I ain't walkin'. Naw, I'm travelin' in style.

 You know, I've had a fairly pleasant Saturday. Nice breakfast, got some work done, nice nap - not too long, not too short - some fair-to-middling ribs from that place in Peppertown, and a short constitutional with my buddy Otis, the Jack Russell. I really don't have much in me.

 We'll go ahead and get this week's News all linked out before I forget, though. Beyond that, I don't know. We'll kick the ball around and see. Anyhow.

Monday

Wednesday

Friday

 To be honest, I took on a big slab of Actual Paying Work this past week, and that ate up not only most of my time but also most of my energy. You write 4,000 words on New York labor laws and see how sharp you are. In any event, we took another look at the fascist invasion of Portland Monday while Wednesday centered around the ongoing failure of the Trump Administration when it comes to deal with the COVID-19 problem. Friday we drew out focus in and took a look at how screwed dear ol' Mississippi is about said pandemic. The answer: extremely screwed.

 I usually don't do this, but I'm going to include the News' "Weekend" feature. For the record, it's usually just five hundred words of ramble tamble - much like every day here - and little more than a reason to fill space and write. However, occasionally, I'll write something there worth reading. This time around I wrote about Rep. John Lewis and Bro. C.T. Vivian, two Civil Rights warriors we lost to the ravages of time a week ago Friday. Lives well-lived, stomping the terra.

 Wednesday got a good bit of attention, actually. I imagine it's because I touched on the business with Trump wishing Ghislaine Maxwell "well" and Twitter booting a bunch of Q users for being assholes, slightly loony, and outright threatening. I generally don't get as many hits on the News as I do here. Maybe that's telling me something, but I'll be dipped if I know what it is.

 Speaking of hits, I got a mess here this week. Up to 136 so far, though how many of those are the same ones trying to spam porn in the comments, I don't know. I was inspired Friday, pure gonzo gibberish that it was. Right now, though, I just feel like listening to The Faces and reading Go Down, Moses again. It's too damn hot to be this melancholy.

 I'm definitely not interested in the current zeitgeist on Twitter. Apparently, Andrew Sullivan said something stupid and the only reaction I have to that is why in the blue hell is anyone still taking Andrew Sullivan seriously? The Harper's Letter is still having way more impact than it should. I still can't too worked up that mediocre writers and thinkers who've coasted for the past couple of decades answering to no one but each other are getting made fun of on Twitter.

 And I really have no sympathy for the folks under 40 whose main complaint seems to be that they came on the field too late to not have to listen to the public criticize their nonsense. They know who they are, there's no need to name names. I find as I get older, I give less of a shit about what individuals think, especially individuals who get paid to tell me what they think. I realize that's a little screwy given what I'm doing here, but read your Walt Whitman and leave me be.

 Tedious hypocrite David Brooks bemoaned that besotted contrarian boor Christopher Hitchens couldn't get published today when that is obviously horseshit of the finest kind. Hitchens would be fighting off podcasters with an empty beer stein. As long as you have connections, there is no need for merit. Yeah, I know that sounds bitter because I'm 45 and have probably seen all the success in writing I'll ever see, but it doesn't mean it's wrong.

 It's like when I argue with Momma about taxing the living shit out of Jeff Bezos. "But is it fair?" I honestly don't care if it is or isn't. Life isn't fair. Children are born into poor families with illnesses that will not only promise a short, painful existence but will also manage to bankrupt their parents as if a shattered heart isn't enough.

 Getting a little dark there. Perhaps I should tie this off. I want a candy bar. I'm enjoying myself, but I know I'm running out of stuff to rant about and really don't feel like raving about how awesome The Faces were and how you should totally buy as much stuff as there is out there, but you should. Hell, two-fifths of the band has passed on and two of the remaining three have more money than God. I doubt Kenny Jones is hurting, so buy used copies or if you're feeling it illegal downloads.

 Are those still a thing? I ain't going to lie but when Napster and Kazaa were all the rage, I downloaded a buttload of MP3s of dubious legality. I even sailed around the Pirate Bay for a bit. I usually wound up buying from the bands if they were still an ongoing thing but I have no qualms about taking from record companies and music publishers. Was it thievery? Sure. Do I give a shit? Nope, not one bit.

