Last Post of the year

This will probably be the last post of 2011.  I wanted to do this for a year and I pretty much have accomplished that goal.  Initially, I wanted to write and write every day.  I always had a fond spot for daily cartoonists.  How did they write a serial every day?  A second goal was to prove to myself that I could write on any subject, at the drop of a hat.  After 238 articles I am out of ideas for subjects.  This last month has been very difficult to get any creativity or dedication going.  The holiday season seemed to kill all ambition.  My third goal was to clean out some of the junk in my brain.  To heal some wounds and to complete some goal.  I did heal a little bit.  I cleaned out some drudge and some sludge.  Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, it was replaced by more tripe, more dreams and more wishes. 

I was going to give it up a few times but I stuck it out as best I could and still tried to keep some small bit of quality to them.  I did not want to get personal or political.  I wanted only to attack the demons in my mind and investigate the crag holes in my brain.  I did not really give up much of my inner self, I keep it locked up pretty tight.  There were times I wanted to blog nothing but swear words at the people and institutions I hate.  Some of the my more devastating minions wanted to see the green grass of the basket.  They did not make it to the show. 

I will have to decide the direction of the Remediation Basket.  I assume I will blog less and hope the quality will improve.  I need to keep writing for peace of mind.  I laugh at them often.  I do not even know what I am writing most of the time.  It just comes out, I correct the spelling and grammar as best I can and off it goes.  I will go through them and maybe some short stories or essays will blossom.  I am open.  Some really smart angel has suggested attaching photos to some of the blogs.  I could add artwork also.  I will see and so will the followers.

My attitude

I have been called a grouch, a shit, a bore, a brat, a pain, and once, Leslie Delilah the hermaphroditic contortionist.  I remember all the grouchy old men from the neighborhood.  I was a paper delivery boy and as such I was authorized access to any yard, house or apartment of which I was owed copperage.  I visited grouches every month.  I never thought much about these mostly men who seemed irritated at the universe.  They would still pay the bill and give me a tip.  I would smile and say thank you above their mumbles. 

Today I am one of those men.  Everything orderly seems out of sorts.  There is very little testosterone running throughout my veins and arteries. So many toe nails hurt along with the crick in my neck.  The pain in my shoulder is only slightly less annoying than the pain in my ass.  I think I have good vision only to find out that catching a fly is now impossible.  I can forgo the shoulder joint pain to join in the hunt but I miss the lazy mosquito because I cannot focus accurately.  Sampson was spared the scourge of old age blindness.  In a few years he would not have even noticed the bad hair day thing except for the failing lead in his pencil.  The once smooth driveway tiles are now like rocky crags as I drag my dead left leg over.  The kitchen cabinet doors that just a few years ago were obviously supposed to be closed and were positioned much higher are now open and gouging me in my low slung cranium. 

I cannot even understand my own mumbling.  People ask me to repeat my statement because they could not hear it clearly.  I simply respond "Life is a continuum and that utterance has past, I have no earthly idea what I said, thank your for asking though.  If anyone remembers, e-mail me and I will enjoy it as much as you have seemed to."  My assistant whispers that e-mail is so twentieth century and this is NASA, "we text" now.  I mumble, "WE do not do anything except kill trees".

Since I fully understand the old grouch thing, any time I see an old person smiling I assume he is having a heart episode because it is all most over or he is on drugs.  God's grace must be sufficient because everyone over fifty years old should be a grouchy, stumbling mess.  At fifty, a man has been cheated on, lied to, stabbed in the back, had the rug pulled out from under him at least twice, had smoke blown up his tail pipe, scared limp, and probably recently had a cold steel medical device shoved up somewhere that is not supposed to have things shoved up and now we all get to watch a video to heighten the embarrassment. 

