“I am not a [dick!]“
7 July 2002 — Voting has gotten to be way too easy.
It should be inconvenient. It should take a deliberate effort, not a thoughtless reflex. I particularly oppose Mail-in Ballots and the ever-popular Motor Voter Registration programs that have spread across the union. Think about it. They give drivers’ licenses to just about anybody. Do you want the helm of the Republic in the hands of someone who can’t be troubled to use a turn signal?
2 March 2002 — Election Interference
When talkin’ ‘Merican, many voters will explain their choice as follows: “Ah seen him on Teevee! He’s go’n’ whoop them ter’rists!” In English that becomes: “I’m only aware of him because I’ve seen him on television, and I imagine that he will demean, denigrate, trounce, humiliate, and defeat those violent criminals.”
20 April 2023 —
“In my mind and in my car,
We can’t rewind, we’ve come too far.
[Honesty killed the dream of regard.]”
17 July 2019 and endlessly on…
Lethargy Lad’s continuing complaints:
Wojew gocoj fuqwa “Oly wed toxim gocoj oxirret qikol!” ndiap sexy.
( — gey — Dprij Juikiquakup opdyx Yotig )
21 August 2022…
The Bamboozler never said, or fresher assumptions should now override the old, but Early Riser was explicit about it, and even seemed delighted to point it out. I would not be on the inside of the deal. Which is fine, of course. I never expected any inheritance from ANY Former Arch Nemeses. In fact, it would be rather surprising. A most delightful disappointment indeed. But what was the point of telling me? Did I react wrong? Should I have been visibly distraught? Will I ever learn to fight right? (To The Bamboozler‘s great credit, she was never the hinter her predecessors were.)
3 September 2022…
Maybe I should start with another apology for the traumatic water heater situation. It was a year ago, while still residing at their northern estate, that their water heater finally failed. It had been leaking intermittently for a while prior to that, and I had maintained the situation with occasional mopping. In retrospect, I think the slow leak would take its time about saturating the insulation until overcoming surface tension, after which time, it would spill out across the tiled laundry room floor. I looked into replacing it and was even prepared to pay for it all. After all, in one sense, it was just one example of the depreciation and degradation that mere occupancy will inflict on a home. So, like the lawn or the trash, I just figured this was another of my custodial responsibilities. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of telling them about it, which led to their deep pain and moral anguish. Because I was in no particular hurry to deal with it, they had to imagine the horrors of my taking showers and washing the dishes and laundry in tepid water during some of the hottest months of the year. For months they suffered! What a hardship, and how thoughtless of me to have done such a horrible thing to them. There’s no telling from whence they will seize offense next, and I should really be more careful about foisting such onerous concerns onto them.
Or maybe I shouldn’t. I can’t always tell for sure. Sometimes NOT apologizing is wrong. Sometimes trying to help makes things worse. Even when they can no longer evict me from their houses or hearts, I still agonize over feeeeelings. (When was I ever a nice guy?) Best not risk it, then. Passive can be as wrong as active, but it takes less effort… I should start over, and maybe start burying the above.
13 July 2022
After being evicted from two hearts and two homes, the losses of material things seem to sting less, but as the (all too familiar) pain of rejection gradually abates, the loss of cherished possessions from childhood reasserts itself. So while I will endure and go on to face additional rejections, the hunt goes on. The loss of some dishes, some clothing, and other odd items, are both annoying and trivial, but generally bearable. The loss of some books, however, hurts rather more deeply.
4 September 2022
Dear Sugar & Bud…
Thank you for the box of goods. It arrived in (mostly) good order, though the battery driven adding machine doesn’t appear to be salvageable. While I expect the little used boots probably contain the highest market value of all the contents, I think the carefully bubble wrapped glass butter dish is the most welcome and cherished, beyond your kind letter, of course.
Having just now achieved my own personal “666” (being now, to the nearest whole month, 6 decades, 6 years, and 6 months old) I am only now relenting to making my “deal with the devil” and going through the trauma and tedium of applying for reparations (aga “Social Security.”) Maybe I’m not doing a very good or timely job of it, but what else should we expect from me? And somehow, this too might be seen as some sort of an attack on others, even as I can barely imagine how (again.)
“Tichelle’s Bogus Journey” – The Greigh Area
(…has been calved off onto its own post)
10 September 2022
As I finally manage to get my things out of L’Historienne‘s and Willo‘s garage and to reconstitute a household here at the top of Geezer Tower (aka “Rio Concho Manor”), the loss of cherished possessions from childhood reasserts itself. So the hunt resumes. The loss of some dishes, some clothing, and other odd items, are both annoying and trivial, but generally bearable. The loss of some things, however, hurts rather more deeply.
Have you seen these lost loved ones?
Tanglewood Tales (published in 1934), by Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Scavengers in Space (pub. 1958), by Alan E. Nourse
Brave New World (pub. 1980), by Aldous Huxley
by Robert Heinlein, various pub. dates: Assignment in Eternity, Beyond this Horizon, The Day After Tomorrow, Farmer in the Sky, Have Space Suit Will Travel, The Number of the Beast, To Sail Beyond the Sunset, The Cat Who Walked Through Walls, The Star Beast, Starman Jones, Tunnel in the Sky, & I Will Fear No Evil. My paperback copy of Time Enough for Love made it here safely, and I believe I left yours on your shelf, so be assured, I assert no claim on any of your property. (Although, having now said as much, I expect that maybe I shouldn’t have. But if I hadn’t, I probably should have… )
Missing box numbered DQN032 contained most Silver Age X-Men issue numbers from 9 to 66, plus a few reprints from 67 to 92, Amazing Adventures 1 to 14, (reprinting X-Men 1 to 8), Amazing Spider-man 92, Marvel Team-Up 4, plus various late Silver and early Bronze X-Appearances in other Marvel mags. I have very little expectation of recovering that box, so its absence represents the loss of at least a kilobuck. I guess I could call that another “moving expense.” Fortunately, Marvel’s X-material is very popular, and frequently reprinted, so I have high hopes for its eventual and complete recovery in the sense that matters most to this fanboy — stories and pictures!
The Beatles’ Anthology three release sets totaling six CDs. Fortunately, I have a copy of my one disc edit of the most significant selections, but still… It’s the Beatles! (*sob*) But again, like the X-Men, the Beatles enjoy such enduring popularity that their works will likely never be out of determined reach.
Reliable air conditioning is required for West Texas living, and Geezer Tower is well equipped. Tichelle and I live on the tenth floor. She’s been in the elevator just the once, though I use it regularly. About as often as not I’ll walk down the stairs, but I have yet to walk all nine flights up.
I’m sorry but not surprised to learn of Joguv‘s mental state. I wish that only the most joyous of clarities break through her cognitive fog. And I know that my not helping with her heavy lifting counts against me.
If I could, I’d give Spanky and Loki and Buddy the sternest of looks. Bud should explain chivalry to these boys. They look to him for masculine guidance.
Texas is no stranger to nasty bugs. I believe I’ve spotted at least one red hourglass image (the arachnid version of gang colors), but it was in the wild, and I viewed it from a safe distance.
I am delighted to live so close to My Best Girl and her impressive swain. Willo (NEVER call him “Willie“) is presently out of town, on the pro/am chess circuit, or so he’d have us believe. He still neither denies nor confirms being a hitman or secret agent. He concedes that his cover could easily seem suspect. Of course, dozens of students do much to support his story, but he could be paying them off like Walter’s and Jesse’s legions of smurfs.
I miss ya’ll as well. I miss dominating you at cornhole, and I miss being humiliated at Oh Hell and Sharp Shooters. I miss sharing meals, laughs, video, and comedy. I also miss the various masonry projects that I was allowed to pursue. But, since that ended abruptly in the summer of 2019, I’m mainly “over it.” I definitely DO NOT miss endless issues.
