So I'm lying awake in bed last night, trying trying desperately to fall asleep. It's not going well. Taking far too long, and I'm committed to early morning activity. At some point, I finally do fall asleep. However, I don't even know it, because I'M DREAMING ABOUT LYING AWAKE, UNABLE TO FALL ASLEEP! After lying awake there for hours, it must be past 5, my cell phone rings, and I fly out of bed, because I know that it's work, and all sorts of somebody else's headaches are about to get dropped in my lap. Of course they are, it's the last Monday before Christmas and this is (major logistics corporation with subliminal arrow) that we're talking about here. So I'm running down the hallway, and the stairs, trying to put some clothes on, because I probably need to be there a half hour ago if I want to get my day finished in time to come home tonight yet, and my cell is yammering away in its stupid little electronic Bach partita. I hit the light switch and wake up our house guests, one of whom sits bolt upright in the sleeper sofa. I think "crap, that's uncool Stef, be more sensitive to your guests needs..." and then I think, "who's staying with us this weekend? I don't remember having any guests." That's when the little voice inside my head tells me that I'm inside my dream. At this point, I said something out loud to myself, along the lines of "well isn't that just great you stupid moron, you've been asleep the whole time and didn't even know it, ya moron." And then I wake up.
So now I'm lying there awake, in the middle of the night, trying to fall asleep. Again.
Stupid brain, using my unconscious thoughts against me. It's just not really fair. No wonder I'm compleatly nutters.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Or is it just me...?
I have been beleaguered of late, by a disturbing trend that the world is exhibiting, and that is of, to put it briefly, going to hell in a hand basket. There is no good place to start. I could mention Haiti, and the horrific natural disaster, and of course that would trail into how can Pat Robertson be such a world class anus in its wake. Then after I am done ranting about the idiocy of uber conservatism, and Fox News, and how the Rev. Robertson makes me embarrassed to admit I'm a Christian, I could easily segue into how the most liberal state in the USA just elected a Republican Senator, and how obvious it is to everyone involved that the liberal agenda is dead and we should just go back to letting the big corporations have their way with the world, like it was meant to be in the first place. Obviously, the b.o.d's. of these mega-corps know that the best interest of humanity is served by a bottom line showing profits in the billions. Right, well the Supreme Court just said it was, and so now legal precedent has been thrown out and re-set, and the doors of New Tammany Hall, forged by the hammers of the Oligarchs, will boldly and expensively bar the way to equality and justice for the little guy. Probably for the next century or so, if we last that long.
So what? How does this affect me. Personally, it probably won't, at least not until the mid-term elections later this year, when TV will become practically unbearable to watch because of all the political ads, which will no longer be required to have truth in them, only truth as the person (oh come on, who are we kidding, it's going to be a corporation!) who's paid for the air time sees it. Truth is subjective, this is America after all, and facts are not legally required for truth.
Not that I'm in favor of the Democrats mind you, because I don't know that there's ever been a political party anywhere that was able to take such a mandate of the people and sling it into such a hash as they have. Never has anyone been handed a bushel of lemons and turned it into pith and peel without even giving us a taste of the lemonade before. They didn't even bother to zest it, or peel a few twists for martini's! I could collectively use that kind of stiff drink, and so could I.
The earthquake in Haiti doesn't personally effect me either, though I do feel affected by such monumental human suffering, and I have twelve or thirteen fewer dollars in my pocket because I put it in a relief donation basket. I know someone who was close, in the Dominican Republic at the time, but he didn't feel the shockwave, and is back in the USA safe and sound.
Why then, do I feel so bothered by everything going on lately (read: right now). I can look back at a time when my parents or grandparents were about my age. Life wasn't any better, or the world more stable. We have the War on Terror, my folks had Vietnam going on, my grandparents, WWII. My folks saw the Watergate scandal unfold, my grandparents, the whole McCarthyism debacle in the 50's. Those events had a profound destabilizing effect on the political and macro economic state of the world. Natural disasters have been striking the Earth for at least the last 6000 years, and if you believe what anyone with a Ph.D. in Geology says, a smitch longer than that.
So this Abyssal Hand Basketitis (A.H.B.) that I've been experiencing lately is an anxiety born of what? Am I turning into Woody Allen? (I hope not, I'm goofy looking enough on my own, and I let all my Hollywood connections expire fifteen years ago, so I'm not likely to have a film made of it.)
The best I can come up with is that I'm getting old, and the older you get, the more crotchety and staid you get. Not that I wasn't always, because it could be argued that I have been. Oh bother, I guess it doesn't really matter much... I'll hang about this week trying to relax, and then it'll be back to the workaday grind. Just be thankful I have a workaday to grind at, I should tell myself. Besides, no one is actually reading this anyway, and even if they were, they shouldn't take it seriously or even to heart, because after all, I am... a Compleat Nutter.
So what? How does this affect me. Personally, it probably won't, at least not until the mid-term elections later this year, when TV will become practically unbearable to watch because of all the political ads, which will no longer be required to have truth in them, only truth as the person (oh come on, who are we kidding, it's going to be a corporation!) who's paid for the air time sees it. Truth is subjective, this is America after all, and facts are not legally required for truth.
Not that I'm in favor of the Democrats mind you, because I don't know that there's ever been a political party anywhere that was able to take such a mandate of the people and sling it into such a hash as they have. Never has anyone been handed a bushel of lemons and turned it into pith and peel without even giving us a taste of the lemonade before. They didn't even bother to zest it, or peel a few twists for martini's! I could collectively use that kind of stiff drink, and so could I.
The earthquake in Haiti doesn't personally effect me either, though I do feel affected by such monumental human suffering, and I have twelve or thirteen fewer dollars in my pocket because I put it in a relief donation basket. I know someone who was close, in the Dominican Republic at the time, but he didn't feel the shockwave, and is back in the USA safe and sound.
Why then, do I feel so bothered by everything going on lately (read: right now). I can look back at a time when my parents or grandparents were about my age. Life wasn't any better, or the world more stable. We have the War on Terror, my folks had Vietnam going on, my grandparents, WWII. My folks saw the Watergate scandal unfold, my grandparents, the whole McCarthyism debacle in the 50's. Those events had a profound destabilizing effect on the political and macro economic state of the world. Natural disasters have been striking the Earth for at least the last 6000 years, and if you believe what anyone with a Ph.D. in Geology says, a smitch longer than that.
So this Abyssal Hand Basketitis (A.H.B.) that I've been experiencing lately is an anxiety born of what? Am I turning into Woody Allen? (I hope not, I'm goofy looking enough on my own, and I let all my Hollywood connections expire fifteen years ago, so I'm not likely to have a film made of it.)
The best I can come up with is that I'm getting old, and the older you get, the more crotchety and staid you get. Not that I wasn't always, because it could be argued that I have been. Oh bother, I guess it doesn't really matter much... I'll hang about this week trying to relax, and then it'll be back to the workaday grind. Just be thankful I have a workaday to grind at, I should tell myself. Besides, no one is actually reading this anyway, and even if they were, they shouldn't take it seriously or even to heart, because after all, I am... a Compleat Nutter.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Greetings! Welcome to The Compleat Nutter. What? Dude, you spelled complete wrong. No! Say I. Compleat is an archaic spelling of, well complete, I guess, meaning, here goes: compleat adj.
1. Of or characterized by a highly developed or wide-ranging skill or proficiency:
2. Being an outstanding example of a kind; quintessential: [Variant of complete]
(Quoted from the Ask.com dictionary. Here’s what they say about complete:
1. Having all necessary or normal parts, components, or steps; entire: a complete meal.
2. Botany. Having all principal parts, namely, the sepals, petals, stamens, and pistil or pistils. Used of a flower.
3. Having come to an end; concluded.
4. Absolute; total.
5. a. Skilled; accomplished: a complete musician.
b. Thorough; consummate: a complete coward.)
So, thank you Ask.com. Here I enter the blogoshpere so that I can post my own musings, opinions, harangues, and rants out there for the world not to read, and the first thing I go and put up is someone else’s work. Just like me, at least I gave the citation.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, compleat- those who know me are aware of an intrinsic fascination I have with archaic (and arcane) processes, and having read, basically, instruction manuals, from the Middle Ages and renaissance which begin The Compleat… (Whatevyr) meaning the author is stating that he has just covered everything there is to know on that particular subject here and now. (I particularly like the ones on making wine and beer.) So that’s me. I got it right here, right now in nattering nabob rant form, neatly compacted in less than a 42 volume set, expressly for the Twitter generation.
Nutter. If you are any kind of Anglo-phile, be it for their rock music, Sci-fi telly, Harry Potter, or Brit Coms, you are probably familiar with the usage of “nutter.” Oh, heck, let’s go back to Ask.com. Today is the first time I’ve ever used the site, and now it’s my authority.
Nutter: The word 'nutter' is an informal word to describe a nut and is primarily used in Britain. The word 'nut' is not describing here (a nut) that you eat but it is being used as a derogatory term which describes a person who is strange and crazy. It is slightly offensive to call someone a nutter.
