"Biological Essentialist" Canadian code word for fascist

There appears to be an element of the left that is now becoming somewhat "right"? (ex. Jordan Peterson, Stephen Pinker. . )  Traditionally these figures would be considered liberal and to a large extent they still are. However, the left has been abandoning if not all out assaulting these people especially Peterson as they (Peterson, Pinker and the like) draw conclusions based on the scientific method that are unpopular or contradict beliefs held by the left.  example is gender differences, race differences, etc.  Just as science exposes truth that contradicts religious teachings which in many cases are held by the right.  And just as these right leaning groups object to these scientists and their conclusions so to do the left leaning SJW's object and vilify the scientists and academics such as Peterson and Pinker who's work contradicts the beliefs held by these groups.

The square root of the number of people in an organization do half the work.

What this means is the if you have 100 people in an organization then 10 of these people will produce half the output.

amped up

Amped up,
Face to Face encounter
Takin' care of business
acting out.

A few of the euphemisms all of which may or may not be employed this weekend.  Really I feel so fucking entitled.

The Millennial Whoop

Thinking Critically About Social Justice

justice/http://quillette.com/2018/02/17/thinking-critically-social-justice/

It's not like last time.

I thought it was going to be like last time.  Last time was easy compared to this.  This just keeps going on and on.  It doesn't seem to end.  By this time in the process last time Wendy and I were becoming closer.  Now there is no Wendy.  There is nobody now and maybe that's what this is all about.  There is nobody.  And there will be nobody.

For some reason I was expecting and still am to be like last time.

"Last time" was when my marriage failed or rather I failed my marriage which happened on Nov 22 or 2005.  For some reason I was thinking that since everything happened almost 10 years later to the day (Nov 22 2005;  December 6th 2005) that somehow I would be back up and running by now or at least it would look like I would be back up and running.

Of course what does "back up and running" mean?   I don't know.  Maybe it means having a life.  I don't have one right now.  Of course what does "having a life" mean?

"Last time" was when I started this blog.  Myra came into my life and well. . . left.  But anyway. . . Life actually started to seem new and fresh.  Last time I was sitting in roughly the same spot I am sitting now listening to New Slang by The Shins writing in this same blog.  So things should go just as they did last time.  I should start seeing my life come back on line.

What dose "my life come back on line" mean?

I want it to be like last time.  Last time it worked out.  Of course what does "worked out" mean.  Okay, I know this one.  "Worked out" means I went to Mexico with Frank, Jay and Barbara.  Worked out means I became friends with JD.  And of course "worked out" means I got the girl I pined for.  I got to be with Wendy.  Just thinking about it.  Just thinking about the moment she asked me makes my heart beat faster. makes me lose my breath just a little, makes me just a bit dizzy or light headed.  "Wow, that actually happened!" 

All this seems to have reversed now.

However, just like last time everything is unfamiliar. Everything including the house I live in.  Okay, well, not all the time but this weekend if felt unfamiliar.

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Got this from Tara

Something this morning

There was something that came to mind this morning.  Something I could write about.  I forget what it was though.

Oh - got it!

The dryer.  This is to Wendy.

I remember when we first got together.  You were paranoid about the dryer running while you were gone because you had left the house and when you came back it was still going.  It had not automatically shut off.  You probably had it set on humidity. The humidity sensor that senses how dry the air is in the dryer and when it reaches a certain dryness did not shut down the dryer.  So for the entire time we were together, the entire seven years, the dryer always worked just fine.  So, I started wondering about that.  Thinking that maybe you were not gone that long (away from the house that is.)  And that maybe you thought it should have shut down when, in fact, it was running fine.  You were just not gone long enough.

Well! guess what!?  My lovely lovely princess you are vindicated!  Last night I put a load in the dryer at about 9:30 and I woke up about 1:30 and the dryer was still running.  The cloths were nice and warm of course. . . .

Gotta stop - gotta go to a meeting.  uhg!!!

I don't know why I woke up but I did and could not get back to sleep so I went out to the living room to listen to music and rock in the rocking chair.  As I entered the living room I heard the dryer still running.  And of course it bothered me to no end.  I took the cloths out which were very warm but they didn't burn me.  Some dryers get that hot.  I went back to the rocking chair and miraculously fell asleep after about three or four songs.  Even though I was thinking, "Fuck, I gotta buy a fucking dryer.  Should probably get a washer while I am at it." 

