A society is out of necessity a group project. And as with all group projects, cast the most jaundiced of eyes at those who insist that they deserve full credit for the results despite making no tangible contributions to realizing them.
Disclaimer: When I ask “Does that make sense?” after attempting to describe or explain something, I’m questioning my ability to communicate clearly, not anyone else’s ability to comprehend whatever gibberish just escaped my brain via my mouth.
In my defense, I did not yet fully understand or appreciate how truly terrible my singing voice is. I feel shame, and I will for the rest of my days.
I’d like to extend a very belated apology to the young couple in the movie theater that my friends and I annoyed by singing along with Sting when he played “Message in a Bottle” at the end of “Bring on the Night” when we were in high school.
I’ve had borderline-migraine experiences in elevators where someone had absolutely carpet-bombed themselves with the olfactory equivalent of Agent Orange. Same with ride-share cars that contain more air freshener than breathable air. I know sensory issues have a lot to do with it, but still…why?
That’s kinda the way I’m leaning. I have no real desire to be in an actual band, but it’s a tough instrument to play alone and it’s a lot more fun with other musicians. I just know I’ve probably developed some terrible habits and techniques. And learning some patience probably won’t kill me.
As it turns out, one thing I haven’t gotten any better at in all that time is…patience! Thanks, brain. I understand you a whole lot better now than I did backinnaday, but sometimes you’re still a 24-karat asshole.
So I’m trying to make myself re-learn how to play bass, a few years (OK, decades) into playing it. And after a few online lessons, my brain is once again frustrated by how f’ing slow and boring the learning process is, which is why I quit lessons way back when.
As we speak, there are people calculating how bad things are, how much worse they’re likely to get, and how little they think you’d settle for in the way of making them better. You may have voted for one or more of them, and they’re counting on you doing it again out of sheer desperation.
Maybe the most important truth I’ve ever reckoned with is that the history I was taught growing up was at best a single star in the galaxy of the histories that are, and that our collective near-blindness to the existence of that galaxy is not at all coincidental.
I know it’s 44 degrees, but once you’ve tasted 80, 44 might as well be 14 degrees.
Or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof! 🤞🏻
A rumbling crack of thunder in south Minneapolis just put a smile on my face for reasons I’m not entirely sure I can explain.
Those who would wantonly steal from the future of the planet to feed the insatiable greed of the present have no place in either.
I’m fond of luxuriating in schadenfreude as much as the next yahoo, but I really could have gone the rest of my one wild and precious life without having to know a gosh-darn thing about Clavicular.
Every day is Bring Your Demons to Work Day.
Just gorgeous. Gyah.
Great news for parking enthusiasts! Everybody else, you’re shitouttaluck.
The fact that this administration’s boilerplate justification for its reprehensible acts both foreign and domestic boils down to “If we actually followed the Constitution and obeyed the law, we’d never get anything done” seems like a mighty big tell.
“But this is my emotional support cocktail!” I protest as the TSA agents escort me out of the airport.
I am grateful there’s been general acceptance of the idea that it’s OK not to be OK. I would simply like to be OK a bit more often so as to have some meaningful basis for comparison.
Nothing makes me feel young again like seeing a company announce a “Legacy Edition” of a product that I owned the original version of.
Anything beginning with the premise that bell bottoms didn’t go far enough is bound to end in tears.
I mean, one JNCO era per millennia seems like more than enough, and the last one is still far too fresh in memory.
Doing a passable imitation of “normal” is a stretch for me on the best of days, and I feel like I’ve burned through a few lifetimes of it since January.
Words utterly and completely fail me this morning, and in that they have the entirety of the federal government and about a third of the U.S. population for company.
The consistent element in the reactions and responses of the administration and its henchfolk to the mounting civilian death toll and intentional targeting of civilian infrastructure is the failure, the inability to conceive of the U.S. being subject to the same levels of violence and destruction.
Indeed. I’d be lost without at least fretboard dots, but the faux-frets definitely make it feel more doable.
Blurring the ever-fine line between optimistic hope and delusions of competence.