The most grouch enriching situation involves noise.  I am sure I say six or seven times a day, "What the hell is that noise?"  Not only can I not identify the vibration (all noise is vibration), I cannot understand where it is coming from or why the disturbance in force is driving a bleeding hole in my head.  Is it just a new sound or am I losing my mind.  Losing my mind is a short, slippery romp I know and soon will be welcome.  You will not have this grouchy old man whom you now laugh with to laugh at any more.  You can laugh at my gravestone that may say "Dad, I kept my mouth shut and I suffocated."

Routine of Life

“True freedom is the freedom from your own self-imposed limitations. It’s the ability to accept situations as they are, in all their abundance and all their lack…” – Lori Deschene

I am a minimalist at the very core of my existence.  I clearly remember the first time I was aware of such a choice.  I think it was so clear because it was so sparse, so minimal in color and complexity.  I saw a series of paintings featuring a church as the main focal point.  The first painting was in the expressionist bent.  Basic yet colorful with shadows ands highlights to accent all the shapes.  The last painting was of the same church, same basic angle.  It only highlighted the Cross on the wall of the church building.  The building was only pastel white with some shadows.  Throughout the progression of the five paintings (over a thirty year time frame is suppose) the essentials of the picture were the only survivors.  A shadow under the overhang of the roof, a piece of tile on the edge of the siding and the cross are all that remain against a white pallet. 

Some people would say I am just "cheap".  "That is a fine place to start", I would tell them with all the glee I could muster.  Some people call me crazy.  "So what, at least my nose holes are the same size as my pinky finger."  That gets them every time.  Philosophers say, If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?  I say, if a light is on in an empty bathroom , are you wasting money?  I say, if there is food left on your plate, are you wasting food?  If a picture can be painted with less and still show the beauty and majesty of the subject, why waste the paint?  Reader's Digest used to publish condensed versions of novels.  I am not sure that is the same idea.  There is a website that publishes short stories that are three sentences long.  It is like Haiku.  I remember there was a roller coaster ride at Wayne's World in Virginia and the slogan was "We came, we rode, we hurled".  Enough said.

My dad always told me to "keep my mouth shut" and I would be better off.  I used to think he was a minimalist but "shut up" uses fewer letters and facial muscles.   I guess he just did not want to say "shut up" all the time.  He was not of the minimum bent.  He would give me a whole bucket of nails and say, "go over them and pound all those nails in that board and leave these good boards for me".  Now, I can pound nails like a dry drunk on a jones'n fit.  That board weighed about thirty five pounds and it could no longer float.  I threw it in the canal and it sunk like the Lusitania. I figured it was a waste of nails, time and dad's patience so I went and found Bobby for some entertainment.  Now there was maximum enjoyment for minimal effort.  

I really do try to write conservatively in word and length but I digress.

If I had a hammer

This is the great old song by Pete Seeger and popularized in my time by Peter Paul and Mary.  I was thinking. What if Lewis Black backed up by Richard Lewis made a recording and video for this song.  With both dressed in black, they would look like the anti-blues brothers.

Lewis Black:  If I had a HAMMER, I would hammer in the MORNING! (shaking finger at the sky)

Richard Lewis:  OK, whatever, the morning is a bad time for me,(holding his head)

Lewis Black:  I would HAMMER in the EVENING, (spit flying everywhere)

Richard Lewis:  What, all over this land, geez, really, ok, whatever. (hanging head low)

Lewis Black:  I would hammer out JUSTICE, I would HAMMER OUT A WARNING! (take a drink of water)

Richard Lewis:  Not so loud, I just went from morning to evening in two seconds,  Just don't start singing about trees. (looking back over his shoulder for who knows what)

Lewis Black:  I would hammer out all the love BETWEEN brothers and Sisters, ALL over this FREAKIN Land. (Takes two steps forward swinging arms)

Richard Lewis:  Not all over the land again, been there already.  Hammer the brothers and the sisters.  Always with the violence.  I told you about the anger, I don't know, you are right! Whatever. (holding hand up over his head, with head hanging low)

Anyway, just a thought. You get the idea.

