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I Approve Of This Message

For those of you who have been living under a rock (or simply aren’t fans—WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?!) the eleventh season of the “rebooted” Doctor Who had its worldwide premiere yesterday with a new Doctor and a new show runner. I was excited for these changes before I saw last night’s premier, and I’m even more excited now having seen this first episode.

In the interest of transparency, I’m completely unfamiliar with Ms. Whittaker’s previous work, so I don’t know if what we saw last night was her normal acting persona or if she’d been studying David Tenant’s Doctor intensely after landing the role. But OMG…the facial expressions, the vocal inflections…she’s at least initially coming off as a female Tenant, and I’m okay with that because—as Ben pointed out—we need a fun, joyful Doctor again.

I immediately came to care about these characters, and while in seasons past it’s taken me quite a while to warm up to new Doctors, this time I was all in from the get go! She’s—as they say across the pond—brilliant!

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It’s Kind of Sobering

It’s kind of sobering to realize that most—if not all—of the adults I knew as a child (including some beloved teachers) are probably now dead.

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I Hate To Sound So Pessimistic…

…but after the Kavanaugh shit show last week, and the fact that the pussy grabber in the White House actually managed to pull off getting that other  pussy grabber appointed to the Supreme Court, I have very little hope for the future of this country.

Women, be afraid. Be very afraid.

POC, be afraid. Be very afraid.

GLBT, be afraid. Be very afraid.

Muslims, be afraid. Be very afraid.

In fact, if you’re not a rich, white, heterosexual “christian” male, you should probably be looking over your shoulder as well, because they will eventually come for you too. We’ve seen this story play out countless times in the history of our world, and it never ends well.

My question is who will “save” us? Will we be speaking Russian or Chinese when The United States takes its dying breath and the dust settles?

I seriously would like to know what the Orange Wigstand’s response would be if Russian troops landed on the west coast.

I think we all know.

While the number of people who hate Shitler’s guts far outweigh the number of knuckle-draggers in his base, I fear the so called “Blue Wave” expected in November is never going to materialize. Please prove me wrong. Between general voter apathy, the knat-like attention span of the population (the Kavanaugh crap show will be an entire month in the past by the time Election Day rolls around), Republican gerrymandering/voter suppression/dirty tricks and expected-yet-undefended-from Russian interference next month, if the Democrats do make gains, they still won’t be substantial enough to flip the balance of power in Washington.  And at that point WE. ARE. FUCKED.

Please, please, please…women, LGBT, people of color, and the vast majority of whites who are patriotic and care for this country, get off your asses and vote. This may be your last opportunity.  I’m not being hyperbolic here; our country is sliding into fascism much the same way Germany did in the 30s, and apparently a sizable portion of the population is okay with that. There’s a small, angry mob of white-hooded nationalists and tiki-torch sympathizers who have decided that all their woes are because of the “other,” and the Shitgibbon (who they’re too stupid to realize doesn’t give a fuck about them other than they’re useful tools who fawn over him, stroking his narcissistic sociopathy) view him as their holy savior. It seems that now the main goal of republicans is not to actually govern or reach compromise; their singular focus has become “owning the libs,” even if it means burning everything this country was founded on to the ground.

With Twitler today spewing garbage that is a hair’s breadth away from labeling Democrats Enemy of the People, I have very little hope that we are in for anything other than VERY dark times ahead. Mexican kids in cages? You ain’t seen nothing yet—especially if you’re not a rich, white, heterosexual “christian” male.

Fleeing the country is not an option for Ben and I or the vast majority of our friends, and I’m sure that when the shit really hits the fan, our borders will be closed tighter than Melania’s coach. (Has anyone considered that Agent Orange’s border wall is more to keep us in than to keep anyone else out?)

So please, if you care one whit about this country, if you’re not ready for “Trump Youth” or jackbooted thugs marching in formation down your city streets—or simply about staying alive and not ending up in a camp—get off your ass and vote November 6th because you know the Shitgibbon’ s minions will.

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A Man Buys a Robot Lie Detector…

A man buys a robot lie detector that slaps people when they lie. He decided to test it out at dinner one night.

The man asks his son what he did that afternoon. The son replies, I just did some homework.” The robot slaps the son. The son then says, “Okay, okay….I was at my friend’s house watching a movie.”

