A litter of Dog Days in Normal entries

I woke somewhere near the crack of dawn, at least it smelled like the crack. It was in the mid seventies as the sun rose and the windows were all fogged with condensation. The whole first half of July is looking like it’s going to go that way, but today, so June can get it’s licks in, the mercury is brushing triple digits. Fuck me running, and often. I used to tell stories of heading up to anchorage in March of 77, and it being warmer there than in Michigan. In the last two years I’ve been to Louisiana in the fall and late summer. It was almost the same heat and humidity.

As much as you’d like to slap an Arizonian or Los Angeleno for saying ‘Yeah but it’s a dry heat’ one more fucking time, they have a point. Not a good one and I’m so behind on dry-heat slapping, I’d have to slap all of south Arizona and So-Cal and it’s just not worth. Slap one and the judge will understand, maybe even slap the plaintiff once his or her own damn self. Slap a hundred and you’re a serial slapper or Dick Cheney. On a random political note of a none to serious nature, I’m surprised no Trump staff has shot a motherfucker yet. I imagine the response would be “Really wonderful shot, really wonderful person. I know people and shooting and wonderfulness, and It was wonderful, beautiful, shooting. Hilary couldn’t hit the broadside of Palin if she were standing in Russia. Beautiful country, wonderful people.”

I really should rave about blue blocker glasses. Why is rave positive and rant negative? I think I generally type on the rant side of that bell curve, but it has more to do with laziness than pissed-offed-ness. I could rave with the boiler-plate claims made about blue blockers, some of them damn silly, some contradictory, some so fucking banal they could be used for insomniacs. Truth is I spend too much time looking at digital screens and with the blue blocker glasses it takes a lot longer to get fatigued in my eye balls.

The sun has a lot stronger and more profound blue light spectrum rays, but, this is 2018; even in the sun a lot of motherfuckers are staring at their smartphone, a necessary accruement for your modern motherfucker. Spy Optics patented the name Happy Lens. In one of their ‘informative’ propaganda pieces they claim their lens (only their happy lens) is scientifically proven to increase happiness. I can’t find that one again, but, the non-partisan (heh, I just mean the articles not pushing a product line) things I’ve read, say that the blue spectrum sun rays increase serotonin mostly for the purposes of keeping you awake, but, you know, serotonin is happy brain juice. Seems like blocking happy brain juicing would cause the opposite of happiness, which, for the sake of humor and cohesiveness in the entry, would be; Dick Cheney.

Fuck it, politics seems to be what this keyboard wants. When I moved here Rick Snyder was the Governor. Yes, the guy who created Gateway computers. He is a republican and his term limit is up. Everyone seemed to hate him, well, the vocal ones seemed to hate him. I’m not sure why. The next governor will probably be a democrat just because it’s not Rick Sunders party. One of the guys running in the democratic primary is a Muslim from Detroit. His opponents were quick to point that out. I have a feeling that’s going to backfire on the opponents given the current rabid environment of the perpetually vocal. I haven’t seen much advertisement for State positions, but for the sleepy little hamlet of East Lansing, the two democratic frontrunners not only have knocked on my door but send multi-color high bond flyers daily. My mom likes the one because she is cute as a button and didn’t spook when my mom answered the door. My sister likes the other because … I don’t know. This town is grossly mismanaged. There’s another levy proposition on the ballot, just like the one that got voted down last year. The proponents threaten no services. I think it will be voted down again. East Lansing is like the rich guy that never picks up the check. There’s a marked lack of transparency on the topic of what they do with their money.

My mom gets her ballot mailed to her, being a decade shy of a century. If polling day is like today, temperature-wise, I predict a low turnout. That and, although rabid about politics, it’s a particularly ill-informed electorate. The little pamphlet sent out to ‘inform’ is more Op-ed than anything. You have to really research if you want to read the actual language of any given proposal. Perhaps it’s like that everywhere. In Oregon, well, Portland metro, everyone got their ballots in the mail, and the pamphlet for voters was thick as a phone book and printed the proposals in their entirety, and, sure, they were written in legalize, but, you had the option of choosing your own opinion.

I don’t know if I mentioned it or not, but, in looking up everything flagged on my last blood work, I either have cancer, chronic inflammation or I just got over a cold. Given the choices I’m going with the last one. Betcha anything my prime will want to go with the first, or, at bare minimum, do some extensive testing with the idea of finding cancer. So, you know, Dick Cheney.