Gloom, Interrupted

 

I feel a tap on my shoulder, look up, and there stands my fairy godmother.

“Geez!” I shriek. “Don't you ever knock?”

“Where would be the fun in that? So, how're you doing?”

“Ugh,” I say.

“Unhappy, are you?”

“Neither unhappy nor particularly happy.”

“Sad?”

“No.”

“Depressed?”

“No.”

“Sick?”

“No. Just … blah. Why are you bothering me today, anyway?”

“Hey, I'm no bother, chica. It's my job to check in on you every now and then.”

“Well...”

“So, what's the problem?”

“No problem. I'm just … bored, I think. With everybody and everything.”

“So, what do you want to do about that?”

“I don't know.”

“What do you want?”

“I don't know.”

“What do you need?”

“I don't know. That's my problem. I feel like I need or want something that I'm missing, but I don't know what it is.”

“Well, you're no fun. Why don't you give it a thought and I'll check back in on you sometime this decade.”

Whereupon she whops me upside the head with her wand and disappears in a poof of glitter.

She'll be back, and I'll still be bored. But I will give it some thought and see if I can think of what it is I want.

And that's all she wrote.

Drama Club

 

Remember the old Doors song? Damn, they are, aren't they? Strange, that is. People. 

I'm not opposed to peeking in on a little drama in a voyeuristic kind of way every now and then. If I'm to be honest, I must admit that it can be amusing to observe and poke fun at certain people, places, and things occasionally. Of course, if I'm the subject of the drama, I'm not going to take it lying down. I'll throw some mud back and I guarandamntee you the other guy will come out more bloodied and bruised than I.

And then it's time to be done with it.

I don't get it when people just keep on and on with it, practically ad infinitum. Maybe that's something unique to those of low to no class. I don't know. All I know is that broken records irritate the crap out of me. I thought I was done with drama club when I escaped high school.

I thought one little bit of drama somewhere or another had been resolved, but noooooooo. What a dummy am I. Are people really that oblivious? Screw it, I'm getting a friggin' chicken. Bwaaaak.

Plan B

I am setting aside my Voodoo lessons for now. I've been advised that I'm going to need bigger guns than that for what I have in mind. And that I can't afford all the dolls I'd need. So, on to plan B. Hmmm. Let's see. Someone told me that education is the ticket. I don't think so. I mean, we're talking about grownass adults who've already been through the education system. It clearly didn't faze them. A scroll through social media can attest to that. Somebody else told me to take up arms. I really don't think so! I'd probably shoot my own foot off. Mass hypnosis could work, but who would perform it? Besides, I think that's already been done. And therein lies the problem.

So – no Voodoo, not my own militia, not my own cult, not my own university. I'm stumped. But it'll come to me. I know – maybe zombies. They took out plenty of asshats on The Walking Dead. I'm going to give that some thought, see if there's an instruction manual. I know where to get some, where there are whole big herds of them, in fact. I wonder if they'll come if I whistle? I know noise attracts them. Or maybe I could just yell some nonsense at them and they'll come running. Or shuffling, at any rate. We shall see what we shall see.

Voodoo Part Deux

 

Day 2 of my emergency Voodoo education: somebody told me I'm going to need some chickens. What?! Dear God, do they have to be live chickens? Or can I use, like, rubber chickens? What on Earth do you do with them? I can tell you right now I'm not fond of live chickens. An aunt had chickens when I was a kid and those fat little bastards chased my siblings and me and pecked at our feet. No way am I subjecting myself to that again. I guess I'd better be finding out if there's chickenless Voodoo. The only place I want to see a chicken is on my plate, nicely roasted.

I love Godsmack's “Voodoo” and I could definitely play that the whole time I'm doing whatever it is I'll be doing. Just please, God, don't let it be chicken rituals. Drums, check. Bonfire, check. Dancing, check, as long as nobody calls me spastic. And no damn live chickens.

My education continues.

