Monday, October 20, 2014

Dateline, Denver CO - The Police Are Ninnies

For the record, like all 6 people in my audience, I am as pure as the driven snow. Don't drink or smoke or solicit any naughty women. (I have tried, so many times, to understand the nature of the naughty women. And, clearly after curing her, I married one.) Never done anything to trouble anyone. Ehh, once, maybe.

However, I have ministered to the heathen crowd. Tokers of the bong and sinful distillations. Learned a few things, too.
  • Legal, illegal, or 40-toke-am-I-high-yet-ditchweed, the 'MaryJane', as the kids call it, is bloody expensive, as well as taking way too many surreptitious conversations to get, especially when it is entirely possible that you may may be speaking esperanto, or quoting Dave Matthews Band as if there is meaning to their lyrics, on a trac-phone. And while inhale-inhale-pass seems the be the order of the 'pot' party, it's considered poor form not to contribute. Much like a casserole party. 
  • The smokers I have ministered to, while occasionally freaky and far too into Dave Matthews Band, are not dicks.

So, let some fear-mongering settle upon your melon.


Using points one and two above, I wish to respond the the Denver PD.
  • A. My stash! MY STASH! "♩ ♫ ♯ Take these chances Place them in a box until a quieter time Lights down, you up and die ♮ ♬"
  • B. Be a dick to a kid? What do you think we are, priests?
Denver Police Department, basically, what you have done is not, in fact,
protected kids, but given ideas to assholes and publicity seekers. You are schmucks! Congratulations!

Monday, October 13, 2014

In Which paleo Speaks To Republicans - An Open Letter

I am puzzled by the ways of the internet. Not the usual nonsense though, Rule 34, Etsy, furries.

No, I want to know how I end up on Republican fundraising lists, such as this from Cory Gardner, Republican from Colorado and candidate for US Senate.

Chris Hansen
To: Me
Oct 8 at 4:56 PM

Mark Udall seems to be taking a very tough line on the threat ... 
... 
... We deserve a leader who will do his job. We need Cory Gardner. 
Take Care,
Chris Hansen
Campaign manager, Cory Gardner for Senate 
PAID FOR BY CORY GARDNER FOR SENATE
As I am polite, though I have neither thought nor care for Mr. Udall, I felt the need to respond to such an earnest missive. 
Dear Mr. Hansen, 
It pains me to break the news to you, but you are working for an evil, evil person. If you work for him willingly, I must ask you to turn inward, try to see the point in your life where you went so terribly wrong, a turn you missed, an opportunity shunned. I'm am sorry, but remember - it is never too late. Watch some Mr. Rogers re-runs. Take a walk in a nice public park. Work a soup kitchen. 
Or, it's Colorado. 
Smoke. 
A lot. 
Go full Maureen Dowd. 
Smoke until you can levitate the earth from under your feet, or until you understand which direction daylight savings goes. 
What I am saying, I guess, is tap into your inner human being.

Frankly, Mr. Cory Gardner is a Rep****can. In this period of our nation's history, where we suffer serious problems, the last thing we need is a conservative platform. I accept theocracy only if I am designated the Supreme Being, Commandment 1 - blessed be the distillers. I accept the savage foreign policy of bombing the hell out of anyone who looks at us crosswise only if it is applied to Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Texas, and Chicago Bears fans. I accept racism only towards NASCAR fans. I thank birth control for allowing me to keep my full paycheck. And to be briefly non-snarkish, for-profit education and healthcare is treason. The Koch/Walton spawn are traitors. The Tea Partiers are desperately, willfully, woefully uneducated.

I'm afraid I cannot help Mr. Gardner, or his campaign, but I feel, deep within me, hope for you. Honestly, I've never felt this way about a man before. Please Chris, (May I call you Chris?), don't let me down.

Love, paleotectonics
So.

Is Mr. Hansen going home with me, or do I owe him an apology? 

Friday, October 10, 2014

The Sound Of Ravenous Beasties

I don't own a cabin. It is unlikely, barring a number of random circumstances, that I ever will. But.

The northern night sky is the second greatest thing in life, and I can stand this view forever.

