walk to the seawall and some standing-endurance type exercises.

On being old and infirm – the first is an achievement. I’m happy to have made it. It’s, more or less, good to be here. The latter? Yeah, this frail shit blows blue whale chunks. I do NOT recommend.

So here, have some cats.

The Void (AKA Cake)

Void feet

Skitter

Tense and Nervous

 Well, it’s been a week since I saw my neurologists’s nurse practitioner and told her of my fun new potential brain tumor growth symptoms. I was to check in at this point (I did so late yesterday afternoon), to tell them if the swelling and quasi-numb interior feeling is still present.

It is. 

Ten took me out for a brief (quarter mile) seawall walk yesterday. Now then, I don’t walk as much as I should – most of my cardio comes from recumbent elliptical action – so maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I experienced some weakness on top of everything else. I don’t get a lot of practice walking this big old bod around.
 
What’d I do after we got home though? 15 minutes on the elliptical because I just HAD to see if I could do it. 

I could but then my ankle and foot puffed up as though my blood had been replaced by oobleck. NOT as much fun as it may sound.

I just heard back from Brain Biz Central and my MRI is being moved up. This is good but also scary. What if the rat fucking meningioma bastard that's squatting over my motor cortex is growing – getting fat and happy on my dime? Will I still be a candidate for proton radiation? (if tumor boy's too big, I won't be) Will proton radiation work to halt and maybe even reverse growth? I’d really, really, really like to avoid more brain surgery PLEASE.

I mean, I’ve had eight (count ‘em eight) of these suckers already (three in the last five years) and, if I need one now, it’s gonna be a two-parter. Why? I don’t have enough spare skin left up top to close up the incision after they take out my uninvited guest. Surgeon Fred would have to take a graft from elsewhere and patch it in. This would be a big, long, involved, messy deal. On top of that, every damn time they cut open my head, my balance is worse afterwards and it's pretty fucked up as it is.

FYI, this sucks.

Yeah, I’m a little tense and nervous and I’m probably going to engage in a rare daytime gummy too. Admit it, you would too. Also, pineapple habanero, mmmmmmmmmm! 

I only mention it but eight brain surgeries ought to qualify me for some super special compensation. Fer instance:

• I should be able to live in a world that does NOT contain fascist, asswipian racists and bullying, shit-stained, barely sentient, profoundly dimwitted and greedheaded underpants gnomes like the ones who populate the US and run the current US government. 

• In my rightfully rewarded universe, I have NO problem digesting dairy products such as REAL ice cream. On hot days, such as the one we’re going to have today, I could eat dish after dish of cookies and cream and not suffer any nasty aftereffects. Also included in my restitution, NO weight gain from consuming a gallon! Duh.

• Transporter beams – want one, NEED one. The roads round here are absolute shit and, under the current idiot administration, they’re not gonna get any better. It’s only 14 miles from Valhalla to Healthcare Central but it may as well be an unpaved million miles. So, a transporter beam for your alway-in-hospital girl, please.

I don’t ask for much. Ya know?

The Fifth

Waddayaknow, I made it through another nasty-ass Fourth of July.

Our herd of cats were most def unhappy about all the stupid firework action. Fireworks are illegal for regular citizens to use, have, and/or sell here in Massachusetts – no sparklers, party poppers, and firecrackers. Only people or organizations holding a pyrotechnic certificate of competency (fireworks license) and a permit can, by law, set these babies off.

This would be great BUT fireworks are totally legal and easy to get in next-door New Hampshire. The folks who don’t give a fuck about their neighbors who suffer from PTSD, like veterans, or don’t give a rat’s ass about their own cats, dogs, and other critters (let alone yours or mine) and can’t live without their little bomb explosions just hop over the border and go on mad shopping sprees.

The penalty for selling fireworks in Massachusetts? A fine or imprisonment. The fine can be anywhere from $100 to $1000. Imprisonment? One year max. Oh and your inventory will be snatched – that’s mandatory.

