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!

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? 

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

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

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.