Sisters

 We were once quite the chatty group, and I look back fondly on those days.  The hot cup of coffee as the sun rises, the fresh new screed from one of the dawgs responding to something I had said in the previous post, and examining it to determine how I wanted to respond to it.  Another big gulp of hot joe and the keys were popping.

But those days are gone now and there is nothing to be done about that.  I still check to see if there is something new over the transom every morning.  I still think of you guys.

Not a fan of Christmas cards.  You know the kind where you are on somebody's list and they send you one every year, but then beneath the gooey message inside they just sign their name, oh, maybe they add a "Merry Christmas," or "Happy Holidays" above their names, but you know they are just cranking them out.

But I like the idea.  It's kind of an excuse to get in touch with people without seeming weird about it.  I used to make a Christmas painting every year, and then I would send out a jpg and a little message in an email.  It was kind of nice, but not that nice I guess because I haven't done it in years.

And I thought maybe I could write a post about Christmas, because, you know good will to men and all that, and I would like to have something to kind of cover up my last post which was certainly not my best one.

Well Christmas then.  Beagles actually does go over the river and through the woods to one of those nearby towns where his daughter lives.  Old Dog I think takes himself with something he baked balanced on his knees on the bus to his sister's house.  I used to take the Metra to the north shore, but now I take the elevator to the 35th floor, a more pleasant and shorter ride.

And that got me to thinking of sisters.  I think it was about ten years ago that Old Dog and I began our Ten Cat seminars.  My mother was in a retirement home which later became assisted living and his mother was fading in what I think was the ancestral two or three flat.  We also both had sisters who were the more responsible members of the family with homes presentable for Christmas. 

Beagles does not go to his sister's for Christmas, but he does have a sister who lives in Champaign.  She used to work at the House of Chin and when I met her again years later in the rush of people finding each other on facebook I asked about her brother who I remembered way back from Gage Park High where when all the lemmings streamed out to college he went out to the north woods, and I rather admired him for that, going against the crowd.  And that became The Institute.

I don't think any of us have brothers.  Kind of a good thing I think.  I certainly did not miss an older brother and all those noogies when Mom was not watching.  It would have been ok I guess to have a younger brother who I could give noogies to but who needs him tagging along on my adventures?  Sisters, I think are just about right. 

headlines

That was a nice song but they could have eased up on the background music, a little too loud for me to enjoy her singing.  - March 31, 2022

I consider that high praise from Old Dog who is, well, not known as The Scourge for no reason.

I didn't have enough time to bring this up at the last posting, but googling around I discovered that Irving Berlin wrote Marie.  Well big name, but kind of a tin pan alley/showtunes kind of guy, which is not my kind of guy.

But a jumping spider is my kind of spider.  Something of a fad, no wait, a viral thing I suppose it would be called.  Would never have known about them had I not done a bit of a search when I was painting my Bugs series.  Gotta love the bugs.

Oh and what a swell photo.  With a little photo shopping you could add a screaming Fay Wray and you have the poster and from there the script basically writes itself.

Jumping Spiders go Viral

Showtune and Tin Pan Alley tunester panned by prestigious Beaglestonian philosopher.

Big Time media critic of famed Institute smashes box offices with boffo new horror pic

Maybe this is something we can all agree on.  Saw Seven Samurai Saturday night and liked it a lot.

Studying web design

As for spiders, let me introduce a friend of mine:

Oh, nice.  I've done a lot of reading lately about many things spider related and I recognize that little guy as a jumping spider, a very popular critter these days.  Cute and colorful, what's not to like?

Here's a pic of the latest egg sac that is hatching and you can barely make out the dead fruit fly on the top for scale.  These critters are tiny and I suspect that there is a little cannibalizing going on.

 

And speaking of dead fruit flies here is one of the original orb weavers I grabbed in August enjoying a snack.  You can see the distinctive red eyes of the fruit fly and a little bit of the wings.  The image is a still frame from a video capture; it took her about a half an hour to complete her meal, including a little after dinner grooming.  Not much left of the fly, though, just a little lump that she unceremoniously flung off her leg.

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And if I recall correctly, and I am sure that I will be corrected if I am mistaken, the scourge was rather fond of Drops from the Faucet.

Unless you can cite some proof you may consider yourself corrected.  That song rings no bells, neither does the singer.

I didn't realize the lyrics you quoted were from Marie.  The music is certainly an ear worm for me but all I remember from the words is "Marie, da da da, da da, Marie, da da da, da da...the something-something, yadda yadda yadda..."  Those Irish lads harmonize nicely but I would hardly call their tunes "mopey" but I'm no expert.

Here's another ear worm that I've been enjoying lately from the middle 60s, puts me into a good mood.  The Easybeats on German TV, circa 1967: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yIkhWutDecg

 

Waiting on the Nickel Line

 Mopey?   This from the guy who championed Marie, which is a deadly ear worm that infected me for close to a year?  I would be out on a long walk thinking my deep thoughts, perhaps formatting them in a way that my colleagues might find interesting (fat chance) in my next post, when all of a sudden:

And tears, will fall, as you recall
The moon, in all its splendor,
The kiss, so very tender,
The words "will you surrender"

Hard to format those thoughts with that full moon buss in the bushes from that tempestuous Marie of the luscious lips ringing in my ears.

And if I recall correctly, and I am sure that I will be corrected if I am mistaken, the scourge was rather fond of Drops from the Faucet.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3QAXmqIdweA.  Oh that horn, the tinkling piano, those dry, sad lyrics, Nanci's phrasing.  It is no wonder the Marie loving mope would enraptured.