Ok, that’s me for sure. My eccentricities know know bounds. So boundless knowledge… ack, that’s getting into weirdly wordy wackadooness.
So alright, I am the Compleat Nutter, and this is my blog. You probably aren’t going to read it, but that’s ok. I have decided, like Stephen King, that if I don’t get the ranting and raving out (it’s stories for him) that my head will explode like a penguin on the telly. Frankly, that’s a mess I don’t think my wife wants to clean up after, so I will natter away, ghost of Mr. Safire.
I will also take time in this introductory rant to explain that since I have joined the Facebook masses, I have discovered that I really like it. The little status update feature is really cool. I avoided FB for months, and then when I finally caved, I was like, “Wow, why didn’t I sign up for this months ago?” Unfortunately for me, we are only given 420 characters per update, and sometimes (often) I need more space to “get it worked through my system.” So, I am moving my longer winded harangues to the blog, and if anyone wants to come and read them so they can say “yup, he’s nuts alright…” they can. If you don’t, bleahk on you. This is important stuff, after all. (Insert stupid winking smiley face with tongue sticking out emoticon here. Or not.)
“What will The Compleat Nutter be about?” you ask, bristling with unconcealable anticipation. Well, if you haven’t already figured it out, you’re kind of daft. What you will often find here, in addition to my rantings about everything from politics, religion, corporate malfeasance, and loonies in general, are reviews. I have taken a very high opinion of my opinion of things lately, and think they are better and more sophisticated than everyone else’s. So now when I discover (six months after you already knew about it, I’m certain, since I am kind of slow on the uptake) something really cool, like a wine, restaurant, movie, book, album or whatevyr, I will post it up here, because I like to share.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I proudly bring you (drum roll) the first strange and weirdly fascinating insight into the mind of… THE COMPLEAT NUTTER.
Today I want to talk about the cuteness of small animals. We have two cats as pets and they are just totally adorable sometimes. Sometimes you just need to scoop them up and squish them and squish them and give them noogies until they are purring loud right in your ear. I saw a black lab puppy that was starting his training as a seeing eye dog yesterday. I thought, “Wow, that’s pretty cool, I have a great deal of respect for people that are willing to train service animals, but that puppy is SOOOO cute!” I just wanted to get out of the truck and meet him and let him give me puppy kisses (even though he was probably just licking his own butt) and throw sticks for him to chase and all that. I know you can’t do that sort of stuff with service animals, they need to maintain a stricter discipline, which I totally don’t have. But, he was sooo cute!
I am often bewildered at how our society has taken to their pets. Yes, people kept animals as pets before the Baby Boomer generation, but it is only since then that we have made them members of our family. I understand that this has been said before, by both animal and human psychologists, but I think it may have something to do with our alienation from the greater humanity out in the world, and that these small animals represent a life that we can’t understand, but really wish we could. But even in the mystery of their small lives, all their base simplicities and complex processes, we have a fascination, find a kindred spirit, with them. I often find myself envying them for the smallness of their world, and I am grateful to them when they give me the time of day. I anthropomorphize my pets as much or more than anyone does, projecting thoughts and even sentences onto them. I find myself in disagreement with the school of animal psychology that says animals don’t have actual personalities and emotions. Careful observation of their behavior makes me believe otherwise. They like me. They Love me, even. What kind of heartless bastard would I be if I didn’t offer it back? I don’t want to be that kind of heartless bastard, and I distrust those who are. Don’t be a heartless bastard. Give your dog a hug and some good belly rubbing. Squishy up your cat and give him some scritching under the chin. They’ll love you up for it, and who doesn’t need a little more of that.
1. Of or characterized by a highly developed or wide-ranging skill or proficiency:
2. Being an outstanding example of a kind; quintessential: [Variant of complete]
(Quoted from the Ask.com dictionary. Here’s what they say about complete:
1. Having all necessary or normal parts, components, or steps; entire: a complete meal.
2. Botany. Having all principal parts, namely, the sepals, petals, stamens, and pistil or pistils. Used of a flower.
3. Having come to an end; concluded.
4. Absolute; total.
5. a. Skilled; accomplished: a complete musician.
b. Thorough; consummate: a complete coward.)
So, thank you Ask.com. Here I enter the blogoshpere so that I can post my own musings, opinions, harangues, and rants out there for the world not to read, and the first thing I go and put up is someone else’s work. Just like me, at least I gave the citation.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, compleat- those who know me are aware of an intrinsic fascination I have with archaic (and arcane) processes, and having read, basically, instruction manuals, from the Middle Ages and renaissance which begin The Compleat… (Whatevyr) meaning the author is stating that he has just covered everything there is to know on that particular subject here and now. (I particularly like the ones on making wine and beer.) So that’s me. I got it right here, right now in nattering nabob rant form, neatly compacted in less than a 42 volume set, expressly for the Twitter generation.
Nutter. If you are any kind of Anglo-phile, be it for their rock music, Sci-fi telly, Harry Potter, or Brit Coms, you are probably familiar with the usage of “nutter.” Oh, heck, let’s go back to Ask.com. Today is the first time I’ve ever used the site, and now it’s my authority.
Nutter: The word 'nutter' is an informal word to describe a nut and is primarily used in Britain. The word 'nut' is not describing here (a nut) that you eat but it is being used as a derogatory term which describes a person who is strange and crazy. It is slightly offensive to call someone a nutter.
Ok, that’s me for sure. My eccentricities know know bounds. So boundless knowledge… ack, that’s getting into weirdly wordy wackadooness.
So alright, I am the Compleat Nutter, and this is my blog. You probably aren’t going to read it, but that’s ok. I have decided, like Stephen King, that if I don’t get the ranting and raving out (it’s stories for him) that my head will explode like a penguin on the telly. Frankly, that’s a mess I don’t think my wife wants to clean up after, so I will natter away, ghost of Mr. Safire.
I will also take time in this introductory rant to explain that since I have joined the Facebook masses, I have discovered that I really like it. The little status update feature is really cool. I avoided FB for months, and then when I finally caved, I was like, “Wow, why didn’t I sign up for this months ago?” Unfortunately for me, we are only given 420 characters per update, and sometimes (often) I need more space to “get it worked through my system.” So, I am moving my longer winded harangues to the blog, and if anyone wants to come and read them so they can say “yup, he’s nuts alright…” they can. If you don’t, bleahk on you. This is important stuff, after all. (Insert stupid winking smiley face with tongue sticking out emoticon here. Or not.)
“What will The Compleat Nutter be about?” you ask, bristling with unconcealable anticipation. Well, if you haven’t already figured it out, you’re kind of daft. What you will often find here, in addition to my rantings about everything from politics, religion, corporate malfeasance, and loonies in general, are reviews. I have taken a very high opinion of my opinion of things lately, and think they are better and more sophisticated than everyone else’s. So now when I discover (six months after you already knew about it, I’m certain, since I am kind of slow on the uptake) something really cool, like a wine, restaurant, movie, book, album or whatevyr, I will post it up here, because I like to share.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I proudly bring you (drum roll) the first strange and weirdly fascinating insight into the mind of… THE COMPLEAT NUTTER.
Today I want to talk about the cuteness of small animals. We have two cats as pets and they are just totally adorable sometimes. Sometimes you just need to scoop them up and squish them and squish them and give them noogies until they are purring loud right in your ear. I saw a black lab puppy that was starting his training as a seeing eye dog yesterday. I thought, “Wow, that’s pretty cool, I have a great deal of respect for people that are willing to train service animals, but that puppy is SOOOO cute!” I just wanted to get out of the truck and meet him and let him give me puppy kisses (even though he was probably just licking his own butt) and throw sticks for him to chase and all that. I know you can’t do that sort of stuff with service animals, they need to maintain a stricter discipline, which I totally don’t have. But, he was sooo cute!
I am often bewildered at how our society has taken to their pets. Yes, people kept animals as pets before the Baby Boomer generation, but it is only since then that we have made them members of our family. I understand that this has been said before, by both animal and human psychologists, but I think it may have something to do with our alienation from the greater humanity out in the world, and that these small animals represent a life that we can’t understand, but really wish we could. But even in the mystery of their small lives, all their base simplicities and complex processes, we have a fascination, find a kindred spirit, with them. I often find myself envying them for the smallness of their world, and I am grateful to them when they give me the time of day. I anthropomorphize my pets as much or more than anyone does, projecting thoughts and even sentences onto them. I find myself in disagreement with the school of animal psychology that says animals don’t have actual personalities and emotions. Careful observation of their behavior makes me believe otherwise. They like me. They Love me, even. What kind of heartless bastard would I be if I didn’t offer it back? I don’t want to be that kind of heartless bastard, and I distrust those who are. Don’t be a heartless bastard. Give your dog a hug and some good belly rubbing. Squishy up your cat and give him some scritching under the chin. They’ll love you up for it, and who doesn’t need a little more of that.
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