I also thought about how my higher power brings about consequence financial related ones when I start thinking about spending money foolishly and you know what I am talking about by now.  Anyway, although I think about it and have my little fantasies about it, I haven't done it - miracle?  Who knows?  But never the less, I was thinking about the fact that I have been looking at the ads and thinking I deserve it, feeling a sense of entitlement, etc. . . and now my higher power or as you would say "higher power" sans "my" is bringing about the consequence of me having to buy a new dryer. . .

With all that going through my head, I fell asleep.  When I woke up this morning.  I got the cloths out of the dryer and put them on the bed to sort them,  I took a shower, got dressed, and headed out the door to go to work and the thought occurred to me that I hadn't cleaned the lint trap in a while.  In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I checked.   I immediately thought, "That's gotta be it."  I checked it and sure enough it was totally loaded.  The lint actually had weight!  It probably weighed as much as a wash cloth.  Anyway, it hasn't been confirmed but I am thinking the dryer will turn off on it's own using the humidity sensor.  I will let you know.

Oh yes, and the car,  the Forerunner, the dashboard warning lights I know what they are about now.  Next post.

Peppercorns in the Grinder

Ground the last of the peppercorns on my beef pot pie last night - Marie Calender's, my favorite.  Ol' Marie makes a mean beef pot pie!  I knew what was coming.  I will bet you don't.  How could you?  You're what 23 years old?  I would never wish this on you.  I hope you never have to go through something like this. But in case you do, here's a head's up.

"What the fuck does this have to do with peppercorns?" you ask or are thinking.  Well filling the grinder with peppercorns is something that does not happen often.  I mean think about it how often would you fill a peppercorn grinder?  That is if you ground your own peppercorns which I do because I like fresh cracked pepper on those rare occasions that I use pepper.  Rare occasions being the operative words there.  Answer: years go by between the filling of the peppercorn grinder.

The last time I filled the peppercorn thing uh muh jigger was years ago.  In fact, I have only filled it once in the time I have lived here.  Prior to that I hadn't filled a peppercorn grinder since I lived in Colorado and was married to Ronda.  I remember when I filled this one I was thinking, "It's cool she has a peppercorn grinder because I like freshly ground pepper."

You're thinking, "This is awesome Andy, please tell me more.  I am on pins and needles here.  Don't fuck with me like this."

"She" refers to Wendy of course.  The last time it was filled was when Wendy was alive.  In fact, it was before Wendy was diagnosed.  The last time the fucking peppercorn grinder was filled was when life was cool.  It was when I was having a kick ass time.

I would just leave it right here but I will spell it out for you.  Filling a goddamn peppercorn grinder is mundane.  It is so mundane it doesn't enter into my consciousness until I run out of pepper and think,  "Gosh, it would be nice to have some fresh cracked pepper on my Marie Calender's  beef pot pie.  Oh well, I will just have to use the pepper from the pepper shaker."

Normally that would be the extent of it but it's not. This grief invades every nook and cranny, every nuance, every shade, every facet of my life.  It's like when you cut one of your fingers and have to bandage it up.  It is then you realize how much you need that finger because you no longer have the dexterity to type a fucking blog post.  Only thing is, this grief is like having your legs and arms bandaged up.   Okay, I am being a bit dramatic it's not quite that bad.  It's probably more like having your index finger on your left hand, middle finger and thumb on your right, big toe on your left foot, pinkie toe, toe next to big toe, and big toe on your right foot bandaged up.  And you no longer can taste anything. . .

Some thoughts on a Friday night.

In October of 2008 I moved from Kachina where I had been living for about 5 months up to Alyson's trailer.  This was right at the same time that Wendy asked if we could be more than just friends.  I lived there for 3 and a half years until January of 2012 when I moved in with Wendy.  We got married that year.  That was the year that Frank died.  In December of 2015, December 6th actually, Wendy died just three years after I moved in.

It is February of 2018,  this is the third year of living in Wendy's house without Wendy.
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And in other news

The forerunner.  Thought I was going to have to replace the transmission - turned out to be bad spark plugs.  Can't wait to see how it drives.  I am at work right now. PDM is down so I can't do anything in SW so I am writing in the beelog.

Met with Susan last night. This is kind of interesting.  I will write more about her later.  It started out that I could not imagine doing anything but uh oh. . .