Listened to it again, tracked down the writer, found his wiki stub, and from there his funeral stuff.  Studio musician, music teacher, hung with Nanci a bit, had two or three widely spaced albums that I never heard of, lived in Greenwich Village.  Never really made it to the big time, but made a living with music and didn't have to wipe down tables or sell insurance.

Ping-ponged through the internet, like Old Dog with his searching of the blog, and came across this:

I passed a marquee, Third Avenue
"Ramona" with Loretta Young and I swung myself around
And (headed) uptown to the train

Here was a clue to when it was set.  I had been thinking mid-thirties, and the NYT said 1936 and added:

The New York Times praised its use of new Technicolor technology but found the plot "a piece of unadulterated hokum."

Well so much for that.

Well I was going to go on about the Nickel Road, but I guess I have already strayed way too far.

I saw Barbie too.  We showed it in our meeting room which does not have very good acoustics, so I may have missed some parts.  

I was too old for Barbies, which is to say she debuted after my sister's time for dolls.  They had Betsy Wetsy.  Dames, who can figure them?  She was a big hit but underwent severe criticism of the masses at the dawn of the women's movement.  The CEO's tried to make her relevant, like making her a doctor, a lawyer, an astronaut, you know, but still with all the clothes and standing on tip toes for her high heels, and I think the CEO's were roundly criticized for that also.

But time heals all wounds, and I imagine if you had a Barbie in your politically incorrect girlhood, you loved her like girls love a doll, and you just want to see her do good.

It was pretty good movie.  I liked Barbie Land and the Ken's and all that, and the trip to the Real World and kind of twisting stereotypes.  But the last third of it was a lot of speeches about empowerment, but not too much so you don't roll over the oppressed, and oh, all that Hollywood hooey about presenting a powerful message.  But still, I would give it three stars.

As for spiders, let me introduce a friend of mine:

Time flies like an arrow...

...and fruit flies like a banana.  Quite a gap in postings in this tailing edge of 2023 but I've never minded a lack of the give and take that some folks find so enjoyable.  If there is nothing new I often go back in time, even to the beginning of this blog, and read how much has changed.  Go back to any date, pick a post, and start reading.  Maybe you'll trace a thread backward or forward in time but I gotta admit, it's very easy for me to get sucked into the narrative.  There's a lot of life in the blog, even if nothing new is posted but that could be a mental defect on my part.  I enjoy my delusional reality and I'm sticking to it.

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One topic asked, "What's in a name?"  I wonder that myself sometimes and I'm beginning to suspect that names can be very restrictive.  A name can be a good way to share understanding but it can also put the subject in a box; you see the name and think it is only that one thing.  Are those sounds you are listening to Folk Music?  Blues?  Opera?  Boojie-Woojie (ref. to Long John Baldry)?  Noise?  Does the name matter at all and does it affect your pleasure or annoyance at those wave forms hitting your eardrum?  Uncle Ken laments a lack of enthusiasm for his musical suggestions but without being a scourge I will say that his mopey favorites are not my cup of tea.  And the less said, the better.  But getting back to names, I can't think of anything that isn't more than it's name.  It's too easy to label something and never go beyond that label in your thinking; there is more to a Trump supporter than a red baseball cap.

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For the first time in years I went to a cinema and saw an actual movie, a new one, and not something I found on a dubious streaming site.  You guys may have heard of it: Barbie.  I was curious about some of the feedback the film was getting so I checked it out and was pleasantly surprised.  Quite good, I thought, and it really nailed some male stereotypes.  I can see why some of the Bro's were upset with it but they may lack my sophisticated sense or humor.  I took my niece to see it because the local movie house doesn't accept cash and I'm too much of a dinosaur to have a smart phone or use a credit card for such trivial expenditures.  There weren't a lot of guys in the audience (go figure!) but it was funny to hear the guys laughing out loud at times in an otherwise quiet theater.  But there were times when the women were laughing and I had no idea why.  The niece works at an internet marketing firm and said that the guys in her office (lot of 20-somethings) would never consider seeing Barbie; not confident enough in their masculinity, or something like that.

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And fruit flies really like bananas.  Since August I've been involved in a project studying spiders and their webs, learning more than I thought possible.  I keep thinking of the story I remember from grammar school about Robert the Bruce, sitting in a cave being inspired by a spider and then going to victory in one more battle.  Fascinating critters and I can spend a lot of time watching them create and negotiate their webs but they gotta eat and unless something flies into the web they will starve.  That would be hard for me to prove since they can go weeks, sometimes months, without eating.  But not to worry, fruit fly husbandry has become a newly developed skill here at the Geezer Chateau but it is tricky to keep them properly confined.  Fly paper is a definite requirement, glad they still make it.  So far, so good, and I think a few newly hatched spiderlings will make it to puberty.

  

The Rhinos

 Yar, I agree those names for musical genres change from time to time and are not tight like those in science and law.  If you choose to you can sing a rock song like it is a country song and vice versa which I have never understood.

The difference between the extremist factions of the dems and reps is the dem's shoot their mouths off a lot, but when it comes down to voting they vote with the party.  Well except for Coal Joe, an extremist on the right of the party, who frankly I don't mind seeing him go.  You might say he was an early user of rep right method, if your party lead is narrow any old oddball can become a big deal.  It all went to his head and now he thinks he can run for prez.  Fucking asshole.

Where was I, oh yes, the extreme factions of the party.  Dems shoot their mouths off, but toe the line.  Reps shoot their mouths off and take over the party.

