A random randomnesses column
This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.
Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing with a tablet or a monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.
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"In Hollywood a marriage is a success if it outlasts milk." -Rita Rudner
Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),
Since delaying the Stickies access to smart(?)phones any longer was becoming impractical, and,
Since my hardworking daughter needs a cutting edge smartphone for her job, and,
Since my family wanted their beloved Pasty Patriarch to start carrying a smart enough phone since crises, major and minor, randomly occurring to geezers of a certain age are not unheard of, well...
My daughter went to a local Verizon outlet a few years back and came home with a bunch of phones.
A few years go by and Verizon's been the beneficiary of a not inconsiderable chunk of our change. A few months ago my daughter revisited the same outlet, dealt with the same clerk, a.k.a. the kid, and revamped our personal communications system. A reduction in monthly outgo was achieved and we were (momentarily) delighted.
However, she made the mistake of arranging for the automatic monthly payment to be deducted directly from my checking account for logistical reasons. Our finances are mingled and it was the logical thing to do at the time.
[Mistake?]
HOOGE mistake, Dana. Deep breath...
The store closes temporarily due to plague problems, the kid moves on, and since the phones are in my daughter's name they won't/can't take money out of my checking account even though the kid said they would, their website says they are, my bank says they're not, and endless hours are spent on the phone to their support people who say they will, but they don't, and eventually say they can't, but, we owe them all sorts of penalty fees and the new deal is canceled, so we also owe them the difference between the old price and the new one and going forward we have to pay the old price, and...
[You're making this up, right? This is one of your goofy "literary devices".]
Nope. But suffice it to say that we're now happy T-mobile customers, saving a small fortune on our phone bill, and Verizon can kiss my SIM card.
I'll leave my gentlereaders to draw their own conclusions.
"The problem isn’t Trump, or Joe Biden, or Kamala Harris, or any other politician: It is the popular response to the gut-wrenching realization that America is hollowed out, that it is living on borrowed money (which is to say borrowed time)..."
"Americans are frightened for their future, with good reason. They see enormous rewards accrue to a handful of tech companies, and stagnation and decay in large parts of the rest of the country. Donald Trump gave them a frisson of hope, and the Establishment reaction against Trump confirms the popular suspicion that a malevolent global elite has seized control of their country. Trump shamefully exploited this suspicion to direct a popular storm against the Congress." (My emphasis.)
The two quotes above are from a column written by a gentleperson you may, but likely haven't heard of, named David P. Goldman. Mr. Goldman, a.k.a. Spengler, wrote this particular column for PJ Media, an online conglomeration of right-wing takes on politics and news. Mr. Goldman's work, unlike your humble correspondents, is published by all sorts of people.
Mr. Goldman is a polymath who has had success in multiple jobs. Wikipedia describes him as, "...an American economist, music critic, and author, best known for his series of online essays in the Asia Times under the pseudonym Spengler.
Mr. G., like me, is not a Never Trumper and has voiced support for some of the Donald's efforts, but is hardly a fanboy.
Mr. G., unlike me, can use words like frisson with a straight face being slightly more intelligent, sophisticated, and cosmopolitan than I am.
[Slightly? You thought frisson meant sliver, as in a sliver of hope. It means...]
Yeah, yeah. I now know it means a brief moment of emotional excitement, at least according to Merriam-Webster.
[And everyone else. Why are you extensively quoting from a David P. Goldman column anyway?]
Because if one ignores the elephant in the room one will, inevitably, wind up shoveling elephant excrement.
Mr. Goldman's thoughts about the events of 1/6/20 are the same as mine. Since I'm sick of the Donald, the "Resistance," and the endless, often self-serving and deliberately inflammatory coverage of the Purple Press I've borrowed a cup of words to avoid spending any more energy than absolutely necessary on this subject just now. I hope he doesn't mind.
Ever feel like you're the last person on Earth who doesn't give a damn what a given Hollywood celebrity thinks about a given issue or politician? Considering what a mess so many of them seem to make of their lives (multiple marriages and drug/alcohol abuse come immediately to mind) why does anyone care?
Why are people that wear their virtue on their sleeves, decry "toxic masculinity" and declare their allegiance to the Me Too movement but are perfectly willing to get naked for softcore porn scenes in movies taken seriously?
[Porn!?! You unsophisticated philistine, the woke ones only participate in pseudo sex if it's an essential element of a realistic plot.]
So in the real world, seeing other people having sex is no more unusual than say, um, sharing a meal with them?
[You just don't understand.]
You're right.
Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day
Have an OK day
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Cranky don't tweet.
