[It] was like an Internet provider running out of snide indifference.
Wong, David. What the Hell Did I Just Read: A Novel of Cosmic Horror (John Dies at the End) (pp. 337-338). St. Martin’s Press.
TODAY FROM AMERICA:
A.POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN EL DORADO HILLS:
The skies over the golden hills have been a clear brilliant blue for the past few days. The temperature has gotten a bit chilly recently. Fall colors have been out for a week or so but they seem less vibrant than usual. I guess that muting is caused by the dry weather these last few months.
The slight chill in the air combined with the warmth of the water in the pool make swimming delightful. This afternoon while swimming, I noticed a snake, large centipede, and a spider in the water with me. I was startled. Then, I realized today was Halloween and someone was just messing with me. I, nevertheless, still moved to another lane. When it comes to creepy crawlers, I am a wuss.
On Halloween night, HRM took an autistic boy from the special needs class at his school trick or treating. It seems H has been especially kind to the boy in school and the boy was able to express his wish for H to take him out on Halloween.
Adrian left for the week. He went back to Sunnyvale to resume work on the tech start-up he is associated with. Dick returned from Thailand that evening. I sat by the door with a bowl of candy waiting for some kids to ring the doorbell. Only about three groups showed up all evening, so I sat there and ate most of the candy myself.
Shortly after Halloween, the weather turned cold in the golden hills — not winter cold, but chilly and overcast enough for sweaters and jackets.
Recently at the Health Club, I observed an exercise on one of the exercise machines I had never seen before — the exercise of pelvic thrusting muscles. I never knew there was a need to exercise those particular muscles. But, I guess if you think about it, it might come in handy someday. Anyway, a young woman approached the hamstring strengthening machine, the one where you lie prone on your stomach and lift a roller with the backs of your ankles. She squeezed her body between the bench and the roller, placing the roller across her pelvis and her hands behind on the bench and commenced to vigorously and salaciously trust her pelvis forward and up. Silence descended on the club as everyone, male and female alike, stopped what they were doing and, not wanting to be accused of voyeurism, watched the performance out of the corner of their eyes. Old guys like me have no shame anymore so we just gaped. The exerciser, a trainer at the club, was retained by a young man Immediately after she completed her workout.
It is too cold to swim alas, so I work the treadmill and the weights at the health club and watch the thrusting expert whenever she chooses to perform. I read a lot now that even going for a walk is unpleasant. A few days ago, I read a novel by Terry Pratchett that I do not recall reading before. It is called “The Thief of Time”. I thought I had read all of his “Discworld” novels, but I do not remember this one. Reading it confirmed my belief that Pratchett, like Vonnegut and Pynchon, is one of the great novelists in modern English literature. In the age of quantum physics and the fall of the American empire, only fantasy and humor can capture the sly absurdities of our times.
Time goes on. I do the same things day after day. Ennui sets in so I decided to spend the weekend with my sister and George in Mendocino.
B. MENDOCINO DREAMING:
The drive to Mendocino was uneventful. Little traffic, mostly sunny. I stopped for my usual ice cream sundae in Lucern on the shores of Clear Lake, passed some of the burned over the terrain of the recent fires and arrived in Mendocino about four and a half hours after I left the golden hills.
Some walks through the town and along the bluffs and on Friday night we had dined at the next door neighbors house and discussed the fence erected by another neighbor that has everyone upset. The neighbors, who are also committed travelers, told stories about their recent boat trip along the Arctic Circle and their planned trip to Asia in March.
The next night we traveled to Elk, about twenty miles down highway 1 from Mendocino to visit Bobby Beacon’s bar. Bobby resembles a rustic Sidney Greenstreet only taller. His wealthy parents left him a piece of property in Mendocino about 10 miles on each side. There on a hill from which one can see far up and down the coast (all which we were informed was Bobby’s) sits his bar in which Bobby lives in a few rooms off the barroom. In one those rooms, open and accessible from the bar sits a grand piano on which, now and then, Bobby plays for his guests. In another room, there is a large ergonomic chair surrounded by the latest computer equipment and a 78-inch screen. The bar is not open at regular times like an ordinary gin mill. When Bobby feels in the mood to converse with friends, he turns on a bright light on a long pole sticking above the roof or the bar.It can be seen far up and down the coast. It informs those who are interested that Bobby is in a mood to talk with his friends old and new. In effect, Bobby makes his friends pay for the pleasure of his company. Bobby is very conscious of the value of money. When he tells his stories and he tells and they are interesting, they tend to be about money or outsmarting the government. He also tells stories about animals that wander around his property or that he sees in the ocean from his bar.
