Am I the only one who thinks that this waterfall might just be a metaphor for the way the world is going right now?
Back-asswards if you ask me. Which of course you didn’t.
Well, I’m way behind in blog writing, blog reading. Even way behind on watching the stuff I’ve stuffed onto my DVR.
So this clip is nearly two days old, and you might have seen it.
But if you haven’t you should. It’s Comedy Gold.
Stephen Colbert on Sarah Palin’s endorsement of Donald Trump.
Sometimes, as I fulfill my contractual duty to the WordPress community to write about all the news that is, well, news-y, I find myself unable to keep up with the fast pace of the current most blog-worthy items.
For example, today I wanted to write about the Bundy Boys while I sipped my coffee at breakfast. I wanted to rant about bozos with bazookas, but alas, I had to go to work. I could not rant.
You’ve heard about the Bundy Boys, haven’t you? Ammon and Ryan (Ammon???? WTF?) Two sons of Cliven Bundy have taken over federal land (a bird sanctuary, because we all know that those folks pack heat(ed hand and foot warmers) to protest what they claim is unfair guv’ment action.
Here is the low down from the Washington Post:
A group of armed anti-government activists remained encamped at a federal wildlife refuge in Oregon on Sunday evening, vowing to occupy the outpost for years to protest the federal government’s treatment of a pair of local ranchers set to report to prison Monday.
The occupation of a portion of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, about 30 miles southeast of Burns, Ore., began a day earlier, after a small group of men broke off from a much larger march and rally held on Saturday evening
The armed occupation is being led by Ammon Bundy, an Idaho rancher whose father, Cliven Bundy, led an armed standoff with federal agents in Nevada in 2014 and who has described his supporters as “militia men.”
On the way to work, I formulated perfect sentences expressing my disdain for folks who claim to be patriots but who work against the government. Petulant ammosexuals. Boys with more guns than either brains or balls. And if you’ve been paying attention, you might recall that I’m not big on guns. Or dopes. Or armed-fucking-rebellion.
Well, today, the delay in my blog drafting reaped rewards. Huge rewards.
Because at lunch time, because the interwebs are/is alive with ideas on just what to call the Bundy Boys. As described in a Huffington Post article, folks are rising to the challenge of just exactly to what to call the boys.
Here are the current contenders:
I thought we might help. You see, originally I had planned to insert a poll RIGHT HERE to see which name y’all prefer, but in the newest new Word Press format, there appears no way to insert a poll.*
Oh and the two men who inspired this anti-guv’ment protest? They were convicted of arson on Federal land and they served some time in prison. Recently a federal judge determined that they had been improperly sentenced, and that there was additional time to be served.
But my favorite tweet?
These two guys oppose the Bundy Boys, and turned themselves in today. They didn’t condone the Bundy Boys take over of the bird sanctuary-with gift shop.
In fact, it seems that self-proclaimed “patriots” — “militia men” are fallin’ all over themselves to distance themselves from the Bundy Boys.
I can’t imagine why. Can you?
* When the Bundy Boys are done with this here protest, I’m gonna call them up. Then they can take over Word Press and we can call it:
#stop-all the damn changes-Word-Press-or-I’ll-shoot
This story just keeps on giving. Just after I posted, I read this post, by I Tried Being Tasteful.
You really can’t make this shit up.
Yesterday, I braved the grocery store to come up with an edible antidote to 2015.
I found myself pacing the aisles of the local Giant Foods, and well, I heard voices. Or a voice.
If I were a Republican, I would have assumed it was God.
But as it was, I realized I was talking to myself. Chanting. And naturally I listened. I’m not crazy, you know.
The Voice, my voice, told me what to do. What to get. How to do it. And I saw that it would be good.
You see, I remembered a long-ago gift from my niece that actually held the secret antidote to 2015. Only I had forgotten about it.
Yup. Who woulda thunk that an antidote would be in a cookbook! But this one is special. You see, it was published in 1987, when the folks in government still believed that the government has an important role in the country. When the government is, essentially, how we all contribute to improving our society. Educating our kids, making workplaces safer, the air and the water and the land cleaner. Yeah, I know it was published at the end of the Reagan years, but that cancer hadn’t yet metastasized.
Here’s the antidote to 2015:
As you can see from years of cooking smears, this is a well-used recipe. It is simple and delicious. And I’m going to make it for New Years’ Day — and often between now and November.
Because while this woman eats chicken. She is NOT a chicken.
And the GOP? I see little evidence that the GOP clowns are anything but chicken, can you?
It’s a little hard to read the instructions from this picture —
Combine all sauce ingredients, mixing until well blended. Wipe each piece of chicken dry and coat well with sauce. Place chicken,skin side up, in shallow baking pan.Tuck edges under, forming a compact shape, about 1-1/2 inches thick. Roast in preheated oven at 450 degrees, basting occasionally with pan drippings. Bake until opaque nearly to center, about 14-18 minutes, depending on thickness. Remove to warm plates. Spoon pan juices over chicken and sprinkle with parsley. Makes 4 servings. May be frozen.
