Welcome to my new weekly update. I should do a podcast but damn the idea of forcing myself to edit audio and actually meet a schedule is tedious. Daily “blogging” (I despise that word) is also not going to happen due to my latent procrastination. So this is what you get for now. Enjoy. A weekly post of rambles and rants.
Well that was easy. I’ve managed three days without posting anything on my personal Facebook page. The original intention was to stay off till I completed three separate writing assignments and I am one third done that self-imposed electro-exile* and will be two thirds complete this afternoon. The last one, well, that will take a bit longer, probably a few more days up to a week if I see something shiny I end up chasing across a parking lot.
But I digress.
In truth, the ease of this is staggering. I’m an obsessive facebook poster. I complain, drop links to songs I like or discover, incite riotous conversation to spark a change in public opinion, post photos of “Cute Celebrities I’d Never Bang Even Were I Single and A Billionaire” ™ , you know, the usual. I may extend this. Honestly I have enough people reading my things here and buying my occasional (and at present long overdue) books.
It’s fun being an outsider. It’s more fun to be an outside that lurks social networks, drops funny comments here and there and runs back to ones cave. I think my new faux-career option has become Facebook Lurker.
We’ll wait and see I guess. Pardon me while I go make fun of someone’ shoes.
*Band name of the week: Elektroexile (note the Germanic use of a K for fun)
I have an unreasonable fear of streetsweepers (odocatharistophobia**) so when I see one I generally, being an adult, cringe a bit inside and just give it space. When I was a kid late at night, I would be awoken to the sound of hissing brushes on the roadway, a groaning moaning engine and flashing lights that shone on my ceiling. It was horrible, nightmare inducing, double plus ungood.
I was this week making a left turn into my parking lot when I saw a small one moving up the laneway, whipping around the traffic island and turning back into the property. It (for the human occupant is not in control of these beasts) was collecting dirt and mud spewed all over our roads and parking lots due to a recent construction project. As it turned, it ran over a very recently patched section of asphalt road. A giant pothole filled with malleable, hot black asphalt. It chewed into it and sprayed the black sticky goo everywhere and completely re-opened the recently filled hole. It was glorious destruction and resulted in one group of worker arguing with another group of workers. I have no idea why this amused me as much as it did. Perhaps because in my child mind, the streetsweeper was getting in trouble.
** Not a true, accepted phobia. I just googled “irrational fear of streetsweepers” and found some linguist guy made up a term from a Latin word for streetsweeper.
Today he says when we are mid highway on our ways to work and school “Dad you know that ancient Mayan city Teotihuacan?” Which he pronounces flawlessly as were he a 600 ad resident of the place. My middle son is very intelligent. Annoyingly intelligent at times. It often happens that he, out of the blue, when I am busy doing something like oh, having a shower, writing a book, driving a car, eating a piece of toast, will ask us a question to verify something he already knows or wants to use a lead in to explain something else. We being educated, experienced S-Mart people most often have answers but we are left wondering “why did you need to know that now? You are 17 not 7…” Example: “Dad, you know when you are (doing some calculus or coding thing) and (something apparently obscure of odd happens) is it best to (do this) or (do other thing)?” I will, assuming I know the answer or can determine it through logic will say “do (this)” which will set him off with a tirade about how “(the other thing) is the better choice and here is why”.
My wife and I burst out laughing as the odd question, which he repeats then he repeats the city name, again pronounced perfectly two more times. We laughingly scolded him at the obscurity of his questions, realized he was reading another of his strange leftist social justice books and patiently awaited him to defend the ritualized murders or laud their communal farming (and murdering) culture. Thankfully he dropped it, mildly embarrassed at our reaction***. I expect him to try again. I will again laugh at his pronunciation. Best dad ever.
*** The saddest thing is that I actually knew what city he was talking about and probably had answers to his questions.