A Nod to Jimmy

Okay, Jimmy, I'll give you your multiple NASCAR championships in a row, with congrats to you, your crew chief and your crew.

Of course, a big YEE-HAW to the Golden One on a victory today - I wore muh Jeff Gordon jacket yesterdy and it paid off.

Time for a chug o' Pepsi and a chaw of that brownie I made fer muh wife.

Index Finger

While I'm working through the issues that the computer programmers don't know will be presented to them in printed reports they haven't been assigned to generate, I'll give you the following.

To the folks in the Middle East and Africa.

To the folks in North Korea, Cuba, China, Iran, Venezuela, Afghanistan, Pakistan.

To those who are under the impression they are under persecutory regimes of any kind...

This is the future: franchising.

So, I suggest to you that you get with your friends and family, pool your resources, get microloans, if you have to.

And then work with your political friends to enact laws that protect intellectual property and freedoms of expression.

Finally, after all is set up, build yourself a brand image that you can sell to others.

Sell processed food or clothing lines.

If you cannot dream up your own brand, buy into the brands that already exist.

And, if you're smart, you'll negotiate deals where your brand(s) will feed the malnourished and starving in the world.

Instead of delivering bags of rice and flour to places that don't have cooking fuel or safe drinking water, airdrop in crates of Pringles and Coca-Cola.

Make the world's greatest falafel and open Falafel Bazaar eateries all around the world.

Span the globe with spanakopitas.

Serve lamburgers with children's toys.

Stop the slaughter of endangered animals by showing that bush meat is not the ultimate free range food - your product is.

Sure, petroleum jelly is the best ointment for superficial wounds but doesn't the name Vaseline or Neosporin sound more scientifically safe?

Do you speak a 16-bit language?

Do you believe we are an ignorant species?

Do you write blog entries that invite insight in order to increase readership because you know, and your audience knows, you have only one goal in mind - to save the species from itself, but in the long, drawnout process of doing so, killing us with obesity to get us to another place in time that's better for the total population as a whole?

Would a blog supplement, "as read by the author," a podcast (or perhaps an open source sound file) be a bestseller?  Could I pull a Paul Newman and put the profits to universal improvement?

My inventor friends are begging me not to give up, that we together are building a better world, despite repetition that gives me severe migraines which block my thought patterns.  "Don't confuse yourself over the normal issues of deteriorating tissue, blood and bones," they whisper in emails.

As I say, I am here with you and thank you for sharing your time with me.  I am not perfect and sometimes it shows more obviously on days when I can't stop being a normal person with everyday aches and pains.

One of my friends recommended I look into Autodesk's free animation program for kids.  I will, I promise.

The placebo effect of a large tablet of aspirin is often the best elixir for an ol' skeptic like me (and cheaper than a six-pack which would inhibit my driving to the store to buy a box of premixed fudge brownie ingredients to surprise my wife with hot brownies for the surprises she made/bought for me).

Shivers down my spine

When the phrase "my lawyer and I" meets the so-called amateur sports industry in collegiate circles, I feel a cold chill.

I don't get revenge.  I just reveal the list of chemicals and psychiatry visits of those who present to the world a perfect image.

Take pride in your imperfection.

That way, there's nothing to hide.

Otherwise, we're just holding your body over a cliff and asking you when to say "uncle," because "my lawyer and I" falls on deaf ears.

Just like, as a pet owner myself, I ask if, when the growth of the population of my species puts enough pressure on available food sources, we'll have to decide whether we get to feed our pets or starving members of our species who can't afford patented GM food under control by Megaconglomerated, LTD.

"I'm sorry, my little child, but Fluffy has reached its age of viability and we have to turn it in to the reinventers of Soylent food products to feed the hungry masses.  We'll buy you another one to raise in our minifarm of a housing unit."

Wait, do I hear a cry of "It's not fair" from the aging pet product industry?  If so, it's time to rethink your business model!

Saigon, Miss

I pointed to the words on the menu. "Can you pronounce this for me?"

"I am Chinese. You will have to get owner to tell you what it says." The server pointed toward an older gentleman standing at the front door.

I nodded. Chinese-American or Vietnamese-American, either one, doesn't matter, just tell me if C6 clay pot is as appetising as it sounds.

The woman at the next table says, "In the country, people are scarier than animals."

Says who? She's been watching "Deliverance" too much.

People are people everywhere.

Thanks to WBU and PetSmart today, and Walmart petrol.

A nod to the unknown lipstick-addicted woman at Herzog Wine Cellars

While sipping a glass of a petite sirah [sic], I listened to the people around my wife and me.

