The Life in My Years

A Rush To Rudeness

Paul

February 21, 2021

Rush Limbaugh died last week.

No prayers and very few thoughts (at least not positive ones) or as my favorite blogger Eden Baylee noted to me “tots and pears.” Not so sure about pears but I’m always up for some Tater Tots – with a splash of ketchup of course.

It’s said that we aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak the truth about them, and if the speaking is ill, well… Those who do damage in life and leave that damage after life deserve accountability. The devastation that Limbaugh left requires due commentary.

Limbaugh birthed the collapse of discourse. He was a mean spirited man who tossed out scurrilous comments with aplomb.
In 1992 he called then 12 year old Chelsea Clinton a “dog.”
In 2006 Limbaugh accused Michael J. Fox of “exaggerating the effects” of Fox’s Parkinson’s Disease.
The targets of Limbaugh’s slanders are legion:
He called Kurt Cobain “a worthless shred of human debris.”; Sandra Fluke a “slut.”; Iraq War vets, “phony soldiers” and mocked victims of AIDS.

While much of the world either sloughed off Limbaugh’s death, breathed a sigh of relief or reminded itself of his toxicity, Fox News reacted as if Jesus had just died (again).

A few days ago I read a Facebook comment denying that Limbaugh was racist. The commenter had clearly missed such Limbaugh gems as:
Calling President Obama the “house negro.”
A blanket denigration of the NBA, “I think it’s time to get rid of this whole National Basketball Association. Call it the TBA, the Thug Basketball Association, and stop calling them teams. Call ’em gangs.”
A barb aimed at Mexicans (and I imagine the Latinx community in general) “Let the unskilled jobs that take absolutely no knowledge whatsoever to do — let stupid and unskilled Mexicans do that work.”
I was tempted to respond to the commenter but realized that there’s no end game there. Arguing with someone drunk on Limbaugh’s brand of snake oil is as rewarding as arguing with any other drunk. Drunk is drunk, doesn’t matter the intoxicant.

FABULOUS FRIDAY FREE STUFF: Dogs, Photos, Black History Month, Blind Lemon and a Reverend

Paul

6 comments

February 19, 2021

“There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.” Everything has a price.
I’m not giving away anything really tangible here.
Everything has a cost. In this case the cost is your time. I hope that it’s time well spent.

The banner photo for this piece is of Chloe. Chloe, 12 years old, is my daughter’s dog. She’s the canine matron of the domestic circle. With her dignifying touches of gray, Chloe is the wise, stately dog in contrast to my Lexi who’s essentially berserk and slapstick. Well, Chloe is wise and stately if you ignore her taste for goose poop.

I took the photo of Chloe as a trial shot with my new camera. A Canon 90D, it’s a three step upgrade from my 60D. It was expensive but worth every penny. Just don’t tell my wife about the expensive part. I’m still on the learning curve and haven’t quite finished reading the 200+ page instruction manual. Luckily many of the controls and menus on the 90D are similar to my old camera. We’ve come a long way (like including Bluetooth) from the old Kodak Brownie camera.

Below are two other trial shots. A daisy in our front yard and a sunset (because as a snooty pro photographer once said, “Sunsets are cliché).

Wind and Smoke

Paul

8 comments

February 13, 2021

“You play to win the game. Hello? You play to win the game. You don’t play to just play it.” ~ Herman Edwards.

I’ve been watching the second Trump impeachment trial, nearly gavel to gavel. I did bail out on some Friday’s session and the arguments being laid out by Trump’s attorney Michael van der Veen who was trying to make the unmakeable case by inserting falsehoods, using deflection and making a mockery of himself and the proceedings.

I suppose that van der Veen can be excused for looking like a boy trying to play in the men’s court. Not a Constitutional lawyer, van der Veen is a personal injury attorney by trade, what we used to derisively call an “ambulance chaser.” He’s the guy you call if you want to squeeze a million dollars out of the owner of the dog that nipped you in the leg and drew a drop of blood. He’s not the guy you want fighting legal brief to legal brief against the likes of Jaime Raskin, a former professor of Constitutional Law. Van der Veen’s method of operation of feigned indignation, overacting and accusatory rhetoric is probably more suited to a civil case than a Constitutionally based trial in the Senate Chamber. (In one telling moment during Saturday’s session, the Senate chamber erupted in derisive laughter at the counselor’s rhetoric). Continue reading

Monthly Monochrome: Transamerica

Paul

6 comments

February 11, 2021

Anyone who’s visited San Francisco, since 1972 has seen the Transamerica Pyramid, one of The City’s most iconic structures.