I think as long as Trump is alive the republican party we cannot know what is next.

Libertarians, you hardly ever hear that word anymore.  It was big with the tea party, but none of the guys who called himself that thought the same thing as the next guy.  I thought it was just a word that a guy who didn't want to pay his taxes used to make himself sound distinguished. There was an official Libertarian Party (The Tarians) which appeared every four years to run some kooky unknown who would get one or two percentage points in the election.  

I think if there is post Trump republican party they should call themselves Rhinos, you know like gay people turned queer into a word of pride.  The elephant is majestic, but kind of slow and ponderous (though in person I hear they can do quite the charge), and the donkey, even I, a rampant one, have to say it lacks charisma.  But a rhino, now there is a mascot to be proud of.  

What's in a Name?

 I am familiar with the "A-A-B" format, but I consider that only one form of the blues.  I know that a schoolteacher of musicology would agree, indeed insist, that the definitions of musical genres listed on Wikipedia are the only correct definitions.  Nevertheless, the nomenclature in common usage suggests differently.  For instance, the "classical" music of the 19th Century is more properly called "romantic", with the term "classical" more properly applying exclusively to music of the 18th Century.  Before that, there was something called "baroque".  I am not making this up!  If you tell most people, however, that you like "romantic" music, they will likely think that you mean sappy love songs.  Back in the 60s, we used to argue long and hard about what constitutes true folk music, a practice that came to be derisively called "the folkier than thou" attitude.  The contemporary folk group Peter, Paul, and Mary had little use for it, as the following song implies.

PETER, PAUL & MARY ~ Blue ~ - YouTube

I agree that the Republican Party under the leadership of Donald Trump has gone to hell in a hand basket, and I'm still not convinced that was not his original intent.  Both major parties have assimilated their extremist factions in the last few decades, but the Democrats have been more successful in keeping theirs under control.  Of course, nothing lasts forever, so what's going to happen next?  Will the Republicans recede into the background, yielding their second-place position to somebody like the Libertarians?  Unlikely, but not impossible.  Will the Democrats eventually spin off their extremist faction, thus restoring the two-party system that Americans seem to prefer, after the Republicans have crashed and burned?  We'll just have to wait and see, providing we live long enough.

Nikki, Nikki, Nikki

 What Gillian Welch is singing is nowhere near the blues.  The blues has a rather tight format and here is a description from wiki:

Blues, as a genre, is also characterized by its lyrics, bass lines, and instrumentation. Early traditional blues verses consisted of a single line repeated four times. It was only in the first decades of the 20th century that the most common current structure became standard: the AAB pattern, consisting of a line sung over the four first bars, its repetition over the next four, and then a longer concluding line over the last bars.

I don't understand a lot of musical terms, but as you can see this is not Gillian Welch.  One thing Gillian and the blues have in common is that they are both included in a kind of music called Americana, which wiki tells us:

Americana (also known as American roots music)^[1] is an amalgam of American music formed by the confluence of the shared and varied traditions that make up the musical ethos of the United States, specifically those sounds that are emerged from the Southern United States such as folk, gospel, blues, country, jazz, rhythm and blues, rock and roll, bluegrass, and other external influences.

Which is kind of vague especially when you include and other external influences.  A lot of these musical genres pretty loose, but I maintain you can tell Americana music when you hear it because it comes close to the bone.  I hope that clears everything up.

I have tried on several occasions to promote various songs and movies to my colleagues with not much success.  But that's to be expected, most of us like to find our own stuff.

Speaking of esoteric interests I have seen all three republican debates.  Without the big dog they are awfully boring, especially since none of these guys want to go after the guy overwhelmingly in first place.  I suspect that they are all hoping to be VP, or even better the big dog will drop dead, and there they will be, leading the pack with maybe 12 percent, the likely successor.

Of course I don't like any Republican, but with the recent turn of the party from bad issues towards pure evil there is now a wide gradient of Republicans from pure evil at the bottom to wrong-headed fool at the top.

I never understood why Pence ever thought he had a chance.  Normally a guy does not look in favor on a guy who tried to get him hung by thugs.  Was he a Trump apologist or foe?  Was he a breath mint or a candy mint?  

I guess the one in the current bunch who I like best is Christie, very oily, but saner than the rest.

And Haley is not far from him in sanity.  She wants to bomb Iran, but then so does the rest of the party.  But I thought she had a moment of clarity in the last debate.  The rest of the candidates were all howling about abortion and she said something like. "Look guys, 60 percent of Americans want abortion legal, and dislike that as we may, there is nothing we can do about that.  And all this howling is losing us elections and not bringing a ban on abortion a scintilla closer."

Well I don't like this because I love seeing republicans lose elections over abortion, but it would do the republicans a lot of good to listen to her.

But of course they won't.  They think howling about something is the same as doing something about it, and more important really because then they get a lot of ink and have a good chance of winning the primary, though of course they will have no chance in the general election.  How about Tuberville guy, shredding the leadership of the our armed forces over some arcane anti abortion issue which he will never get repealed anyway?  How about the house, spending time toppling their chairmen for sport instead of passing bills that might have a chance of becoming law?  How about those increasingly bizarre investigations which proceeding from no evidence but they don't like the guy?

I'm going to say, I am kind of in agreement with Beagles on this Haley woman, though I would like her a lot better if she kicked Trump's tiny nuts with her five inch heels.

Singin' the Blues

 Sorry, but the song didn't do anything for me, even now that I have the lyrics.  I'm no musicologist or anything, but I think it would be classified as "blues", so I understand how it would mean something to Uncle Ken, who has recently lost something near and dear to his heart.  

I am reminded of a line from a song that I once heard on the radio:  "I like my dog, I like my pickup truck, I like my girlfriend, but I love this bar." I've seen lots of bars come and go in and around Cheboygan in my day.  Some of them burned down, some of them were torn down, and some of them changed ownership.  Either way, none of them were ever quite the same again.  Of course, nothing lasts forever, even us.  You can't go backward in time, you can only pick up the pieces and go forward.  Here's hoping that Uncle Ken can find another venue for his art, and for his life as well.

Since my first choice (Pence) for the Republican presidential nomination has dropped out, this one is shaping up to be my second choice.

Nikki Haley scoffs at Trump's lead in 2024 GOP primary: 'Drama and chaos follows him' (msn.com)

If Trump gets the nomination, I'm voting Libertarian, not just for president, but for everybody.  If the Republicans ever get rid of Trump, I'll start voting for them again.

another sad song

There was a camp town man, used to plow and sing
And he loved that mule and the mule loved him
When the day got long as it does about now
I'd hear him singing to his muley-cow
Calling, "Come on my sweet old girl, and I'd bet the whole damn world

That we're gonna make it yet to the end of the row"

Singing "hard times ain't gonna rule my mind
Hard times ain't gonna rule my mind, Bessie
Hard times ain't gonna rule my mind no more"

Said it's a mean old world, heavy in need.
That big machine is just picking up speed
They were supping on tears, they were supping on wine
We all get to heaven in our own sweet time
So come all you Asheville boys and turn up your old-time noise

And kick 'til the dust comes up from the cracks in the floor

Singing, hard times ain't gonna rule my mind, brother
Hard times ain't gonna rule my mind
Hard times ain't gonna rule my mind no more

But the camp town man, he doesn't plow no more
I seen him walking down to the cigarette store
Guess he lost that knack and he forgot that song
Woke up one morning and the mule was gone
So come on, you ragtime kings, and come on, you dogs, and sing
And pick up the dusty old horn and give it a blow

Playing, hard times ain't gonna rule my mind, honey
Hard times ain't gonna rule my mind, sugar
Hard times ain't gonna rule my mind no more

She is no hillbilly or anything, but she has taken on one of the things I like about that down low old folk music which is the way she sings it in that deadpan manner like just the facts Ma'am, and of course that inner sadness.  There is no song like a sad song.  

So how do you like her?

So, the Ten Cat officially got sold.  Connie told me that she would be running the window art even after it was sold.  But he is filling the windows with stuff like a big balloon cat, so I texted Connie and she said that her and Dick no longer have anything at all to do with the place, so likely I will not be having my yearly show there anymore.  Breaks my heart and hurts my image as the Great Artist who puts on boffo shows at the Ten Cat.  Every morning as I am painting I am thinking of the next big show and pushing to get in my sixteen paintings for it.  Now I don't know what I am living for.  I'll ask him about it tonight but my hopes aren't high.

I understand that if you sell a bar you cannot tell the new owner how to run it, and the new owner has the right to do with it what he will.  I don't feel that I am being treated unjustly or anything like that.  But, I don't know, it is a sad thing.

As to what direction Bob, the new owner, is going, it looks to me like what I used to call the Bud Light gang, though I guess they drink something else.  Old Dog made some graphic adornments to the Ten Cat and now it looks like they will now be some other things that we have lost. Get a load of this.

https://www.tencattavern.com/

No Comprende

 I listened to the song that Uncle Ken recommended, but I couldn't understand a word of it.  I've been having trouble with accents for a long time, not in person so much, but on TV and the telephone.  Funny thing is that I grew up hearing accents, as did we all.  In fact, I don't recall ever meeting somebody's grandparent who didn't speak with a foreign accent until I moved to Cheboygan.  A certain amount of hearing loss is normal at my age, but I seem to hear everything okay, I just have trouble understanding it. 

My grandfather never had to replace his tractor, it lasted longer than he did.  Grandma was allowed to drive the tractor, but never the pick-up truck.  After Grandpa died, she sold both the tractor and the truck and bought a little Nash Rambler with an automatic transmission.  After a few frustrating lessons from her grown children, she determined to teach herself how to drive when she was 65 years old.  It was a rural area with lots of low traffic back roads, so she had lots of room to practice.  When she felt she was ready, she drove to the sheriff's office in town to get her license.  When she told the person behind the counter that she had driven there unaccompanied, she was informed that was not allowed on a learner's permit.  "So how am I supposed to get home, then?", she responded.  The clerk assigned a deputy to ride home with her, telling him that somebody will follow them and bring him back to the station.  On the way home, the deputy told her to turn around and head back to the station.  "Give her the license", he told the clerk, "She is an excellent driver."  Grandma never got tired of telling that story to her dying day.  Of course, it was a small town and a long time ago.  Add that to the list of things we have lost.

Things we have lost

 Had a new rug put in last year.  In order to get that done I had to move stuff out of the front room and that entailed dismantling the big box of cords and plugs that lives behind my computer screen and keeps my tv and computer running, which of course horrified me because everything is working just fine the way it is with each little connection singing together in a grand chorus which allows me to post on The Beaglestonian and to watch trash tv from my Prime account before I turn in at the end of the day.

I would have to disassemble everything which would not be that difficult, but then I would have to reassemble it all to exactly the way it had been before or else I would be as out of touch with western civ as a guy at the very top of Michigan with a busted modem.  

I did a thorough study of what was back there.  I Scotch taped a little note at the end of each cord, which due to the nature of cord and tape did not stand up well, untangled the Gordian knot and laid them out in a semblance of order, crossed my fingers and went to bed because the rug guys were arriving early the next morning.

I had a good thick book about the early beginnings of various religions and how they developed into oh, civilization.  It was heavy reading but it was good reading, it explained stuff I had wondered about before and sparked new thoughts about my take on the universe.  I sat in my Lazy Boy now tucked into my bedroom and read.

Of course the rug guys did not arrive early in the morning, or mid-morning, or late morning, more like a gentlemanly noonish.  But I didn't care.  I had my big fat book of deep thoughts.  You know this is the way things used to be.  I would sit in a comfy chair with a big book in my lap and the time would fly by and I would finish my session enlightened.  Anymore I spent my time checking email, and reading little snippets of breaking news and cat videos while on my right the tv blasted CNN all morning and afternoon.  I had lost my way.  I would get back to the fat chair and the fat book, maybe peeking at the computer and the tv from time to time, but just a little.

And then the guys were done.  Everything looked fine.  But now I had to put the whole shebang together again.  There were maybe two or three setbacks but I got it done.  I was reconnected to the world, I had access to everything that was going on.  Well I might as well check what I had missed and then I would go right back, right back to the Lazy Boy and the fat tome.

The book sat on the chair for a few days, then I tucked it into the bookshelf just temporarily to make room for something, and finally ended up in the bathroom where I get all my reading done these days.

Touching story about your grandfather.  I imagine when that first tractor died he just shoved it into some dusty shed or sold it for parts, an annoyance for sure, but nothing like losing a living animal whose butt you followed with a plow for twenty years, but then you fed him, made sure he had a warm place to sleep, maybe looked into those huge eyes and wondered what he thought.

Reminds me of a song.  Have you guys heard of Gillian Welch?  As a fan of folk, pure folk and none of that damned old rock and roll, I expect Beagles might like her act.  And without further ado:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sL6OWZSNuI

Back in Business - Part Two

 So, I called VIASAT the next day.  I had a particularly hard time getting through to a human because the machine couldn't find my account.  As I explained to the human when I finally did get through, the reason the machine couldn't find my account was because I didn't have an account with VIASAT, I had an account with DISH.  Even after I explained the whole thing to him, he still insisted that I should be calling DISH instead of VIASAT, while I kept insisting that I had called DISH, and they told me that I needed to call VIASAT.  To his credit, the guy offered to set up a conference call between him, myself, and somebody from DISH, which he did. 

 For some reason, the DISH lady got the impression that I had a problem with my TV service, which is also carried by DISH, although it comes through a different dish from a different satellite.  It took a while for me to convince her that my problem was with my internet service, while the VIASAT guy waited patiently at his end.  Then he spoke to her in her native tongue and explained the situation from his perspective.  Then she put us both on hold while she tried to find somebody who knew what was going on.  She came back in a few minutes and explained that DISH had been phasing out their internet service for some time, and now they are no longer servicing their old VIASAT equipment.  The only way to resolve this was for me to cancel my DISH internet service and sign up with VIASAT, which I did.  After spending a solid hour on the phone talking to people who probably didn't understand my accent any better than I understood theirs, I was totally exhausted, and I ain't over it yet.  I am hoping that writing about it will bring me some closure.

A few days later, VIASAT sent a guy up all the way from Houghton Lake, some hundred miles south of here, to install my internet service.  He didn't have to change the dish on the roof because it was already VIASAT equipment, but he wondered why my broken modem had the DISH logo on it.  Apparently no one had explained the situation to him, and he thought he had been sent up here on a simple repair call.  The good news is that he spoke fluent Michigan English, so it didn't take long for me to bring him up to speed, and he installed my VIASAT service forthwith.  

Funny thing, before I had been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the 21st Century, I never missed being on the internet, but now I go into withdrawal when I lose it.  Rural electrification didn't hit Cheboygan County until the about 1950, and I understand that nobody missed having it before then.  Now it's a genuine emergency when the power goes out.  I suppose, though, people in olden days were just as dependent on whatever they had at the time.  I am told my grandfather worked his ten-acre farm with a big old draft horse for 20 years.  When the horse finally died, Grandpa replaced him with a tractor instead of getting another horse.  He said that the death of the horse caused him so much grief that he didn't want to experience anything like that again in his lifetime. 

Back in Business - Part One

 I suppose it's been a month or so since I posted anything, but the last two weeks were not my fault.  It was a dark and stormy night when I lost my internet access.  That happens occasionally when you get your internet from a satellite dish, as I do.   It's not the rain that causes it, it's the tall thick clouds that frequently accompany a thunderstorm that interfere with the signal.  It usually comes back in 15 or 20 minutes, but not this time.  Since it was late and I was tired, I soon gave up and went to bed.  I began to suspect something else was wrong when I still didn't have access the next night and the following day.  It was then that I noticed that the four winky-blinky lights on my modem were not shining in their usual fashion, leading me to believe that my modem was dead.  We used to have a guy right here in Cheboygan who fixed things like that, but he has since retired for health reasons, so I had to call the DISH people.

After navigating past the recorded messages, I finally got to a human guy who obviously spoke English as a second language, as so many of the telephone people do nowadays.  He told me to try a few things, which I did after my wife helped me untangle the 50-foot cord on our phone to reach the computer room, which is on the other end of the house.  It was only later that we remembered we have another phone jack in that room as well as a spare telephone that we could have plugged into it.  (I understand that a certain amount of memory loss is normal at our age.) After all that, the guy agreed that my modem was probably dead, and scheduled an appointment for somebody to come over and replace it in a few days.

