I found an amazing book from 1948 called "Build It and Ride It." It has plans for a couple dozen soap box derby racers. I need to get to a copy shop and start scanning that stuff in and posting up on Bloomington Carbon Free Racing, but dizzam! this book rocks.
This could inspire a lengthy column about how "back in the old days" people had to make their own toys but I'm not in the mood, nor, I suspect, is the rest of the planet.
Suffice it to say that this is a well written book directed at young readers (and possibly their parents, though I also suspect in 1948 parents weren't too concerned with turning their kids loose with a bunch of tools and wood) that is definitely also a relic of a different time.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Giant leaf-sucking vacuums
Last week it seems the concept of doing away with the giant leaf sucking vacuums was being bandied about by the city. It really only makes sense. I, of course, turn all that carbon into compost, and would encourage others to do the same, if they garden. But not everybody like plants, or flowers, or food, or saving the planets, so we can expect everybody to do so.
This is a good example of a service that is nice but unnecessary. People have been raking their lawns for a long time, or paying some neighborhood kid to do it. A newer service like this is kind if cool but not necessary. I bought an electric leaf blower for $25 that can be reversed and used as a mulcher. The biggest pile of leaves can be turned into a pile less than 1/4 of the size in no time at all. Compost them, fill in holes, spread them on your lawn.
In my readings on compost, wide ad varied that they are, I have read about communities starting their own compost piles. IF these leaves were going to something like that then it might be worthwhile, however, I'm pretty sure these are ending up in the landfill.
This could be a good service for someone to get into. A monthly yard waste and non-toxic bio-waste removal (as in everything that is kitchen waste except for meats, bones and oils, the basic non-compostable stuff)with a composting facility where yard waste couple be mulched and mixed with kitchen waste. Stir, add water, and bada-bing. You got yerself a product to sell- compost.
This is a good example of a service that is nice but unnecessary. People have been raking their lawns for a long time, or paying some neighborhood kid to do it. A newer service like this is kind if cool but not necessary. I bought an electric leaf blower for $25 that can be reversed and used as a mulcher. The biggest pile of leaves can be turned into a pile less than 1/4 of the size in no time at all. Compost them, fill in holes, spread them on your lawn.
In my readings on compost, wide ad varied that they are, I have read about communities starting their own compost piles. IF these leaves were going to something like that then it might be worthwhile, however, I'm pretty sure these are ending up in the landfill.
This could be a good service for someone to get into. A monthly yard waste and non-toxic bio-waste removal (as in everything that is kitchen waste except for meats, bones and oils, the basic non-compostable stuff)with a composting facility where yard waste couple be mulched and mixed with kitchen waste. Stir, add water, and bada-bing. You got yerself a product to sell- compost.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Fucking sleep study
DAMMIT. I have to go back for the SECOND time to that creepy fucking clinic and have wires stuck all over me AGAIN and have some technician monitor me all night so I can spend a thousand fucking dollars on a goddamn machine to help me sleep better.
Or maybe, more pertinently, to make my wife sleep better.
I, of course, won't care if I die in my sleep. I'll be dead. Darkness at the top of the stairs, etc. But my kick-ass wife et al might bum on that, and meanwhile, while I DON'T die in my sleep from Sleep Apnea, my wife wakes up when I start sawing down the rain forest. So fuck it. Hopefully I'll sleep THIS time.
Or maybe, more pertinently, to make my wife sleep better.
I, of course, won't care if I die in my sleep. I'll be dead. Darkness at the top of the stairs, etc. But my kick-ass wife et al might bum on that, and meanwhile, while I DON'T die in my sleep from Sleep Apnea, my wife wakes up when I start sawing down the rain forest. So fuck it. Hopefully I'll sleep THIS time.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Grass roots and compost
The bus ride this morning WAS a pleasant mood changer in that is was a heartening bit of sunshine that it was as busy as it was. Again, not that I like crowded buses, I'm not a frotteurist, but the possibility that a younger generation might be rejecting the notion that riding in a car is always the best solution.
I recently read, though I can't remember where, that younger people are also less inclined to see cars as status symbols. Of course, both of these things can change as people age, we all get more conservative in some ways as we age. But I'm going to take this as a good sign for the future.
The problem is, most of these same kids didn't vote. I'm not going to rehash Mark Morford's column today because while it does highlight the angry side of my brain today, that side is tired. But the disillusionment of these young voters needs to be addressed. Morford dismisses them all as whiny. Well, maybe true, but they're also young, and so maybe they just don't know any better.
The Tea Party is/was a fake grass roots ('AstroTurf') movement, started the minute a black dude got the White House (or the minute Ron Paul got his feelings hurt by not getting elected POTUS, again, your choice).
What do these kids care about? Where do their self interests lie?
Hopefully, they realize THEY are the 'grandchildren' we are supposed to be worried about in regard to global climate change. They are the ones who will inherit submerged condos and crowded cities of the plains, dust bowls and likely 20+% unemployment in the coming years. They will inherit gravel and dirt roads.
But who am I kidding? It's all happening now. I wouldn't care so much about gravel roads if there was a train network and if locally the State wasn't talking about building I-69 (it costs money- there isn't any). WE are the grand-kids. We are inheriting all these problems. So maybe, aside from the glimmer of hope on the bus this morning, I came to realize that I had more in common with those kids than I previously thought.
I recently read, though I can't remember where, that younger people are also less inclined to see cars as status symbols. Of course, both of these things can change as people age, we all get more conservative in some ways as we age. But I'm going to take this as a good sign for the future.
The problem is, most of these same kids didn't vote. I'm not going to rehash Mark Morford's column today because while it does highlight the angry side of my brain today, that side is tired. But the disillusionment of these young voters needs to be addressed. Morford dismisses them all as whiny. Well, maybe true, but they're also young, and so maybe they just don't know any better.
The Tea Party is/was a fake grass roots ('AstroTurf') movement, started the minute a black dude got the White House (or the minute Ron Paul got his feelings hurt by not getting elected POTUS, again, your choice).
What do these kids care about? Where do their self interests lie?
Hopefully, they realize THEY are the 'grandchildren' we are supposed to be worried about in regard to global climate change. They are the ones who will inherit submerged condos and crowded cities of the plains, dust bowls and likely 20+% unemployment in the coming years. They will inherit gravel and dirt roads.
But who am I kidding? It's all happening now. I wouldn't care so much about gravel roads if there was a train network and if locally the State wasn't talking about building I-69 (it costs money- there isn't any). WE are the grand-kids. We are inheriting all these problems. So maybe, aside from the glimmer of hope on the bus this morning, I came to realize that I had more in common with those kids than I previously thought.
Say what you will about kids these days...
On my morning bus ride today, thinking about what a mess this election turned out to be and thinking about how it is all the fault of the youth of America, a strange dichotomy was made evident.
First of all, 90% or more of the MANY passengers were young. That's good. The two kids next to me were complaining about hating the bus because it is crowded, but the simple fact that young people are making this sensible decision to leave their cars at home (if they have them) and ride is a good sign.
Beyond that, they were all polite and I don'tthink I saw more than 10 people out of 60 or 70 get off without thanking the driver. That was cool.
One of the people who DIDN'T thank the driver was the oldest person on the bus. Admittedly, this lady came off as more bag lady than classy dame. But apparently this lady thought "Get out of the way you brain-dead, I need to get off" is an appropriate substitution for "Excuse me, this is my stop."
Score one for the youth of America.
First of all, 90% or more of the MANY passengers were young. That's good. The two kids next to me were complaining about hating the bus because it is crowded, but the simple fact that young people are making this sensible decision to leave their cars at home (if they have them) and ride is a good sign.
Beyond that, they were all polite and I don'tthink I saw more than 10 people out of 60 or 70 get off without thanking the driver. That was cool.
One of the people who DIDN'T thank the driver was the oldest person on the bus. Admittedly, this lady came off as more bag lady than classy dame. But apparently this lady thought "Get out of the way you brain-dead, I need to get off" is an appropriate substitution for "Excuse me, this is my stop."
Score one for the youth of America.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Men are Predominatly Slackjawed Chickenshits- An Assessment of the 'Yelling Shit While You're Driving Past Phenomena'
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Monday, October 18, 2010
Mompocalypse-Alzheimer's is a bitch, and Death ain't much better
It's been building up to this for some time, but yesterday's attempted visit with mom quickly turned violent. We are setting up a new care plan meeting but our visits only agitate her and she hit both Blythe and I and went of on an obscenity laden tirade. She had to be restrained by staff.
Later that day, 9 Below Zero played at an interesting event for a guy named Bill Niswander. This is a guy who was a fixture around town for many years on the blues and jam scene primarily. I don't really know him or know if we ever played together at a jam or even really met. Recently he received a sudden terminal cancer diagnosis.
Sunday's event at the Player's Pub was both a benefit and an awareness event, but it also served as something of a living wake.
I did not want to go after the scene at the nursing home. But Mom, when she was still REALLY Mom, the person she no longer is, was a firm believer in nothing so much as "the show must go on," and so I put my depression on a back burner and dragged my ass in to Player's. It was pretty full. Bill is obviously a man loved by many people, and if there is any mark of of the worthiness any human being that is it. I got there in time to see quite a bit of Bill playing with David Baas, Cathy Spiaggia, and 9 Below Zero's own Paul "Wine" Karrafa. As they ran through a set of songs by Dylan and the Band, Pure Prairie and others, I was extremely impressed by Mr. Niswander.
