Category: *heh*

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Just one of those “never-to-be realized” passing fancies. . .

In addition to drinking from the skulls of one’s enemies and listening to the lamentations of their women (Paul need not fear Nancy lamenting his hammerfest, of course), a nifty “bomber jacket” made of their skin would be quite the fashion statement, eh?

(The above, of course, is just a thought experiment to pass off to a Hollywood Writer Guy acquaintance whose career has majored in the bizarre. Hey! If he bites and can sell the idea as part of a project, maybe I can get a bit part. As the jacket.)

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Book Blurb Sadness

It’s a bit. . . weird, or weirdly sad (or sadly weird?) I suppose is the word, when a book blub has to include “Note: This book does not contain any coarse language, harem elements or sexual situations.” *smh*

Of the three, at least two serve no useful purpose, unless, I suppose, prurience is the end sought. OTOH, “coarse language” does have legitimate, though limited, uses, but it’s almost never _necessary_ to further a plot or “enrich” a characterization – more effective, IMO, to “coarsen” a character via action. But. . . yeh, verbiage is easier. *shrugs*

Of course, the definition of “coarse language” varies from the merely (usefully and appropriately!) vulgar, which is primarily objectionable to subliterate Neo-Victorian Bowlderiizing “Karens,” to the obscene and even actually profane. So, “coarse language” is a particularly squishy term, and not really useful at all, at all. It’s just a way of saying, “I avoid words that offend some people,” and that road leads to blank pages.

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Unreasonable Standards

Disclaimer: I am no genius, and nor am I someone with an encyclopedic knowledge of darned near everything, but. . . I am an Odd, and my education is even Odd-er.

That may not explain to my readers why, when I read something written by a typical 20-something or older “grup” writer, I often just shake my head and compare their vocabulary, spelling, grammar, and knowledge base to an eleven or twelve-year-old. . . me.

Yeh, when I read a writer who has groped blindly for a suitable word and instead grasped an execrably UNsuitable word to use, I compare that writer’s vocabulary to my sixth grade self, partly because, while recovering from a second surgery, I discovered a set of vocabulary quizzes in a two-volume dictionary set (each volume at least four inches thick in large, oversized formats). Yes, I went through the college-level vocabulary test, NOT because I was “smarter” than the average sixth grader, just because I had read more, even before becoming temporarily restricted physically, but VORACIOUSLY more so during that restricted period.

And that, combined with my fundamentally Odd way of looking at reality, probably defined as much of the next sixty years of my life, as much as simply being an Odd has in general. And so, people with a Stupid Level Vocabulary™ (and often even stupider level grasp of syntax, orthography, and basic arithmetic, physical mechanics, and life in general) probably tend to irk me more than is useful.

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Comparatively Speaking. . .

Glitter is often so horribly misused that, at times, it seems to have been spawned from hell, but any reasonable person would prefer a “whoop” of preschoolers tweaked on a sugar high and given unlimited bags of glitter at a funeral to a drag queen show in kindergarten.

That’s all I’m sayin’ about that.

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Words Do Matter

Just saw a lil pseudo- (fake, phony) “meme” that did contain a wee bit of truth, but the first word — “hay” used in place of “hey” — vitiated (weakened, darned near KILLED) the rest if it. OTOH, maybe it was trying to say that even pinheaded, Dunning-Krugerand illiterates can stumble across a bit of truth now and then. Blind pigs and all that, you know?

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Still Waiting. . .

. . .for the swelling in my fingers to go down enough that I can wear my wedding ring. Wearing a silver substitute that’s larger. . . on the little finger of that hand.

Combo: unstable knee + walking a 10-month-old German Shepherd puppy + avoiding traffic + unseen dip off side of road + avoiding falling ON the puppy = bad fall and hyper-extended fingers on left hand. Bruising and swelling in hand almost entirely gone, but fingers still swollen. Can almost make a fist n ow, though, so progress!

I’ll give it another month before I’m concerned enough to seek more help. Checkup a couple of weeks ago, doctor thought it was doing about as well as could be expected. Chores activity limited by lack of grip in that hand, but am still partially able to work task list.

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Makes Me Wonder Why I Authorized Their Easement

Here in America’s Third World County™ the local “Squirrel-run POTS Company” went “all fiber” to our house a decade ago, and still offers dead-bunny-through-a-straw DSL. ‘Cos that’s just the way they roll, I guess. My Cat6 cabling inside – yes, on the POTS line, too – is better than their “fiber” line for data. *shrugs* I’m just glad they do not offer a “service” changing light bulbs.

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Another Lil Bit of Tightwaddery — “Cross-scaling” Tossables

You’ve seen “upscaling” DIY projects. Imagine this as cross-scaling. 😉

I have an indulgence I from which have managed to partially salvage a wee bit of tightwaddery. My breakfast, of late (say, the past few months) has consisted of a cuppa “keto coffee” supplemented with some “glucose control” protein powder (crème brûlée! *heh*). I justify the expense as supporting my nutritional needs hic et nunc, as it were.

But. Yeh, the expense kinda nags at me. So. . . the powder comes in a really nice, thick, resealable Mylar™-lined bag. Hate throwing such a thing away, so. . . wash and dry. Reuse for those long term storage items Mylar™ bags are recommended for, but which I’d otherwise simply store in vacuum sealed bags. Food item in bag (w/oxygen absorber), zip-seal started but not completed, bag in vacuum seal plastic bag, vacuum sealer run, zip-seal finished. Double-bagged Mylar™/vacuum-sealed for long term storage.

Feel less like a wastrel. In this case, less is more. *heh*

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Rational Tightwaddery

My paternal grandfather had a tendency toward tightwaddery that I suppose he would rather have called frugality. One of his tightwad practices simply spread the cost of a moderately good watch out over decades, rather than using up cash flow in one big lump. I wondered about how that worked for years, but finally embraced the principle a few decades ago.

Every now and then, the cheap Timex watch Granddaddy wore daily would fail, likely for similar reasons to why wristwatches fail on me: no matter what the mechanizm or claims of being waterproof or being impervious to this, that, or t’other I “eat” wristwatches. A really nice all stainless steel case “waterproof” watch? Eaten in a couple of years’ use, corroded away. WHen one of his cheap Timex watches failed, it went in a box for grandkids to play with, and he bought another, usually at a local “fell off the back of a truck” store (salvage, overstock, reclaimed, etc.) for quite a bit less than retail.

So, cheap plastic watches for me, the cheaper the better (and oh what a blessing when I discovered “salvage: watches in the $1 bins at my fav “fell off the back of a truck” store!). But when applied as a principle, Granddaddy’s “watch box” can be useful for other items. Take Wayfarer sunglasses (PLEASE!) for example. . .

$200 for a pair of Rayban Wayfarers OR $1 for a pair of knock-offs at my fav “fell off the back of a truck” salvage/reclaimed/overstock/returns store. Hmmm, I think I’ll purchase a few pair while they have them in stock. Should last me a few years. Sweet! They even fit over my glasses!

And now I have 5 pairs of “Stylin’ Sunglasses­™” and $195 left over for other uses.

*heh*