Their clothing styles indicated they were wanting to appear sophisticated, men in collared shirts and slacks, women in dresses.

I was in a sweaty T-shirt bearing the Jameson whiskey logo and a pair of shorts stained from eating a juicy apple and crumbly cupcake after hiking several hours in Sycamore Canyon.

My wife and I stood at the bar and stood out.

The couple beside my wife had obviously enjoyed at least one glass of wine.  They were quite jovial, joking about Becky the bartender keeping the place lively, even though, to me, Becky appeared tired and ready for the workday to end.

My wife looked at the wine sipping selections for the day.

"Becky, dahling, we're from Alabama and don't know a thing about your wine.  Can you make a suggestion?"

Becky's eyes widened, like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Alabama?  Well, what do you prefer?  Dry, sweet, red, white?"

"Thanks for asking, honey.  My husband likes dry, red wines and I tend to drink the white ones."

"Well, the cabs and the syrahs are pretty dry."

I nodded.  "In that case, start me with the petite sirah."

"Okay.  And you, ma'am?"

"I'll try the chardonnay."

The woman beside my wife smiled as she handed a tube of lip balm for Becky to put on on the woman's charge card.  "Great choice.  You know, I have an obsession.  I'm addicted to lip balms, lip gloss, lipstick, you name it."

My wife looked from me to the woman.  "Is that so?"

"Yes.  And you know what else?  Did you know that ninety percent of lipstick is seaweed gook?"

I laughed.  "What?"

"Yes, the extracts of seaweed.  You know, all that slimy stuff that makes seaweed so tasty to fish, I guess."

I sipped my wine and laughed some more.  "Seaweed?"

"Yes.  Isn't Alabama near the Gulf Coast?  Do you have seaweed?  I bet most of the lipstick or lip gloss your wife uses is made of seaweed, too."

My wife turned to me and gave me one of those "do you think the person next to me has been drinking too much?" look.

I blinked, my secret "nod" to let my wife know I understood what she was saying, and looked at the woman's husband.

"So, where are you guys from?"

The man turned to me.  "Around here.  We're taking a Valentine's Day winery tour."

"Uh-huh.  Well, it sounds like you've had fun."

"Loads!"  He looked at my T-shirt and shorts and then back at my eyes.  "Say, you guys doing the tour, too?"

"Nope.  Just got through hiking Sycamore Canyon and decided to stop for a glass of wine before we showered and dressed for dinner."

"Hey, that sounds great.  Good luck to you guys.  And watch out for Becky!  She'll slip another glass of wine under your nose before you've had a chance to finish your first three."

Ninety percent of lipstick is seaweed, huh?  Some quick checks on the Internet to find out:

Unverified history of lipstick
Yahoo! answers
Algae in lipstick
Many uses of seaweed
Wikipedia entry, of course
Example of L'Oreal lipstick ingredients
How lipstick is made

So there you have it, an enjoyable conversation, good wine and no proof that seaweed is 90% of lipstick, according to random Internet web pages not straight from the lipstick makers' mouths.

As far as lipstick addiction goes, let's save that for a future discussion.

Amanda, My Girlfriend With The Nose Ring

Do you really think you know who I am?

Has your best friend ever helped you bury a body?

You see, I travel both incognito and out in-the-know.

Last night, staying at the Baymont Suites on the supposition that snow and ice would restrict my movement this morning, I arranged a special meeting with an associate on the West Coast this afternoon.

My good friend, Elizabeth, fulfilled her promise to me.

It started with transporting a set of secret documents attached to a bag belonging to Homer Hickam who, right on schedule, took the same flight as me.

Just as expected, the Delta jet stopped on the tarmac to deice the plane while an agent of mine slipped the papers into Hickam's luggage.

Then, where you must pass before leaving the South for heaven or hell, a colleague grabbed the package out of Hickam's tote as the pink-tagged baggage passed upward in a freight elevator and just before a Delta agent opened the elevator door.

None the wiser, Hickam nodded at me and walked with his wife on their innocent way through the airport.

Meanwhile, I had to miss my next connection to give a tail the slip, leaving her on the 8:40 a.m. flight without me. Allan, a courteous, friendly Delta agent, assisted my plot unknowingly.

Safely settled on the next flight to witness the execution in L.A. later today, I passed a note to another passenger by way of the lavatory, the signal being another deicing before we departed ATL.

The passenger verified receipt of the message in a specially-coded package of King Nut pretzels handed to me out of a Diethelm Keller Aviation PTE LTD specifically serialised cart by Somsak, the polite flight attendant who had once delivered, fully unaware, a message to Ronnie, another flight attendant through the old reliable MORTIE network. Ken the pilot might or might not have been involved.