I was in my teens when the building design was unveiled and quickly met with derision from the media and from public officials. It was criticized as something that would be more appropriate on the Las Vegas skyline than San Francisco’s.

The original plan called for the building to 1148 feet (350m) in height, effectively blocking views of the bay and skyline from Nob Hill, home to The City’s monied and exalted. In order to pacify the upper crust, the designers changed the height of the pyramid to its current 853 feet (260m).

I took a recent Sunday excursion to San Francisco’s Downtown to photograph this once detested structure. (On Sundays Downtown and the Financial District are nearly deserted).

From the building’s base and rising four stories, the pyramid features a web of beams that support the structure and also adds to the uniqueness of the building.

Peeking through the beams at a neighboring building

The COVID CHRONICLES: TREADMILL

Paul

18 comments

February 9, 2021

Monday morning in America. Not just any Monday morning in America. The day after Super Bowl Sunday, Monday. The annual Monday when a good portion of America is recovering from some variety of hangover. Hungover from a full season of football now ended, looking at months of withdrawal until the next season begins, and the sunken knowledge that golf, basketball, hockey and half a baseball season could never replace the cracking of plastic pads and occasional broken bones. Hungover from too many nachos or slices of pepperoni pizza. Most certainly hungover from far too many Margaritas chased with beer and a few Hennesseys as a little digestive.

There was no Super Bowl party here. No snack foods, no booze and no crowds of people. I barely watched any of the game. Cora of all people was the only one who watched from opening kickoff to the cascading confetti at game’s end. But there were plenty of Super Bowl parties.

How would I know this?

Sunday morning Cora asked me to stop at the store for some odds and ends. She gave me that questioning look when I got home with no odds and not a scant end.
“No, I didn’t go to the store. No, wait, I take that back. I went to the store, peeked in and it was jam packed with people buying stuff for the Super Bowl parties that we’ve all been asked to not throw.”

How do I know they weren’t just buying for their own house?

Well, if so many people are going out and stocking up on giant economy sized jugs of vodka and tequila and cases of beer then America has another problem beyond COVID.

I know there were Super Bowl parties because the evening news showed those parties to the rebuking narration of indignant newscasters.

Let’s just be philosophical about it; we were overdue for a national super spreader event anyway. It’s been more than a month since New Years Eve. We’ve been far too lax in our bad behavior. If it wasn’t for Super Bowl Sunday we’d be going a full 2 ½ months of being moderately responsible. Remember the next opportunity for the lunacy of a super spreader event is until St. Patrick’s Day. Six weeks or so of sanity. How will we possibly manage?

Ironic, in a ghoulish sort of way that we decide to have a super spreader on the anniversary of the first known COVID death in the United States.

At some time during her 57 years I imagine she’d wanted to achieve fame in something or another. Through her mortality when her heart ruptured on February 6th 2020 she achieved immortality. Tissue samples analyzed months later revealed that her death was caused by COVID. This was not the moment of fame she would have been looking for. Patricia Dowd, remember her name. Might just as well remember her name because there’s no way that anyone can remember the names of the other 465,000. Most of them will be remembered only by the ones they left behind.

If I’m sounding a bit bitter it’s because I am. We’re closing in on the one year anniversary when things began to shut down; a year since we first hopped on this treadmill. And we know where treadmills lead to; N-O-W-H-E-R-E. Continue reading

Fabulous Friday Free Stuff: Time – Free, Passed and Wasted; Kids; Justin Earle Townes and, Last and Least – Marjorie.

Paul

6 comments

February 5, 2021

“There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.” Everything has a price.
I’m not giving away anything really tangible here.
The “free” in the title of this piece refers to “free-flowing.” Random thoughts; aimless; catch as catch can; spitballing. Even remnants o’stuff that never made it into posts.
But bear in mind that everything has a cost. In this case the cost is your time. I hope that it’s time well spent.

Free time says the title. That can have different meanings. There’s the good notion; the unallocated block to do whatever you want.

And then there’s the other notion of free time; that it has no cost. This is a canard. The cost of time is time and there’s really nothing more valuable. Take it from an aging guy who’s got less time on the horizon than in the rearview mirror.

This of course mostly puts the lie to the old saying, “Time is money.” Money is pieces of paper with pictures of famous dead people. You can usually get those pictures back. Time is irreplaceable.

Time. Time was the topic of the week in the domestic circle.

THE COVID CHRONICLES: Masquerade

Paul

16 comments

February 2, 2021

Late Friday afternoon and the week was winding down. Do COVID era weeks really wind up? Today it’s the day to day to day, Drudge. Monotony. Colorless repetition.

