And The Goddammit Beat Goes On.

Our house is a one-man crime wave. Oh, and fuck metaphors.

We had a break-in a week ago. Late Sunday night. We were out like the proverbial LED fixture, maybe 1:30am. Jaxson started barking. This is not unusual, he’d been squabbling with the cats earlier, but he’d gone upstairs, Sweetie and I were vaguely conscious now, so she went up to let him out or yell at the cats or let the cats out and yell at him or it was 1:30am, who the hell knows.

Sweetie got to the top of the steps and noticed the door from the house to the garage was open. Her first concern was the cats getting out so she checked the main garage door, it was closed, phew, she could get some treats to get the cats back in.

Then she noticed one cat was still in the kitchen and the passage door from the garage was propped open with a gallon jug of distilled water. Very uncatlike behavior. Her brain was defuzzing now, and she checked the other house doors, a light was on in the living room but the door was closed – the back door of the house, out to the yard, was wide open, yard lights were on. She came down and got me, said “I think someone’s been in the house”, suddenly now I’m quite wide awake, I grabbed a bat*, we went upstairs, Jaxson staying with us, house is devoid of bastard, into the living room, both laptops were gone, she’s already calling the cops. I, in retrospect stupidly, alone, went out to check the vehicles. Both were fine but my truck was unlocked, I suck at life, by the way, fuck me, the garage door opener was gone, along with an old iPhone I was using basically as an iPod. My wallet had been gone through but only about $15 in cash taken, the wallet was left with all cards and ID, another $20 taken off the counter. Jaxson is a goddamn hero. He has been treated and treat-ed really damn well for a week. It was pretty clear Jaxson had chased he/she/them off and they just grabbed the most obvious shit. Why didn’t Jaxson react immediately? He/she/they did have a couple minutes, to open a second door, turn on some lights. Our guess is that because we have a rather jangled family lifestyle, someone coming in at 1:30am is not always particularly unusual, at least, it used to be not particularly unusual, and he wouldn’t go nuts immediately, but he undoubtedly dragged hisself up and went upstairs expecting skritches and found it was not someone we knew. Jaxson is a goddamn hero, is what I’m saying. He was up there with Sweetie while I was still trying to figure out what socks are. Goddammit.

So the police came, I used my phone to change every password for every site I used for my laptop, I didn’t do any business on it thank FSM because I don’t trust electronic business practices, and hers was password protected, so I’m not extraordinarily worried, just ordinarily worried, about ID theft. So very angry at myself.

Many steps are being taken, we are getting a monitored system and I’ve done some security upgrades and doing more, but mostly we have to use caution. How do we do that without feeling like prisoners within our own homes? Don’t know. I have had a week of poor sleep, paranoia, savage revenge and booby-trap fantasies in my brain, and I don’t like it, really don’t like brain right now. It could have been infinitely worse, I’m under no illusions, there is some #privilege speaking, I know, we have good lives. By the way, you can’t buy razor wire commercially. Life continues, we’re relaxing some. Watched a movie called ‘Ogre’, so our sense of humor is returning. She’s been through this before, many years ago, I have not, she’s hardly overjoyed but I’m taking it worse and angrier, she’s just pushing the solutions. I married well out of my league.

Dammit.

*I work with any number of gun-nuts, and haven’t told them about this, because I don’t want the conversation with them that I had with a friend who CC’s, but he’s not a sociopath. I don’t have a handgun. Still ain’t gonna get a handgun. Hate the filthy things, don’t want them in the house. The furthest I’ve even thought in that direction is getting a beanbag barrel for the shotgun, still not entirely out of the question, but she really doesn’t like the thought. A big part of the reason I don’t want a goddamn gun in the house is exactly the situation we had that night. Sleep-fuzz plus confusion plus sudden adrenaline burst plus artificial penis equals fucking disaster. And suppose the other party had a gun as well? With them wide awake, alert, and having the, to use a stupid term, ‘drop’ on me? To my friend, I started to say “When you have a gun, you have to be prepared to-“ and my friend finished “-use it.” “No”, I said, “to kill.” I’m not prepared to kill over a couple old computers, and if he/she/they had hurt my wife or pets, I don’t care what they are armed with, with my last breath I would have shown them their own throat. This criminal was just looking to grab and go, it seems there is a (professional?) ring of these bitches hitting the TCs right now, people in the house, people not in the house, always looking to go in through the garage, and there are detectives working on it, we’ve found out, so they’re taking it quite seriously, our stuff is long gone but everyone is safe. A gun would only have escalated the situation to very conceivably deadly proportions. Fuck that and fuck gun-nuts and fuck guns.

In Which paleo Messes With Evil

Combination squirrel feeder/dog entertainment system.

Thoughts?

Two Brief Stories

I cannot yet comment on the Dom Caper Follies, kickoff's at 3:25 Central, or the Doctor, as Sweetie spent the night with her Girl Scout Troop, so we'll see the Doc tonight.