Voodoo 101

 

I'm thinking about taking up Voodoo, and I need a primer. First things first, I guess. Like, where do you get the dolls? Is there a supply house somewhere in the country, while we still have a country? And how about those pins? Do they have to be sterling silver or can you use plain old stainless steel? Do you stick it in gently, or do you jab that sucker like it has a name and you mean business?

Are you supposed to say anything when you stick the doll? What are the words? Is there a book for that? Would Google know? Maybe there's a Voodoo for Dummies book at Amazon. I'll have to look.

I need to get started on this project fairly soon. I believe it's rather time-critical. I just hope I don't screw up and turn myself into a jackass or something and start cavorting around spouting gibberish. That would suck.

 

And so it begins. 2024. What will this new year bring? Who can predict? Not I. All I can predict is that it'll be interesting – and that I'd better be ready for anything. Could be a great year, could be difficult in any number of ways. Time will tell. Hope for the best but prepare for the worst. And that's about all I've got on that. I could make a few predictions of my own, but geez, where is Nostradamus when you need him?

Hustle and Bustle

Here in Virginia, we keep flipping back and forth from fall to winter. One recent day it was 81 degrees. 2 days later it was 40. That's a shock to the system. And the time flipped back from DST. I hate that. It takes a while for my inner clock to adjust, and it's not there yet.

We're expecting some sort of possibly severe storm this weekend. That could get dicey. I learned my lesson when the power went out for nearly 2 days last Christmas. I'm always prepared now. And I won't freeze, as temps are in the 50s and 60s. Nothing like last year's 1 degree and 50 mph winds!

It's a busy time of year even with nothing else going on. There's still shopping to do, items to procure, stuff to mail, stuff to decorate. And, of course, the mundane waits for no one; still has to be done. Christmas is coming up fast. I have got to get my cards done and out. No houseguests are expected this year, so at least I don't have to go through the ritual of deep cleaning. There's a lot to be said for that.

And … my neighbors continue to amuse and bemuse.

Whichever holidays you celebrate, I wish you happy ones!

 

Under the Big Top

 “Circus” nowadays doesn't mean what it used to mean. Rather, it now connotes chaos. We're living under the Big Top and the clowns have usurped the Ringmaster. I don't like clowns, or their puppets. Remember Pennywise, the biggest, baddest clown of them all? I've loathed the creatures ever since. I don't like trolls or rabid hyenas, either. And I really don't like flying howler monkeys, the clowns' enforcers. They throw frickin' crap and watch to see what sticks, and zombies in the bleachers cheer.

With the circus run amok, there is a disquieting undercurrent rippling through society. Suddenly, public insults, bullying, mocking, gaslighting, crassness, conspiracy theories, and general vulgarity are acceptable behavior. Is a base nature really what lurks beneath the human veneer? Maybe we've only pretended to be civilized all these years.

Look around. This IS our circus. These ARE our clowns. Those ARE our monkeys. We have to deal with it. Alas, the circus has grown too big and widespread to run it out of town. Somebody had better put on their hip waders, gather up some villagers with torches and pitchforks, and figure out a way before we all end up as sideshow attractions. Otherwise, Pennywise might well drag us all down to float in the sewer.  

It Doesn't Take A Crystall Ball

 

I saw a meme recently that really resonated with me. It said

Intuition

When you don't know how you know,

But you know you know,

And you know you knew,

And that's all you need to know.

I rely a lot on my intuition. Always have, from an early age. I trust it and I am firmly convinced that intuition, that primal gut instinct, has played a large part in keeping me alive all this time. When you have it, you feel it. It's always on duty, and it kind of has a megaphone. As long as intuition is working, nobody has to tell you there's danger or aberration or wrongness around. You'll know it instinctively. I've always paid attention when intuition told me there was something wrong with a person, or that I should avoid certain situations, or that it would be the height of stupidity go to certain places, or when friends weren't really friends. And it's always served me well. Time proved that indeed there was something wrong with those persons, places, and things.