Here was a man getting up to play music with his friends for quite possibly the last time. And there were tears in the audience, as any such event combined with booze will do, and who's to say those tears weren't fitting or appropriate? But from the man himself, I felt nothing but calm and dignity, and when he sang happy birthday to his son, who turned thirteen yesterday, a sense of real joy and gratitude tha he'd brought this young man into the word.
Love, dignity, and sharing music. No ego, no self pity, no anger. A mighty lesson; the end comes for all of us one way or another, quickly or prolonged. Love your people while you can, and face the darkness with your head held high.
Later that day, 9 Below Zero played at an interesting event for a guy named Bill Niswander. This is a guy who was a fixture around town for many years on the blues and jam scene primarily. I don't really know him or know if we ever played together at a jam or even really met. Recently he received a sudden terminal cancer diagnosis.
Sunday's event at the Player's Pub was both a benefit and an awareness event, but it also served as something of a living wake.
I did not want to go after the scene at the nursing home. But Mom, when she was still REALLY Mom, the person she no longer is, was a firm believer in nothing so much as "the show must go on," and so I put my depression on a back burner and dragged my ass in to Player's. It was pretty full. Bill is obviously a man loved by many people, and if there is any mark of of the worthiness any human being that is it. I got there in time to see quite a bit of Bill playing with David Baas, Cathy Spiaggia, and 9 Below Zero's own Paul "Wine" Karrafa. As they ran through a set of songs by Dylan and the Band, Pure Prairie and others, I was extremely impressed by Mr. Niswander.
Here was a man getting up to play music with his friends for quite possibly the last time. And there were tears in the audience, as any such event combined with booze will do, and who's to say those tears weren't fitting or appropriate? But from the man himself, I felt nothing but calm and dignity, and when he sang happy birthday to his son, who turned thirteen yesterday, a sense of real joy and gratitude tha he'd brought this young man into the word.
Love, dignity, and sharing music. No ego, no self pity, no anger. A mighty lesson; the end comes for all of us one way or another, quickly or prolonged. Love your people while you can, and face the darkness with your head held high.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Bucha slackjawed freakwits...
...hittin' people on bikes with their goddanged cars lately. This shit will not stand.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Vermiculture
I started a vermiculture bin this weekend with 30 red wigglers from the Fishin' Shedd. I'm hoping to go to a vermiculture workshop this Saturday but time may not allow. In the meantime, fed the little fuckers a bunch of veggie cuttings on the damp paper bed. we'll see how it turns out.
The Works of Paolo Bacigalupi
So far this cat has put out three books, one of which is a collection of short stories ("Pump Six," the title story of which we'll delve into here), one of which is for adults ("The Windup Girl"), and one of which is for young adults ("Ship Breaker").
"The Windup Girl" is certainly the most frightening in some ways as Mr. Bacigalupi's imagination takes off from the realm of the absolutely possible. The eponymous character is an artificial human or "new person." The "windup" reference is based on the idea that at first glance it is hard to tell the difference between the artificial person and the "real" person, so the designers implant a slightly jerky motion as an identifying factor. In other words, these new people in some ways move like windup toys.
Bacigalupi shows us a world where huge agricultural corporations based in the U.S. have wreaked havoc on the world through genetically modified pests. Those same corporations then sell seeds resistant to those pests, but those seeds are incapable of second generation growth. Easy to see where this is going, and far too easy to believe as a tool of economic warfare.
He also doesn't spare us when it comes to depicting the mistreatment suffered by the Windup Girl at the hands of "real" people. It is brutal, ugly, and again, all too believable. But Bacigalupi also presents us with a complex political thriller that highlights the bravery (or in some cases obstinacy) of major and minor characters
in a country (Thailand) struggling for survival in a frighteningly real new world.
"Ship Breaker" takes place in the same world as "The Windup Girl," though as a young adult novel Bacigalupi goes easier on the violence. But it is still a dangerous and violent world. The main character is a young kid working the Gulf coast beaches with a "light crew" pulling wiring out of ship hulks. Bacigalupi extrapolates the current talk of returning some shipping to sail into a new age of clipper ships...high tech, hydrofoil ships opening a new age of globalization after the end of oil caused the retreat of the one we are in now. Bacigalupi makes a good YA writer because like the best of those writing for young adults he treats his audience with respect (like Pullman and unlike C.S. Lewis) and provides a great adventure story full of fascinating ideas.
Which does bring me to a brief aside; what is the difference between a YA novel or story and one for adults? Judging from Bacigalupi's writing the devil is in the details. In "The Windup Girl" there is much more grit and a sense of hopelessness. The rape and torture depicted that The Windup Girl herself experiences is not so graphic as to qualify for the "Hostel" series but graphic enough. In "Ship Breaker" when the beautiful "princess" washes ashore we know she is in danger of enslavement, prostitution, rape, and more. The threat is more implicit but feels real enough. Another difference in Bacigalupi's work is that in the YA book there are some heroes; the main character is young enough to be largely without sin (a touchy concept in a world such as ours filled with child soldiers). He is not an addict of the newest super-meth his father is hooked on, nor a drinker like others. He is loyal to his friends and chooses to do the right thing; he is a hero, flawed, imperfect, but a hero.
In "The Windup Girl" there are people who are heroes to their countrymen ("The Tiger of Bangkok" is a former Muy Thai champ turned cop for the Environmental Ministry) but who are fatally flawed by hubris and other sins, and there are a lot of broken people trying to survive, who may not be heroes, but who we can recognize as "that could be me." There are any number of villains, but some of them are acting in what they believe are the best interests of their country and countrymen (ain't THAT always the case). But where there are some black and white issues in "Ship Breaker" (though not without some coloring- our hero remembers his father before the death of his mother and before the onset of addiction as a decent husband and father), there are none in "The Windup Girl." There is, at least, a little bit of justice.
Which is not to say that Bacigalupi is strictly a Dystopian with nothing but negatives to show us.
"Pump Six" is the title story of the collection of short stories and could be considered an homage or reference to "Idiocracy." I know, it's a Wikipedia link, but it works.
In the New York of "Pump Six" our hero is a sewer repairman. He's a hard living guy with a hot girlfriend who isn't exactly dumb but who has to be reminded that when she smells gas she shouldn't stick her head in the oven and light a match to see what is going on. And she is pretty smart compared to the rest of the people we meet.
One aspect of this New York is that it is overrun by "Trogs." Nobody really knows where these funny looking little humanoids came from. They are naked little crosses between people and toads in appearance, they are all over the place, and they copulate a lot. Our hero has an epiphany when he seeks out the last library in the city (Columbia University) and realizes that college student behavior is no different than Trog behavior. Amidst rains of bricks falling from buildings in disrepair, our hero schleps around trying to figure out how to fix Pump Six and prevent NYC from drowning in its own shit.
Bacigalupi's world-view is bleak and brutal but not hopeless. There is human ingenuity to temper the end of oil, but human greed still reigns as ever. There is heroism to temper that greed and avarice, but heroes fall. The light at the end of the tunnel may be a flickering blue flame from a methane lamp, but the light is still there.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Today's Hustler-style extreme closeup Heap Centerfold
OMG! That is soooo hot!Actually, it IS pretty hot. The white stuff you see is some serious chemical reactin' and what you can't see is the steam coming off of the pile. I suppose I'm going to have to wait until cooler weather to get a really good shot.
The Most Miserable Motherscratcher of the Morning...
was a punk driving his SUV on the B-Line between Kirkwood and 6th streets. He was apparently avoiding the construction on Kirkwood. He was grinning and thought he was pretty clever.
As they say, never a cop around when you need one.
But this is the third very stupid and very dangerous thing I've seen "young-people-who-certainly-appear-to-be-students-but-jeez-don't-want-to-label-anyone-unfairly" do in the last 12 hours (the first two being guys running stop signs... also in SUVs), the fourth possibly-accident-causing bad driving (the other being a person in the right turning lane who went straight... not so bad unless you're illegally merging into a single lane with the person who is in the correct lane.
Two days ago, while on my bike, a pedestrian and I were crossing on the crosswalk at 2nd and Walnut (with the "walk' light on for us, after we waited for the eastbound lane's green arrow to change) and some lady turning north on Walnut (and on the phone, driving one handed) forced her way past us. I'm sure that the cursing I leveled at her was loud enough for the person on the other end of the phone to hear. I certainly hope she hasd a nervous breakdown, or cried herself to sleep, or whatever.
Most of which adds up to just plain stupidity and highlights the fact that most people just shouldn't be driving. But the jerk this morning, quite obviously pleased as punch with himself for his clever rebelliousness, just needs his clock cleaned. That is the kind of dangerous arrogance that threatens bicyclists everyday.
Are bikers annoying? Yes, many are, and many exhibit their own brand of hubris and dangerous behavior. I sincerely feel sorry for any rational motorist who runs over some stupid biker who blows off a stop sign or whatever. But being two-wheeled and self-propelled most of the time these days I do see a lot of really ridiculous behavior from people in cars. Not to mention that we still haven't put our foot down as a society on people who are simply too old to be driving anymore. This IS a hard one; I know, I've had to take the keys from my own mom. But them old folks is dangerous.
As they say, never a cop around when you need one.
But this is the third very stupid and very dangerous thing I've seen "young-people-who-certainly-appear-to-be-students-but-jeez-don't-want-to-label-anyone-unfairly" do in the last 12 hours (the first two being guys running stop signs... also in SUVs), the fourth possibly-accident-causing bad driving (the other being a person in the right turning lane who went straight... not so bad unless you're illegally merging into a single lane with the person who is in the correct lane.