 Hoo, giving myself away there, I better be careful. You'll never prove it, though, because I've moved on. Apple and Tim Cook get my $10 a month, so I trust them to disseminate that down to the musicians, although I know it really isn't much better. Regardless, The Bottle Rockets, Todd Snider, and The Mavericks still get my money. Come and get me, coppers.

 That's enough, I think. I don't know what else to say and don't feel like raging against anyone anymore. Anyway, I really want that candy bar. Salute.

If I come up with something clever or get inspired, maybe. Don't bet the farm on it, though.

 I haven't filed anything today if you're waiting. Someone's reading this, apparently, even if it's just the webcrawlers. Anyhow, straight talk is my mind's been on idle all day and I've been too lazy to knock it into gear. I'll get something before the day's out. Mahalo.

 It's an hour-and-a-half later. Me and my buddy Otis, the Jack Russell, took a brief constitutional. It didn't really help spark anything, though. We didn't get far, either. These hot, humid days aren't pleasant in the first place and he is getting older. I do think the "hot, humid" here is worse than the "hot, humid" in New Orleans. You weren't ever far from some serious body of water down there, between the Big River and the Old Pontchartrain. Some days felt like there was a breeze coming in off the Gulf, as well.

 Here it's just green and woods and swamp. Everything's closer together and it seems like the only breeze you get is cars passing. Or it's a lead up to a tornado, one or the other.

 Well, I've gone to staring off into space again. Looks like it's going to be one of those nights. I won't have any Actual Paying Work until next week sometime, either. So I'll keep this page open and blither on it until I reach word count.

 I really can't even get worked up about anything today. There's another round of conservative think-piece writers having a big conference so they can tell each other that they're being censored, but that's just tedious. It's the same whine over and over again, usually in publications and on platforms that the average person couldn't even think of having. And they usually get paid stupid amounts of money for their banal opinions and lack of insight. Every time David Brooks trends, I want to tell The New York Times that I can write 6,000 words of gibberish a week - and indeed, I do - and I wouldn't ask for the six-figure salary that lump of moldy bread brings down for some reason.

 Speaking of Twitter, none of the trending topics are really anything I can hang my hat on. The head of FedEx is encouraging Washington Redskins owner Dan Snyder to change the team's name to something less egregiously racist, but that's nothing new. That being said, we are in the midst of a Thing and if you'd have told me the Mississippi flag would be lamped for a change and it'd happen as quick as it happened, I probably wouldn't have believed you.

I'll save any COVID-19 stuff for the News, but it's looking grim out there, folks. Numbers continue to rise, the federal government continues to sit on its thumbs, and far too many of Our Fellow Americans think they have the God-given Constitutional right to spit in your coffee if you ask them to wear a mask. I honestly do hate to be this way, but being a hermit that's walled himself off from human contact turned out to be a mighty shrewd move on my part.

Well, that's word count. I think I'll tie it off here, maybe come back to it later. Be honest, I've been giving Fallout: New Vegas another swing and would like to get back to it. I'd be hell on wheels if I could stick to one game long enough to finish it. In any event, there you go.

Please don't tell me how the story ends.

 I don't know, man. I just don't know. It's going to be a long summer, I think.

 So, the protests that started in Minneapolis over the murder by police of George Floyd for spending a possibly fake $20 bill in a grocery store have spread across the country. Atlanta, Los Angeles, Memphis, Seattle, Louisville, Houston, hell, even Tupelo. They've gone as far and wide as Toronto, London and Berlin. That's right, our embarrassment of a law enforcement system is a world-wide shame.

 Before we get too deep into it, links from the News of the week:

Monday

Wednesday

Friday

 Monday is basically catching up after a rough personal weekend, and Wednesday's talking about how Bill Barr's Department of Justice is letting insider trader and Republican Senator Kelly Loeffler off the hook. Turns out having your husband - CEO of the New York Stock Exchange - make a million dollar contribution to the President's Super PAC goes a long, long way in the interest of justice. Imagine that.

 Friday, well... I don't want to say I'm proud of it, but I do think it's a good piece. It's about the details of the Floyd murder and how the protests are becoming what they are. I didn't like having to write it, but here we are. Still, whatever it is I do, it's a primo example of it.

