What is it, Monday? Fuck me, where’d Monday come from? There oughta be a law. In a relative way. I was talking to someone the other day and realized we were having too different conversations. I don’t mean that sort of discrepancy of awareness wherein hilarity is apt to ensue, I mean I was having an internal dialogue on some other thing completely and just making the right sounds in the right places.
It’s possible I do that often. It sounds anti-social, that’s not how I mean it to sound, but, then again, when we are aware of being anti-social that’s when we deny it the most. Sure, most of our conversations during the course of a day are rote, small talk, meaningless, part of a ritual, e.g. it’s considered rude to just exchange currency for goods (especially when the currency isn’t backed by anything) and so we say ‘How’re you?’ and ‘Nice day for it’ and ‘How about them Spartans?’ (Um, that’s the MSU football team, Sparta is lost and Modern Greece declared bankruptcy, what was it two years ago?)
Some folks are our friends because they stimulate us socially and intellectually, we actively participate in those conversations, although on the left end of that bell curve is just plain old attraction; you laugh at his bad jokes because you could bounce a dime off his ass or, if, you’re, say, me, you could bounce a silver dollar off her rack. Ok, I’m not a tit man, but it’s not an either/or thing, it’s not like you are either for tits or agin em. I’m just saying, even among our friends there are auto-pilot conversations while the mind is on the moon, if you’ll pardon the obvious pun (a conciliatory phrase, you really don’t have much of an option, the pun was flopped before you like a cold fish and it’s far too late to do anything about it).
I’m pretty sure my doc and his attending politely accused me of drug seeking behavior. Porcupines are not predators, they are prey. The main adaptive skill a porcupine has is that it’s very difficult to eat with just a maw, claws, beak and talon. Predators will, eventually, seek out easier prey. That’s going to be my approach with the doctor and, hopefully, a different attending each time. This is hardly worth mentioning except that the sons-a-whores blew smoke up my ass. Oh, that a figure of speech, they didn’t put anything in my ass at all. However, literally putting something in a patients ass could be diagnostic. So, to be a bit cryptic and in summery; they blew figurative smoke up my ass, but didn’t touch my ass at all. They changed my Tx without diagnoses. Instead of a bunny rabbit every six months, they will have a porcupine with a bad attitude every month.
This song has been in my head all day;
Don’t worry I’m not blaming you. If it was up to you I’d have something by Artic Monkeys, Bad Company or That One Guy With That One Song stuck in my head. Songs are benign, I mean as far as weapons go, and it’s much better to have a song stuck in your head than an intern stuck in your craw. If, for example, I were a lion and had a thorn in my tender lion paw pad and your happy ass went for my paw to remove it I would so eat you and not in a good way. However, if I were a lion with a song stuck in my head and you sang “In the Jungle the mighty Jungle …” I’d probably just growl Um weemba way, ah weemba way.I’d rustle my mane if you did ‘And I’m wondering where the lions are … some kinda ectasy got a hold on me …’
If I were a lion, though, this entry would have been much shorter and the point much more pointed. It’s the day before armistice day, we changed the name to vetrans day a long time ago, I’m guessing during the Korean or Vietnamese conflicts. Since then we’ve been in two simultaneous wars that lasted longer than any two of those combined, at least as far as US involvement goes.
Like the rest of y’all residing in the states and/or maintaining US citizenship, I voted six days ago. It seems primitive. I haven’t been in a voting booth in a long time and I was in two last Tuesday. The State of Oregon switched over to mail ballots a long time ago; more efficient, more cost effective, better use of resources. I know, the rest of the nation doesn’t really give a shit, Oregon has like half an electoral college vote and has to bring in green stamps and bottle returns to get the other half. Still …
There was only one thing of any interest to me on the ballot, two proposals regarding hunting wolf for game. Late by a year (last year was Michigans first Wolf Game season, and, if this vote was the last of it, the last season). Like most of the campaigns, the ad’s were a cross between emotional pleas and smearing the opponents. All furry little puppies aside, the season last year was pushed through house and senate, signed by governor with a governor appointed staff to oversee, all without telling a single tax-payer that dog season was upon us. That’s how I would campaigned; against the run around, the sneak attack legislation, the fuck-the-tax-payers-without-lube. The more I read about various candidates for various other the positions the more I disliked them all. The wolf vote went the way I wanted it too.
Oh, yeah, two polls. I voted early, took my friend to her other polling place later.
I’ve been watching marathons of the old Starship Voyager. Seven of nine had big tits and tight uniforms. Belanna Torres was a latina Klingon — in fact the whole crew was a Bennington commercial except that they were also other species. So, you have to wonder, which part of Vulcan, for instance, was so much hotter than where Spock was from that Tuvok’s ancestors evolved with darker skin, you know, and African-Vulcan. I’m just saying, Oh, and Belanna stole Oprahs 90’s hair. That and Voyager seemed a lot more interested in the science of things than, say, either crew of the enterprize. I never could watch a full episode of the other spinoffs, Deep Six Nine (wait, that sounds like a joke, Depp Space nine perhaps?) seemed like pieced together bits from the cutting room floor of a Spielberg movie about future frat houses. Or maybe revenge of the Nerds 2197.
I dunno, I’m spent. Be nice. Monday, what the hell?
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