Two days ago, while on my bike, a pedestrian and I were crossing on the crosswalk at 2nd and Walnut (with the "walk' light on for us, after we waited for the eastbound lane's green arrow to change) and some lady turning north on Walnut (and on the phone, driving one handed) forced her way past us. I'm sure that the cursing I leveled at her was loud enough for the person on the other end of the phone to hear. I certainly hope she hasd a nervous breakdown, or cried herself to sleep, or whatever.
Most of which adds up to just plain stupidity and highlights the fact that most people just shouldn't be driving. But the jerk this morning, quite obviously pleased as punch with himself for his clever rebelliousness, just needs his clock cleaned. That is the kind of dangerous arrogance that threatens bicyclists everyday.
Are bikers annoying? Yes, many are, and many exhibit their own brand of hubris and dangerous behavior. I sincerely feel sorry for any rational motorist who runs over some stupid biker who blows off a stop sign or whatever. But being two-wheeled and self-propelled most of the time these days I do see a lot of really ridiculous behavior from people in cars. Not to mention that we still haven't put our foot down as a society on people who are simply too old to be driving anymore. This IS a hard one; I know, I've had to take the keys from my own mom. But them old folks is dangerous.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
6 years ago today
the adoption of my daughter was finalized in court. It was a great day. Each year we celebrate the kid's adoption day in a special way. Hopefully she won't choose Cheeseburger in Paradise again, but at least they have beer.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
A Very Nice Apocalypse- Justin Cronin's "The Passage"
I think I got a heads up on this book from one of those online retailers always trying to read your thoughts. They turned out to be right.
This is a vampire book, but not your namby-pamby Mormon tweener vampires fruitbats or your trailer park vamps or any of those other loser vampires. This is actually cool.
Cronin does characters, let's get that established right away. Some characters don't even have a spoken line in the book and make only a brief appearance but Cronin is able to create a very cogent idea of who this person is and what makes them tick. Or maybe the key is that your imagination is able to take the crumbs he gives you and fill in the rest. I guess it just depends on what kind of crumbs the author throws you.
So while this is a vampire book and an apocalypse story and while there is plenty of action, it is the parts between the action-which is exciting and well-written, also- that treally makes this book shine.
Cronin's narrative is seemless, even when he jumps a century into the future. We step effortlessly from the end of our world (which ends, at least for some with something like a wimper) into a world of the future that remembers us and is clinging to life using the corroded threads of our knowledge and technology. One of the most masterful constructs in "The Passage" is The Colony.
As a viral plague (of vampirism) is wiping out the U.S., starting at a military base in Colorado, California and Texas both secede. California sets up a series of fortified colonies to keep out the "virals," "jumps," "flyers," "smokes," and "dracs," as they are variously known. The Colony is one of those Cali collectives. By A.V. 92 (92 years after the virus) the residents of the Colony have long lost contact with all of the other colonies and believe they might be the last survivors in the world. Cronin provides us with the Colony's "articles of incorporation" and social structure. There is no mistaking that these people are the good guys; they work hard, and they cherish their "Littles" to the point that they hide them in "the santuary" (a former elementary school) until they reach 8-years-old, to prevent them from knowing the true horror of the world until they are past their formative years.
As the title suggests, this is also a story of a voyage, though the titular reference in this case is a bit deceptive. In any Odyssey, Ulysses has got to meet some weirdos. In this case we get creepy collaborators, Texas tough guys, a stray dog, massacre survivors and a whole nation of ghosts. No disappointments there.
The vampires are not completely sentient. They are glowing, superhumanly strong gargoyles, occasionally with shreds of their former identity clinging to their new bodies, like a bunch of rings stuck on the fingers of what was previously an old woman, or a shock of ragged, dyed red hair. Through one major character, we hear their thoughts, which mostly consist of "Who am I?" with fleeting glimpses of the people they once were. So these vamps ain't sexy, but they are oddly sympathetic as well as scary.
And the great thing is, there is so much more going on between the characters; love, rivalry, hatred, grief, loss, hope, it's all there.
I do hope that this isn't the start of a trilogy or something though. It would be like "Stephen King's The Stand II." The story is told here in as complete a fashion as it needs to be told. This is a vampire apocalypse book that is epic in scope and character, with battles, heroes, villains, the works, but it completely avoids becoming pulp (pulp is great, but everything doesn't have to be pulp) fiction of the sort that rehashes the same characters in the same or similar situations over and over. If Mr. Cronin's resume serves as any indicator his next book will be nothing like this one, but then again, with the mad skills he's showing here, if it is a sequel, he may have some new tricks to show us yet..
This is a vampire book, but not your namby-pamby Mormon tweener vampires fruitbats or your trailer park vamps or any of those other loser vampires. This is actually cool.
Cronin does characters, let's get that established right away. Some characters don't even have a spoken line in the book and make only a brief appearance but Cronin is able to create a very cogent idea of who this person is and what makes them tick. Or maybe the key is that your imagination is able to take the crumbs he gives you and fill in the rest. I guess it just depends on what kind of crumbs the author throws you.
So while this is a vampire book and an apocalypse story and while there is plenty of action, it is the parts between the action-which is exciting and well-written, also- that treally makes this book shine.
Cronin's narrative is seemless, even when he jumps a century into the future. We step effortlessly from the end of our world (which ends, at least for some with something like a wimper) into a world of the future that remembers us and is clinging to life using the corroded threads of our knowledge and technology. One of the most masterful constructs in "The Passage" is The Colony.
As a viral plague (of vampirism) is wiping out the U.S., starting at a military base in Colorado, California and Texas both secede. California sets up a series of fortified colonies to keep out the "virals," "jumps," "flyers," "smokes," and "dracs," as they are variously known. The Colony is one of those Cali collectives. By A.V. 92 (92 years after the virus) the residents of the Colony have long lost contact with all of the other colonies and believe they might be the last survivors in the world. Cronin provides us with the Colony's "articles of incorporation" and social structure. There is no mistaking that these people are the good guys; they work hard, and they cherish their "Littles" to the point that they hide them in "the santuary" (a former elementary school) until they reach 8-years-old, to prevent them from knowing the true horror of the world until they are past their formative years.
As the title suggests, this is also a story of a voyage, though the titular reference in this case is a bit deceptive. In any Odyssey, Ulysses has got to meet some weirdos. In this case we get creepy collaborators, Texas tough guys, a stray dog, massacre survivors and a whole nation of ghosts. No disappointments there.
The vampires are not completely sentient. They are glowing, superhumanly strong gargoyles, occasionally with shreds of their former identity clinging to their new bodies, like a bunch of rings stuck on the fingers of what was previously an old woman, or a shock of ragged, dyed red hair. Through one major character, we hear their thoughts, which mostly consist of "Who am I?" with fleeting glimpses of the people they once were. So these vamps ain't sexy, but they are oddly sympathetic as well as scary.
And the great thing is, there is so much more going on between the characters; love, rivalry, hatred, grief, loss, hope, it's all there.
I do hope that this isn't the start of a trilogy or something though. It would be like "Stephen King's The Stand II." The story is told here in as complete a fashion as it needs to be told. This is a vampire apocalypse book that is epic in scope and character, with battles, heroes, villains, the works, but it completely avoids becoming pulp (pulp is great, but everything doesn't have to be pulp) fiction of the sort that rehashes the same characters in the same or similar situations over and over. If Mr. Cronin's resume serves as any indicator his next book will be nothing like this one, but then again, with the mad skills he's showing here, if it is a sequel, he may have some new tricks to show us yet..
Ye Olde Heap Got to Stinkin' Yesterday
I did a little experiment I like to call "The Cellulose Experiment" over the last few days on the heap.
Using my big old 55 gallon trashcan I frequently use for staging and mixing I pulled most of the semi-intact foodstuffs and paper and cardboard out of the heap and put it in the can, mixed in a smaller amount of more refined compost, stirred like hell, and soaked the whole thing. Stirred frequently over the next couple of days.
Last night, I dumped it out. It smelled like a sewer/swamp, especially at the bottom. The smell disipated pretty quickly though (releasing methane into the atmosphere, though, so a bit too long without stirring, I'd say) and what was left was nasty, gunky proto-Black Gold. So in general it worked well, though I need to shorten the cooking time or stir more frequently to avoid the anaerobic conditions that breeds the stinks. I was worried it wouldn't disipate and I'd have angry neighbors with pitchforks coming after me. But I wasn't too worried; I, too, have a pitchfork.
Using my big old 55 gallon trashcan I frequently use for staging and mixing I pulled most of the semi-intact foodstuffs and paper and cardboard out of the heap and put it in the can, mixed in a smaller amount of more refined compost, stirred like hell, and soaked the whole thing. Stirred frequently over the next couple of days.
Last night, I dumped it out. It smelled like a sewer/swamp, especially at the bottom. The smell disipated pretty quickly though (releasing methane into the atmosphere, though, so a bit too long without stirring, I'd say) and what was left was nasty, gunky proto-Black Gold. So in general it worked well, though I need to shorten the cooking time or stir more frequently to avoid the anaerobic conditions that breeds the stinks. I was worried it wouldn't disipate and I'd have angry neighbors with pitchforks coming after me. But I wasn't too worried; I, too, have a pitchfork.
