Trick-or-treat, or I'll play Justin Bieber unplugged

It's Halloween, and I didn't want Charlene (my guitar) to feel left out. So, I got her a costume.

She's dressed as a lesbian.

I think she looks awesome.

The Great Humboldt County Tweaker Golf Cart Escape...

So, one of the suggestions I read about when researching how to be a rock star blogger was to incorporate current event stories into my blog.

OK.

Here's one: http://www.breitbart.com/Breitbart-California/2014/10/26/Parolee-Allegedly-High_On-Meth-Crashes-Stolen-Golf-Cart-While-Evading-Police-On-Highway

Yes, I have a few opinions and observations about this one.

First of all, when I do my "high on meth police evading," I prefer to use a more sensible escape method...like a stolen bicycle. Or if I'm REALLY high, on horseback (that's for another blog entry). But, a stolen golf cart? Come on!

How elitist.

I guess you have to give the guy some points for creativity. I'm from the area where this took place, and am very familiar with the general location in northern California. It happened near the little town of Arcata, along a stretch of some of the most beautiful coastline in North America.

Highway 101 is famous for being one of the most scenic drives in the world. It is heavily traveled by visitors and local sightseers alike. Nearly 30,000 vehicles pass by any given stretch of Highway 101 on a typical day. It is not unusual to see tourist filled motorhomes, and family filled passenger cars out for a beautiful drive alongside the ocean beaches.

Unfortunately, it is increasingly being used for meth induced golf cart escapes.

This is troubling, and dangerous. This particular story indicates that this parolee floored it, and at one point reached speeds in excess of 10 miles per hour. I mean, what if he had run into a redwood tree or something? He totally could have tipped over. Who wants to subject their family to seeing carnage like that?

It's not such a big problem in places like Scottsdale, or maybe Palm Springs, where everyone is in a perpetual state of golfing anyway. Or maybe Florida, where large numbers of retired people are using their golf carts to do stuff like to go shopping at Walgreens, to meet at the Golden Corral Buffet, or to plan a big heist at the Moose Lodge Bingo Extravaganza. You expect to see the golf carts on the sidewalks...and highways...and sometimes involved in dangerous pursuits. It just comes with the territory.

It's First World senior problems.

"Get off mah lawn!"

"Don't tell me what to do, Mavis!"

 

But, I'm not sure how to address this ever-increasing social problem in Humboldt County, where the populace just isn't used to the hard-core criminal golf cart activity.

I'm thinking we need to get the tweakers to talk to the stoners, and maybe convinve them to switch over to dune buggies.

 

Dude.

Circumnavigating Ubiquitous Existential Gangsterism....

So, there's this girl I kind of, sorta like a little bit. It turns out that she thinks intelligence is sexy. So, having smarts up in my head like I do, I decided that I needed to impress her with some real big words...and to wear my reading glasses everywhere (hoping that she finds running into doors sexy too)...

At the same time that this circumstantial situationalism was developing, our friend (who I will refer to here as BM, mostly because his initials are BM-and that makes us think of 'bowel movement,' which sets us off into immature fits of giggling) was the target of some vocabulitanarianistic ridiculism. He had no choice but to defend himself. We both outdid ourselves...

It all started when my friend BM sent my friend SE a friend request on facebook. I didn't have time to warn her, and she accepted. So, BM posted this to her wall:

"Hi. My name is Poop. I like long walks on the beach and staring at crystals."

SE: Wow. That's quite a list there, poop. I'm soooo, soooo glad that I accepted your friend request. Soooo glad. Glad.

JN: Oh SE, you didn't...

SE: Glad.

SE: Hahahahahahaaha!

BM: Isn't it THRILLING??!

BM: People of intelligence think I'm the shiznit!

BM: I love me today! Can I get a wut, wut????

SE: You mean people with this kind of intelligence??

BM: ROFLMAO

SE: The last time I had one of these um, new friend requests of a certain type...it lasted about 2 weeks until his 'caretaker' deleted his account. Somehow, I fear I won't be so lucky this time.

BM: I have my caretakers "tied up" right now. Wink. Wink.

So, Bill started it.

...and then came...the words...