  The day before the appointed time, a different guy from DISH called and told me that they no longer work on VIASAT equipment, and that I need to call the VIASAT company instead.  I suspected this was some kind of scam, since I assumed that VIASAT was a competitor of DISH.  I found out later that, when DISH went into the internet business some years ago, they bought all their equipment from VIASAT, but I didn't know that at the time.  I then called the DISH people, found out that this guy was on the level, and that I indeed needed to call the VIASAT people.  It was late and I was tired by this time, so I gave up for the night and resolved to call VIASAT the very next day.   

---To Be Continued--- 

breaking the silence

 I think this is the longest gap in the ten year history of The Institute.

Saddens me because I always liked The Institute, the thought of us padding around the wainscoted halls in our soft slippers and dated but dapper smoking jackets to our teakwood desks, where we would set down our brandy snifters, pull the feathered pen from the inkwell, pause to snatch a fluttering idea from thin air, and put down a a tapestry of ideas, reminisces, explanations, complaints, fables, and whatnot, hit Publish, smile a modest smile at our erudition, and walk out into the morning, early evening, or dark night, wondering what our colleagues would make of what we wrote.    

Ah those were the days my friends, I miss the steaming cup of coffee, the sun rising like thunder, and ideas flowing out like spilt ink.

So I have been away a little bit, Indianapolis and then Cincinnati, and then back.  Have never been to Cincinnati before and it is always nice to be somewhere you have never been before.  It was hilly and the broad Ohio meanders to the south.  Kind of old-fashioned, I thought, but courtly in the way of the old south.  Coming back on 229 off I-74 we passed through Oldenburg Indiana where church spires caught our eyes and there was a nunnery of the Sisters of St Francis, and a cemetery for the nuns, row after row of simple crosses like at Arlington or Flanders Field, only not so proud, more humble.  On each one the date of birth and of death and the name they were born with and the name they took up when they married Christ.  Up and down the hills they marched on and on.  Well not marched, like those soldiers at Arlington and Flanders Field, men of war, maybe trod, eyes downcast in the service of the lord.

See, I love writing that kind of stuff.  Sometimes my colleagues grumble about that, but that's ok, even grumbling is saying something.

So Trump huh?  The Great Beast taken down by Lilliputians, trapped in their puny court houses, glowering at these petty little people beneath his great blonde mane.  Yammer, yammer, yammer, pricking him with petty points of law that rightly mean nothing to this most uber of ubermensch.  And when the lion roars they fine him, and when he roars again they fine him more, piddling little fines but like the grains of rice on the chessboard they mount up approaching real money and worse beyond.  But how can the lion remain silent?

And what of his wild army of howling monkeys, loons, sleazebags, and statesmen, once of good repute, who set that aside for fortune or fame to be a part of his cause? Every last one of them hauled into court, and threatened with real time, recanting, squealing like pigs that they knew all along that the emperor was buck naked and giving up incriminating facts to spare their worthless souls a few years in the slammer.  

And yet, the shimmering polls, neck and neck with Biden, the rabid core of true believers who consider every peck at him a peck at themselves and believe he is all that stands between him and the wretched elites who call them deplorables.  And the way he so easily reached beyond the courtroom to choose the next speaker of the house.  All those chittering reps and RINOs and wrecks vexed to silence by the tiny finger bowing down to kiss the hem of his invisible robe.  What of that?

What rough beast slouches towards the White House to be reborn?

Maybe the Gypsy Davey.

 That is a new photo of the suit.  If it looks new I guess that's because I only wore it about five times.

This was after I came back from Berkeley, finished my degree, got my CO and went down to Herrin to do my time, had an idyllic ten or so years with that posh job tending bar at the House of Chin, realized I couldn't spend the rest of my life tending bar, got my data processing certificate from the local junior college (Parkland), shopped that certificate around town to now avail for a few years, and then I went to San Francisco where my sister lived and spent a week handing out my resume to receptionists.

My data processing certificate included courses in assembly language. COBOL, and BASIC.  Assembly language was one step up from machine language which was all ones and zeros.  It looked a little like English but it took like six or seven steps to add a to b and get c.  COBOL was a business language, wordy and tedious, but all the rage back in the day and is still extant.  BASIC was supposed to be a simple language to use in learning how to program.  It came with DOS and it became quite popular.  I wrote the programs for the Attorney General of Texas ordering supplies and keeping track of inventories on hand in BASIC.  It's a crying shame that it did not make the transition to Windows.  I miss it.

When I was in Texas I quit my job to study C, which was the rage among nerdy programmers at the Austin City College. It was written by programmers so there wasn't a lot of typing involved.  For example instead of writing a=a+1 to increase the value of a, you just wrote a++.  As long as I was at the college I took Assembly again because it was kind of nerdy fun.  I also took Pascal which was also meant to be a learning language, but you could also fool with it on your home computer if you bought Turbo Pascal.  It was a structured language which meant you had to define everything and only certain instructions were allowed.  

I think almost all programming is structured these days because they are easier to understand when you want to alter them, which I guess makes sense for big companies, but it takes the fun out of it for programmers.

Oh and way back in the day I studied FORTRAN at the U of I with the decks of cards and the long streams of green striped computer paper.

So glad you asked Old Dog, because I find the subject of computer languages fascinating, but it does not help me pick up chicks at a fancy cocktail party.  Pity.

The pilot's shoes are not scuffed because he deliberately did it, they are because he never shines his shoes.

