February 28, 2017
Looks like I guessed wrong, weather-wise: I ran yesterday, which turned out to be an OK day for cycling. Today, however. …
I’m not very interested in what I have to say lately.
There’s just something about February. It’s a short month, but marks the start of every-other-week columns and cartoons for Bicycle Retailer and Industry News.
Too, the weather is often inhospitable, which can be a problem when shooting video for Adventure Cyclist.
And every so often we find ourselves adjusting to a New World Ordure, which can be irksome.
So, yeah. Apologies, but I’ve been taking a few continuing-education courses at good ol’ STFU.
While in residence I read a 1955 interview with James Thurber in The Paris Review. Thurber — an FBI target dubbed “prematurely anti-fascist” by Red-hunters — was discussing what he called “this fear and hysteria” of that period in American history and how it was affecting his writing:
“It’s hard to write humor in the mental weather we’ve had, and that’s likely to take you into reminiscence. Your heart isn’t in it to write anything funny.”
Speaking of stormy mental February weather, I see King Donald the Short-fingered is to address the multitudes this evening. P’raps instead of watching that excremental extravaganza we shall borrow a teenager from one of the neighbors, immerse ourselves in some novel off-the-cuff and inconsequential lies as a change of pace.
Or maybe we’ll re-read “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.”
February 25, 2017
The Turk loves him some velour blanket and sunshine.
Remember the good old days, when there were commies under your bed?
Now it’s just cats. And they’re both under it and on top of it.
Mia goes to the mattresses. Well, to be specific, under same.
Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) generally pitches his command tent atop the bed, where he can enjoy a panoramic view of the inside of his eyelids.
For purposes of security, his adjutant and aide-de-camp Miss Mia Sopaipilla favors a (mostly) undisclosed location.
I’ve wondered more than once whether they’re solar-powered. If so, their batteries should be topped off nicely.
February 24, 2017
OK, it’s been a long week.
Allergies, deadlines, insomnia, you name it.
And the news? Oy. Don’t get me started on the friggin’ news. It seems to have boiled down to @infinite_scream on Twitter, as interpreted by the band Disaster Area from “A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”
But I gotta admit, the way The New York Times arranged this news nugget on its homepage made me smile.
We used to have a saying in my biz: “Never fuck with anyone who buys ink by the barrel.” It may no longer apply, but we can always hope, amirite?
February 18, 2017
Asked if he would serve as national security adviser, Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) replied: “Let me sleep on it. OK, nope.”
I didn’t get my Enemies of the People email newsletter this morning, which means I don’t know what we treacherous media types are supposed to be lying about today, so I’m just gonna have to wing it.
Word is that King Donald the Short-fingered will be holding court today in Florida. You’d think that at some point he might stop applying for the job and start doing it, but that’s what you get for thinking. Not a fan of thinking, the Orange House. Not a fan. Sad! Weak! Man of action! Get that thinking out of here!
Speaking of thinking, the techies at Wired magazine suggest that the paranoids among us — Who? Where? — consider using locked-down Chromebooks and cheapo burner phones that can be wiped and destroyed whenever the secret police decide they need to run their sticky little fingers through your data.
There are $30 Android smartphones out there? Seriously? Who knew? Not me, comrades. Herself just scored a new iPhone 7 and I think she had to pay a $30 cover charge just to get in the door.
Me, I muddle along with a 5-year-old iPhone 5, which I use mostly to receive communiques, dispatches and orders from Herself, take the occasional photo on bike rides, and transmit my activities and location to the State in case its minions wish to discuss pressing matters of national security with me in a windowless basement room at some undisclosed location.
Hmmmmm. Thirty-buck prepaid smartphone, y’say? Bought anonymously, with cash? Something else to think about. …
February 16, 2017
I been from Maine to Spokane and Austin to Boston.
I been up the creek and over the mountain.
I seen 10 acres of sheep fuckin’ in a 1-acre field.
