Monday, February 29, 2016

John Oliver brillant MURDERSLAY of Donald Trump de Drumpf

John Oliver has a refreshing, hilarious reality check for those of us who are sick, I mean really fucking sick of Trump's bullshit.

Friday, February 26, 2016

Trump Unbound

"Trump found the flaw in the American Death Star. It doesn't know how to turn the cameras off, even when it's filming its own demise." — Matt Taibbi

Matt Taibbi's article Trump Unbound in this month's Rolling Stone is longish but you won't want it to end. It's very entertaining. And insightful. Really. It's a must read. Go! Now! Read it — though surely, it's already too late.

Thursday, February 25, 2016

In her own words

From the time Chrissy was a young woman she attended the Center for Adaptive Learning in Concord, CA. It changed her life. She was high functioning on the autistic spectrum and really bloomed in the company of others and the support she found there.

Included below is a unedited paper Chrissy once wrote at The WooWoo Club, one of C.A.L.'s social/study groups she very much enjoyed. Her enthusiasm and achievements are on a level I can only aspire to. She really lived it in full.

Life Achievements by Chrissy

I am more independent. My goal is to be less co-dependent. Don't worry about what other people think. I have learned that in relationships everyone needs their space. I realize you don't have to be a victim, work through it and keep going on, move forward.

I have acceptance of my highest capacity and what I can handle with my disability. I see my disability as a positive.

I feel good about the direction I'm going in my life and seeing how far I've come. I'm able to take care of my cat I'm exercising at Curves you feel fabulous after a workout. It's taught me to live a healthier lifestyle.

The woo-woo group helps me relate to my life's situations, and learn about natural elements. I keep a daily gratude journal. Live in the present.

I am an independent woman and treasure my adult separate life and living off-site. We all have to stand on our own in our life.

Saturday, February 20, 2016

Nexus farewell

We're in Concord for the weekend to participate in a memorial for Chrissy, M. Lee's sister. She passed away just before Christmas after an abrupt decline beginning in 2010. We didn't know what was happening at first but eventually it became clear that she was suffering from early onset dementia.

Today began with a more or less traditional religious service, followed by a luncheon for her friends and tonight a dinner with family and a few close friends. Chrissy's dear friend Patrick, too nervous to read his tender memorial during the church service, read it to us after dinner, on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. His words were sweet perfect closure and so it is done. Probably we will not see most of these people again. Chrissy drew us together and now we leave with our separate memories.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Valentine poems for married people

The New Yorker posted these Valentine poems the other day. They're hilarious and real. You may even find reflections of your own life within these lines, unless you're the type who moves on when the sugary first burst of love wears off.

Valentine's Day Poems for Married People
Source: The New Yorker

It’s been dark for, like, five hours,
And yet the children are still awake,
And I am only a little drunk.
What you call yelling I call making a point.
* * *

Our love is like the padlocks on the Pont des Arts, in Paris—
Thousands of locks, symbols of unbreakable love.
Isn’t that beautiful?
Apparently, though, all those locks are too heavy for the bridge.
Did you hear this?
I read it somewhere.
The locks are weighing the bridge down.
So you know what they’re going to do?
They’re taking them off with bolt cutters and throwing them out.
Isn’t that beautiful, too?
So now the people aren’t locked together anymore.
They’re free to maybe see other people.
I thought that was interesting.
* * *

When we have children,
They will watch no television.
No screens.
We will be different from those other parents,
And we will take pride in our being better.
Fast-forward seven years,
And it’s Sunday morning,
6 A.M.
Do you know who our friend is?
SpongeBob SquarePants, that’s who.
And, yes, you can have Mentos for breakfast.
* * *

I was almost feeling fondness for you
As you gave me a shoulder massage at the sink—
What a small, lovely surprise.
And then you grabbed my boobs and made a “wha-wha” noise.
In an instant, I felt disgust and sadness and regret.
* * *

The kids are finally down
And you are looking at me in that way,
But not really looking at me.
Or are you just spacing out?
Yup, you’re spacing out.
You have unzipped your skirt,
And your baggy underpants ride way, way up on your hips.
How old are those, anyway?
You pull on some sweatpants and a T-shirt and a sweater and a fleece and I am not able to make out any contour of your body at all.
I think you are sending me a signal in the way that married couples send each other signals.
And, just so we’re clear, you’re signalling, “I’m going to call my sister and order sushi. You should do something, too.”
* * *

Of course the wheels on the bus go round and round.
And the wipers go swish, swish, swish.
But here’s something:
The daddy on the bus says, “This is not what I signed up for.”
And maybe the driver on the bus doesn’t go beep, beep, beep.
Maybe he just hits the guy in the crosswalk because he feels like it.
Sing that verse, why don’t you?
* * *

I’m dreaming.
But it’s so real.
A man—is it you?
It’s Rob, Casey’s husband,
The one with the Italian accent.
We’re on the beach and he’s chasing me and I’m laughing.
He’s so tanned and fit.
And then . . .
A terrible smell,
Like death.
I’m blinking and awake and your nasty-ass breath is hot on my face.
You son of a bitch.
You God-damned son of a bitch.
Rob, come back.
* * *

We are in the bedroom in our underpants.
Let’s turn the lights down.
No, further.
“Off,” I guess, is the technical term.
Maybe try a towel under the door, where that sliver of light is coming in?
What if we just cuddle, and by cuddle I mean not actually touching—
Each of us at the far edge of our own side of the bed—
Then close our eyes for the next seven hours or so?
I like you.
* * *

I have heard that some couples watch the whole movie in a single sitting.
Food for thought.
* * *

In France, cinq à sept was once sacrosanct,
A euphemism for rendezvous,
For the thing that men and women do.
But we are not in France.
We are here, in Montclair.
And it is well past seven.
And I promised to be home at six.
And, yes, that’s booze on my breath.
The guys and I had one . . . fine, three drinks after work.
I have forgotten the milk.
And the bread and the pasta and the pull-ups.
And the allergy medicine at CVS.
Why are you dressed up?
Wait. Today is Valentine’s Day?

* * *

Thursday, February 11, 2016

This Land is MY Land, quoeth the Cliven

Many thanks to William Valenti for writing this song and making the video. Plus, as I live in the Great State of Nevada, seems only fitting to repost it here.

And, to celebrate the arrest of Cliven Bundy last night at Portland's PDX, here's a link to a snippet from the "rebel radio broadcast of the remaining last four psycho idiots "holed up" at the Malheur Refuge. As these bone heads love "holing up" so much, they are going to LOVE jail.


Since this morning these last four "freedom" fighters at Malheur have surrendered. Now begins the long clean-up.

Sunday, February 7, 2016

Cool Photoshop hack

Note to self:

Next time you want to remove someone or thing from a photo try this: