Coffee heat rising

Idle essays

O Brave New World…

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…that has such people in it!

Prospero: ‘Tis new to thee.

Indeed. Well, there’s little time to blog this morning, and probably less to say. Got a project in-house that needs to be done right away; a concert to go to this afternoon, Fauré’s Requiem to sing tomorrow night, a pool crying out for help, and yardwork still left unattended.

Nevertheless, it’s one amusement after another, eh? We have an orgasmic stock market — holy mackerel, at this rate we’ll all be rich as Trump. This, after a day of riding the skateboard toward Hell. In saner times, we’d call that “volatility” and start moving money into conservative instruments. Extremely conservative. CDs, anyone? Gold?

Speculation abounds. The endlessly pessimistic CBS MarketWatch has a PF piece on how the Trump Presidency will affect your wallet. In short: taxes down, prices up.

Federal taxes down wouldn’t affect me much, since nearly half my income is from investments and half is Social Security. But I sure could do with some controls on the damn property taxes. Maricopa County and state property taxes are now pushing the limit of what I can afford, with no end in sight. If they’re not brought under control — which they almost certainly won’t be, because after all services have to be provided and the people who use them (i.e., everyone who  lives here) have to pay for them — I will have to move out of my house. That will probably consign me to Sun City, where exemption from property taxes was wangled by Del Webb when he first bought the property and is grandfathered (heh!) in. SDXB’s taxes are a third of what he was paying on the house two lots down from mine, and his home and auto insurance dropped in half when he moved out there.

WaPo speculates on life in the sciences under an anti-science, anti-intellectual troglodyte of a President. Pence, we know, is reliably crazy and would’ve been one of the guys threatening to burn Galileo at the stake unless he recanted his theory that the earth revolves around the sun. But Trump, as I’ve already remarked, defines loose cannonhood. He could do anything. And will.

The Atlantic runs an extraordinarily obtuse rumination on why a woman can’t get elected President of the United States. Nowhere do they question why that woman can’t get elected or wonder whether there might be differences among women candidates. Oh well.

Trump is already waffling on Obamacare. Whaddaya bet we won’t see it go away after all? Whatever happens, it had better be a lot more “awesome” than what we’ve got now, which doctors as well as consumers agree is pretty grim. It’s not something that religious doctrinaires should be entrusted with, I fear.

Welp, all those articles are very entertaining, and I hope you enjoy them. Hereabouts, the coffee is swilled and it’s time to turn to something one helluva lot less entertaining: (ugh!) Work.

Have a nice day…as my step-sister the judge once said to a guy she’d just sentenced to life in prison…

:mrgreen:

Happy Hallowe’en(?)

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halloween themeSomebody no doubt got grant money for this WTF research. It may even have been taxpayer-supported grant money. You, too, can be surprised and shocked that 30% of kids will kipe an extra piece of candy when left alone with a bowlful of temptations!

Actually, the surprise is that 70% will not.

The political preference angle is pretty entertaining, though: in an overall politically liberal neighborhood, more little kids will gravitate to a table offering free candy from the Democratic presidential candidate rather than from the Republican’s table. Oddly, the researchers seem not to have tried a similar “experiment” in a politically conservative neighborhood, so we may never know whether children are partisan or whether they just happen to like Barack Obama’s face better than they like John McCain’s. 🙄

Far more interesting, IMHO, is this op-ed rumination from The New York Post on how the over-parenting Grinch stole Hallowe’en.

Have you noticed how high the stress levels have become in our culture? People are afraid of everything! We’re scared of our food. We’re scared of our air. We’re scared of the weather. We’re scared of guns. We’re scared of burglars. We’re scared of the cops. We’re scared of terrorists. We’re scared of Big Brother. We’re scared of our cars. We’re scared of panhandlers. We’re scared of sugar. We’re scared of salt. We’re scared of laundry detergent. We’re scared of our schools. We’re scared of dogs. We’re scared of cats. We’re scared of strangers. We’re scared of our mother. We’re scared of our laminate flooring. God knows we’re scared of clowns!

The only thing we’re justifiably scared of is our choice of Presidential candidates. Which, I suppose, is the same as being scared of clowns.

Heh heh… I wonder how many trick-or-treaters will show up dressed as Hillary or Donald?

Hallowe’en is my favorite holiday. Because the ‘hood borders on several low-income neighborhoods infested with violence, prostitution, and drug houses, people who are unfortunate enough to have to bring up families there bundle their kids up and bring them over here, where it’s reasonably safe for them to walk from door to door after dark, and where it’s only moderately insane to knock on a stranger’s door.

The kids show up by the pickup truckload.

In response, here in the neighborhood a kind of informal block party has grown up. Everybody sets up a table and chairs (and scary decorations!) on their driveways, the easier to view the happenings and dispense candy to the hordes of cute little kids. A great deal of socializing goes on and the show proceeds.

The kids are adorable in their spectacular outfits. Because many of these parents can’t afford to buy an expensive costume, a lot of the children show up in wonderfully creative hand-made costumes. It’s really fun to see what they’ve come up with.

