Opinion overload

The need for all manner of people to weigh in on any topic in the world never ceases to amaze me. And God bless SoMe for giving them the platform(s) to do it.

In the past couple of weeks, gobshites who did not let their obvious difficulty with spelling words of more than one syllable interfere with their spouting crackbrained theories of epidemiology for the last year and a half have evidently added doctorates in geopolitics and military science, as they are now inveighing against the US withdrawal from Afghanistan.

Note: I’ve seen plenty of typo-strewn diatribes. But not one single alternative plan. I'm including politicians on both sides of the aisle in my observation. Not one single plan.

(For the record: IMO the best-case scenario was always that this would be a shitshow, but what we’ve currently got would have to travel up about five floors to attain that status.)

Now that the “mah freedoms” and “Ah ain’t puttin’ no unknown shit in mah body” anti-vax/mask crowd is reaping the entirely expected harvest of Delta variant COVID infections (exacerbated by many of them ingesting industrial agriculture-grade ivermectin and hydroxychloroquine) and flooding hospitals in the Confederate states, they are gobsmacked to find there’s no room for them. So, naturally, they’ve become medical ethicists and are shouting “Hippocratic Oath”.

Yes—the very same people who insist that medical doctors have the right to deny treatment to LBGTQ+ patients (and that pharmacists have the right to not fill prescriptions for birth control) are not down with these same health professionals putting the science-denying, public health-flaunting ignoramuses at the bottom of the triage queue. Perhaps they meant to say Hypocritic Oath?

Well, I have no doubt that in another week the Know Nothing Opinions Brigade (KNOBs) will expand their expertise into other arenas. If they can still tap their devices while on ventilators.

 

 

 

Gratitude Monday: a voice crying out

My morning walks take me past one pondlike area where I sometimes hear a glopping sound that may or may not be a frog. But one morning last week I was passing a house that’s nowhere near any known body of water and distinctly heard a lone, forlorn-sounding amphibian.

(Yeah, you can't see anything because it's before 0600.)

So, here’s what I’m grateful for today: unexpected discoveries in everyday life. Nothing spectacular or earth-shattering. Just mildly surprising.

 

 

 

Where are you now?

Singer-songwriter Nanci Griffith died last week. At time of writing the cause of death has not been released, but she was only 68. That’s way too young for someone with her gifts, yet here we are.

You might call Griffith a country-folk-traditional-activist performer. She handled the material of other writers with as much ease as she did her own. Her voice sounded of West Texas grit backing up Celtic purity; there’s no other like her.

There are so many of her songs and covers I could give you; it’s a hard choice. So I’m giving you two from her 1993 album, Other Voices, Other Rooms. First up is Woody Guthrie’s “Do Re Mi”, a duet with Guy Clark.

And we’ll close with Malvina Reynolds' “Turn Around”. 

You’re on your own, here, because I’m weeping.

 

 

Street statements

It’s been a while since we’ve checked on vanity plates, so here are a few for your delectation.

As far as I know, these are not connected, except thematically:

This one is good advice:

I sort of feel like this is political:

This is fairly obvious:

But this one, I just don’t know—someone in med school specializing in emergency medicine?

 

 

Neighbors

I’ve got an #IDme question—about fauna this time. Because I glanced at the wall around my front door a week ago and saw this:

Gotta say that—while I’m a live-and-let-live kinda gal (except for people who violate parking regs), meaning that insects live outside and I live inside—I did not like the looks of that structure. Especially right next to my door.

So I scraped it off. Some part of the contents squirted me, which sent me inside screaming for the shower. I assume I’d destroyed some bug’s progeny, and I’m sorry about that, but even insects have to learn that location is everything in housing choices.

Anyone got any notion of whose nursery this was?

 

 

Bitey mites

We in the environs of The District They Call Columbia have been afflicted by a cicada-related infestation of monsters known as oak leaf mites. These microscopic monsters hang out on oak trees (duh) except when they’re dropping on passing humans. Then they bite, leaving gigantic welts around the puncture point.

A big deal has been made about the ones in Arlington and Alexandria, but I am here to testify to their prevalence in the People’s Republic. I looked up the shape of oak leaves, and it turns out I can’t walk three houses in any direction without coming under the branches of one. Also, there are two that form a canopy over my back yard.

This means that I get bitten several times a week. I don’t get welts, inasmuch as there’s no raised skin. However, I experience patches of inflammation that are about 2”x4” around the bite.

Colleagues report successful amelioration of the itching with combinations of Benadryl and topical cortisone. I’ve found that Tiger Balm works better for me.

I can’t wait for Autumn. Experts say we shouldn't do anything to the oak trees. But if this goes on much longer I'm eying some flamethrowers on Amazon.

 

Gratitude Monday: things close around me

For the second time in my life I’ve watched a precipitous American withdrawal from a foreign war followed immediately by swarms of enemy soldiers sweeping over the country in a tsunami of bloodshed. I know that the killings will go on for a long time and my heart is sick.

We let our allies—the people to whom we promised so many things over the past 20 years—down. We abandoned them, and we left behind so much of our own blood, and I just have no words.

So pulling gratitude for today is a little…challenging. I’m going to have to go small, I guess.

I had a week off work—paid time off; that’s a luxury not shared by many of my fellow Americans. In a week of crappy air quality and above-seasonal temperatures, I have working air conditioning in my house and car. My yoga lesson on Friday was absolutely spectacular. I had five takeout dinners; three of them were great. I was reminded again how excellent my dentist and his office team are. 

Also, on my birthday, the Gift Fairy dropped by a bonanza of presents, including this:

Whenever I drink from it, I'll remember that I can do more than I think I can.

Finally, as I return to work, I am proud to be reengaging in defending against cyber criminals and warriors.

So I’m holding on to these things today because they’re what I’ve got to protect me from the unutterable sorrow of Afghanistan.

 

 

 

Take to the sky

We’re in mid-August. Much of the Lower 48 is sweltering under record temperatures; the West is burning—literally—and in the environs of the District They Call Columbia, we’ve got a heat index in the triple digits. But it doesn’t stop here; Greece and Siberia are on fire and Sicily this week recorded 120F. Seems like the entire Northern Hemisphere is presaging Hell.

So today’s earworm is Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong covering “Summertime”. There’s a lot of Porgy & Bess that I find problematic, but this song really captures the season. We may have moved past "the livin' is easy" part, but I'm definitely here for rising up singing.