CNN’s Erin Burnett was interviewing a couple of the big giant medical heads who’ve held sway on damn near every aspect of our daily lives. That’s not necessarily a bad thing given our situation. I put it this way because I think that we’d all like to return to the days when the big giant medical heads fade back into the relative obscurity of research and writing articles in medical journals that everyday people never read.

Cora and I were only half listening to Dr. William Haseltine a regular big giant medical head on CNN. And then he started in on masks and for some reason this caught our attention. Haseltine in the now familiar pedagogic, voice from on high of big giant medical heads suggested (paraphrasing here), “We need to start thinking about wearing two masks and a face shield.”

I – lost – my – shit.
“What the actual fuck did he just say? TWO masks AND a face shield?”

A Dark and Stormy Night

Paul

21 comments

January 28, 2021

The atmospheric river was flowing earlier this week. Atmospheric river; that’s weather reporter speak for a gully washer that slams in from the Pacific. Before the storm hit I put whatever I could in a shed or in the garage. Whatever was left I covered with tarps. The storm crashed in and the tarps flapped and slapped as if they were taking out some anger over being left out in the gale.

It was a good night to be indoors. I had a fire going. The smell of the fire mixed with the aroma of a meatloaf in the oven and a pan of roasting Brussels sprouts. There was a cast iron skillet brimming with scalloped potatoes sitting on the stove. Cora and I sat on the couch, she in a sweatshirt and muffler and me in a Pendleton shirt, close together in front of the fireplace. I love the Pendletons, they look, feel and speak of cozy winter warmth.

I was buried in a book and Cora was sewing. Lexi, was in a half sleep curled into a hairy black and tan ball on her dog bed in front of the fireplace. But for Lexi’s occasional dream spasms and the crackling fire it was stone quiet. There we were, a living Norman Rockwell, warm and comfy dandy on a winter’s night.

I’m not a fan of winter. Given the choice I’d be sitting in front of the pool with a good book but if we had to go through the seasonal routine I’d take it. It’s warm and spiritual by a fire, sitting with my partner and my dog while outside the wind is slamming sheets of rain against the windows.

At nine-ish Cora toddled off to bed and Lexi followed while I stayed in front of the fire with my book. Jackson came out of his room to ask what all the noise outside was about. I told him that he was probably hearing the tarps being thrashed around by the wind, adding, “If your great grandfather were around he’d say, ‘T’isn’t a fit night out for man nor beast.’”

A little while later and the tarps had blown off the grills they were supposed to protect. I tried to fasten them down but the wind wasn’t having it.
“Fuck this.”
I gathered up the tarps and tossed them in the garage so I wouldn’t have to fetch them from down the street in the morning and went back inside to get dry and warm.

Back to my book. The rain and wind were pummeling the windows and the pool just about to overflow. I went upstairs to check on Cora. She looked up from her reading.
“My god it’s really windy.”
“Yeah….I know. I’m thinking about all those homeless in the camps.”
Back downstairs – throw another log on the fire. Lexi followed and went back to her dog bed and groaned with doggy pleasure, droopy eyes looking lazily into the warmth. Continue reading

Monthly Monochrome: The Bridge and the Boat

Paul

10 comments

January 26, 2021

The Bay Area awoke to a New Year that was bright, beautiful, crisp and clean. We took a walk at Crissy Field where the Golden Gate Bridge is in full view. During our walk we came upon a beached boat with no apparent owner besides nature to do it’s inevitable work.

I took a few photos of the old vessel (including the banner image, a close up from the bow) but the one that I really wanted was made impossible by the many people walking the shoreline, enjoying a break from politics and pandemics. I loitered hoping for the clean shot that never happened.

As if the weather gods had just given us a one day tease, January 2nd was cold, misty and gray. The image of that boat and the disappointment of the missed shot had stayed with me and the gloomy weather inspired a return to the beach.

The beach was nearly empty and the tide was up – way up. The bridge was shrouded within a misty veil.

As I walked the shoreline dodging the surging bay water I wondered if the boat would still be there or if the risen bay might have snatched the little craft from its sandy berth. About a half mile up the beach lay the boat, unmoved in the wet sand surrounded by puddles. Not a person in sight. I had my shot and the gloomy weather lent what I thought was an extra portion of drama.

I took a number of images, all in color, and edited them into monochrome using different filters.

First Shot

Paul

18 comments

January 22, 2021

I never thought the day would come when I would look forward to a shot. Hold on – let me clarify that. I never thought the day would come when I would look forward to an injection. Shots? Many were the times during the working years when a string of time sucking, worthless meetings would have me looking forward to a healthy shot of Maker’s Mark at day’s end – and I didn’t wait four weeks for a second shot. Continue reading

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring