Your love is like what is the name of those peppers... they're hotter than habaneros, and they make your foot hair fall out....
I haven't done drugs since I was a teen. Now, it's just the prescribed kind, which are sometimes way worse. Like the illegal ones, I have weird side effects. This one hit me over the head like a rocket launcher. At least I got some sleep... about 14 hours' worth. I'm not a doctor (or an airline pilot) but I suspect a smaller dose is warranted. I'd call the doctor, but this is the weekend and doctors don't return calls on weekends (or any day ending in -y). I'm going to make the Executive Decision to halve the dose. This amuses my wife because I sit there, trying to cut the already tiny pill in half. After a half hour, she's already gone from the house, due to the screaming and destruction of walls and concrete walkways. If I don't manage a lower dose, work will be 'interesting,' I'll be a large zombie, incapable of getting anything done. Hey - I'll fit right in with the others! No problem, mon! In fact I'm typing this while asleep.
Executive Decisions are fun. They empower you. Even if you have no flipping idea what you're doing. Screw the doctors! I suspect this gets me in trouble a lot. I freely admit I'm not smarter than the doctor.... but... sometimes I play smarter than the doctor. If it's a particularly prickly day, sometimes I'll tell the doctor they're wrong while we're in the appointment (small wonder they don't return my calls). This is called Problem Patient. I prefer not to think of myself as a Problem Patient so much as a really cute, intelligent, inquisitive patient (who doesn't get calls returned). The problem here (for the doctor) is that I'm frequently right. This really angers Mrs. lefty, who I tell I'm always right.
So I make a few Executive Decisions. Let's just say it's a good thing I can't prescribe myself any medicine. The last Executive Decision I made involved some decorating. Any decision I make around decorating is a Bad Decision [this is called a segue. It's a particularly bad segue, worthy of Monty Python, but not quite]. You see, I was born without the decorating gene. I am a freak of genetics. The scientists are baffled, because the decorating (and the clean) gene has been in my family for generations. I suspect it just needed a generation off, but the problem here is that I don't have kids, so the decorating/design and clean genes essentially committed suicide).
To make matters worse, I married a woman who also has no design gene, due to a car crash when she was little. Together, we could not design or place a small trash can, no less a house. I was repeatedly told the large red air compressor and large blue tube tester had no place in the living room, nor did the 'art project' involving transmissions. Mind you, I was not told this by the person I was married to - she agreed to it all. Some call her an enabler, I call her Sweetheart.
Every six months or so, we get the designing bug. Like my mother, we don't learn by repeated failure. Every now and then, while we're planning, I hear the voices... my ancestors.... saying things like "don't park that in the house" and "there are 47 shades of off-white and you picked that one" and "seats are for sitting, not for storage." This is the kind of thing you hear from normal people. People who don't randomly hear voices, commenting on their decorating. People whose houses are not decorated by hurricane. We don't consider it a narrow walkway - we consider it exercise and training (for what, I don't know). If you bend just the right way, you might put your back back in. Or fix that aching shoulder you woke up with.
So I guess the first rule is it's not necessary to have every spare foot of space occupied. But if this were true, what would we do with all our stuff? Don't say basement because some of our Stuff has gone sentient and makes rude noises at us when we go down there. I love rude noises but the sentient part indicates we probably shouldn't put more Stuff down there. On the other hand, if I put more guitar amps down there, maybe the rude noises will get LOUDER and go off when neighbors walk by. There's a use for everything, you know.
So if we can't hide Stuff, we'd have to [dramatic music] get rid of it. Who gets rid of their stuff? We've spent forever acquiring our Stuff - what would be the point of getting rid of it? It would negate the time, effort, and emotion involved in procuring the Stuff in the first place. We can't stand inefficiency, and this is the worst kind. Plus there will undoubtedly be more Stuff in the future. So I agreed to no car parts over 200lbs (14.4778 litres Canadian). No amplifiers over 200lbs. No girlfriends over 200lbs (that one was pretty easy, but in negotiations, you have to let them think they won something).
