One year ago today: September 13, 2016, work on the floor.
Five years ago today: September 13, 2012, behind my most famous video.
Nine years ago today: September 13, 2008, invited to Thanksgiving.
Random years ago today: September 13, 2013, ladies, your date is here.
Another night without electricity, but I can see the crews working all the way down the avenue. I used this hurricane to test my arrangements and some changes must be made. Including a stockpile of butane and propane. I’m using up supplies at close to twice the rate as usual. It was futile, but I did ask around about a generator. The least I should get is one that will run a fridge all day, an AC at night, and at least one light an a computer. The stores say nothing is available for weeks.
Things are getting back to half normal, I was able to get my phone working. The shops are open, but the Internet was down. And the shops can’t pay the bills without the connection. If you are reading this, the library is open. Always try to go back over the previous few days whenever there is a break in my posting schedule. The material is there, whether if makes it on time or not. The links are a popular feature so I try to keep up with that. Once again, I have no camera. I will format some SD cards on the computer to try to kick-start one of my Vivitars.
Another thing I don’t have is candle lanterns. I haven’t had time to pursue that with all the work on the floor. What a shame. A shop that can build hurricane lanterns and along comes a hurricane and I don’t have a single working model. Some operation I’m running over here. This is one of the cleanup crews racking up the major overtime around the city now and for the next week. Who needs sleep, guys, there are hundreds of trees knocked down and the county is picking up the overtime. Geronimo!
Alleged pirate buried treasures.
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Here’s an item, not that I normally rely on millennial sources like Reddit. I found this list of what most of the men who responded to a question about what would they consider crazy in a woman. That is, according to the men who have dated them, that is, user comments. That means use your brains and consider the source. These are the top things said or done by women who men that dated them reported as dangerously insane.
“Everyone is against me.”
“I don’t cause drama, but it always finds me.”
None of her kids have the same last name.
Women who love horses are essentially rich cat ladies.
“I’m not like other girls.”
“Even my own family won’t talk to me.”
Has problems with more than 5 people at work.
Overly attached too soon.
Has apparently loads of free time.
Goes through your phone or papers without permission.
Identifies with other crazy people.
No female friends
Wears more than two rings.
New Age – the healing crystal thing, spirits, Atlantis.
Sends naughty pictures without being asked.
Excessive voice-mails.
No desire in life but to be a mother.
Crazy in bed means crazy in the head.
Works at any type of salon.
Manipulative crying.
If none of those in the list make any sense, I’m reminded of the original excuse for everything I heard in my life. I was just a kid, and it was said by this lady named Marilyn Monroe. “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.”
To me that always meant if you didn’t think she was perfect, you were intolerant. I’m more the “yours, mine, and ours” type, but nothing to do with the TV show. I see my relationships as having all three components. When it comes to habits, I don’t expect to change mine or the woman to change hers. But when it comes the parts that are ours, now you are into what can change and often must. No, you can’t bring old boyfriends home to visit. And there are times you hang up the phone on your own mother. I will help with the cooking and dishes. I’m talking about that whole area of things done together. And you’ve heard me repeatedly grouse about how difficult it is to find a woman with any interests or diversions. I’ve never even met a woman who does something as boring as stamp collecting. Well, just the boring part, never the stamps.
“Patience is despair
disguised as a virtue.”
~ Ambrose Pierce.
Next on NPR, we find Vanessa, who has written a book on Obama’s “righteous” work to crack down on date rape, particularly on campus. This caught my ear because the majority of men I ever saw on campus have two choices for sex: rape or marriage. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? What happened under Obama is campuses were allowed to conduct kangaroo courts, where the accused had far less rights than a real trial. This can be serious, as some colleges often put details of such charges on the student’s permanent transcript. This punishes them for life, even if they are innocent.
These alleged rapes were not a problem when schools were segregated. On campus, the incidence of forceful, violent rape is exceedingly rare. If it happens, I’ll bet my dollar it is due to some male-dominated jock or frat member and a drinking party with the gal smashed out of her head. Next think you know the accused can be threatened with expulsion if he does not provide evidence without even knowing the charges against him or allowed legal representation. That is never acceptable from my viewpoint.
First of all, the placing of social detail on a transcript, that is wrong on every level. The colleges are not there to chaperone after-hours or dorm behavior. You got gads of teens away from parental restrictions for the first time and the atmosphere is highly sexual. My best two years ever were second and third year university at the dormitory. I only wish I had known that was the end of an era, both age-wise and in theory. With a few years the sexual revolution was over, and what a glorious time it was. Most guys, including my brothers, went through the revolution shooting blanks, so to speak.
What grabbed my attention however, was the approach this Vanessa was into. She was not only saying she thought it was the college’s job to police student conduct, ridiculous in itself (but reminiscent of the public school system), but, says Vanessa, it was . . . Wait, I just know you are going to half-die laughing when you read this. Says Vanessa . . . are you ready . . . the colleges should be accountable to ensure that if students engage in sex, it must be “compassionate and thoughtful sex”.
See, see, I told you you’d kill yourself laughing. Vanessa just confined herself to the heap of laughing stocks that America has been amassing inside their abandoned missile silos. Vanessa, you see, knows far too much about rough sex than ugly women ought to and has been reading too many Harlequin romances. Now she wants laws that threaten men to provide what women like her can’t attain on their own. If she could get off her high feminist horse (and maybe under it), she might be taken seriously. But legislating her romantic fantasies? Disgusting, Vanessa, just beyond pathetic.
[Author's note: the lady mentioned above is Vanessa Grigoriadis, who has the the dubious distinctions of posting decade old posed pictures of herself and being physically thrown out of rooms by people she tricked into interviews that were really a forum for her ultra-liberal, almost fanatical, feminist views. Maybe college campus parties are male-dominated, but nobody is forced to attend them.]
Grigoriadis is around 31 by now, a hack writer for the New York Times (gee what a surprise) and is the exact stereotype of the fringe campus types that are last-asked and wind up adopting ultra feminist positions that precisely match their personal shortcomings. For the record, I would not hit on her, but if I did, she would be the second-ugliest woman on my list. Is that relevant? Yes, in the single sense that I have noticed, pattern-matcher that I am, a distinct correlation between women's looks and how the less than pretty react to their surroundings. And yes, Vanessa, I have the same corresponding observations about short men, so don't call me those kind of names. Besides, imagine a woman who is shacked up championing views on college sexuality. Remember the old joke about the Pope and a prostitute discussing virginity? That's you, Vanessa.
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