Why You Pay for Other People's Kids to Go to School
One question frequently asked these days is why a person with no children should pay for the education of other people’s children. So here goes:
Before the rise of representative governments, free markets and secularism, power was in the hands of a few people. The “divinely appointed” kings and their vassals had land and weapons. Land meant food. Weapons meant they would kill you if you didn’t adhere to their social order, which basically consisted of “This is my stuff and if you touch it without permission I will stab you with my sword.” The Church also had lands and weapons, but also had the market cornered on learning and on ideology. The ideology of the day consisted of “Do what we say or we will not only kill you in this life, we will make your afterlife very unpleasant.” These power holders wanted cheap agricultural labor. People didn’t need to know how to read to do that work. Additionally it always becomes evident, sooner or later, that when people start reading they start asking pesky questions and making trouble.
Flash forward to colonial America. Many colonials were religious fanatics who wanted to read the Bible for themselves. They were allowed to go to the colonies because nobody in Europe liked them and it was dangerous work being a colonist, so you might as well send people you don’t like, because you won’t see them again. The colonists went to war with their mother country. They lost almost every battle. They won the war. Various reasons can account for this but one reason is that it is hard to kill ideas, and the British were fighting ideas as much as Minutemen.
These ideas were shared among the colonists in newspaper, pamphlets, and word of mouth. Eventually, some of these ideas became laws. On top of that, as the financial institutions of the world were undergoing rapid transition also, something called the middle class arose. These people ran businesses or had trades and therefore needed more education. There were a fair number of these people in the New World. So ideas, words, and their natural ally education were cornerstones of the new republic.
When people don’t have educations their ability to work decent jobs becomes severely limited. They make less money than educated people. They become part of a marginalized impoverished underclass. They turn to crime, violence, drugs, alcohol, and they don’t make very good citizens in general. People in America thought that having a populace that was educated and personally invested in the political process is a better thing than having an ignorant, unskilled and uninvolved populace. Those Founding Troublemakers, in other words, wanted a nation of troublemakers.
We have managed to hold on to this precious bit of egalitarian thought for a couple hundred years. Those opponents of paying taxes for schools, many of who of course are products of the public school system, simply don’t understand the importance of education for a healthy society.
You pay for schools because you went to one. You pay for schools so little Johnny next door can get a decent job and not break into your house to steal your stuff or kill you. You pay for schools because your country doesn’t die when you do. You pay for schools as an investment in freedom. If you don’t have kids or you opt-out of the public school system you still live in a society that relies on public schools, and so you pay.
Before the rise of representative governments, free markets and secularism, power was in the hands of a few people. The “divinely appointed” kings and their vassals had land and weapons. Land meant food. Weapons meant they would kill you if you didn’t adhere to their social order, which basically consisted of “This is my stuff and if you touch it without permission I will stab you with my sword.” The Church also had lands and weapons, but also had the market cornered on learning and on ideology. The ideology of the day consisted of “Do what we say or we will not only kill you in this life, we will make your afterlife very unpleasant.” These power holders wanted cheap agricultural labor. People didn’t need to know how to read to do that work. Additionally it always becomes evident, sooner or later, that when people start reading they start asking pesky questions and making trouble.
Flash forward to colonial America. Many colonials were religious fanatics who wanted to read the Bible for themselves. They were allowed to go to the colonies because nobody in Europe liked them and it was dangerous work being a colonist, so you might as well send people you don’t like, because you won’t see them again. The colonists went to war with their mother country. They lost almost every battle. They won the war. Various reasons can account for this but one reason is that it is hard to kill ideas, and the British were fighting ideas as much as Minutemen.
These ideas were shared among the colonists in newspaper, pamphlets, and word of mouth. Eventually, some of these ideas became laws. On top of that, as the financial institutions of the world were undergoing rapid transition also, something called the middle class arose. These people ran businesses or had trades and therefore needed more education. There were a fair number of these people in the New World. So ideas, words, and their natural ally education were cornerstones of the new republic.
When people don’t have educations their ability to work decent jobs becomes severely limited. They make less money than educated people. They become part of a marginalized impoverished underclass. They turn to crime, violence, drugs, alcohol, and they don’t make very good citizens in general. People in America thought that having a populace that was educated and personally invested in the political process is a better thing than having an ignorant, unskilled and uninvolved populace. Those Founding Troublemakers, in other words, wanted a nation of troublemakers.
We have managed to hold on to this precious bit of egalitarian thought for a couple hundred years. Those opponents of paying taxes for schools, many of who of course are products of the public school system, simply don’t understand the importance of education for a healthy society.
You pay for schools because you went to one. You pay for schools so little Johnny next door can get a decent job and not break into your house to steal your stuff or kill you. You pay for schools because your country doesn’t die when you do. You pay for schools as an investment in freedom. If you don’t have kids or you opt-out of the public school system you still live in a society that relies on public schools, and so you pay.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Current read:
"The Passage," Justin Cronin.
Next up: "Super Sad True Love Story," Gary Absurdistan.
"The City and the City." China Mieville.
Next up: "Super Sad True Love Story," Gary Absurdistan.
"The City and the City." China Mieville.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Bill McKibben, writing in TomDispatch
and reprinted in Truthout here.
When a rational guy and Methodist Sunday school teacher like McKibben says "this is fucked up" it's time to listen. We have been failed by our political representatives at all levels, from the POTUS on down. Perhaps our local reps, city councils, etc., should be spared, but in most cases, they're probably not doing enough.
Cap and trade was an opportunity. PACE is an opportunity and "cash for caulkers is an opprtunity. But the greed-fest of globalization has blinded every suit from sea to shining sea into thinking life and the planet are endless schmorgasbords.
Not so.
As McKibben writes, NOAA, which admittedly shouldn't be treated as the world's most reliable newsource at times , but which SHOULD be believed on something this basic, reveals we have just been through "the hottest decade, the hottest year, the hottest 6 months, and the hottest April, May, and June" in the history of recording weather.
It reminds me of the beginning of "The Road Warrior" where the wheels of industry grind to a halt while the world falls apart and the politicians "talk."
So, as McKibben says, it's time to get mad. This is the new civil rights movement, in terms of the effort that will be needed. Time to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
When a rational guy and Methodist Sunday school teacher like McKibben says "this is fucked up" it's time to listen. We have been failed by our political representatives at all levels, from the POTUS on down. Perhaps our local reps, city councils, etc., should be spared, but in most cases, they're probably not doing enough.
Cap and trade was an opportunity. PACE is an opportunity and "cash for caulkers is an opprtunity. But the greed-fest of globalization has blinded every suit from sea to shining sea into thinking life and the planet are endless schmorgasbords.
Not so.
As McKibben writes, NOAA, which admittedly shouldn't be treated as the world's most reliable newsource at times , but which SHOULD be believed on something this basic, reveals we have just been through "the hottest decade, the hottest year, the hottest 6 months, and the hottest April, May, and June" in the history of recording weather.
It reminds me of the beginning of "The Road Warrior" where the wheels of industry grind to a halt while the world falls apart and the politicians "talk."
So, as McKibben says, it's time to get mad. This is the new civil rights movement, in terms of the effort that will be needed. Time to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
24 years ago today
I foolishly ran a motorcycle into a parked car at somewhere between 40 and 60 miles per hour. Luckily, I got out of the deal alive.
It's a good thing stupid shit like that mostly happens to us when we're young and strong enough to survive it, maybe.
But it makes you wonder why, even though we cry over the fatalities if they're close to us, or shake our heads in abstract sadness if they're not, why we tolerate 40,000 or more deaths on the road every year?
Unfortunately, the answer is obviously money. Oil companies and auto companies stand to lose too much from sanity, or regulation of "The American Way" of limitless freedom. Buy your 16-year-old a car. Make sure they drive everywhere.
GRIST online ran a somewhat weepy but nonetheless interesting analysis of how bicyclists are treated in film. Basically, if you're on a bike and not in a car, you're a loser. Now, I drive too, and "I'm an excellent driver," unlike most of the rest of the world (and most of the rest of the world believes themselves to be "excellent drivers" also. They are not.), but I love biking and I'd love convenient (more convenient, I should say, it's not too bad in Bloomington) mass transit. One car per family SHOULD be enough. But until infrastructure catches up, we're pretty much stuck.
Infrastructure won't catch up until politicians do. Politicians won't catch up until we do. When we're ready to vote for people who aren't just whores for oil and big business, maybe fewer people will die. Maybe.
It's a good thing stupid shit like that mostly happens to us when we're young and strong enough to survive it, maybe.
But it makes you wonder why, even though we cry over the fatalities if they're close to us, or shake our heads in abstract sadness if they're not, why we tolerate 40,000 or more deaths on the road every year?
Unfortunately, the answer is obviously money. Oil companies and auto companies stand to lose too much from sanity, or regulation of "The American Way" of limitless freedom. Buy your 16-year-old a car. Make sure they drive everywhere.
GRIST online ran a somewhat weepy but nonetheless interesting analysis of how bicyclists are treated in film. Basically, if you're on a bike and not in a car, you're a loser. Now, I drive too, and "I'm an excellent driver," unlike most of the rest of the world (and most of the rest of the world believes themselves to be "excellent drivers" also. They are not.), but I love biking and I'd love convenient (more convenient, I should say, it's not too bad in Bloomington) mass transit. One car per family SHOULD be enough. But until infrastructure catches up, we're pretty much stuck.
Infrastructure won't catch up until politicians do. Politicians won't catch up until we do. When we're ready to vote for people who aren't just whores for oil and big business, maybe fewer people will die. Maybe.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Dymaxian car pages
Seem to be proliferating on the web.
For the 10/10/10 350.org Bloomington Carbon Free Racing Street Challenge I think I'm going to try to build a Dymaxian.