 That all being said, the protests have definitely changed. I don't know if it's a natural evolution or if they've been hijacked by people and groups (organized or otherwise) who're taking advantage of the confusion and anger of Black America at yet another murder of another black person by the police to advance different agendas.

 All of that sounds bad. Maybe it is, I don't know. Anti-rent groups, anti-government groups, anarchist black bloc folks, those "Boogaloo" goobers, Proud Boys, soi-disant socialists, radicals of every stripe, and people who just like to see the things burned have been accused - credibly in some cases, others not so much - of escalating the protests into riots by giving the cops a reason to turn violent. And then there are credible accusations of the police meeting peaceful protests with pepper spray and batons right out of the gate. There's been plenty of accusations of cops doing some "agent provocateur" business, and in some cases, the cops' attempts to deny it have come off... well, let's just say they're not due the benefit of the doubt and leave it at that.

 Me, I don't know. Here on my hill in Peaceful Valley, 15 miles from the nearest gas station, it's hard to tell. I am a little surprised Tupelo held a rally, but the Lee County police's reputation with the Lee County African American population is spotty to say the least. This is Mississippi, after all, and old times here are not forgotten at all. I don't really do protests anymore, mainly because my social anxiety doesn't want to be around a large group of people having a good time, much less one telling the Man to eat shit and daring him to do something about it.

 I'm not proud of it, but there you go. I do what I can, even if it's just acting as a chronicler of the times. Something is in the air, though. I mentioned the "Boogaloo" thing earlier. From what I understood, it was an outgrowth of the whole Pepe/groyper/kekistan balderdash of disaffected right-wing white kids from the suburbs who think not getting laid because they have a lot of guns is enough to wage another Civil War.

 However, according to this elucidating thread by J.J. MacNab of George Washington University, it isn't that black and white. McNab studies anti-government extremism and has shown herself to not only be a reliable source of information but also one of the more insightful chroniclers of the world of sovereign citizens, anti-tax protesters and other assorted pissed off white dudes. Some Boogaloos support the police, some detest them. Some support the military, some detest it. Some support Trump, some loathe him. Some are explicitly white supremacist, some are explicitly racist. Age, economic status, race, all of that is secondary to an anger and resentment that's looking for an outlet. It's as varied and lacking in coherent ideology as anarchism is. Some explicitly call for violence, while some merely warn that it's inevitable.

 Me, I don't know. I will never understand why we all can't just be nice to each other and have a good time. Corporate America doesn't have to be a soulless, empty hole of mendacity and greed, and the government doesn't have to be crooked, small and greedy. The masters of the internet don't have to be craven bootlickers to power who sell their soul for 30 pieces of silver and stock options. The cops don't have to be violent and thuggish, and the military doesn't have to bully the rest of the world at the behest of business interests. We don't have to screw each other over and horde all we can just to survive or, if not that, feel worthy of respect and admiration.

 I've said before that as much interest as I have in anarchism, I've never really felt welcome by any of the various strains of thought. Being a weird old writer on a hill suits me more, in that if no one wants me around, I'm fine by myself. Maybe it isn't that drastic, but I'm too tired to care and have too much fun doing what I do to risk screwing it up. Part of me wishes I could be in the thick of things, as I wonder if this is how the air smelled in the late '60s in places like Chicago and Berkeley. Only now, you don't have to actually be in those cities to be a part of the ride. The wonders of modern technology have put us all on the front lines if we want to be there.

 Again, I don't know, man. It's all too big for me. And on top of that, we're still seeing an unchecked, raging epidemic that's killed 100,000 people and shows no signs of slowing down. Be nice to each other. Have a good time but not if it comes at the expense of someone else's enjoyment of life. Don't trust the government, the cops or even the media. Trust yourself and be able to make decisions.

 Above all, get a helmet and buckle in, neighbors. It's going to be a bumpy ride in this long, hot summer.

I can't do what ten people tell me.

 Okay, well. It seems we've got the internet fixed up. Guy came by today and did some rewiring. Of course, the dad-blame internet stayed connected all day today. Typical.

