Prepping For In-between Years And New Remotes That Leave Us On Couch

Screen-Shot-2018-12-29-at-16.14.53.png
3 hrs, 48 minutes and 42 seconds of tunes, baby. Enough wine, too?

Tonights playlist with first glass of wine after day full of basement cleaning… Hold a sec. That’s right. That’s how I roll between Xhrist’s birth-death-day and the beginning of yet another worst-year: I clean, at the behest of my better-half, HER friggin’ basement. And not just clean, don’t you know. Indeed. Two car loads of what-not being thrown away, stuff taken to the-needy-store, and I even returned crutches and a knee-brace to a local hospital (telling them to give it to someone without charging for it). Dust, cobwebs and other grime have almost totally been removed. Now for the chore of selling all the consume-to-survive krapp that has been relegated to consume-to-throw-away but maybe still worth a buck or three. You have no idear how much I hate selling shit and interacting with other consume-to-survivors on krapp like ebay-$hit. And on top of all that, in order to enjoy the evening’s first glass of wine, don’t you know, dear worst-reader, I had to order a new remote for my TEAC A-H01 amp on account the cheap $hit they sent me was, well, cheap $hit–and it arrived today in packaging that was ten-times its size. Which means I have more krapp to throw away. Now I have a  fully functioning remote. It’s like a new world has opened up. And you know what? It f’n works. I’m so tickled to go down that road of lazy on account I don’t have to get up any more to change…

  1. Volume
  2. Inputs between USB, Optical (ATV3), Line-In 1 (HifiBerry Dac+Pro).
IMG_5677.JPG
Still my fav amp ever! And the remote finally works.

Yeah, baby.

Rant on.

-T

Birthday In Pics

An almost moonlight river cruise… cruising by as I walk Beckett the killer pug. A few hours earlier, walking the same damn useless mut, I was wondering if a river port/harbour lost a buoy. Losing a buoy might not be such an oddity as the river’s been rising like a monster in the last few days. The monster might as well steal a buoy or two–or? Wait. Did I mention this is the second buoy I’ve seen recently? And remember: these rivers flow only in one direction, which means the one I saw previosuy might have been the first of many…? Nomatter. I eventually got back to my worst-kitchen-chores to get on with the evening cookin’ preps. Oh. Before I 4-get. That cake is a blackforest cherry cake from this morning and it’s pretty damn awesome and my better half made it even though she complained that I failed to get the right amount of cream when she sent me shopping the other day. I told her liked it better with less cream. She’s not amused. Shame I’m on such a lingering, challenging diet.

Rant on.

-T

Ah, The Days Of Padding…

Yeah, I padded a resume once (or thrice). Who didn’t back in the day when the West was still ramping up its globalisation guns and aiming them at the working-stiffs still sucker enough to think the 1990s DotCom boom was gonna bring anything more than a cocktail as departure from (life and) work(force). Hence I’ve been in early, forced retirement since my mid-40s–mostly on account I couldn’t deal with the bull$hit of padders galore. But enough about worst-moi. And get this: The first time I padded a resume it was at the behest of a manger (or vice president-type) I was working for. Go figure.

“Just butter it up,” she said.

So I did. I think I padded something in my academic history about having almost gotten a PHD. No. Wait. It was my work history where I admitted to failing (but learning) about how to serve Kings & Queens as long as they don’t ask me to kneel. Or maybe not. Yeah. I knelt a bit too much back in the day. Glad that’s all behind worst-moi, eh.

Padding, lying and jimmying is not just an #Americant #Trump phenomenon, dear worst-reader. No. #Eurowastelanders are great at it, too. And so. It’s so fitting that yet another useless-eating college grad wannabe incapable of original thought or gesture, must go the way of the norm.

Btw, at least I learned from my padding history that there is a time when the lying just doesn’t cut it anymore. And now that people like the one mentioned in the linked article (below) are showing their true, useless face(s), I’m sitting here on my a$$ in early and über-comfortable retirement… laughing all the way to the couch-bank.

Rant on.

-T

This comment motivated by/via Shocker: Acting AG Whitaker Seems To Have Padded His Resumé | Crooks and Liars

Getting Rid Of The Stupid, The (Internal) Ugly, The Disgusting…

Maybe I’m a little confused with all the left-wing information I consume-to-survive. I mean, seriously. It’s so hard for even a rational worst-mind to follow minuscule amounts of right-wing stuff. Especially when that stuff is supposed to be left but in fact is just part of the/a right-wing bubble. So why bother? On the other hand, a recent interview with an #Americant Democratic Senator that got her butt whipped in last Novembers mid-terms by a republican ($hitbag), leaves me perturbed to the point of…

Ok. I’m back. Let me just finish wiping the flambé of puke-rest from my cheeks and ear lobes.

McCaskill’s response to her loss is truly shocking. As if the world of left-wing rationals needed more proof of how dysfunctional the status quo of the Democratic party is. Or have you forgotten the brilliant DNC leaks from 2016 via Wikileaks and the master of truth telling: Julian Assange? Still. With that in mind. McCaskill’s obvious racist retort to her loss is beyond flabbergasting. Which means this also goes beyond PARTY affiliation–which is probably the reason such a person can be elected, utilising Democrat credentials, albeit in a state like $hitkicking MO. Oh how deep the bitterness must go to be relegated by politics to nothing more than a fly-over state of right-wing $hitkickers. But before I get too off subject…

And so.

As a half-white male that turns fifty-five today, I couldn’t be more proud of the like of MOC. I’m also a bit tickled that so many (or the few) I’m still in contact with don’t like MOC. This one little speck of wisdom is proof that worst-writer is more than right most of the time about how my beloved & missed #Americant simply has to move ALL politics to the left for the next Dozen or so presidential and mid-term elections. The left (progressive or not) is the only way to bring #Americant back to the future. Indeed. Move things left. And I say that even though it’s too late for me (and those older than me) but there’s still a chance for MOC’s generation.

Good luck and get rid of all stupid, ugly, disgusting white people on the right and left.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

PS The reason for providing youtube video titles instead of links is because I don’t always want videos embedded in my posts. Maybe I have to talk to WordPress about how they codify such links.

When Worst Comes To Shove, Worst Always Wins?

Screen Shot 2018-12-26 at 11.53.51
Is there a better visage that represents the current state of the #Americant persona?

Can’t remember exactly when it was. Definitely a few years back. I was shopping around, you know, consuming-to-survive, and there was this DVD set priced real cheap of House of Cards. The original, btw, not the #Americant rip-off. I bought it and ripped it to my home server and never watched one show. A few days later, also while consuming-to-survive, I happened across another DVD set but this time, kinda throwing me for a loop, it was of the #Americant version of House of Cards. What the heck, I thought. Like the original British version, the #Americant version was cheap and I had plenty of space on my server for more ripped nonsense and, of course, plenty of spendable income. So I consumed it and the cashier smiled at me and I swear the old bat tried to flash me cleavage as I finished my electronic payment and she obviously admired my finger tips pressing those little keys on the the POS card reading device. Nomatter.