For the 10/10/10 350.org Bloomington Carbon Free Racing Street Challenge I think I'm going to try to build a Dymaxian.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Amazing color pics from the Depression from Denver Post Photo Blog
http://blogs.denverpost.com/captured/2010/07/26/captured-america-in-color-from-1939-1943/
So the pool house WILL be a tiny house
in addition to being a playhouse for the kids. Dual purpose, right? I might even get started after the wedding, but it may have to wait until after the 10/10/10 Carbon Free Outlaw Racing Day, because there are some cars to be built.
But it's basically a no-brainer. I'll need to poor a semi-foundation (it sits about halfway on the pool deck as it is) mostly just to help insulate and seal against bugs and other critters. We're going to change the slope of the shed, but I'm not exactly sure how at the moment. My current thought is to leave the northern facing half as is, and remove the southern half, and use the semi-clear corrugated plastic as roofing to let light in. The current gable is at a 30 degree slope, so the new half of the roof would go at a 10 or 15 degree slope from the centerline. That will raise the height by several feet, open it up, let light in.
A real door, and some windows. I'd like to get some idiosyncratic windows, like portholes or something, but I'll make due with whatever fits. They will need to be smaller, but If I can get a glass door along with the "clear" plastic roofing, there should be plenty of light. Then, insulation,, paneling, a wood floor, minimal furnishings (fold out bed and end table) and a small wood stove and it's pretty much done. Thinking about electricity, though; if I could scrounge a solar panel and get enough juiceto have a light on or maybe a small A/C in the summer? Paradise.
But it's basically a no-brainer. I'll need to poor a semi-foundation (it sits about halfway on the pool deck as it is) mostly just to help insulate and seal against bugs and other critters. We're going to change the slope of the shed, but I'm not exactly sure how at the moment. My current thought is to leave the northern facing half as is, and remove the southern half, and use the semi-clear corrugated plastic as roofing to let light in. The current gable is at a 30 degree slope, so the new half of the roof would go at a 10 or 15 degree slope from the centerline. That will raise the height by several feet, open it up, let light in.
A real door, and some windows. I'd like to get some idiosyncratic windows, like portholes or something, but I'll make due with whatever fits. They will need to be smaller, but If I can get a glass door along with the "clear" plastic roofing, there should be plenty of light. Then, insulation,, paneling, a wood floor, minimal furnishings (fold out bed and end table) and a small wood stove and it's pretty much done. Thinking about electricity, though; if I could scrounge a solar panel and get enough juiceto have a light on or maybe a small A/C in the summer? Paradise.
I need a couple of burritos.
Watched a George Carlin clip yesterday or so which made me miss the guy. It was a typical Carlin rant about how we are owned by the bosses, and it was 100% correct- they want docile workers who don't bitch about how we're getting screwed.
God (or rather, noGod) knows I LOVED me some George Carlin. He was right about most of the things he ranted about, and this bit was no exception. However, he was sometimes wrong, too. When he bitched about environmentalists, he was on target in regard to preachy assholes who are holier than thou and who think donating to Greenpeace can or will save the planet. But he was wrong in saying we can't do anything to affect the planet and that the planet will scratch itself one day and we'll be gone, and the planet will be just fine. Or at least, he was wrong in asserting that his stated outcome is INEVITABLE, and dead wrong in stating we can't do anything to harm or heal the planet.
Some yahoo wrote a column in the HT recently making a seemingly "reasonable" plea to not take "drastic" actions like carbon caps and to look for other "solutions" to the "possibly": man-made global warming problem. Obviously the science hasn't caught up with everyone yet, but the reality is that while some other options are available to augment emmissions reduction, the fastest, easiest, and most sensible way to reduce carbon is to reduce emmisions. We can seed the clouds, sure, but wouldn't mass transit solve many more problems as well.
Dumb fucks.
Anyway, back to George, the other problem I have is that nihilism has never really been my thing. George would say enjoy yourself, because your fucked any way you look at it. I don't have a problem with that, but why not at least try to be decent about it while you're at it? Fuckin' start a compost heap, man, you'll live longer (a recent study shows that men who stare at boobs live longer, too. I'm definitely giving that one a try).
Since we started 'postin', we have gone from two and sometimes three trash cans per week for pickup to one not-even-completely-full-can. Which means saving money. Which means more beer to drink. Which means a happier Deke. And so on.
Plus I'm going to be eating organic onions, tomatoes, 'taters, eggplants, corns, and swiss chard from my gharden next year, feelin' healthy, and so will my fams. So, fuck it! Do something good, compost, stare at some boobs, eat some good food, and THEN tell the powers that be to go FUCK THEMSELVES. With a buzz on you got from the extra beer you were able to afford from not having to buy so many goddamned trash stickers.
God (or rather, noGod) knows I LOVED me some George Carlin. He was right about most of the things he ranted about, and this bit was no exception. However, he was sometimes wrong, too. When he bitched about environmentalists, he was on target in regard to preachy assholes who are holier than thou and who think donating to Greenpeace can or will save the planet. But he was wrong in saying we can't do anything to affect the planet and that the planet will scratch itself one day and we'll be gone, and the planet will be just fine. Or at least, he was wrong in asserting that his stated outcome is INEVITABLE, and dead wrong in stating we can't do anything to harm or heal the planet.
Some yahoo wrote a column in the HT recently making a seemingly "reasonable" plea to not take "drastic" actions like carbon caps and to look for other "solutions" to the "possibly": man-made global warming problem. Obviously the science hasn't caught up with everyone yet, but the reality is that while some other options are available to augment emmissions reduction, the fastest, easiest, and most sensible way to reduce carbon is to reduce emmisions. We can seed the clouds, sure, but wouldn't mass transit solve many more problems as well.
Dumb fucks.
Anyway, back to George, the other problem I have is that nihilism has never really been my thing. George would say enjoy yourself, because your fucked any way you look at it. I don't have a problem with that, but why not at least try to be decent about it while you're at it? Fuckin' start a compost heap, man, you'll live longer (a recent study shows that men who stare at boobs live longer, too. I'm definitely giving that one a try).
Since we started 'postin', we have gone from two and sometimes three trash cans per week for pickup to one not-even-completely-full-can. Which means saving money. Which means more beer to drink. Which means a happier Deke. And so on.
Plus I'm going to be eating organic onions, tomatoes, 'taters, eggplants, corns, and swiss chard from my gharden next year, feelin' healthy, and so will my fams. So, fuck it! Do something good, compost, stare at some boobs, eat some good food, and THEN tell the powers that be to go FUCK THEMSELVES. With a buzz on you got from the extra beer you were able to afford from not having to buy so many goddamned trash stickers.
Black gold
Yep, so the 'post is 'postin' pretty effin' good. Threw in the grass clippings and now it smells (literally) like horse shit. This stuff is gonna be like uber-fertilizer on my beds next year.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Grass farmer
Mowed a little bit last night and put the clippings in a big trash can. The shit was HOT this morning! Tossed it in with the heap.
I do love the fact that the neighborhood was pasture up until maybe 1the 1960s (well, I love the house and love that there was pasture there, the replacement of the pasture with houses?...) and the "grass" is basically hay. Smells great.
I do love the fact that the neighborhood was pasture up until maybe 1the 1960s (well, I love the house and love that there was pasture there, the replacement of the pasture with houses?...) and the "grass" is basically hay. Smells great.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Today's compostings
Along with the usual kitchen scraps which includes cofee grounds and orange peels, some veggies ends and caps, etc., there was the first round of new green stuff going into the pile. The green in this case was leafy debris from pulling out some vines from a section of fencing, some tall grass cut from a flower bed, and some weeds. Also added to the 2012(13?) pile which started as the woody pits from Heap 2011, seen in title pic et al, and which now has miscellaneous cuttings, branches, vines, and other similar junk in it.
Heap 2011 is cooking pretty good even though it's just running on leaves and food scraps. I'm letting it sit for a few days, with only some aeration. The last few times I've done this the core temp has gotten pretty hot, and when I dig into the middle of the pile there is a sort of "frosting" or condensation that I'm assuming comes from the cooking nitrogen. I have gotten a strong whiff of what I'm assuming is methane when I've aerated prior to stirring a day later on the last few occasions.
Eventually, I'd like to have a separate methane composter. Dare to dream.
Heap 2011 is cooking pretty good even though it's just running on leaves and food scraps. I'm letting it sit for a few days, with only some aeration. The last few times I've done this the core temp has gotten pretty hot, and when I dig into the middle of the pile there is a sort of "frosting" or condensation that I'm assuming comes from the cooking nitrogen. I have gotten a strong whiff of what I'm assuming is methane when I've aerated prior to stirring a day later on the last few occasions.
Eventually, I'd like to have a separate methane composter. Dare to dream.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Seriously?
The question Faux News and others are asking is this: Should Muslims be able to build mosques in America?
My god, my sweet, loving, hateful, wrathful, vengeful, non-exisent god. Just exactly what part of the First Amendment do these fucktards not understand?
My god, my sweet, loving, hateful, wrathful, vengeful, non-exisent god. Just exactly what part of the First Amendment do these fucktards not understand?
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Legion (2010) review
Legion
It is appropriate to review this movie in the Composter’s Union Quarterly Newsletter for several reasons. First, we compost to save the planet, and so any apocalyptic theme is fair game. Second, it is a mishmash of reused themes and elements from other movies. Third, I feel like it.
Paul Bellamy is engaging as always. Here he is the Archangel Michael rebelling against Big G because after several thousand years of humans just fucking killin’ each other and shit Big G is just fed up wi’ da BULLSHIT. Or is he?
