The CPA

What could be more fun than spending my birthday with the CPA?  Watching paint dry?  Anyway, I made the best out of what was and found amusement in the situation. 

This CPA and I go back a long way.  I inherited him when I took over my current position 25 years ago.  He is a typical Jew complete with the whiny, demanding wife who never worked a day in her life.  He is slight of frame with poor posture and dons geeky, thick glasses that rest on his Jew beak of a nose.  Both he and his wife like to bring up the fact that they are Jewish every time I see them in person -- like I actually care.  I guess I'll never be a member of Club Jew.

After the boring, gritty process of producing the general ledger, balance sheet, profit and loss, bank statements, checking account registers, blah, blah, blah, blah, we went to lunch.  The conversation meandered about my birthday, and whether or not I thought about assisted living arrangements/retirement because "it's never too soon" to get my ducks lined up.  According to CPA, demand for senior living will exceed supply (typical CPA talk) and units fill up years in advance.  The population is aging....  how @#$&* depressing is THAT conversation?   It was so bleak and dry I actually started laughing. 

Sensing my discomfort/lack of interest of the conversation, CPA then started talking about television reality shows he's following.  I found that even more pathetic than talking about retirement living.  He then went on to talk about how he saves 13% on just about everything shopping at the military commissary.  This CPA guy is loaded with money and has real estate in San Francisco and Hawaii.  CPA needs to save 13% on toilet paper about as much as Mitt Romney.  It was like having lunch with an elderly, sheltered grandmother. I actually felt sorry for him. 

Anyway, I guess I should be flattered as he offered me a job at his firm in San Francisco as my record keeping is extremely organized and orderly.  That made the conversation about retirement, reality shows, and shopping at the commissary tolerable;)

Birthday Gift

I had a psychic party last night while dreaming.  Here goes...

The first dream involved my Minnesota coven of friends.  They gave me a purple crystal ball.  As I was gazing at it, it began do dissipate into a purple vapor into the air.  The vapor then transformed into a woman.  It was just like a genie coming out of the bottle.  She told me her name, but I could not understand it.  She was in her "mature" years but not elderly.  She had silver hair, not gray.  She told me she was assigned to me.  She went on to describe other life situations that she contemplated giving me to work through like being born with a handicap. 

I asked her if she was my guardian angel.  She smiled an almost laughed as that simplistic description did not do her justice, but if that's what my mortal brain could wrap around to grasp the concept than so be it.   She then told me that I was exceeding her expectations in this lifetime and that she was proud of me.  End of dream.

The next dream was one where I could fly.  I was flying across water.  When I got to an island everybody I knew was there -- people from my past, present and future? (i know, sounds weird).  Even all my deceased relatives were there side-by-side with all of these people.  I was so happy to see the deceased relatives.  I actually gave out joyous shrieks and gave hugs in my dream to a few of them.  One deceased relative was giving my son a big hug.  They were always close and had a special connection that I think goes on to this day. 

After this 'dead man's party' (pardon the lame expression) two deceased relatives I was particularly close to and miss terribly, Karey and Emmy, led me away from everybody indicating that it was time to go.  They told me to signal when I was ready.  It was like they gave me a push through a floor that was not solid.  Anyway, as I was getting "pushed" through this non-solid floor it felt like a big whoosh and like I was falling. 

I did not hit bottom, as I awoke to SSP texting me to wish me a happy birthday.
.....and it is.....
I could not ask for a better gift than my dreams of last night. 

1,000th Post

I glanced at my stats page today.  I don't know why, as I never look at it.  My blog is for my own personal psychological benefit for dumping petty frustrations.  If anybody stumbles upon it while they are bored and surfing the web it's their own fault.

This is a notable post for me as this marks my 1000th entry to this blog.  What?  No parties, fireworks, parades, or accolades at the podium where I tear up and shriek, "You like me!  You *really* like me!"

Nope.  In fact, I like remaining anonymous.  I'm not a spotlight seeker.  You will notice I do not have a single picture posted of myself.  Maybe you don't notice.  Whatever.  I don't care.  You don't care, either.  That's the point.  I'm mutually capable of ignoring and bypassing.

Anyway, happy 1000th post to TheQuietRage.  I'm lifting my red wine glass to myself.  Clink.

Sonoma County Homeless

One business man I know drives past a certain location on Stony Point Road.  He honks his horn.  The homeless guys come out like rats out of a hole.  The businessman usually feeds them his left overs from  his company's kitchen.  Yes, he is one of those millionaires who will proudly bring a bum in off the street into a swanky hotel lobby and pay for the homeless guy to stay there for a night or two - mostly just to get a reaction from other snooty guests and the hotel staff now choking on their own 'limousine liberal' mentality.

Anyway, the tone is getting more desperate.  The homeless guys are asking the businessman to PLEASE call 911 and claim that he was attacked.  The homeless are desperate for a warm place to sleep, a shower, and some food.   They are begging to be sent to prison for a bit.  

What's wrong with this picture where homeless people are WANTING to go to prison for a shower, food, and a place to sleep?  Criminals are treated better than people who are down on their luck. 

dance

I figured out what's wrong with society.  Nobody dances anymore.  Seriously.  Dancing used to be so much of our culture.  Sock hops, the Virginia Wheel, big band, tango.. nobody does it anymore.  Dance has existed since the dawn of civilization -- even if was to the pounding of drums around a fire.

We are missing out.  Dance is so much more than shaking your butt.  What a sad decline dance has suffered.  It has been replaced by Friday and Saturday nights of watching empty television shows stuffing our faces with potato chips.

Music and dance defines humanity.  Why are we so willingly letting it go like it's no big deal?  It's like saying it's OK for somebody to rip your soul out and be expected to go on business as usual.

Homesick

....yeah..... I'm missing my family and friends in the frozen tundra.  I was supposed to go back next week, but changed my mind.  Record snow fall, blizzards, and canceled flights making travel in general an unpredictable, living hell did have an impact on my decision to wait until at least spring thaw begins to make the trek.

There are several reasons I want to go back.

I have unfinished business on so many levels that I almost feel like I'm being reincarnated into another plane of existence to graduate my bruised soul from the growing pains I experienced during my first 18 years of life.

Growing up is rough.  I think I can lend my experiences to girls who are on the bubble of womanhood.  Not that I'm some ordained genius, but rather somebody who vividly remembers "that age" as I carefully documented every mood and emotion.  It's all still very real and alive to me.  Do I have magic answers?  No.  I do, however, know how real their feelings are despite adults wanting to pass us off as 'just a phase we're going through.'

Aside from that, I really miss my homies.  I mean, I REALLY miss my homies.  There is an unexplained transformation when I walk through the MSP airport and half-expect to run into somebody I  know.   So comforting.  So home.  Sorry the end of February did not work out.  xxoo

Telepathy

It's getting more and more intense and the hits are coming more frequently.  No, no... I'm not talking about marajuana.  I'm talking about my psychic abilities.  I'm pretty sure myself and my bestest friend from childhood, JLB, will be subjects of a top secret government experiment trying to figure out how we communicate telepathically.  

This is no joke.

I will think of something, or vice versa, and we pick up each other's thoughts despite the fact we are two thousand miles apart and have had no traditional communication or other tangible clues to influence us.   I can't explain how it happens.  It just does.  As my interactions with the "unexplained" are happening more and more frequently, I'm finding out who my true friends are.  No, I don't go around advertising any of this.  The ones who truly love me and understand me are getting closer to me.  The fair weather friends are freaked out and ran for the hills.  

I suppose it's unnerving to the muggles to comprehend something that transcends time, space, and our limited physical senses.  I see what's in your heart and soul.  Many can't handle that kind of raw intimacy.  

Olympic Figure Skating: My Dream

While I'm not totally inlove with the judging of Olympic figure skating, there are a few comments I'm going to make.  First of all, my favorite skater this 'round is Italian skater Carolina Kostner.  My other favorite is from San Jose, California, Polina Edmunds.  Why Polina? She has the artistry of Oksana and has maturity beyond her years.  Why Carolina?  Because she is a seasoned, underestimated underdog and her freeskate to Bolero was perfection.  I tend to root for the underdogs.

I know, my picks are not the American media's "darlings" this time around, but my opinion is what it is.  I'm also partial to the skaters from the Japanese team this Olympic cycle and Yuna Kim from South Korea.  They are showing heart and soul.  No pun intended.

My aspirations for becoming a figure skater were squashed at an early age.  In retrospect, I'm sure my parents did me a favor for not entertaining the notion I would ever make it to that level, and not wasting my time and their money.  I was never a great jumper.  However, I could spin...

In any event, I remember asking my parents for skating lessons.  My father's reply was, "The entire god-damn world is covered in ice, and you want ME to take you indoors for lessons?"

Still, that did not deter me.  I would go to "tiny tots" and shovel the snow off the ice.  There was a warming house in those days, but snow removal off the ice was lacking.  I'd lace up my skates and pretend I was Dorothy Hamill.  I even had the dorky hair cut.  The worst were the cracks in the ice and yellow piss bumps left by dogs peeing on the ice.  My toe pick would get caught and more often than not I'd land face down.

I had never skated indoors until I moved to California.  I was amazed at how smoooooooooth it was.  It was like heaven.  I could not fathom such smooth, sleek ice and how easily I could glide.  I still dream about it to this day.

Rancho Beef Recall: Meat Snobs

Years ago when my farmer father was out here visiting from Minnesota we passed by the Petaluma slaughter house now recalling an astronomical amount of beef.  My father said, using the same expression and tone Clint Eastwood would use right before he shot somebody (complete with a manly drag off a cigarette), "What kind of shit-house-slaughter-house is that?"

Dad knew.  He never set foot in that place, but knew just from passing by it was questionable.  See, mom and dad are meat snobs.  That's not an insult.  They both grew up on farms - without running and water and electricity - out on the prarie.  That's not a put down.

Meat raised on your own farm has a different taste and texture.  Cleanliness and care in butchering is an unappreciated, forgotten art form.  What cattle are fed makes a difference as well.

Long story short, mom and dad NEVER liked the meat out here in California.  From the time I relocated here 28 years ago they made comment that our meat tasted weird and had a strange texture. That's a strong statement coming from the meat and potatoes people.

In any event, I've blogged about this before, unless you follow your food from source to table be very wary of "organic, locally raised beef" and other yuppie claims used to jack up the price and make you feel superior and holier-than-thou.  This shit-house-slaughterhouse gave the same meat to Wal-Mart.  There is a reason why Japan and South Korea do not accept American beef.

Save the Date: Recipient Response is ??????

I'm confused (but it does not take much).  I received a 'save the date' email recently for a wedding.  The email contained the date, time, and location of the wedding.  It also listed recommended hotel accommodations for out-of-town guests.  There was an email to contact the couple, along with adorable pictures of them. 

Am I supposed to respond to a 'save the date' announcement?  Is this an actual invitation?  I guess why I'm asking is that a friend of mine got a 'save the date' about a year ago from somebody who was getting married.  As the time of the wedding got closer the couple decided to ditch plans for a huge wedding and opted for a small beach wedding. 

The would-be-guests were PISSED.  I guess I can see why.  Jilted guests had put aside sacred vacation time months prior that could not be altered.  They also endured making travel arrangements, bought tickets, and planned their summer around an event where they did not make the "A" final-cut-guest-list due to a reality check in the bridegroom's wedding budget.

My friend was not jilted as she's a local and did make the final A-list cut.  The wedding couple justified their actions by stating that the save-the-date "was an announcement, not an invitation."  hmmmmm.... help me out here...
So, is the "save the date" an invitation, or a preview of coming attractions?  How does the recipient tell the difference?  What does the recipient do when an actual invitation does not follow as the save-the-date grows closer?  Does one call the couple and meekly inquire if your invitation got lost in the mail?  How does the recipient tactfully do that?  What if the couple decided not to go through with getting married (which happens frequently)?   All of these 'save the date' points are worth pondering. 

Taxman

Yup.... I'm full of rage after days of nuttin' but taxes.  George Harrison said it years ago with this song.

I've already griped about this.  I'm too poor for offshore tax-dodging accounts, tax lawyers, and corporate loopholes in foreign countries.  I'm too rich to qualify for any breaks or subsidies as my only crime was being born a white, legal citizen. 

