My hair was all over the place, so I got a haircut. My face has started to look old, and it still does. I have started doing my facial exercises again; they are not pretty to see, but I hope they will soften the aging a little.
I could write more about a lot of things I’ve been mulling around in my mind, but I’m not going to. I’m thinking “nap” and unfortunately that reminds me of “old” and so I’m just going to pout.
After my watching a couple of foreign tv shows on its site, Netflix “recommended” some productions, one of which was Burned Cocoon, or for what it’s worth, Yanik Kosa in Turkish.
I thought that it would be interesting to see some Turkish stuff and clicked on it. After a couple of episodes, I thought it seemed like a regular soap opera with constant delays in the plot, which was itself somewhat unusual. I should have looked up “Turkish Dramas” on Google because it turns out THERE ARE A LOT OF THEM.
Investigating, I found that the one on Netflix had 105 episodes; I decided to hopscotch down the line, watching the ones I selected in fast forward and slowing it down when I could see the plot was actually advancing.
Investigating further, I discovered that the one I sort of watched was from 2005 and was now eclipsed by a great number of following ones. The actors in Burned Cocoon are 14 years older (or dead) and the male lead’s hairline had receded and his middle expanded. He has also been married and divorced at least four times. (The last divorce listed was in 2016 so I suspect he may be on marriage number five and may be past it. Who knows?)
The marriage and divorce stuff has nothing to do with the actual show on Netflix, but maybe it does reveal some “Turkish stuff” – like wondering if all a man has to do is say “I divorce you” three times and then he’s outta there in Turkey.
I have been distracted by books and foreign movies that have subtitles and require undivided attention unless one wants to repeatedly press the go back option. “Oh, THAT happened, no wonder they’re at a cemetery.” And reading, well, it’s been a blend of ridiculous”couldn’t happen in a million years”, storylines and actual philosophy. Pausing to think here and perhaps the two categories merge; I’m not going to think about it any longer – it’s not like I’m a 17/18 year old girl, sitting in her first dorm room late at night with a bunch of other neophytes. I mean then I had 60 years ahead me, maybe, to live; it’s a little different now and I’ve got to prioritize.
I’m going to do that now; I should have done it before I started typing. I think the first thing I need to do is hide the Netflix remote.
Karen Uhlenbeck has been awarded a major scientific prize. She’s been working for decades in fields relating to mathematics and physics. I wish I could understand such things as well as she.
Referring to her work, a dean at the University of Texas said, “Her pioneering insights have applications across a range of fascinating subjects, from string theory, which may help explain the nature of reality, to the geometry of space-time.”
What makes me pause is the “nature of reality” phrase. Yes, what we less intelligent people think of as reality is tough enough to accept. A fist will smash your nosy nose and You gotta eat are a couple of examples of what is taught to us about growing up and getting real. But, now, you say the question is Exactly what is reality?
In the movie A Few Good Men, Jack Nicholson has some famous lines about truth: You can’t handle the truth! Son we live in a world that has walls. Okay, so if we are to say reality is the truth of the matter, what makes us think we can handle that? Talk about string theory and space/time because they are beyond my understanding, but here I am thinking I understand reality and suddenly, I’m told its nature is still to be determined.
I can’t handle that.
I saw the preview for the above-mentioned movie while watching Boy Erased and decided it looked interesting. I think I had Blythe Danner mixed up with Diane Keaton; the later is more perky and endearing. It was about a couple that had been married a long time and the wife was suffering from dementia. Not a good subject and you would tend to think it could not be comedic; well, neither is death or cancer and some movies about both have scenes that involve laughter. It is life.
However, this movie was not a Diane Keaton keep smiling movie; this was a Blythe Danner sad movie. It was well done but just sad, especially if you are at her end of the age spectrum. For that matter, it would be sad if you were young and loved someone going through that phase.
So her I sit, not cheery. No dimples. Just a down-turned mouth. Sigh.
This is why I am glad almost no one comes here – no need to spread gloom.
Oh, yeah, on this day when I titled a post “A bad mood day,” I type a paragraph and then, out of nowhere, the browser crashes on me and swallows the paragraph. I suppose it is not a great loss. In a nutshell, I said that I had no reason to be in a bad mood, considering I am no longer sick and my house hasn’t burned down. My dog did die but that was a few years ago and so I can’t really cite that as an excuse for my low, foul mood today.