A guy opened his MacBook Air to show me a document with the hidden phrase, "fail fast and fail often, " a trigger that released a deeply ingrained memory from my early days in the future prediction and carnival barker boot camp/dehumanising days where we were grossly rewarded for taking bigger and bigger risks.

Only after Tom from Torrance at the self-help Hertz counter used subliminal voice intonation and quantum synchronisation techniques to tell me the execution was slated to take place sometime after 3 p.m. local time did I rush up the 405 and 101 to greet my wife.

By telling her about the woman who remarked that walking the old part of LAX made her feel like home, I opened up a scenario for what seemed like the random act of driving my wife down the PCH to stop for beach photos while, instead, sending laser signals from my innocuous, inoculated, optically-challenged binocular digital camera.

Amanda, manning the checkout counter at Neptune's Net, didn't know my laser signals would cause her to ring up an Alaskan beer for me; in the credit card receipt, she informed Elizabeth that the execution would look like an accidental surfing accident or drowning.

Elizabeth pulled the surfer underwater, chopped him up and placed his halves in two suitcases that she transported to LAX.

The secret codeword for the surfer, a rival rogue associate revealed in the secret documents I read as a fake Kindle ebook on the ATL-LAX flight, was "Dad."

Elizabeth stopped her car, an old Mercedes wagon, at the passenger dropoff and unloaded the suitcases.

"Come on, Dad," she huffed as she dragged the bags into the airport and abandoned the car, which was covered with the fingerprints of Cindy, a flight attendant completely out of the picture.

To solidify my alibi, I drove my wife down Sunset Boulevard (nodding at a female driver to establish my public location), over to Rodeo Drive and spun around Santa Monica Boulevard to show our faces and stuff them with sweets for our sweethearts amidst the sweet, smiling faces at Sprinkles Cupcakes in Beverly Hills.

Amanda, the folks at Beverly Hills Porsche owe you big this time. How about a Tesla?

Homer, thanks for your inspiration for this version of "The American."

Versace and Chanel, we'll catch you next time. Maybe you can restore the Getty Villa for future party thrillas in Malibu!

Appreciation

Thanks to Myron, John and Ophelia at Salsarita's; Pilot Food Mart; the server and sushi chef at Shogun; courteous over-the-road truck drivers; Hawkins County EMS; Grainger County construction crew; the candle lighter at CHPC; people who accept one another for who they are and not adopt an attitude based on what others tell them to think they are.

The Past Calls Out One More Time

Fill the air with enough smoke and mirrors and the people will grow numb through ennui.  Also, being comfortable in one's religious beliefs allows one to make fun outside the artificial bounds of insecurity.  And so it goes...

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =
Eternal Nourishment

I know you've heard me say I don't believe in God.

If you haven't then I'll say it again:

"I don't believe in God."

Why should I?

Everyday I go to the altar of food

Where my wants and needs are satisfied.

I used to worry about leaving the house.

When I'm at home,

I solve my problems by going to the kitchen.

When I'm away from home,

I can't always drive back if a problem arises.

I can't carry the kitchen with me everywhere I go, either.

There's something about the kitchen.

If I feel depressed 'cause I feel indecisive,

I just walk to the kitchen and fix something to eat.

Voila! I've made a decision.

If I feel sad, I can always cheer myself up with

A bowl of ice cream.

In the morning, I go to the kitchen

And the refrigerator answers my morning prayer

With a glass of orange juice.

I sacrifice a grapefruit on the counter

Before I go to school.

But like I said,

I used to worry about leaving the house.

I no longer worry.

Thank God for fast food and convenience stores.

Now, I can solve my problems --

My wants and needs --

Immediately, anywhere, I go.

- 12 February 1986

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =
False Webs of Logic

I think, therefore I am. -- Descartes

I am more than body or mind.

I am body and mind.

If reincarnation,

The movement of soul from a dying/dead body

to a newly created body,

Exists,

Then in my last body I was taken away

Before I really wanted to leave.

On another level (in other words, in another context),

To believe this life is worthwhile,

I want life to be a continuous movement,

Neither away nor toward, increasing nor decreasing,

Just movement [for movement's sake].

Life is motion.

Whether my life as a human being is worthwhile,

The death of this "me" would result only in the

Change of movement of the parts of "me."

My life, as a human being and a part of an ecosystem,

Is organized movement, random acts

That on certain scales of observation appear to follow patterns.

On one of these scales, I do not want "I" to appear.

Which scale(s) shall I choose?

When I stop to be influenced by my immediate surroundings,

I realize I sometimes write/think to avoid participating

in this life.

Participating entails taking out the trash,

Studying for exams and other tasks I deplore

(Which require little effort to accomplish)

But which "everyone" must do to live.

Tasks, trades, chores, skills --

We must do something since doing is moving

And moving is living.

"Is" -- the verbal equals sign.

"Me" -- the consequence of human existence.

Aah! I relaxed when I hugged a pillow last night

And told myself all the thoughts of mine are wonderful

And, at least, matter to someone -- me -- the solipsist.

Me is the Someone in my life.

The Others I can never completely understand.

Someone must understand me and I must understand Someone.

Therefore, Someone can only be me.

"I" and "me" disappear to become "all."

Every human being,

Every source of movement recognizable by this "all,"

Is like this "all,"

And we're all "all" together.

Shall I jump into the "world village" life

Or slip back into my solipsistic shell?

That's a question for Someone (like me) to figure out.

Some of us are original, some of us clever

And the rest sit on their brains.

I like myself better when I'm funny.

My attempts at philosophy are webs of false logic.

I shit, therefore I am.

- 17 February 1986

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

Our Guests Just Jest in Gest, Get Best Guess

Do you dream of getting away from the mundane?

Do you travel in a national tour of a fairy tale turned into a movie turned into a musical?

Was that your nonmundane dream?

Is that what you dream for your children, even if you/they can't sing?

And if they can sing, does it matter if they sing in the shower, sing in local community events or sing/act for a living?

If the audience (the singers themselves or others) is entertained, is that enough?

Questions some answer and some question.

Thanks to Papou's Greek restaurant for dinner tonight and Jessica at Carson's last night.

Now we know what happened to the chihuahua...

If mares eat oats, can we claim meat is just a combo of overprocessed oat products and other fixings?

Is soy the "beef" of the vegetable world?

Good news for modern mandible exercisers

My wife and I do not have a regular, or rather, favourite produce market.

By way of convenience, we purchase most of our food products at either Publix or Walmart but we make sure we visit farmers' markets and make the occasional tour through Earth Fare or similar specialty stores for variety.

We were glad to hear that Walmart and the Housewife of the White House (a/k/a the First Lady; a/k/a the White Housewife (sorry, Mickie, I couldn't resist the juxtaposition)), Mrs. Barack Obama, announced the industry-leading effort to make healthy food choices more affordable.

On a separate note, the Conglomerate today announced that in order to increase profits and prevent retail businesses from having to put all their sales in one seasonal basket, Christmas season is being split in half.

Those born on odd days - 1, 3, 5, etc. - will celebrate Christmas on its regularly scheduled day in December (or January in the Orthodox system).

Those born on even days - 2, 4, 6, etc. - will celebrate Christmas on 25th June, or its equivalent in your local calendrical system.

Those taking exception to this new system will have to petition the Conglomerate for permission to switch from one day to the other.

Families or coworkers caught casually celebrating the holiday together, or more specifically, accepting gifts on the day for which you and/or they are not permitted to celebrate, will be barred from giving or accepting gifts for a period of years determined by the level of expense associated with your and/or their celebration.

In a related note, birth centers are now scheduling specific times and dates to accommodate pregnant women who choose to go through the natural birth process. Births may be arranged so that all family members are born on odd or even days. They may also be arranged to occur within the range of newly-organised signs of the zodiac.

Kodiak bears with Kodak cameras will not be accommodated, however much they want to participate in this joyous new celebration of All Things Commercial.

The Conglomerate is taking the bears' request under consideration and seeking advisement about other species being allowed to shop for Christmas now that they have a level of self-awareness nearly the same as ours.

The Conglomerate continues the ban on advertisements directed toward nonhuman species, giving the other species the opportunity to educate themselves about common fallacies, tautologies and illogical suppositions buried in many adverts.

Veterinarians for Equal Access to Life (VEAL) applauded the Conglomerate's stand on this important issue of species equality, despite hoping that the Conglomerate would issue a Universal Rights of Species proclamation.

Thousands of comedians died today but no apocalyptic group took notice and sounded the alarm that the end is near. Satirists and satyrs are rolling over in their eternal sleep to keep from getting cloud or brimstone sores, as the case may be.

It was fun to watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune over the past few weeks to observe the time-delayed buildup and release of tension associated with the midterm Congressional elections.

Sociology of the Future is also sociology of the nearterm past. My Futurists University will issue you a bachelor's degree if you can give us all the correct answers (or at least 56% of them (+/- 5%), if you pay us enough), without knowing the questions, of course, or the courses' syllabi.