Everlasting stream

After this crack-brained week, I’m not quite sure how to view Friday. So, two things to brighten the weekend:

The New York Attorney General has filed a lawsuit against the Kleptocrat’s bigly bogus foundation for a whole spectrum of fraud, surprising absolutely no one with three synapses firing in sequence. She has also sent referrals to the Federal Elections Commission and the IRS, basically inviting them to start digging for election and tax violations. 

Anent this: let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everlasting stream.

Second: it’s apparently chipmunk season—I’ve seen them in my backyard, in the ‘hood and on my walks. They are such cute little buggers; you cannot watch them without smiling.

Peace out.

Tick-tock

So, this happened. Again.

I reported in January the sudden, ah, pivot in my employment status. And when last I updated you three months ago, it looked as though at least someone saw a future for me with my current employer. I mean, clear communication does not seem to be a cultural strength in this outfit, but I had understood that there would be use for me once the business plan is done this month.

With that thought in mind, I’ve been beavering away on the plan (a process that includes a not inconsiderable element of cat herding to get a straight—or even only somewhat wavy—story around what, exactly, this program is going to do). I’d got signoff from my manager to attend the Grace Hopper Celebration in September. (I went last year as part of my work managing innovations.) In fact, I got literal signoff on my expense for registering for the conference at a meeting with her on Monday, where I presented the mother-of-all-financial-models. Everything seemed fine.

Then, Tuesday evening, an email appeared in my queue from the woman in HR responsible for managing benefits—the one who balances being out of the office more often than in with seemingly being unable to deliver on your benefits choices. (It took repeated emails and visits to her office from June to November last year before the money being taken out of my paycheck for retirement got into the right accounts.)

(Look: my Outlook folder for correspondence with HR is labeled Clown Car. ‘Nuff said.)

Here’s the text of that email: “I was made aware that you may be leaving at the end of the month due to funding for your position. Do you have any questions regarding your benefits?”

Why, yes—yes, I do have questions.

So I forwarded the email to my manager, basically asking, WTF? The response I got was not entirely reassuring. The company funds covering my salary do end on the 30^th, but she’s scrambling to cobble together monies from various sources to cover me until October, when some big grants are expected to come in. “It would not make sense to stop this work now when we are getting traction and funder interest.” And she said we could talk in person yesterday “if you like.”

Well, yes; yes, I would. I mean—WTF?

In person, she started off by saying, “Your issue is a non-issue.” Well, no, it’s not; not to me. But the gist of it is that she recognizes that what I bring to the table does not otherwise exist in her organization, and it’s a necessary skillset. Great. (She also was pissed off at HR for jumping the gun in their size 11 Doc Martens. “They’re slow on everything except what they should be slow at.”)

But I do not like the notion of continually scrambling around to find funds to pay my salary, and my travel expenses and my bloody benefits. It means I’m working under a sword of Damocles, and that does not bring out my best work. So I have to up my job search game. Again.

(More and more I feel like Sergeant Murtaugh: I am too old for this shit.)

I also don’t like that she doesn’t have enough money on hand from existing grants to get me through to October, and needs to ask the CEO, through his boy-wonder chief-of-staff, for half the dosh. The only thing good about this is that I don’t have to be present at that particular discussion.

Oh—and when I replied to the benefits chick yesterday to advise her to deal with my manager, I got an automated out-of-office reply.

Because of course.

Hiding the bodies

Here’s the thing about English sparrows: as much as I decried their predations (before the grackles arrived), if you’ve ever got an unsuccessful baking project, they’re always happy to police the area for you.

Example: some time back I was making scones for a friend and I forgot the salt, so they came out more like hockey pucks than cream biscuits. I was going to dump them, but then thought, “Maybe the birds would fancy them?”

So I put them out, and, hey-presto, the sparrows were all over them like a rash. Viz:

 I was grateful for the laughs and the disposal service.

Plurality

You know, given all the mishegoss flying around on Air Force One, I think I’m just going to leave this here for you.

