Didn't mean to say it but I meant what I said in Normal entries

More desktop orphans below. Not sure why that keeps happening. Sure, I have a laundry list of how it happens, but at some point the events are excuses the truth of things are in the outcome; half ass, half written, nameless strings of words, abandoned in the wilderness of my unruly desktop.
I’m re-reading my favorite series that George Martin was involved in. No, not game of thrones. I think game of thrones works better as a TV show than it did as a book. The first Wild Card series was great. He edited it. It was like the original star trek; a lot of great writers doing a sort of fan fiction with a cheap set and marginal actors. I wouldn’t argue with anyone who said the best of their time. That’s sort of what wild cards is. I think in the first few books each writer would create a character and weave it into the basic premises. Unlike Star Trek there wasn’t much censoring.

I’ve been kind of laid up, so I’ve been watching and reading comfort entertainment. You know, like meatloaf is comfort food; it’s not good for you and it really sucked for the cow, but it’s nostalgic. When I’m not feeling nostalgic nostalgia embarrasses me. I know there is real and horrible shit going on in the world, my immediate world, but, fuck, y’all elected Trump, much worse, the idea of Trump, what’d ya think was going to happen? One might have hoped for the grace to be covert about being Trump, but that’s like making a wish by blowing out candles. You follow the tradition but out of … nostalgia, but you never expected an outcome other than eating the cake beneath it.

So, speaking of idle time, entertainment and game of thrones; I’ve been paying attention to dogs in movies and TV shows. I think my favorite is the big pit-bull from Veronica Mars, Back-Up. She uses him for intimidation, but he’s pretty much a dog, acts like just about every pit I know. Though the show wasn’t afraid to stretch credulity in a sort of banal way (that is to say the premise is silly but not improbable) Back-Up was a pretty straight forward dog, he should have gotten more screen time. The police dog in Angie Tribeca cracks me up though he’s pretty much just got the one joke; He’s the supporting cops partner, so he types reports, drives, takes coffee breaks. German Shepards don’t usually get comedic roles. The wolves in Game of thrones? Cool symbolism, a lot of CGI. Like a lot of things in that show, they are there for the splendor and implied savagery, though, honestly, they seem to be the most peaceful things on that show. Unlike the dragons, though, I don’t think the dogs are all CGI, they are just beefed up to much larger than dog size.

I used to write, maybe still do, the way I talk to myself; a little bit crazy and for an audience that doesn’t quite exist, sort of like the wolves. That’s a chunk of why so many orphans; I get bored of my own conversation. I don’t think I believe I’ve run out of shit to say for good, but I’m bored with what I have to say at the moment. I could bitch about the world, how if it has something new to show me it’s been stingy with bringing it on and overly familiar with pregnant pauses. I suppose pregnant always implies overly familiar. I know how cynical and arrogant of a pose that is to strike, so I won’t. Imagine if de ja vu was said with an exasperated, world weary sigh. You’d sort of want to smack the sigher, yes? Hard to get good leverage when smacking yourself, no roundhouses or haymakers, for instance.

Fuck it, this bad boy (as in bad boy) is going up with it’s putative child. Have mercy.

My fingers are dope slick and look like rain. It’s the fifth of July, nobody gives a shit. Neither does anybody give a rat’s ass or a fuck. How do you decide what you’re not going to give? . . . . .. . . . . . … … That’s not rhetorical. My default is not giving a shit when, in casual conversation, I wish to impart a pervasive lack of opinion. When I don’t give a rats ass it’s usually a commentary on the person that brought up the subject, though, honestly, it’s difficult to quantify or qualify what I’m not giving. Not giving a fuck I use when I haven’t said fuck often enough in any given conversation. In general cops and judges take it personal and pointing out that you didn’t tell them about the rats asses you didn’t give doesn’t seem to make them any happier. By the time you can explain, ok, by the time I can explain, I’ve been given something to give shits, fucks and rats asses about.

My fingers are still dope slick. Keyboards, unlike dogs, aren’t very absorbent and they don’t wag their tails when you try cleaning stuff off your hands on them. Ungrateful bastards. I still make marijuana balm, and whereas this last batch is potent, absorbent and generally bitching, I applied it to saturation. I’m often very modest about my balm. I’m always modest about it considering it is the only topical I’ve used that actually works and the side effects don’t include strokes, kidney failure, liver failure and shit like that there. Huh. Voltarin works, not as well, and has those side effects, it’s basically a High powered NSAID in a cream. In the states you need a prescription for it and a doctor who has heard of it.

All those shits and fucks and rodents ass I didn’t give in the first paragraph, I give plenty when it comes to topicals. I’m tired of bitching about health shit, so, quick and dirty as I can get; EMG shows Arthritis, impinged ulnar nerve and carpal tunnel syndrome. Over the phone the secretary was strongly suggesting surgery again. I refused. She reminded me of appointment. We politely thanked one another and requested, each to each, that we have a good day. No shits or fucks or asses of any kind were given but the lack therof was not remarked upon. So, I’m likely going to amp up balm production.

I give a lot of it away. Everyone I give it to praises it, I usually kick my toe in the sand or carpet and say something like aww shucks. Just to be cynical for no obvious reason, they do get the shit free, but I give it to people I love, sometimes they give it to people I don’t know who praise it even more. To reduce pain in my loved ones the cost of the balm is nothing but a thing. For strangers I do point out what a jar, .3 of an ounce smaller, costs and that’s not even including the whole song and dance it takes to even get through the door of a place that sells it. Still, it’s cheaper than Voltarin and, again, no death side effects. Legally I think I’m pretty safe giving it away. Even if it were a gray area the cost of prosecution would far outweigh the fine. Selling it would be a different story, I’d have to charge as much as everybody else and probably go through a licensed dispensary. I tried that once or twice. They praised it but didn’t pick up the product, which is probably for the best; I’m one guy with a small kitchen and a horrible work ethic. Wait, no, I have a good work ethic, I’m just lazy.

I have this strong urge to watch ski movies or anything with snow. I went for a water run at like eight this morning. My glasses fogged up walking out the door. My phones weather app tells me it predicts 84 for this minute but it says it’s currently 92 and feels like 101. I would love to give my phones weather app plenty of shit and rat ass. The weather isn’t its fault, but, still, it might as well say it’s supposed to be 68 with 8 percent humidity and a charming breeze if it’s going to lie. How hard is it to predict the immediate present?