What about this – you bought fireworks in New Hampster. You’re now sitting out on the seawall here in Valhalla with your brand-y new box of Black Cats and a case of Coors Light. You haven’t set off any firecrackers yet but you’re planning on doing so right after you kill this next beer. A cop rides up just then. What happens? He takes your case of beer, leaves the Black Cats, and moves on to the next person flouting open alcoholic bev container laws. 

Great. Kid getting buzzed on the seawall (at my age, I consider everyone under 40 a kid), watching the Weymouth fireworks display across the bay? NO problem AT ALL. Kid on the seawall getting drunk, setting off Black Cats every five minutes, which cause Skitter to hide under the couch, trembling in fear and Cake to cower by my feet on the bed as he pisses himself in terror? Yeah, I got BIG problems with this.

What’s the state law for possession and/or use of fireworks by an unlicensed jerk?

Penalty: Fine and confiscation only
Fine: $10 to $100
Seizure of fireworks: Mandatory

If my neighborhood’s typical of the state, there’s no actual fireworks ban enforcement. I’m pissed. Think about how much money the state could take in if the law was enforced. Not only would this unholy week be less traumatizing for pets, wildlife, and those who’ve already suffered more than enough, Massachusetts might actually have enough buckos to fix our goddamn pothole riddled roads. 

That’d be nice.

Overwhelmed But There's Cake

I’m feeling more than a bit overwhelmed today. It’s the news. Our insane government continues to be insane. Half of the citizenry is brainwashed or just doesn’t give a fuck. Maybe they're ill or misinformed. Possibly they're more in love with their various bigotries than having a good life on this planet? They either vote against the people who will work to make their lives better or they don’t vote at all. Then they bitch about how fucked up the country is.

Yep, I'm sick of this shit. Today's a good day to stay inside, eat cookies and read escapist sci-fi.

Of all forms of tyranny the least attractive and the most vulgar is the tyranny of mere wealth.
~ Theodore Roosevelt

Democracy is just a word. You have to give it meaning. The US is not a democracy. Most Americans do not vote. We haven't had a real choice for a long, long time now. Wealth rules. Corporations rule. The US is a plutocracy - government by wealthy people. Certain people control multinational corporations. You couldn't get elected in the US without lots of money.
~ Ramsey Clark

When you have a persistent sense of heartbreak and gutwrench, the physical sensations become intolerable and we will do anything to make those feelings disappear. And that is really the origin of what happens in human pathology. People take drugs to make it disappear, and they cut themselves to make it disappear, and they starve themselves to make it disappear, and they have sex with anyone who comes along to make it disappear and once you have these horrible sensations in your body, you’ll do anything to make it go away.
~ Bessel A. van der Kolk 

“That's your solution? Have a cookie?' Astrid asked. 'No, my solution is to run down to the beach and hide out until this is all over,' Sam said. 'But a cookie never hurts.” 
~ Michael Grant, Gone 

Me? A cookie is grand, cake is better – especially one with BIG frosting flowers!

The world is too fucking big. Sometimes, I can't even carry myself through all the love and fear. 
~ Sherman Alexie, You Don't Have to Say You Love Me 

The problem is not that the world is a mess, but that we expect it to be otherwise.
~ Matt Haig, Notes on a Nervous Planet 

He began to feel overwhelmingly guilty for still being alive, while others continued to die around him.
~ Jason Medina, The Manhattanville Incident: An Undead Novel 

Then for no reason and for every reason, she burst into tears.
~ Karelia Stetz-Waters  

What a Week!

It's only Wednesday.

I had physical therapy yesterday. When we got home, I sat and chilled for a bit and then got up on my goddamn, motherfucking elliptical and did a full 30 minutes. That’s a first (not the 30 minutes part – I've been up to that for about two weeks now). Normally I go full metal dirt slug after my PT sessions (deservedly so). Naps are involved. None were had yesterday.

Don’t fucking tell ME I’m not making progress – I totally AM!