"Add, 'I'm dizzy, and I'm pretty sure I strained my sternocleidomastoid' to the list of sentences I never thought I would say. Ever."

KW: How in the blazes did you get that word unwound off your tongue?? Good God, girl. That sprained me brain just trying to read it LOL..

CE: What have you been smoking?

JN: HAHAHAHAHA...yesterday I got litigious about disgruntled pumpkin vaginas and SN asked me what I had been eating...HAHAHAHAHA...

JN: KW, I know...that one hurt. I pulled a hamstring...

BM: My diameter is significant in that it amounts to ulterior dissemination.

BM: I think I just pulled an ass muscle.

BM: JN, get a meme ready.

BM: SE, JN keeps looking at me.

SE: Does she look perplexed?

SE: There's also horrified.

JN: Mortified comes to mind...

BM: She is splendifferously osteoporosis on the califragilistic.

BM: I just crapped myself.

SE: Hahahaaaahaa!!

SE: Osteoporosis..Hahaha!

SE: No offense to anyone suffering from that very debilitating condition. Thereby, therein..litigious...uh..

BM: Ligaments are surely to follow the perpendicular observation that SE has expostulated. My brain is melting.

JN: Ours too, Bill. Ours too.

JN: I think you need your bicarbonate recalibrated.

JN: It's adjacent to your subterfuge.

BM: Does any of this make sense to ANYONE???

KW: I scared cuz yeah, some of this makes sense to my head, but now my brain is primordial soup.

BM: Here we go, KW! It is a preposterous supposition to accentuate the paranomal proclivities of the clavicle intestine.

BM: I didn't want to do this JN.

BM: It is ALL KW's fault. Just sitting here contemplating my naval. And she starts in.

SE: I have NEVER in my life expostulated, BM...NEVER. I can't believe you'd even suggest...phhhffft! PHHHHHFFFT! NEVER!

SE: Clavicle intestine....BM. I'm gonna need to see a diagram.

JN: Oh now, SE...we ALL expostulate from time to time. Just eat more fiber. It will be fine.

SE: Hahaha! You're doing it now.

JN: I knew someone that was in a bike accident and had a clavicle intestine.

JN: Also some politicians.

KW: What is a clavicle intestine? I was afraid to ask.

SE: Hahahaaaaha! Sorry about your friend..Hahaha! And my irreverent laughter..Haha!

SE: KW...BM thinks the Hokey Pokey IS what it's all about...don't trust his knowledge of the human anatomy. No.

KW: Thanks SE for enlightening me.

JN: Not to be paranoid, but I think this is all counterintelligence.

KW: Sounds more counter allegiance.

KW: Orrrrrrrrrrr.....

JN: The shin bone connected to the shoulder bone. The shoulder bone connected to the knee bone.

JN: Five car pile up.

SE: The clavicle connected to the intestinal bone.

KW: Black hole. . . . ?

JN: I went to a bar in Castro District called the Intestine Bone.

JN: OK. I made that up.

SE: Deep Six Nine!

KW: I thought it was Deep Space Nine...?

SE: Castro! Yay!

KW: Or are you referring to 69..

JN: Directed by Rush Limbaugh

SE: Starring Ann Coulter.

KW: Aaaaahhhh...SE, I sent you a friend request.

JN: Omg.

KW: What? What?

JN: Send BM one. No, really...heh, heh, heh...

KW: I already did, and he accepted. Called me out right quick after, also...

JN: Bill...you are about to tangle with a poet and you don't know it

JN: Because you are extemporaneously predisposed to existential gangsterism...

DD: Jo, do not let me see that last post again, reposted as something you never thought you'd say.

NOTE: DD (Denise DeSio) is a published author and is kind enough to occasionally take on the tortured task of providing professional editing skills for my horribly mangled online "content"...

SU: Yeah, Jo. Don't do it.

JN: But...but...

SU: NO!

I thought we had, perhaps, all made it through these ridiculous exchanges without anybody needing a trip to the emergency room...and then...on another completely different thread....

BM: I wasn't aware that pumpkins were an amalgamated component to our interrelationship which correlated to the dysfunctional aspect ratio in-vitro risingsauce.

SE: Now you're aware, BM.