Of course, the greatest thing in life is the incredible chick next to me. Number 3? Sound of wolves in the night. The top ten is rounded out by a random mix of lefse, sasquatch, Legos (the random ones you can make your own stuff with), Jameson's, fishing, Barenaked Ladies (either definition), and a good wood fire.

Stout's Island Lodge, Birchwood, WI

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Two Day Diary

Friday, Oct. 3, 2013 - 0330

Why is my phone ringing? The hell, alarm. Gotta get up, get packed, seeing mom after work. Work, somewheres in my melon a bell is ringing, ermph, have to print up punchlist and get ahold of people. That's why I'm up. Coffee, dog, hi Jax!, oooh, my puppy skritchskritchskritch...skritch shit have to move! Where's my phones? Quick check the final score skritchskritch... GODDAMMIT!

Friday, Oct. 3, 2013 - 0510


night shifter "paleo, what in the hell are you doing here? It's like 5 in the morning..." 
paleo "garblemumblehad a fight with your wifeblumflurg" 
night shifter "What happened to your head? You don't look any weller than you normally do."  
paleo "You inspired me. I'm going for the shambling mound theme."

Friday, Oct. 3, 2013 - 0510

Going through the Kubler-Ross 5 stages of contractored work.

  1. Denial - No, I never said this was the final list.
  2. Anger - If you can't get your boss to get more guys off the bench, let me know. Imma stand on his desk and tell him exactly what I need. Possibly with sweeping arm gestures.
  3. Bargaining - C'mon, one more strong week and you'll never see the inside of this place again.
  4. Depression - I ain'tn't gonna get this done in time and my boss is going to rip my lungs out and beat me to death with them.
  5. Assessing the blame - November 3.
Friday, Oct. 3, 2013 - 1315

Everyone appears to be reasonably content. Go get some lunchhhhhhh that I forgot this morning. Along with apparently CPAP. Well, Subway and terrible night sleep it is.

Friday, Oct. 3, 2013 - 1605

In truck. Love my truck, but it is not a great traveller, stiff suspension, I know by the time I get to Phoenix La Crosse my kidneys will have failed and dribbled out my shoes. Still have radio from in town. Listen to Twin Cities sportsradio, delicious, yummy schadenfreudey tears.
Color announcer "Yeah sometimes a head coach needs to know when to dial it back a bit with the media - "
paleo "NO!, you goddam jocksniffing murderface fucker of ewes! We are building that moronic criminal Sopranos wannabe a billion dollar palace! Not only should Vikings fans expect answers from the goofy hooker, we as taxpayers ought to know his wife's recipe for tuna surprise and his Social Security number! Suck a fart!"
Friday, Oct. 3, 2013 - 1640

Okay, the driving chill factor not exactly there. Podcast? Aaaand I didn't download anything new. Pandora? Cheese? Done. Ooooo...




Friday, Oct. 3, 2013 - 1955

Made it to mom and dad's, cleaned up, dad drove us to the recovery/care center. My mom had a hip replaced Monday, 5 days later she can already stand and sit with more ease and comfort than the day before the surgery. She is such a tough chick. I am so happy, but so tired. Snuck her in some caffeine-free Diet Pepsi and some Reisens. We stayed about 45 mins.
Dad and I picked up Culvers on the way home, fish. Average, perfectly edible. Dad is surprised. Being 70+, with a german wife, one gets used to good home-cooked food, and not all fast food completely sucks. I'm too hungry and tired to notice and after inhaling a sturgeon and having a wee 5 or 6 shot toddy its beddy-bye. Know I'm gonna regret forgetting the CPAP.

Saturday, Oct. 4, 2014 - 0045

Yep. Regretting it. Just woke up from a vivid dream where I shaved my head with a plastic safety razor for I am sure a perfectly good reason, but now I had a skull full of bark-marks and blood, and all the scars on my head now visible to the world requiring I repeat the same boring stories. 

And the bed is a Temper-pedic, of which they otter be illegal, I hate the damn hot, clingy, tragically and painfully soft things.