Bobby collects fire engines — real fire engines not toys. They sit on his property and rust. It seems that many years ago when the local fire department presented Bobby with the estimated cost for them to his property in their district, he decided it would be much less expensive to form his own fire department for his property alone. Then a piece of legislation was passed that required Fire districts funded with public money to offer at a discount any equipment they consider obsolete to a fire district not funded by public money.
Anyway, we had a good time.
The next day, it rained. I sat by the window and watched the slate grey ocean fling it’s white spume upon the black rocks. When I tired of that I read. The day after, still raining, I left to return to the golden hills.
As many of you know, I believe we would be better off if the world were run by women. Men, with their penchant for aggressive, impulsive behavior, are simply not equipped to handle the dangers of the modern world. Of course, modern feminism only demands equality and perhaps justice. However, as that old pederast Socrates pointed out ad nauseam, everyone thinks they know what words like justice and equality and similar verbal placebos mean when in fact not only do we not know what we mean we all tend to view their meanings differently from one another. But, equality will do, since study after study has shown that except for mass slaughter by broadsword, women, in the long run, seem to do better in just about every field of endeavor so sooner or later control will fall into their hands — if society would only allow them to get on with it.
It should be pointed out that whenever women achieved independent economic power they have more or less effectively moderated the more savage (and in hindsight often stupid) nature of men. In the neolithic forests of Europe women controlled the production of textiles as trade goods and with that home ownership, wealth and inheritance and most other significant social powers were centered in the matriarchy. The kiva’s of the Hopi and other Native American tribal groups in the Southwest had similar social arrangements. Even in the 12th Century, Elenor of Aquitaine and Marie of Champaign achieved enough economic and political power that they were able to alter, at least for the aristocracy, the worst of the bestial behavior of men toward women that lasted. Their efforts lasted almost 700 years with men constantly chipping away at it until by the 20th Century little if anything remained.
Recently, the media, in light of this movement towards equality, has become obsessed with a problem that has existed for a long, long time and one we all knew existed, the sexual predation of those with wealth or power upon those without, especially women and children. This sudden obsession may, in fact, be no more than an attempt by those controlling the media to divert attention from the sexcapades of our Molester in Chief.
A. Irwin on Top:
The following originally was written to me by my dear friend Irwin several years ago. I include it here in memory of a brave and amusing man, a Mensch.
Joseph, my lack of email does not harbor a sudden turn in taste regarding affectionate Italians. I am about to break the silence by way of a new page in the glowing man’s journal, as soon as I get a new keyboard, this one seems to contain too many loose letters and caps which are not intended for use by the author.
In the interim, I can tell you that I have had my hands full of strange pain for several weeks and attempted to be soothed by consuming copious quantities of narcotic painkillers which resulted in a plugged irrigation system (i.e. massive constipation). Finally, at 5:00 pm last Sunday, I telephoned a friend who lives nearby. He picked me up and rather unceremoniously delivered me in short order to the Kaiser Permanente hospital in Irvine. I checked out at 11:00pm. bought some suppositories and have led a trail of recovery ever since.
I may have mentioned this episode in the life of an aging hypochondriac before but I feel more adept at covering it up at this time. The fierce pain, that felt like I imagine it would be if one swallowed a xenomorph, is now gone and I am left with only periodic discomfort and no spell check.
My new doctor, who is I believe is of Philippine extraction with a city in Brazil named after his family merely shrugged his shoulders when I told him about the possibility of an alien monster in my innards. Perhaps he would have liked it more if the monster were pickled like those octopussies devoured by Filipinos which at one time if one had actually been inside me would have been most pickled in vodka.
I go now to meet the day. Be well, stay strong and doo-wop/some golden oldies. They survive because they have qualities not far removed from the songs by the Beetles, Beach Boys and Jewish popular music composers of the 20s-40s, rhyme, beat; tasty musical innovation and lyrics one can remember and associate within their own historical life and that of their people (‘hey mambo, mambo Italiano).
B. Trenz Pruca’s Observations:
Always put off until tomorrow what you can put off again tomorrow.
C. Today’s Poem:
Courage – Poem by Stephen Crane
There were many who went in huddled procession,
They knew not whither;
But, at any rate, success or calamity
Would attend all in equality.
There was one who sought a new road.
He went into direful thickets,
And ultimately he died thus, alone;
But they said he had courage.
Wen the Eternally Surprised.
“Why was he eternally surprised?” And they are told: “Wen considered the nature of time and understood that the universe is, instant by instant, re-created anew. Therefore, he understood, there is, in truth, no Past, only a memory of the Past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them. Therefore, he said, the only appropriate state of the mind is surprise. The only appropriate state of the heart is joy. The sky you see now, you have never seen before. The perfect moment is now. Be glad of it.”
Pratchett, Terry. Thief of Time: A Novel of Discworld (p. 31). HarperCollins.