After many years together we discovered our Big Problem<tm>. It's vertical space. If we bring in a coffee table and sit it in front of the sofa, then go out for dinner, by the time we get back, it will be cluttered with stuff. It doesn't have to be movies either.. sometimes stuff pops up by itself. I hear, but haven't seen, that we put stuff there. Every vertical surface acquires stuff. So in the design, we have eliminated all vertical space. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to go furniture shopping and ask for furniture without vertical spaces? So we wind up buying furniture and sawing a leg off or something. We just need an angle steep enough to make stuff slide off it. Go ahead - laugh. Is every inch of vertical surface in your house free of detritus, mail, bills, and sex toys? If this fails, we're looking at electrifying the surfaces, so we get a brief ZZZZT when we put something there.
The dog's patron saint is the one for lost causes. I've mentioned her penchant for putting her toys all over the place and making sure the floor is dirty within an hour of me using the vacuum. So she's going to be a bit of an obstacle to a clean layout. And NO, Grandma, we aren't getting rid of her.
The main occupiers of space are shoes and guitars. Guitars and shoes. Since we're miraculously free of rug rats, they each have their own room. We have to allow for growth, as they keep showing up at the front door (moreso shoes, of course). Well, it seems they've gone past the Point of No Return and gone nuclear. Right now, they're figuring out ways to escape their palace. I'm not sure if it's pre-existing shoes or (probably) new shoes, but several on-back-of-door shoe racks have appeared recently. They're built better than some steel building skeletons, and twice as heavy. So when you open the bathroom door, you inevitably slam part of the superstructure of the device into your leg. The door also weighs 343lbs (4 grams Canadian), so you can't shut it. If it ever gets shut, we'll never get into the bathroom again. The other one is on the bedroom door - a very unfortunate place for it. When I get in bed, there's already a wife and a dog in it. I invariably bang a body part on the shoe monstrosity, causing a noise. Ever protectant, the dog starts barking and won't stop for 5 minutes. She wasn't the smartest pup in the litter, just the prettiest, apparently.
So I think the shoe room has gone nuclear and every shoe I see is new. I can't pull this off, at well over the minimum of $1,500 each, so mine tend to appear in the living room. I think they leave the room and put themselves against the furniture on purpose. Perhaps they want a small vacation from the guitar room and whatever goes on there (I hear tales...). So the equipment starts to migrate to the living room. John Entwhistle, the Who's bass player, had every inch of his walls decorated with guitars and basses. It's certainly an idea, but can take a toll on the finish and neck. So I have a small subset of my equipment near the couch. I promised to call a halt to it if the larger amplifiers started to appear.
I am told that the large, comfy devices near the couch are chairs. I've done some research on these so-called chairs, and it turned out to be true; people sit in them! This epiphany will require more consideration, at least in terms of having nothing on them. Of course if we never want anyone to come over, it's moot. In fact, we can get rid of all the chairs for more guitar shoe floor space. We could also use foldout chairs, but that's kinda cheesy. [you're now party to Great Thinking, or great amounts of thinking - you're here at the birth of something normal. something everyone else in the world has managed to accomplish.]
In the kitchen, the best thing that could happen, as I say about certain parts of the city, is a fire or small thermonuclear device. Again, I don't know much about design, but even I am suspicious of the workspace, which is about 6" (5' Canadian) between the oven and sink. We put in some workspace, but it's a little weird across the room. There are companies that put new faces on drawers and cabinets, which is a little funny, because it would just remind me of the previously ugly faces and we'd still have 6" in which to work. Ideally we should move the sink, but this is not something I can do. It's not in my wheelhouse. Nor is sanding, sawing, wood, metal, and most other things one needs to redo a house. You see, my wheelhouse is very small. At this point, there will be no jokes about my wheel, thank you. The sink, like the rest of the house, was put in by drunk monkeys. In order to get to the drain, water has to flow uphill. We had a clog once and called that Roto place. He was really confused by what should normally be accomplished with gravity. He eventually unclogged the pipes, but he divorced his wife, quit his job, and is now meditating near the top of a mountain near Sri Lanka somewhere. I hope he took his heavy coat.
The house came from plans. We've never seen them, and we're convinced neither had the builder. We get the impression that bits of the house were added on, possibly by spinning the wheel and adding whatever it landed on. We could make two bedrooms out of the master bedroom, but don't because it would be really awkward.