It is hard to go wrong with good material and yet......

frust

In my current position at work, I sort of manage, direct, advise four people in the ways of supporting science projects for space programs.  I am the expert.  I know what you are thinking, "Boy, they could not have picked a finer person".  Let me explain on one hand why you are correct and on the other hand why I am not the perfect person for such a program.  Keep tucked away in your mind that I can see out of the back of my head, talk out of both sides of my mouth and have the ability to jump to and fro through time.

For many years, I was known as the "Emperor" because of the mystical, seemingly deified methods of logistically support provided.  I was the "King" for a few years prior until I was given emperor status for clairvoyantly (even though I had to look up how to spell clairvoyant) moving six tons of hardware across 13 states, using untold dollars and  through two countries in 4 days.  Kings and kingdoms are butt-trouncingly cool but Emperors have a relationship with God himself.  Currently, and  accurately I am known as the Idiot Savant.

The support personnel I manage will be in their cubes doing whatever they do and I perceive a question coming up.  Before they even finish talking I say "no, I would not do that". 

Minion:  I did not even finish the question and I was not talking to you!
Me:  Fine, whatever but I would not do that!
Minion:  Do you want to hear the question?
Me:  Only if I do not have to answer any more questions!
Minion:  I was asking everyone if they wanted to go to Taco Tuesday for lunch.
Me:  There is free cookies in the lobby by that time, The Sam's Club guy is going to be here today.
Minions:  He was just here two days ago!
Me:  (no response but with hands in the air knowing the "Children" as I call them will be stumbling in my doorway to see how I know about the cookie guy)

I bought The Children breakfast today.  They have been working on a project for a few weeks; it is finished and they did a really great job and it is Christmas soon.  While they ate, they asked me questions about life and living, children and parenting.  I sat quietly and finally said, "That was the best twelve dollars I ever spent.  You guys should  be proud of yourself.   I never did answer the questions.  They probably think I did or maybe I did.  I will have to look back in time and check since I did not take notes.

I may not be the best person for the job because I just do not care about the big picture.  The big picture, the grand scheme, the whole enchilada is all dorked up and much bigger dorks than me are trying to fix it.   I work for a smaller prize, a more tangible reward.  You guessed it "Food".  Pavlov is my hero and the main reason I was so interested in science. Well, that and the glassware.  Pavlov's dog received food, I love food.  I have never slept with food and I do not want to marry any.  There was that creature in Shawnee Mission, Kansas.  Like Bill says, "I'd like to sop that up with a biscuit".  There is of course a wrong way, a correct way and a company way.  The wrong way is of course wrong, the correct way is most likely not the company way and therefore "wrong". The company way is also wrong but not anyone will know until it passes through about eight months of supply chain wisdom and travels across the country.  The only feedback from Corporate I will ever receive is, "Why did we do that in the first place?"  I will just hold my hand up and wait for the praise. 

If you want to be frustrated, try this

I strongly believe in ten years most computers, phones, whatevers will be controlled by voice activation.  Keyboards are going away.  Spelling is going away.  Simple voice commands and even more complex programs will run the truly smart products.  Refrigerators and cars currently have the technology.  If you have not been really frustrated lately, find the program on your computer or phone that deals with voice activated commands. How can I phrase this knowing that young eyes are about.  "Un-holy freakin Satan's lipgloss" what a screwed up mess.

The tutorial pictures a fine looking young lady all postured correctly and with nothing less than perfect lips and hair.  This aberrant wench is going to glide me through the process of setting up my computer to respond to "voice commands".  I do not even listen to myself when I talk so I am hopeful the computer will pick up the slack.  The smarmy tutorial lady says " When you have read this page, say "next"". 
I dutifully say "next".  Nothing happens so I say "NEXT".  The text box says "what did you say?" 
"I said NEXT you &*%^^& a-hole, NEXT!"  It moves to the next screen.  I am not sure if it was because I said "next" properly because I said it two different ways.  So I said "next" again and the tutorial skipped a page.  I thought shit and I said "Shit, Back"  and it went back to the page I skipped.  I said "shit Next" and the page advanced.  Now the computer knows three words, next, shit and back.  Twenty-first century here I come. 