 Anyhow, we're back in business, such as it is. Took Otis and Fuzzy to the vet today so Fuzzy could get his haircut and Otis his check-up. The result is quite satisfying. Fuzzy's half the dog he was and is probably much more comfortable without all that hair. As for Otis, he's got hookworms but otherwise is still healthy as a horse, if a horse was a Jack Russell Terrier. He is getting older, bless his little heart, turns out his hearing and eyesight is going. He's changed a lot over the past year. I still can't wrap my head around him completely ignoring the cats rather than trying to tear them to shreds.

 All right, then, what else is there? Yesterday's News didn't get posted until this morning. I need to re-write one of last week's Actual Paying Work. Little things, just getting into the groove of how it's done. Hell, I don't know what else. I finished The Dispossessed, and I don't think I'd read it before. Regardless, I do like how it presented an anarchistic society as possible but still flawed. Way too many writers would and do take the easy way out and present their utopias as flawless and perfect. This one actually feels more real, and sort of rung true to me with my own problems with the overall "anarchism cultural," whatever the hell that is.

 Like the cyberpunk thing, I really don't feel like I belong there despite my affection for and interest in it. Granted, the nice thing, the appealing thing, about anarchist thought and theory is that there's no real set rules apart from a general dislike of unearned authority and rules for the sake of having rules. Working within the system to change it or even just be able survive without betraying your conscience. Working with what works and discarding what doesn't, with the dual purpose of surviving with your values intact while maybe making the world a slightly less shitty place.

 Man, that book took a lot out of me. That hasn't happened in quite a while, so consider The Dispossessed highly recommended. I admit to being a man of habit and any deviation from my routine gets up my nose. So not being able to use the internet like I prefer - to write, to blog, to research, to listen to music, to work - made me a bit distracted. So I haven't done much the last couple of days besides read that book.

 Beyond that, I don't know. It's been a pretty active day and I'm a bit worn out. I'm half tempted to tie this off here and come back to it after a nap. I'm hitting bottom and can't even come up with a clever folksy colloquialism to describe how slow my brain is right now. I will say I don't care for the new Blogger writing layout, if that means anything.

 Been on a big Otis Redding kick lately. I still think it's one of American Pop Music's biggest tragedies that he didn't get to record more or build on what he started with "(Sittin' On The) Dock of the Bay". I would've liked to think he stuck with Booker T. & The MG's as his band for recording. His touring band was solid enough, but nothing compares. Also, in case it's ever asked, I think he'd have done a killer bee cover of "Highway To Hell".

 Okay, that's word count and my head's killing me. I am tying it off right here. Might come back after a little lie down or if anything clever comes up. Otherwise, we're back to normal business tomorrow. I do have some Actual Paying Work due Thursday, but things are a bit squirrelly there because a client's being a pain. And let me take this opportunity to offer my services to anyone who needs something written or edited. Cheaper than you'll find elsewhere, if nothing else.

Keep my nose to the grindstone, work hard everyday.

 So, a little housekeeping. I have some Actual Paying Work due tomorrow. Two pieces of it, as a matter of fact. Since one takes about two-and-a-half hours at 1,000-some-odd words, I don't know if I'll be up for spreading any wisdom here. I hear hearts breaking across the internet, I know.

 I might, might, come back to it after I'm done. I managed to knock out some News last night, and that generally takes much more time. I have some thoughts on the Narrative and how it plays into human misery, but I might want to let that simmer for a bit. I've spent too much time in the past 24 hours playing Phantom Doctrine. It's rapidly becoming a favorite. Finally, got on an Ursula K. Le Guin kick and a Paul Butterfield kick, but who knows where that'll go.

 Anyhow. I may be back and I may not. We'll just see how the night goes. Take it easy.

UPDATE: 9:20 p.m.

 Okay, that's two knocked out and, yeah, it took about three-four hours. It gets easier and, frankly, apart from differing cities, law firms and phone numbers, it's pretty ranch-standard stuff. Like I've said, it's sort of like writing about high school baseball. One isn't much different from the other, the key is keeping them slightly different enough to stay interesting. More or less. This shit is never going to be riveting.

