This is probably a petty thing, but I have never been comfortable with someone saying, “He disrespected me.” Technically, maybe, perhaps, it can be traced back to an early source, but I don’t remember hearing it through decades of my life. Then all of a sudden, it showed up.

I know my father was not familiar with the usage either because once he came into a room, asking what it was about disrespect as a verb. At the time that would have meant he had spent seven decades of his life being unaware of it . . . and he had taught English.

Come to think of it, Rodney Dangerfield got no respect; he never claimed anyone disrespected him. Now, there’s an authority on the matter.

Clean up week, which several years ago included curbside pickup, lost his oomph when the curbside service was discontinued. But this year it is fact, which guidelines. Gee, guideline are my Indiana Jone’s snakes, but at least I can get rid of microwaves and other stuff.

You are supposed to put items in boxes and secure with twine. I just spent time cutting up a bunch of boxes so sigh. You can only put out a pickup truck load of stuff; I may have to negotiate. Stuff is to be out by 6 am but you are not to put it out early because people make scavenging trips. Sigh again.

This is going to take some planning and probably a lot of sighing.

I watched Sarajevo again recently and then started wondering about the country we learned about in school: Yugoslavia. Of course, I know that merging of territories and countries had “unmerged” in the recent decades. I thought I had some inkling of what was and what is. As it turns out, a little bit of research has made me aware that it is complicated. I would not want to be faced with being tested on the information; if I did badly, I think I would ask the instructor to just wait because, given the history of the Balkans, my answers might suddenly be right again.

I read one article that cautioned people not to confuse Serbian Bosnians with Serb Bosnians, and I almost started looking for a wall to bang my head against. For the record, Serbian Bosnians are ethnic Bosnians who live in Serbia and Serb Bosnians are ethnic Serbs who live in Bosnia.

As I am starting to understand it, your national identity and citizenship may not necessarily be the same thing in former Yugoslavia. I know we have hyphenated Americans, but for the most part, I don’t think very many would be upset about flopping down a U.S. passport when in – to use what we Americans call anyplace other than here – a foreign country.

I had to take a break when I read about a Serbian Republic (Republika Srpska) surrounded by Bosnia. The break was especially important when I glimpsed a reference to another Serbian Republic (Serbian Krajina) in Croatia in the next sentence.

I’m going to wait to see if there are Croatian Bosnians (or Serbians) and Croat Bosnians (or Serbians). I think I really need that head-banging wall.

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.

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