The tutorial told me how to open files and close files, scroll pages and edit text.  I am now talking like a like Peewee Herman on Meth.  All of a sudden, the text writer started typing random news updates from the Disney News Network.  My damn computer has gained consciousness and it wants to go to Disneyland.  Then, I shit you not in the least, the voice recognition became voice activated.  The Devil himself said, "Disney stock closed dowwwwwn on the news of the weeeeak response in Greece".  Beelzebub has a speech impediment and he is talking at me.

I pushed away from the desk with all the vigor I could muster thirty eight minutes before lunch.  The last word I heard was "Reuters" and I yelled, "Shit Back, NEXT, stop, shit" and I hit the power button.  The guy in the next cube asked me if I was OK and that I seemed a little tense.  I asked Joe to check me out for the mark of the Beast.  He knows me well so he did not ask any questions.  He did find a mole that seemed to look like mouse but no "6's".  I have not turned on that computer since the battle with the underworld.  I use the backup desktop with a wireless keyboard and mouse.  Not even Satan can figure out Bluetooth. 

I can now control my computer with voice commands but I am afraid to plug the damn thing in so it was a typical day on the government payroll.

A Song

It will soon be apparent that I have zero musical abilities.  I cannot hear well.  I have an inability keep rhythm with all but the most rudimentary thuds and for only a fraction of the time required to understand music.

    The song starts with bells ringing in the background because all good songs start with bells ringing.  There is Mississippi Queen, Love Rain on Me, you get the picture or not.

Mostly drum stuff from here.

a steady 2-4 beat whatever that is
I woke up,(six beats)I can't believe she is gone.
Around the house, (four beats) I wander ever longer.
I check the mail, no message for me,
I spin a round and fall, I am not stroooooongerrr.

guitar strumming before choruses

I can not,(four beats)believe she left me,
I was most com(two beats) mitted to her ass,
I came home often,(two beats) fairly often,
To find her sleeping with a laaaaass.

                
Make my way down the(four beats)path to the jiffy
Only to see my car (two beats)is on fire,
I can smell her scent (four beats)even here in the street,
She told me I was a liiiiiiarrrrrr.

Now I walk(four beats)to find some meaning,
I realize I am in (three beats)the wrong side of town.
It is not always that I get (four beats)wasted,
Now all (two beats)I do is froooooown.

              I can not,(four beats)believe she left me,

              I was most com(two beats) mitted to her ass,

              I came home often,(two beats) fairly often,

              Now, To find her  with a laaaaass.

close the song with a sort of red rover red rover send jimmy right over sound!

I have noticed if you close any song with a wild flurry, people will forget the tripe you fed them in the first several verses.  Stoners have the shortest memories of all demographics.
 Actually, this song was inspired by Bob Dylan's  Precious Memories.  Looking back at that reality, it is hard to tell if anything healthy or decent could have inspired my song. 

Once many years ago, George Harrison, Tom Petty, Neil Young, Joe Walsh, Chris Christupidson and Nemo the Space Chicken, ( I snuck in a Tea Time Movie) gave a concert to honor Bob Dylan.  Every one of these people, Dylan included have two things in common.  The first commonality is their abilities to create fine and lasting music.  The second unniversally accepted note is none of them can sing a lick compared to most "singers".  I remember for the final number of the tribute evening, they all got together, Dylan included and sang "Blowin in the Wind".  Their were tears in my eyes.  The pain in my ears overwhelmed me and it jumped out of my eyes bringing life soothing water with it. 

When all of them went for the golden ring on "The answer my freeeind, is blowin in the wiiiiiiiind", I saw a crack appear in the roof structure of the Hollywood Bowl.  The concert was in Brooklyn!  Regardless of that, it was nice to see and hear a bunch of old rockers jammin.  So I write this song only to purge the Basket and revive the memory.

Friday Science: What the hell?