 On the down side, pounding out around 2,500 words has fried my brain and I don't know how to fill this up. I am going to mess around with it for a while, anyway, until I feel like playing Phantom Doctrine in an hour or so. I am going to keep the bit about the Narrative in the simmer for a while, but in short, it goes like this.

 I think far too much of human nature and human history, especially when it goes south in an awful way, is because of our search and desperate need for a Narrative. That is, we want life to be life a story. We want to be the protagonist. We want a beginning, middle and satisfying end. We want our present state to be the inevitable result of human development. In a nutshell, we want life to make sense like a story does because everything we do is based on or taken from something that could be considered a story.

 And life and the universe is under no obligation to make logical sense and, indeed, rarely does. Religions and myths are all stories to tell us how to live, as are philosophical concepts and outlines, but none of us come quite close. Political ideologies and economic theories never quite work in action like they do on paper, but we consider them something to be failed instead of failures themselves.

This inability to match the desperately desired logical narrative and the chaotic nature of our existence drives us crazy. For some people, they cling to whatever their Story is to the point of thinking they should wipe out any other Stories, whether they're in competition or not. Some of us get into absurdism or nihilism and some of us just trudge through life, happy in our ignorance or miserable because the Story's not working out like we're told it should.

 But more on that later, if I ever get around to it. I've hit 500-plus words and my head's starting to throb. I may lie down for an hour before I start playing Phantom Doctrine, because I will be playing Phantom Doctrine before the night's though.

Yeah, don't get excited...

 Nothing serious going here. I just wanted to have something posted in 2014 and I wanted it posted before a year had past since my last post. Don't ask me why, the urge to do strange, silly things for no good reason that don't matter a'tall just pops up from time to time, and from even rare times to times, I'll run with it. But, since we're here, let's see where we are.

Some stand-up must have said something stupid.

 All the signs are there, but I am getting them from a weird stroke. It's a bit unsettling, actually, because it means that I'm so out of touch that I've missed the actual Five W's of the situation - and frankly, I could care less - but I am so familiar with the scenario that I can recognize the faintest traces, like a grizzled ol' scout sniffing a bent branch for the tell-tale sign of grizzly pee.

May 9-10

 Random gibberish below, just sort of felt like it, don't get excited.

So that was the Singularity.

 I've promised myself all month that I'd write some little something, no matter how trivial - and let's face it, it's all trivial - if for no other reason than to just, once again, "keep my hand in". And all month, this or that has given me the opportunity to put it off. Frankly, I think this experiment is a failure.

 Oh, sure, there's plenty to write about. Gun wienies showing their final colors. My conversion to Apple and any possible connection to Discordianism or the Illuminati. Family to and fro. Work, and considerations thereon. The year in review and whether it was worth reviewing. The never-ending unwinding of Tight-Assed White People and Real American Conservatives, often but not always one and the same. The complete failure of anything noticeable happening Saturday a week back and them that championed that stroke's continuing failure to have any sense of shame whatsoever. Cute stories about the dog.

 Lots of stuff, but I just don't feel the urge. It's not that I'm blocked, I am just far too tired, mentally and physical, to fool with it. There's other nonsense that tugs on my attention, both mentally and physically. I just don't feel like a writer these days, I suppose. I don't feel like a philosopher or a cook, neither, for what it's worth. I feel like a boyfriend but it feels weird and a bit unsettling. Still not sure how I feel about being a dog owner, but I don't mind it so much.

 So there's that. See ya in 2013. Maybe.

No excuses

 This entry is just so I have something for November. Obviously, I haven't written anything since the end of October, and I'd at least like to get one thing a month in, at the very least. And this is the very, very least.

Some things are just mysteries.

 I like to know things. Nothing serious, I just like to know what it is I'm dealing with. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of scenarios I prefer to remain in total ignorance about - my co-workers' love lives, for instance - but for the most part when I'm confronted with an unfamiliar concept, I remain uneasy until the mystery is cleared away.

That's just how it is sometimes.

 Some more random gibberish to keep my hand in. I recommend you read a good book instead.

Sometimes it's worth the effort.

Writing something because I should be writing something. Feel free to get on with your lives. I certainly should.

"Don't take your guns to town, son, leave your guns at home, Bill."

