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No shrimp, no doodles

CRANKY
OLD FART

#241

leftovers
& links

 
Friday,
Dec. 2, 2022
After twenty years in winterific places where it snows for real, I came back to Seattle a few months ago, and the city's first snowfall of 2022 was on Wednesday. About half an inch fell where I live, atop a hill on the city's west-ish side.

Snow is infrequent here, but it happens, and even for Seattle, half an inch is very nearly no snow at all. For this feather dusting, though, they closed the airport, sent kids home from school early, and put chains on all the city buses' rear tires.

Maybe more snow accumulated in other parts of town, or maybe Seattle is run by wimps.

Last week, my flatmate Dean offered to cook an impromptu Thanksgiving dinner for me and the other flatmate, Robert. I said OK, and the meal was OK.

He's a professional chef, as he often reminds us, but Dean and I share a refrigerator, and his food handling habits frighten me. Raw meat and leftovers sit uncovered in the fridge, sometimes until after they've molded.

And he offered to cook for us again last night.

Ah, no thanks. I chanced it with his beef for Thanksgiving, but last night he was prepping shrimp, and seafood is a little more susceptible to listeria or salmonella and everything else you don 't want as a side order.

Dean and Robert shared the shrimp without me, and as it cooked, and even now the next morning, it smells… wrong to me, too pungently shrimpy. And during the night, there was a lot of traffic to the toilet.

Mostly, though, it was 'no thanks' to the shrimp because I didn't move in to be anybody's buddy, and I don't want to eat two two dinners with Dean in a week.

Yesterday's Google doodle was animated, and that's stupid, Google.

It didn't make me smile, and I didn't even look at it. I annoyed me is all, same as ads that move when I'm trying to read an article, so I used my ad-blockers to make the Google logo go away forever. I'll never see another of their too many doodles, unless one's good enough that I want to see it.

'Cranky old fart' is what I call this page, and not for nothing.

Here's the news you need,
whether you know it or not

Congress votes to avert rail strike amid dire warnings 

Most of what's on your shelves, and probably your clothes and your car and your bed, rode on rails to get where you bought them. A railroad strike, looming to begin on December 9th, would be a Very Big Deal, so Biden and Congress are making this strike illegal before it happens.

Republicans would like to outlaw all strikes, and probably will when they're next in power. Meanwhile, Dems and Republicans have worked together to make this particular strike illegal.

Here's hoping the unions have the balls to strike anyway. Labor has a long history of breaking the law — civil disobedience, it used to be called — and when the law is wrong, breaking it is right. 

American railroads are fabulously profitable, and all the workers are asking for is paid sick leave. Fuck, yeah. Strike, I say.

Secret 9/11 memo reveals Bush rewriting the history of the 9/11 attacks and the warnings he'd tuned out 

Anybody here seen my old friend George? Can you tell me where he's gone? Thought I saw him stealing the Presidency, and not giving a damn about terrorists until 9/11/2001, and then morphing that attack into a war that had nothing to do with it...

Starbucks illegally refused to negotiate with union, NLRB rules

Amazon CEO says company won't take down antisemitic film 

US approves anti-drone system sale to Qatar worth $1bn 

Beliefs about humanity, not higher power, predict extraordinary altruism 

U.S. to pay millions to move tribes threatened by climate change 

And it never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, because climate change isn't 'coming', it's underway. It'll kill billions, and we're not doing squat about it.

City of LaFollette investigator shredded documents tied to investigation which led to two officers fired 

And it never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, because all cops are bastards, or they know who the bastard cops are and do nothing about it, which is the same thing.  

McCarthy says Republicans will investigate Jan. 6 committee’s work 

And it never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, because Republicans are the enemy of common sense, common decency, simple truth, and democracy.

Links I liked

Why you should stop reading news 

Biden just knifed labor unions in the back. They shouldn't forget it. 