In the past several weeks I have read two scientific reports on some strange psychosis and delusional abnormalities.  They were both related to cultural beliefs and have a tag name of Culture-Bound Disorder.  The first article was about people, mostly from southeast Asia waking up from sleep unable to move.  They are awake and can move their eyes but cannot move.  Many of the mostly men "feel" an evil presence near them and sometimes see evil sitting on their chest.  The other disorder has set me so aghast and I am not sure I will recover, really!  It is more astounding than the Siamese twin males that were joined at the hip and had a normal lives complete with wives and children.  Much more shocking than birds mating in flight.  Even more morose than a shark with one eye.

There is an area in a distant part of India where people fear being bitten by dogs because it may make them pregnant with puppies.  A survey of the people in the area showed that only nine percent of the otherwise normal people thought the puppy prospect was absurd.   What??!!!?++&*????  I can assure you most definitely that you will not be the same person if you follow this link and read the article.  The man who wrote the article is an arrogant uncaring bonehead yet covers the topic well.

The Asian people become paralyzed and fear impending doom.  Of course they do.  If I woke up one morning and could not move a muscle I would only realize that I was not dead because I would be peeing myself.  These stricken people are mostly male, head of the household types with high levels of stress.  The people with the puppy problem develop life threatening physical problems and many swear they know of deaths resulting from the pregnancies. 

Buddy Hackett used to say he suffered from "Non-acrophobia" which is the fear of not being high!  I have a fear of spiders (most insects of size) and bow legged women.  Culture bound disorders are found in all cultures and they fade with geologic time, like old wives tales.  It is hard to remember that in some parts of the world, whether it is the twenty first century is completely irrelevant and meaningless.  Time is kept by planting seasons or floods.  Reality is from experiences and not book learned knowledge.  Possibilities are of the mind and not of facts.  If your grandma told you a dingo stole her baby, who are you to roll your eyes.
I will never recover to the same tilt because life is a balancing act.  A wise man leans and sways to and fro with the action of life.  This one has run me aground on a rocky crag.  Care must me taken from here and out.

News of No Interesting facts

COLTON, Calif. (AP) — Police say a naked, 300-pound bodybuilder savagely beat a Southern California couple at their home, leaving them in critical condition.

I have seen these "crazed naked body builder" stories before.  They all involve drugs and roids.  The most interesting part of the story was that it took four police, two stun guns and six hand cuffs to control the dud.    Is there a sound track?  I am sure it was caught on the POPOCAM but I want sound.  This should and will be on COPS sine day.  I saw the episode with the two naked college girls dancing in the front yard sprinkler of an old couple.  The elderly couple were pulling up a lounge chair when the police arrived. The two male police immediately called for "female" backup.  Now that is news.

The family that was beaten by the bodybuilder was just trying to get in their house and King Kong grabbed them, tossing them about.  They will have a story to tell the rest of their lives.  That is maybe even worth a beating.  That is what we should do with the people in prison for murder.  Give them steroids, cocaine and caffeine and let them go in Pakistan or China.  The Mayans used to drug up in preparation for battle.  They would eat Llama testicles mixed with coffee beans and all wrapped in a Coca leave.   Sort of a testicle wrap.  They could fight until dusk even injured.

This naked guy should not go to prison or the court system of California should not waste any money on the guy.  He has enough problems.  His hair if falling out, his liver is bad, he will get some sort of testicular cancer and he has no relationships with people.  He has a cat and a dead cactus in his apartment.  Or is that a dead cat and a cactus?

College Algerbra

I received my test back with a score of 67.  Hmm, this must be a mistake I thought.  I studied way hard enough to get a 70.  I scanned the paper and there it was, question #13. 

13.  2+X=Y    Solve for X.    I answered "X=2"  and the teacher marked a big red X through it.

After class I approached the teacher. 