We do need all the laugh’s we can get.

Gratitude Monday: girlz in the 'hood

I’ve been trying to up my exercise game, mostly by walking—easing myself into it, as it were. I shared my adventure in Great Falls National Park last week; this time around, it’s the People’s Republic.

Let me preface this by noting that this town has the most bizarre thing going WRT sidewalks. I don’t know whether the government intends to discourage people from walking, or you’re supposed to walk along the paths that meander around instead of along the roads, or whether they’re just too cheap to put sidewalks along streets. But I’ve noticed for years that finding sidewalks is a complete crap shoot.

For example: you’ll emerge from your cluster to discover a sidewalk on the port side of the street. For maybe a tenth of a mile. Then it stops and there’s a sidewalk on the starboard side for half a mile. Then—for no discernable reason—that stops, and there’s nothing at all, and nowhere to walk but in the street. 

(Note pedestrian walking in the street because no sidewalk.)

Given the speeds at which the SUVs fly around the People's Republic in general and on this road in particular, this is not for the faint-at-heart.

As for the non-street paths—if you don’t already know where you’re going and how the trails map, you’re pretty much stuffed.

However—as I said, I need to start somewhere, so I just tied on my trainers, grabbed my camera and set out. Mostly, the only thing I care about is avoiding the golf course; I prefer neighborhoods and woods.

So, a couple of interesting sights. One family set out this bowl of water so neighborhood dogs could have a slurp while out walking their humans. That was nice.

And I don’t know the origin of this very well-tended bench (complete with umbrella):

But here’s the view that the peering dude (and anyone sitting on the bench) sees:

Further down the street, someone's got a gorgeous crop of oregano going. I'm so jealous:

It’s going to be more challenging to go on walks as we push into summer here in the environs of the District They Call Columbia—so far it’s been extremely mild, but that can’t last. Still—it’s always nice to have variety in any exercise regimen, and I’m grateful for it.

Same old s[tuff]

You know, it’s been another of Those Weeks, primarily thanks to the Kleptocrat and his cabal. They’re all in it, but at the time of writing I’m thinking primarily of the latest revelations about the extent of EPA Slimebeast Pruitt’s venal attempts to get a Chick-fil-A franchise for his wife, sending his staff out to buy a used mattress from the local Hotel Klepto (ewww) and spending nearly $1600 for 2 pens (that's $1600 of our money); and the general mouth-flapping of Rudy Giuliani assuring us that the Kleptocrat is above the law.

(This would be risible if both houses of Congress weren’t under the control of GOPig sycophants, who do not possess a spine between them. But as it is indeed a Repugnant Congress, it’s fucking terrifying.)

And it’s capped off by Li’l Donnie Two-Scoops himself whining about having to go to Canada for the G-7 Summit today; he knows it’s not going to be any fun because—having pissed off every single one of our historic allies—it’s just possible that no one there’s going to give him the adulation he requires. Moreover, he’s got ants in his pants in anticipation of the big meeting with Kim Jong-Un next week, which he’s convinced will earn him the Nobel Prize. (Also, the Québec trip cuts into his golf time.) Although he doesn't think he has to prepare for the Two-Scoops/Rocket Man meet. Because: attitude.

Gawd.

And—as if that’s not whackadoodle enough—at what was meant to be a meeting between Commander Bone Spurs and his Stepford-wife VP Pence and FEMA to discuss planning for hurricane season, he unsurprisingly was unable to stay on topic for longer than 23 seconds, and blathered quasi-incoherently about his favorite-most subject, himself.

That almost wasn’t the weirdest thing about that meeting. And I’m not referring to Melania being there in a kind of proof-of-life presence. No—it’s this water bottle schtick:

By Grabthar’s Hammer, you cannot make this shit up.

(I'm not even going to talk about the buffoon the administration sent as ambassador to Germany. Gawd.)

But, speaking of shit, I have now arrived at the point of today’s post: the mysterious person known as the #poojogger, who has been crapping for more than a year in a Brisbane, Australia, neighborhood has been caught in the act. On camera.