The Caganer: a weird tradition in the Catalan Christmas culture 

8 essential gadgets from the 1980s that are now obsolete 

Pong is now 50 years old. Here's the story of its invention. 

How on earth did that crow do that? 

Garden hermits 

Berserk llama syndrome 

Blue Peacock 

Mystery links
Like life itself, there's no
knowing where you're going

click 

click 

click 

♫♬  Mix tape of my mind  ♫

• "Crystal Blue Persuasion" — Tommy James and the Shondells 

• "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" — Ennio Morricone 

• "Lovely Day" — Bill Withers 

• "Ride Captain Ride" — Blues Image 

• "You're So Cool" — Hans Zimmer 

The End

Aline Kominsky-Crumb 

Christine McVie 

Donald Perkins 

Gaylord Perry 

12/2/2022   

Cranky Old Fart is annoyed and complains and very occasionally offers a kindness, along with anything off the internet that's made me smile or snarl. All opinions fresh from my ass. Top illustration by Jeff Meyer. Click any image to enlarge. Comments & conversations invited.
 
Tip 'o the hat to Linden Arden, ye olde AVA, BoingBoing, Breakfast at Ralf's, Captain Hampockets, CaptCreate's Log, John the Basket, LiarTownUSA, Meme City, National Zero, Ran Prieur, Voenix Rising, and anyone else whose work I've stolen without saying thanks.
 
Extra special thanks to Becky Jo, Name Withheld, Dave S, Wynn Bruce, and always Stephanie...

Cranky Old Fart
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itsdougholland.com
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"And how's life?"

"Hope you make a million bucks today," a bum said as I pushed my pushcart past his shopping cart, on the sidewalk's fast lane. Like we're old buddies, both of us in good spirits.

We weren't and I wasn't, but I can fake it, so I said, "When I make a million bucks on Telegraph, I'll give you ten percent." A lie, but a nice enough reply, yes?

"Hey, you don't have to say that," he said. "I wasn't begging." He was annoyed, so I slowed my cart, and stopped to consider.

He wasn't a bum I know by name, but I've seen him around Berkeley since before I moved here, when I used to come for movies at the UC or PFA. We've talked a few times, and I gave him 50¢ once. Decent guy, for a bum. I wouldn't have thought he was any more nuts than anyone else on the street.

"I was just making conversation," I said, keeping my voice low and casual. "No insult was intended, sir." I thought 'sir' was a nice touch.

"Ah, kiss my ass," was his retort.

Mine was, "Blow me, ya lazy crackhead."

He started yelling profanities, and I stood and glared at him for long enough to prove that I, too, have testosterone. I didn't yell at him, though. I don't have that much testosterone, or stupidity. When I'd heard enough, I resumed rolling my cart down the sidewalk. We'd been headed the same direction, but he didn't follow right away, and his hollering faded into the distance behind me.

I try to be kind to down-and-outers, to anyone actually, but I don't try too hard.

♦ ♦ ♦  

Worked on Telegraph, cutting out fish, talking to the street crazies, and singing along when the Hare Krishnas made their daily trek up the Avenue. I like the part where they chant about hairy ramen. Lugosi sheds, so I can relate.

Toward the end of the day, a vendor I semi-know and occasionally chat with pushed his cart by, and said hi. I asked how's biz?, he said OK, and I should've left it at that, but instead I said, "And how's life?"

"Not so good," he said, suddenly glum, and proceeded to tell me the details of his mother's death in a natural gas explosion in New Jersey, that ended her life and ruined the turkey on Thanksgiving Day.

"Sorry," I said, after listening too it all, and what the hell else could I say? Why are you telling me this? I wanted to ask, but I guess I'd literally asked for it.

My mom makes me nuts, but if she's dead before I am I'll be saddened, too. I'll spend a long time missing her and kicking myself for every time we argued.

What I won't do is bother anyone with the news of her death, except close friends and the unfortunate readers of my diary. I won't be dropping my grief on casual acquaintances and co-workers who say hello.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Me and people are never a good mix. Dogs neither, I guess.

