IZ

I think—less than two weeks out from the presidential election, with more crap coming from the Rs than an entire industrial pig farm—we could use something inspirational for our Friday music. So let’s have Israel Kamakawiwoʻole’s stunning “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.

You’re welcome

 

 

Alea iacta est

I really do not like waiting in line. Back when China sent two pandas to Los Angeles to celebrate the ’84 Olympics, a friend and I went to the zoo specifically to see pandas. But when we got there the line was past a marker that said, “At this point you are 4 hours to pandas”. I turned to my friend and said, “I would not wait four hours for the second coming of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. 

So I’ve been really stressing over voting. Fairfax County’s “satellite” early voting stations only are open from 1300-1900, which is not a schedule I appreciate. But not voting in this election is simply not an option.

So yesterday I pulled up my big-girl pants and went over to the station in the People’s Republic, getting there at 1230. The line was not terrifically long—maybe about 80-100 people. I was fully kitted out: voter registration card, passport, utility bill (remember—courtesy of Virginia DMV, I still do not have a local driver’s license), umbrella, book, water; it was like I was going camping.

In the end, it only took me about 40 minutes after the polls opened. I cast my vote(s) and my ballot has been processed. I’d have waited longer—whatever it takes—although, in retrospect, not having put on sun block (it’s been a while since I’ve spent any time outside in mid-day) may have been a mistake. Still worth it, though.

 

 

 

Flicker

A while ago, I noticed that one of my, uh, suggestive IKEA candles was…well, is it guttering?

You know--the part where it starts wildly varying in its reach for the heavens; usually just before it goes out. The flame was just really flickering, which made the light behind the wax interesting. So, of course I’m sharing with you.

 

 

 

Wrong-wine guys

So, this had me laughing much of the afternoon. 

There’s a thread on Twitter, in response to Ron Johnson, the moron representing Wisconsin in the Senate, going on Fox to claim (evidence-free) that there’s going to be child porn found on the hard drive that allegedly belonged to Hunter Biden. His disclaimer to avoid prosecution for libel was, “Well, the voters should know.”

A couple of samples:

But this one prompted me to reply:

“I feel like a La Romanée-Conti is the wrong wine to accompany a face-pizza. Which does tend to add a level of truth to your account. Ron seems like a wrong-wine kind of guy to me.”

But Rogue’s reply was what cracked me up:

 

I mean: yeah.

There's another thread going: which state has the worst Senators (and the best, but, really, no one cares about them)? Kentucky, with McConnell and Paul, was in a dead heat with Florida, with Rubio and Scott. But Florida's governor kind of tips the scales overall.

God bless the Twitters-dot-com.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: dusk and fire

I first noticed Friday’s sunset because the sky of solid cloud to the South and East was suffused with pink, so I walked to the patio to check whether I was seeing things. No—all pale pink, kind of like a Tate painting. 

But then, through the trees to the West, it was a glorious canvass of intense blues splotched with fiery pink-red-gold clouds, and I just stood there, taking it in. I didn’t even bother reaching for my camera; I just stood in that transition period and gave thanks for its beauty.

I still am today.

 

 

Learn to fly

Last Friday I gave you the Beatles’ “I’m Looking Through You” because it had been buzzing around my head all week.

A friend of mine, the Viking Maiden, said that “Blackbird” had been doing the same for her, and I’ve been singing it ever since. A totally different vibe, and a reminder of how extraordinarily talented they were individually and collectively.

 

 

Real bargain

So, Fairfax County Public Library has a thing going now. When I checked out the latest Donna Leon (for which I waited months), the screen informed me of this: 

Well, I take their point. But I had to think about it, because, well—I don’t think about what it would have cost me if I bought every book I checked out of the library.

But now that I am thinking about it, imagine—what a bargain it is to have a tax-supported institution that gives me free (except—unlike certain elected officials—I do pay taxes) access to an entire world of knowledge, entertainment and some degree of crap.

(The downside is that I really wish they'd zero out what I've checked out once it's returned. This running total means they're keeping a record of what I read, and I'm sure I checked off the box on my library card application that said "don't do that". I may need to have a word with them.)

What would your annual savings look like?

 

 

Personal ethos

I’ve been steering clear of the Senate Judiciary Committee’s confirmation hearing of the woman the Right Wing Nut Jobs are trying to cram through the process, primarily because my tolerance level for both hypocrisy and fools has dropped through the ground lately. But I find one thing interesting from the bits and bobs I’ve picked up over the past few days. 

Amy Coney Barrett may be a RWNJ’s wet dream—primed to strike down Roe v Wade, Obamacare and Obergefell in an orgy of evangelical righteousness. Watching her call something enshrined in the USC “hypothetical” and therefore declaring her inability to comment upon it.

But she clearly understands the concept of perjury, and—unlike Brett Kavanagh—she is reluctant to commit it. She’d rather encase herself in a bubble of babble and be thought unbelievably stupid and ignorant than lie under oath.

She’s still a crime against democracy, but it’s interesting that she seems to have some personal ethical standards.

 

 

 

In situ

I tend to think of azaleas as pretty pedestrian. I mean, they’re nice things to flesh out your landscape plan, but it’s not like you can pick them and bring the flowers inside for a dining table centerpiece. You can only enjoy them in place.

(Although, if you’ve ever been to Norfolk or Virginia Beach in the spring, there is something enchanting about the absolute clouds of azaleas in the entire spectrum of whites through pinks to intense reds.)

However, the other day I noticed one of the HOA-planted (and badly pruned) shrubs in my front yard, just soaking up the rain, so I had to go out and take some shots. Not clouds, but still beautiful.

 

 

 

Gratitude Monday: trifecta

Friday evening I was eating dinner and I heard a knock at the door. I ignored it because it was 2045 and I was eating dinner. (Pro tip: if I’m not expecting anyone, when someone knocks on my door I ignore it. Just because someone’s there doesn’t mean I have to answer it. Same with phone calls.)

But Saturday morning I found a package on the walk, and I was a little confused. I’d already received the 15lbs of bird seed I’d ordered, and I wasn’t expecting anything else. But when I opened it, here’s what I found:

Well—quite the nice acknowledgement from our EVP for launching a brand new platform, a project that has chewed up countless hours over the past six months, in addition to keeping the old platform on life support.

But this other thing arrived on Friday as well:

Not only am I locked and loaded to vote before 3 November, I think this should satisfy the Commonwealth DMV’s requirement for “proof of address” so I can get my bloody driver’s license.

So treble gratitude today: civic responsibility and privilege ready and some bubbly to wash it down with.