Of the two season of the #Americant version of House of Cards, I binge-watched the first season, albeit reluctantly. But get this: after S01E01 and the first time Frank Underwood, aka Kevin Spacey, broke the fourth wall, I was turned off. I only continued to watch the show because of all the support characters that seemed so much cooler/better but also unsupported–probably because of Spacey. And that’s what worst-writing is all about, right? The underdog? The less talented? Being an underling? But that’s neither here nor there.

Spacey not only broke the fourth wall but also, IMHO, broke the role. Or are you impressed with a regurgitated and unoriginal Southern version of Richard “Dick” Nixon? But don’t worry–if you’re a Spacey fan that probably means nothing to you. Kevin Spacey is but one of many hollywood-ers that bears the mantle of ACTOR–but in reality is nothing more than a character stereo-type of his/her self. That is, he’s the kind of actor who doesn’t actually act but instead turns his deepest, most inner persona into whom it is he portrays. (Is that the proper use of “whom”?) This type of acting doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, though. Al Pacino does it. Heck, Robert Dinero does it, too. Who doesn’t do it? Even though he didn’t change his physical appearance in anyway for the roles, Robert Downey Jr. doesn’t stereo-type his person even while playing totally unchallenging roles in the form of Iron Man and Sherlock Holmes. Or am I wrong there? Of course, I need not mention the likes of Brando or Daniel Day Lewis. You know, real actors. Actors that hone a craft as though the sharpness of a blade ain’t enough to cut through the filth of humanity or the like. Or. But. As usual. I’m gettin’ off subject.

Even though I knew that this new-fangled way of producing TV (netflix) wasn’t about remaking a grand British version of the show but instead doing what all non-doers do: it was/is but another way for compulsive behaviourists to find a way to rule the day. In other worst-words, it is the way otherwise ambitious peoples, who have no other means to make a living, simply fill a void and thereby label it work. That is, compulsive behaviourism is the new sickness of getting by without taking a moment to reflect on why/how you and your life is/has become so worthless. Spacey, a two-bit actor at best, obviously did a grand job at bringing the dumb-downed #Americant audience closer to British cynicism, i.e. the British way of dealing with the ugly-truth/fact that they still have a fcuking queen running their $hitshow. But on that I should die-gress because it too will lead me waaaaaay off subject.

My worst-point with this confused worst-post is this: Kevin Spacey sucks not only as a person but as an actor. Yet, not unlike Harvey Weinstein, Spacey probably won’t be paying a high price for his heinous behaviour. For don’t you know, dear worst-reader, when worst comes to shove, worst always wins–that’s what compulsive behaviourism is all about. Now get back on your couch and let those with spendable income and useless-eating hunger consume it all to survive.

Or maybe not.

Rant on.

-T

Link that motivated this post:

There Is Nothing Above Or Below, There Is Only Left Or Right

Screen Shot 2018-12-26 at 08.49.24.png
Screenshot from link below.

Don’t you love it, dear worst-reader? Don’t you love it when those who think they know try to convince you of their all-knowing with fancy charts and other thingies? Good thing worst-writer is here, eh? I mean, when I try to counter the all-knowing of know-it-alls the only thing you can expect is all-things-worst. But I die-gress. Take for example the article (linked below) from a website I frequent. Someone writing for the Daily Kos likes to convolute the issue of right and left by adding a second dimension to it–or as they like to put it, helping one sort through labels. But get this. Is adding UP and DOWN to RIGHT and LEFT the same as adding a second dimension? Nomatter. Worst-writer concluded years ago that the political left and right ain’t all that difficult to comprehend so there is no need to complicate it–unless, of course, you’re one of them over-edumacated college grads with nothing better to do. Also, there’s no need to add extra complication to anything regarding politics RIGHT or LEFT, especially if you don’t understand it in the first place and thereby require labels. I learned this, by-the-buy, from reading Rush Limbaugh’s first book–many, many years ago. Right after reading that I read Howard Stern’s first book. But, again, nomatter. As you can see in the screenshot of the chart above, someone thinks that you can actually put Stalin to the left of centre as long as he’s also labelled authoritarian. What a crock-of-$hit! But here’s the real worst-thing to help worst-readers less convolute the issue. From the chart above all you have to do is move all names from above the line to the RIGHT and then do the same for the names below the line but move them to the LEFT. Also, LIBERTARIAN is not the opposite of AUTHORITARIAN–so the maker of the graph go that waaaay wrong. The  thing is, dear worst-reader, the RIGHT is authoritarian and the LEFT is hippy. Why the extra labels? Ain’t that clear enough? Then again, there are lot of over-edumacated college grads with not enough to do. But that’s the not the kicker for this worst-post. The kicker is this: there are people out-and-about who think labelling is the answer. Well, didn’t worst-writer just prove that wrong? If not, am I wrong because I’m trying to get my fancy on and hang-out with the over-edumacated? Indeed. Labels suck. But more important, heed this: the RIGHT is authoritarian and libertarian. The Left, that’s right, is just HIPPY.

Rant on.

-T

Link that motivated this post:

That Last Bottle Of Wine Full Of Memories

Xmas Eve dinners are a big deal in worst-writer’s house. A few people are invited and some of them actually come. Since the kids are all growed-up this is mostly an adult evening. Either that or the kids are with divorcee parents. Nomatter. To begin the occasion, a bottle of champagne is opened and most drink from it. A few snacks are made available along with conversation about a year ending and perhaps, dear worst-reader, you can imagine how things go from there. Then the cooking begins. In a five-course meal, worst-moi is responsible for the first two. The starter was a worst-writer (aka Tom) carpaccio with baked and shaved gold beets, shaved parmesan, a dressing made of sour cream, vinegar and horseradish and all topped with watercress leaves and fresh broken black pepper. Of course, just before Guten Apetit is wished upon all, über olive oil from our Croatia trip this year was dabbled atop. Even though this meal has been prepared for everyone before, as it is our guests most requested worst-writer dish, this time it was a bit different. We actually opened our last bottle of what worst-writer considers to be  one of the finest Chianti he’s ever consumed. It is a 2004 Selvapiana Chianti. Not a very expensive wine, it is special because it is also the last of about three cases–among thirty or so cases–that we brought back with us after a week of wine tasting in Tuscany in 2007. Nervous if the wine had aged well–on account we lost probably two bottles to “cork”–the first whiff following cork removal proved all was well. In fact, the scent that immediately emerged from the cork and the bottle did more than jostle the memory of that 2007 trip. It was indeed a grand piece of travel, not to mention it being one of the last where I was able to make love to my wife multiple times a day–every glorious day. Yeah, something about Tuscany, the air, the wine… and not being over fifty yet. A little more than a decade later, and many wine-o days behind me–not to mention the waning physical love drive–which is in-and-of-itself a relief–I thoroughly enjoyed it. I think my wife was especially tickled, too, as I didn’t need to remind her of its meaning.