From FascBuch, Jimofent Updjuluf (Byk‘s present sweetie) is looking for participants in an organized puzzle exchange. I mentioned to her that I might know of some possibilities, and she has authorized me to give you her address:
Jimofent Updjuluf and Dprijyr Byk
2047 Gemiud Street
Jewrogey, Wojontaxon; 98041
Work hard, rest easy, laugh often, and love endlessly.
14 September 2022
Jaxon,
L’Historienne clued me in to your impending nuptials, and I wanted to offer my congratulations and also my assurances that, based on my observations of the consummate trouper with whom I shared many a moment, both on and off stage, that your sweetie is getting a pretty good deal. I expect, based on my recollections of your general good sense, that you may also think you’re scoring big time. Given your previous pursuits of excellence, you don’t strike me as the sort to settle for too little. I am delighted to learn of the union and wish for you both the greatest of happiness. Please also convey my kindest regards to Max, Julie, Al, &al…
Your Friend and Mine,
Lethargy Lad
25 September 2022
Being as fully aware as I am that no good deed goes unpunished, I will nevertheless try again. Of all the things I am good at, giving up is not one of them.
Happy Impending Birth Month!
This season is rich with personal holidays (for me), even though my own birthday is not among them. Which is fine, of course, my own birthday tends to be far less perilous than all the others, so I’m safest blowing that one off. But this season… WOW! It is clustered tight with joy, and I wish especially for the two of you to enjoy your own happy nativity anniversaries as you best see fit. (And a nod to Sputnik, too.)
I may have been a bit hasty in giving my car permission to die once it got me safely to Texas. On the other hand, its late failures have given me a chance to get much better acquainted with Rudy and his team of automotive specialists. The cruise control gave up somewhere between Missouri and here, and the brake lights failed soon after. I think I may have mentioned that around the time. Before L’Historienne took it to Oregon in June, I took it back to Rudy for inspection and then had the front left wheel hub replaced (plus other expensive parts and labor). Finally, earlier this month, after realizing that I’d been replenishing the brake fluid a little too frequently, I took it back to find that twenty plus winters on salt roads had corroded the underside extensively, taking much of the brake lines with it, so I’d been expressing fluid at every intersection as I stood on the pedal, but never noticed any puddling where I parked. Nevertheless, I figured new brake lines, even if Rudy’s crew had to rebuild them, would be less costly than charges of vehicular homicide.
Tichelle has begun to explore the hall outside our room a little bit. My heart breaks for her, she is far removed from her backyard, and has had no opportunity as yet to roll in the grass, chase sticks, kill leaves, or eat bugs. Well, maybe she’s found a bug or two in the apartment. I haven’t noticed. My great fear (and great present guilt) is that I am doing to her what Frau Braun (“hwih-niiih-nih!”) and the State of Oregon, enwrapped as they were in the Wuhan Willies, did to my mother. Murder by house arrest is just too sad a death to inflict on such free spirits. I’ll keep working on getting Tiche farther and farther into the hallway. Sooner or later, I’ll get her back on the ground.
Happy Birthdays again. I miss ya’ll and the fun and the lake and the cats, and I even miss Monsieur’s Buckets. L’Historienne and Willo have a lovely compost heap growing outside their house, and my coffee grounds and vegetable clippings are far too distant to be thrown on daily, and I have no convenient storage yet.
Not sure if I properly notified you (nor if in my clumsy attempts, I managed to actually make things worse again) of the safe arrival of the box of goods, but thanks (again?), especially for the bubble-wrapped butter dish!
13 December 2022
One swing past three may well be foul the fourth,
So, a little extra effort, for all it may be worth.
Thanks for everything, and be well.
4 March 2023
Are references to baseball also considered a diss?
Can it go so far as “Keep my team’s name outyo fuckin’ mouf?”