Actually, a touch of explanation is called for. We are childless, and at the stage of life where we is going to remain free of carpet squirrels. One set of our best friends has four children, all badly in need of restraints and lithium. Teh oldest female child, already 6' at 15, is a Girl Scout - we've bought cookies, QEmotherfuckingD. Her mother, one of Sweetie's closest friends, is the, I believe the term is 'troop leader'. Sweetie done got drafted.

Last night was the fall 'camp-in', where they shared s'mores and stories of cannibalism. I think. 

Herr Doktor Right Reverend Zombie has already commented on him falling out the back of a wardrobe and ending up in a Bourbon Haze in a state with 8,000 lakes (goddammit) and a massive

Jawa Sand Crawler taking shape on the east side of Minneapolis for some semipro sportsball team. (And briefly seriously, that was a great damn weekend! I fear he has acquired an expensive new habit, distilled finery...) I have one short story, outside of the Zombie/Snag whirlwind reaping, to add.



I'd been invited to see Blues Traveller at Mill City Nights, a local music club, and went. Sweetie played designated driver for three of us, my BIL and one of my twatting-introduced buddies.

We get to the club, and three good-sized, somewhat shaggy buggers pile out of an Equinox. Now, I frequently wear a dark brown felt fedora. Adventure hat I calls it. On a very good mental health day, I would refer to myself as stout, p'raps chunky. We start into the club, and a gentleman, seemingly homeless, or possibly severely polluted, mumbles up to us. Unable to sort out what he was saying to us, he started pushing a folder or photo at us. Confused, we say no thanks, boss, and head into the club.

Later in the club, I saw a guy looking somewhat like the dude out in the lot in the club, and the light hit me. Stout, fedora, at Mills City - little dude thought I was John Popper! Not sure how to feel about that, but I'm pretty sure I'm right...



This week I was offered a job/promotion. I had two days of meetings with the hiring manager for the position, as he was at our site, and our preventive maintenance program is to become the standard across the company's data center management portfolio. I run our PM program, and although I tend to be loathe to blow my own horn, I am really good at my job.

While bullshitting at lunch, he  said something about DC ops managers, and I said, somewhat joking, do you have any openings? He said yes, and after working with me for two days, he was prepared to offer me the position. And "I'm serious. Talk to your wife!" Middle of nowhere, New Brunswick, Canada. N-i-i-i-i-c-c-c-e.

Well, of course, we talked about it, and although she was not as enthused as I, she was open to it, but after discussing some things, she brought up family issues I hadn't thought of, that truly prevent us from getting that far away from the midwest for the forseeable future. I spoke to the gentleman the next morning and told him I would be unable to look at it. Now, I hadn't even asked him anything, really, about the job, so it may have not been a fit anyhow, but I cannot deny the location and the title were not an awful lot of what I like... Eh, it is what it is, I have a good life and good friends here, and other opportunities will happen.

Coming up shortly, Live-Blogging the Packers Chargers!

A Bit Of paleo History

Anyone reading this blog can tell I'm not exactly right. So Imma share a few stories of my past with the understanding that, as part of my biography, they make absolute sense.

I went to college at the University of Wisconsin - Eau Claire, known for damn near not a damn thing except for the Footbridge over the Chippewa River, which at the time was known to have the coldest recorded temperature in the contiguous United States. Fucking yay. I also peed off it after a particularly usual night at the bars and got yelled at by a cop who refused to shake my hand after he let me go and I wanted to start a religion in his honor.




















I'm crossing the bridge one day, 1989 maybe?, on my way to my apartment in the college ghetto, when I met with some lady, walking a St. Bernard, crossing the bridge in the other direction.

"Hey, Cujo!" says paleo, and kneels down to collect smooches from a dog larger than he.

Says the lady, "I have to say,"
Says I, "Ja?"
Says she, "You are the first caucasian person who has ever called my dog 'Cujo'."
Says I, "Ah."
Expounds she, "Do you know who usually calls this dog 'Cujo'?"
Queries I, "No?"
Filibusters she, "People. Of color."
Stutters I, "Ah. Good. Um. Ok. I, have to go, um, anywhere, really."

The next little vignette is again set in Eau Claire, in 1994. I was sharing an apartment with a co-worker (and part-time paleo-chauffeur - see the rest of this sentence), still in the college ghetto, (I was young, footloose, fancy free, and sans driver's license), in a bit of a hellhole (I was also pretty broke, see 'sans driver's license'). I, of course, believe in ghosts. And Bigfoots. UFOs. Giorgio Tsoukalos. My roommate/co-worker was several years younger, seriously crazy, a bit mentally slow perhaps, whether due to illness or the fact that he had a brutal upbringing I'm not certain, and while not religious, very superstitious.

I was cool with the day we came home after a typical 9+ hour workday and found our shower on, with the water still hot. Little weird, lot unlikely, but harmless and kinda neat. Randy didn't really puzzle it out the way I did (if we had left it on in the morning, how the hell was there hot water) and didn't particularly care. Not so one evening.

