I am especially fond of this particular Sony aesthetic, mid 1970s:
I am especially fond of this particular Sony aesthetic, mid 1970s:
It’s taken mankind what, 6,000 years or so to fully explore the land mass of planet earth? And then I look at this and realize that even if we had the capability to send humans to Mars, a dozen lifetimes wouldn’t be enough to explore it all. We aren’t even to baby steps yet; as a species we’re still learning how to roll over and crawl in this amazing universe we find ourselves in.
I don’t want to like ABC’s Time After Time. I really don’t. I know where the story’s going (jump to a different era in every episode as H.G. pursues the dastardly Jack The Ripper in order to save lives and stave off some future calamity), but I keep coming back to it. As my friend Mark said, “I know you. It’s got a dark haired Brit with a hairy chest and a beard.”
Regrettably, I really am that shallow. But to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t make it all the way through the most recent episode in one sitting. It was so…predictable…that halfway through I had to turn it off and return to it this evening.
There is a quote that is something along the lines of If it feels life is drawing you backwards it’s only because the Archer is drawing back his arrow to let you fly. Or something. I know I either blogged the original quote or sent it to multiple people in an email, but I’ll be damned if I can find a trace of it anywhere.
I kept that quote in mind as I was slogging through my employment at DISH, knowing that things couldn’t get much worse and the only direction I could go was up.
The other day it dawned on me that this could also be an apt description of society and civilization as well. Sometimes it just needs to feel like everything is going backward in preparation for a truly monumental leap forward.
Maybe that’s what is happening with the current situation in these United States. The longer 45 is in office, the more we’re drawn backward, but once he’s gone we’ll spring forward and regain everything that was lost and more with an energy and intensity not seen since the end of World War II.
At least that’s what I’d like to believe.
I remember when I would’ve killed for a room like this…
Back in the 80s and 90s, I had hundreds of these. But even with a good deck, cassettes (from whatever manufacturer) never sounded as good to my ears as the original vinyl they were ripped from. Close, yes. But not the same.
There was no denying the convenience, and in the days before portable and car CD players, they were the only way to take your music with you.
I gave most of my cassettes to my sister during the great purge of 2003, but I think I still have about a half dozen in a box somewhere.
But you were having none of it because we were “Libtards.”
You voted for Trump because Clinton was going to be in Wall Street’s pocket. Trump wants to repeal Dodd-Frank and eliminate the Fiduciary Rule, letting Wall Street run rampant and return to its pre-2008 ways.
You voted for Trump because of Clinton’s emails. The Trump administration is running its own private email server.
You voted for Trump because you thought the Clinton Foundation was “pay for play.” Trump has refused to wall off his businesses from his administration, and personally profits from payments from foreign governments—in direct violation of the Emoluments Clause of the Constitution and grounds in and of itself for Impeachment.
You voted for Trump because of Clinton’s role in Benghazi. Trump ordered the Yemen raid without adequate intel, and then slept during the actual raid and upon waking tweeted about “FAKE NEWS” while Americans died as a result of his carelessness and insouciance.
You voted for Trump because Clinton didn’t care about “the little guy.” Trump’s Cabinet—in case you haven’t noticed—is full of billionaires, and he just took away your health insurance so he could give them a multi-million-dollar tax break.
You voted for Trump because he was going to build a wall and Mexico was going to pay for it. American consumers will pay for the wall via import tariffs, if not outright tax increases.
You voted for Trump because Clinton was going to get us into a war. Trump has provoked our enemies, alienated our allies, and given ISIS a decade’s worth of recruiting material.
You voted for Trump because Clinton didn’t have the stamina to do the job. Trump hung up on the Australian Prime Minister during a 5 pm phone call because “it was the end of a long day and he was tired and fatigue was setting in.”
You voted for Trump because foreign leaders wouldn’t “respect” Clinton. Foreign leaders—both friendly and hostile—are now openly mocking Trump.
You voted for Trump because Clinton lies and he “tells it like it is.” Trump and his administration lie with a regularity and brazenness that can only be described as shocking.
Let’s be honest about what really happened.
The reality is that you voted for Trump because you got conned. Trump is a grifter and the American people were the mark. Now that you know the score, quit insisting that this con-man is on your side.
