Friday afternoon, mostly cloudy and cold, 44 degrees.
I’m still not feeling together enough to string together a real blog. Yesterday, I sat at the keyboard for hours without a single original word hitting the screen. It’s very frustrating as I had told myself that once I returned to this blog, that I would post regularly. But the truth is that I can only post as regularly as the muse allows, and at the moment, the must is being suppressed by overwhelming body pain, the source of which I am uncertain.
It’s not just the morning migraines; now, it’s also my back, a source of such localized pain the likes of which I haven’t had to contend with for quite a while. Anyway, that’s what’s going on. I hope to have a real post up tomorrow, but in the meantime, I have quite a good collection of leftovers for today (in my humble opinion.
So Gillette came out with a commercial for the MeToo movement:
Never before seen error code:
Error 503 Backend is unhealthy
I have always loved Andre Braugher, most especially in “Homicide,” one of the best shows to ever be on television.
From gaymilesedgeworth (a deactivated tumblr account): One of my favorite things in Brooklyn Nine Nine is when you can tell the writers were like “You know, Andre Braugher is an extremely talented Shakespearean actor who graduated top of his class at Juilliard…..what if we took advantage of that for our sitcom”
This is a good depiction of either of my older dogs, Tillie and Bailey, every time a puppy comes near:
The San Francisco Examiner, California, April 10, 1927
A murmuration in Otmoor, London, UK (1-4-19), something I’ve always wanted to see:
In 2015, a drought in the southern Mexican state of Chiapas revealed the ruins of a 400-year-old church, Temple Santiago:
Just a straightforward leftovers post. Spent too much time trying to find the perfect present for Corey, and now my back hurts. My life is so weird……..
The four horsemen of the apocalypse from memesdaily
From Ultrafacts: Perhaps a lesson here?
For youngest son who spent years Rick Rolling everyone in sight:
Also from Ultrafacts:
Today’s poem was written by UK Poet Laureate, Carol Ann Duffy for the centenary of Armistice Day, November 18, 2018 (I know that I’m late). This day is very important to Europeans, but somehow, 45 couldn’t go out in the rain to pay tribute to the fallen. The background on this sonnet can be found here.
The Wound In Time
It is the wound in Time. The century’s tides,
chanting their bitter psalms, cannot heal it.
Not the war to end all wars; death’s birthing place;
the earth nursing its ticking metal eggs, hatching
new carnage. But how could you know, brave
as belief as you boarded the boats, singing?
The end of God in the poisonous, shrapneled air.
Poetry gargling its own blood. We sense it was love
you gave your world for; the town squares silent,
awaiting their cenotaphs. What happened next?
War. And after that? War. And now? War. War.
History might as well be water, chastising this shore;
for we learn nothing from your endless sacrifice.
Your faces drowning in the pages of the sea.
Yes, it’s a leftovers post. I had planned to write, but then there was that whole lack of sleep thing, wide awake at 5 a.m. thing . . . That, plus the new cat has taken to using the master bathroom as a litter box, and it’s extremely annoying. She doesn’t use the floor; no, she uses the flannel cover that I put down for her bed. Why, cat, why?
So between cleaning toxic cat poop and trying to get two of the horses back into the pasture after they broke through the fence again and came wandering up to the front porch, it’s been a trying day.
I will let you know that I have decided on names for the four horses that we have so far: The stallion is Napoleon, because he’s small and has a small man’s complex that makes him bully the fillies, and he has this lock of hair that falls on his brow very reminiscent of all of the Napoleon portraits. The two Sorrel horses are Sassy (the big one that continuously escapes and thinks it’s funny), and Boots, the one with white boots. And finally, the slow white and brown paint is Petra, mostly because when I was a child we had a Yorkie that was a bit slow, and dad named her Petra, and she was the sweetest dog ever.
So that’s the horse family for now. On to the leftovers!
How cool was this?
2600 people form a chain to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the discovery of the DNA. Genentech employees set a Guinness World Record for the Largest “Human” DNA Helix on April 21, 2011 in San Francisco.
Any excuse to post Tom Hiddleston:
Alrighty then . . .
Audible groan when you see it:
Well this just blows out of the water everything I believed about hand dryers . . . except for Dyson hand dryers. I want one in my house.
Er, excuse me?
I love dry roasted peanuts too, but this?
More later. Peace.
Music by Imagine Dragons, “Thunder” (I love this video)
“Everything is changing. People are taking their comedians seriously and the politicians as a joke.” ~ Will Rogers
Thursday afternoon. Mostly cloudy and cold, 38 degrees.
The snow from recent days made me remember something funny in politics, and there just hasn’t been much humor in politics for the past few years. Plus I’ve been so intense the last few days that I thought that you, dear reader, and I could use a break, hence, Throwback Thursday. Enjoy.
On Sunday, February 15, 2015, Jeff Jackson, a young Democratic NC State senator, was the only senator in the general assembly because of snow. Obviously a man with a sense of humor, Jackson passed sweeping legislation while he had the run of the floor. If only . . .
Music by Midnight Oil, “Beds are Burning” (late 80’s protest song by former Australian band)
Of History and Hope
We have memorized America,
how it was born and who we have been and where.
In ceremonies and silence we say the words,
telling the stories, singing the old songs.
We like the places they take us. Mostly we do.
The great and all the anonymous dead are there.
We know the sound of all the sounds we brought.
The rich taste of it is on our tongues.
But where are we going to be, and why, and who?
The disenfranchised dead want to know.
We mean to be the people we meant to be,
to keep on going where we meant to go.
But how do we fashion the future? Who can say how
except in the minds of those who will call it Now?
The children. The children. And how does our garden grow?
With waving hands—oh, rarely in a row—
and flowering faces. And brambles, that we can no longer allow.
Who were many people coming together
cannot become one people falling apart.
Who dreamed for every child an even chance
cannot let luck alone turn doorknobs or not.
Whose law was never so much of the hand as the head
cannot let chaos make its way to the heart.
Who have seen learning struggle from teacher to child
cannot let ignorance spread itself like rot.
We know what we have done and what we have said,
and how we have grown, degree by slow degree,
believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become—
just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.
All this in the hands of children, eyes already set
on a land we never can visit—it isn’t there yet—
but looking through their eyes, we can see
what our long gift to them may come to be.
If we can truly remember, they will not forget.
~ Miller Williams (1930-2015), President Clinton’s Inaugural Poet, 1997
“To any local Florida officials who refuse to perform these ceremonies: You live in a giant cockroach choking-hazard infested, Hooters-dining, reptile-abusing Everglades-draining, election-ruining, stripper-motorboating, ball-sweat scented, genitalia-shaped, 24-hour-mugshot factory.” ~ Jon Stewart on some Florida counties’ decision not to perform courthouse marriages, “The Daily Show” (15 January 2015)
Um . . . come again?
I don’t think this was what Big Brother had in mind:
Needs no explanation . . .
How cool is this?
Marie Curie: One of the baddest of the original BAMF:
Wasabi is a miracle food as far as I’m concerned. Nothing opens my sinuses faster, and after a good crying jag, wasabi allows me to breathe . . . just saying . . .
Music by The Neighborhood, “Let it Go” (no, not that one)