Nobody gave me anything.  I had to work for it.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....  nobody is for the middle class.  Yeah, remember us?  The ones who actually pay taxes and bills? 

Conservative vs. Liberal: Spending Habits

I'm going to do a research paper on the spending habits of conservatives vs. liberals.  Both like money.  Both want things they can't afford.  Both live beyond their means.  Both dodge their fair share of taxes.  Both invent scenarios of how somebody else should pay if things fall apart. 

Does anybody want to help me out with this research? 

You can give both a conservative and a liberal X amount of dollars.  Watch how one ideology handles money in comparison to the other. 

Please, somebody correct me if I'm wrong, but the end result is always the same.  Irresponsibility and greed trump all and they both come crying and whining to mamma-tax-tit for comfort. 

The Age of Opinion

What's true?  What's fabricated?  What's meant to mislead and spin?  Facts?  Fiction?  Contradicting information?  What?  You can't tell anymore?  All information and news is flippantly absorbed as "just somebody else's opinion" because compiling supporting facts are sinisterly manufactured to create whatever reality suits the presenter/writer.  You say the sky is blue?  There are thousands of other opinions stating otherwise. 

Ready to shut out the media?  You're not alone. 

We are now living in the age of non-belief.  Everybody is so jaded that we are hard to motivate on an emotional level.  We now automatically assume everybody has an ulterior motive.  We are so hardened and skeptical that putting the energy in to try to better society just isn't there for us.  Why?  Because people are generally just selfish assholes who will do whatever they can to take advantage of generosity and kindness. 

We've seen it demonstrated too many times how a cause turns into a curse.  Done. 

Ahhhhhhhhh Spring

The days are getting longer, the sun's rays a little stronger, the sky a little bluer, and the grass a little greener.  Trees are pushing out flowers and buds.  It's so pretty....even if we get more rain.

As the birds chirp my attention is directed to.......(ominous pounding of timpani drums)......filing taxes.  Who thinks of this complicated CRAP that means nothing in the big scheme of things other than people wanting you to fork out more money you worked so hard to acquire?  It's amazing how you have to fight to keep your own money -- and I'm not a flashy, pretentious person. 

I'm wondering what I'm doing wrong.  No matter what avenues I use the end result is always the same:  send in more money.  I don't know how others get away with buying what they do because all of my extra money is getting sucked into paying taxes. 

Anyway, I guess the point is that working on taxes is such a buzz kill this time of year when we should be focused on enjoying nature and the elements rather than pouring over faded, crumpled receipts.  

Andrews Sisters: Bei Mir Bist Du Schön

I should have included the Andrews sisters for cool album covers, but the form of pop art had not matured into society yet.  Anyway, the Andrews Sisters should not be forgotten about.  Talent.  I guess when the Minnesota winters are long and everybody is cooped up inside it fosters creativity and talent development -- especially when computers and other electronic distractions did not exist. 

New House

A neighborhood couple we have known forever sold their home near us and moved into a georgous 'house on the hill' complete with a fantastic view.  At one time my husband dated this neighbor lady back when they were teens and working at Wendy's.  Whatever.  She can have him back.  LOL  So inbred Sonoma County.

After I heard about the loan hoops they had to jump through to make moving into the 'house on the hill' happen the acid in my stomach was churning.  Sure, it really is a beautiful home but is it worth taking a loan against loan against loan against loan and suckering friends into lending you money?  One little mishap and the whole house of loan cards will collapse.

I guess this is where I differ from the high rollers.  I know my monthly payment.  I don't owe people all over town money.  I have one simple mortagage at 3% interest that will be paid off  within the next ten years.  I did not borrow againt the equity in the house.  I'm boring.

I'm very happy for my friends.  I guess I'm at a point in my life where I can truly appreciate their beautiful home but I just don't feel the need to put mine on the market and upgrade to 'keep up with the Jonses' I'm too lazy to maintain something so grandiose.

I'm lazy and I know it...  to thine self be true.

Coolest Album Covers of All Time

Oh yeah.... remember when album covers were considered a form of pop art?  Here is my personal compilation of album covers I have spent many hours staring at.