BM: GOOD CHRIST!! I think my brain just crapped itself with that last post.

JN: Dysfunctional aspect ratio in-vitro risingsauce?

JN: Wow.

BM: Spectacular.

JN: Philanthropically perpendicular to your interstitial striation circumference.

BM: Are we REALLY going to go there?

JN: Which sequentially creates an irascible stentorian demeanor inspired by my middle phallanges.

JN: Hey, it's your photosynthesis.

NOTE: This is where my retina detached and Denise DeSio's head just exploded...and then...

SE: Good lord, this conversation is HOT!

JN: It is?

SE: Umm, yes.

JN: Well then, you should observationally circumnavigate my centrifuge.

JN: Baby.

SE: Rendered speechless.

All I needed was proper motivation. I mean, you don't have to tell me twice...

In a private message I told her that I was, "Glad to an exponentially infinite proportion of gladness," about the whole thing. Then I told her that I couldn't wait to "allocate her rotunda."

I think I scored some points with the girl...although I have absolutely no idea what we said. I tried to use spell checker and was nearly blinded.

And, I think I may have lost my editor.

Litigious Disgruntled Pumpkin Vaginas From Outer Space...

So, this picture was posted on Facebook...as we near Halloween. It's a very cool pumpkin carving. The person who posted it (I will refer to her here as Sharla, mostly because her name is Sharla) made the mistake of captioning it, "Awesome! Except that it sorta looks like a very disgruntled vagina..."

This set off a discussion comments thread that I can only describe as...well...

Never mind. I can't desribe it...so I'm just going to share part of it. What follows is intended for mature audiences, even though "maturity" certainly had no part in the making of this thread...

TPAJ: Told you I was coming here, Hahahaha. I'll never come close to that vagina...something I never thought I would say. Tagging JN, LOL.

SE: No, TPAJ...I assure you this disgruntled vagina has no connection with JN's page. Nothing to see here...move along. Also, I'm in no way suggesting that another equally awesome pumpkin/vagina would appear here...umm...satisfied...so to recap, neither disgruntled nor satisfied vaginas directly connected to Jo's page will featured here...today.

JB: #vaginadentata

JN: Very disgruntled vagina is not a good name for a rock band.

BM: I love ya, SE. But you need serious help. Lol.

SE: True story, BM! Haha..

JN: How did we get all 'litigious speak' regarding the disgruntled pumpkin vagina?

SE: Hahahahahaha!! Oh no, you've misconstrued my statement regarding said disgruntled vagina. I was merely stating the facts surrounding this particular day versus say...tomorrow. Litigious...haha

BM: Your vagina GRUNTS? HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!

SE: There's no way you're gonna derail this crazy train...BM...it's already there! Haha!

JN: I steadfastly herein thereby maintain that the alleged said pumpkin vagina may or may not be hypothetically disgruntled, although I can neither confirm nor deny said alleged disgruntlement, and in the possible potentiality that said pumpkin vagina may manifest a level of unsuitable disgruntlement, I assume no alleged hypothetical prior knowledge or assumption of responsibility for the mood of this gourd's genitalia.

SE: I CAN'T . BREATHE!!!

SE: AaaaaaahhhHahahahaahaa!!!

SE: Oooh my god!!!! Hahaha!!

SE: Oh seriously, that has to be a status alert!! JN...

JN: I'm on it...but I might have peed a little...

MR: OMG

MR: This whole thread just killed me.

SE: Me too! Hahaha!

SE: Attack of the disgruntled vaginas!

JN: Directed by Rush Limbaugh

SE: Starring Ann Coulter.

JN: Omg...you're good.

JN: I can't stop giggling again...

This thread is still continuing on, much like Jason from the 'Friday the 13th' movies. There are actually several threads spanning across several pages now...maybe like 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'...

Happy Halloween!

Drunk Birds, alien clouds, and other social media intrusions

When I went to California a few months ago to help a friend, I discovered that she had tape across her laptop camera lens....and also tape across her phone camera lens. I asked her why, and she said it was so no one, especially the government, could use it to watch her without her permission.

I said, "Oh, OK...." Then I went into the kitchen and made her a hat out of aluminum foil so the aliens couldn't read her thoughts.

