MORNING
The Bill Cosby thing. This is so wrong, but any feminist can tell you that is my pre-conceived, biased, unjustified, stereotyped, bigoted, intolerant, whatever image of women who suddenly remember they were “you-know” three generations earlier. Nope, I can’t unlearn the image and I have no incentive to change on this one. These alleged crimes always have two predictable qualities. A woman who never got anywhere in life AND a compromising situation with an older man with money.
Wait. There is a third predictable element. None of these women are babes, they only think they are. Even in their day, most of them barely passed muster in the average rankings. Rational people get a little rankled listening to these dumpy broads claim a rich or influential man sought them out. I understand these women are angry, but are they angry at the right person?
So, now Bill Cosby’s a sex-fiend? Upon closer inspection, a few details become clear, but one must always wonder why Cosby would have to force himself on anyone. This is the primary argument for a statute of limitations on sex crimes. You don’t bring up things like this thirty years later and expect much sympathy.
Well, thirteen women have accused Cosby of date rape—but tend to gloss over several facts. And the first among facts is what [in the hell] were these women doing alone late at night with Cosby (or any older rich man) in his hotel rooms or his apartment. This is not the behavior of innocent young women, the very act of accepting such an invitation is anticipation, gals. Or do I smell another Monica Lewinsky charade and court-room monkey dance?
But the most amusing detail is the accuser’s lawyer says the rapes all have a common theme. You bet, the same-old common theme that thousands of other vengeful women who, still nobodies later in life, could pick out of a hat. At his place, drinking, with nothing on their minds but a game of tiddley-winks. Why, the next thing they remember, albeit thirty years later, is waking up. The plot is wearing thin, ladies. I’m not saying nothing happened, I’m saying there should be a statute of limitations.
Makes one wonder how these same women, ahem, "fared" with their non-celebrity dates, or doesn’t that pay well enough? Nomsayn? Ladies, society is weary of your repressed memories. If I can learn to live with situations that happened when I was weak and powerless, let that be a lesson.
NOON
I’m still grumpy. And for good reason. See this caliper lever thingee? That’s what one end of my Goldwing clutch cable used to be attached to. It nicely broke off deep enough inside that I can’t even get the nub out. Good thing this happened in my driveway, bad thing I was in first gear. You don’t know this, but there is a way a Honda can jam in that gear and it chose this opportunity. I turned the photo sideways so I’d have more room to type. That’s a joke, Ken.
The replacement cable was hard to find but only $30, which is chickenfeed compared to repairing a car. I was on my way to get plywood, but now, you know, I think I’ll get on the red scooter and go for a beer and think. One good thing about carrying a grudge, it keeps the memory sharp. Or go to Starbucks and do navigational calculations. Everybody who goes to a Starbucks will leave you alone when you do anything that involves pencils and numbers. Insert New Mexico joke here.
Since I’m out of a job until I get the cable replaced, here is a gem called, “The $50 Lesson”. Enjoy.
I recently asked my friends' little girl what she wanted to be when she grows up. She said she wanted to be President of the United States. Both of her parents, liberal Democrats, were standing there. So I asked her, "If you were President, what would be the first thing you would do?" She replied, "I'd give food and houses to all the homeless people." Her parents beamed.
"Wow...what a worthy goal," I told her. "But you don't have to wait until you're President to do that. You can come over to my house and mow the lawn, pull weeds, and sweep my driveway, and I'll pay you $50. Then I'll take you over to the grocery store where the homeless guy hangs out, and you can give him the $50 to use toward food and a new house."
She thought that over for a few seconds, then she looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Why doesn't the homeless guy come over and do the work, and you can just pay him the $50?"
I said, "Welcome to the Republican Party."
Her parents still aren't speaking to me.
Yep, that cold beer is mighty fine-sounding right about now.
NIGHT
The area is being repopulated by Frenchies again. Including that jerk who threatened to report his bicycle stolen AFTER he found out I’d bought it at the flea market. That’s fine. In this world, you get what you deserve. Nothing changes, women that date losers always will, men who are stupid never grow up and happiness derives from living within your means. But dang, when the foreigners arrive, the whole Internet service slows down to near-bureaucratic levels.
After a brew downtown, I returned home, man, if you think this place is dead on weekends, don’t waste your time on a Monday. I learned which people I see on weekends are barflies. I mean, who takes their wife to the bar on Monday? To hell with this, I thought, stopped at the Russian market for munchies, and returned here to do some reading. It was reconfirmation that I miss nothing by not going out during the week. Give me a good book and a quiet radio station. On-line streaming is fine.
Mind you, one of the stations gave a talk on the Great Storm of 1953. Ever heard of it? There’s a reason why not. The British government was so overwhelmed and unprepared, there has been an effort to cover it up. A storm surge at night swept down the east coast for a thousand miles, wiping out villages and fishing fleets. But the warning stations were shut down at night to save money. Also, there was a chronic housing shortage and people lived in pre-fabs.
That’s today’s trivia. No large amount of housing was built in England since before the first world war. Then nothing in the twenties during recover, or thirties with the depression. Then the next war, and the country was still devastated in 1953, as much due to Churchill as to Hitler. Holland was also hit, but they live on polders and should have been ready. Scotland isn’t below sea level. Er, at least most of the time. No link but you can review this yourself by searching on “North Sea Flood”.
If you haven’t guessed by now, I prefer scientific, technical, and historical documentaries. You really have to search for them, it is ridiculous how much conspiracy and life-on-Mars nonsense is out there. It is annoying the tricks these slope-heads will do to get your attention. No, Mr. Cool, you will not blow our minds. There is a spate of “new discoveries” about World War Two, which merely parrot the shallow propaganda that was not even believed at the time.
Good example? The island-hopping of the Pacific campaign. Yes, it was tough going and lots of Marines died. But most of us don’t see the comparison between a Banzai charge by 700 Japanese to a Soviet assault with 1.2 million men on the same day. I still view items like North Africa and D-Day as sideshows compared to what happened on the Eastern Front.
And I notice ever more of the products at the Russian market are carrying in the list of ingredients a bold font “No GMO” label. While I’m not so sure about their regulatory standards, they are certainly on to the farce of a diet the corporations have created in America. What’s the name of that scheme for the corporations to take over the food production and treat it like any other resource, to be manipulated for maximum profit? I keep thinking Agenda 21 but that’s not it. Anyway, if the label is accurate, smart move, Moscow.
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