So we'll be friends but we really won't talk to each other.

I really wish she had never asked me out.  I am kind of feeling a little bitter about it. I think it is because I am taking it a bit personally.  I will just do the standard ignore her thing.  You know like I kinda did with you.  It's really just a self preservation kind of thing. Just gotta get her out of my head.

Basically what happened is she lost interest and she found a way out.

I have gotten rid of all contact info for her - everything except unfriending her from facebook which I will probably do in about a month.  I am sure she won't be looking at my page. I am certainly not going to look at hers.  Not having her show up in the instant message thing on the right will help.

Just went on FB and she was on like 9 minutes prior.  I hadn't been on in two days.

I really really gotta put this in a better light.  Can't get a resentment on this but I feel one building.

So I am debating about going to the Sat meeting.  I think I am kind of obligated.  I mean if I don't go it will be somewhat apparent what is going on.  I am being somewhat immature.  Yeah like look at what you are reading hear - like this is really mature isn't it.  I will go and then take a bit of a break from that meeting.  Yeah the fucking resentment is building - gotta stop it.

An Ending

Concede Immediately

I think the best strategy that I have is to concede immediately.

con·cede

kənˈsēd/

1. 1.

   admit that something is true or valid after first denying or resisting it.

   
   

   "I had to concede that I'd overreacted"

   
   

   synonyms:

   admit, acknowledge, accept, allow, grant, recognize, own, confess; agree "I had to concede that I'd overreacted"

   • 
     

     
     
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2. 2.

   surrender or yield (something that one possesses).

   
   

   "to concede all the territory he'd won"

   
   

   synonyms:

   surrender, yield, give up, relinquish, cede, hand over "he conceded the Auvergne to the king"

Admit and then let go.  Interesting;  The two primary meanings of this word are the essence of steps one and three.

Knight Vision

"I have kind of strayed" said Arthur and so Guenever left.  She did not want to but she really had no choice.  Guenever's departure would not, however, deter Arthur from being Arthur.  Her absence was of no consequence in the quest that Arthur would finally take.

When Arthur had met Guenever he had already had lost many battles.  As he first laid eyes on Gwin he had yet engage in a battle he would eventually lose resulting in the loss of his wife Rhiannon.  (See Arthur and Rhiannon)  In that battle, all he had to do was ignore the daemons.  Instead he not only did not ignore the demons but went on to try to fight them.

Now, in the wreckage, once again, he was alone and this time there was no lady for which to fight. Or was there.

Back in the day - after the previous "Back in the day"

I have lived long enough to have multiple "Back in the days'"

Eternal Sunshine

I really hope this works.

The idea is, is to get me all hyped up about the fear.  Get me all hyped up about the perceived situation for which I am catastrophizing.  Get me thinking about it.  Get me living it.  Get me living it in my head right there as I am sitting in the therapy chair.  And once I am in it, she comes in with a  D9 Cat

D9 Caterpillar Bull Dozer

 And a wrecking ball

Wrecking Ball

and begins the long arduous process of tearing down the deeply flawed building that is in actuality my brain.  And so the first swings were swung and the first tracks were made through my poorly constructed head.

Have you ever seen a  building demolished?  Have you ever been in one as it was being demolished?  Have you ever lived in one that was being demolished.  I have.  It is weird.  You can be at the other end of the house and you hear some creaking.  You see some drywall dust stream down from the ceiling here and there.  You'll feel the vibrations and maybe hear a far-off bang.  But the room that you are in is not changing.  There could be carpet in it.  The walls could be painted nice.  There could be furniture in it. Like a bed, a chair, a desk, and dresser. And to the room, it is just another day.

My dad remodeled our house when I was a kid.  It started on a Sunday night with the bathroom.  All he wanted to do was just renovate the downstairs bathroom.  A hammer and a crowbar and the first bit of filthy carpet that was our bathroom floor began to peel away. In the end, no room would be untouched.

I remember being amazed at how my bedroom looked just as it always did while only two days ago so did the stairway.  And now! There was no stairway - just a ladder down to the first floor.  My dad did not consult OSHA.

You would open up my door and there was nothing — just air with the top of a step ladder about two feet below the door's threshold.  So for the latter part of high school I climbed up to and "down-climbed" from my room.