She didn't think that was very funny...but I was concerned that she might be crazy. She also looked really good in aluminum foil, but that was irrelevant. She said I was making fun of her.

Of course I was making fun of her. It's what I do.

Then I came home and started this whole blogging thing. When I researched how to become a rock star blogger, I discovered that if I wanted to have people look at the stuff I wrote, I was going to have to join a bunch of social media sites.

No big deal, I thought. I started with Google+....and it took about two days for me to totally freak out and start wearing an aluminum foil hat.

It turns out that when you sign up for these things, they all "sync" with each other...and in an instant they know EVERYTHING about you. Who your friends are, what your interests are, what you research, what you eat, what you buy, when you sleep, where you are, what you read, what you listen to...

I sat down at my computer and found a "notification" from Google+ asking me, "Is this you?" It showed me an image that somebody else had taken, a long time ago, where I was a person standing in a crowd of other people. There was a little square around my face, and I was supposed to confirm that it was actually me.

It was so unexpected...and I was having a really bad hair day in that photo...so I ran around the house screaming for a few minutes. Then I came back and actually read the "privacy statements" (HAHAHAHA) on a few of my social media thingies. They mentioned stuff about my accessing my GEO locator, my contacts list, my built in microphones and cameras, my emails...

So, after I put on my tinfoil hat, taped up my camera lenses, and went into the closet to keep reading about algorithms, face recognition capabilities, and to discover that every picture I've taken since 1984 (ironic) existed out there on some kind of "cloud," I totally freaked out and decided that I was going to delete it ALL. HAHAHA! ALL of it!

I mean, Facebook was scary enough...but at least I fully understood the privacy options. When I went to delete my Google+ profile, a warning screen came up to tell me that I could go ahead and do that, but that over the next few weeks they would gradually be deleting my Picassa photo albums, my gmail, my blog that I had been journaling in for the past eight years of my life, my contacts lists, my family, my friends, my cat, my self-esteem, my memory...and that once I hit that DELETE ACCOUNT button, I couldn't change my mind (which they would also be deleting)...and was I SURE that I wanted to do that?

I thought about it for a while (while crying in a fetal position), and I ultimately decided to embrace the WHOLE thing. I wasn't ready to erase my whole life...or my cat...in for a penny, in for a pound...as somebody (probably a Google alien) once said. Go big or go home! Why not, indeed?

So, I signed up for EVERYTHING.

It's how my falsely bifurcated brain works. Of course, Google+ already KNEW that, didn't they? HAHAHAHA!

So, now if I blog for ninety minutes, it takes me another three hours to share it to all of my social media sites. I mean, I'm blogging, stumbling, tumbling, tweeting, texting, instagramming, pinteresting, facebooking, my-spacing, soundclouding, googling, yelping, yahooing, foursquaring...I'm link'd in baby...

I'm exhausted. I sound very athletic, or sometimes, like a drunk bird...

stumble, tumble, and tweet...oh, my

Most of these social media things do link to each other, so if I submit to one of them, I might be submitting to twelve of them...my friends will probably get sick of seeing my "content" out there...but most are sensible enough to NOT have joined ALL of them.....like I DID...HAHAHAHA....OMG.....

I'm kind of afraid to talk critically about Google+...I've seen 'Silkwood'....and I've noticed the headlights behind me as I drive at night...

Of course I'm in Phoenix...which has a lot of traffic....so it could just be that...but, if I disappear, please check to see if I've been deleted. Or if I'm trapped in a cloud...or something.

Actually, I think that perhaps these guys (aliens) might have my best interests at heart. I woke up this morning to a notification that Google+ had talked to Yahoo, and they were concerned that I was overdue for a colonoscopy...so apparently they had given me one while I was sleeping...and everything checked out OK.

So, that was kind of sweet.

I'm watching you....

The Electric Kitty Litter Box of Insanity...

no one can see me...

laundry...fresh from the dryer...

So, I live in a home with two kitties. They are sisters, and I've known them since they were tiny kittens. They look almost identical, which is part of their, "It wasn't me, you obviously have me confused with somebody else" scam.