Boston:  More than a Feeling.  I believe this Boston album came out in 1976 (above photo).  Don't correct me if I'm wrong.  I think somebody creating the Boston album covers dropped acid and said, "Hey, I'll use every color in the spectrum to create  the coolest album covers of all time."

Allright.

Kansas:  Point of No Return.  Not even throwing all weight to the stern of the ship will reverse the inevitable.  They had some pretty deep songs that still bum me out to this day.  And yes, we are all 'dust in the wind' which is an all time favorite of mine -- especially when I feel the least bit cocky.  It grounds me immediately.  Leave it to the damn mid westerners to be an ego buzz kill LOL. 

Elton John:  Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy.  WTF?  I stared at this album cover for HOURS during an entire summer while painting my fingernails and toenails in the basement of my childhood home trying to comprehend the drowning death of a friend in Silver Lake. I could never make sense of the record player taking a crap.  I''m sure it has some deep, philosophical meaning that only art geeks get.  Whatever. 

Beatles:  Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.  I think is my all time favorite.  So many layers of political and social statements in one place without text.  Genius.  

Then my hormones started to kick in and I became obsessed with this album cover.  Peter Frampton Comes Alive!  I will leave room for all inappropriate comments alone. The simplicity of this cover is its asset.  xxoo

Fleetwood Mac:  Rumors.  Dangling balls?  I remember asking my older sister what that meant.  I think I still have the lump on my head from where she smacked me.  LOL. 

Aerosmith:  Toys in the Attic.  No, you're uncle isn't creepy..... he just wants to PLAY with you.  ewwwwwwwwwww. 

I remember when my friend, PMF, had such a crush on Michael that she wanted to marry him and have kids with him.  This album cover was stared at by millions of teen girls.  'nuff said.

Ok, maybe I'm weird but I think Alice Cooper gets sexier with age.  I also think he has functioning brain cells which would make him an interesting person to hold a conversation with -- at least according to the local radio station that broadcasts his evening show. 

What kind of a Minneapolis home-girl would I be without including Roger Nelson (yes, that's his real name.... boring and ordinary 4'10" Roger Nelson from North Minneapolis) a.k.a. Prince.  Yes, my favorite color is purple.  Don't wreck it for me. 

Hey, Hey We're the MONKEYS....  I had the total hots for Mickey Dolenz.  I knew all the other girls loved Davey Jones.  I just did not understand the Davey attraction.  Oh well, all the more Mickey for ME!

Sochi: Winter Olympics

Maybe I'm just too practical, but I think Sochi would have been a better destination for the summer games rather than the winter.  Who thinks to host the winter games in a sub Mediterranean climate?  It looks like the slopes are slush.   If we are following the committee's logic correctly, Hawaii should bid on the winter games as well and expect the opportunity to host.  After all, Hawaii does have some good skiing  up in the mountains.  

Russia is covered with snow and cold.  Why host in the one patch that lacks it?  

Logic.  I know.  It just angers people. 

 

Boz Scaggs

Tonight my friend "vanned" me.  She and few others showed up at my house stating that we were going to see Boz Scaggs at the Marin Civic Center.  Do not argue.  Just get in the van, sit down, and shut up. 

We got take out dinner from a place in San Rafael (which was a whole other story I will not go into here) and proceeded to the parking lot to eat, drink, and have some fun before the show. 

Once inside we found our way to our seats and settled in.  Wow.  So many memories went through my mind as so many of the songs were a throw back to the 1970's.  I was instantly transported to the days of the back seat of my parents yellow Dodge, which I shared with three other siblings, listening to KDWB AM 63.  I had no idea so many annoying songs that got stuck in my head 40 years ago could be resurrected to annoy me yet again -- but in a nostalgic, fond, yeah-i-remember-that-song kind of way.   I guess this Boz dude is really talented.  Lido.

The back up singer, Miss Monet/MoNAY (or however you spell it) stole the show.  She was a soulful kind of woman from Oakland and reminded me of Queen Latifa.  She could really belt it out.  The crowd at the Marin Civic Center was unmistakeably typically white Marin.  The woman next to me was so white she could not even clap her hands to the rhythm. 