But here it is. It does seem that today has been one thing after another and the sense of having been banging my head against a brick wall has kept me frustrated. However, it is getting later in the day and, just when I’m thinking maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow, I look at BookBub to see this suggestion:
Kiss My Asterisk: A Feisty Guide to Punctuation and Grammar.
First, I think I don’t care because I’m 70 and my gosh if a participle dangles from me, it’s not the only thing. Second, I think my grammar is pretty good and I don’t want to look at a book that nitpicks me. Well, guess what, I looked at the synopsis – if you can have a synopsis for a grammar book – and it sounds like it is a grammar book for a generation that sees a period and thinks, “dot” as in “.com”
Now, I definitely don’t care; I’m simply ignoring a book I am afraid is going to call all the rules I learn outdated and be really lax with any grammar guidance. Maybe I’m wrong, but let’s not consider that because the thought has already triggered an intensification of my down mood and it will take time to dissipate. I don’t need to feel the intensification was not warranted.
Rats. Had I simply stopped with saying I didn’t care, maybe my feelings would have simmered down. But by expounding on why I wasn’t going to care about it, I stirred things up.
This has not been an inspirational post; it was not meant to be. It was for me. I stomped my foot with typed words.
Ha! Just two days ago, we here at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse made some observations, buttressed with police reports, about Beto O’Rourke.
Well, although we are miffed enough to find all sorts of puns filling our heads, we find that none can match the sophistication level of Mr. O’Rourke’s poem. Here’s part of it, see if you agree he has set the bar so low it is in a hole.
I need a butt-shine,
Right now
You are holy,
Oh, sacred Cow
I thirst for you,
Provide Milk.Buff my balls,
Love the Cow,
Good fortune for those that do.
Love me, breathe my feet,
The Cow has risen.Wax my ass,
Scrub my balls.
The Cow has risen,
Provide Milk.
Oh, by the way, if he’s a hack at poetry, look at the this article on his actual hacking. If the link doesn’t work, here is part of it:
‘I need a butt-shine. Wax my a**, scrub my balls. The Cow has risen.’ Bizarre poem Beto O’Rourke wrote to a COW when he was a computer hacker who posted fiction about killing children is revealed
Democrats’ newest presidential was member of hacker group called Cult of the Dead Cow and called himself Psychedelic Warlord, he will admit in a new book
He posted on ‘bulletin boards’ – primitive equivalents of websites – and has left some of his writing intact
One story when he was 15 described running over two children in the street and said: ‘I just sat in a daze, sweet visions filling my head.’
Also wrote a poem called ”The Song of the Cow’ in 1988 which said: ‘Wax my a**, Scrub my balls.’ Scroll down to read it in full
Group stole credit card and calling card details to avoid running up large phone bills on modems which would have been a potential felony at the time
O’Rourke admitted he pilfered long-distance service ‘so I wouldn’t run up the phone bill’ but did not admit whether that involved credit or phone card fraud
Democrat says in new book that Cult of the Dead Cow taught him how to be ‘apart from the system and look at it critically and have fun while you’re doing it’
Group also posted pirated software, tools to hack Windows computers and distributed an essay called ‘Sex with Satan’
Members later tried to keep O’Rourke’s hacking past secret when he ran for El Paso city council
Not a good morning so far: Darkness, accentuated by an overcast sky of an approaching wind storm and the Breaking News headline that Robert Francis O’Rourke (aka Beto) has announced a run for the presidency. Robert Francis, whose toothy smile and haircut recall another Robert Francis (Kennedy) and for some reason has adopted a Hispanic nickname of Beto, gained attention when he ran for the office of U.S. Senator from Texas.
Being somewhat exposed to what was going on in Texas, I became the tiniest bit familiar with his name, but not really informed. So I decided to Google him and one of the first things to come up was from the Houston Chronicle DUI and attempting to leave scene of accident. The fact that, as the article pointed out, he is the son of a then El Paso County Judge, might have been a significant factor in his case. Or maybe not. (I cough.)
Just in case the link does not work, here are some key paragraphs from the article written by Kevin Diaz; the actual article also includes images of the police reports.
Although the arrest has been public knowledge, police reports of the September 1998 incident – when the Democratic Senate candidate had just turned 26 – show that it was a more serious threat to public safety than has previously been reported.