 

I had a friend who was a librarian and when I wanted to commiserate with her about our lousy jobs she shut me right up by correcting me sternly:  I do not have a job.  I have a career.

Well excuuuse me.  I see her point though.  Study something you love and your job will be a joy.  Yeah, until your good boss leaves and is replaced by a fucking asshole.

In my senior yearbook the little blurb in italics under my name reads biochemist, you know because I wanted to be like my hero Isaac Asimov.  When I was making those killer rum drinks I was certainly altering the brain chemistry of my customers. When I worked for the state, like I said we were handing out large sums of money for arcane reasons and this being Illinois I long suspected it was some kind of cover for handing out bribes.  I don't know if I was doing any good for the world, but I never went to jail.  The only job I had where I thought I did any good in the world was when I was substitute teaching because I held true to my motto: nobody gets hurt.

Okay there was this time when I had about 30 pre K's running around and hollering like, well like pre K's.  All of a sudden this other teacher came up to me with a pre K crying his little head, which had a new bump, off  "What," she asked me, "Happened here?"  I had to tell her the truth.  "I have no idea."

But just that one time.

Bob Dylan sometimes seemed a little irritated at Donovan's slipstreaming his career and mentions him in Tombstone Blues:

Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he burns out their camps
With his faithful slave Pedro behind him he tramps
With a fantastic collection of stamps
To win friends and influence his uncle

See his uncle is Uncle Sam of course, and his stamps are his song and his faithful slave Pedro is um, um.  Well you know Bob.

But googling around for Gypsy Davy I did come across this Arlo Guthrie song.

Kind of says the same thing as that Gold Watch Blues, and maybe Old Dog's perambulations in the seventies, maybe your mad dash to Alaska, maybe my wayward days behind the bar.

 It was late last night when the boss come home

He's askin' about his lady
The only answer he received, "She's gone with the
Gypsy Davy, gone with the gypsy Davy"

"Go saddle for me my buskin' horse
And a hundred dollars saddle
Point out to me their wagon tracks
And after them I'll travel, after them I'll ride"

Well, I had not rode 'til the midnight moon
When I saw the campfire gleaming
I heard the notes of the big guitar
And the voice of the gypsy singin'

That song of the gypsy Dave
There in the light of the camping fire
I saw her fair face beaming
Her heart in tune with the big guitar

And the voice of the gypsy singing
That song of the gypsy Dave
Have you forsaken your house and home
Have you forsaken your baby

Have you forsaken your husband dear
To go to the gypsy Davy
And sing with the gypsy Dave
That song of the gypsy Dave

Yes, I've forsaken my husband dear
To go with the gypsy Davy
And I've forsaken my mansion high
But not my blue-eyed baby
Not my blue-eyed babe

She smiled to leave her husband dear
And go with the Gypsy Davy
But the tears come a-trickling down her cheeks
To think of the blue-eyed baby
Pretty little blue-eyed babe

Take off, take off your buckskin gloves
Made of Spanish leather
Give to me your lily-white hair
And we'll ride home together
We'll ride home again

No, I won't take off my buckskin gloves
They're made of Spanish leather
I'll go my way from day to day
And sing with the Gypsy Davy
That song of the Gypsy Davy
That song of the Gypsy Davy
That song of the Gypsy Dave

Ancient History

All this talk about looking for a job takes me back to those thrilling days of yesteryear.  I was reminded of an old Donovan song about the subject.  I had trouble finding it because I couldn't remember the title, although I seemed to remember it had something to do with a gold watch.  I finally located the lyrics by searching for the entire first line, which got me to the title, "Gold Watch Blues", then I found a recording on You Tube under that title.   How did we ever learn or remember anything before the internet was invented? 

 Donovan - Gold Watch Blues Lyrics | AZLyrics.com

Donovan - Goldwatch Blues (Official Audio) - YouTube

Autumn leaves

I don' know what it's like near the shore of Lake Huron but the trees around here have suddenly started to turn, their green crowns rapidly turning to orange and yellow.  Took me by surprise, especially since I spend a lot of quality coffee time gazing out the window, watching the birds strafing the trees in their small groups.  Too small for a flock; is flockette a word?

 

----- 

 

I'll tell you what guys I am getting tired of looking at that damn suit.

 

Dandy looking set of threads, Uncle Ken.  What's the beef?  Is that an old picture when the suit was new?  I'm trying to visualize how this fits into Uncle Ken's Komplicated Kronology; you're back in San Francisco but this is before you returned to U of I for your degree?  And then there's this:

I went to the local junior college and got a junior degree in data processing because everybody was hiring computer programmers.

Forgive my ignorance but I thought that data processing and computer programming are two completely different animals.  If you were more than a half-assed programmer you would have been a millionaire long ago, I think.  None of my business but I'm curious which programming languages you have fluency in.  I tried copying some simple graphics programs from a book I had and it drove me nuts; not the path I would choose to follow.

-----

But a better idea is to appear to be doing a good job.

Hmmm...not a very flattering description of your work ethic, Uncle Ken, but it explains a lot and no need to delve further.  But how would a pilot scuff up his shoes preparing for a flight?

-----

Now that I am out of the job market, probably for good, I can reflect on the nuances of gainful employment.  Gotta eat, right?  But do you just want a job or is there a career path you'd like to follow?  Maybe even a profession; plenty of options out there, always have been.  Back in the 70s jobs were plentiful and I would work for six months or so, save a little dough living simply, and then goof off and enjoy life before I had to go looking for some interesting kind of employment.  No real plan but if I could learn something new or have access to tools I wanted to play with it was all good.  Some jobs I found in the newspaper, some I found in the Yellow Pages, one job was the result of a lot of cold calling to sign shops, but the best was my first job out of college when I was walking around the neighborhood and saw a sign on a door that said "Not Hiring."  Walked in and got a job, two blocks from home.