Snetty:  Ms. Cloughman, I think you incorrectly marked my paper.
Cloughman:  Oh, Mr. Snetty, nice to see you showed up two days in a row.  What can I help you with?
Snetty:  Question 13, I put the answer "2" and you marked it wrong.
Cloughman:  That is because it is wrong.
Snetty:  Well of course the answer is 2.
Cloughman:  You were supposed to derive the equation, its all variables, there is not enough info to say what X equals all the time.
Snetty:  But the answer is 2, what kind of derivation is required.
Cloughman:  Mr. Snetty, you have about ten seconds and then I have another class to lecture.
Snetty:  So, if I subtract Y from both sides you get 2+X-Y=0, that does not simplify anything.
Cloughman:  Mr. Snetty, I do not have time for this.
Snetty:  Ok, wait, X is 2 because Y is 4 so 2+2=4, correct?
Cloughman:  I have to go, what if Y was 6?
Snetty:  Y is never 6.  That would make  4=6-2 and that is so prosaic!
As she wiggled her cute butt past me and down the hall, she said:
Cloughman:  I see your point, I will change the grade.

When I got my report card I received a C in Algebra which looked really cool above the C in Organic Chemistry, the C in Cell Physiology and the C in COBOL.  At the bottom of the report card there was a GPA number for that semester.  You will never guess what it was, yep, the magical value of X.  "2.0" which is 2.  I went to the registrars office and showed the important looking mother figure lady at the counter  my report card. 

Registrar:  Yes young man,  how can I help you?
Snetty:  Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt.
Registrar: Excuse me?
Snetty:  This is my report card, I got a "C" in every class.
Registrar: That is passing!
Snetty:  I do not have to take any of them over again?
Registrar: Nope, you passed the semester.
Snetty:  Hmmmp.

Off I went to charge the next windmill.

Insects

9


Enough said.

When I was in college, a professor tried to insight me to become an entomologist by waving a sweet research position at me.  I considered the offer for less than a second.  Well actually, I used my "go back three spaces(or seconds)" card from my pocket Monopoly and said no before he even opened his mouth to make the offer.  I said to the Professor, "I thought you were a bird guy?"  He told me his graduate work was related to insects of southern Patagonia.  "I fell in love with penguins and auks while down there. (most probably literally)

Anyway, I was so freaked out by the movie Starship Trooper that I cannot even look at a bug of any kind.  I can hold a dragonfly as long as he does not move his legs.  Ok, so insects are the bottom of the food chain and an integral part of the worlds' biom.   Well the above cricket could fish salmon on the annual run.  God has a grand purpose for them and for us so I guess I can let them be themselves.  There was a Japanese fighter pilot that after the war, vowed to never kill another living thing.  He included insects, even the ever buzzing mosquito in that proclamation.  As a monk, he could do no other.  I can use a shotgun on that Jiminy.
Better man than me. 

Bottle Tops

In Margaritaville, there is a serious injury from a pop top.  Ban them, ban them all.  Actually, you rarely see them anymore for pop. (soda north of the Mason-Dickson)  Beer bottles still use them.  My lava lamp has one but it is twenty five years old.  Many people feel that a beer tops, twist off or impossible to get off do not need to be in a trash bin.  Beer tops, newly relieved from a crimped existence, are free spirited entities and must be mysteriously flicked into the wild blue sailing as a flying saucer onto some parking lot or lawn. 

I am not sure why pop bottles have mostly gone plastic with screw tops.  Beer can be found in plastic at ball games of all sorts where rudeness is still tolerated.  At hockey games they used to heat bottle caps up with a lighter and fling them on the ice.  Well, I have heard of squid (octopus), dimes and fish being throw onto a hockey rink.  I heard someone once threw a hubcap from a car onto the ice.  I guess security was not curious why a man was taking a hubcap to a hockey game yet do not dare try to sneak a bottle of cherry sloe gin into the arena. 

Beer tops are make of steel and covered inside and out with plastic so rusting and disintegrating is a slow process.  I find them in my pasture and only carbon dating can for sure tell me how old they are.  If I knew the selection would have been so varied I would have started a collection.   They will want to see my bottle top collection. 