“Shall we return to Tuscany in 2019 to get more,” I asked her while wishing her a merry Xmas.

“As you like, my love,” she said as we savoured wine wet lips.

Rant on.

-T

PS The beef for the carpaccio is prepared thus: at about 2pm while first guests arrive and first bottle of Champagne is served, for show effect, the filet mignon is slightly salted (with flaky, pink, Himalayan salt), peppered and then seared all around in a glowing hot pan on the secondary burner of my Weber über-grill. The idear is to caramelise the outside of the meat without cooking any of the inside. After that rest it for about an hour in the winter climate. Then put the meat in a freezer bag and in the freezer. At about 6pm, after prepping all the other parts, the meat is removed and sliced as thin as possible. The freezing of the meat helps to slice thinly where it then thaws on the plate just prior to serving and if cut properly is almost translucent.

PSS The second course worst-writer prepared was homemade noodles with a butter-wine sauce, melted parmesan, and then topped with black truffle shavings–that we also got on our last Croatia trip. Croatian wine tasting combined with truffles almost competes with Tuscany. Anywho. It was served with a French Cabernet that was pretty decent and more expensive than the Chianti, but couldn’t hold up to the memory.

Cruelty To The Awful More More

One of the best opinion pieces I’ve read in a while (see link below). Its only problem? It’s still too nice. The Awful that makes up my beloved & missed #Americant, that has given rise to not just $hitbag #Trump but the rise goes back to the election of a friggin two-bit actor who was already senile when he took office in 1982–he just had better hair. The path of hate, greed and ignorance chosen has been fought for and its fruit is almost ready for the pickin’. But till that happens and considering the time of year of this worst-post, the cruelty that the Awful deserve should fall upon them two-fold.

-Rant on.

-T

Link that motivated this post:

How Much You Don’t Know Can Hurt You (Deep Inside) Forever

Screen Shot 2018-12-23 at 13.51.47.png
This is a screenshot of worst-writer’s fav film poster for the movie.

Disclaimer: This is not a pseudo-review of the movie The Butler and there is only one slight spoiler.

My son asked me the other week if I had seen the movie The Butler. I told him I had not. When I asked if he’d seen it, to my surprise he said he had and then proceeded to tell me that maybe I should see it. The reason I was surprised was because he’s been on a comic and action movie kick for a while now. I then recalled when it was released and how it made my list of… movies I probably won’t see. Reason? That same year 12 Years A Slave was also released. These two movies, although significant in their productions, just didn’t interest me. As a half-white, born & raised in suburban HELL #Americant who managed to jump ship in the nick-of-time, I’ve been worried ever since the election of Barry-O, how the greed $hitshow is gonna deal with the next historical wave of racism run amok that built the greatest land of free to be stupid the universe has ever seen. Wait. Maybe that’s too harsh. Let me try again.

My biggest concern after Barry-O won the Democratic primary, edging out Hillary in 2008, was that my beloved & missed #Americant wasn’t ready for this. Oh how right I was! In fact, it still isn’t ready for Barry-O. Or have you missed what he left behind? And although I love the guy, he has been a huuuuuuge disappointment when it comes to tackling the single issue that determines all the hate that is #Americant: the greed $hitshow. I mean, let’s face it. The reason for slavery, racism and all-things-greedy–and of course the advent of #Trump–ain’t just animosity and skin colour and $hitty piss-hair. I mean, come on. How much have things really changed since #Americant must, for every single step forward, take five or so steps backward? With that in worst-mind, movies dealing with race and slavery and and and and… don’t interest me if they don’t also deal with the greed $hitshow.

Am I glad I finally got around to watching The Butler? Sure, why not. Great acting mixed with mediocre directing and loose-with-truth writing can be fun (see link below for more about the fiction of this movie). I have to admit though that from the beginning to the end the film shocked me and I had to stand up to watch most of it with both hands either covering my shameful face or holding my jaw shut. But the scene that really got me was the one where Cecil Gains is confronting Nixon for the first time and Nixon uses the word entrepreneur in the context of what he should do (politically) about the black problem. Whaaaaaa?

Entrepreneur is one of those pop-words that I associate with having been stolen from original pseudo-French so that #Americants in the 1990s can find consolation with their compulsive behaviourism, i.e. nobody works anymore they only behave. So it was kind of a shock that writers of The Butler thought they could link a cultural byproduct of the fail-upward 1990s with Nixon’s $hitbag 1960s. But that’s all neither here nor there–as I still and will forever hate the word Entrepreneur.

Oh well. Here’s to pop culture continuing the ruin of everything so that nothing need be faced. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Inverted Wag The Dog Vs. Inverted-Inverted Illiberalism

Screen Shot 2018-12-21 at 13.00.00.png
Screenshot of a word that applies to President Stupid’s antics?

One of the worst things about trying to follow politics, especially follow the joke that is politics in my beloved & missed #Americant, is how so many otherwise rational thinking people lose their $hit when they think there is a light at the end of a tunnel (for their politics) but instead what they are really seeing is just another banner-ad stuck in a pixel of whatever mind-monitor they’re glued to that tells them what they think they want to hear (or see). Take for example the likes of Jimmy Dore. Talk about an anti-Limbaugh wannabe run-amok! That is, I always wanted there to be a anti-Limbaugh voice and to this day there isn’t one. But nice try Jimmy Dore. Congrats-fcuk-u-lations for almost getting there.

Jimmy Dore is a pretty funny albeit new-form political comedian slash commentarian–who wouldn’t be where he is today–NOT as a comedian but instead as a talking-head–thanks to that whole Jon Stewart slash TV political satire krapp that I’ve completely missed as I jumped shipped back in the  late 80s. But I’ll give credit where it’s due: Dore is a whipper-snapper whiz-dude doing a heck of a job with the Interwebnets, online channels, digital appearances, talking-head-ness, etc. I came across Dore through a liberal online news network called TYT. They all help me keep tabs across the Atlantic. With that in mind, I’m not one to totally reject all of mainstream media, including Rachel Maddow and sometimes a bit of CNN–which the likes of Dore is always getting-on about–which also brings me back to smart-asses who think they have (all) the answer(s).

The problem is, as I listen to US liberalism through the interwebnets I eventually realize that I can only listen to them for a limited time. Unlike Limbaugh & Co, i.e. conservatives, where there is clarity in my contempt for them, I can actually listen to liberals (and sometimes Independent-types) a bit longer before they obviously lose their $hit. And trust worst-moi, they all lose their $hit eventually. But there’s also the problem of being a pseudo-edumacated smart-ass that eventually really, really turns my stomach. Make a few observations, draw an opinion, try to be rational (liberal), but don’t go overboard–like the right has gone overboard. For example. It’s very easy–even for rational thinking people like Dore–to get lost in the ether of his politics. I think this is often referred to as a bubble. You know, love it or hate it–which translates to stupid or smart–politics is where it is because, well, the smart-asses are the ones that enable it. Wait. Let me try to put that another way.

