CRANKY OLD FART
#187
Friday,
Sept. 9, 2022
Much of my writing in progress has evaporated. Word-stumps that might’ve become paragraphs or pages, and at least a dozen partially-written movie reviews — all gone.
It is completely illogical how much this sunk my mood for a few hours. Feels like weeks of wasted writing, and damn, that hurts.
What had I written for today and tomorrow? Ha! I have barely the brain power to remember my name. Sure as hell don’t remember what I wrote yesterday or a week ago. The point of writing it is to get it out of my head. Once it’s written, do I remember it? I do not.
A long sigh. In the words of Exxon Valdez Captain Joseph Hazelwood: “Oh, well.”
I love writing, but nothing here is Hemingway or Thoreau. I’ ain’t’ve never been nominated for any major or minor awards. Nobody’s gonna miss what’s lost, except me.
How it happened I do not understand. Just a glitch. An electronic hiccup. Sure wish there was someone else to blame, but there’s only me. Do daily backups, ya dipshit, and this won’t happen again.
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Today I ran an errand toward downtown, riding the bus, of course. Never gave it much thought before, but now I know how many schools are on the #60 bus route, because coming and going the bus drivers honk-honk-honked as we passed the picketers.
Seattle Public Schools are closed. The teachers are on strike. I have absolutely not studied the issues in depth, yet I know that the teachers are right, 100%.
Perhaps there’s a strike in your vicinity, so I’ll share these rules of strike etiquette:
• If you’re driving past picketers, show your support by honking.
• If you’re walking past picketers, show your support by smiling, high-fiving, hollering, and/or tap-dancing.
• If you’re busing past picketers, show your support by opening the windows and hollering, or by reminding the driver to honk.
Hopped off the bus to shop in an open-air bodega, and learned that there’s a school across the street, because I heard all the honking. My favorite was the double-dump truck that rolled down Columbian Way simply wailing on the horn, short blasts, long blasts, never letting up until he’d rounded the corner.
There’s the etiquette I promised, people. Study the issues same as I haven’t, realize that the strikers are right, and show your support. Honk! Honk!
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Back in my own neighborhood, I rang the bell and stepped off the bus. There’s a drug store across the street, and that’s where I catch my next bus.
In front of the drug store, the sidewalk has been ripped up for months. There’s only dirt and rubble and safety cones. What hacks me off is, nobody’s been working on it. The sidewalk was dug up before I moved into the neighborhood in April, and it’s been dirt ever since.
Signs say “sidewalk closed,” and there’s a black burlap bag over the walk/don’t walk sign. For at least six months, that’s a big “Screw you” to the disabled, to anyone walking to the drug store, to anyone walking to the bus stop.
Today five men in safety vests were working in the dirt. First time that’s happened. I was amazed and pleased, sure, but I still need to get where I’m going, so I still crossed where I wasn’t supposed to, and then walked where I wasn’t supposed to. This has become my habit, a protest against having no sidewalk to walk on. It’s my habit to cross under the burlapped sign, and then walk in the street for half a block to get to my bus stop.
One of the hardhats yelled at me. “Hey, asshole — the sign says Sidewalk closed!”
“Yeah,” I yelled back, walking in traffic, “but I’m walking here.” Never miss a chance to use a movie quote. That one’s from Midnight Cowboy.
He yelled something else at me, but I wasn’t listening. It’s a very nice orange vest you’re wearing, but I live here, man. These are my streets, and my sidewalks too. Hurry up and fix the sidewalk, and after that I’ll get out of the street.
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And now, the news you need, whether you know it or not…
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Judge strikes down 1931 Michigan law criminalizing abortion
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What corporate media executives mean when they talk about “objectivity”
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Memo to Trump: Democracies often prosecute former heads of state
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Without a queen to lay eggs, how will more British people be born?
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The TSA is hot garbage, and we will never be rid of it.
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Pregnant women were jailed to protect fetuses, an Alabama county says
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New malaria vaccine is world-changing, say scientists
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BART has been rolling for 50 years.
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Backup generators failed at San Jose hospital during blackouts
On one of the hottest days in the city’s recorded history and with energy officials anticipating possible blackouts, backup generators failed at a major Santa Clara County hospital in San Jose on Tuesday night, leaving parts of the facility entirely without power for around four hours.
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New Jersey prison cells reached up to 94 degrees this summer, watchdog says
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Nigeria seizes donkey penises to be smuggled to Hong Kong
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Is there something genuinely wrong with being politically correct?
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Tonight, a very special episode
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One-word newscast, because it’s the same news every time…
• climate • climate • climate • climate • climate
• cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops
• Republicans • Republicans • Republicans • Republicans • Republicans • Republicans • Republicans • Republicans
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The End
• Carl Croneberg
• Ruby C Williams
9/9/2022
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…
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