The man asks, “What movie were you watching?” The son replies, “Finding Nemo.” The robot slaps the son again. He then says, “Okay, okay…we were watching porn.”

The man says, “What? At your age I didn’t know what porn was!” 

The robot slaps the man.

The man’s wife laughs and says, “Wow. He certainly is your son.”

The robot then slaps the mother.

I thought long and hard (no pun intended!) about posting this because while it has nothing to do with rape,  it seems the heightened awareness of sexual assault thanks to the Orange Shitgibbon and his Supreme Court nominee is making anything related to sex a veritable minefield.

What do you think? Is the shelf-life of sex jokes rapidly approaching their sell-by date?

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Confessions of a Proud Beta Male

Again, from John Pavlovitz:

A Trump supporter just called me a “Beta Male.”

I was on social media, expressing my respect for survivors of sexual assault, in the wake of the President’s vile and reprehensible public ridiculing of Christine Blasey Ford—and he dropped (based on his commentary following) what he thought was some leg sweep, knockout punch, mic drop, designed to leave me in a quivering mass on the floor.

Apparently I was supposed to be insulted.
I wasn’t it.
I felt complimented.
I felt validated.
I realized I’m on the right track.

“Beta Male,” seems to be a Trump fan’s word for a man with decency, self-control, and compassion; someone a woman wouldn’t need to fear being around when alone or vulnerable.

It’s the label they slap on any man who is sickened by the misogyny on display in this Administration, who pushes back against the cultivating of a lowest-common-denominator expression of toxic masculinity, who rejects the idea that dehumanizing a woman and talking about grabbing her by the genitalia, is something decent men do.

Based on my observations, in the minds of these folks, Beta Males:

are capable of deep empathy for people who are suffering.
yield to a woman’s consent regarding her body and her needs.
are burdened to be sources of gentleness and restraint and kindness.
don’t need to display physical dominance in order to feel validated.
aren’t a physical or emotional danger to women around them.

Sign me up.

With what we’re seeing unfold right now in America, the last thing we need are more men like this President and the men who emulate him; perpetually insecure man-children who’ve never been able to find a fully formed understanding of what it means to be a gentleman and human being. We don’t need anymore knuckle-dragging cavemen who are terrified of strong women and intimidated by sexuality and orientation that doesn’t fit their brittle Old Testament sensibilities.

I want my son to be a Beta Male. I want him to be a safe place for the women around him. I want him to respect their humanity and honor their wishes and see them is equal. I want him to see in his father, someone who is secure enough in who he is, not to need to damage someone else to prove his worth.

I want my daughter to be surrounded by these Beta Males; men who value her enough to let her decide what happens to her body, who see her as more than a tool for their self-gratification, who are not intimidated by her strength or intellect or accomplishments, who don’t leveraging religion or guilt or fear to coerce women into anything.

If Donald Trump is an Alpha Male, if Lindsey Graham is an Alpha Male, if Brett Kavanaugh is an Alpha Male—count me out. That’s not exactly a mark I’m interested in attaining. I’d rather sleep at night knowing that I’ve left this world more compassionate and loving than I found it.

If being an “Alpha Male” is what this Administration is cultivating, employing, and perpetuating—I’ll gladly be a Beta Male.

I think that just means I’m being human.

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Visiting The Ghost

As I posted a week or so ago, after spotting the house on Zillow where I lived during high school and until I moved out on my own in 1980, my sister and I resolved to pay a visit to the old place to see it in person since we figured it would probably be our last opportunity to ever do it.

So this past Monday morning we headed over, made the arrangements to get it unlocked (ah, the wonders of technology), and figuratively stepped back in time 46 years.

As I wrote previously, naturally there had been many changes—and I can now report that really none of them were for the better. We joked it would take $50-75K just to get the place (including the rear/side yard wasteland) back to what it was when we lived there. The only real positive improvement I saw was the fact that at some point they’d removed all the popcorn ceilings…

But despite all the years and the numerous families who have passed through those walls, the energy of the place was still the same as I remember it. It felt calm. It felt safe.

The house seemed neither larger or smaller than I remembered. The infamous ghost chose not to acknowledge our presence; perhaps it had no interest, had been exorcised, or had simply moved on.

Naturally we took lots of photos, but none worth posting that really show anything more than what I’d put up previously from the listing itself, save this:

2018
1978

Same location, just a little closer in this time…

And this, the obligatory in-my-old-bathroom selfie:

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Shower Thoughts

Shouldn’t Medusa’s eyelashes be tiny snakes?

Let’s not even discuss if the carpet matches the drapes!

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Vintage Audio Porn

Technics SL-1600Mk2 (ca. 1979-1981)

I hated this series when it first came out. Now I’d almost kill for one.

While the tone arm was a definite improvement over the previous Mk2 series and the passing years have brought to light a few overall design issues, what I hated most about these tables (1600Mk2, 1700Mk2, 1800Mk2) was that the fully digital pitch control of the previous lineup had been discontinued for a continuously variable analog system. Of course, this pitch arrangement (via slider) became the de facto standard on the 1200Mk2 and its successors.

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Thirty Years Ago

Because right now, I ain’t got nothin’…

Journal

30 September 1988

It’s been a busy month.  Shortly after my last journal entry, my phone was shut off because of a bounced check and some asshole smashed my car window just for the fun of it.  If I had a baseball bat I’d love to beat the motherfucker’s head in.

The car is now being locked up at night, over in R&H Wholesale’s parking lot.  It’s only $25.00 a month, so it’s a real bargain for the peace of mind and not having to hassle anymore with the midnight street cleaning.

I finally received money back from the IRS which I paid in for “self-employment tax” for my 1986 return.  It amounted to just over $1000—and believe me, it came just in time. I have intentions of using it for new tires for the car and miscellaneous other expenses, but for the moment, it just got me caught up on several outstanding bills and a few that weren’t due until later in the month.  So, for all intents and purposes it’s gone—for at least two weeks until I get paid again.  I’m not too upset over the sudden income and loss thereof; it did get rid of those few pesky bills that I could just never seem to get around to paying (Time-Life Mozart and the Astronomy Book Club to name about $110 worth).

I arranged to get cable TV yesterday.  They’ll be out next Friday to turn it on.

I went with John Trapp last night to the George Michael concert at the Shoreline Amphitheater.  I’m still not that fond of G.M., but John doesn’t have a whole lot of friends [with cars] so I agreed to go.  The light show was the best part of it, along with a hunky chunky lighting technician who I ended up paying more attention to than G.M.  There was a straight south-bay Hispanic couple sitting next to us who were on the point of copulating by mid-show.  It really ruined the rest of the  performance for me.

And if I never hear another screaming 14-year old girl, that would be just fine.

I’ve been feeling pretty down lately.  I can’t put my finger on any one thing, but I know I’m just not my perky sociable self.  I’ve had my usual doses of hot impersonal sex, but I find what I’m really missing is being touched and caressed.  When I got my haircut the other day, Patrick gave me a really good scalp and shoulders massage, which made me realize just how long it’s been since anyone has touched me.

The painting of the Magician still isn’t finished, although it’s a lot farther along than it was at my last entry.  I’m still not feeling especially creative, and though I’ve got a refrigerator full of slowly-desiccating paint,  I just can’t seem to get up the gumption to finish it.  I’m not especially pleased with it (am I ever with any painting?), but his eyes are nice and I suppose I can always give it away. 

Ron has decided to move to L.A. for real.  I guess his love life is finally improving.  And I’ve decided to stay put on Folsom until further notice.  The thought of moving just makes me sick.  I’m so settled in here I can’t imagine hauling it all out again.  And anyway, I’ve got better things to do with my money than pay another security deposit to some new strange landlord. At least I know Trish and Ron.

I may move upstairs if #12 becomes available though. It’s got a view of Twin Peaks (from the Kitchen) and you can see up above the freeway.

I bought six CDs with some of that tax refund money:  two by Yanni (replacing his album from last year which I sold), one by Suzanne Vega “Solitude Standing”, one by Sting “Blue Turtles”, two by Dead or Alive and one by Curiosity Killed the Cat. The Cat CD is going to Streetlight Records at the earliest opportunity.

I guess that’s enough for now.

It certainly is.