Reader…no one has accused me of failing to improve.

 Okay, it was me. I have whined and kvetched about the fact that, after six, count ‘em six, neurosurgeries (one of which caused my “brain to stop talking to my left leg” as my surgeon Fred put it. Thanks Fred!) I am STILL not skipping the light fandango. (yes that's a Procol Harem reference – sue me, why don'cha) I have a problem with that lack of skipping and fandangoness and shit. Of fucking course I do!

Fish evolved into land creatures faster than I’m regaining strength and balance, ffs! Okay, I might be indulging in a wee bit of hyperbole here. Hey, it happens!

In any case, I have a ridiculously early appointment so, here, have some cats and such.

Cake ignoring me. Today's his anniversay day, by the way. Three years of ruling Valhalla.

Skitter and Walter are on duty. Fiercely, I might add.

In case you missed it, May 19th was Malcolm X's birthday. Art by Jesse Duquette

Maybe it’s just me

But I REALLY cringed hard over the weekend when I saw ads for BIG Memorial Day sales. Then there were all the folks cheerfully wishing others a "happy" Memorial Day weekend. Fer Bastet’s sake and SO sorry to be Donna Downer but has everyone forgotten what yesterday, the past weekend, was supposed to be about?

Ya know, to honor and remember those who died while serving (or as a result of their service) in the military and shit?

By the by, the very first Memorial Day observance was at the end of the Civil War on May 1, 1865 in Charleston, South Carolina. The people who had been owned by other humans (and treated no better, usually worse than, livestock) organized the day to honor those who had died liberating them. Also, to give these Union troops proper burials.

Yes it’s totally cool to have barbecues with family and friends, to head to the beach, go hiking (yech), lay in bed reading, eat bon bons, but remember the meaning, the reason for the day. Show a little respect, dammit.

FYI and you probably already know this:

• The third Saturday of May is Armed Forces Day – it’s the day we honor those currently serving in the military.

• The eleventh of November is Veterans Day – this is the day we honor all veterans, living and dead.

Related, Sherman Alexie’s Memorial Day substack post.

Adolph Alexie, my father’s father, was killed in action on April 6th, 1945, on Okinawa. He earned a posthumous Bronze Star for heroic service in a combat zone.

Six months after he died, his wife Susan died of tuberculosis. So my father, Sherman, Sr., and his sister, Ellen, were orphans raised by their grandmother. 

My father was a war orphan. My siblings and I were raised by a war orphan. The death of a soldier creates generations of loss.

I honor my grandfather’s sacrifice but I wish that he’d survived the war and made it back home to the reservation.

My father never talked about his father. My father never talked about his loss. My father never talked about his grief.

Go read the whole piece (it’s short).

And the chorus of Paul Simon’s song The Coast comes to mind:

This is a lonely life
Sorrows everywhere you turn
And that's worth something
When you think about it

Sorta, kinda, not really related, an interview with Alan Alda in The Guardian entitled ‘My mother didn’t try to stab my father until I was six’: Alan Alda on childhood, marriage and 60 years of stardom

I’ve always loved Alda. Yes, the roots are in M*A*S*H. So far, he’s a hero character from my youth who has not disappointed me. It’s not as though I’ve expected all those idols of my younger days to be better than human. I’m just relieved that Alda seems to actually be who he comes off as. Warm, intelligent, witty, and thoughtful versus some vulgar, abusive, common trump, Gaiman, Kegseth, Gaetz or Brainworm Boy type.

So, interesting interview and it inspires me to revisit the 1981 version of The Four Seasons as well as the new Tina Fey teevee series based on it.

Also, he has a podcast now called Clear+Vivid with Alan Alda. Something about connecting and communicating with interesting guests.  Obvs I need to find a way to access these. Do podcasts have transcripts or closed captioning?

Hi, I’m Donna and I’m TOTALLY old and not tech savvy in the least!

By the by, Alda’s mother was eventually diagnosed with schizophrenia.