One year ago today: October 17, 2017, Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton.
Five years ago today: October 17, 2013, just 'college books'.
Nine years ago today: October 17, 2009, last photo of my ex.
Random years ago today: October 17, 2014, milking the peacemaker role.
A humdrum day and it’s my fault. I did not feel any aches from heavy yard work last day, but this morning, well, I woke up as tired as I fell asleep. That’s the tradeoff. I lounged around, or more like moping. No pains, I emphasize, but a general mood saying rest up, pal. So this is not the day I strike gold, meet that rich widow, rescue Taylor from the goofs her own age, or save the whales. To make my point, I’m going to find only boring pictures today. The school system today is all about sharing, so lets share some boredom. Start with this telephoto of the red scooter at the end of the laundromat strip mall. There, maybe the reason I so hate monotony is because I know so much about it. Ex-phone man here.
And gets his head blown open. Then it is all about the grieving parents, very well portrayed. I didn’t appreciate the scene where the mother blames the father, once again he is supposed to mind-read because she doesn’t want to talk. In my life, this has actually happened to me only once, but I’ve seen it everywhere. Judy, Sweet Judy Blue Eyes. She rather constantly tried to do that one on me. But I just carried on, as in fine, if you don’t want to tell me, I’ve got other things to do. It never worked, I never did find out what she was miffed about, all I know is it never worked on me. That’s the gal whose father could not understand how I’d lost all my stocks and real estate holdings before I was 18.
The movie conflict is nobody saw the actual shooting, so the accused is out on bail and stands to get maybe five years. Eventually, the father and a friend take him for a little ride in the woods and bury the body. Again, I think the ex-husband made some good points. She had taken his house and kids and paychecks, but every time he went over to try to patch things up, some punk teen was staying overnight. When the kid starts locking the door and telling him to get lost, bang. End of problem. I could not tell you precisely how many women I’ve dumped for continuing on with the ex-whatever, but it’s been a few. In my case, they must necessarily have lied about it for me to find out only later. You got that? I’m saying it’s only happened a few times because I normally don’t date such women in the first place. They have to make a clean break before I’ll even look.
Tragedy.
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By later I got out in the yard. I like to have something to show for every day, I got the rake out behind the white shed and cleared out two wagonloads of debris, mostly dead plant life. Pistachios grow on trees, right? Well, I think my neighbor has one and the top got electrocuted. Turned the top twenty feet into a matchstick. It fell like a giant spear down toward my yard, stopping just feet of the ground when it got hung up on the branches. I did measurements. I have a 14x16 foot area that cannot be seen from the roadway. Alas, it is the highest ground in the yard so I may have a dirt floor like it or not. I’ll make whatever I put in expandable should there be a palace revolt over at City Hall. As it stands, it is the usual everybody hates them but everybody is too disorganized to do a damn thing.
Take a peek at this graphic. Some sharp dude mapped out the location of starts on the world’s national flags. The darker the shade, the more common the flag. I can recognize the Southern Cross and the fifty states, but don’t ask me who has that star in the upper right corner. Look it up and get back to me. I’d like to hear the story of how the creator came up with this one. Was it a flag contest or was he trying to create a universal flag? I spotted another feature. The larger and more central the star, the more backward the country. Am I boring everyone yet?
I made up a package of that non-dairy whipped topping in my blender. It isn’t bad, it even melts in coffee. It’s a one-timer, I think. It is difficult to make in small batches and it has as many calories as the real thing. No ingredients found in Nature, and that’s 15 calories per 1/4 teaspoon. I know what you are thinking. Who eats a quarter teaspoon of desert topping? Wait! I just came up with another theory. About the flags. Each country thinks their flag is unique and special, right? Yet the fact is, the majority of them fit into a simple and predictable category. Aha, obviously the flags were designed using millennial-ware.
Aw, that was mean. But sometimes mean is the only way you can shake the truly blind from their stupor. There was another school shooting, this time in Russia. Boss Hogg says 17 dead. If you want mean, that’s a far better example. My explanation stands, the perp is always some deadhead scruffy characterless punk, but it may not be his fault. The world-wide education system is government controlled. Masses of un-extraordinary, common children are thrust into 12 years of being indoctrinated they are, you got it, unique and special. Ah, magazine article time.
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So if everyone is already equal that means they are just as good as everybody else, why strive, why try harder? Some guys sit around texting and playing Samaritan with other people’s money, other guys decide sports is the answer, others just plain waste time. But one day all the “equal” girls arrive back from summer holidays a foot taller with boobs and wearing perfume.
KER-zap! Reality sets in. These girls also developed something they never told the geeks about. These girls now have preferences. What a kick in the teeth that must be. Unique and special, huh? It was all a lie, and on top of that, they get the jolt that guys like me had already been warning them for years to get off their asses but they didn’t listen. They want my help now? That’s my hypothesis, untested and poorly worded, yet it explains a lot. Here’s the crux of my theory. A large portion of them losers are going to resort to anything to get noticed. Not to succeed, it’s too late for that, but to even get noticed.
You know the type: liars, braggarts, back-stabbers, thieves, macho-men, thugs, bullies, addicts, goons, and they are everywhere you go. The saving grace is most of them are only one of the above and not very good at it. But at least neither of my brothers reached for a gun.
Let’s fine-tune my theory a bit. These men are lashing out because they missed the boat. They frittered away their youth being mellow for a world that is nothing of the kind. The problem is, the other men who didn’t waste time have moved on. They aren’t in the same classroom or class any more. So these losers turn on each other, creating the rat-race. Tooth and nail, if they can’t have it, neither can anybody else, and among the working class, that describes about 95% of the problems in society today. See, I got you thinking. Can you come up with even one social problem that isn’t predicted by my theory? (Of course you can, but what took you so long?)
Why, it even explains why so many males in their mid-teens become guitar fanatics for life. A guitar becomes their one hope and/or their AK-47. Why do you think it’s called an axe? What? Oh, I’m sorry, I guess that was stretching it. What I mean is my theory has credence if only because trying to narrow it merely widens its scope. Prison guards? Tax collectors? Politicians? Same thing. Ladies, this is why you have to look so hard to find a man who can walk and chew gum. Any diversification from their chosen “one thing” raises the ugly specter of losing his place in line. Now you know why these old dogs won’t learn new tricks. And why one woman is rarely enough.
By and large, you ladies have a dissimilar but related problem. As time goes by, those wonderful preferences change, but not the tactics. I could name the things women try in ten words or less, but I won’t, you only have to recall how they acted as teens. You are darn right it is hard work to change, and that’s why you find women 30, 40, 50 who still use the same approach to finding men that worked back in high school. And why they wind up with the same type of guy as the one they just divorced. If this theory was in some fancy medical magazine, you’d pay a wad for it. Myself, I don’t even ask for donations. Yet.
I fully agree, the world is tougher on women, but they don’t shoot people over it. Yeah, I know how guys complain that over time, women’s standards get too high while their attractants diminish. Sooner or later the question has to be asked just where are these women think they will find this mythical man who can sing and dance and read and write and talk and who is stable and educated and has his own life and career and hobbies and interests and common sense coupled with intense loyalty. Such a creature probably doesn’t even exist.
I got ten bucks that asks if there ever was such a man, would he not date the youngest and prettiest women he could get his hands on? Think about it.
ADDENDUM
Quick wrap-up. The recent posts are more sporadic, I’m aware. It’s the extra work on the house, I’ve got a lot to do before holidays. I want to finish the wiring for the kitchen and shed by the weekend, which is pushing things. I was up two hours before dawn this morning, yet getting up at the time has long ago ceased to be of any real benefit to me. I called the “sixties guitarist” and left a message to call, but let me go check my Virgin Mobile, who update the missed message box whenever they feel like it. Which seems to be once a week.
The picture? That’s just to restore boredom. See, the way I figure it, if you’ve read this far, you ain’t bored. (Just because I’m not a Liberal doesn’t mean I can’t think like one, a handy ability when under oath. What a low dig, huh?) It’s my little red wagon hauling tree branches. Note glorious rays of morning sun.
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