Saturday Oct. 4, 2014 - 0800

I overslept, I blame the missing CPAP, the bed, late dinner, not enough to drink, not setting an alarm.

THIS BORING BLOG POST SHALL BE BRIEFLY INTERRUPTED TO SHARE PART OF TONIGHT'S SOUNDTRACK.


Saturday Oct. 4, 2014 - 0800

I overslept, I blame the missing CPAP, the bed, late dinner, not enough to drink, not setting an alarm. Want to see mom again and get out of town, get home and sleep before an overnight shift. Dad just wants me to help him a little bit with his virus protection.

Saturday Oct. 4, 2014 - 0905

Want to see mom again and get out of town, get home and sleep before an overnight shift.

This is the only briefly serious part of this 'diary', and there is much I won't go into, but. I am so proud of, and happy for, my mom. She is seriously awesome and I am a lucky, lucky person. One thing I will share - she asked me if my self-described 'weird turnaround' to see her for a total of maybe 2 hours was worth all the trouble. My answer of course being, hell yes.

Saturday Oct. 4, 2014 - 1030

Trucking back to the Twin Cities. I said above 'not all fast food sucks.' And I won't claim hypocrisy, sometimes I have a taste for McDonald's fries or a Sonic breakfast omelet and I will happily go and get them. Usually, however, if I am having fast food it is because I screwed up my eating schedule. Take everything I just said and pitch it in the trash, because I had to eat something and the only really convenient place was Burger Traitors. The food has never really been worse than most fast food, but they are traitors. I would guess, however, that the PR debacle of 'inverting' has taken a toll.
fast food worker "We're just going to make some fresh sausages for you." 
paleo "Actually, I appreciate that, being so lat-"  
microwave "beeepbeeepbeeep" 
paleo "e."
 Saturday Oct. 4, 2014 - 1300 

Home, and I have to nap, have to work overnight. Say hello to Jax, HELLO JAX!!, oh who's my puppy jesus christ you huge fucker owww! Jaxson! don't give me the look, oooooh, my puppers!!
Clean up lie down, mask on this time. Oh, that's sweet, my kitties crawled up next to daddy, and now Jaxson, between my legs, gosh, this is wonderful, umm, guys, can't move, guys? Jax? Divakittie? Whatever.

Saturday Oct. 4, 2014 - 2000 

This is going to be a long night. I know I'm tired, long day, but have to get my collective head out of my collective ass.

Sunday Oct. 5, 2014 - 0310 

Maybe not such a long night. Assuming the next hour doesn't find me crawling out from under the wreckage of several million dollars worth of switchgear to print resumes after end of night proof-test, or, an easier outcome, greasespot, given my manager's proclivity to remove pulmonary sacks from thoracic cavities involuntarily, then applying them, with wild, indeed gleeful, abandon, to a proximal skull. 

TTFN

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Back To The Village

Do-dee-do-dee-do-dooo, what to do.
Laundry, supper, try to clean teh laptop so I quit getting BSOD'ed, what's on TV, nothing, nothing, check Sweetie's TV apps that I can't figure out but pay for

oooof.

The Prisoner. The original. Only 'Arrival' but okay!

I owned the series on VHS a thousand years ago, still may, but VCR? America gets 2 and 1/2 Twerps, Auntie Beeb gets the Doc*, DangerMouse, and the Danger Man. There is no good excuse not to feed every American network exec to Rover.

If you don't know the general synopsis, Patrick McGoohan, an unnamed secret agent of the Crown, quits the intelligence agency due to a violation of his own principles. Given that he has a bit too much compromising information locked away in his melon, he is kidnapped, and taken to The Village.

The Village is a life sized gaslight, the intention to take away its experiment's/resident's individuality and break down the mental walls, allowing the captors to crawl through their brains for a bit. Some of the kidnapped hold out for a while, some try to escape and end up bumping into Rover (top, and left). Eventually, most submit to the conditioning, leading to the wildly surreal community; people no longer named but numbered, pennyfarthing ID tags, simpletons and automatons.




McGoohan, now No.6, although damned if he'll accept that, is of particularly high value (and fucking PWNS an all black suit at the beginning, I mean, I'm straight and married but holy dammit), and so gets both less and more leeway than the others. The series is an acid-washed chess game between No. 6 and a series of No. 2's, men who are the Village's HMFIC, reporting to their remote masters. (It seems failure is not an option, at least in regards to No.6.)



Watch this, then find the series and watch NOW.


What some people call symbolism, I call mushrooms. Be seeing you.


*McGoohan would have made a great Doctor. As to the 12th fuck you very much Steven Moffat, the only thing I consistently like about the new Series is Capaldi. The eps have been incredibly hit and miss, often within seconds of each other. Having said that, the last ep (Sept. 27, The Caretaker) was quite good.

Monday, September 29, 2014

Reminiscing

Been told I should post this.  And, you know, blog.


Aaaahhh, back in the day. 
When the whole family went to church for three hours every Sunday morning, and grandma just stayed and prayed so hard for another two hours for someone to get her off the kneeler. 
When children went outside, and with nothing more than a cardboard box, 37 pounds of black powder, and a dream, built a rocketship to the stars. 
When the neighborhood dog, suspiciously well fed in a neighborhood bereft of songbirds, would lick your face when he saw you on the way home from the measles party and two weeks before the measles party. 
When a man took care of his family by giving his paycheck to his high school sweetheart who then used it to pay bills and buy cleaning supplies and groceries and make supper and wrap Joey’s skinned knees in ducttape until next Thursday because Dad’s dues were due for his duties at the Kiwamoose Club. 
When mother watched her stories on the television, wrapped in a blanket on the couch cross-legged, like an Native American tribal leader, hands nowhere to be seen.
When little girls took 17 hours to make a cupcake with a 40W bulb, and when boys read adventure books such as the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew crossover Nancy Has To Go See Her Aunt For The Next Eight Months, and Tom Swift Goes Frog-Gigging.
I may cry. Hold me.


By the way, read the Zombie and the Beer Snob. Coupla decent cats.

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Random Thoughts and Pointed Anger

I'm annoyed on many fronts, infuriated on several more, so this is gonna be one of those pot pourer thingies. To preface, I have bile in my bladder, and hate, burning, like a thousand million very vigorous exothermic reactions, in my molybdenum.

- Its been a great year for Lil' Waynie LaLil'Peter, so many many pointless deaths! So many goddam lunatics!
I'll say these things out loud again. Stringent, stringent licensing for carry of any sort - basically, if you feel a need to carry a gun, you should not ever have a carry permit. Serious reform of the police, including firing and confiscating the weapons of about 85% of the cops extant. Pay the good cops what they're worth. All confiscated weapons should immediately go to the nearest smelter. Close the gun shows...period. I'm fucking tired of the penis replacements. A guy in Minnesota ambushed his neighbor because she yelled at him for riding his mower on her lawn, she survived. But the excuse given is that he had PTSD. "Well, paleo, what are you gonna do?" Hmmm.
PAY TO GET HIM HELP FOR THE PTSD AND DON'T LET HIM HAVE A GUN.
GAH!

Please to kindly fasten seatbelt before driving off the cliff. I don't need to see any last minute gymnastics.

- The radio announcer for newsbreaks @JimMiklaszewski , known for bloody horrible jokes-
"And now there is a new way to wipe your ass! Yes, that's right, a carwash designed for donkeys has just opened..." 
must be fed to ravenous ducks, then nuked from orbit, but he did not touch this dumb person. A radio announcer from an internet station said 
(para) "the tree in Griffith Park, Los Angerless, dedicated to former Beatle George Harrison has been guffaw chuckle snort pees self eaten by beetles! Whocouldanode! Oh the irony! Oh the humanity!" dies
Shut up. Trees eaten by beetles? You've just described half of life in the Twin Cities. Its a big circle. The beetles eat the trees, the trees die, the city replants the trees, my dog eats the trees. Please note please, the Beatles were not playing amateur ornithopterists when they came up with their name, they were making a play off of Buddy Holly and the Crickets.