I think the dining room would largely decorate itself, via the furniture my grandparents gave us. It's older than we are. It's in great shape. In fact, it was immaculate for its first 50 years, then got scratched when we moved it. I have a touch. It's going to hurt to saw a leg off that table, so things don't wind up on it. It will also take a toll on meals, I think [HERE'S THE POTATOES - WHOOSH!]. Currently there are over 27 different kinds of dog treats on it. If you become dead and are given the choice of reincarnation, choose being our dog. You get your own yard, treats, a sleep number bed, and a humongous fan club everywhere you go. The humans treat you like you're a person.
There's a tv involved. Where do you put that? In the basement, to keep the voices happy? What color paint on the walls? Take note that paint has pain inside it - let that be a warning. What about colors? We like everything black, which might cause a problem with paint. Then if we put very little of our Stuff back, it will be sparse. People will like it and wonder who we hired to do the place over. And within 3 days, we will be out shopping for new Stuff.
Today I identify as a retarded decorator
One place I used to work had an odd call about someone's screen being upside down. Sure enough, when I arrived there, everything was upside down. I fixed it and was later told this wasn't the first call from this person. I know it can be done, but not how to do it.
I recount this because of my mother. We've been calling all day, with no answer. The last time, I had to go over there and discovered she had managed to turn her ringer off. We go out of our way to get mom-proof technology. I'm afraid of what I'll find this time... maybe she got into the SIM card and set the phone to ring on someone else's number. Oops, no, she not only turned off the ringer, she put the phone on airplane. These are things she cannot do if you ask her to. I am being repaid for everything I did as a child.
- LOS ANGELES (AP) — The woman arrested on suspicion of killing her three young children at her Los Angeles apartment had been involved in a custody dispute with their father, according to a newspaper report Sunday.
- I can't claim any knowledge of the law here, but I'm going to say she shouldn't have custody of the children.
Things could possibly get 'interesting' in Huntington Beach, CA, with a White Lives Matter march coming up. Citizens are demanding the city shed its association with right wing extremism. Yes, from now on, only left wing extremists will be allowed to march, speak, and gather. When asked how this would fare against the First Amendment, the response was rapid: "If people are going to march here, they better say things we like. The First Amendment isn't absolute, especially when groups go off saying things we don't like." Meanwhile, Black Lives Matter will attend the march, with signs that say ALL LIVES MATTER. Antifa's signs will say CAN'T WE ALL GET ALONG. At the end of the march, all groups will get together for a nice dinner, where they discover a common enemy: the Jews.
- Marxist BLM co-founder Patrisse Khan-Cullors has been on a $3.2 million house buying binge.
- We don't have a full list of BLM members, but I suspect no other members have been on that kind of binge.
Police in Windsor, Virginia, pulled their guns on a Black and Latino man immediately after pulling him over at a gas station for a traffic stop, according to body camera footage of the December 2020 incident. Second Lieutenant Caron Nazario, a member of the U.S. Army Medical Corps, was still wearing his full uniform en route home from work in his Chevy Tahoe when he asked, “I’m serving this country, and this is how I’m treated?” The officers later pepper-sprayed him, kneed him in the legs, handcuffed him, and threatened to bring charges against him if he complained about their conduct, according to the footage and Nazario’s lawsuit.
The man was obviously DWB (Driving While Black), and the police felt threatened. Anybody can buy an army uniform. The police owned up to their misbehavior, apologized, and offered Mr. Nazario a hooker.
More and more and more requirements are being implemented to show people do not have the Flying AIDS. This includes sporting and, more importantly, musical events. Nobody thought they could come up with something more ridiculous and time consuming at a concert venue, yet the American spirit prevailed...
- 4hr public transportation ride, because we're green. Looking at some of the subway stations, you would be green too.
- Long lines at the doors of the venue, waiting for them to open
- Long lines at the doors after the doors open
- Making friends in line, wondering WTF is going on
- finally making it to the front of the line, where it's time for a ticket scrutinizer, weapons patdown, bomb sniffing dog, removal of most of the stuff you brought to the concert because someone decided it was illegal within the last 5 minutes, rectal scan, examination of any Flying AIDS paperwork, rectal temperature taking for Flying AIDS, questions about where you've been the past 2 weeks by a detective or someone playing a detective on tv
- turn around and go back home. Even Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix on the same bill ain't worth it
- Everybody is looking forward to getting back to work, except half of Americans: the introverts.
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