When I got home, Lugosi bit me. He jumped at me like he always does, playful not mean, wanting to play fetch or lick my face, but he nipped my nose instead.

There was more than a nose worth's of blood, but it's nothing serious, and my face won't be any uglier than it already was. Probably stained my shirt, but with the mustard and ketchup blops the blood won't be noticeable.

From Pathetic Life #18
Wednesday, Nov. 29, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life
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itsdougholland.com
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JoJo Rabbit, and six more movies

THE
NEVERENDING
FILM FESTIVAL

#114


Thursday,
Dec. 1, 2022


Today's movies are about the horrors of ordinary life, pirate radio, Adolf Hitler as a child's imaginary friend, boxing in outer space, sci-fi in suburbia, a firefighter who does nothing interesting, and a horror movie that's run from an office.

Arena (1989)
The Boat that Rocked (2009)
The Cabin in the Woods (2011)
Gremloids (1984)
Harvey Middleman, Fireman (1965)
JoJo Rabbit (2019)
Sorry We Missed You (2019)

The best of these is JoJo Rabbit, and the surprise outta nowhere is Arena.

— — —

Arena (1989)

From schlock maestro Charles Band, this is a mishmash of two elements never before mishmashed: science fiction and boxing.

In the sport of inter-species boxing, it's been fifty years since a human has held the championship, but Steve Armstrong shows promise, and Claudia Christian (The Hidden) is a boxing manager who takes him under her wing. 

Armin Shimerman plays "Weezil," and Hamilton Camp, a lightly comedic actor I've always lightly liked, has fun playing the hero's scoundrelly sidekick who has four arms. The space aliens are an all-star collection of cheap but effective rubber masks and prosthetics. The training and fights are sort of a batty parody of Rocky stuff., and everything stops for a futuristic pop song that's so strange it works. This movie is not afraid to be weird.

The leading man (Paul Satterfield) is kinda hollow, but the inter-species boxing scenes are rollicking, the ending seems about right, and it's refreshing that Arena never pretends to be about anything but its silly sport and the people and bug-eyed-monsters who perform or profit from it.

Arena is totally a B-movie, but it's a knockout B-movie.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

The Boat that Rocked (2009)
a/k/a Pirate Radio

In the UK, BBC used to have a monopoly on broadcasting, and since the network was (and still is) run by stodgy old farts, BBC radio didn't play much rock'n'roll in the '60s. Britain is an island, though, so intrepid capitalists set up radio stations on ships at sea, targeting the island with pop music (and advertising).

That's what this movie is about, and I'd hoped for some feel for what that era was like, but accuracy was not on the moviemakers' agenda. I don't believe a single thing that happens here happened, except that there were illegal broadcasts from ship to shore. 

That said, it's good-natured and often funny, with several actors I like, none of whom get enough screen time, because it's a crowded ensemble flick.

The principal cast includes Nick Frost, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Rhys Ifans, Bill Nighy, and Kenneth Branagh. Branagh plays a diabolical BBC executive who hires a sidekick — named Twat — to do whatever it takes to get the pirates off the air. 

Everyone on screen seems to be having a fine time, and Branagh is especially good, but the movie barely stays afloat, and seems mighty shallow for a story set at sea. It plays like a lowbrow college comedy without the college, but these characters are mostly in their 30s, 40s, and 50s, which tends to make their zany antics kinda sad. My guess is that the actual pirate broadcasters the movie is sorta paying tribute to were mostly in their 20s.

Also, a movie about rock'n'roll actually can have too many terrific rock'n'roll songs, especially when we only get to hear twenty seconds of most of them.

The Boat that Rocked was written and directed by the king of British feel-good movies, Richard Curtis (About Time, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Love Actually). Every moment is wacky and loud or fake sentimental, and it becomes exhausting.

It's a comedy with lots of laughs, so it gets a thumbs up from me, but I wanted a life preserver before it was over. 