As I’ve worst-said in this worst-blog, I’m a #Trump and republican despiser. In fact, I’m thoroughly disgusted with the idear that such a privileged, under-achieving piece of man-child $hit could become president of the/my united mistakes of #Americant. But then again, I thought the same of Ronald Reagan, George HW Bush and George W Bush.  Notice what/who is missing in that list of Presidents? But don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’m in a love-orgy for Bill Clinton or Barry-O or Hillary. With that in mind, I have been a “liberal” all my adult life. But my liberalism is not about any individual or group. Liberal, as opposed to conservative, is a way of thinking/mindset that need not be broken up into confusing parts as conservatives have done with Libertarians, Independents, tea-partiers or those in anyway sympathetic to the repugnance of #Trump and his antics. And so…

It’s time to stop listening to Jimmy Dore for this simple reason–he’s become an enabler. In the video (linked below), Dore goes out of his way to NOT criticise President Stupid for being… you guessed it….

That is, Jimmy Dore actually thinks–because his personal bubble tells him so–that President Stupid is doing something good with his recent Syria troop withdrawal. In fact, Dore even praises the rich-shit-jerk-wadd as only a illiberal can. And that’s the ticket, ain’t it, dear worst-reader? That such praise has anything to do with the economically-conscripted troop deployments is, at best, a totally mute issue. Or do some actually think that such a move will in anyway impact the social and political devastation that is the past seventeen-plus years of Orwellian perpetual war? Indeed. Not unlike Chris Hedges use of the term Inverted Totalitarianism, Dore is doing the same by inverting the wag-to-dog scenario. In other-other words, the only reason President Stupid is doing such a thing is so that he can control the narrative. Pulling economically-conscripted troops out of one war-theatre won’t do a thing to end the whole $hit-show that is 21st century #Americant–that still lives off of 18th and 19th century ills.

Jimmy Dore only proves that narrative is everything.

What Dore needs to focus on with his mix of pseudo-humour and political commentary is #Americant. That’s where the real fight is. He needs to focus on the 30-50 (give or take 10 or 20) million people–THE BASE–that are the bubble-ized, brain-dead, greed-mongers who benefit from a system run amok. Start making fun of the trailer trashers and those on there verge of getting their new trailer. They’re the problem. Run through your trailer park waving a hundred dollar bill while you’re at it. Forget party this or party that. You’ve wasted enough breath on Hillary already. Figuring out what’s wrong and who broke it is not rocket science. Indeed. There’s a whole world of Oprah-stupid, Ellen-stupid, reality-TV-stupid, WWE, and all those Americans in airports and parking lots and malls online or not, etc. By allowing #Trump to control the (his) narrative, Dore has lost the fight. Although, to be honest, Dore’s efforts at demonising the Democratic party–as bad and corrupt as it is–kinda lost me a while back anyway.

Perhaps there is something to the idiom: pick your battles. Anywho.

My only hope is that more and more Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s will trickle up through the cracks–even though Dore has also criticised her since her election–and she hasn’t even taken office yet. Wow. And so it goes in…

THE LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID.

Rant on.

-T

Learning How Good The Crunge Really Is And Other Songs

Screen Shot 2018-12-19 at 16.00.48.png
TEAC no longer in business? Bought by Panasonic? Glad I got one when I did.

Potential sub- or alternative title: Oh how pleased I am with current status of (my) audio consumption and still being able to get it on at my age.

Yesterday’s evening conduit? It began with a glass of Weißburgunder and a few tunes from greatest-band-ever randomly discharged from my home network wifi to my  2015 MacBook Air that is connected with a five-metre, gold-plated USB cable to a TEAC A-H01 that is behind my work-desk powering Pioneer SP-BS22L speakers and… and it’s fcukin magic, baby. The direct connection between my computer and the software that drives the DAC of this little amp, is simply outstanding. But this ain’t a hardware post. Or is it?

The tunes in the list above are somewhat randomly chosen from each of Led Zeppelin’s eight studio albums that have been my source of rock heaven ever since ripping them from AAD CDs that I bought twenty years ago. The sound is so crisp and clear that I often find myself weeping–and not only because I’m privileged enough to have learned to reproduce music at this level (cost) without breaking the bank.

Actually… a random selection, btw, isn’t exactly random. It’s more like a list of songs that I rarely pick when I’m in rock-need, except Dazed and Confused and In The Evening. In The Evening, FYI, is probably my all-time fav from greatest-band-ever. But that’s neither here nor there. Or? It’s just that In The Evening has to be part of any conduit evening of rock pleasure and other pleasures (thanks to my wife). The thing about this list that I really want to worst-blog about, though, is that The Crunge has emerged out from the black-hole of my listening preferences. Indeed. Until yesterday, especially half-way through second glass of Weißburgunder, and having finished prep for dinner, The Crunge finally sunk in as a new greatest-band-ever song. I just had no idear how good this song is. Why is that?

Did I mention that the sound is so good I can hear Plant breathing while counting the beat at the beginning of Tangerine?  For some that’s probably no big deal. But those who understand that Robert Plant is the greatest singer ever… But I die-gress.

Rant and rock on.

-T

The Great Scam In Full Bloom. Thanks #Americant.

whack job trump
Screenshot from the Interwebnets; and although it is a padded room, it also kinda looks like an airplane fuselage.

Does it matter that in all my travels, in all my years working for the man, in all those board rooms, sales pitches, project discussions, ex-wives, etc., I’ve never met a person that I look up to, admire or consider to be someone of talent or expertise. This, dear worst-reader, is the hell so many must live in. Well, at least the so-many that can realise it in the first place. But on that note I do die-gress.

There literally is no choice in this life, don’t you know dear worst-reader. Even if/when you leave your country (not for greener grass, of course, but just to fcuking leave it in order to breath) and expose yourself to other mindsets, culture, pu$$y and, of course, booze, there is no one out there to meet that is worth the effort. Perhaps this is a class (caste) issue. But let’s not make things too complicated. Eh?

Hopefully with this worst-claim, I’m not admitting to a/my false-God dependencies. I don’t want someone to look up to, to admire. No. I’m simply questioning the validity of wealth and power. Also. At this point in (my) life, it’s one of the things that really does busy my useless-eater worst-mind. Especially now that I’m well into forced early retirement and, of course, full dependency on the kindness of others and strangers.

At fifty-five years I have this one (last) question: How come I never met anybody that I look up to? Obviously there are those who I look up to but would/could never meet. In most of these cases I probably wouldn’t even want to meet those people. Looking up to them is enough. Or? I mean… What would I say to them? How would I even greet them? Should I curtsy? Indeed.