It was about that time Miss Monet/MoNAY had the spotlight.  Most of us in the audience were standing up at that point -- even the rhythmically challenged Marin white woman next to me.  The singing was so soulful that I could not help but let my inner black chick out and just allowed my body to move with the music.  Once again, the comment was made....."You dance pretty good, for a white girl." 

All the other audience members looked like they had a stick inserted somewhere and stiffly clapped their hands like there were robots.  Maybe the Marin Civic Center should have a policy to remove sticks from @#* prior to entering. 

All in all it was a show well-done that was fun, but yet loaded with class and talent. 

Truth Freak Out

Why are some people so freaked out when faced with the truth?  Is it because they are faced with facts they don't want to see in themselves?  All I ever wanted from anybody is the truth, no matter what it is.  For whatever reason, dealing with the truth has been the most difficult thing ever.  Nobody wants to know the truth about themselves or their interactions with others.  Come on, I'm 40+ years old.  I've heard everything -- even if you like to bark at the moon and hump sheep during a satanic ritual.  Nothing shocks me.  

My problem is that the truth is revealed to me and I have no option but to face it head-on.  The parties involved other than myself can't handle it and run.  They freak when I face them with their own stuff.  

That's why I feel so alone.......I'm willing to dig deep and go ever deeper down the rabbit hole.  Everybody else wants to flit around on superficial levels fooling themselves and feeding their egos. I can liken it to the Sheryl Crow song, "Are you strong enough to be my man."  

crickets chirping.....dead silence.....

The Narcissist

Oh yes, we've all come across The Narcissist at one point in our lives.  You know, the one who loves himself above all others thinking he's a gift to humanity.  He thinks he is so smart, charming, clever and handsome.  Too bad nobody else agrees.  He is the president of his own fan club. 

The problem with The Narcissist is that he doesn't even realize how self-absorbed he is.  See, normal people can read subtle social cues and react accordingly.  Normal people have a moral conscience and empathy.  The Narcissist does not.  The Narcissist automatically goes into defense attack mode as certainly *he* could not be imperfect -- it's YOU that's the problem.  Always.

Next time you suspect you're around The Narcissist here is a simple exercise as you will see that the universe agrees with you.  Be very calm and still.  Allow The Narcissist prattle on about his wondrous virtues and knowledge.  Notice the energy flow.  You will notice a "one way" energy flow that literally extracts your life force out of you and gives it to him.  The Narcissist is literally a human black hole. 

It was 50 years ago today: Beatle Mania 1964

Today is a very special anniversary for Beatles fans like myself.  It's the 50th anniversary of their debut on the Ed Sullivan Show.  America was never the same.  This is for my lovely friends in England.  LOVE YOU!!!  xxoo

Bye-Bye Mom Mobile

Over ten years ago I purchased the ultimate in 'bored moms on prozac' SUV's.  It seated 8.  It had a DVD player for the kids to watch movies in the back seat.  It had all the bells and whistles.  It had heated leather seats and all the hoopla I never even figured out how to utilize.

I drove it on field trips, soccer practice, neighborhood carpooling, etc.  It was driven to sport tournaments half way across the country, trips to Disneyland and you name it.  It endured food spills and barf.  It held car seats and strollers PLUS my Costco shopping.

Then the kids started to grow up and get their drivers license.  The mom mobile became a hand-me-down to one of my kids.  It was sooooooooo uncool for my kid to drive it around, but I had taken really good care of it and a free car is nothing to turn away from.

Well, now that it hit the over 10 year mark and high mileage it was time to say good bye.  It was traded in for something not even remotely close to a "mom" mobile.  As I was collecting personal belongings out of the middle consul I came across items from a bygone era such as movie tickets stubs, pink hair clips and ribbons, old parking permits, etc.  I never thought I would get emotional about a car, but there I was.... cleaning it out and crying.

When I was done I closed the door for the last time, gave it a pat, and thanked it for being such a good car.

Parade of Whiners

I love to watch the opening Olympic ceremonies.  Don't ask me why.  I kind of like the background stories on the host country.  My interest gets lost on the parade of whiners -- oops, I meant nations.  This is where I can understand why people think the Olympics is a bunch of garbage and don't even bother to watch.