So this evening we’ll convene in my neighbor’s driveway. For the first time in years, I bought a giant load of Costco Hallowe’en candy. Last year we ran out of a stash of 150 pieces. So this year we’ll have 300 pieces.

It’ll be interesting to see how long that lasts.

Vector image by Aleksandrsb, DepositPhotos

The Woman Who Could Not Throw a Box Away

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Hey! Is it my fault that SOME day EVERYone will need a box? The box in the perfect size?

Okay, it’s true, more than the ideal number (that would be 1) of perfectly sized boxes were piled atop the garage cabinets. What can I say?

With the Dog Chariot’s back seats removed from the garage cabinets, it’s been time to clean out the garage and reorganize the cabinets ever since Phryne LaVenza arrived. The weather is now cool enough that ungodly heat is not an excuse to continue gold-bricking. And I need some exercise.

So tidy! Note the apposite use of old cardboard boxes...
So tidy! Note the apposite use of an old cardboard box…

Exercise is what I got, shoveling out the cabinetry.

I tend to collect boxes that will hold a set of moderately sized objects with comfort, should one ever have a collection of moderately sized objects and need to stash them.

You’d be surprised how rarely one needs to stash moderately sized objects…

The recycling bin is now full to the brim with moderately sized boxes, all of them devoid of moderately sized objects. But I did save a couple of them. Just in case!

As you can imagine, a person who collects boxes also tends to accrue a number of other interesting items.

bermudagrass-cynodon_dactylon
Uncontrollably evil…

Prominent among these was — hallelujah! Not one, not two, but three containers of Over-the-Top in the old formulation that actually used to kill Bermuda grass!!!!!!!

Few weeks ago, I did order some Over-the-Top from Amazon, despite warnings from reviewers that it doesn’t do much to kill grass anymore. Sprayed it on twice, and it…well…it sorta made the devilgrass look sickly. But clearly it did not faze the stuff. I mourned the old, real Over-the-Top.

So was beyond joy to find several half-full jugs of now illegal (no doubt) grass-killer hiding in the garage litter.

Trust me, you do not want the invasive weed that is Bermuda grass in your flower beds. But if you live in Arizona, you cain’t hardly avoid it. The stuff is persistent, wiry, nasty, and ubiquitous.

Is the antique Over-the-Top so old it’s no longer effective? We’ll soon know: I sprayed it all over the mound of grass that is choking out the pretty Mexican primrose in the poolside flowerbed.

So it’s not bad, maybe, to hoard garage items.

Many other splendid objects were exhumed. Most went into the recycling bin. But others were reorganized where they could be found, not forgotten…and maybe even used one day.

Garage cleaning. It’s a rite of passage.

Image: Cynodon dactylon. Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=207785

 

Gotta find a new electrician…

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Ohhhhhh i shouldn’t have put this off…. 🙁  Dave, the beloved electrician and all-around nice guy who has kept the power on in three of my homes over the past 32 years, has apparently retired or shuffled off this mortal coil. When you call, you get a “this number is not in service” recording. Dayum!

I fear the worst. Dave is (was?) even older than me. I always figured he probably planned to die in the traces — it was hard to believe he lasted as long as he did. In recent years, he’s always had one of a series of young kids following him around, apparently apprentices. The man was a true master craftsman. But most of all, he was competent, efficient, and honest. He never tried to cheat or gouge the customers.

One of the kitchen light switches has shorted out. Because the Funny Farm has aluminum wiring, not just any handyman can change out fixtures and switches. To fend off flammability, you need a special piece of equipment that can join copper wiring with aluminum so as to keep the pieces from eventually working apart and causing a fire. Electricians have that device and know how to use it.

Anyway, I’ve known for a couple of months that no one was left at home at Dave’s phone number. I should have tried to track down a new guy then, before it became a matter of urgency.

Fortunately, Dave referred me to an electric supply house that he uses all the time. Those guys know him. A little later this morning I’ll drive over there and ask if they can refer me to anyone in Dave’s tradition.

{sigh} Why can’t we all last forever?

ahem…except for the Donald, of course… 😉

Bits & Pieces of News

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A Dalmatian roach?
Polka-dotted roach, anyone?

Watching the national news is a little like watching cockroaches frying. So…on to a micro-news item:

Making its way around Facebook today is another warning about peanut butter with xylitol in it. Xylitol is a sweetener (sometimes claimed to be “natural”) that is toxic to dogs. It causes liver damage and can easily kill your dog. So, if you like to give peanut butter treats to your pet, or if you’re in the habit of stuffing a Kong toy with peanut butter, READ THE LABEL! Don’t give your dog anything that says “sweetened naturally” or “contains a natural sweetener.”

Oh, well: if you can’t stay away from watching the cockroaches jump, take a look at this truly hilarious report on #MuslimsReportStuff. It’s good. Very, very good.

Believe it or not, we’re not skateboarding toward Hell after all.

Hoooboy! Here’s what we all need: let’s make Facebook our company email platform! LOL! Right this way, Mr. Assange…

Is this town a tornado magnet?tornado_elie_manitoba_2007

Check out this awesome reconstruction of a Pompeiian fat cat’s McMansion!