We were watching TV and the answering machine beeped. (Ask your parents, kids.) The phone had been silent. Huh. Randy got up and played the message. The tape rewound for quite a while. What came out at first seemed like white noise, but then we could make out the sounds of a TV. Shortly we heard our voices, the conversation we'd been having 10 minutes prior. The answering machine had turned on the memo function (again, kids, ask your never mind) and recorded us for the length of the tape. I got shivers and wondered about the possibility of creating a television show about hunting ghosts. Randy, being more superstitious and far more decisive, yanked the machine and any cords that remained attached off the table and sent it off the balcony out to the street.

Last story. This ain'tn't particularly freaky, but goes under the category of "What In Blazes".

In 1992, myself and two college buddies, Big Larry and Lil' Larry, went to Larry's parent's home in Hayward, WI, about February. We went to Cable on Saturday to go cross-country skiing on the Birkebeiner trail, and then winter camping in the Kissick Swamp Wildlife Area.

Please understand, by winter camping... Well, at this point in our camping careers we were prepared, having gone from the surplus maggot bag to proper 70 below winter bags, and, luckily, this time, brought a tent. (This was not always the case... Bright.) We brought assorted cuts of meat to roast over a campfire, enough meat to turn sweat to cholesterol and urine to orange-ish, ummm, urine. Gathered wood, then gathered some wood. We were concerned about temperatures that night so we gathered a little more wood. Took down a dead tree. And 19 live trees. Squirrels nests. Blair witch hangie thingies.

We settled down after a while, three in a tent, warm, well fed, (there was beer buried under the coals for the morning for a touch of fun). At some point in the middle the night, freezing rain sealed us in the tent (to be gleefully borked off in the AM). 

This was pre-cellphone era, and I've never toted a watch too much, so I can't swear by the time, but it was still the middle of the night, the freezing rain had stopped but it was still some time to dawn. Lil' Larry woke us. After the obligatory "What the fuck?" from Big Larry and "Is there coffee?" from paleo, Lil' Larry shushed us. As fog cleared, I heard, we heard, the sounds of a helicopter, doing what sounded to be a sweep of maybe a mile wide, and heading in our direction. The sound continued to move, back and forth and slowly coming closer, for maybe 10 minutes, then stopped. 

Inside the tent, we obviously saw nothing, but as it approached our curiosity grew. Middle of the night, we were not thinking other than, helicopter. And when the sound of blades abruptly stopped, we thought 'no helicopter' and went the hell back to bed.(z) It was with the light of dawn that we realized, hey, 'that sumbitch just stopped', and 'yeah, we're not in the middle of British Columbia, but we're pretty damn isolated. What in the hell was all that?!?'

Questions, comments, scathing rebuttals?

(z) Our usual rule for camping - first one up goes the fuck back to sleep, unless it's paleo, cuz he's just going to make coffee anyhow.

Consumer Review - Let's Dish

On Saturday, having received gift certificates for Christmas, Sweetie and I went to Let's Dish.

Let's Dish is a commercial food prep business. It publishes monthly a list of recipes, and has in the store stations where you prep the food, to take home ready to cook. Initially, I believed that there you created heat and eat dishes, including for conditions such as diabetes (me) and gluten intolerance (Sweetie). Upon going, I learned that that this was not the case: the published recipes had ingredient lists and nutritional value information, giving you the information to choose wisely.

(I believe now I was conflating Let's Dish with Seattle Sutton's, two of which, in the northern suburbs of the Twin Cities, I see have moved or closed. I was not impressed with the business model even as I thought about doing it - the primary barrier to entry is the requirement of access to a commercial-grade kitchen, licensed and inspected. And such.)

We created 8 half-size recipes (ideally becoming sixteen meals for the two of us - bearing in mind I suck at portion control...). The meals created are bagged as full or half orders, and Chez Paleo and his inimitable assistant Sous-Chef Sweetie brought them home to freeze. They are meant to be then thawed and cooked, stovetop or baked, with destructions and estimated times.

OK, review time...

The place sparkled, the recipe stations were clean and neat, with silverware/measuring ware changed frequently by the staff. That's really to be expected for such a thing but still good to see. Headwraps and aprons are required, and I am seriously hot in a dew-rag - my milkshake brings the never mind...

Although my initial, and incorrect, thoughts regarding specialized menus were so, so damn wrong, it was easy to pick menu items. The work stations are clearly labeled and in a vague form of order - putting together a package, even with us gleefully snarking at each other, took no more than 10-15 minutes apiece.

In the vein of gleefully snarking at each other, my wife and I, although quite happy, live a terminally screwy life and don't get to see each other/do as much together as we'd like. We did this together, sort of a datey thing, and had a lot of damn fun.

Recipe destructions and estimated times for final cook are pretty reasonable - you typically need an oven, or stovetop, maybe a propane torch, house fire, basically some form of heat, and 30 minutes to an hour.