For instance, team hopping is not limited to little league parents who think their kid is "all that" and deserves a spot rather than earn it.  It goes on at the Olympic level as well where athletes who don't make it in their own country claim "heritage" five generations back to participate on Team Tiny Nation Nobody Can Identify.

The other thing that made my stomach turn was the investment-banker-turned-athlete who bought his way (and his wife) into the Parade of Whiners to represent a country he has absolutely no affiliation with other than financial donations.  Again, it was a small island nobody has ever heard of.  Think about his clients.  How would you feel if your investment banker had enough dough to bankroll himself and his wife into the Olympics?  I would think I was getting ripped off.  He is obviously making too much in commissions to pull off such an ego fest for himself.

Why don't we all just do away with the whole "nations" thing and just call it what it really is.  It's the contest of who has the most money to participate and buy coaches, training facilities, etc.  o

The Edmund Fitzgerald: For Tooter

This is for my brother.  Even when we were kids and he was beating the crap out of me he would pause when this song came on the radio.  There is a very haunting quality to the lyrics that touches us all to this day. 

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee (Lake Superior to you white honkeys)
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy

Suicide and Sensitive People

I understand why some people want to check out of this existence.  Think about it.  This world can be a cruel, competitive, viscious, greedy, stressful, selfish place.  Those who are sensitive get overwhelmed and want to escape.  Those who are constantly infused with the materialistic energies of "society" feel on a subconscious level the crap they are perpetuating and crave an escape hatch.

However, this world can also be a glorious and beautiful place.  We exist on both ends of the spectrum on this plane -- from the most estatic to the most horrible.  Our challenge is to match our energy vibration with others who share our "channel" and commiserate.

Yes, birds of a feather tend to flock together.  There's a lot of mediocrity out there on the consciousness level on our collective bell curve.  The vast majority of people hover at the "average" level and do not sense and feel on the intuitive level that those of us do on the outer limits.

What I find so frustrating is that people give no creedence to what they can't directly experience and quantify.  They measure the univese and existence on their measly five, limiting, human senses.  I liken my perspective to a powerful microscope.  The invention of the microscope introduced an entire world of bacteria and germs that always existed, but we did not understand and denied existence because we (at the time) could not "see" them.

I'm telling you there is another another plane of existence.  Just because you can't "see" it does not mean that it is not there.  We just lack the technology to bring it to the masses.  Those of us who are sensitive don't need the help of technology.  Technology just has not caught up to us yet.

Stupor Bowl

Oh yeah.  I said it.  Stupor Bowl.  It's no longer about the actual football game, as anybody who watched today can attest to -- as there really wasn't a game.  It's about the commercials, half-time show, food, beverages, friends, and gambling.  It's also about those who brag about paying $2,000 per ticket to sit outside and freeze their butts off.  Whatever.  Glad you all have that much money and time to waste on a boring game. 

Here is the Stupor Bowl boiled down...

National Anthem:  Opera singing brings class to the event.  No crotch grabbing, wardrobe malfunctions, nor rap influences/techno funk.  Thank you.

First half:  Game was already over.  Did Denver even show up for the game?

Half Time:  Bruno Marz (a.k.a. Michael Jackson Jr.) was a class-act entertainer.  Loved his pompodor hair, sequined jacket, and skinny black tie.  Reminded me of the The Platters.  The Red Hot Chili Peppers reminded me of a white-supremacy group of neo Nazi's, but they nailed it with singing (probably to Manning) Give-it-away-give-it-away-give-it-away nowwwwwww....  Give-it-away-give-it-away-give-it-away nowwwwwwwwww.....

Second Half:  We are bored shitless and cheering for the clock.  Why?  Matt had 9-0 as winning squares for the third quarter.  That was our only hope for any excitement for this game.  Even that lame attempt at excitement was foiled. 

Last Quarter:  Everybody is laughing as this is going down in history as the most boring, laughable Super Bowl in history.  We are now betting on how many times a certain player scratches his privates.  Tick, tock, tick, tock....  go grab another plate of food.  The game was over before half-time. 

Rain Dance Part II

Damn.  It worked!  I performed the rain dance a few days ago and lo and behold, it's raining here in Sonoma County.  Coincidence?