I've sometimes coveted the gifts of clairvoyance and precognition, but that's okay, I don't need them. As long as I have good old fashioned intuition and heed it, I should make it through the rest of this journey of life just fine.

Fall...

 

...is just around the corner. Thank goodness! It's been a long, hot summer. And a crazy one. We've had superstorms, wildfires, extreme heat, tornadoes, drought. You name it. We've really run the gauntlet. Oh, and COVID is still around. Darn thing just keeps mutating all over the place. People in my neighborhood are sick with it, even hospitalized. About all we're missing to round out the year are plagues of locusts and frogs. And a sense of humor. That's sure missing.

I swear, so many people these days have no sense of humor whatsoever. You really have to watch what you say. You can't joke about the old stand-bys like politics and public figures and stupid things people do. People are so sensitive. If you joke about rain gods or, God forbid, Voodoo dolls or any old thing that nobody in their right mind used to take seriously, people look at you like you ought to be burned at the stake. And that may come. Nothing is off the table in these times. And they are burning books and banning the weirdest things. These are strange days.

Winter is coming. We know this because Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas stuff is already out in the stores. I guess retail still has a sense of humor. Who knows what Winter will bring this year. More storms for sure. Blizzards maybe. Perhaps glaciers. Or, in these times, Winter hurricanes and heat waves. Times are crazy enough for anything to happen. And ... Winter is coming. Buckle up.

Of Bad Antics & Semantics

 

I really wish the word “hater,” in its current connotation, would disappear from the vernacular. Sounds like one of those Newspeak words to me. I can disagree with your opinion and not hate you. You have every right to disagree with my opinion, but you don't hate me. Not even best friends agree on every single thing. They're not going to hate each other over it. And yet I see the word “hater” a dozen times a day just because someone doesn't like or agree with someone else's point of view. What a ridiculous concept! Believe me, if I hate you, you'll know it. And it'll take a hell of a lot more than not agreeing with me to make me hate you. Shoot, you used to be able to sit at a dinner table with people of different political/religious/cultural persuasions and talk about such things as who you might vote for or current events, and nobody cussed, spit, or shot at anyone else.

Everything is contentious these days, it seems; a total maze of confusion. People with different political affiliations revile each other. People who don't look or dress or speak the same as everyone else are mocked and ridiculed. People of different faiths can't tolerate each other. People from different countries, cities, and neighborhoods are viewed with suspicion. One almost can't take a middle-of-the-road position on any issue any more. You have to be either for or against, liberal or conservative, Republican or Democrat. You're looked askance at if you can see both sides of an issue or if you lean one way on one thing and the other way on another. You're pressured to stand either for or against, no in between.

There are some elements in our society that should not be condoned, venerated, or celebrated, just because a normal civilized society wouldn't. I could name them, but I'd risk being labeled uncool, old fashioned, narrow minded. A hater. Rational thoughts about such things fall into the category of plain old common sense. Which, alas, seems to have gone the way of the dodo. Everything has to be complicated and convoluted and argued to death, no common sense permitted. If you look at something stupid and call it stupid, somebody's going to call you a hater. Any absurd thing, why, give it a new name, hype it and call it normal and it's suddenly socially acceptable. Welcome to 1984 2023.

The Heat Is On

Dang, it's hot! It's been 90 or above for the last 2 weeks where I live, and creeping close to triple digits the last 2 days. I hate extreme heat. I don't like extreme cold, either, but when it's cold you can at least add more clothes or blankets. There's not much you can do when it's too hot. All I can say is, thank God for air conditioning. It's hot all over the country and I hate to even think of people trying to survive without AC, especially in those places where it's 118 degrees in the daytime and in the 90s at night. If anybody is reading, and that's a big “if” because I'm starting to wonder if blogging has become obsolete and nobody is reading... Maybe so, but I never, not even on a double-dog dare, put anything personal on Facebook. It's too full of trolls and hackers. Still, if anyone is reading, I'd like to hear how hot it is where you are.