Have you been following the silly hysteria over the supposedly menacing clowns? Honestly. Practice in front of a mirror:

  • Deploy a fishy stare.
  • Gaze at the nitwit in silence for a few seconds.
  • Then ask, “Is that all you have to show for yourself?”

Works best on flashers, but it’s made for nitwits in clown costumes, too.

Get your facts wrong and get your a$$ sued by a mega-corporation.

It may be cheaper to send your kid to an Ivy League school than to your local public university…

Surprise! Legalizing pot is already cutting into the drug cartel’s profits!

Here’s yet another way for the corporate Big Brother to keep tabs on you…

Speaking of the whom, not surprisingly a movement is afoot to take the very useful CFPB away from us.

In the “What Next?” Department, this one is way up there…

Images

Domino roach: Sripathiharsha – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=47015241
Tornado: Justin1569 at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5943918

 

 

Wherever You’re Going…

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Ya can’t get there from here!

The city has had Main Drag South dug up not for weeks, not for months, but for years, thanks to the light-rail boondoggle. Though the thing is now built and open, the workmen persist in excavating this major thoroughfare.

To that they’ve added a new excavation of Main Drag East, so you CAN. NOT. TURN. EAST. OUT. OF. THE. HOOD. ON. ANY. OF. THE. MAIN. DRAGS!

At least, not without miring yourself in a traffic jam that will add a good 8 to 10 minutes to your commute.

I need to drive out to Tempe to meet my associate editor — have about a half-hour before I’d better leave. That entails driving south on one freeway and east on another. And of course driving east from the ‘hood to get to the southbound freeway.

Last night the cops shot some guy on the I-10, westbound at 24th Street. Killed him dead. So that road has been shut down since 4:30 this morning. But only west-bound, so in theory it would be OK. But…coincidentally, some morons created another crash on the State Route 51 on-ramp to the I-10. That ramp is now closed.

Normally to get around a roadblock on the SR 51 ramp, I would drive through city traffic to 24th Street, piddle down to the I-10, and head east from that point. But with the road closed westbound, 24th Street will be dead stopped, making it as impossible to get on the freeway eastbound as it is to get on it westbound.

So it looks like I’m going to have to pass through three neighborhoods to get from my house to a south-bound main drag that’s moving. Then schlep south two miles to a major thoroughfare that goes all the way into Scottsdale and doesn’t stop at the Phoenix Mountains. Drive east on that to 32nd Street, trudge down 32nd to Washington, dodge the effing lightrail there to get east on Washington, proceed to Priest, continue down Priest to Rio Salado Boondoggle Parkway, and from there make my way to our favorite restaurant.

That’s going to take about an hour. At this time of day, it should be about a 20- to 30-minute drive.

Yay.

Charley the Golden Retriever is visiting, having given himself the doggywobbles by consuming an entire plate of cookies at his house. M’hijito’s house doesn’t have a doggy door, so the gigantic dawg has to be someplace where he can get out.

Charley and Ruby are having a sh!tfit just now at a passing band of religious nuts. One nice thing about Charley: his deep bass bark makes hims sound very formidable, even though he’s not. The proselytizers decided to pass is by. Good dog, Charley!

So tomorrow the ladies who know breast cancer are coming over to help build the video application for the $20,000 grant I hope to land. Hope, of course, but don’t expect. Still: the second runner-up gets $3,500: even that would help sustain the project long enough to get it to the send -it-to-an-agent stage. And being able to say someone thought it was worth supporting with grant money would get an agent’s or an academic press editor’s attention.

I’m pretty well ready, I think; now have to refine and rehearse (rehearse, rehearse, rehearse) my part of the dog & pony show.

One of our clients bellyached about the quality of editing in the references of a set of journal articles. I’d foisted them off onto my sidekick, whose life has of late been, shall we say, maxed. So I suspect she probably foisted them onto her own subcontractor, who probably did exactly what one of my subcontractors did a few months ago: used the wrong style manual.

This particular journal, for reasons incomprehensible, uses Chicago author-date style, which is similar to APA style, but different enough to be…different. And confusing. If we follow the journal to Texas when it leaves GDU, which I’m told we probably will, I’m going to suggest to the new editor that they switch to APA style, since most of their contributors are scholars in the social sciences. This would be far easier and less headache-making for their write rs, and it would solve some headaches for us, too, not to have to ask our underlings to use Chicago’s quirky, obscure version of author-date.

That notwithstanding, one thing I want to suggest to Bidness Partner is that it’s past time we came up with an editing test for would-be subcontractors, who tend to line up outside the door. And it’s got to be something that they can’t run through a machine, since some of them are in other states. We need to be sure they actually understand the differences between the various manuals, that they can engage all the manuals accurately, and that they have enough sense to look things up when there’s some obvious discrepancy or nonsense.

Exactly what this test will look like is still pretty vague in my hot little head. But the Kid is one hell of a lot smarter than I am and so no doubt will come up with something that will work.

And now, it’s time to away. Happy Columbus Day!