“All things came close and harmless first thing this morning, a new trick of light. Let’s learn that trick. If we can, it will mean we live in this world” ~ Richard Hugo, from “Distances”

The Bystander, England, August 15, 1928

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Friday afternoon, sunny, 44 degrees.

Pain management appointment at 8:30 am yesterday. I am not awake at 8:30 am; I am not even human yet at 8:30 am. Got a bunch of trigger point injections and talked about pros and cons of imbedded stimulator to treat pain. Still mulling it over. After finally getting home after some run around, I fell asleep fast and hard, woke up for dinner and a few episodes of Bosh, and then went back to sleep. Never fit in a post.

Oh well . . .

So I opened my laptop this morning only to see a headline about another school shooting, this one in southern California: 2 dead, 3 injured. One of the injured students sought refuge in the music teacher’s classroom, and fortunately, the teacher had a trauma kit handy. Let’s just stop for a second to take that in: her classroom was stocked with a trauma kit.

Or how about this: One student interviewed said that his parents had been practicing with him what to do in the event of a school shooting, things like holding a text book in front of his chest to help slow down bullets.

This is who we’ve become. This is how our youth goes to school now, armed not only with tablets and books, but also armed with the knowledge on how they might be able to survive a school shooting. Does no one else find this appalling?

Leftovers seem to contradict the solemnity of our current national state of affairs. Then again, perhaps leftovers are one of the only ways of getting through the day amidst all of the assaults on our senses, our beliefs, our psyches.

Enjoy . . . hope you can . . .


An unfortunate truth:

Good advice:

Circular logic, republican style:

I never knew this—our goats and horses seem to get along well:

Way to make a statement, Berlin:

Just consider: It had to be the overweight, bloated Elvis who did this, and still he managed to get them to stop just with his presence:

And finally, food for thought:


Music by Deftones, “Be Quiet and Drive” (acoustic version)

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Geez, people. It’s her money……….

Friday afternoon, sunny, 53 degrees.

A motley collection today . . .


Comment not necessary:

Um, crystal clear, yeh?

The more you know . . .

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I threw up in my mouth a little when I saw the clip showing Trump doing this:

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Clarion-Ledger, Jackson, Mississippi, July 10, 1935

Friday afternoon, cloudy and mild, 77 degrees.

So I sat at this computer for hours yesterday and produced absolutely nothing, not a single word. It’s not that I have writer’s block as I can think of at least four different things that I want to write about; it’s more that I can’t get my mind to focus enough to get started. I decided today that I’d just start and let it takes me wherever it takes me.

On Wednesday I had an appointment with my pain management group to find out the results of Monday’s MRI. So it turns out that I have a couple of bulging discs at the top of my spine, and they’re bulging towards my spine. Now I get to see a neurosurgeon for follow up. I told the NP that I’m not going to have another back surgery, not ever again. At least it kind of explains how doing these least little physical activity causes me to hurt like crazy by nightfall.

Too bad, though, as I had to dismiss the entire house staff for failing to keep my shoes polished and buffed satisfactorily. No wait. Sorry. That’s my Downton Abbey life rearing its head again. Damn. I guess that means that the laundry and housecleaning situation isn’t going to miraculously resolve itself. Corey and I had hoped to work on the whole bedroom situation once the weather cools more.

Hmm . . . things that make you go hmm . . .

Have some leftovers. More later. Peace.


Beautimous:

I miss having an intelligent, patriotic president who isn’t driven by pettiness and believes in the Constitution . . .

The more things change, the more they stay exactly the same . . .

Dr. Daniel Z. Gibson, President of Washington College, in the The Star-Democrat, Easton, Maryland, March 19, 1954

Sometimes there’s just too much to choose from:

Lisa was always my favorite:

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

The wit and wisdom of Meryl Streep on the insiduousness of sexism in our society:

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If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Stop the romaine lettuce proliferation in our society. NOW!

“My head is bloody, but unbowed.” ~ William Ernest Henly, from “Invictus

Friday afternoon, cloudy and cooler, more storms, 77 degrees.

Well the appointment yesterday went much better than the first. They’re checking into my request for Aimovig, and if for some reason it doesn’t get approved, I’m going to try Botox again. I had really hoped that I’d outgrow my migraines, you know, like you outgrow acne, but not so much. The heat and humidity always does me in, and the other day I just felt like crawling into a cave somewhere and never coming back out.

Anyway, this is day three of this particular episode, and I still have that lingering tightness around my skull. I’m hoping that’s how it stays and that the intense pain doesn’t decide to rear its ugly head again.

Here’s a weird collection for you—born on August 23:

  • Keith Moon, drummer for The Who (1946-1978)
  • Barbara Eden, American actress, I Dream of Jeannie (1931)
  • Park Chan Wook, South Korean film director, Oldboy (1963)
  • Henry Lee Lucas, serial killer (1936-2001), who was born in Blacksburg, VA (didn’t know this tidbit)
  • River Phoenix, American actor, Stand by Me (1970-1993)
  • William Ernest Henly, British Poet, “Invictus” (1849-1903)

Enjoy. More later. Peace.


You have to appreciate advertising with a sense of humor:

Is it weird that I’d buy this?

The Western Kansan, Leoti, Kansas, December 14, 1893

Speaking of bathing . . . What do you mean you want soap?

I just don’t know what to say . . .

The San Francisco Examiner, California, August 10, 1913

Man, I love Patton Oswalt:

This is just insane:

Yep, I went there:

A forward-thinking little girl:

Vancouver Daily World, British Columbia, June 27, 1921

And finally, there’s this:

 

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

The Atchison Daily Globe, Kansas, May 12, 1904 (From yesterdaysprint.tumblr)

Friday afternoon, partly cloudy and beautiful, 84 degrees.

I’m having problems getting to sleep again; I’m really hoping that this doesn’t turn into another full-blown episode of insomnia. Last night I dreamed I was having a good conversation with Brett’s partner, Dom. I was telling her how much I missed speaking with Brett. She said that she would tell him . . .

I’m hoping that Corey will spray the bugs around the house soon, so that I can venture outside without adding to my huge collection of bites. Oh well.

Hope you like today’s collection. Enjoy.


My nights lately:

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In praise of words:

La Grande Observer, Oregon, April 25, 1930

When you realize . . .

I love this picture. One of my earliest memories of is of my father working on a green car while we were living in Navy housing before going to England.

Love this sign:

To the billionaire owner of SoulCycle, Stephen Ross:


And this one, too:

Another one from isn’t:

Great bumper sticker:

Grooming a steer:

And finally, I love this. I wish that I knew where my old I Read Banned Books button was:


Music by Buffalo Springfield, “For What It’s Worth” (just as relevant today)

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

The Pantagraph, Bloomington, Illinois, May 2, 1949

Friday night, clear, 79 degrees.

Today I had my first appointment with the pain management center in Abingdon. That’s a post all by itself. Actually made it on time, early in fact. Then we did a few errands. By the time we got home, my back was killing me, so not a lot for leftovers today. Sorry.

More later. Peace.


Never say I didn’t teach you anything:

Oh yeah, I go there:

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Music by Long John Baldry, “It Ain’t Easy”