Shining the apple.

 Just a tad miffed about that prophet thing (I was talking about people who make prophecies, not official titles in the Mormon church), I did a google on his Thoreau quote.

He is correct, that is something that Thoreau said, but it is just half of the quote:

I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes.

Google added:

So even though our outer garments are somewhat transient and don't reflect our core values, Thoreau warns against investing so much in perceptual appeal or adherence to norms. If a job requires you to wear nicer clothes, it's fundamentally asking you to alter the ways that you present yourself to the world.

Here is something that I have thought about on that matter.  You are sitting in the airport awaiting your plane and two pilots walk by.  One of the pilots has just-polished shiny shoes and the shoes of the other pilot are downright scruffy.  Which pilot are you hoping is driving your plane?

The first thought is the guy with the shiny shoes certainly.  He looks like he pays attention to all details, even superficial ones, and is that not the sort of person that you wish to have driving your plane?  Seems so, but maybe the shoes of the other pilot are scruffy because he did not have time this morning to shine them because he was poring over the latest findings on the safest way to drive a plane.  Perhaps a pilot who does not waste his time on superficial crap would be the best person to drive your plane.

The Prairie State 2000 Authority (We dropped the 2000 in the year 2000, so as not to appear out of date) where I worked was a tiny agency who, well the state gave us several million bucks at the beginning of the year and we gave it away to companies and individuals so that they could be trained to make the company more money and get the individual a job.  Did we give out this money in the best way to promote our aim?  Who knows?

But one thing I noticed right away with the bosses was they were not nearly as concerned with spending that money wisely as they were in appearing to spend the money wisely.

You know if you want to get ahead a good idea is to do a good job.  But a better idea is to appear to be doing a good job. You will probably have to sacrifice some of the principles of doing a good job and put that time into appearing to do a good job.  but you want to get ahead don't you? 

One Error

Not bad for a heathen Democrat.  I only found one error in Uncles Ken's last post.  I can't find anything else in the post to argue about.

"This was tough for a church that based its own existence on revelation, so they made a ruling that Joseph Smith had the last valid revelation and henceforth any new revelations would be false."     

The Mormons still have prophets, but only one at a time.  The current President of the Church is known as "The Prophet", among other things.

In the Latter Day Saint movement, the President of the Church is generally considered to be the highest office of the church. It was the office held by Joseph Smith, founder of the movement, and the office assumed by many of Smith's claimed successors, such as Brigham Young, Joseph Smith III, Sidney Rigdon, and James Strang. Several other titles have been associated with this office, including First Elder of the church,^[1] Presiding High Priest,^[2] President of the High Priesthood,^[2] Trustee-in-Trust for the church,^[3] Prophet,^[4] Seer,^[4] Revelator,^[4] and Translator.^[4] Joseph Smith was known by all of these titles in his lifetime (although not necessarily with consistency).

President of the Church - Wikipedia

About that suit, I think it was Thoreau who said:  "Beware of any enterprise that requires buying new clothes."

Revelation

 I'll tell you what guys I am getting tired of looking at that damn suit.  When I told the story I thought well surely my fellows at The Institute have had some experiences with this devilish instrument and would want to tell their own stories about it but apparently not, so I will have to change the subject myself.

So how do we know that the Holy Ghost over the bent world broods  with warm breast and bright wings?  In the day of Adam and Eve He likely dropped by for fireside chats, but after that He became somewhat scarce.  He would drop in on somebody from time to time and tell them what's up, and they would in turn inform the rest of us, and they were the prophets, and that's how we knew what was up with the Holy Ghost.  

Back in the day when the church was very fluid prophets popped up from time to time, but once man nailed it down at Nicea, that was it, no more prophets or else every jackanape in the land would be popping up with a new word of God.  

And then along came the Mormons with their new revelation and verily they were much reviled by the rest of Christendom, and were driven to the great salt lake where they began to have some problems of their own in the fact that every jackanape among them was having a new revelation.  This was tough for a church that based its own existence on revelation, so they made a ruling that Joseph Smith had the last valid revelation and henceforth any new revelations would be false.  Oh wait, they did have one more revelation, only one wife, which smoothed things over with the feds.  But not everybody went along with that one and that's where you get those lurid cheap tv stories with the women in long dresses all having sex with the same eighty year old guy.

See that's what is up with Republican party these days.  Formerly a staid, somewhat stuffy organization, that now is led by the jackanapeist jackanapes in the fold.

I think the forerunners were the tea party who proclaimed that only they were the pure voice of Republicanism, and all those other guys, who were comparatively normal, were RINOS!!!

They were mostly all gas and funny hats, but the spirit was moving across the Grand Old Party, and new prophets kept popping up, turning on those who had come before them, and then, of course, the antiChrist Hisself.  And now look at the House, all of them rabid Trumpers and yet all of them against each other, and happily sabotaging the house in the name of, you name it, but let's go with the budget deficit, which shutting down the gummit only makes worse.  But of course that doesn't matter, they are not about actually dealing with the deficit.  They are about yelling about the deficit while standing on the broken bodies of their enemies.

Oh and another thing they are for is a bigger and bigger allotment for defense, BUT they don't want to spend any of that on Ukraine.  Why do we even have a defense budget except to keep us safe, and what better way to keep us safe then to keep the Russkies at bay.

Buncha fuckin jagoffs.