Wow! America really is that stupid.
The bloated orange one tried to steal an election he lost, and in the process had no qualms about destroying democracy in America and when he didn't get his way he sent an angry mob to attack the govt. He has been found guilty of fraud and lying and dishonesty by multiple courts in multiple court cases, and now the American people have made him the most powerful criminal in the world.
Good job America.
Surely, the smart and honest people of America are going to say, Not today, Satan, to the big orange monster.
We've had a spate of women changing their names at work.
I said to HR, "I don't understand why women change their names in this day and age, they will only have to change them back when they get divorced."
Apparently, the girls in HR didn't like my comment.
To which I responded, "Oh come on real world, let's live in it."
Apparently, they didn't like my response either.
Oh, yeah, sure, I said it a little controversially.
But having said that, I really don't know why women are still changing their names. Aren't we all equal? So why are women giving up their names? Why are they still giving up your identity to marry.
It's pointless and it no longer makes any sense, if it ever did.
I'm listening to Bob Dylan.
It was a beautiful day. Really beautiful. The sun shone down brightly like warm honey on our skin. Not scorching like mid summer. Or seemingly unnoticed climate change fever pitch of which we are all now just a little fearful, but not frightened enough to make any meaningful changes. The sky was one unbroken blue tile overhead. Sky blue.
We walked into the city with our recently washed dogs, as recent as yesterday, and didn't their fur shine. And if you got down close enough and rubbed your face against them they smelt pretty good too. It was a lovely day for a walk too.
There is something magical having a dog on a lead and being two. It's really relaxing gliding through the perfect Sunday air.
Once in the city, one of us waits while the other gets the snip, then we swap.
We walked through the city and ate soup for lunch afterwards.
We strolled home through the park.
Sunday. The tourists invade our streets, but who cares when the sun shines.
Then it was the afternoon indoors, you know, as you do.
And the last of the weekend drained slowly away, like the end of camp, or a week away.
My Nancy Wilson, Naturally, CD arrived. I'm pretty excited about it, being the first CD copy I have had of it. It is arguably the first, or one of the first, albums I ever had, but I have never had a CD copy of it before.
As a kid, and a young adult, it was my migraine music of choice when I locked myself away with the unbearable pain in my head in the dark, I'm pretty sure it was good because it doesn't have a hard percussion track, on my own, but I have mentioned that before, I know.
I decided a few years ago... let me digress for a moment. David says that if I die before him - him being 100 kilos and addicted to prescription drugs, doesn't bode well for him, however - that he's going to hold a religious/spiritual funeral for me... let me digress a little more. David continually asks me what would change my mind about god and heaven and reincarnation and the like? How could my mind be changed? What would it take?
He likes asking me this question because deep down he couldn't accept I was an atheist. You know he teaches this stuff, he lives this stuff, with his sycophants of is his guru life. He asks often and repeatedly.
So, one day I gave him my answer. "Okay, you want to know what would change my mind?"
"Yes," he said.
"If you die before me. This is what it would take. I'd be in some sort of square, or public place. And as I am standing there, I can see from the other side of the square someone who looks remarkably like you, approaching me. Our eyes would be connected as this person makes it from one side of the square to me on the other side. The people in the square would just naturally part to allow this person through. They would walk right up to me, they would lean in close to my ear and whisper, "You are wrong."
David smiled.
"That's what it would take."
David has often asked me, "So what sort of funeral do you want with your atheist beliefs?"
The implication being that if I don't specify then it would be wide open for a spiritual/religious affair.
So, I decided a few years ago that my funeral would be held in some room, hall, whatever? The people would be ushered in and sat down. Then Nancy Wilson's, Naturally, album would be played from beginning to end. Nobody would speak, or say anything, and when the album finished everybody would be ushered out again. Funeral over.
I told David of my funeral decision, and he said, "What?"
"That album is all that needs to be said."
So, my first CD copy of that album arrived yesterday. I'm very pleased about that.
I lay on the couch yesterday and did nothing. Really nothing. Absolutely fuck all. Thursday off. I'm suspecting I spent too much time on the couch. 😬 But, what else is life for? I ask you? Time spent on the couch is time well spent, I have always said that.
Oh, I did prune the creeper on our side wall over the pond, which has missed its annual prune for a few years. I did that.
It was hanging down in long tendrils. More than tendrils, to be completely correct. Like many arms of an octopus hanging off the wall. It was all full of dirt too, and as I was mostly cutting them off above my head, they were raining down shit, and debris into my hair. The shower after I was done was very satisfying.
I filled the green bin and the dog pooh bin with the cuttings.
But, after that I lay on the couch, again, and watched YouTube. Mindlessly. Oh yes, I know, wasting my life. I could have been writing a novel, or out marching for climate change, or feeding the poor, or writing a peace manifesto, cleaning up the creeks of the northern suburbs, or graffiting photos of Elon Musk - loony eyes, or his tongue hanging out as he pulls a micro penis, you've got to wonder - or restoring a 65 VW Beetle, or baking bread, learning a new language, or taking part in an interpretive dance ensemble, or going to the gym, as I had scheduled, but I kept thinking about putting that off until tomorrow, which I did successfully, until it was the next day. Ha ha.
Late morning, I take the dogs for a walk. The sky was overcast, the sun stayed behind it. The bulldogs trotted along happily, sniffed about in the undergrowth, and then trotted along again.
I’m listening to Janis Joplin Live at the Carousel Ballroom 1968. The bulldogs were good lads.
There is still the matter of the gym, which I put off from yesterday. Grrrr! Exercise shouldn't be this hard. Should it? I'll go later.
(I did go later, just for the record)
Apparently, if you put your dog shit in the bin it goes to landfill and causes methane, I read recently, adding to green house gasses. Oh, that is disappointing, I thought, as the rubbish man has been taking away my dog's shit for years.
In the long, distant past, there was a bin left on the front footpath that nobody claimed. It just sat there and sat there for months, until one day I had the bright idea to claim it and put my dog's shit in it, and I have been doing that for years now, and the council has been collecting it.
The article I was reading didn't actually give what you should be doing with your dog shit? Other than, if you compost it, you shouldn't put the compost on edible plants.
Good thing we are past the point of saving ourselves, climate change wise, I think, we're done, we didn't fix it when we had the opportunity, as I justify what will be my ongoing actions with the dog shit collection.
I think if people put as much effort into climate change as they do these pointless Save Gaza rallies, or Trumpian style political rallies, or self driving cars, or robots, even, we may just save the human race, but nobody seems to get that passionate, not at all, about the most clear and present danger of climate change.
Oh, of course, some people do, but they are effectively ostracised by the community for disrupting their travel to work, or getting in the way of their shopping outings, or are branded 'radical' by the anti-climate change forces. (and we all know that 'radical' is the antithesis of conservative belief)
Climate change protesters are more likely to be called nut jobs than saviours, funny how that works?
I wonder how history will view them? Much more kindly, I would suspect.
9am. The new fridge arrives. Yay. The guys are no nonsense and get straight to work. They get the old one out, by taking the lounge room door off by unscrewing it at the hinges. And they get the new one in, obviously, the same way. Sam supervises, I continue to work and it is all done in no time. The dogs are locked in the front hallway, and Otto keeps barking, unusual for a bulldog, as if he is demanding to know what is going on.
Finally, after all this time, the fridge is replaced.
I do work for most of the morning.
I first remembered the gym at 11.30am, a bit late to go before lunch, I think. Ah, there is always tomorrow, is my next thought.
I ate 3 sausages for lunch and some salad, with different types of olives and fetta and sun dried tomatoes and soft, marinated capsicum, my favourite type of salad.
It was an easy day. A bit of work. A bit of YouTube. Just how we like working from home. Oh yes, before you get into me, remember, I signed into work at 5.45am, so I have some time up my sleeve.
2.12pm. I finally get my shit together and I go to the gym. I really have to make myself go. I’d been putting it off today, and putting it off, and putting it off, and putting it off, even with the vague though of doing it tomorrow, but then I’d only have to do it tomorrow, is the thought I kept coming back to.
The guy who runs the place, who signed me up, who looks like Jesus, was in the office at the desk. He walked through the gym a bit later, and his black shorts were so short you can practically see what he was having for lunch.
The big serious muscle bound guy is in the gym. He always seems to be in the gym, I guess that is how you get big and muscle bound. He has what I’d call a weather beaten face. He has his hair pulled up into a bun on the top of his head – actually, does he? That is what I am seeing in my head, but I’m not really sure now if that is true? He is always in track pants, which he always has pulled up high on his waist giving him what resembles a girl’s peach of an arse, rather than a bloke’s square butt.
There is an old guy too, looking kind of desperate, like his doctor has told him to exercise. He has spindly white legs and knobbly knees, which shake a little as he uses the machines. His shorts and t-shirt hand oddly on him as if his body is not used to wearing them. He looks at me like bunnies-in-the-head-lights, or rabbits-caught-in-the-cross-hairs inbetween exercise machines. In my mind, he looks terrified of something, quite possibly the tough of death reaching out to him.
2.45pm. The sad faced chick with her cast down eyes works out in the gym. She has on tight, green track pants that show off her sagging middle-aged arse, the crack in her butt resembling a mouth facing downwards puckered to suck water from a creek. When she has finished in the gym, she gets on the bike next to me with her slumped over style, and permanently defeated expression, just as I’m getting off my bike. I’m always glad when the bike portion of my workout is over, it is the hardest part, the weights are easy.
There is a cute young guy with lovely, luxurious hair who looks like he’s got a hardon in his light coloured shorts. No seriously, I don’t think it is my imagination. He keeps adjusting it as if he is trying to hide it, which just draws my attention to it. And it is impressive. He keeps pulling his t-shirt down over it, but his t-shirt is anywhere long enough to do that.
2:48pm. I’m listening to Bruce Springsteen’s Working On A Dream, a CD I picked up cheap just recently. It’s pretty shit.
3.11pm. I’m home.
3.30pm. I’m showered
Sam takes the dogs for a walk, I decline the invitation to go with him. “No, I’m exhausted from the gym.” Even I’m guessing that is not the spirit. Too fucken lazy my still small voice says in my head.
“Ah, shut up,” says my little-miss-evil voice.
I lie on the couch. “Lovely,” says my little-miss-evil voice.
4.30pm. Sam is back from the walk with the dogs, and he then goes straight to the supermarket.
I sign out of work. “Ah, back to the couch,” I say out loud. I stretch my arms over my head for effect.
Sam is back.
I’m lying on the couch. Yes, I am very comfortable thank you.
The sun is shining, it is a lovely afternoon.