It was one of the most embarrassing things about working at the World Health Organization for an American like me. My knowledge of geography really wasn’t all that hot.
I was pretty good at Europe. I knew that Italy is shaped like a boot, and Switzerland, where I was living, looked like a delicious croissant. Russia and China? No problem. South Africa and Chile — those were easy — they’re at the bottom (and I had been to Chile, so I knew that it was south).
It didn’t help that several countries changed names at the precise moment when I was trying to find them on the map. Yeah, I’m talking to you Burma/Myanmar.
But I’m a pretty quick study. My knowledge of geography grew daily as I had to figure out where the hell everybody was when they went away without me. Today I can proudly say that I, an American citizen, am no longer geographically challenged. I’m so good, I can even find Malawi on a map.
So I will admit feeling a wee bit sanctimonious when I learned that the GOP wants to bomb every Arab city including Agrabah. Because I know where it can be found.
Those stupid Republicans! They don’t even know where Agrabah is! They don’t remember their, umm, history. I know that it’s the town from The Arabian Knights. Agrabah, the city of magic is the stuff of fiction, and folk lore and Disney movies.
Agrabah is where Aladin and Jasmin lived. The city they flew over on the magic carpet. Oh and the Genie. He was there too.
My bloggin’ buddy, Bruce Thiesen wrote an interesting piece about the GOP, that made me think that bombing Agrabah isn’t such a bad idea.
I figure, by focusing all our military efforts on Agrabah, we can rewrite Middle Eastern politics and history.
Bombing the shit out of Agrabah will satisfy the blood lust of the Right Wing without hurting any real people. The GOP will be happy, the Military-Industrial Complex will get their $$$$$ and nobody gets hurt (well, except the taxpayers). It’s a win-win-win. Lots of wins.
This is how we give peace a chance.
I’m expecting the Nobel Peace Prize for this baby.
Over the years, I’ve had to do some pretty weird things for work, had to work for some weird people. And while I have sometimes felt that my job was hell, and that it would be the death of me, well, I never thought that it would lead me to an early grave. Or an early casket.
Possibly among the things I’ve hated most have been those retreat-thingys organized by HR.
For the most part, I’ve gotten along with folks I worked with. Still, I find HR retreats — with their artificial conviviality — uncomfortable. And even I, who willingly tells my most embarrassing stories to the whole world, finds doing so in a closed room to folks I work with when I don’t choose the timing — awkward. They always seem so false, so forced. Perhaps because they are.
Never again will I complain though. Because as bad as things seem, they can always be worse. MUCH WORSE.
Today I found out just how much worse things could be.
Yup, I read on my new BBC App that some Korean companies are holding mass funerals. For their employees. For their LIVE employees.
According to the article as well as independent sources, the Korean suicide rate is quite high, because folks are seriously stressed out. Of course that is a serious situation — so much is expected of employees that they just can’t take it.
So, to alleviate the stress, somebody came up with a colorful approach to stress reduction. [Please don’t tell my boss.*]
Well, they hold a company retreat, of sorts, many companies worldwide do that too.
But this one has a twist. Or maybe it’s just twisted. Perhaps both.
You see, they have groups of employees all get together, and write farewell letters to their families. As if they are about to kill themselves. Then, while gathered in a room with the folks they work with, they stand next to empty coffins.
The participants at this session were sent by their employer, human resources firm Staffs. “Our company has always encouraged employees to change their old ways of thinking, but it was hard to bring about any real difference,” says its president, Park Chun-woong. “I thought going inside a coffin would be such a shocking experience it would completely reset their minds for a completely fresh start in their attitudes.”
Yes. They get into the fucking coffins!
Let me reiterate: You go to work one day, and head off for a company retreat, knowing that it will be an awkward, wasted day and that you are already way behind in your work.
Then they have you write a suicide note and put you into a coffin.
The idea is to make employees feel that their lives are worth living. However, I think that if someone forced me into a coffin, I would be thinking long and hard about my career choice.
And about litigation. I would definitely be thinking about suing the shit out of somebody.
So the next time you decide you hate your job, count yourself lucky. Because things aren’t really all that bad unless they trade your cubicle for a pine box.
*My current boss would never do this. She’s a doctor. She tries to keep people OUT of coffins. But there have been other bosses …
A lot of my bloggin’ buddies suffer from depression and other emotional challenges.
Like Picasso, I just have the occasional blue period.
We all do. In my book, it’s not always a bad thing. And apparently I’m not alone in thinking that it’s OK to be blue from time to time.
In today’s New York Times, there is an interesting article:
The article discusses the fact that, in today’s life, it seems we are all always expected to be happy. Cheerful. Perky.
“Bullshit,” the article states. Metaphorically, of course.
Whatever happened to experiencing the grace of melancholy, which requires reflection: a sort of mental steeping, like tea? What if all this cheerful advice only makes you feel inadequate?
I’m not, and the author is not, talking about clinical depression. Just the fact that sometimes, quiet sad reflection is a good thing.
We don’t all have to be perky all the time.
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