What Sympathetic Magic Should I Perform to Help the Cubs?
Don't watch the game, for god's sake!
Watch the game, for god's sake!
Fingers in ears, sing la-la-la!
Sacrifice to the gods of baseball
No, better, sacrifice to the dark gods, that'll go well!
All of the above
None of the above
Again I say - cats!
And my company is deliberately not responding to my questions about my phone.
I do NOT need this.
Must think of fluffy bunnies.
Actually, thinking of the gorgeous day, and the fact that I'm gonna drop down to see striking Chronicle Herald workers this afternoon before heading up to the Valley to visit with my step-dad again. (We visited for awhile yesterday, and told him we'd take him out to have ice cream this afternoon.)
So, that's good. And laptops can be replaced, or fixed (preferably the latter.)
Huh - I actually feel pretty good now! Vacation magic ....
I'm waiting to see if my computer will successfully upgrade to Windows 10, so I'm hunting and pecking this out on the iPad. That means that this post won't be long or involved. Still, I wanted to say that my Mothers Day present was breakfast (real breakfast at a corner diner, not a "brunch") with BB, FB and Ms Emily, and then we saw "Captain America; Civil War."
First, a side trip, to New York Times movie reviewer A.O. Scott's (I'm sure he'd prefer being called a film reviewer. Suck it, Scott) review of CA:CW. It's here if you want to read it. I read it, and ....
I don't believe I've read such an aggressively condescending review in years. It's not just what he says, it's how he says it - the "Look I really, really want all of you to understand that I didn't want to see this
I get it, you're meant for the finer things in life. But really? Did you have to pour all that refined venom into the mix?
I mean, maybe he actually hates "Aguirre, the Wrath of God," so perhaps I'm being a little harsh on him ...
Then I realized what happened here. He didn't actually go see the movie I saw.
Well, that cleared that up.
Maybe tomorrow I'll have a better post about CA:CW, but for now I'll say I found it extremely well written, remarkably well paced, respectful of both its actors and its characters, and filled with very chewy ideas.
Got the last of my unpacking done, and found that I'd left my little carved wooden box with my four favorite pairs of earrings, including one pair that belonged to my mother, in the hotel room in Cleveland. I called the hotel, spoke with housekeeping, and of course it never even made it to the lost and found box.
The worst of it is that I felt a completely unworthy anger at having left an extra tip when I left; not a lot extra, but enough that my room mate told me I shouldn't leave it, because she'd left a larger tip the day before.
I mean, what the hell, kaffyr? You can be mad that someone decided to take the box — and I will be oh, so glad to be proven wrong, if I could discover that I'd just pulled the box out of my suitcase late Sunday, and misplaced it in the house — but don't regret leaving the tip. You left the tip because you know that hotel workers don't get paid enough; whether or not one housekeeper couldn't resist taking the box doesn't change the fact that she or he should be compensated fairly, and isn't. And you should never refuse to give a tip because the person who gets the tip might be dishonest.
All of that aside, I am very sad. That box had the four sets of earrings that I wear. Every other set of earrings in my house, with the exception of two, is unwearable and kept only for sentimental reasons. I really should have listened to the tiny gut-voice that told me not to take the box this time (although I've taken it with me on plenty of trips before.) I didn't, and so I basically lost all of my earrings. And losing the ones that Mum used to wear is particularly hard.
I rarely talk about my dreams here. No, wait, I actually never talk about my dreams here.
But last night I dreamed about being in some sort of polyamorous marriage with Mark Ruffalo and Tilda Swinton, and having twins with Ruffalo, a girl named Ishtar and a boy named London. Who I had to introduce to an older boy and girl who I think must have been their half siblings courtesy of Tilda.
I ... I think I'm afraid to go back to sleep.
Ruffalo was absolutely lovely, mind you.
I'm a Doctor Who fan, which means I am — or should be — used to, and understanding of, the inevitable changes that come with the show. Doctors, Companions, even TARDISes, they all change. Writers come and go, as do directors. So do producers, that old-fashioned name for show-runners.
And today, I learned that my favorite Doctor Who show-runner, Steven Moffat has put in his papers, and will be leaving at the end of 2017.
( My disappointment and love, let me show you them )
As I said, I'm a Doctor Who fan. I can do change.
But damn, I'm going to miss Moffat.
Within the first 2 seconds after I saw the front page that the New York Daily News* planned to publish after the San Bernardino shootings, I also saw messages from people wailing that this was "prayer shaming." (Full disclosure, I was seeing all of this in what passes for real time on Twitter.)
The responses came so fast and were so alike that they raised a red flag in my head, and I was pretty sure that there were large numbers of people grabbing onto "prayer shaming" in an effort to blow smoke and obscure the real problem after yet another mass shooting - too many fucking guns and not enough intelligent gun control.**
Now, with thanks to supergee , I've been able to read Charles Pierce's measured response to the "prayer shaming" concept and the people who use it; if you wish, you can, too.
