Coffee heat rising

Annals of the Floored & Flabbergasted

Losing What Little Remains of My Mind…

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At this rate, it doesn’t take long to lose it all….that’s f’r sure!

GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! 

How can I say how baroquely I have had it, had it, HAD IT with life in the fu*king 21st century?!???

* How do I hate the electronic detritus?

* How do I hate spending day after day after day without seeing another live human face?

* How do I hate wrestling with hardware — of all varieties?

* How do I hate wrestling with software — of all varieties?

* How do I hate struggling with chores that used to be done routinely by workmen?

* How do I hate having the car’s mechanical work done by some chain-store operation, instead of at the defunct small-town-style Chuck’s Garage, with the trusted, reliable, and faithfully HONEST Chuck in charge?

Gerardo (Yard Dude) and his guys trimmed the effing palm trees that some idiot prior homeowner planted around the effing pool.

Every time they do that, they dump equipment-busting detritus into the drink. It takes a good hour to fish it all out and vacuum the leaves and grit off the bottom of the effing pool. In 110-degree heat. The result: I’m not only at the end of my rope just now, I’m far, far beyond it.

That is literal truth. Just now I’m sitting in the family room, sweat rolling off my face and soaking into my shirt, YELLING at the goddam computer because my fingers will NOT hit the keys and all I want do is MAKE IT GODDAMN STOP!!!!!!!!!

arrrrrrrhhhhhggggg

I need to run down to the Sprouts and pick up something to eat. But honestly…I’m afraid I’ll kill somebody (possibly myself included) if I get in the car and drive off down the road.

grrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I ask you. What kind of MORON plants PALM TREES around a flicking swimming pool?

An Arizona gringo moron (probably imported from Ohio), that’s what kind.

Mr. & Mrs. WonderAccountant had their accursed poolside palm trees cut down. No doubt…uh oh. ….Ohhhh shee-ut. Has the accursed pool pump cut out? Hold the phone…

*****

Nope. It’s still running.

Why does it look, from here, like it’s stopped dead?

Optical illusion, apparently.

If only all of life in the desert were an optical illusion…..

“Good” Morning, America!

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Holeeee mackerel! 6:42 in the morning and it’s already a Day from Hell!

Big Hell-ism: At 6:40 a.m., temp was slated to reach 112; humidity is already 26%. It’s like a swamp out there.

Just back from the daily doggy-walk. Got out early in an effort to avoid the Dog Parade.

FAIL!

Cassie-off-leash
The endless doggy walk…

Come dawn each morning, everybody and their little brother, sister, aunt, uncle, and cousins are out there traipsing their dogs through the ‘Hood.

And that means a potential dog fight about every 20 yards.

At least we didn’t run into too many morons who think of their dogs as kiddies who “just want to pwayyyy.”  So I didn’t have to drag Ruby out of any dogfights. That’s refreshing.

I guess.

Homeward bound, we pass the entrance to the alley behind the Funny Farm. Glance down there…

HOLEEE sh!t. Someone has piled a HUGE stack of yard debris up against my back gate!

So I can’t take my trash directly out into the alley. To empty the garbage, I have to go out through the garage (front of the shack), traipse through the front yard, and hike around two corners and then up the alley to the garbage cans that are parked next to other neighbors’ back gates.

Yes. In 110-degree heat.

And yes: leaving the garage door hanging open, even for the brief period required to traipse around the block, invites every passing bum and burglar to c’mon in. That means I have to retrieve the keys and lock the door into the kitchen…not that big a deal, but another addition to the Hassle Factor.

Assuming Gerardo’s boys did that (they were just here a couple days ago), I called him and asked them to have them pick it up.

He was puzzled: that’s not the kind of thing his guys do. They have a big trailer for the purpose, which they haul to the county landfill several times a week.

Chances are they didn’t do it: some asshole who didn’t want to be bothered with hauling it off probably dumped it outside my gate. But he did say they would come and get the stuff.

Besides blocking access to the garbage can, that pile of dried brush out there makes a huge fire hazard. And if you don’t think the bored bums and the bored teenagers around here will toss a lit match or cigarette into it…well…think again.

Makes living in a high-rise apartment look might tempting, doesn’t it?

Coulda Shoulda Woulda

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Sittin’ by the dock of the bay….
Actually:
Loafing on the front patio,
watching the hours flowing away…
***
Just posted this squib at my favorite time-wastin’ site, Quora.
Is a PhD really worth pursuing? How many PhD students can really get ‘productive’ or real-time use output from their PhD research?
Victoria Hay, Ph.D.
Retired academic; owner of The Copyeditor’s Desk, Inc.

Profile photo for Victoria HayThe Ph.D. may (or may not) be worth pursuing…if you have an independent source of income.

You need a working spouse or an inheritance to keep a roof over your head and food on your table while you’re “pursuing” the Ph.D. Otherwise, you’re certainly not going to be “productive” or generate “output” from your research, because you’ll be too busy working two full-time jobs: one to support yourself and one to generate credit toward the doctorate.

Would I do it again?

Huh…let’s think about that…

  • I got a great job at Arizona Highways Magazine after I’d finished the degree. But that was only because the boss was impressed with academics. For him, it was a grand ego trip to have a someone with a doctorate on his staff. The job I landed was in journalism; it had nothing to do with academia.

Most employers are not that easily flamboozled.