And then through the end of my senior year to the time I left to go to college my bedroom became basically a loft.  A ladder spanned the two to three foot gap that wasn't there because the first floor below my bedroom had been removed.  This required that I learn to negotiate getting up to and down from my bedroom in a variety of states of mind both day and night.  I managed quite well I think.

There is actually a lot more to tell here.  Perhaps another time.  I kind of digressed.  I am thinking about putting a little bit of this on facebook.

Anyway the work has begun.  The house actually never did get finished.  It suffered from what I now understand as "Scope Creep"  My dad just kept finding more and more shit to change.  This can not happen here.   We tore some stuff up today.  Before I leave she kind of puts a bit of a band aide on it and tells me to put whatever trauma I talked about in a "little box" and we'll open it up again next week!

One day I will talk about the guy in the Dr. Seuss hat wearing, high heal boots, nylons and a sort of "Santa Costume" that a stripper might where during the Christmas holidays?

Sick again

I am.

Sick again is also a song by Led Zeppelin.  It is interesting that the music composed primarily by Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones is now considered . . . . uh. . . taken seriously.  John Paul Jones indeed has musical training.  However Page is a self taught guitarist.  Their music is being dissected and analyzed these days by music scholars and what they are finding is nothing short of genius.

Any way, I am sick again.  It is a beautiful sunny day here.  According to the national weather service we are going to have nothing but beautiful sunny days for the foreseeable future. Corroboration of anthropocentric global warming or just the weather?

I wrote on FB that I accidentally stopped drinking coffee because I hadn't gone into work the last two days - Thurs and Fri. I believe I came down with a head cold of sorts.  It seems to have settled in my chest.  About half way through Thurs. I started getting a headache.  The kind where it feels like your head is going to explode.  The kind that makes me contemplate drilling a hole in my head to relieve some of the fluid pressure.  I imagine a geyser of blood shooting up or out of my head And as the arch of blood recedes so does my head ache. ahhhh.  Should work?  right? 

In the back of my mind I knew what it was and on Saturday morning I conceded to the answer.  Caf-fucking-fien.  About 5 minutes after taking some pain relief medicine with caffeine in it, my head started to feel better.  You know, I only drink about two cups of coffee a day.  I make two shots of espresso, add some hot water, and that's it.

I put this on facebook and one of Wendy's friends suggested I have chicken soup for my head cold.  Wendy said Jews call chicken soup Jewish penicillin.  I am thinking that every ethnic group calls it their penicillin - like Hungarians call chicken soup Hungarian penicillin.

So this morning I started looking up the recipe for the soup.  Wendy and I made it a number of times.  We made the soup for the high holidays and then the broth for Passover.  She had a little index card with the ingredients and instructions.  So I went to the little wooden box where she kept it and started looking through the cards and the papers that were jamb packed into that little box.  All the while, the feeling that I knew would come, started to come.

I went to the bookshelf to get her mom's cookbook.  Her mom along with her mom's friends made this cook book "way back when."  I suppose it was probably in the eighties when their lives were full.  I imagined her and her friends writing up the recipes, putting them together and going down to Kinko's to get the pages bound.  The names of some of the recipes hinted at fun times, like "Party Tuna Salad" (Okay, party and tuna salad really don't go together but for them it did) There are sections in there like "Breads","Deserts", "Holiday Dishes" "Fish, Meat, and Poultry", etc.  All of these dishes Kosher of course.  I imagined meals being prepared in the hustling bustling kitchen of the Zalut house hold.  The humid heat from water boiling, the rich smells of poultry seasoning, or cinnamon filling the air.  Wendy and her two brothers running around.  Playing.  Maybe playing hide and seek or building a fort with chairs, books, blankets while her mom and grandmother cooked appetizers, entres, and desserts out of this cookbook.  These were my memories of family get together's.  And then it hit me.

All of this was gone.  Her mother did not like the fact that I was not Jewish but I think she eventually liked me.  I had met her at Sam's Bar Mitzvah.  I was afraid of her.  She was luke warm to me. Both Wendy and I watched as her health declined and then we witness her death.  When she died, Wendy was reading a story from Kitchen Table Wisdom by Naomi Rachel Remen.  Wendy was holding her hand while reading a story out of the book and I think she felt the texture of her hand change.  She told her dad and her dad started talking to her but quickly realize Beverly Zalut had left this world.  I couldn't imagine what he was feeling.  Relatively speaking all I could say about how I was feeling was just sad, that is all, just sad.  Not profoundly so.  In fact, I probably felt simply somber.  Probably the most emotive thought I had was, "Holy shit, she's gone."  I suppose I might have been a little stunned.