- By the way, George Harrison is the second greatest former Beatle, based solely on 

Listen now please.
Greatest former Beatle? Ringo. Full stop, I'm right, bugger off. While Paul was writing 'Liverpool Oratorio' , Ringo was touring with Joe Walsh. While John Lennon was in a 5 year alcoholic haze before giving half of his comeback album to Yoko Ono, Ringo was in "Caveman". Ringo always remembers it's just rock and roll, have fun and give thanks you can have a career where you can have fun. And 

is awesome.
(Also, Yoko Ono is awesome. Loves me some Yoko. She does not give a flying dammit what anyone, including me thinks of her. She can't fucking sing. She doesn't care about my opinion. Swoon!)

- I listen to a lot of podcasts, and have recently found and listened to Clyde Lewis, Portland OR radio/internet presence. Think Alex Jones without the permanent aneurysm and with a sense of humor. I know, me, right? Loves me some weirdness. I can peel through the eps to avoid the 'faked moon landing' stuff. About six months ago, he babbled about the Hollywood Sex Magick Underground, Miley Cyrus as the Trickster devil baby panda sidecar burrito, acid and sacrifice. I call it Tuesday. He is worried about the resurgence of the Satanic Panic. Ummm.
There was a real Satanic Panic in the 70's and 80's, and it wasn't about consenting adults, twerking, snorfing down every powder in sight, wiring their lesbionic accessories to the nearest 480V outlet. Real people got hurt, by cops and prosecutors seeing a sexy way to drum up business and budgets, by people looking for answers in tragedies with no answers, by worthless preachers using the threat of SATAN to protect children from thinking. People spent time in prison because prosecutors and psychologists manipulated children. Actual cases of child abuse were not enough - now there had to be baby sacrifice. Ignoring the wave of babies not being kidnapped. Pat Pulling and Bothered About Dungeons and DragonsI feel bad for her kid, feel bad for the obvious problems she had. My parents were bothered about D&D, primarily the part where I would disappear Friday at about 7pm and show up Sunday for church. We became experts at casting one spell - Repel Chicks. Goddamit, lady person, we were just little frakkin nerds, for Sauron's sake.
I apologize for this.
So Clyde, don't pretend that a bunch of Hollywood idiots playing as if they were the London Hellfire Club are any sort of trend towards armegeddon. Hell, I loves me some Miley Cyrus - she wins the Golden Troll forevah. Not especially curious about her latest chart-topper but wevs. Have fun, Miles!

(Oh, and Kennedy? I take the position of Bill Hicks, when he explained why people can't go up to the window of the Texas Book Depository Assassination Museum - because you'll look out the window and "THERE'S NO FUCKING WAY!" Oswald was very likely involved in some manner...and a patsy, and debateable as to whether he was the actual killer.)

- Its been in the 80's for the last few weeks. "Oooh, paleo what a beautiful day-y-y." 
Shut up. 80 is the gate to hell. 80.1 is hell, and the metaphorical representation of evil, who I treat much like I treat the metaphorical symbol of good, to pick a word, ummm, so much bullshit, is ramming the nearest pitchfork into your nearest available nipple. Which, you know, whatever floats yer boat. 80 does not float mine. When I take over as the metaphorical symbol of good, 55degF every goddamn day.

- Speaking of the 80's, and radio up above, I'd been on a metal shift for a few weeks, courtesy of a Twilter friend. (caution- loud, angry, cool)


Then a certain young dead friend threw me back into the young paleo days. SO I've been listening to what is laughingly called oldies radio a bit, reaching for the good:

within the huge amount of dreck.
(Imagine I have put an Eagles link here. I will not because I really respect you. You are not like those others.)
But, one point I must reiterate. The Eagles are a good band, technically proficient, well produced, and certainly like many people I've heard a lot of them. But please. Stop. No more 'Life In The Fast Lane'. No more Reelin' In the Years'. Strangle 'Stairway to Heaven'. There is a lot of music out there, qualifying as oldies/classic rock. (Poison is neither, KOOL 108 Twin Cities. Shut up.) Try 'Seven Bridges Road' or anything from when the Eagles were aping Gram Parsons. Try 'Bad Sneakers'. If you want long Led Zeppelin, try:


- Hell with it. Ta.