Short list of those worst-writer looks up to and would (maybe) like to meet:

  • Fidel Castro
  • Barack Obama
  • Christopher Hitchens
  • Steve Jobs
  • Sam Shepard
  • Trotsky
  • Etc.

Wait a sec. Of the short-list above, only one of them ain’t dead. Does that say anything about my age or my admiration and criteria for false-Gods? Nomatter.

The thing that motivated this worst-writing about admiration and false-Gods, is the article linked to below. It is yet another brilliant piece by Chris Hedges. And since I’ve read so much from him, I’m not actually keen on meeting him. Btw, I do admire Mr. Hedges. Wait. Maybe that’s not true. I actually had a dream once (right after reading one of his books) where I met Chris Hedges after our plane crashed. No seriously. It’s true. On a stormy night in July I was on a plane to Curacao  and it crashed somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic near an uncharted volcanic island. After the crash a few survivors floated to the island on part of the plane’s fuselage. Chris Hedges and I shared our glasses during the ordeal as his broke in the crash and I only had one lens left in my glasses. He was busy the whole time trying to either write something or read something. Indeed. He had better things to do than worry about having just crashed. I, on the other hand, was coming on to a supermodel that crashed with us–and didn’t need my glasses much. And so. Hedges and I didn’t talk much on account when he wasn’t reading or writing he was prepping for a boxing match that he was supposed to participate in on Curacao in conjunction with a US presbyterian church. Or something like that. So much for worst-dreams, eh. Anywho.

The article linked to below is brilliant. It’s brilliant because, well, as usual, Hedges nails it as he summarises not just who/what my beloved&misssed #Americant is/has become, but he does so in a way that I can totally relate to. I’ve been claiming for years not only that there’s no one in my universe worth meeting or admiring, but that almost anyone worth anything (in my universe) is either a disciple-wannabe or a victim of PT Barnum. Yes, that is a suburban hell up-bringing. Even those that have scraped by, by working for the man, some of whom I grew up with, are all so invested (vested) in that same upbringing that they are unable to differentiate mediocrity, mendacity and mental illness derived from the what/need of money money money. The fact that they have more consume-to-survive power than their neighbour and they’ve ALL done so according to the Barnum predilection: you either have to have-more or you have not–what else is there to do but live the false-life of: fcuk ’em. Yes. And so. Those who gave the world Barnum’s reborn corpse that is #Trump’s hair, this is your making–and I know you all are proud. Congratulations, suckers.

Rant on.

-T

Link that motivated this post:

Something Else About Yellow Vests

Robespierre before getting his jaw blown off along with his head.

Here’s a somewhat limited and underachieving-redneck understanding of the French Revolution1. First. While attempting over the years to read this or that about the Revolution, I learned a while back, to my great disappointment, that Marie Antoinette probably never uttered let them eat cake. Instead an author wrote years before the Revolution something like: “Let them eat Brioche”. Brioche is a funky, fluffy mix between a loaf of bread and a large bun. And if that ain’t disappointing enough…

The second thing learned about the Revolution is that there was a whole bunch of turmoil within it. That is, if I understand it correctly, although the French Revolution has a beginning and an end, what happened between all that ain’t no small task to comprehend. History class has the Revolution starting in the spring and summer of 1789. It then lasted till 1799. After that France gets its own odd looking and well-branded little dictator. Oddly, no one’s compared #Trump too Napoleon yet. Or have they?

Although accredited with being one of the greatest events in all of human history, the French Revolution sometimes shocks me to think that this event doesn’t play a larger role in life today. I mean, is there something French Revolution in yellow vests? I’m kinda doubting there is. Which also begs the question: if the French Revolution was such a significant human event, how come it’s so damn hard to understand? I mean, why aren’t school children taught all about Guillotines? We teach them everything about terror. Or? Who the fcuk is Danton, Robespierre and Jacobins, The Mountain, etc.? Heck, kids today should also be taught what Marie Antoinette’s face looked like as her head was finally, superbly separated from her body and the gushing blood from a still pumping heart filled the stage while the meek watched dreamy-eyed as though fluffy Brioche was losing its fluff. Oh wait. The children are taught instead to admire the disgust of British monarchy in the form of weddings and stuck-up accents galore.

No. Seriously. That monarchies still exist today shocks me.

Nomatter.

“A large part of the media-political world wanted us to believe that violence is not the thousands of lives destroyed and reduced to misery by politics, but a few burnt-out cars. You must really never have experienced poverty, if you think that graffiti on a historic monument is worse than the impossibility of being able to take care of yourself, of living, of feeding yourself or your family.”2

I’m wondering if the current yellow vest movement can be compared to other concurrent movements? The Arab Spring, for example? What about Occupy Wall Street? I mean, you know, compared to the greatest Revolution in history–and, yes, the French Revolution most certainly one-upped the American Revolution. What is the end-game supposed to be in all this revolution stuff? Is there an end-game? As we all know–at least those capable of such a comparison: the American Revolution resulted in nothing but a recreation of the same Europe it tried to rebel against. Or did I miss something in the advent of politics post WW2 + Ronald Reagan that could only devolve into #Trumpism? And since I’m probably waaaaay off subject: what was the point of the American Revolution now that the country is only about maintaining the nothingness of consume-to-survive, pseudo-aristocracy and #Trump‘s hair? But on that note, I do die-grass.

After a bit of contemplation, news review, watching/listening to a few podcasts on the subject, I’m coming to worst-realise that the scariest thing about the yellow-vest turmoil in France is it will, like so many other protests, be all for naught. As soon as I heard Macron was giving in to the protests by dropping the gas tax, increasing minimum wage, not taxing pensions3, etc., I was happy for the protestors. But then I thought: oh my. France, like so many other #Eurowasteland countries, is already on the brink of nation-state financial failure not unlike Italy, Spain, etc. That is, when Macron has France do all he says in order to stop the rioting, it only means that national debt4 issues will explode. It is exactly that type of government activity that keeps the so-called elites in power. Because the elites both profit from debt but also use debt to control finances, this is exactly what they want. It’s also exactly what’s going on in #Trump-land, Brazil w/Bolsonaro, and, of course, Brexit. 

The thing that protesters need to wise-up to is simple: it’s time to finally make the elite pay. Protest and riot, burn the fcuking house down, but do till Macron taxes the $hit out of the elite. Those jerk-wadds have been getting richer and richer off the $hitshow since globalisation began and now, considering how world issues are literally repeating the previous century, I’d say they’re starting to panic. All they need is reason and rhyme and the Great World War scenario begins anew. And we know who will pay for that. 

But what do I know?

Rant on.

-T

May Yellow Vests Save Us All And How I Knew Q&A Website Would Suck It

This is a screenshot from the article linked to below.