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦  

The Cabin in the Woods (2011) 

A handful of college students are headed to a cabin in the woods, for a weekend of dope and horniness. If you've ever seen a horror movie, you know these kids — the tramp, the shy girl, the oh-so-cool guy, the stoner, and the token black guy who's always doomed.

So they think they're getting away to a cabin in the woods, but soon they're trying to get away from it.

The movie has all the screaming and bloody killings you'd expect, but it's from Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard, so there's an extra layer. Turns out that a couple of ordinary corporate suits — Richard Jenkins and Bradley Whitford — are remote-controlling events from their drab command center, and what that's all about is the actual horror here.

The story gets better as it goes along, and it would have to, because the first third, the standard horror stuff, is played so clichéd that it's a yawn. All the killing finally comes to life when we leave the cabin in the woods, and after that the movie plays for higher stakes.

Like almost any modern horror movie, there's far too much blood and gore, and none of the more subtle horrors that requires anything beyond your reptile mind. But the concept is clever, and there are some great moments and lines after the boring beginning.

It's good enough to earn a YES, but this could've been so much better if any of the five college kids had packed a personality for the trip.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Gremloids (1984)
a/k/a Hyperspace

This is a belated parody of Star Wars, but it's not set in outer space; that would be too expensive. It's set in suburban America, mostly, with some allegedly lovable hicks thrown in, and Lord Buckethead as Darth Vader.

I can forgive a lot in a movie, but if you're going to make a comedy, even a cheap comedy, something about it ought to be funny. There's one laugh in the entire film, and I'll admit it was a loud laugh lasting about fifteen seconds, but that's about it.

Writer-director Todd Durham later created the Hotel Transylvania cartoon franchise, which I've never seen a moment of. Is it as dumb and dull as this?

Paula Poundstone in a bikini stars, and Chris Elliott has a supporting role. The music by Don Davis is good enough to be in a much better movie.

Verdict: NO.

♦ ♦ ♦  

Harvey Middleman, Fireman (1965)

This is an odd movie with an independent vibe, but it's from Columbia Pictures, so I guess it's major league.

Harvey the fireman gets kissed by a woman he's rescued from a burning building, and fixates on her, pursues her, despite having a wife and kids at home.

Harvey comes home from work, finds his wife kissing another man, and she calls him Daddy. 

Harvey wants to be a mentor to a rookie firefighter (Charles Durning, in his first role) who wants to be a priest.

Harvey had a crush on the librarian when he was in school, he says, and maybe they kissed, or maybe that flashback is Harvey's imagination. 

Harvey wishes several times that his wife would make baby pork chops for dinner, so I Googled and couldn’t figure out what baby pork chops are, or once were. 

None of this is played realistically, but it's also not played comedically. Harvey is simply a simple man, mildly unhappy, mildly lightheaded, who talks to the camera as much as he talks to the other characters. Even in his therapy sessions, he never says anything revealing, or particularly interesting.

If this is a drama, it's lighter than cheese puffs. If it's a comedy, I smiled once. If it's a metaphor, I missed it. 

Verdict: NO.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

JoJo Rabbit (2019)

What if Anne Frank had been a few years older and a major babe, hiding in a house in the heart of Nazi Germany, down the hall from a preteen boy who's in the Nazi Youth?

Well, it would be pretty damn funny if written and directed by Taika Waititi, and then it would gradually get less funny and more moving and as tragic as the history demands. And then it would end optimistically, while still playing fair with what actually happened (not like Inglourious Basterds).

The boy is 10, and his imaginary friend is Adolf Hitler (Waititi again), but his best friend is the Jewish girl in the attic. 

Nazis have been movie bad guys for eighty years now, so saying "Nazis are bad" in a fresh way — and making me laugh so hard at Nazis — is a remarkable achievement.

Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final.

—Rainer Maria Milke

The film is very loosely adapted from a stark and serious novel, Caging Skies, by Christine Leunens, which tells a similar story but without Waititi's hilarious imaginary Hitler, and with several elements ignored or altered by the movie. I do wonder what Leunens thinks of the liberties taken with her book, but mostly I wonder at the marvelous movie that's been made of it.

"Dancing is for people who are free. It's an escape from all this."

Verdict: BIG YES.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Sorry We Missed You (2019)

Ricky takes a job as a delivery driver, but it's not really a job — he's not an employee, he's an independent contractor.

Still, he has to be on time, drive an assigned route, make deliveries within a one-hour time window, and follow every company rule and regulation, or he'll be fined. And there's no sick leave, and no time off for any reason unless he can arrange a replacement driver.

Welcome to the modern hell of gig work.

His wife Abby's job is almost as awful. She's a home care provider for the disabled, but she's not paid any additional wage if she has to stay longer for a particular client, and if she responds to an emergency call it's an entirely unpaid visit. 

Their son is a good kid, but he gets into trouble sometimes, and needs his parents to show up for parent-teacher meetings, which costs lost wages the family desperately needs.

This is a British movie, but it could've been filmed on location anywhere, with hardly a word of dialogue altered. It's relentlessly sad, and reminds me a bit of Upton Simclair's The Jungle, without the meat.

The movie can't offer a happy ending, of course. No solution exists, until there's a government willing to outlaw such inhuman working conditions. 

Directed by Ken Loach. It's a very good movie, but too painfully real for me. 

Verdict: YES.

— — — 

Coming attractions: 

The Abominable Snowman (1957)
The Gardener (1973)
The Green Slime (1968)
The Handmaid's Tale (1990)
Charley Varrick (1973)
One Way Pendulum (1965)
Tuff Turf (1985) 

11/30/2022   

There are so many good movies out there — old movies, odd or artsy, foreign or forgotten movies, or do-it-yourself movies made just for the joy of making them — that if you only watch whatever's on Netflix or playing at the twentyplex, you're missing out.

— — —

Find a movie
DVDpublic librarystreaming

If you can't find a movie I've reviewed,
or if you have any recommendations,
please drop me a note
 
— — —
 
Top illustration by Jeff Meyer. No talking once the lights dim. Real butter, not that fake crap, on the popcorn. I try to make these reviews spoiler-free, but sometimes screw up, sorry. Piracy is not a victimless crime. Click any image to enlarge. Comments & conversations invited.   

 

Diane & Jeffrey

Another
"White Boy" zine

I check the maildrop only once weekly, on Mondays when I'm in the city. That makes Tuesdays my usual day for taking care of the mail, and here we go…

Paul Weinman is a poet, and I don't know if he's any good — I suppose, if I read his poems aloud and seriously, there might be something there, but he sends his "White Boy" mini-micro-chapbooks everywhere — to every address listed in Factsheet Five, I suspect — and they're re-circulated ceaselessly, and I am so tired of his "White Boy" poetry. Every week, there's more "White Boy" stuff in my mailbag.

This week sets a new record — three people enclosed Weinman's "White Boy" zines in their correspondence, plus here's a "special issue" of Taggerzine devoted entirely to Weinman, and here's a one-shot poetry zine by Daily Cow's David Wyder and 'Paula Weinman', so I guess he's a white girl now. I can't find a large enough container to hold my lack of excitement.

Also in the mail came a bit of unsolicited porn, but I'd never complain about that. But I'm about to. Hey, if you want to send naked snapshots of your penis, your snatch, whatever you've got, send it. Two of my readers routinely wrap their three dollars in homemade porn, and those are always among the first envelopes I open.

The glossy porn received today, though, is not for me. It's The Mammoth Mammories Catalog, page after page of naked women with breasts so large I kinda feel sorry for them (the ladies, not the breasts). These are skinny women with boobies three times the size of their heads, and I don't mean both boobies, I mean each booby.

Whether nature's to blame or a surgeon, it's almost a disability, I think. The back pain must be endless. It's too much tits to be titillating, so please, send no more of this. Send it to Paul Weinman.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Also received: $3 for the next issue of Pathetic Life, from Diane & Jeffrey. I'll leave out their last name.

Every month they send three bucks for the next issue, and even though their address is only a mile and a half from mine, they haven't even hinted at inviting me to dinner or anything. Thank you, Diane & Jeffrey.

With big exceptions, I have generally enjoyed meeting the readers who've wanted to meet me, but it's always an obligation, and I dread it at least until the handshake hello, and sometimes after.

It makes no sense that anyone would read these rantings from a guy who's obviously an introvert and a misanthrope, and then invite me to a movie or a cup of coffee. Like you're the human I'll be glad to have met?

Of course, that is how I met Jay, who I work for. And Judith, who I live with. And Sarah-Katherine, who might be moving to New York with me. As a rule, though, this hermit likes being a hermit, so thank you again, Diane & Jeffrey, for respecting that. Let's not get together some time!

♦ ♦ ♦

Yowza! Guess who called my I'll do anything voice mail? Andrea, a woman I sorta know and have a crush on. Her regular babysitter is out of town, and she needs someone to tend her brat next Monday night, so I called her back and said sure, for five bucks an hour I'll do anything.

She had only one question: "I'm sorry to be blunt here, but I don't know you very well. Are you a pervert?"

It's an obvious question, if you're hiring a 37-year-old fat bearded bachelor to be a babysitter. Hearing the question point blank, though, I was taken aback.

I thought about answering with the complicated truth, that of course I'm a pervert — most people probably are, and I've done things with sauerkraut you'd never imagine. But a philosophical discussion of kinks isn't what Andrea wanted, and it wouldn't have landed me the gig, so instead I gave a simple, honest answer: "Little kids don't turn me on, Andrea."

Then it was her turn to be silent for a moment, and I think she thought she'd offended me, so I added, "I am, however, attracted to your daughter's mother."

She relaxed and laughed, and next Monday night I'll be impersonating a responsible adult, looking after a little kid.

— — —

Addendum, 2022:  Google tells me that the poetry of "White Boy" Paul Weinman ended in 2015.

The obituary in his local paper is worth clicking and reading. He seems to have been a man I might've liked, but as usual for me, I never made the effort.

Maybe it was a mistake to give up, after reading two or three of the (seriously) hundreds of his mini-micro-chapbooks that landed in my mailbox. It really was a blizzard of "White Boy" poems back then, and always I wondered why he mailed them over and over to people who'd never asked for them.

Probably it was for the same reason I write this blog for a tiny audience — hoping for a connection.

From Pathetic Life #18
Tuesday, Nov. 28, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Not much of a story

Here's a moment from the bus, and something I've never seen or wondered about before. 

CRANKY
OLD FART

#240

leftovers
& links

 
Wednesday,
Nov. 30, 2022

Most buses have external bike racks, in front of the driver and windshield, where up to two passengers can stow their bikes before they get on. When they get off, they holler to the driver, "I'm getting my bike," so the driver waits while the biker goes in front of the bus to get his/her bike and pedal away.

It's routine, but today a guy wearing a bike helmet rang the bell, and shouted to the driver, "Let me get my bike," and the driver pointed out, correctly, that the bike rack was empty.

This caused some extended wailing, because helmet guy said he'd put his bike in the rack when he got on. The driver said he remembered it, too, but someone had gotten off a mile ago, and taken the bike.

Guy in a helmet was seriously Pissed Off and he'll probably never see his bike again. And all this mere days after I watched Pee-wee Herman get his bike stolen. It's like a crime wave.

If you want to steal a bike, I guess this would be an easy way to do it. The driver is steering through traffic with handlebars in his eyes all day; he can't reasonably be expected to know whose bike is whose. Ring the bell, get off the bus and take a bike. Unless the bike's owner is watching, you'll get away with it.

The toilet seat was loose, always slipping to the left, and after letting it annoy me for months I finally snatched a table-knife from the kitchen and used it as a screwdriver, to tighter the big plastic screw that attaches the seat to the porcelain. It took a minute or so, and I forgot to wipe off the knife before putting it back in the drawer. Now I can sit and poop without worrying that the seat will suddenly slide off and bloody my testicles.

That's not much of a story, but not much is going on in my life. I sit in the recliner and watch movies. A few times a week I take a bus ride to go do something, usually to eat at the diner. That's life, and it's wonderful, but tragically in another tab on this very computer I'm midway through filling out an application to work at the post office.

Here's the news you need,
whether you know it or not

• Congress prepares to take up bill preventing rail strike 

A rail strike could cripple the economy, and also, so fuckin' what? Is America the economy, or the people? I think it's the people, and people have a right to strike, and what they want — sick leave — is entirely reasonable.

New York City to involuntarily remove mentally ill people from streets 

Re-building all the mental hospitals shuttered by the Reagan administration — a primary reason we have so many nutzoids on the street — would be a good idea, but this ain't that.

This is just telling the cops to make snap decisions on who gets taking for forced 'evaluations at a hospital, where they'll then be let go, because nobody's paying for the help these people need.

And asking cops to do this is just about the dumbest and most dangerous thing any city could do.

Republican leaders denounce Trump's dinner with white nationalist Nick Fuentes 

Check your calendar. It took seven days after the dinner was reported, before any Republicans other than Liz Cheney spoke out.

Puerto Rican towns sue Big Oil under RICO alleging collusion on climate denial 

US cable TV companies quietly bled another 785,000 paying customers last quarter 

I haven't had cable for years, but the memory burns strong, of an impossibly awful monopoly with never a thought about customer service. The more customers they lose, the bigger my smile.

Left-wing voices are silenced on Twitter as far-right trolls advise Elon Musk 

Tampa International Airport wants you to name the big flamingo 

Global floods and droughts will intensify sooner than expected, studies show 

And it never stops, never stops, because climate change isn't 'coming', it's underway. It'll kill billions, and we're not doing squat about it.

5 Connecticut police officers charged after Black man left paralyzed following ride in police van

And it never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, because all cops are bastards, or they know who the bastard cops are and do nothing about it, which is the same thing.

•  McCarthy warns Hannity that Republicans might not waste a shit ton of time "investigating" Hunter Biden if he isn't elected Speaker 

And it never stops, never stops, never stops, never stops, because Republicans are the enemy of common sense, common decency, simple truth, and democracy.


Links I liked

I've managed a remote team for 10+ years. Here's why we don't use productivity monitoring software. 

Lithofayne Pridgon: Jimi Hendrix's original "Foxy Lady" 

How to stay counter-culture after culture has collapsed 

Worm charming 

Mystery links
Like life itself, there's no
knowing where you're going

click 

click 

click 

♫♬  Mix tape of my mind  ♫

• "DaVinci's Inquest" — Tim McCauley

• "Good Morning, Starshine" — Hair 

• "Macarena" — Los del Río

• "Ride Captain Ride" — Blues Image

• "The Voice" — The Moody Blues

The End

Wilko Johnson 

Ronald D Kern

11/30/2022  
 
Cranky Old Fart is annoyed and complains and very occasionally offers a kindness, along with anything off the internet that's made me smile or snarl. All opinions fresh from my ass. Top illustration by Jeff Meyer. Click any image to enlarge. Comments & conversations invited.
 
Tip 'o the hat to Linden Arden, ye olde AVA, BoingBoing, Breakfast at Ralf's, Captain Hampockets, CaptCreate's Log, John the Basket, LiarTownUSA, Meme City, National Zero, Ran Prieur, Voenix Rising, and anyone else whose work I've stolen without saying thanks.
 
Extra special thanks to Becky Jo, Name Withheld, Dave S, Wynn Bruce, and always Stephanie...