Spoiler alert! But if anything I say about this movie comes as a surprise to you…
There are other people in this movie, notably Dennis Quaid, Lucas Black, Tyrese Gibson, Charles Dutton and Kevin Durand. There is also some Maxim-model type chick named Adrianne Palicki, who apparently was on that show “Friday Night Lights,” which I for one do not give a fuck about. Kevin Durand is probably the second closest thing to a hot commodity (Bellamy has about 5 movies coming out and makes 2 to 5 a year), coming off of a villainous couple seasons on “Lost” and recently playing a Merry Man in “Robin Hood” with Russell Crowe.
Durand’s turn as Archangel Gabriel has the most intentional or perhaps unintentionally ironic aspect to this movie, as he immediately reminds the viewer of Christopher Walken in the “Prophecy” series of movies (which started out really strong, but got to suckin’, as all series of movies do…). Walken’s Gabriel was a font of dry (and very mean-spirited) humor, but Durand is serious as a heart attack and not funny, except that it’s such a blatant homage/rip-off/whatever the viewer has to check hisself afore he wrecks hisself repeatedly.
As an aside, interesting that Gabriel is always the bad guy; the “Prophecy” films and also in “Constantine,” as played by Tilda Swinton.
Anyway, the story is this: Big G is out to exterminate mankind for general assholery. Michael says Big G told him to love mankind and he ain’t walkin’ out on mankind now, no sir. He flees to earth, cuts his wings off a la Ben Affleck in “Dogma” (the angels regular getup is a Roman centurion suit like in “Dogma” also, but less cheesy looking, much darker), and hits an arms stash he either KNOWS about or stashed himself. If he stashed it himself, he forgot his key, because he blows the doors off (in the shape of a cross) to get out.
Meanwhile, at one of those desert gas station/diners that apparently litter the desert at safe enough distances that you can’t see the next one (but which also are 50 miles from the next stop), Dennis Quaid is having trouble getting anything on his diner’s beat-to-hell TV. Charles Dutton is chuckling away at the fryer, like one sort of wise and peaceful cinematic black man does. Tyrese Gibson is toolin’ across the desert all angry and shit, as another sort of younger, more angry and shit, young black man does. He’s also got a big ass gun, because angry as shit young black men carry guns. Lucas Black is Dennis Quaid’s son and has the same expression on his face he had in “Sling Blade” when he was a kid, in other words, a furrowed brow. He loves this slutty waitress, carrying an illegitimate baby in her belly that she is going to give up for adoption. He says we can raise it together. She gives him a look like, “damn, son, I can’t even name this baby daddy and you want to hook up with ME?” or maybe “Shit, I can do a hell of a lot better than you,” or maybe “Shut the fuck up and get me some pickles and ice cream, bitch.”
Dennis tells the kid the chick is a slut, no offense, but fuckin’ forget about her.
An old lady drives in, orders a raw steak, eats it, says some really mean shit to the slutty waitress about dead babies, and best of all, drops the “See-you-next-Tuesday” bomb on her, which REALLY freaks everybody out, because, you know, women HATE that word. Then the old lady gets “shark teeth” and climbs the wall up onto the ceiling. She bites a guy really bad on the neck. Tyrese pulls out his gat and shoots the old lady. Lucas is sad ‘cuz he had her in his crosshairs and couldn’t pull the trigger.
Michael shows up in a cop car. He don’t look like no cop. He gives everybody guns. There’s a big cloud coming. It is flies and locusts. Oh shit, that’s gross. An ice cream truck pulls up. It’s a scary ice cream man. Oh shit. His legs and arms are all stretchy and he changes into a monster-lookin’ motherfucker. They shoot the shit out of him.
So, while Michael, and later Gabriel, manifests on earth in their actual handsome-boy-modeling-school angel faces and 6-hours a-day workout bodies, everybody else is a joe-schmoe extra possessed by an angel.
Yes, back to the theme, Big G is sending his angels to wipe out humanity, because of all the bullshit. But first, they have to kill the slutty waitress’ baby, who is the only hope for mankind (“Terminator,” “The Prophecy,” “The Bible”).
Lots more angels come. More sharks teeth. Some of them are punky lookin’ bikers. Oh shit. One of them gets blasted by the good guys and Charles Dutton is standing by it and gets a bunch of angel blood on him, which kills him, because it’s like acid (“Alien”), even though it’s really a possessed human, and wouldn’t they have the same blood as a regular human, plus, when Michael cut his wings off, why, we don’t really know, but his blood was red and apparently NOT highly corrosive, because he put some clothes on right after stitching himself up (remarkably small wounds, too, for cutting off some giant fuckin’ wings).
Gabriel comes. He fights Michael, a whole lot. Wings are badass. They are bullet-proof, though presumably the rest of the angel is not, because Michael is using a gun to try to fight Gabriel. Gabriel kicks Michael’s ass, though somewhat forlornly, because they’re buds. Gabriel kills Michael, who, of course, turns into some kind of flaming, sparkling gold dust and disappears. Gabriel starts to work on the witnesses.
He’s about to kill the baby, then, WHAT THE FUCK!!!??? It’s Michael, back as an angel, and he kicks Gabe’s ass, who get’s shipped off to Hell or something.
Bullshit. The main thing this movie had going for it was the idea that Big G might be an asshole, or even if he’s not, that mankind must now rebel against Big G’s will and try to survive. But now with this, “plot within a plot within a test within a trick” bullshit, we’re back to square one. Except that apparently lost and lots of people got they asses killed, since Lucas and Slutty (a.k.a “Joseph and Mary”) with their little illegitimate messiah in utero, seek out some stronghold of resistance that have cropped up. They drive off into the sunset, with a bunch of guns (“Terminator,” “Mad Max,” “The Road Warrior,” “The Bible” etc.), presumably heading for the sequel.
Bullshit. But overall, not the worst waste of 100 minutes in the history of cinema. 2 and a half out of 5 compost heaps.
It is appropriate to review this movie in the Composter’s Union Quarterly Newsletter for several reasons. First, we compost to save the planet, and so any apocalyptic theme is fair game. Second, it is a mishmash of reused themes and elements from other movies. Third, I feel like it.
Paul Bellamy is engaging as always. Here he is the Archangel Michael rebelling against Big G because after several thousand years of humans just fucking killin’ each other and shit Big G is just fed up wi’ da BULLSHIT. Or is he?
Spoiler alert! But if anything I say about this movie comes as a surprise to you…
There are other people in this movie, notably Dennis Quaid, Lucas Black, Tyrese Gibson, Charles Dutton and Kevin Durand. There is also some Maxim-model type chick named Adrianne Palicki, who apparently was on that show “Friday Night Lights,” which I for one do not give a fuck about. Kevin Durand is probably the second closest thing to a hot commodity (Bellamy has about 5 movies coming out and makes 2 to 5 a year), coming off of a villainous couple seasons on “Lost” and recently playing a Merry Man in “Robin Hood” with Russell Crowe.
Durand’s turn as Archangel Gabriel has the most intentional or perhaps unintentionally ironic aspect to this movie, as he immediately reminds the viewer of Christopher Walken in the “Prophecy” series of movies (which started out really strong, but got to suckin’, as all series of movies do…). Walken’s Gabriel was a font of dry (and very mean-spirited) humor, but Durand is serious as a heart attack and not funny, except that it’s such a blatant homage/rip-off/whatever the viewer has to check hisself afore he wrecks hisself repeatedly.
As an aside, interesting that Gabriel is always the bad guy; the “Prophecy” films and also in “Constantine,” as played by Tilda Swinton.
Anyway, the story is this: Big G is out to exterminate mankind for general assholery. Michael says Big G told him to love mankind and he ain’t walkin’ out on mankind now, no sir. He flees to earth, cuts his wings off a la Ben Affleck in “Dogma” (the angels regular getup is a Roman centurion suit like in “Dogma” also, but less cheesy looking, much darker), and hits an arms stash he either KNOWS about or stashed himself. If he stashed it himself, he forgot his key, because he blows the doors off (in the shape of a cross) to get out.
Meanwhile, at one of those desert gas station/diners that apparently litter the desert at safe enough distances that you can’t see the next one (but which also are 50 miles from the next stop), Dennis Quaid is having trouble getting anything on his diner’s beat-to-hell TV. Charles Dutton is chuckling away at the fryer, like one sort of wise and peaceful cinematic black man does. Tyrese Gibson is toolin’ across the desert all angry and shit, as another sort of younger, more angry and shit, young black man does. He’s also got a big ass gun, because angry as shit young black men carry guns. Lucas Black is Dennis Quaid’s son and has the same expression on his face he had in “Sling Blade” when he was a kid, in other words, a furrowed brow. He loves this slutty waitress, carrying an illegitimate baby in her belly that she is going to give up for adoption. He says we can raise it together. She gives him a look like, “damn, son, I can’t even name this baby daddy and you want to hook up with ME?” or maybe “Shit, I can do a hell of a lot better than you,” or maybe “Shut the fuck up and get me some pickles and ice cream, bitch.”
Dennis tells the kid the chick is a slut, no offense, but fuckin’ forget about her.
An old lady drives in, orders a raw steak, eats it, says some really mean shit to the slutty waitress about dead babies, and best of all, drops the “See-you-next-Tuesday” bomb on her, which REALLY freaks everybody out, because, you know, women HATE that word. Then the old lady gets “shark teeth” and climbs the wall up onto the ceiling. She bites a guy really bad on the neck. Tyrese pulls out his gat and shoots the old lady. Lucas is sad ‘cuz he had her in his crosshairs and couldn’t pull the trigger.