(Deep breath:) What’s wrong with journalism is not the fakeness or the fake-newz but how it simply gets things wrong on account those practicing it (journalism) aren’t really journalist but if they are they are journalists of a new era where journalism isn’t the same as it used to be because now those who pay “journalists” don’t want things said or written that would OUT the payers. (Breath.)

Actually, to be honest, the guy that wrote the Buzzfeed article (linked to below) kinda scares me. Here’s why:

“Due to the way algorithm changes made earlier this year interacted with the fierce devotion in France to local and regional identity, the country is now facing some of the worst riots in many years — and in Paris, the worst in half a century.” -Source: some buzzfeed pseudo journalist who doesn’t deserve to be named.

It is matter-of-factly explained (in the whole article) to an obviously imbecilic audience (#Americants?) what’s going on in France because of Facebag. Like most neo-liberals–or those stuck in the lie-of-the-mind of fail-upwards-ness, i.e. compulsive behaviourists, the uncreatives and automatons, generation after generation that has never grown out of the shadows of not only their parents but the ills created by those same parents–try to connect the chaos in Paris with a social-media platform made up of those who don’t know the difference between WWE, reality and the inside of a fresh but empty Cheetos bag. For indeed, don’t you know, dear worst-reader,  Facebag is the best example yet of…

INTERNET FOR STUPID PEOPLE.

People wearing yellow (emergency vests) and doing what all free people should be doing when trying to oppose economic oppression and class-tyranny and corporatism run-amok, is not stupid. In fact, it’s pretty smart. But before I get off subject. 

The buzzfeed article is a well written, well formatted and well structured piece. The only problem is, it adheres to the already established fake narrative about Paris: that people in yellow jackets are burning cars and are somehow unhappy with politics and don’t know what to do with themselves and so…. (Sarcasm off.)  

Btw. Does any of that sound familiar? Other than the various fancy charts in the article, it sounds a lot like what I remember reading about Occupy Wall Street. But what do I know? 

So much for krappy journalism that isn’t exactly fake–it’s just bad journalism. 

Speaking of all-things krappy. 

Is it any coincidence that a krappy company like Quora* even made it this long? I remember when they first started. I gave them a glance and immediately my martian antennae tickled. I knew from the get-go what they were doing couldn’t be good because, well…

In short, a person signed up to Quora submits questions. Others review those questions and where applicable answer those questions. The whole time while that’s going on–this really krappy company thought it could own everything. Nothing new there considering the companies survived the dotcom boom/bust, eh. And here we are in these days of greed-galore. And so. All one has to know about this company that is currently on the verge of (deserved) total failure, is that it was started by former Facebag employees. So I guess it’s no wonder that it also probably orchestrated recent 100m breach of registered user info. I mean, why not orchestrate something like that as part of your fail-upwardness? Donald Trump–the scammer and chief of all fail-upwardness–did the same to become president and he too has the same amount of suckered users. 

Go figure.

Rant on.

-T 

Links:

Books To Read Delivered Biggly

Source: worstwriter iPhone 6s still learning to take pictures

Just a little surprised at the size of the packaging for a single paperback. It also took several weeks to get here even though it was sent from a book store in Engaland. Then again, if my expectations of this read turn out to be warranted, how it got here doesn’t matter. 

Rant (and read) on. 

-T

Going Without Water?

It’s been a low-water year for the mighty Rhine River, dear worst-reader. FYI, the Rhine River has a special place in my heart. For most of my expat days in Germania, I have lived near the Rhine. Although I consider myself a water person–that is, landlocked places give me the creeps–the Rhine, even if it is just a river, has saved my sanity once or thrice by being a body of water for me. It is indeed a stunning waterway and both sides of it have lots of ugly and beautiful that is #Eurowasteland. The ugly, of course, is all the industry that is connected to it, hence the barges in the video above. The beautiful parts of it, though, e.g. Lorelei, will make any visitor gasp for joy at its nature. This river is also a tribute, IMHO, as to how #Eurowastelanders are able to maintain its utility but not at the cost of its beauty. But enough gaga and blah blah. The Rhine has been so low this year that I’ve had to change my e-bike route to Köln because the fairies that I normally take to cross it, have had to shut down. That combined with major bridge work in Leverkusen, that has closed its bike crossing while they repair it, means getting to The Dom is a bit of burden. The water has been so low that the fairies can’t connect to the ramps to allow cars, bikes or pedestrians to board. Exactly how low the Rhine is, though, no one I’ve asked knows. I’m assuming, after observing all the barges, that it must be at its deepest point around two meters. In the video above the front barge shows how industry is getting around not being able to have normal displacement. They’ve actually doubled the length of the front barge. That way they can still carry a load but not have to worry about running aground. Other barges that can’t hook up to a second platform have to just carry less cargo. I’ve not seen a full barge since early last spring. Fun stuff indeed. 

Rant on.

-T

Water Pool In Tesla X Spoiler

A photograph by worstwriter!

While walking Beckett, the killer pug, yesterday and picking up a package from a DHL package station–and boy do I love those package stations on account they mean I don’t have to have so many working poor fellows ringing my door bell all the time–I pass by a regional Tesla dealer. I have to admit, when I see a Tesla I can’t help but stare. And then, as usual, I start bitchin&moanin. How come these friggin’ things are so friggin’ expensive? I mean, think about it? If the costs of an automobile is reflected in the amount of moving parts, shouldn’t a Tesla cost half a combustion car? Alone the moving parts of a combustion motor has more moving parts than that of  a Tesla. Am I wrong? (Of course you’re wrong. You’re worst-writer!) Anywho. Other than the red ones, I can’t take my eyes off a Teslas, especially the X model. I mean, the S model is prettier but there’s something about the X model and how it gives off the impression it’s a vehicle from outer space. Just get a load of how you can change the inside of it. Moving/adjusting/removing seats. The leg room under the dashboard. That huuuuuge screen in the middle of the interior. Even though the dealer has offered me several test rides, I’ve denied each and every one. I hate it when I test something and then I want it and know I can’t have it. Which brings me back to the question, why are these things so friggin’ expensive? They have to cost half as much to make–especially when considering that Elon Musk was able to start such a manufacturing facility with people throwing money at him and being able to pay slave wages to make them in my beloved&missed #Americant. Or does he pay people well? Not that it matters. The way corporations function these days, you know, that there’s no connection between the money paid for products or services and the actual cost of making those products… Blah. Blah. But. Again. I’m probably über-wrong. With that in worst-mind, I don’t think it a good thing that when the rear spoiler of the X model is left open and it rains, it collects water.  Water and electricity not good together. Am I wrong? 

Rant on.

-T

If Only #Americants Were Willing To Learn How It’s Done

I’m forever admiring the French. They are the owners of the last GREAT revolution in all of human history. I mean, am I wrong? Or did the French brilliantly get rid of the uselessness of monarchy? Yeah, baby. Make more useless heads roll–I say. And if the heads don’t roll, the French still know how to protest. Much of the west should learn from their doings. Considering that tax hikes are pretty much the only thing #Eurowasteland greed-leaders can do to deal with the fail-upwardness of #Americant $hitshow capitalism run amok, this is a big deal. My hat is off to yellow jacket wearers everywhere.

Rant on.

-T

PM Edouard Philippe will suspend the measure after weeks of violent protests, he tells MPs.

Source: France fuel protests: PM Philippe to halt fuel tax rise – BBC News

Die Flinte Ins Korn Werfen

Screenshot of an email I received.

Tech stuff I hate. Where to begin? I hate the fact that any sort of decent to exaggerated information processing is eventually owned by the software that processes it. In other worst-words: I really hate the fact that if/when I create a document in, say, Microsoft Word or Apple Pages or Wordprocessor XYZ, that document is, for all practical purposes, owned by the software. This is one of the great errors of the tech world. This error not only applies to silly word processing but also to picture manipulators, videos, operating system, file systems, etc. , etc. Another thing I hate about technology is how patenting is used to secure idears and/or innovation. Innovation or idears is kinda the ticket to technology, don’t you know.  The reason there ain’t more innovation and idears is because, well, a$$holes can easily stop it all by claiming patent rights. One more thing I hate, and I’ll stop with this one, is printing. I hate printers. I especially hate colour printers. In these times of technology run amok where we all run around with mini super computers in the form of smart-phones, what the hell do we need printers for (anymore)? Of course, since I’m not the one to determine my better-half’s wants and needs, I’m unable to rid our household of owning a printer. I did manage to get rid of owning a colour printer last year, though. I guess that is some form of consolation–towards my hate of stupid technologies. It took a bit of heavy-handed convincing and one-sided sexual gratification to convince my better half that if she has to have a printer, for goodness sake, at least let me just get a simple black & white laser printer. Night after night of focusing on her tickler–one night even getting her to scream–which I haven’t been able to do for quite some time–she acquiesced. Six (or so) months ago I bought a relatively compact brand-x laser printer. To further my surprise at my better half’s acceptance, and after numerous print jobs, she’s actually pleased with her new and very crisp b&w prints–prints of God knows what. Of course, now the time has come to replace the printer toner. As it is to be expected, toner for this little laser printer is f’n expensive–if you buy if from brand-x. If you buy toner, on the other hand, from a third party, though, it’s reasonably priced–albeit still too expensive. So I ordered a toner cartridge that is supposed to enable sixty-thousand pages of printing. Cost? About 40,-€. The same toner cartridge from brand-x is double that. Of course, I’m not saying anything new here, eh worst-reader. Printers and printer toner is a scam. So get this. To my surprise, before arrival of our new toner cartridge, I received an email from the non-brand-x toner company. And what an appealing email it is. In short and in Tom’s worst-writer translation, here’s what it says (abridged):

 Dear Customer, 

Careful with printer software updates: alternative printer toner cartridges don’t work anymore after updates. 

  1. After a updating printer software your alternative printer cartridge might not work anymore. … So don’t update.
  2. What do printer manufacturers do? … Money, greed, money, greed, etc.
  3. What can consumers do? … Don’t update your fcuking printer you consume-to-survive a$$hole! (Ok, that last part is a worst-writer add-on.)

Red underlined text from 3: Printer manufacturers should not tell customers which printer toner cartridges they can use.

But the best part of the email is that it also taught me a German idiom that I’d never used before: 

Red underlined text (bottom): Werfen sie nicht die Finte ins Korn = Don’t throw in the towel. If the cartridge doesn’t work call and we’ll find a solution. 

I think that’s pretty damn cool and even give Amazon less of a YOU SUCK designation for allowing such an email. I hope it pisses brand-x off, too. 

Rant on.

-T

Giving It A Go! Fight The Fight Dear Hopefuls.

How unfortunate it is to have such a long path to be grazed, slithered along, perhaps even walked. Ahead is a death defying causeway and not even the death of a former president can make one see it. Yet I remember well, years ago, while visiting my beloved & missed #Americant, watching the television(s), and there he was: George H. W. Bush, the father of an even worse version of himself, spellbound by corporatists and their corporate facilities, visited by a president of the united mistakes of #Americant, they tell him how they are going to manipulate the genes of a cornfield so that, once the seeds are planted, nothing else will grow within reach of how far the wind can blow the plants’ pollen. Yes. The president that began the row, the row Reagan couldn’t lay asphalt on, that lead to corporatism run amok. What else could H-W do, though? To Follow Ronald Reagan, the enhancer, enabler, facilitator, creator of THE LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID… Allow/tolerate my repetitiveness: what else could H-W do? These men are the preliminary to #Trump. They are the pre-show. They are the pollen blown in the wind to distant places created by and nurtured for corporations and war and consuming-to-survive and spanking submissive wives on their a$$es–so as to make them smile as you hand them their money. Which begs the worst-question: what is there to be done with it all now as H-W lays in waiting, in his decorated casket, his imbecile labrador unknowing about a masters return?

Oh. What am I worst-saying again again? I suppose, creating a website and perhaps organising a bit will suffice in the interim. Let’s hope it holds–these naive fascist fighters. For one should never forget:

The Germans lost WW2 but fascism won. -George Carlin

So how does one fight that which one has always been?

Good luck.

Rant on.

-T

The indictment that makes the case! This Nightmare Must End: The Trump/Pence Regime Must Go!

Source: The Trump/Pence Regime: INDICTED! | In the Name of Humanity We Refuse To Accept a Fascist America

SNL Mercilessly Mocks Trump’s Jealousy Over The Putin/MBS Bromance And Forgets To Mock Those Who Made Him

It’s not only the jealously #Trump has for those who inherit more than he did and then do nothing with it, but the whole of my beloved & missed #Americant are jealous of each and every neighbour, every car (lease) holder, every credit card that is sent out that banks know won’t be paid–and that’s not the point. And so. Give in to your debt peonage. There is nothing else.

Rant on.

-T

Source: SNL Mercilessly Mocks Trump’s Jealousy Over The Putin/MBS Bromance | Crooks and Liars

Apple’s Macs quite literally a dirty secret and there need be more lawsuits (I guess)

And to think all those years where I literally tore my Macs apart to de-dust them… I knew there was something up. And now…

I have to be honest. I don’t quite know what they mean by “flogging” in this post.

Oh well.

Rant on.

-T

The lawsuit claims that Apple is flogging computers and laptops without dust filters, which causes damage to the internals and screens of the machines.

Source: Apple’s Macs are quite literally hiding a dirty secret, lawsuit alleges

Reading The Footbed

Authoritarian Shoes? Yes. Authoritarians? No…?

First. I’m not selling anything. Seriously. Ok. Maybe I’m selling all–things-worst. Yeah. That’s good enough.

Second. I’ve always considered two parts of my body to be more important than other parts: teeth and feet. But don’t get me wrong. I don’t care if teeth are white and shinny. They just have to work and they never, never, never should be the cause of distress. Considering the year we live in and the fact that dental medicine still requires the butchering of teeth with drills and whatnot, I guess I should be glad my teeth work as well as they do.

I brush regularly and rarely have to floss–on account I have small, parted teeth. I have the feeling that finally switching to an electric toothbrush last year has actually increased my brushing efficiency. I only have one ceramic filling, three gold caps (two of which were caused by dentist error), no root-canals (knock on wood), and I have all my wisdom teeth. At almost fifty-five, I think I’ve done fairly well with my teeth.

My feet, on the other hand, is a whole ‘nother story.

So you know the question: if you had to do it again, would you do it the same?

My answer: fcuk yea! Except for a few caveats:

– I would definitely start earlier in life flipping The-Man the bird. You know, becoming worstwriter sooner, quitting, giving-up, telling wives that they’re vaginas really ain’t holy nor does their using them thangs as traps deserve social benefits or sympathy, etc. (So fcuk-you Melania #Trump and all you females that voted for her and that hair she married!)
– I also wouldn’t play contact sports
– And I probably would not hunt animals anymore, which I really do regret, even though some of them tasted mighty fine.

The most important issue not worth repeating/doing-over, though, is sports.

Even though I only played a contact sport for a few years in suburban-hell High School of my beloved & missed #Americant, to this day I’m still feeling it. Therefore, I both admire and feel sorry for professional athletes that actually make it through a (contact) sports career and can still touch their toes when they’re forty. Not to mention whether or not they can actually get out of bed instead of rolling out at forty-five. That said, I have a horrendous problem on my left heel (achilles) that is either Haglund’s deformity or a severe case of tendinitis. Although I’ve been to two doctors so far, I’ve been given little advice on what to do about my pain. One doctor was kind enough to inquire about my tolerance (of pain), adding that it will only get worse with age. Then she added that soft shoes will be part of the rest of my life. I’m convinced that the cause of this ailment that I have to endure was due to my lackadaisical acceptance of sport activity when I was young. (Then again, it did keep me out of trouble.) Although Haglund’s deformity is also hereditory, the extreme running (that I also did after I stopped playing contact sports; as a form of staying in shape) exacerbated the problem. To this day I cannot wear hard-heel shoes and most shoes I buy have to be at least one, if not one-and-a-half, size larger that my actual foot size.

If #Trump were a pair of shoes he’d be Birkenstock? Or?

No insult to Birkenstock intended.

Yes. We live in times of experimental authoritarianism and painful feet. We live in times where females, especially (something like) fifty-two percent of white, educated, married #Americant females, vote for a $hitbag man who they would otherwise (or not?) avoid like the plague. And let’s not forget the fact that we live in times where greed is the only show stopper. Is it any wonder that  consuming-to-survive constitutes greed? Indeed. But I’m off subject.

I’ve never owned a pair of Birkenstock sandals. Reason? I tried them once many, many years ago and thought them to be extremely painful to wear. I was told the discomfort had something to do with just getting used to them–and imagined after trying them that they too were like the militaristic environment that I was forced to grow up in. The military commanders of the day tried to convince me that all I had to do in order to make it with these über-house-shoes was to just get used to them. Yea. No. No thank you. 

So let’s spring forward twenty or thirty years.

My better half, knowing of my foot problems, suggested recently that we get Birkenstock because, she added, they can be kind of therapeutic. And since she also knows that I hate wood floors, which she’s made me walk on since we’ve been together and she’s the one that chooses where we live, her solution has always been house-shoes. But I hate house-shoes–and she knows it. Usually when she’s not looking, I put on thick socks instead of house-shoes. Although I used to like walking barefoot, times are a changin’ there too. And so. A few years back she bought me pair of Crocs and with a big smile handed them to me and demanded I wear them.

“They’re good for you!” she added. “And it’s unhealthy to walk around all day in your barefeet–at your age. Grow up!”

Whaaaaaa? But barefeet are cool…

There was no denying it. Nor could she avoid reality. I hated house-shoes and I rarely wore those disgusting plastic shoes she bought me. Of course, I also should add that I hate Crocs for another reason. They are typical marketing products. That is, they are a product conceptualised for money making only. Which means they are bad for feet. Real bad. 

Pause.

I know. I know.

Capitalism is about money making first. But things have changed since the days Ford literally helped a country go from horse & buggy to transcontinental mobility. Am I wrong?

Ingenious smart-asses that have no room to manoeuvre in an economy and/or market on account EVERYTHING IS OWNED by the old and the sick and super-rich, they come up with ways anew to make money. Good for them, eh. Hence, Croc shoes equal no-cost to make, no need for product enhancement or advancement, push them out till people walk around in public wearing them–just as they’ve learned to walk around in public in their fcuking pyjamas. It is the new #Americant way since NAFTA/Globalisation has decimated manufacturing and all wealth has been given to the wealthy on account the poor and the middle class are stupid as fcuking rocks and keep electing money-grubbing conservatives as their representatives… blah blah blah.

The only credit I give to the Croc folks is that they new the #Americant $hit$how of greed was an impasse. And good for them. Talk about curbing the want of wealth creation. Obviously the guy that came up with Crocs earned his keep. And I hope he’s enjoying these days in the wake of (his) efforts in the comfort of his own Who Is John Galt fantasy. But to get back on subject…

To entertain my better half, who had at least three or four or five pairs of Crocs in the time I barely wore the one pair she bought me, I did give them a go. Getting rid of them recently was a godsend, though. I do not miss them. But my feet have been hurting of late because, well, she was right on one thing. I can’t keep walking around on hard, cold floors with nothing on my feet. So I gave in.

The first few days with what I like to call #Trump shoes was extremely painful. I call them #Trump shoes because, well, they really are authoritarian shoes. Unlike other shoes that fit to your feet, these Germanin constructs make your feet fit to them. The lady that sold them to me even mentioned that to break them in easier, I should wear them wet directly after a shower. Within a week I started to like them, even though they hurt. After about two months, I fell in love them. Never have my feet felt better–when in house-shoes and walking around on hard floors. Do I still have pain? Oddly, only when I take them off. My feet feel as though they are encased in something secure now. I walk on something rigid yet smooth. I tip toe while taking the trash out in something formed yet conforming. But there’s more. Did you know, dear worst-reader, that the foot-bed of Birkenstock shoes are like tea leaves? You know, as in tea-leaf reading?

As you’ll note from the pic, the dark spots on the foot-bed indicate pressure points. Obviously I still have very high arches (which is part of painful feet at my age–or so I’ve been told; my better-half’s shoes have practically no pressure points at all as she has much flatter feet). Also, I walk with most of my weight on the outside of my feet, which could be a reason for Haglund’s deformity in my left heel. And then there are those toes. I had no idear how much toes play a role in foot work/pain.

And on that note, I do die-gress.

Rant on.

-T