(How long before New Balance distances itself from this customer in the manner of Sanofi decrying Roseanne’s Ambien-blaming?)

Turns out he was a q-qu-quality assurance manager for a company that runs retirement homes. Quality assurance—bwahahahaha! Exec by day, sociopath by night.

Well, actually—sociopath 24x7.

As you might imagine, as with #BBQBecky, the iconic photo of Andrew Macintosh is now featured in all manner of memes, and Twitter is having a laff riot with it. (The one about the second pooper on the grassy knoll is cherce, although the account @poojogger is starting out strong on his own.) He’s been sacked from his job, which is at least somewhat satisfying.

As we wait for the same to happen to the Kleptocrat and his Klan, we’ll have to make do with this story.

Fake friends

As you know, Facebook has been in the spotlight lately for selling influence to whoever’ll pay for it, which—in addition to crappy ads cluttering up your feed—includes allowing bad actors like Cambridge Analytica, the GOP and Vladimir Putin to screw with our political system.

Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg has gone on a slap-on-the-sincere-face-instead-of-a-smirk-and-suit-instead-of-a-white-tee-shirt apology tour of both the US Congress and the EU’s Parliament. He’s told us he doesn’t understand how this happened, and assured us that it won’t ever happen again.

I’m not entirely reassured, however.

Nonetheless, I thought this was an interesting ad placement in their disinformation campaign.

I mean, I just wonder how many Metro riders are convinced by this sort of thing?

Know what also isn't your friend? Facebook.

Talking business

As with all business, the tech industry basically would wither and die without a steady infusion of trends and their concomitant trendy jargon.

The one I’m thinking about today is “digital”. Everything’s gotta be digital. And everyone’s gotta have a digital strategy, no matter what line of business you’re in. Hospitals, publishers, food trucks…you gotta talk about the digital component of your business model.

What I find interesting is that if you start asking all these people what digital means in context of their business, their eyes slew off to the side, they clear their throats and the conversation kind of drifts into nothingness. Because no one really knows what the hell it means in general, much less how it’s going to affect them. They just know they have to have it.

So when I came across this on the digital Internet, I snagged it for you.

You’re welcome.

Fungus among us

Still in Great Falls park—given the kind of rain we’ve had here, I’m surprised this was the only manifestation of fungi I saw.

Closer views:

No, I did not pick any.

Gratitude Monday: a walk in the park

It’s been a while since I got out in Nature, which is actually kind of odd, when you consider how much Nature there is in Northern Virginia. Mostly of the sort that crawls and bites or sucks blood.

However, on Saturday I went to Great Falls National Park, right on the Potomac River, and spent a couple of hours walking around.

(The last time I was at the park, it was for a photo class. When people had cameras that used film.)

It’s been raining a lot in the area, so the trails were soupy.

(Also—although I sprayed myself liberally with repellant, I still ended up with mosquito bites.)

But this made for some spectacular viewing of the falls. I mean—we’re not talking Multnomah, but still:

Further down the trail, here’s a little feeder fall:

There were quite a lot of people out—dog walkers, runners (a couple of them scared me, going at a good clip even on the slippery trail and even-even on the trails where I had to pick my way through protruding rocks), family groups, even…I guess, rock climbers.

I have to say that signage is kind of sparse and ambiguous in the park. I did wonder what happened here:

Also—not manmade, but I also wondered about the story behind this:

The park also has a few remnants of canal locks, from the pre-railroad days when the Potomac was a highway between Washington and the West, and shippers needed a way to get their goods around the falls. If you didn’t know what to look for, you might not even notice these:

By the time I left, I felt better able to deal with the world, and I’m grateful for the treasure that national parks are, and for having one so close. I’m also grateful that I went on Saturday, because it pretty much rained the whole live-long day Sunday. I’m expecting to see a large boat with a lot of pairs of animals aboard floating up the Dulles Access Road any day now.