"They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon." 

Henry David Thoreau did not speak of the manifest rights to fling bottle caps all over the place.  The Magna Carta did not speak of the God given rights of littering.  Did Thomas Paine say "Give me bottle caps hovering like flying saucers or give me death!"
I think John Adams said "Sam, pickup your bottle caps, the wenches will be hear in a fortnight and this is not a pig puddle."

No, I am sure the manufacturers of bottle caps assumed, as the cigarette makers did that people would use a waste receptacle.  The designers could not imagine the thrill of flicking a cap like skipping a stone on water but on air.  I could have imagined it but I have issues that we cannot go into in just a few paragraphs.  Control your caps is all I am saying. 

Friday Science: Tea For Two

John Wayne, William Duvane, Jordyn Wieber
Jordan Sparks and Sparky the wonder Tuna in
               Flat Stanley pitches a Pup Tent.

I love this stuff.  Tea Time Movies was a standard on the Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson. 

I have started a Tea for Two O'clock at work.  Everyone is always running around looking busy and they need a break.  I insist that all stop working and sit down for a cup of tea.  Talking about current work is forbidden.  People look forward to Two O'clock and not because it is two hours from going home time.  We dine on chocolates and cookies with tea.  We insist on the pinky finger sticking out and an accent is commonly used while speaking. 

I want Tea time to catch on because people need it.  Some take smoke breaks, there are those that take union breaks.  The vast majority just trudge through the day without getting up.  Recently there are several medical papers on sitting and the relationship to strokes.  It has to do with circulation and the body's response to inactivity.  We have programs on our computers that force us to stop typing every so often.  They, the big they in the sky say it helps with the carpal tunnel anomalies and reduces complications from repetitive motion injuries. 

I think reducing repeated cognitive injuries to the noodle is just as important to keep our curmudgeoness tendencies in limbo.  Doing the same mindless scat every day or for hours and hours is harmful.  Look at accountants, bad eyes, bad hair, ghoulish posture and rotating air pockets in the brain during conversations all signs of numericalopathy.
Ebenezer Scrooge was not whistling Dixie all day.  Bartleby the Scribler was not rebellious to attract women.  No, they were burned out.  Melville even went so far as to allude that these damaged individuals were as lepers.

Tea time will revitalize our work efforts.  It will not work as well as a nap but I am working on that policy also.  Tea at Two....

When Will They Learn-NEVER

I reviewed pictures of tunnels assembled by drug runners and the entire article reminded me of Hogan's Heroes.  These tunnels cost thousands of dollars to build with only a small chance of completion without being detected.  The article talked of the insatiable appetites for drugs in the United States.  Our feeble incompetent government spends billions of dollars try to stop billions of dollars worth of drugs from entering.  Why not spend some millions on preventing the need for drugs from another country and save some time, money and resources. 

I just saw an article on "horse slaughtering facilities in the US".  It seems that the moronic policy to ban horse slaughter in this country because of humane reasons only increased the inhumanity to horses.  Now they are sent to other countries where they are treated even worse to be processed and then we have to import the meat.  The export of horses to Mexico increased 600 percent when the ban went into effect.  Will the fascists of this country ever learn that banning something does not stop it.  Lets ban books, lets ban interracial marriage, lets ban Jews, Muslims and Mormons from everything.  That will stop all the evilness in the world.  Death will take a holiday.  Why not ban alcohol consumption?  There are all sorts of problems with poor consumption of the ole -OH.  Oh wait, that was a huge failure, wasn't it.  Prohibition made millionaires out of many people especially the judges and those politicians. 

It used to be said that the need for education is so that we can learn from history.  Well, with the average person on the street being completely clueless of history, science, religion and mathematics and how it relates to our lives and futures, it is no wonder our society is in such a mess.  The wake up call has been slept through, the ignoramuses are winning and I am tired.  Call me when it is over, on second thought, do not call me, I will not recognize the number.