* Which is a rag, but it seems to have the right idea occasionally.
**By intelligent, I mean, no, not people coming to take your guns or your liberty. I mean, simply, what the words say; just a bit of control, if you please, Mr. LaPierre.
I pay occasional attention to a LinkedIn discussion group for online reporters and editors. It doesn't often have much to commend it, and today's post was ... well, here's the title: "As Newsrooms Have Layoffs, Content Could Suffer."
No shit, Sherlock.
*goes to bang head rhythmically against wall*
Short, and probably not completely sweet:
The Hugos. Kudos to Noah Ward, and pointing and jeering (albeit, believe it or not, with a great deal of sadness) and the Sad and Rabids, who have been involved in a frothing and gnashing of teeth-type declarations that "Our Loss Proclaims Our Win!" and/or "Our Loss Proclaims that The Tiny Clique of Evil Anti-Democratic SJW's Somehow Gathered Enough Votes to Beat Us
( Stupidity in real life )( Fun with coding, sort of )
And finally, I've started re-reading one of my favorite C.J. Cherryh series, the Chanur series. I had forgotten how much I loved all the characters, and the world-building; the hani, the mahe ... and, for providing really fascinating villains, the kif. And of course the methane breathers ... I'm into the fourth book and still loving it.
So - how's by everyone else?
Also - I promise I'll get back and respond to folks in earlier posts, and try to catch up with everyone else.
... but, based on previous bread making attempts, I know it will be good-tasting brick bread. Given that I've not made a loaf in months, I'm quite satisfied that a) it's my own fault, not the fault of materials or tools and b) that people will enjoy it (and also c) that once I get back in the swing of bread-making, this problem will disappear.)
In the meantime, while the bread is
Oh, and later, we'll enjoy more of a very nice chicken and biscuit stew I made yesterday, before enjoying (for very skewed values of "enjoying," I'm willing to acknowledge) the final few episodes of Attack on Titan, and perhaps something else.
I'm enjoying AoT far more than I expected to; then again, I enjoyed Kill la Kill more than I expected to. I think it presses a couple of specific buttons I have. One is the button of "living in the shadow of imminent war," specifically "living in the shadow of imminent war in which I, as an active combatant, stand a better than 50 percent chance of dying." I often have dreams about such scenarios. I have no idea why, but I've had them for years. They are not positive dreams, and it's not a positive button, at least not positive in the commonly-held way. But it's a very intense thing, a very alive thing.
The other button is Zombies! Mindless Zombies! Mindelss Zombies With Beatific Smiles! Fourteen-meter Tall Mindless Zombies With Beatific Smiles .. Who Eat People Because They Like To, Not Because They Need To! Did I Mention Mindless? Zombies With No Brains? Yesssssss!
It's a button that's key to a roiling stew of complicated fear and attraction to scenario that takes my Zombie Button reactions, force feeds them steroids and yeast, then puts them in an oven to watch them grow like the unholy beasts they are.
Put the two buttons together - and then introduce Intelligent Fourteen Meter Tall Zombies Who Might Be The Cure For The Other Ones ... yeah, I'm hooked.
So there's that.
Now I need to get back to the peanut butter cookies, and back to getting the pans ready for the not really buoyant bread-to-be.
All in all, not a bad way to head into the working week.
Well, we can scratch that plan of retiring when I'm 62 off the agenda. First, someone reminded me that although I can retire when I'm 62, I won't be eligible for Medicare until I'm 65.
And then I found out that I actually don't get 100% of my Social Security pension until I'm 66 years and two months old, not 65, as I'd assumed. That was an unpleasant surprise that came to me rather late, since the changes went into effect after a 1983 change in the law, and yes, I managed to miss it over the 32 intervening years, as I suspect a lot of people did (but seriously, kaffyr ... seriously? You, a reporter, managed to miss this rather huge change that was undoubtedly talked about at length publicly?) So if I actually quit when I was 62, I'd only get 74 percent or so of my pension. Augh. Not doable, not in the least.
This threatened to screw over my day - and, given that my shrink declined today to prescribe me the kind of anti-anxiety help that my two other doctors thought I should have on hand for emergencies, instead upping my regular dose of gabapentin instead - screwing over my day was not something I wanted to deal with.
And then I decided not to let it get me down. If I can manage to last even four more years, I'll get over 90 percent of my pension, and it will give me four more years to put into my 401K as well. And that's all to the good.
To be truthful, I think part of my desire to quit when I'm 62 is my belief that my current employer is going to try to break the union in 2017; I'm not sure it won't be successful, and the thought of working in a non-union environment, or losing any of the benefits that I worked very hard over the last few decades to gain, was filling me with a lot of not-so-nebulous dread.
Still - four years and change? I can do it ... maybe not standing on my head, but I can do it.