But I ain’t never seen anything like today’s Beelzebozo press conference.
February 14, 2017
Here’s your hat, there’s the door, what’s your Russian?
Twenty-four days. That’s how long tovarisch Mike Flynn lasted as national-security adviser.
In case you were wondering, yes, that’s a record.
Over at The Washington Post, national political corresponent James Hohmann has 10 unanswered questions you might find interesting.
At The New York Times, the Donks are demanding to be sung their favorite bedtime lullaby, “What Did the President Know (And When Did He Know It)?” This has all the gravitas and authority of a puppy yapping from his kennel while the humans are at work.
Trouble is, these mainstream-media types are all spewing the usual bullshit about what Beelzebozo can and can’t do now; the “future credibility” of his various mouthpieces, stooges, finks, flappers and handlers; and which useful idiot will replace the outgoing useful idiot. None of this addresses the central issue, which is that Ronald McDonald McTrump and the battalion of buffoons crowded into his stretch clown car are not Business As Usual and cannot be covered as such.
Perhaps most amusing is the pronouncement from Sen. Marco Rubio (R-Self-Interest) that a Senate Intelligence Committee inquiry into Russian tinkering with the election will go “wherever the truth leads us.” Little Marco doesn’t go places where he might trip over an inconvenient fact and bruise his ambition.
February 13, 2017
“Forget about that California dam, hon’, we got a real problem right here at home.”
Well, it ain’t much of a snow. But the blow more than made up for it. We had to corral wandering bits and pieces of lawn art yesterday, which beats watching Stephen Miller lie on the Sunday shows like a creepy baldheaded teenager caught with a spank mag under his mattress. (“Uh, I read it for the articles? And anyway, the terrorists put it there!”)
Where does Beelzebozo find these alleged people? If you saw Miller lurking around a school playground, you’d probably call the law, amirite? The only video of this penis with ears should come from a vice cop’s lapel cam.
“Hands where I can see ’em, pally. And let’s get the mouse back in his house, a’ight?”
Meanwhile, the National Security Council is taking on Stooge-esque overtones, and not of the Iggy variety, either. Who knew we’d still be dealing with Russian stooges 53 years after “Dr. Strangelove?”
“Sir, you can’t let him in here. He’ll see everything! He’ll see the Big Board!”
February 12, 2017
Yeah, it’s a little windy today. Why do you ask?
February 10, 2017
Headed east toward the Sandias and El Rancho Pendejo via the Bear Canyon Arroyo bike trail.
Another BRAIN deadline beaten, if only barely.
And thus yesterday afternoon I was able to get out on the bike for a couple of hours. What a beautiful day it was, too — warm and sunny with a slight wind from the south, and a temp of 63 by the time I rolled home.
Today is supposed to be even nicer, perhaps with a record high — 71? In February? You shittin’ me? — and I will be at it again, having awarded myself a day off without pay. Hey, when you’re a freelancer, every day you take off is a day without pay.
But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. We’re fixin’ to switch from chart-bustin’ warmth to snow on the deck by Sunday. So it goes in the upper reaches of the Chihuahuan Desert.
In the eastern reaches of the Ay Chihuahua Desert, meanwhile, the usual shock-‘n’-awe continues largely unabated. Nobody seems to be able to pry the phone out of Beelzebozo’s stubby lil’ fingers; the national security adviser is said to have had an illegal back-door chat with the Rooskies; and America’s newest senator is so swampy the Swamp-Thing looks at him and goes all like, “Dude, you make me look like Justin Timberlake.”
So far the only bright spot has been the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals punking Tweety Bird, and it’s anybody’s guess whether he continues to have that burning, itching sensation once The Supremes have weighed in. If they get the case before the Repugs can install their ‘bot on the Court, I’d put my money on a 4-4 split; afterward, all bets are off.
February 7, 2017
Here’s what Betsy DeVos and her family paid to the GOP senators who voted for her.
I hope she kept the receipts. Some of these whores won’t stay bought.