There is a downside - you pay for it. We had gift certificates, and enjoyed it so much that we are likely to continue with it, to some extent, after the certificates are done, but there is expense - be aware.

I give it two sliced thumbs up!

Merry. Blasted. Christmas.

In what has become a 2014 tradition for me, I got released from the hospital a few hours ago. A severe case of cellulitis, lower right leg. While the left leg is still in the process of healing a substantial DVT. Adding in the particularly horrible little curse I have, teh diabeetus, health care professionals reacted excitedly. 

Overnight Sunday through this AM, a blur - I respond very poorly to narcotic painkillers. (Sweetheart can take oxycodone and do beadwork; I take mere vicodin and forget what vision smells like.)  

As IV antibiotics in adorable quantities started making some difference yesterday, I noticed an annoying little cough, which before too dreadfully long turned into a rather frightening difficulty breathing. One freakout, set of bloodwork, and chest x-ray later, I've added the Flu A to my facebook favorites. My sweetheart, 3 nights by me nearly constantly, royal pain in the ass to nurses, doctors, custodians and food services, had been a champ, but by this morning I'd re-payed her. With the Flu. Fudge.

We're back now, my leg looking like roadkill, feeling like a chew toy, only reluctantly supporting my somewhat dizzy body, and with a remarkable stew of pharmaceuticals floating through my bloodstream. My wife out cold under 170p.s.i. of blankets. I'm only up for a bit yet, due to pill scheduling that will overrule my typical routine for the next few days, but I've managed to hit a few personal perennial Christmas traditions tonight.







I kind of wish my new 2014 traditions will die quietly and then spontaneously combust in a bucket of gasoline on the floor of the oxygen tank storage room for the maintenance shop at the flour mill. But Christmas, shit. Still love it, and no fucking medical bullshit gets to take it. And since it is, right now, Central Standard Time, midnight,

MERRY PASTAMAS TO ALL, AND AL DENTE GOOD NIGHT!

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

Life In The House Of paleo

So, it's been a few months.

First week of May, Sweetie had a knee replacement.

She'd been in pain for about 4 years, starting when she had some arthroscopic surgery to trim cartilage. I myself am convinced that this whole mess began because she was not given physical therapy after this first knee. She then favored that knee until the second was wrecked, needing similar arthroscopic surgery. PT was prescribed this time, but she know used the repaired but not corrected first knee in favor of the second, re-wrecking the first. The second knee followed up with falling apart, a few years of treatment, cortisone, a distinctly woo-pitching chiropractor, and ending with ridiculous pain in both and a need for pain killers to go buy bread. Back to the knee replacement.

So, they vegematicized her left knee. Or right. I can tell compass directions easily, left and right floozlify me. A week in the hospital, home. We had her parents here to help, get her to PT, help her with exercises, getting in and out of bed. She's a great lady, braver than I, she did very well. (In-laws only drove me to rage a half a dozen times, only drove me to homicidal rage once. I appreciate their help, but goddammit.) She did so well that she asked if she could push the schedule on her second knee up, from late 2015 to late June. We discussed the matter - I was all for the next surgery with one big caveat: all she could do in the meeting with the orthopedist was ask. She could not sell him on it, he had to be entirely on board on his own.

So, June 17 she had a knee replacement. Right knee, now. Fuckin' A bubba, she is so much braver than I. Surgery went well, but this time, for both practical reasons (not wanting to wreck the first knee healing the second) and for other practical reasons (I generally genuinely like my in-laws and can't afford the quicklime or shallow grave, the inevitable results of another 3 week stay), she went to transitional care/therapy. Again, she performed like a champ, and came home on, well, shucks, the symbolism gives me a crick in my stuff, Independence Day. Doesn't mean independence, per se, I have been helping her, accompanying her. We have basically spent the last few days alone in the house, couch and bed, bullshitting, loving pets, eating too well, it has been, with it's own medical stresses, a wonderful weekend. There's a recovery ahead of us still, but I am a very happy paleo!

I have had to fight the fishing gods to make my boat obey my commands, but have been out a few times. I still either have to fix a trolling motor, or put a rope on it and use it as an anchor.

19" Largemouth. And character from 'The Wall'

The dog, Jaxson, is 65# of cool. Also bloody insane. Possibly possessed.

MAH PUPPEH!!!

Life is not all peach and lobster stew. I have finished spring PM season, and it were tough. Also, the company is 'exploring' the big 'O'. Not not the fun one, outsourcing. Imma trying to polish my resume and update my CV as much as possible before the fall decision is made. Bastards. Meantime, I have one arm that is largely non-functional (gotta see the orthopedist myself), so I'm fairly certain I'm not going back into construction.

NEVERTHELESS, MY WIFE IS HOME. I am so happy I could dance! (Well, step dance. Non-functional left arm.) I will not complain! That's for the next post.

If The Nuns Could See Me Now

Yay, it's Easter Eve!

At midnight, teh babby Jesus travels the world in his magical cart, drawn by 8 tiny rabbits and a beagle if I remember my miffology*, with the hole under the seat so he can lay eggs and M&Ms for good children all around the world as long as they are not heathens, who should be droned, but at the very least will burn in lakes of sulfur for eternity because love...

It will also be the end of Lent, and I must say I'm thrilled, bursting with pride, that I have lived up to my resolution of not going to bed sober for 6 weeks. Alas, all good thingies must end, but this one will be tough...

Traffic to work yesterday was brilliant, open roads, odd because the TwinCities commuting scene, while not as stabbishly universally recognized as say, LA, can suck econo. Curious... Oh wait, everything shuts down for a Christian holiday. Wall Street closed. Can you imagine that collection of coke-fueled monsters closing for Diwali? People at my place of work have the right to take off Good Friday. I clearly need religion. Persecuted christians my dimpled genitalia.

Just as an illustration of how amazingly cool and attractive Christianity is, when they were trying to impose their bullshit, they would Borg the area festivals and retcon some bits to appease the local population. Hence, a baby born surrounded by sheep shit, more or less the common experience of shepherds, gets flowered up with pine trees and a fabulously generous, alcoholic, probable diabetic, old dude with a habit of dressing flash. For Easter, instead of

"Jesus Fucking Christ! ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE! Whoah, dude, how long you been buried?!? Febreze or something, man!"

becomes painting eggs, treasure hunts, and CHOCOLATE!!!

The world is going to hell in an Easter basket.

* And yes, the greatest philosopher of the 20th century, barring maybe Theodore Geisel, is Charles Schultz. If you disagree, you are tragically wrong.
_______________________________

Just a few brief bits of news, as my posting habitrail has been next to non-existent.

July 29, the day before my birfday, Barenaked Ladies in Sioux Falls SD. Little goddam far to drive, 4 and a half hours, but my favorite band ever and suchlike, and probably sack out in Nebraska with teh in-laws.

This is Jaxson now, about 55#, likely to become a touch heavier but not probably expand much more. Density, etc. An issue there is that he can already kick my ass, which is a thing because I occasionally has to remind him who is alpha dog.

I love my doofuspuppy!!!

2 more weekends of overnight Saturday preventive maintenance and I ain'tn't got diddly until September. Therefore, fish, feel threatened. Imma personally endanger yer asses.

In Which paleo Is Bugged And Wishes To Stand On A Soap Box For A Few Minnows

The other day I was shooting the shit with an acquaintance. He’s in most ways a genuinely decent guy, devoted family guy, outdoorsman, stand-up type, I’d have no issue trusting him.

You are hearing a ‘but’.

But, he is very conservative. Constitution/Libertarian party. He knows I am a raging liberal, and we try to avoid politics. The exchange the other day was, inadvertently, my fault. I was laughing at news from CPAC when I ran into him, Paul Ryan lying his ass off about liberal parents and brown bag lunches.

(all quotes are paraphrases, best I can, and making me look fantastic and smarter than I am)

Naturally, he was curious. Then defensive. Big Lyin’ Ryan fan. “Oh, those are liberal sites.”

Wevs. PaulieDude has already apolo-lied, and liberally spread the blame with a bit of a perimeter around himself.

Then “you got your liberal president, and Hillary Clinton running the next time”. Followed by me metaphorically beating my head against a wall – “Bullshit. I voted for Obama, and occasionally like the guy. He is not a liberal, by any stretch. Clinton is not a liberal by any stretch. I’d kill to vote for a liberal.” “Obama is the most socialist president we’ve ever had-” “Again, bullshit. I’m a socialist. Obama is a lite republican on a good day. I voted for him because the alternatives by the time of the general campaign, Romney and McCain&Palin, or any republican clown, were too horrifying to contemplate. I am a liberal. I like freedom, dammit.”

This surprised him a bit. “Freedom?”

“Yeah. You cannot be a republican and believe in freedom.”

“Well, what do you mean by that?”

I terminated the conversation at that point, no upside for me to be engaging in open political warfare with this dude, and besides his dreadfully confused political views, I like the guy.

What I would say given the choice, however?

The United States as a whole is far and away the wealthiest country on earth. (And as I was writing that I started to spell “company”, which is the clear goal of the CPACBaggers. Paging Doc Freud?)

We can afford health care, unencumbered by profit corporations and the real death panels, and the whims of religious sociopaths who don’t believe in the science that gave them their jobs as pharmacists and doctors. Under most circumstances, a bankruptcy due to medical costs is a sign of a morally bankrupt society. You want innovation? Take some guy, formally educated or just interested in a topic, thoughtful, who needs to keep a full time pathetic-wage job to keep insurance, or several full-time minimum-wage jobs to afford insurance, and give him a chance to invent, create, play, learn, and you’ll see some damned innovation.

We can afford infrastructure. This may be the only crisis in the United States greater than the health care crisis. (In neither instance do I use ‘crisis’ lightly.) More and more people cannot trust their fucking TAP WATER. The way-y-y-y too many being poisoned by corporations (who, if they are ‘people’, need some damn jail time) are a drop compared to the number of people whose city water supply and sewage disposal are more and more sharing the same waterways. The people driving to work about to do the Minnesota Shuffle on some bridge that has been condemned for 30 years. The schools that don’t really need a new Vikings stadium so much as having the asbestos removed, and perhaps some environmental controls, hell, a window air conditioner if nothing else. Freedom from fuckin’ TB, for chrissakes.

We can afford education. I would dispute that schools are necessarily top heavy in personnel, as many of the ‘vice principals in charge of fryer oil’ go by other titles as well, such as 5th grade social studies teachers and maybe see another $500 a year for that principleship. Teachers are trained and educated and need to be paid like it, and worked a helluva lot harder in college than some damn cookie-cutter frat-fuck MBA. We can afford gym class and arts education – if something has to go due to budget constraints, might I suggest the league sports, waste of time and space. Teach the kids. If the NFL wants a farm system, let them pay for it. Freedom to have a chance. It’s not a hard calculation to do.

We can afford basic nutrition, especially for our neediest, kids, the elderly. The lunchroom admin in Utah who threw away kids lunches needs to be beaten a lot. The MN legislators who applauded and cheered after cutting Meals On Wheels in MN need to be beaten with the lunchroom admin from Utah. And yes, there are healthy adults who, from no fault of their own, who need and deserve food. And yes yes, there are healthy adults who, from fault of their own, need and deserve food. Yeah, there can be conditions, but those conditions must start with feeding the people. Then job training, then job help, then education help. I don’t care that Marcus Bachmann complains that it will cut into his brie and KY budget for his Thursday poker nights, because first of all, he’s lying, and second of all, he’s really lying. Again, you want to see innovation? Take some kid who’s a damn genius but can’t think at school because the cheapest way to get him breakfast is ramen, and turn him loose with some energy, let him thunk about learnin’ as opposed to how many days in a row he’s had Corn King hot dogs for supper. Freedom from suffering. Life can be hard, life can occasionally be cruel. But we don’t need to increase the cruelty, and we can afford to assuage it somewhat. Read the RED WORDS, conservatives.

Women are different from men. Yep. Also, men are different from men. Women are different from women. And, some men and women are similar. Take your gender bullshit and shove it up your gender-specific orifice, righties. Women get birth control covered. Women get to control their bodies, including the choice to terminate a pregnancy, and the choice to keep a pregnancy, and don’t you ever minimize their agency. If she wants to be a housewife, good for her. If she wants to be a CEO, good for her, and beat, with the MN legislators who applauded and cheered after cutting Meals On Wheels in MN, anyone trying to obstruct her way to either destination.

There are people who are not white men, and not only are they not like white men, they are sometimes not like each other. And, sometimes, they are like white men. Or act as a bloc because they are like each other. So fucking what. Let them pick their own destination and shut the hell up.

Never be under the illusion that a corporation gives a damn about the United States, you, their own grandmothers (They're people right? Must have grannies.) The owe your community a return on the commons provided that allows them to make money. Don't poison people. Don't run your workers through a bandsaw. A little community investment wouldn't suck. The commons owes them infrastructure in return, roads, cops, educated workforce. All they owe you is a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work. All you owe them is a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay. Either of you may negotiate terms, both of you must live up to agreed terms. The best way to do this is the union structure, with healthy government enforcement, but I’ll listen to other ideas. Just in my own experience, unions are the proven way. Some unions need internal cleanup, some quite a bit of cleanup, they are made of people, same as soylent green, but that is yet another reason for workers to get organized and get active. Most corporations are completely corrupted by greed, need extensive internal cleanup, and are incapable of it. They must be brought to heel by the consumer, as an individual entity, and as a commons represented by government, and the workforce.

Eh, maybe 7 cents worth of dimestore philosophy, but I wanted to write it. There’s more, but it frequently involves Sasquatches and a mild messianic complex, so I’ll leave it there.

The Temperature Is Something Well Below Stupid

I had a number of errands that had to be done today:

• Track down the last Ion Auger in Minnesota. (I'm a dignified old man and do not need to cut holes by hand.)
• Work on making my snowblower create noise and vibration and occasionally blow snow into my face. Maybe even clear the driveway and walk.
• Repair a mailbox that more or less decided to escape the post and get into the warmer (slightly) garage. 
• Convince my dog to use the backyard. He is reluctant, to say the least, leading to this conversation - (paleo) "Jackson, come on buddy, let's go out!" (Jackson) "OhboyohboyohboyoutsideoutsideoutsideHOLY FUCK!" (paleo) "Yeah, I know buddy, just go and then you can come in and sit by the heating grate." (Jackson) (pees and hits Mach 2 back to the back door) "Treats, dude, treats."
• Watch the Packers. Revel in hate for the criminal Harbaugh, and Glenn Beck groupie Kipperneck. Hope to see them cry. Hope to see us win. These are equivalent goals.
• Belly rubs for farting dog. Jesus, Jackson. 

Success for the first, and the last three, bulletpoints. The second two should wait for spring, but I should get to the mailbox tonight and the snowblower this week, need it for ice fishing vacation. Big lake. Kidding.

Imma watch the game, we're doing okay at the half, Dom Capers needs to be run through a colander to illustrate to him that his defense can't hold water. Asshole. Comment if you like, creative ways to maim the Fox Studio Crew are welcome. And the dreaded Aikman/Buck Illiteracy Hour.

UPDATE: John Kuhn for the TD, about 12 mins left in 4th. TD TV Timeout. Old Spice commercial with stalking mothers. What the fucking fuck.

I MEAN, WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK, HUH!?!?

UPDATE 2: And 2013 is closed. The offense showed enough fire to win a game, and the defense was not as bad necessarily as they have been, but still bad enough, especially on that last drive, to lose. Yeah, injuries by the assload, but still, Dom Capers needs to be taken out to a farm, where he can chase rabbits all day.

Here's to next year!

The New Year Is Almost Upon Us

I have some wishes.

I wish for collective sanity - as a country. We'alls fuckered sometimes.

I wish for Johnny Manziel to have a lineman dropped on his head.

I wish it was not -16degF . I want to take my dog for a walk.

I wish for a bowl win tomorrow, Bucky Badger vs the So. Carolina Hicks. I wish for at least one Packer playoff victory, out of a deep personal dislike for the criminal Harbaugh, but for the Packers' Defensive Coordinator, Mr. Dom 'The Colander' Capers, to be unemployed, ummm, tomorrow.

I have personal goals and work goals and I wish to make progress towards all.

I wish to meet anyone who reads and enjoys my drivel IRL and buy them a beer. Or seventeen.

I wish for Phil Robertson to be eaten by ducks.

I wish to make my wife happy.

I wish to catch too many fish to eat. (Ice fishing vacation in two weeks, W00t!!1!!)

I wish for my weight in gold. (Sorry. Couldn't help it.)

I wish for all of you to see something you cannot un-see:

1. Headphone hat, for the dude what needs tunes whilst shoveling
2. I'm a REDSHIRT! Been nice knowing everyone. Also, I'm an enormous nerd and apparently my in-laws know this.
3. Despicable Me - loves me some Minions. See also no. 2.
4. 21 YO limited edition Lismore Legend single malt, unfortunately marked incorrectly, that is, marked into our price range, by a store that will have difficulty reconciling its December books.

Happy New Year Everybody!!!

Recipe For paleoWallbangers

By Popular Request.

Ingredients:

A citrus soda:

Diet for the diabetically inclined. Squirt, Sprite, 7Up also work.

Cheap-ass disgusting canadian whisky.

Find what's on sale. I guess I prefer Seagrams or Windsor, but they are top end stuff. (For CADCW.)

Follow closely:

In one (1) large glass (I prefer the 2011 edition Minnesota State Fair Holographic Goldy Gopher 32oz Refillable plastic), add 4 ice cubes (from local sparkling water, preferably origami-ed into something cool, like an albatross, or Darth Vader {Not whiny ass bitch Anakin. Darth Fucking Vader. And by the way, so, Luke went to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. Means that since what's-her-nuts, Anakin's mother, Zoidberg or some such, was never married, that they were Anakin's brother or sister, or in Alabama, both. Now Zoidberg was a slave chick, so how were Uncle Owen/Aunt Beru/Both not also slaves? And, since teh happy couple were moisture farmers on Tatooine, with enough money to give whiny ass bitch Luke a car, why couldn't they have bought back Zoidberg, I mean, their house had to have terrible issues with sand being tracked in. What I'm saying is, fuck that noise. Darth Vader. Or an albatross.})

Add 4-6 fingers of whisky.

Add 4-6 fingers of soda.

Now, very important. Add 4-6 fingers of whisky.

Drink until you have heartburn.

Every couple months, buy something drinkable. Prepare to lash out a couple quid.

Happy imbibing y'all!

If one should question my taste in mixed drinks, take into account that I am diabetic, and having a good beer, my real preference, is a rare event. If one should question my taste in whiskeys, you're wrong. The Jameson's Special Reserve is mighty, and the whole Glen Morangie family is bottled orgasm. (Anticipating the jokes, hush it.)

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!

Dear dozen of readers,

Thanks for putting up with my nonsense!

A little further nonsense...




ps: Please, do not shop until 9:00 am tomorrow. The other half of this Black Friday/Thursday nonsense is that the fucking stores will be packed - we have to stop.


UPDATE:
I would be very thankful if someone were to locate a man named Dom Capers. He is, or better be, the former defensive coordinator for the Green Bay Packers. When you find him, beat his ass in a humorous way. Drop a safe on him. Tie him to a train track. Both. I'm not partial.

Thanks,

paleo

Sweetie Drew The Short Straw

...and is getting ready for me to take her to jury duty.

I was given notice once, when I was living nort' of the Twin Cities, although there was no bench call, and after calling in every night for a week, I never had to go. (I was on a layoff, so it would not have been a problem, I stayed home for another week before taking a call back in North Dakota - coal plant in November? Give me the courtroom.)

Sweetie sits on the bench in downtown St. Paul - ugh. She has her magic backpack o' crafts, but still. She would like to be on a trial, something to mark down on life's bucket list. (My list includes some work - I've done a lot of things, but I always wanted to be a gravedigger, just for a day, just for the list. Of course, now they do it with a backhoe.) And I'd be okay with it, unless she went into a long sequester (I adore my frakkin wife and don't get to see her enough as it is), more power to her.

Myself, I wouldn't lie during the jury selection process, or try to get out of serving. Yet, somehow I don't think I'd make the trial.

DA: "Juror 80081E5, can you be a fair juror?
paleo: "I can and will, I'm reasonably intelligent, certainly opinionated but I like truth."
DA: "Do you have any issues with the American legal system?"
paleo: "Yes."
DA: "Such as?"
paleo: "Well, I hate you."
DA: "Pardon me?"
paleo: "You are the scum of the earth. I hate you and probably don't like your family."
facing Judge: "You too. Also, all cops are high school thugs who found a profession allowing them to remain bullies and dickweeds."
to defense attorney, currently grinning like a monkey: "Back it down there, cap'n, I hate you as well. I most likely hate your client."
DA: "AND YOU CAN BE AN IMPARTIAL JUROR?!"
paleo: "Of course! I don't have a dog in the race."

Morning Has Broken, I May Have Used A Hammer

Walkies for Jackson at Stupid:00AM. Oh well, he needs to explore and run around and whirl me like a dervish.

(Traffic on teh road is confuzzled. Large german person wearing a road vest, headlamp, otherwise all in black 'cuz it's how I roll. Black dog, with an LED that changes colors on his collar, the better to find the lil' punk at night. Both spinning like a cheap discoball.)

Route is taking us past a cemetery. Lots of grass along the road and outside the fence for upon which he may poop. But, he doesn't like that side of the road. Not necessarily avoiding the dead files cabinet, but definitely not interested in walking there. Hmm.

Now, I'm a reasonable man, MacArthur. So I know this isn't...*

Oh wait. I'm a weirdo. I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT'S GOING ON!!!!

...

BIGFOOT!!!

Per my Sweetie: Cliff, Bobo, Lesbo, Creepo

*Ref:

World, There Is Someone I'd Like You To Meet

I haven't been out much for a few weeks, just basically keeping up on teh news. One of the primary reasons is so, so-o-o-o-o very awesome...

World, Jackson. Jackson, world.

Jackson is a 3 mo.+, 25 # black lab (and ?). He is the mostest enthusiastic thing on earth right now. He had a cone when we first picked him up, due to recent work that I am sure he will forgive the fostering agency for someday.

We didn't necessarily introduce him to the cats in the right way. He came in the door, cone on head, saying

STUFF!!!!STUFF!SHINY!OHMIGODOHMIGODOHMYGOD!!!!

The punkboy cat, not entirely feeling the scene, freaked, and is only now starting to remember that, hey, his house. I honestly hope for punkboy Milo to slap the dog around once, just to establish the pecking order, and I don't believe the dog gives a damn anyhow. I just worry about my cats...

The other cat, Queen Diva Maisy, is usually the skittish one, incredibly so. Her reaction to her new brother has been atypical, I think in part because Jackson seems to pay not the slightest bit of attention to the cats. Basically, she looked down, said "What fresh version of Hell is this? Meh." and continued on with her business, that of getting fed and skritched.

The cone came off Friday night, and yesterday was playday. Today, we start some basic training, primarily 'come here' and gotta work on the jumping, he is big enought and heavy enough that my happy boy parts have retreated into my abdomen for the duration, and I'm pretty sure the 'lil puppy' nearly gave me a black eye on Friday.

Jacks will be an occasional visitor to my little bloggy home, he's very friendly, no table scraps, please!

...

One thing, thank FSM for no-kill shelters and fostering agencies, but good lord did they put us through a wringer. And we ain'tn't teh only ones - our vet just got a dog though a fostering agency, our VET, and he went through the same thing, quizzes, home inspections, cavity search.

Long Weekend Wrap-up

Dum-de-dum-boing-boing, successful preventive maintenance, Packers won decisively if not prettily, oh, and this...

Camping at Split Rock, North Shore, MN. The lil' erection nubbins on the left is Split Rock Lighthouse. Perfect weather (while we were there, the in-laws caught 47 different degrees of hell the nights before we got there), we brought enough food and gear to invade Canada (or any other country with a reasonably sane government), needed it, but needed it a lot longer.

Back To Work

Ain't gonna lie to you, I have better places to be, but in the interests of continued employment, I best catch up my work.