State and local police reports obtained by the Chronicle and Express-News show that O’Rourke was driving drunk at what a witness called “a high rate of speed” in a 75 mph zone on Interstate 10 about a mile from the New Mexico border. He lost control and hit a truck, sending his car careening across the center median into oncoming lanes. The witness, who stopped at the scene, later told police that O’Rourke had tried to drive away from the scene.
Anthony Police Department reports on the incident were based on a motorist’s description of O’Rourke’s dark-colored Volvo passing him quickly about 3 a.m. on I-10. The reports differ as to whether O’Rourke was heading east or west on the interstate, but both agree that he struck a truck going in the same direction and crossed a grassy median into the opposite lanes.
Police said O’Rourke then attempted to leave the scene but was stopped by the same motorist he had just passed. The unidentified motorist “then turned on his overhead lights to warn oncoming traffic and to try to get the defendant (O’Rourke) to stop,” one report says.
Another report described O’Rourke as having “glossy” eyes, slurred speech, smelling of liquor, and almost falling to the ground as he got out of his car.
The accident occurred just as O’Rourke, the son of an El Paso County Judge, had celebrated his 26th birthday the night before. He told police he’d had two beers and had been on cold medication. He later told the El Paso Times that he was driving an intoxicated friend home, though no passenger is mentioned in the police reports.
After watching seasons of Kitchen Nightmares and the 24 Hour to Hell and Back shows, I am really wary of going into a restaurant and sitting down for food. I keep seeing the grease, roaches, rats, mold, rotten food and a mouse coming out of a toaster. I can’t help wonder when my food was cooked, frozen and then microwaved . . . and possibly dropped on the floor.
I am certain I am being terribly unfair to many restaurants but when I think of all the variables involved in running a restaurant, I can see how a business could get in trouble. It seems odd to say that I feel most comfortable standing at a counter watching my burrito being prepared just a few feet away.
I’m not a good cook; in fact, I just don’t like it. You work on something and BAM, someone EATS it. It’s gone. Or it’s not eaten and it’s in the refrigerator where it gets pushed farther and farther back and soon that refrigerator could easily be on Kitchen Nightmares. Sort of open the door and look at death a hundred times over.
That’s why we specialize in slices of bread and peanut butter out of jars. We use clean knives to spread it . . . and we like it that way.
However, I must say that I ate at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant in Las Vegas and it was the best food I have ever tasted. I mean if I could eat that way three times a day, I would not snack between meals and that is saying something.
Of course, Gordon might be dismayed by my limited palate. Pearls before swine sort of thing.
Returning to my initial point, I think I would like a restaurant where you entered through a glass hallway beside the kitchen. Perhaps restaurants should not advertise with pictures of food, but pictures of clean kitchens.
I put on a warm coat yesterday, one with a hood, and went out back to my tiny yard to rake. Tiny takes on a different meaning when you have a regular rake and lots of leaves. It it the price to pay for having trees, so I am not complaining; I am simply remarking on the situation. I also have to admit it is better than having to deal with a long driveway with lots of snow – but that is a different matter.
There was someone who was to rake my leaves last fall, and, indeed, some were. We had an early freezing rain and a bit of snow and I guess he didn’t get it finished. When I went out to rake up what i thought were remaining leaves, I saw what I thought was a strip of leaves stretching along in the middle of the yard. Well, it turned out, it wasn’t a strip; it was a mountain range that had settled into a dip in the landscape.
Ok, I raked the top dry layer off and found a frozen, wet, stuck together and to the earth long mound of leaves. I left it to dry out layer by layer and will return, like Douglas MacArthur and the Philippines.
It felt good to use my muscles and breathe in the non-frigid air. I went inside after awhile to putter around and then decided to go back out. My “feel-good” muscles were not amused. After about ten minutes they sent me a memorandum that they were flabby and out of shape and I should talk to their Union Rep about a possible strike. They used pain communication and it proved to be effective.
It is sunny today and looks inviting outdoors following the bleak winter, but I have decided not to cross the picket line during the “rake down” and am offering up aspirin and sofa time to my muscles. I hope they will come to realize the additional oxygen provided to them by movement will be advantageous. I don’t know, though, they seem to have a stubborn streak.
Maybe they would like Zumba?