Some of my neighbors are making me hot under the collar, too. I swear, an inordinate number of them are in bitch mode lately. Duplicity, back-stabbing, gossip, and hypochondria are running rampant. Geez, whatever ailment someone has, another one has to up the ante and claim hers is worse. I think some of them are just talking themselves into early graves, but hey, not my problem. It's getting hard to resist the impulse to reach out and slap some moron to make him/her shut up with his/her idiotic blather. Yeah, I'm in bitch mode, too. It's the heat!

I'll tell you what else has become a problem. Some of the more surly old crones around here seem to think I'm antisocial because I don't give out my personal information. There's a woman here who thinks it's her holy mission to type up and hand out “directories” containing information on all the tenants. By that, I mean full name, nickname, address, phone number, and date of birth, everything but SSN and firstborn's name. There are people coming and going here all day long. Some residents have cleaning people, some have home health aides, some have unsavory looking friends and relatives, there are an untold number of delivery people, yada yada. In my opinion, the information contained in that directory is an open invitation to identity theft should it fall into the wrong hands. If they're gullible enough to hand over their details, that's on them. I'm not giving my info up, and if they want to stick horns and a pitchfork on me, so be it. I'll laugh all the way to the bank when their accounts get hacked and mine don't.

No Easy Fix

 

I have only one thing to say today: You can't fix stupid.

You can try to rationalize a stupid thing or idea or trend or law, etc., etc. You can make excuses for it. And God knows there will be a multitude of people who are going to try to normalize and excuse every stupid thing to come down the pike. You can philosophize over it til the cows come home, which may be any time now. You can debate its merits, or lack thereof. You can slap a warning label on it. You can whine all over social media that something stupid is simply misunderstood. You can get down in the dirt and brawl about it. But chances are pretty good that you're not going to fix it.

If some backwater politician gets up on a soapbox and tells people they're going to have to sacrifice their firstborn, an elderly goat, and 2 frisky chickens while salsa dancing under a full moon in order to ensure a good crop, how many are going to do it? Who knows? But if a few of the more influential start dancing around a bonfire, the rest of the herd will probably follow instead of arresting the guy for a fool. Nothing is going to change the fact: stupid is stupid.

And, more's the pity, you just cannot fix stupid.

When You See Red...

When some people see red flags, they think “Oh boy, a carnival!” Others run. I'm one of the others, because my brain functions somewhat normally. Life is already a funhouse. Why exacerbate it?

Sometimes I wonder if some of the folks who ignore red flags are secret masochists. They must know better. Surely, a lifetime of school, church, and life experience might have taught them something, like how to recognize red flags. Beats me how they not only can't see them but oftentimes flock to embrace them. I just hope I never become blind enough and deaf enough and brain-dead enough to no longer see and pay attention to huge red flags waving right in front of me.

In these times, to ignore blatant red flags could very well mean the difference between life and death – on a huge scale. As long as I remain in possession of my faculties, I'll be running the other way. Who wants to live in a carnival, with clowns and hucksters and shady carnies? Not I.

Us v. The Universe

Some days I find myself saying I give up, I concede, let the Universe do what it will with me. Other days I say heck no, I'm not giving in to any old Cosmos. I have a backbone and a brain that works reasonably well. Well, most of the time. Sometimes. In any event, whatever problem I'm having, I know I'll figure it out and come out on top of it. I'm an optimist. But I'm also a pragmatist. To me, everything goes either up or down, forward or backward, onward or sideways, right or wrong. Gray areas don't always count for much. Either do it, or don't. But if you do it, do it right.

Some day, there may come a problem that none of us can circumvent. I don't know what we'll do then, other than face it, tackle it, and see what happens. The human spirit is strong, but is it a match for the Universe? We'll just have to see.

C'est la vie.

 

DIY Therapy

 

Why am I blogging again after such a long hiatus? I've always found writing to be somewhat cathartic and/or therapeutic. Things occur to me. All the time, often at the most inopportune times. So what's the thing to do? Write it down.

Of course, I'm just talking to myself. I know that. Still, better to put things down on a page than to have them rolling around in my head and keeping me awake at night. Who knows, perhaps something I have to say will strike a chord with someone else, cause them to smile, or cuss, or say “Oh, yeah.”

So, what am I talking to myself about today? Not a lot. Mundane stuff, like stop procrastinating and make the appointment for your overdue eye exam. Stop fantasizing about choking the neighbor man every time he says something idiotic. Go to bed earlier; nothing good happens in the wee hours. Stop dwelling on poor decisions you made 40 years ago. Whatever happened to the guy I dated when I was 25? Like that.

But I just might have something more interesting to talk to myself about some other day.

And now I bid a

fond adieu until I speak

with me tomorrow.

Birthdays, Dog Days

 

I had a birthday recently. No big deal, just a day like any other. I became a year older, but still no big deal. We all have to do it, like it or not. The alternative isn't very appealing. Not all of my friends wished me a happy birthday. That's okay. You can't dictate other peoples' actions. Or manners. No big deal. Except it kind of is.

Were my feelings hurt? Yes. A little. Did it kill me? No. Nobody ever died for lack of a greeting. If I were going to die of hurt feelings, I'd have been dead years ago. Stuff happens. And you move on.

I thought about getting myself another dog for my birthday. It's been a year and half since I lost my last precious little dog. And a home without a dog in it feels empty. A dog's joy at simply living is infectious and just makes you feel good. But so far I haven't been able to bring myself to get another one. The pain of losing her is still so raw. I have 2 urns here now, and I just don't think I could stand going through that heartbreak again.

I don't know which is worse, not having a dog or enduring the pain of losing one. Maybe someday. I never say never. But I think ... not now.

The Hieroglyphics of IT

My apartment complex is geared toward people of retirement age. There are a few Gen Xers and millenials, but they're a story for another time. The majority of residents are in their 60s, 70s, and 80s, and when it comes to technology, some of them may as well be living in the Dark Ages. They don't get it, and don't want to. Trying to explain, much less teach, technology to some of them is like trying to nail Jell-O to a wall. These are “old” people, and by that I mean just a few years older than me. There's "old" and there is old. Geez! If you ask some of them about social media, you're just going to get a blank stare like you're speaking Swahili. They don't know what a blog is, or how to use email. They probably think I'm practicing Voodoo when I pay my rent or order groceries online. If you mention scanning to them, they're going to run away from you. Many of them have smartphones, but they're strictly to make calls on. And even that can get problematic.

Ruby, Opal, Jade, Sapphire, and Pearl get together every afternoon for a gossip session. And let me tell you, these ladies can judge a person and rip them to shreds in a hot minute. They're in everybody's business and have an opinion on everything and everyone. And you'd better believe they believe their opinion is the only one that counts. I think that if they heard someone passing gas too loudly in his own apartment, they'd bang on the door and demand to know what on earth he's been eating. They're like their own little religious order, trying and judging, pronouncing sentence, and excommunicating and shunning anyone who doesn't agree with them. Some people refer to them as the Big Sisters of Little Mercy. But today, they're ripping technology.

Opal: I had to text a code to the box office this morning to get a discount on my play tickets.

Ruby: I didn't know you knew how to text. Is it hard?

Opal: Not at all. I went and got that young girl, Kate, to send it for me. (Kate is 63)

Jade: Don't feel bad, I can't text, either. I tried it once and found out it went to the mayor's office. And the teensy keyboard isn't anything like high school typing class. If your fingers are bigger than Thumbelina's, you just can't do it.

Pearl: Yeah, I don't know how they expect us to figure out where to send it. How the heck do you get the message to the right person? Do they think you're telepathic or something? Or maybe the phone is?

Opal: Shoot, that's what I have Kate for. She was pretty huffy this morning, though. Said she'd already showed me how to do it 5 or 6 times. And she did, but it's just way beyond me. Welp, if she doesn't want to send my messages, I can always get one of the other kids to do it.

Sapphire: True, but you probably ought to learn how to do it yourself. Me, too. I feel kind of silly having to ask other people all the time how to use my own phone. It's all Greek to me. I swear, these smartphones are the devil's work, if you ask me.

Ruby, Jade, and Pearl: Amen!

Sapphire: Tell it, sister. Hallelujah! There shouldn't be all this computer stuff all over the place. It's evil, I tell you. All these computers and genius phones and tablets and the like. We don't know what's inside those things!

Opal: Amen, sister! And now the manager wants us to start emailing instead of calling her all the time. And did y'all get the memo about scanning documents instead of bringing them to the office? Lord have mercy!

Jade: Amen. That woman needs an exorcist. And you know that snooty Marsha up on the 5^th floor? She drinks, you know. I see a wine bottle when she takes her trash out every week. Anyway, she just got one of those gadgets that you tell it what to do and it answers you and does what you told it to.

Ruby: No! Why, that thing could murder her in her sleep one of these nights. We ought to get up a petition for the manager to ban all this evil stuff from the premises before we all end up going to h-e-double hockey sticks. Let's join hands, ladies. We've got some thinking, praying, and planning to do. 

Tick-Tock

 

My go-to books are generally in the mystery/suspense, police procedural, and hard-boiled detective genres. But I also read a lot of dystopian fiction. Especially lately. Is it fiction, or is it a glimpse into the future? I kind of look at dystopian literature as tips and primers for when TSHTF. And it will, maybe this week or next, maybe in a year or two, maybe in a hundred years. Sure, it's fiction, but surviving is surviving, and the characters in these books figure out how to survive. Or die trying. Could be an asteroid, a nuclear event, a solar flare. Could be plagues, pestilence. Might be natural disasters or wars. There's no predicting. But it'll be a mess. We can predict that. People might band together since there's some semblance of safety in numbers. Until there isn't. They might go tribal. I know my tribe; that's good. And I know other tribes; maybe not so good. Will we all survive? Some of us? There's just no predicting.

I read a good bit of non-fiction as well, chiefly biographies of well known but deeply flawed public figures in an attempt to figure out what in the name of all that is holy makes them tick. It's fairly obvious to rational, reasonable people. Others tend to flock to them and venerate them as idols, martyrs, saviors... Sorry, I'm nowhere near desperate enough to prostrate myself at the feet of some puffed up movie star or politician or billionaire. I believe I'll continue thinking for myself and doing what I know is right for myself and those around me. I don't need to be told what to think by tarnished tin gods and demagogues. I know right when I see it, and I know what's wrong. I didn't start life as a fluffy little lamb so I already know.

On the topic of post-apocalyptic novels, I highly recommend Swan Song, by Robert McCammon (1987). In my opinion, it's the best of its genre ever written, similar to Stephen King's The Stand, but perhaps better, and the "event" is nuclear rather than plague. I've worn out several hard copies over the years and now I have it on Kindle. I'll be re-reading again this Sumer and, as always, it'll be epic. Lucifer's Hammer by Jerry Pournelle & Larry Niven (1977) is another timeless TEOTWAWKI pick. The "Hammer" is a ... comet. Always good for a re-read.

The Birthday Party

 

Neighbor Jessica recently had a birthday. To celebrate, her kids threw her a catered party. Where? In the complex's clubhouse. Who was invited? “Some” of her neighbors; namely, 25 out of 40 in the building. Why? Well, when some of the uninvited found out about the event and some asked questions, Jessica's unapologetic response was that she was limited to 25 guests. All righty, then. That makes sense. It was her party and her prerogative.

What doesn't make sense is why on earth she wouldn't choose a different venue for her party when the clubhouse was in full view of everyone in the building. And she knew she was only inviting the “in crowd,” i.e., those who subscribe to certain views, opinions, and judgments. That is to say, hers. She had to know there were going to be hurt feelings.

Tacky, Jessica. Very not classy. And weird. Which only goes to demonstrate why the building is nicknamed Weirder Things.