This same phenomenon may also have rendered the Angry Fan less generic than I’d intended. Not sure now whether to write, count, or read some more.
As likely as not, not quite…
14 April 2023 — Bat Slippers!
We had these (and other designs) for sale at the QuikkStopp-by-the-River® (which does sound a lot to me like a step toward livin’ in a van down by the river), but they were discontinued because they were not moving, so management gave them to the staff, and I thought there might be fitting feet in Harrodsburg.
My compliments, et cetera…
That doesn’t look so bad. No mention of theatrics, bean-counting, or spokesmodeling. And the only attempted humor is self-deprecating. So that should be okeh, though I guess it could misfire. Time to pause and reflect again. “Harrodsburg,” or the “United Kingdoms?” If I can resolve that puzzle, and no other hidden traps or errors present themselves before then, maybe I’ll try the mails again tomorrow or next week.
15 April 2023 — Okeh, that still looks mostly benign, though I’m now wondering if “suitable feet” might be considered less provocative than “fitting,” alliteration being yet another way I look down on people. Overall, I don’t see how anything other than friendliness or kindness might be inferred from either the gesture itself or the actual text above, but the eagerly aggrieved are much more committed to their cause than I am to mine, or at least more alert to presumed assaults. And the slightest of slights (real or imagined) become fresh casus belli. (Okeh, better ditch “Presenting,” too, as that could be construed as too theatrical.)
18 April 2023 — Bat Cave Investigations?
Walking to church the other day I was reflecting on all the empty storefronts throughout this town and I happened upon 227B Main Street so I misremembered and rued that it wasn’t Baker Street instead, though that might be too Irregular anyway, since I’d misremembered Sherlock’s proper 221B. But I was still warmed by the thought that we would one day open up our detective agency. “Bat Cave Investigations” might invite some heat from Warner and DC, but “Walking Dog Security” remains viable (though round these parts local icon Hank the Cowdog might think we was a movin’ in on his turf.) Or maybe just “Sigmund Walks Far, Freudian Investigator.” Though it is hard to beat the elegant simplicity of “By Appointment Only.“
Now that’s completely benign. Simply comradely and nostalgic, refrying some reliable old schticks that we once seemed to enjoy. This should be safe to include, though… Of course, it could be construed as “gaslighting” or “guilt tripping.” I’ve been accused before of “trying to put that on me” by a couple of different contestants. Good question, Professor ‘Iggins, “Why can’t a woman* be more like a man.” (*or other self-identified human-person with feelings)
26 April 2023 — Okeh, I guess that second installment is a bit much. It’s probably a little too familiar at this point, and maybe even embarrassingly Pollyannish. Silly loses its luster. I may have to settle for cordial, if even that remains possible.
Frau Raachen, the sound is shockin’, and the grief just won’t be stilled.
I never knew such a bitter pill would be fed me against my will.
You’d think that after three failed “marriages” I’d have learned something. Oh I did: No good deed goes unpunished. Being right is the worst possible defense. And no matter how small, trivial, and unimportant the complaint, it can be blown completely out of proportion. I kind of did know most of that stuff, growing up as I did with Earth-people and embedded with one of their most vindictive and bitter sects, the Hillbillies. But still, for all the time I’ve spent watching the eagerly aggrieved seize offense, I still can’t see the insult in my intended message. It still looks thoroughly benign, warm, and even friendly. But I know it’s there, just waiting to be fanned into a conflagration by the most determined of wills. Oh well, as they say, “Nothing ventured…’
20 May 2023 = the nights are often punctuated by absence, the most recent, and longest enduring, easily the deepest impact… it goes on… how else?
29 May 2023 = Uh… I may have just done it again. “Eagerly Aggrieved” may well be as potent as “Angry Fan.” I know I can edit it, but it’s just so good! I could kiss up, I have in the past, but having been shown the futility of it all… At least I can still take comfort, or at least ephemeral satisfaction, in the literary elegance.