Michael shows up in a cop car. He don’t look like no cop. He gives everybody guns. There’s a big cloud coming. It is flies and locusts. Oh shit, that’s gross. An ice cream truck pulls up. It’s a scary ice cream man. Oh shit. His legs and arms are all stretchy and he changes into a monster-lookin’ motherfucker. They shoot the shit out of him.
So, while Michael, and later Gabriel, manifests on earth in their actual handsome-boy-modeling-school angel faces and 6-hours a-day workout bodies, everybody else is a joe-schmoe extra possessed by an angel.
Yes, back to the theme, Big G is sending his angels to wipe out humanity, because of all the bullshit. But first, they have to kill the slutty waitress’ baby, who is the only hope for mankind (“Terminator,” “The Prophecy,” “The Bible”).
Lots more angels come. More sharks teeth. Some of them are punky lookin’ bikers. Oh shit. One of them gets blasted by the good guys and Charles Dutton is standing by it and gets a bunch of angel blood on him, which kills him, because it’s like acid (“Alien”), even though it’s really a possessed human, and wouldn’t they have the same blood as a regular human, plus, when Michael cut his wings off, why, we don’t really know, but his blood was red and apparently NOT highly corrosive, because he put some clothes on right after stitching himself up (remarkably small wounds, too, for cutting off some giant fuckin’ wings).
Gabriel comes. He fights Michael, a whole lot. Wings are badass. They are bullet-proof, though presumably the rest of the angel is not, because Michael is using a gun to try to fight Gabriel. Gabriel kicks Michael’s ass, though somewhat forlornly, because they’re buds. Gabriel kills Michael, who, of course, turns into some kind of flaming, sparkling gold dust and disappears. Gabriel starts to work on the witnesses.
He’s about to kill the baby, then, WHAT THE FUCK!!!??? It’s Michael, back as an angel, and he kicks Gabe’s ass, who get’s shipped off to Hell or something.
Bullshit. The main thing this movie had going for it was the idea that Big G might be an asshole, or even if he’s not, that mankind must now rebel against Big G’s will and try to survive. But now with this, “plot within a plot within a test within a trick” bullshit, we’re back to square one. Except that apparently lost and lots of people got they asses killed, since Lucas and Slutty (a.k.a “Joseph and Mary”) with their little illegitimate messiah in utero, seek out some stronghold of resistance that have cropped up. They drive off into the sunset, with a bunch of guns (“Terminator,” “Mad Max,” “The Road Warrior,” “The Bible” etc.), presumably heading for the sequel.
Bullshit. But overall, not the worst waste of 100 minutes in the history of cinema. 2 and a half out of 5 compost heaps.
The Book of Eli (2010) review
The Book of Eli
This movie has a really great cast, which includes Tom Waits, Gary Oldman, Ray Stevenson, Jennifer Beales, Malcolm McDowell, Mila Kunis, and of course, Denzel Washington, among others.
This year’s apocalypses are looking a lot like last years. The dry, dusty desert is a convenient theme, ‘cuz shits all dried up after “the War.”
Spoilers from here on…
In this one, Denzel is a totally ass-kickin’ rover, just walking around, killin’ the odd bad guy(s). He camps out, because that’s pretty much what you do when the world ends, and reads a Bible every night.
Sound of screeching brakes. OK. Here’s the deal. 30 years after “the War” books are scarce. Gary Oldman is a warlord with a couple of towns under his belt (because he has a couple hidden springs to get fresh water from) but of course wants to rule the world. Ray Stevenson is his henchman. Ray wants to sleep with Mila Kunis, who is Jennifer Beals’ daughter. Beals is Oldman’s main squeeze. She is blind. Lots of people are blind because of the war. Whatever. She is hot. Mila is hot. Ray wants to sleep with Mila.
There is a kindly couple of cannibals later in the movie played by Michael Gambon and Frances de la Tour. You can tell they are cannibals because they are shaky “from eating too much human meat” (it’s a disease called ‘kuru’). There are fights, shootouts, etc.
The essential failure of the movie is that Denzel’s character thinks he’s on a divine mission to restore the Bible to people. Gary Oldman wants to use the Bible to enslave people. There are numerous references to people burning all the Bibles after the war because those people blamed the War on the Bible (which seems reasonable enough).
Basically, it seems Denzel is in a different movie than everyone else, because his character (and it seems, the real Denzel) really believes the Word, so to speak. But Oldman wants it for its corrupting power, and it ends up in the hands of good people, led by McDowell, who live on Alcatraz and are trying to restore, preserve all of mankind’s great works. But after everything the book just ends up on a shelf next to the Torah and the Koran. Whatevs.
The supposedly big shocker is that Denzel’s character reads the book in Braille and his BAD-MOTHERFUCKING AS HAS BEEN FUCKIN’ BLIND THE WHOLE FUCKIN’ TIME.
Bullshit. No matter how much they try to backtrack that one, that character wasn’t no blind motherfucker until the very end of that movie. Whatever.
Of course, 30 years after “the War” a few people still have cars and trucks. Saved gas? Distilled alcohol? Right. Not enough water to drink, but enough to distill alcohol for car chases. Bullshit.
Mila and Jennifer look freshly made up and super hot all through the movie.
Tom Waits is good as “the Engineer.”
Ray Stevenson is underused.
Gary Oldman is pretty good.
Overall, not a terrible movie, and enjoyable enough, but full of holes, and with an irritating and somewhat sanctimonious performance by Washington. Two compost heaps out of five.
This movie has a really great cast, which includes Tom Waits, Gary Oldman, Ray Stevenson, Jennifer Beales, Malcolm McDowell, Mila Kunis, and of course, Denzel Washington, among others.
This year’s apocalypses are looking a lot like last years. The dry, dusty desert is a convenient theme, ‘cuz shits all dried up after “the War.”
Spoilers from here on…
In this one, Denzel is a totally ass-kickin’ rover, just walking around, killin’ the odd bad guy(s). He camps out, because that’s pretty much what you do when the world ends, and reads a Bible every night.
Sound of screeching brakes. OK. Here’s the deal. 30 years after “the War” books are scarce. Gary Oldman is a warlord with a couple of towns under his belt (because he has a couple hidden springs to get fresh water from) but of course wants to rule the world. Ray Stevenson is his henchman. Ray wants to sleep with Mila Kunis, who is Jennifer Beals’ daughter. Beals is Oldman’s main squeeze. She is blind. Lots of people are blind because of the war. Whatever. She is hot. Mila is hot. Ray wants to sleep with Mila.
There is a kindly couple of cannibals later in the movie played by Michael Gambon and Frances de la Tour. You can tell they are cannibals because they are shaky “from eating too much human meat” (it’s a disease called ‘kuru’). There are fights, shootouts, etc.
The essential failure of the movie is that Denzel’s character thinks he’s on a divine mission to restore the Bible to people. Gary Oldman wants to use the Bible to enslave people. There are numerous references to people burning all the Bibles after the war because those people blamed the War on the Bible (which seems reasonable enough).
Basically, it seems Denzel is in a different movie than everyone else, because his character (and it seems, the real Denzel) really believes the Word, so to speak. But Oldman wants it for its corrupting power, and it ends up in the hands of good people, led by McDowell, who live on Alcatraz and are trying to restore, preserve all of mankind’s great works. But after everything the book just ends up on a shelf next to the Torah and the Koran. Whatevs.
The supposedly big shocker is that Denzel’s character reads the book in Braille and his BAD-MOTHERFUCKING AS HAS BEEN FUCKIN’ BLIND THE WHOLE FUCKIN’ TIME.
Bullshit. No matter how much they try to backtrack that one, that character wasn’t no blind motherfucker until the very end of that movie. Whatever.
Of course, 30 years after “the War” a few people still have cars and trucks. Saved gas? Distilled alcohol? Right. Not enough water to drink, but enough to distill alcohol for car chases. Bullshit.
Mila and Jennifer look freshly made up and super hot all through the movie.
Tom Waits is good as “the Engineer.”
Ray Stevenson is underused.
Gary Oldman is pretty good.
Overall, not a terrible movie, and enjoyable enough, but full of holes, and with an irritating and somewhat sanctimonious performance by Washington. Two compost heaps out of five.
Fear of Change Is Behind Much of Today’s Political Energy
What is the Tea Party afraid of? They fear a world where they are marginalized. They fear a world where their lifelong works are dismissed and taken from them. They fear losing control over their lives. They fear change. These are common, justified, and understandable fears, and they should not be dismissed as quickly as many of us (including myself) have done.
We all fear change; as it has been said, the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know. Many of us fear the same things the vociferous members of the Tea Party fear. The biggest problem of the Tea Party, aside from the inherent racism of a lot of its proponents, is that they have bought into a list of non-issues and straw dogs along with a twisted and unreal historical view. The Boston Tea Party wasn’t simply about a tax; it was about taxation without representation. The problem wasn’t being taxed; it was getting no value for the tax. But “tax” is a dirty word to the Tea Party, and easier to understand than the complexities of colonial politics and markets, let alone the 100 plus years of schism that followed the English Civil War and preceded the American Revolution. Mark Williams, a national Tea Party leader, recently said that the NAACP makes “more money off of race than any slave trader ever.” The ignorance and preposterous nature of this statement will probably not drive many people from the Tea Party; it will more than likely become a talking point treated as “fact” in fetid arguments on website comment boards across the Internet.
The Tea Party’s equally nasty sister is the nativist movement. What do nativists fear? Public Enemy summed it up; it is “Fear of a Black Planet.” Or a brown planet, but at any rate, nativists fear a predominantly NON-WHITE planet (and country). They rant and rave about crime rates and dangerous illegal immigrants but mostly, they just don’t want to experience what non-whites have experienced for hundreds of years, namely minority status.