Several years ago they were left in a box on the porch at the house where I was staying. Of course, upon discovery, they used all of their "supernatural kitten powers of unreasonable cuteness" to get adopted by these homeowners. I mean, it was ridiculous.

Anyway, they aren't mine, but I'm quite attached to them (the cats, not the homeowners...although they are lovely people).

Back then the kitties ended up with their own room. I told you...TOTAL con artists. They have no shame.

It's now several years later, and I'm back in Arizona...again staying with my friends...and with these unreasonably cute cats. My friends needed to relocate, and they ended up moving into a smaller space with one less room. I am really fond of these fuzzy little jerks, so I volunteered to have their litter box and food dishes in my room.

Shut up. They're really cute (the cats, not the dishes and the litter box...although they are just lovely).

Anyway, they don't just have a regular, run of the mill litter box. No. They have some kind of fancy, motor driven, electric litter box that cost several hundred dollars and has a lifetime guarantee. I'm surprised it doesn't have a horn and an airbag.

Or maybe it does.

All I know is that for some reason both cats have to poop at around 3am every morning...and it's an extended, sequential sort of endeavor. I will be sound asleep, in the dark, and I will hear, "scratch, scratch, scratch......scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch...............................scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch...," until I finally sit up and yell, "REALLY?" at which time the first cat will finally stop scratching and exit the box.

For you to fully understand what I am about to describe to you, I must tell you that the electric kitty box is motion triggered, but that it also has a five minute delay (so as not to disturb the fuc***g kitty)...so, just when I start to get settled back into sleep, the dark silence is suddenly broken with, "RRRRRRR...rrrrrrr...RRRRRRR.......RRRRRRrrrrrRRRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRR.........squeak, squeak, squeak...RRRRRRR...rrrrrr...RRRRRRRRR...thud."

And then, it is quiet again...and dark...and peaceful...and I am just drifting off, back to sleep,,,when I suddenly hear, "scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.........scratch.............scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.................scratch, scratch, scratch...," until I finally bolt upright screaming, "ARE YOU FUC***G KIDDING ME!!??" at which time the second kitty will abruptly exit the box. (while also dodging my slipper).

By now I'm wide awake, huddled in the dark, tormented and WAITING,,,,because there is a five minute delay...and I KNOW it's coming...any second...any second now...it's coming..., "RRRRRRR...rrrrrrr...RRRRRRRR...RRRRRRrrrrrRRRRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRRRR...squeak, squeak, squeak....RRRRRRRR...rrrrrr...RRRRRRRRRR...thud."

And, it's done. There is peace...quiet...for a few seconds...

Right until both kitties decide that they are hungry, and will go over to their little glass food bowls, and I will hear. "clink, clink, clink............crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch...clink, clink...crunch, crunch, crunch..."

By the time the kitties decide they need to bury their leftover food for later, I am close to losing it, and they will claw pointlessly on the wall.

"Scratch, scratch, scratch......scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.................scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch...scratch, scratch..."

That's when I always clumsily turn on my bedside table lamp and maniacally flip the covers back, only to see both cats retreating hastily from the room.

This is what I usually look like in the morning.

No, not really. That was after I got some sushi from a gas station. (Don't ever do that).

Anyway, my friends think the cats might be doing it intentionally to purposely mess with my head. I don't think so, because every time I see them the next day, they are SO friendly, and unreasonably cute.

And besides...I always ultimately manage to get my sleep.

Right up until they climb into my venetian blinds.

Poetic Justice Delivered Via Fighter Jet...

I'm not usually pro anything when it comes to violence, or news about war and political unrest. It's always sad, frustrating, depressing...and I, like many I would imagine, feel helpless to do anything but watch it unfold.

So, I found myself a little surprised that I was actually slightly giddy about one of the items that came across my news feed.

It seems that The United Arab Emerates has their first female fighter jet pilot. It also seems that she drew the assignment of bombing the crap out of some ISIS targets in Syria,

It was her job, and I'm sure that it wasn't personal...right? But, there is a certain poetic justice involved in the fact that this obviously extremely competent and driven female soldier, from an Arab country, was firing missiles at men who would stone her to death if she inadvertently revealed her ankle at the bottom of her Burka...at men who would deny her access to education...at men who would punish her severely for failing to walk behind them in the street...at men who might actually kill her if she dared give voice to any contradictory opinion...

This woman not only participated in the bombing raids. She led them. And she was apparently disowned by her family for doing it.

I admittedly don't understand all of the cultural and religious complexities over there, and I admittedly use my western sensibilities as a yardstick by which to measure the "rightness" or "wrongness" of things...and this is biased and only partially informed.

As much as I am aware of this, however, I can't seem to overcome the impulse to jump up and down and fist pump the air over this story.

I know that sometimes crews on bombing missions would paint names on the sides of their bombs. I've always thought they should put female names on them...and I guess sometimes they do.

Then give them to Maj. Mariam Al Monsouri, and send her up in her F-16,

BOOM!

A non-sequitur moment

A waffle bird, For no apparent reason.

Thank you.

If God barfs Fruit Loops, MY mom can photograph it...

Look at what MY mom can do! She has the MAD skills with scenic and wildlife photography, Thanks to her love of nature and the lens, I grew up in and around some of the most wild and BEAUTIFUL places in the United States.

I am quite proud of her....

I have often longed to have the artisitic eye that she does.

I think her work is just amazing...she really has so much to do with my ability to see the world and all of it's beauty. These are just a few pics that she put up in celebration of Autumn, which is her favorite season.

I can see why it is! Who could ask for a better and more enthusiastic subject to photograph. It's nature, all dressed up! Or as I remember hearing that one of our friends' children described it, "It's like God threw up Fruit Loops."

Beautiful, right?

My mother's work has always made me wish I had the talent that she does. I'm going to keep trying in the hopes the photography gene might have been passed to me. Here's one of my most recent:

It's just our toaster, but I have to start somewhere.

I think maybe the photography thing isn't genetic. Dammit.

All up in my colon...yo.

So, it has been a long time since I've written anything publically, that was intended to be seen by anyone more than my friends and family. I'm trying the "freelance" writing thing (code word for 'I'm still broke).

I had to write a LOT in graduate school, and it had to be technically correct. Professors hated when I didn't spel stuff rite. Dammit. I would get my papers back all marked up with red ink. Go figure.

When I started actually TEACHING college (stop laughing) Washington State University (Go Cougs) had initiated a "writing portfolio" program. This is a program whereforeby (hee, hee) every undergraduate had to take a basic exam, and also submit three pieces of writing from their academic adventures before WSU would grant them a degree. These pieces of writing had to be approved by the professor or instructor of the course from which they originated. WSU, apparently, wanted to be sure they were producing literate graduates.

Whatever. All I know is that a lot of MY students wanted to submit papers that they had written for the courses that I had taught. So, I ended up having a whole bunch of students showing up at my office asking me to sign off on these term papers so that they could include them in their writing portfolio. Students and papers that I hadn't seen in several years...and I had to look at them from a whole new grammaristical lens.

Yes, I know I just made up a word. Stop judging.

Anyway, I invested in my own red pen (mine had sparkly ink), and I went to town, quickly discovering that I had no idea what I was doing. And, I still have no idea what I am doing.

For the record, I want to state now that I am fully aware of this. Although I am revisiting the rules of grammar, spelling, and punctuation on a "need to know" basis, I am going to continue to completely offend grammatararian sensibilities. I am going to continue to use creative spelling and to just make shit up when I am lacking a vocabulary word. I am going to continue to completely obliterate the rules of syntax and punctuation. My participles are going to freely dangle, and my tenses are going to have a time/space continuum crisis. Most importantly, I am going to continue to misuse these thingies.........these...thingies....

It isn't because I have no respect for the English language. It is because I'm lazy and ignorant. Duh!

Actually, I am going to take the time to refresh myself on the "rules." I would rather have a sharp stick directly in my eye than do that, but I can't call myself an 'author' (or 'autor' if I'm using the keyboard with no "h" on it) if I don't do the WORK. Blech. Ugh. Gross.

It will probably take me a few years to figure out the appropriate time and manner by which how to properly utilize......these....thingies....so, in the meantime, don't be a hater. Yo.