  • I got a nice ego trip of my own when my dissertation was picked up by a prestigious publishing house. Does it matter that I’ve never seen a penny from sales on that book? Meh! Probably not: again, because the flamboozled boss thought that publisher was so awesome that he wanted to hire me.
  • Eventually, I got three books published through respectable presses.

All very nice…except I’ve never seen a penny in royalties from two of those books.

  • Later in life, I got an academic job.

Whoop…de…doop.

One of my academic colleagues and I did a little pragmatic research and discovered we would be earning more cleaning house for a living than the university was paying us at the associate professor level. In fact, we seriously considered going in together to start a house-cleaning business.

  • Would I do it again?

Hmmmm…. Probably not.

If I had gone whole hog into magazine publishing starting the minute I finished the bachelor’s degree, I would have had more fun in life; I would have had a lot more people reading my published words; I would have been paid a helluva lot more than I earned in academia; and I would never have been tempted to think about starting an enterprise as a cleaning lady.

The Fate of Prognostication….

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LOL! Today I zipped out to the credit union to check on some small detail…and then ended up driving…and driving…and driving…and driv… Ugh! Driving around this city is a species of Hell, and today was no better than usual.

But roaming up and down the homicidal streets of Phoenix generated some time to think about…this, that, and the other. Among the thisses and the thats:

Back in the Dark Ages, my mother made a sober-sided prognostication:

When the price of gasoline reaches a dollar a gallon, we’ll have
S-O-O-O-C-I-A-L-I-S-M!

LOL! Hilariously, she was dead serious about this.

Today I went into a gas station and paid over $4.00 a gallon.

Life in the Republic of Marx, eh?

That was pretty much today’s going rate, by the way. For ordinary regular gasoline, nothin’ fancy to run your hotrod.

Well. Of course she was right: We do have s-o-o-o-cialism now.

Medicare works as socialized medicine for elders and for certain other classes of American citizens. And people on welfare — at least in these parts — do get some access to cut-rate medical care. And food stamps. And rent assistance. And…whatnot.

Be scared. Be very scared…

😀

 

So there!!!

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LOL! The latest set of exterior decorations is now mounted on the front gates and doors.

😀

Gawdlmighty, i’m sooooo obnxious, even I think it’s funny!

Probably just like your neighborhood, the Funny Farm’s ‘hood is overrun with nuisance door-to-door solicitors. Some of these folks are peddling junk; others are trying to get signatures on petitions. Sooooo…it’s ringy-dingy-bingy-bong at the damn front door, practically every day. Dawn to dusk.

A year or so ago, I got the bright idea of putting up signs saying, in effect, “Please don’t ring the doorbell. No Solicitation.”

As you know, these normally have little effect on the legions of nuisances. Sooo…I decided to make the message a little stronger.

On side gate to the front patio:

PLEASE NO SOLICITING!

We’re not interested in what you’re selling.
We’re not interested in your political campaign.
We have already signed your petition, or decided not to.
DO NOT PESTER BY JANGLING THE DOORBELL, PLEASE!

AMAZON * UPS
Please leave packages inside the patio, next to the front door.
Welcome to Porch Pirate Heaven!

On the front gate to the same patio and on the same side gate to that patio:

AMAZON:
Please leave packages inside the patio, next to the front door.
Welcome to Porch Pirate Heaven!

 

On the security screen at the front door:

NO SOLICITING
****
NO PETITIONS
****
Please!!!!!!!!!

Interestingly, this barrage of messages works!

LOL! As you may gather, these people are almost as pesky as phone solicitors. So a sign that says PRIVATE does exactly no good. And about 10% of them ignore “NO SOLICITING” SIGNS. But apparently beating the sleazes about the head and shoulders with your message gets through to most of them.

Now. If you could only do that with the phone….

Heh… Our neighborhood techno-guru, Will, set up a video system at his front door. So…he can and does capture the antics that happen in front of his house, when Amazon and UPS trucks turn up with thieves’ cars in tow. There’s one woman, in particular, who follows the Amazon truck around in her car, waits till the delivery dude drives off, jumps out of her car and grabs the delivered packages, runs back to her car, tosses them into the back seat, and takes off down the road after the Amazon guy.

Is Amazon Guy aware of this? Could they be in cahoots?

Hm.

As likely as not, I’d say. You’d think after awhile he’d notice he’s being followed. But…it’s gotta be a mind-numbing job. Maybe, just maybe he really doesn’t notice.

Anything’s possible. I guess.

At any rate, for the nonce the “no soliciting, no petitions” message is working. Now…if only I could make that work on the phone!

We thought it was entertaining at 9 p.m.?

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Now it’s 12:30 in the morning. THE most unholy racket has been going on out there since shortly before midnight: a long, loud rolling tattoo of BAM BANG BLAST BANG WHISTLE BLAST BANG BAM.

Yeah. Some fun, eh Fun? What the Hell gets into people? Is every moron in the neighborhood (and in all the surrounding neighborhoods) drunk, high, or stoned stupid?

Ruby the Corgi, who apparently is not enraged by Stupid, is conkered out on the bed. Wish I was, too. But even after the morons get finished “celebrating,” the arm will still hurt so much it will obviate sleeping.

May every idiot who can’t force him- or herself to think about other people enjoy the same. Lots of the same, in upcoming nights.