A year and a half later Wendy would pass.

And now today I read what was.  I read about the plannings for getting together with friends.  I read about the things that at one time were prepared for people that are no longer here.

And as I looked for the chicken soup recipe I began to cry.  The damn broke and the tears came.

I went back to the box for a closer inspection of the pieces of paper and found nothing but recipes with her hand writing.  I found dishes that she would lovingly make for her children.  I found dishes that she would lovingly make for her ex-husband.  I found dishes that we would make together.  I found recipes for dishes that I would end up making for her.

And I realized that now I do hate cooking.  Cooking is something I told her I hated to do until I started cooking with her.  And then even for her.  I loved cooking for her.  I actually really did like it.  Now, I don't give a fuck about what or how I eat.  I hate cooking.

For vanities' sake, I just don't want to eat a lot and get fat.  Requirements on what I eat now are primarily related to time as in, "five minutes is the maximum amount of time that I want to spend screwing around with food."  As I found out today trying to cook from a recipe that she and I loved is just fucking painful.

I cried on and off for about three fucking hours.  I never did find the recipe for the soup and ended up going on line and found one similar to what I had in my memory.  Chicken soup and chicken seem to be big in the Jewish diet and I could not find any recipe for chicken soup in the house.  All I found was a flood of tears.

When I talk to her.

When I talk with her time passes.  It passes faster than the speed of time itself.  Okay, yeah, that makes no sense but to bring it home more clearly time passes really really really fast like some "thing" that goes really really fast. Or maybe time itself ceases to exist.  From the time I say "Hi" to the time I say "Goodbye." time goes away.

She doesn't like small talk.  Neither do I.  So we don't do small talk.  It's wonderful.  This is what I could do with Wendy.  I hear a lot of other women talk about how their boyfriend's or husbands are just on the surface.  That is so weird to me.  I can't do that.

My ex-wife stays on the surface.

Enough of that.

I feel as though we are trying to . . .   Okay,  I would like to think that we are trying to come together as slowly and as controlled as possible.  Both of us are broken.  I think a lot of people are broken; they just don't know it.  They get together with another person who is broken.  That person doesn't know they are broken either and then they have this horrible fucking relationship all the while they believe they are in love with one another.  They do and say awful things to one another that wouldn't even come to the minds of two mortal enemies.  I would like to think she is wanting to avoid that.

November 24th 1990

I know what I was doing on that morning.  Recovering from a hangover listening to Chrissy Hynde belt out Don't Get Me Wrong over and over - like from 8 or 9 am until around 1 pm.

I lived at 10312 West 80th Drive at the time:  The arrow and dot shows where I was rocking in the rocking chair repeatedly listening to that song.  And the following show the window of which I was looking out.

The night before my ex-wife gave me a lecture on drinking too much and how there was "no fucking way she was going to date a guy who did nothing but drink." (her words)  I didn't really drink at the time and said, "No Problem."  After which she said she said we could go out more.  After which we went to the Tivoli Brewing Company in downtown Denver and . . . well . . . got quite inebriated.  Despite the hangover, I was really giddy that morning.  And Don't Get Me Wrong reflected that wonderful feeling of new love.

Don't get me wrong

If I'm looking kind of dazzled

I see neon lights

Whenever you walk by

Don't get me wrong

If you say hello and I take a ride

Upon a sea where the mystic moon

Is playing havoc with the tide

Don't get me wrong

Don't get me wrong

If I'm acting so distracted

I'm thinking about the fireworks

That go off when you smile

Don't get me wrong

If I split like light refracted

I'm only off to wander

Across a moonlit mile

Once in awhile

Two people meet

Seemingly for no reason

They just pass on the street

Suddenly thunder, showers everywhere

Who can explain the thunder and rain

But there's something in the air

Don't get me wrong

If I come and go like fashion

I might be great tomorrow

But hopeless yesterday

Don't get me wrong

If I fall in the 'mode of passion'

It might be unbelievable

But let's not say so long

It might just be fantastic

Don't get me wrong

December 6th 2017