Socialism is another bete noir of the “Fear Party,” as this amalgam of groups should be called. Most of these people and groups have no understanding of socialism or the differences between socialism and communism or that National Socialism is nothing like either, but as they take all their talking points from the same entertainment pseudo-news sources, they all “know” about socialism and its evils. Similarly, they all “know” about the wonders and charms of capitalism, even as BP manages to not clean up its destruction of the Gulf, even as corporate execs get bonuses and lavish lifestyles built on the bones of ordinary people.
“Big” government (which doesn’t include 2 massive military boondoggles, just social programs and FEMA internment camps) is another major culprit. In the Fear Party’s world view, “big” government is limousine liberals (“the elites”), faceless bureaucrats, black helicopters, political correctness, and a “war on Christmas.” The Fear Party doesn’t link the thousands of lobbyists with gold in their pockets and agendas NOT in the public’s best interests to “big” government, nor do they decry the ruling of a corrupt Supreme Court which eliminates barriers to corporations buying elections (or installs the loser in a general presidential election as “the winner”).
The Fear Party sees conspiracy everywhere. The Fear Party denies science. The Fear Party thinks repetition and volume win arguments.
Fear is an instinctual emotional mechanism for survival. But it is also corrupting and viral and in many ways the opposite of reason. Fear is powerful, and fear can win elections. But fear can’t stop time or change. Fear can’t cool the planet or make the oceans subside. Fear can’t make people get along with each other. Fear can’t make businesses work or supply people with homes and jobs. Fear can be helpful and lead you out of a tight spot sometimes, but eventually fear has to run its course, so that people can ask, now that the world has changed, what do we have to do to survive?
We all fear change; as it has been said, the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know. Many of us fear the same things the vociferous members of the Tea Party fear. The biggest problem of the Tea Party, aside from the inherent racism of a lot of its proponents, is that they have bought into a list of non-issues and straw dogs along with a twisted and unreal historical view. The Boston Tea Party wasn’t simply about a tax; it was about taxation without representation. The problem wasn’t being taxed; it was getting no value for the tax. But “tax” is a dirty word to the Tea Party, and easier to understand than the complexities of colonial politics and markets, let alone the 100 plus years of schism that followed the English Civil War and preceded the American Revolution. Mark Williams, a national Tea Party leader, recently said that the NAACP makes “more money off of race than any slave trader ever.” The ignorance and preposterous nature of this statement will probably not drive many people from the Tea Party; it will more than likely become a talking point treated as “fact” in fetid arguments on website comment boards across the Internet.
The Tea Party’s equally nasty sister is the nativist movement. What do nativists fear? Public Enemy summed it up; it is “Fear of a Black Planet.” Or a brown planet, but at any rate, nativists fear a predominantly NON-WHITE planet (and country). They rant and rave about crime rates and dangerous illegal immigrants but mostly, they just don’t want to experience what non-whites have experienced for hundreds of years, namely minority status.
Socialism is another bete noir of the “Fear Party,” as this amalgam of groups should be called. Most of these people and groups have no understanding of socialism or the differences between socialism and communism or that National Socialism is nothing like either, but as they take all their talking points from the same entertainment pseudo-news sources, they all “know” about socialism and its evils. Similarly, they all “know” about the wonders and charms of capitalism, even as BP manages to not clean up its destruction of the Gulf, even as corporate execs get bonuses and lavish lifestyles built on the bones of ordinary people.
“Big” government (which doesn’t include 2 massive military boondoggles, just social programs and FEMA internment camps) is another major culprit. In the Fear Party’s world view, “big” government is limousine liberals (“the elites”), faceless bureaucrats, black helicopters, political correctness, and a “war on Christmas.” The Fear Party doesn’t link the thousands of lobbyists with gold in their pockets and agendas NOT in the public’s best interests to “big” government, nor do they decry the ruling of a corrupt Supreme Court which eliminates barriers to corporations buying elections (or installs the loser in a general presidential election as “the winner”).
The Fear Party sees conspiracy everywhere. The Fear Party denies science. The Fear Party thinks repetition and volume win arguments.
Fear is an instinctual emotional mechanism for survival. But it is also corrupting and viral and in many ways the opposite of reason. Fear is powerful, and fear can win elections. But fear can’t stop time or change. Fear can’t cool the planet or make the oceans subside. Fear can’t make people get along with each other. Fear can’t make businesses work or supply people with homes and jobs. Fear can be helpful and lead you out of a tight spot sometimes, but eventually fear has to run its course, so that people can ask, now that the world has changed, what do we have to do to survive?
Sally
Sally had always thought she would live as long as her aunts, one of whom almost made it to one hundred and one who lived into her nineties. She may yet, but where those ladies were independent, Sally, unfortunately, will not be, barring radical new breakthroughs in the treatment of Alzheimer’s.
She had moved here five years ago from Indianapolis at the age of 71 about the time that her granddaughter turned one year old. At first she was an enthusiastic caretaker for the child. After a two or three years though, she began to have a much harder time keeping up, and so spent less and less time alone with the child.
Around that time, she began to talk to her son about moving back to Indianapolis and “going back to work” as an actress. In mid-life she had revived a career as an actress. She worked in print modeling, stage, radio, television, and some small films. But the work was slowing down and so was Sally. Her kids thought that she was moving down to Bloomington to retire, and did not anticipate she would leave. She had a great friends and community at a church right across the street. She had great neighbors and lived a couple of blocks from her granddaughter.
But she was becoming very unhappy. She was also repeating herself a lot. She had auditions in Indianapolis and twice failed to make them because she got lost. She made it to an IRT open audition but blanked out when she got on stage and left, unable to do her reading.
Her kids began to notice more memory problems. Her depression deepened. She began to be suspicious of “a kid” in the neighborhood, whom she said she could tell there was “something just not right” about. The “kid” was a 50-something alcoholic who shambles about the town, so she was right about part of that assessment. She began hiding things from the people she thought were breaking into her house, then forgetting where she had hidden them or even that she had hidden in the first place.
Rarely had she ever shown much anger in her life, even in the face of great adversity, but began to have angry outbursts about being “trapped” in Bloomington and “wasting her life” down here while she could be up “working.”
Eventually, after several consults with mental health professionals and repeated attempts to get her to try some medications, which failed, her kids decided to move her back to Indianapolis and have her move in with her daughter.
The day of the move came, and after her son loaded all her possessions into a truck, she asked “Now what are we doing?”
The Monday after the move to Indianapolis she left the house on foot and had to be brought back by the police. She got lost a week later (again on foot), for 9 hours. She had blisters on her feet the size of quarters. Two days later she flew into a rage because her daughter had hidden her car keys and wouldn’t let her drive.
New prescriptions have been written. A new high tech ID bracelet is on order. But it may all be too late. Sally now lives in Indianapolis, but still talks about returning there, which her children now realize, too late, is an imaginary place that Sally dreamed of as a child in Kokomo.
Families, please talk to one another. Make plans for this all-too common problem. Face the possibility that this could happen to your family before it is too late for your Sally
She had moved here five years ago from Indianapolis at the age of 71 about the time that her granddaughter turned one year old. At first she was an enthusiastic caretaker for the child. After a two or three years though, she began to have a much harder time keeping up, and so spent less and less time alone with the child.
Around that time, she began to talk to her son about moving back to Indianapolis and “going back to work” as an actress. In mid-life she had revived a career as an actress. She worked in print modeling, stage, radio, television, and some small films. But the work was slowing down and so was Sally. Her kids thought that she was moving down to Bloomington to retire, and did not anticipate she would leave. She had a great friends and community at a church right across the street. She had great neighbors and lived a couple of blocks from her granddaughter.
But she was becoming very unhappy. She was also repeating herself a lot. She had auditions in Indianapolis and twice failed to make them because she got lost. She made it to an IRT open audition but blanked out when she got on stage and left, unable to do her reading.
Her kids began to notice more memory problems. Her depression deepened. She began to be suspicious of “a kid” in the neighborhood, whom she said she could tell there was “something just not right” about. The “kid” was a 50-something alcoholic who shambles about the town, so she was right about part of that assessment. She began hiding things from the people she thought were breaking into her house, then forgetting where she had hidden them or even that she had hidden in the first place.
Rarely had she ever shown much anger in her life, even in the face of great adversity, but began to have angry outbursts about being “trapped” in Bloomington and “wasting her life” down here while she could be up “working.”
Eventually, after several consults with mental health professionals and repeated attempts to get her to try some medications, which failed, her kids decided to move her back to Indianapolis and have her move in with her daughter.
The day of the move came, and after her son loaded all her possessions into a truck, she asked “Now what are we doing?”
The Monday after the move to Indianapolis she left the house on foot and had to be brought back by the police. She got lost a week later (again on foot), for 9 hours. She had blisters on her feet the size of quarters. Two days later she flew into a rage because her daughter had hidden her car keys and wouldn’t let her drive.
New prescriptions have been written. A new high tech ID bracelet is on order. But it may all be too late. Sally now lives in Indianapolis, but still talks about returning there, which her children now realize, too late, is an imaginary place that Sally dreamed of as a child in Kokomo.
Families, please talk to one another. Make plans for this all-too common problem. Face the possibility that this could happen to your family before it is too late for your Sally
Really?
Am I really doing this? I guess so. Need something to occupy myself with on my lunch break. Next two posts are things I wrote but decided not to submit to the paper as guest columns, for various reasons.
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