 Political nonsense, so run away if that's not your bag. Also, I am not entertaining debate on this subject. I just don't want to, I don't feel I owe an explanation why, and that's that. Deal with it.

Do androind dogs dream of electric squirrels?

Another entry of nothing much interesting. The dog is destroying a rawhide bone and I'm watching old "Doctor Who" episodes on dailymotion.com. It occurs to me that if time travel was actually possible, there wouldn't be any missing episodes. There is, of course, one school that says time travel is possible through different ways that I am no where near qualified to even begin to explain, but I highly recommend Kip Thorne's Black Holes and Time Warps: Einstein's Outrageous Legacy as a easily understood if nevertheless demanding explanation of how all it works out. Regardless, none of 'em really allow one to travel to a point the past, for example, Great Britain in the 1960s. I feel I should point that out.

 For what it's worth, I've watched the first episodes of "The Dalek's Master Plan", "The Ribos Operation" and, as we speak, "The Marca Terror". I must admit, I prefer the old Who to the new stuff. Don't get me wrong, the new stuff is quality stuff and I enjoy it for the most part. However, it lacks the gonzo weirdness of the older stuff and takes itself way too seriously sometimes. Plus, darn it, I just do not care for all the relationship/family stuff. Just give me rubbery monsters, gibberish science and lots of quarries. My TARDIS, get off its lawn.

 Anyhow. I have some writing ideas I'm going to jot down while they're fresh. As I said elsewhere, I don't mind if someone takes these ideas and makes a groovy piece of media out of it. All I ask is you tell me where to find it and don't try to sue me if I ever get around to actually doing something with these ideas, if indeed they're worth doing something with.

Blame The Vain

Once again, nothing too interesting to say. I should feel ashamed at putting this drivel out into the ether, but honestly, I don't give a shit. No one has to read it.

Saturday night's all right for fighting.

 A quick one because it's Saturday night, and my Saturday nights suck. At work by two, get out as quick as possible (which means at least 8 p.m. and sometimes 10 p.m.), take the dog for a walk, grab a shower, swallow something edible, and then hit the sack 'cause I got to be up by 5 a.m. The dog is not happy about the short night, but he'll have to deal.

You get what you pay for, I suppose.

 Another night, back at the keyboard. And another night with nothing particularly interesting or germane to write. I have a couple ideas I'll sketch below, but if I were just stumbling across the internet, I'd move on. You've been warned.

A quick one before bed.

A quick one because it's late and I've got an early morning start to what's going to be a long day at work. The Saints' season opener at home. Feh.

 In any event, there's nothing to ponderous on my mind this evening. The dog seems to be coming along quite nicely, in the process causing me to become totally smitten with the little booger. I'm still not sure we're totally comfortable with each other, though he seems to be pretty attached to me. He waits by the shower until I'm finished, jumps into bed with me, and sleeps by the door while I'm gone. It's weirding me out somewhat, that sort of total devotion. I am not used to it at all, but it's pretty neat. Unsettling but neat, and I imagine that goes a long way in explain just what's wrong with me.

 Seems I might have a week or perhaps even two of solitude coming up. Not going into details, of course, but I think it will be beneficial all around. It'll give those that need it a little room to think and it'll give me time to get closer to the dog. Plus, I do miss being alone from time to time. The last time there was solitude was nice, and when it ended it was, well, nicer. This is all very new to me, so you'll have to forgive me if I stumble through it.

 And that's all I've got. Sorry.

A boy and his dog

  I don't have anything particularly interesting thoughts buzzing around my head, so this isn't going to be particularly interesting. That's just how it is.

 A lazy, muggy Friday morning is on us as the NFL season opens this weekend, and work is probably going to suck. Of course, work always sucks, but that's neither here nor there. Otis and I got up around 8:30 a.m. and had us a nice walk. As I wasn't particularly hungry, he and I had a very pleasant nap, one he's still engaging in.

 He did very well on his own last night. He was pretty wound up and happy to see me, running to grab his rope so we could play. I left him in the kitchen, and he didn't tear anything up. I'll do that for a couple more days to let him get used to occasionally being alone, and then I'll let him have the rest of the place. I'll try to get him out to the vet next week for a check up.

 Other thoughts: