Thingy

  It has been a very long time since my daughter and I visited the Renaissance Faire held outside of town during  the Summer months. We used to go every year when she was young and we got to know the regulars who really got into character. We never dressed up and pretended we were back there, in Tudor times. Who we kidding? I read and I know things. First, our Faire always smelled lovely, with incense and Dior Sauvage wafting through the grounds. I cannot recall ever using the bathrooms there, but I'm assuming the burgesses did not piss in buckets. There was jousting with handsome knights and no blood was shed. Roasted turkey legs were damn fine eating, then and now.  But, truly, there was nothing romantic about the Elizabethan era, although it certainly had a glow up from the Dark Ages where just going outside could kill you. There really is no way to replicate that past faithfully because it sucked. I will also never quite understand the interest in Civil War reenactmen...

 So which one is it? This is why I no longer trust the government, the media or even social media where the truth is supposed to mean something. Frankly, I don't fucking believe in anyone anymore. 

  Jobs that no longer exist . Gee, I bet people bitched about those new fangled machines taking over and what are humans supposed to do!? I dunno. I do remember we had a milkman who would exchange empties and put the filled ones in a metal box we kept on the back porch. We also had the ragman come along and sell Mom stuff like pots, detergent and rags. He was our very own Mr. Haney like from the tv show, 'Green Acres.' Then there was the tv repairman who was missing a few fingers. He always glared at me because I liked to watch him change the giant tubes in the back of the television. Back in the day, we never pumped our own gas. Listen. Hear that bell? The car would roll over a hose which ding dinged and out came a man in a uniform that pumped gas, checked the oil and washed the windows. In school the Sisters of No Mercy had us go over to the convent and wash their dishes.  Things change.  There is one job I noticed that is still around and I had to ask Google why. It's ...

 I started reading a book last night and didn't put it down until I was done. I'm sort of in a stage where nothing has kept my interest, such as, 'Heart of Darkness,' by Joseph Conrad. I read five pages and have moved on. The book is more of a novella but I'm guessing it will take me three years to read. So I picked up, 'The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time .' I do love a great title. I bought Dave Eggers book, 'The Heartbreaking Tale of a Staggering Genius,' simply due to the title. I was not disappointed.  But, I digress... The curious incident does indeed involve a dog. What is rather unusual about the story is that it is told by the main character, fifteen year old, Christopher Boone, who is unusual. The author of the book, Mark Haddon, refuses to use the term, autistic, but that's what he is (and do not ever again use the term, Asperger's*) Haddon claims he did no research regarding Christopher's peculiarities. He just d...

  Geez, I don't even know if this is a good idea, writing about this loser, Brilyn Hollyhand . What a fucking name. Someone on the Internet asked if this is even a real person. I'm not sure, but he comes off as your typical incel, Charlie Kirk devotee, who whines he's at the bottom of the totem pole (his words) regarding getting hired and having a good life. Shut the fuck up you whiny baby. He's 20 years old and has definitely been groomed into believing he's one of the chosen ones because of his skin color and male appendage. He goes around colleges, speaking to students, telling them there's a better life out there without knowledge. He's very concerned about the male youth these days getting the short end of the stick. Yeah, he's a well groomed baby Kirk.  So, why write about him? Why do I and anyone else give him airspace? When I go on Bluesky I don't want to hear what MTG thinks, or what Tucker Carlson thinks, or what left wing traitor writing o...

 I have sensitive skin - literally and figuratively. I avoid dating men who have beards because of past experiences when my face would be bright red and rashy for days. I once went to a coworker's wedding whose beloved had a giant beard. When I said my goodbyes, he hugged and kissed me which felt like an electric sander running across my face. I was marked for days. That was a millisecond of a touch. Imagine... no let's not go there. It's just not worth it. I can relate to this woman's problem 👇 Her husband has a beard which she finds attractive except for when there are things growing in said beard. When she tells him he's got mustard, ketchup and a hotdog sitting in his beard he gets all huffy and tells her to mind her own business. I may be a bit hyperbolic with my relaying of story, but the problem is real. You can find the article in, 'The Guardian.' You can also vote on whether beard man is being a twat or, she's just a shrew. When I notice a man ...