Okay, it’s a bit large for just the two of us (we’d need a full-time, live-in housekeeper), but I do love the architecture. And it’s even local!
Because who doesn’t like a fuzzy-faced Aussie in pseudo-cowboy drag? Unf.
Today’s the day, kids. Fly, my pretties!
From My New Plaid Pants:
This is Trump’s America now. Don’t you keep seeing that pop up in the worst places? (As if there’s a good place for such sentiment.) But whenever somebody burns down a mosque or assaults a gay couple what do they say? “This is Trump’s America now.” And knowing the types they probably add a “Bitch” on for good measure.
And the stinger is they’re right. We live in Trump’s America now, and it feels like garbage. I wake up every morning sick to my stomach. I’m touchy on everything—short-tempered, unable to focus, and constantly believing the worst about everybody.
It’s been hard, basically impossible, over the past several months not to let my worst instincts take hold. I know that’s what nightmares-turned-flesh like Steve Bannon are looking for—they want us hopeless and demoralized. But there’s only so many times you can remind yourself of that while simultaneously watching the world turn a blind eye to the bad people doing their bad things gleefully and seemingly repercussion-free before that hopelessness pervades and infects you no matter what you do.
Yesterday morning while I was unloading the dishwasher, I was listening to Grace Jones’ Nightclubbing on my phone that I’d connected to the stereo in the living room. I then realized I had this gem on vinyl, and promptly got it out and set it spinning.
Oh. My. God. The difference in sound quality was astounding. Have we really all become so enured to the compressed mp3 sound that we don’t even realize what we’re missing?
Anyway, this sent me off on a Grace binge. Nightclubbing wasn’t near enough…
Sadly, I realized I do not yet have Warm Leatherette (probably my second favorite of her albums after Nightclubbing) back on vinyl yet. That will have to be rectified.
You can never have too much Grace in your life.
She’s going to be 69 this year. 2017, don’t you even think about it.
Such a tease.
Grace Jones: Bullshit
One down, 29 more to go.
Remember, March 15th is the day to let Orange Julius know he’s fired!
I am finally coming to grips that I am no longer a young man. I am no longer in a targeted demographic and not only have the leaves fallen from the trees in the seasons of my life, the first cold blush of winter is fast approaching.
Last week a dear friend whom I’ve known since we were both in our early 30s turned 60. I sent him a birthday greeting inscribed:
Turning 30: We couldn’t wait. We were now adults.
Turning 40: We laughed it off by exchanging nose hair clippers as gifts.
Turning 50: We rationalized it. 50 is still middle age, right?
But damn Skippy, 60 is OLD!
And with us both being part of that generation that was decimated by AIDS in the 1990s, I hastened to add, “But all that really matters is that you’re still here and I am so happy because of that!”
My dad always told me that the 30s were the best years of one’s life and that I should live them to the fullest. Unfortunately I squandered the greater portion of that decade pining over a man who would never give me what I wanted and trying desperately to fill the void that left behind, but when I look back I’d have to say that yes, in spite of that I still worked those years for all they were worth. [oink]
But it wasn’t until my 40s—and the cancer diagnosis halfway through that decade—that I finally became comfortable in my own skin. Instead of constantly beating myself up over not ever losing those 20 pounds so I would feel confident enough to wear a tank top to the Pride Parade, it was far easier (and more satisfying) to just accept who I was, love it, and move on.
And with apologies to my dad, I would have to say that my 50s—despite the career ups and downs—has been if not the best, then at least the most…satisfying so far.
Now I’m not even remotely close to having one foot in the grave yet, but if I am to be completely honest with myself—based solely on the lifespans of the men in my family—and barring anything unforeseen (accident, incurable terminal illness, being sent to a Nazi Death Camp or Nuclear annihilation stemming from an ill-timed Presidential tweet), I probably have about another 25-30 years ahead of me.
And I’m okay with that. Being this age affords me the luxury of no longer suffering fools gladly and allows me to speak my mind perhaps more often than I probably ought to and still get away with it. Of course it also has drawbacks, almost all of them physical. I can’t go bounding up and down stairs the way I used to. Getting up off the floor has become a major proposition. And the knees. OMG, the knees. But considering the other myriad health issues I’ve dealt with over the course of my life, this stuff is small potatoes.
And I love small potatoes!