Disclaimer: terribly sorry for the bad spelling. Maybe it ( bad spell) can be chalked up to all things … “fake”? (If only I had gone w/ fake-writer, eh!)
Well, there you have it, dear worst-reader. The #Americant disease of unoriginality is rampant. In fact, is it unlike COVID? Spreading like wildfire due to the lack of basic intellectual capacity passed on from generation to generation–that thinks it’s fighting for freedom to not wear a mask? People are actually making a big-deal out of wearing a mask, don’t you know. They are making a big deal out of it because they don’t believe that there is a pandemic. Under these circumstances, shouldn’t people be wearing a mask as a duty to one’s fellow man? I know. I know. Stop being so naive, worst-writer. Get a life, worst-writer. Keep your opinions to yourself, you snivelling idiot. Indeed.
Then again. Even though the disease that is unoriginality is rampant, I was hoping it would die with #OKBoomer–or last least retire with the boomer generation. But the boomer-plague (COVID) ain’t quite big enough, don’t you know. And let’s not underestimate the power of yet another #Americant disease: conformism. Heck, let’s not forget another reality. There are so many still alive from the greatest generation, even the silent generation, it’s a wonder there’s any room at all to live in. And with so many still kicking that bucket around as though the elixir of immortality they’ve been drinking on the backs of the #Americant dream is never-ending, what is there to be done (about it)? I know. I know. One would hope that the boomer-plague would/could fulfil the destiny of those greed-mongers oh-so deserving of painful death. Then again again… How wrong can worst-writer be?
But let’s get on with the other disease that my beloved & missed #Americant can’t cope with: unoriginality. And where best to see/witness the disease? Most certainly it ain’t worth it to go to a culture centre or so. And you can forget about that old-folks home (which is probably awash in COVID). Want to try a gated community? No. The best place to see the disease and how well it’s traversed the generations, is to just watch or re-watch the most recent confirmation processes of #Americant#SCOTUS judges that have been appointed by president piss-hair. Or just check out this quote:
I clerked for Justice Scalia more than 20 years ago, but the lessons I learned still resonate. His judicial philosophy is mine, too: A judge must apply the law as written. Judges are not policymakers, and they must be resolute in setting aside any policy views they might hold. -Amy Coney Barrett
And there you have it, dear worst-reader. A forty-eight year old female jurist, law professor, religious $hitbag and, of course, right-wing nut job, just admitted that she’s never had an original thought in her entire life. For. Indeed. Don’t you know, dear worst-reader, that’s the ticket when it comes to political conservatism in my beloved & missed #Americant: never think of anything new or original, follow the past, do what you’re told, watch TV, consume, etc. And so. As I relax in the comfort of my expat existence, an existence I embarked on long before the united mistakes of #Americant judicial system was fully in the hands of old, moneyed and greedy white people, I bid you adieu. And I wish you luck, too. But I also laugh at what you’ve done (to yourself). And don’t worry. There’s also a giggle or three in there thinking about how things could have been… if you hadn’t lost the likes of worst-moi.
Good luck suckers and you might as well start investing in coat-hanger makers.
Time to go there again, eh, dear worst-reader? I mean, I’ve dabbled in banking and finance krapp on this blog before. You know, dabbled, as in, from my couch. At the least, I’ve tried to comprehend what ultimately has become a casino madhouse free-for-all that is the current (mis)banking world. And where best to begin with that sort of rigamarole? That’s right, baby. It all begins in the land of my beloved & missed #Americant. The greatest land of… FREEDOM TO BE STUPID. On the other hand, there is also this thing with Germania. You know. Germany. My host expat country. Where Huns and their dachshunds romp gayly through mountain forests of yore singing… Lass uns bumsen.
On the other hand, if you can stomach it, I’ve attempted to comprehend the world of freaky finance here, here or here. Good luck with that.
With this worst-post, though, things are gonna be a bit different. It’s time to focus solely on… z’Germans. Namely. Deutsche Bank is once again having a new arsehole ripped through its innards by regulators and I don’t know whether to laugh or tickle my fancy till I puke rainbows. With that in worst-mind, here’s an excerpt from the motivating article that I’ve linked to at the end of this post. This is from a Deutsche Welle article where they concisely list seven or so Deutsche Bank Scandals. Here’s the scandal that interests me the most. Footnotes are from me.
Subprime credits1 are considered to be what caused the global financial crisis2. It was above all Deutsche Bank that bought up the poorly secured mortgages from US home buyers, wrapped them up in highly complex financial products, slapped them with top ratings3, and sold them on to other banks as secure investment products4. When the market collapsed, the bonds5 became instantly worthless. Meanwhile, internally, Deutsche Bank had long bet on a crash — and made a lot of money doing so6. In 2013, the bank was given a first penalty; it had to pay $1.9 billion to then-nationalised US construction financiers Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae7. The bank agreed on a settlement with US authorities in 2017. Initial talks were of $14 billion, equivalent to financial ruin for Deutsche Bank. In the end, the bank paid $7.2 billion8.
US Mortgage Transactions, source: see link below
I’ve been trying to understand this krapp for years. Quite an entertaining endeavour, don’t you know. Reason for my efforts? Well, get this. I think there’s a conspiracy afoot. And when I say conspiracy, I don’t mean conspiracy-theory. In fact, I sometimes stop what looks like a banker in the streets. I compliment him on his fancy snake leather shoes and matching belt and then reassure him I’m not a fag looking for a quickie. Then I ask:
There’s a bit of here & there as the banker adjust his tie and belt and then begins to take a defensive posture against the Ausländer talking $hit about his number one national bank.
The thing is this, dear worst-reader. I’ve suspected for years that the reason Deutsche Bank is in so much trouble is due to 1) historical circumstance and, perhaps, 2) geographic location (which amounts to it not being in London or NYC). And so. There are powers-that-be who think the bank can be used as a patsy–in the middle of #Eurowasteland. The problem is, Germans don’t make good patsies. Or do they?
Again, because of its historical circumstance, DB would gladly be a player in the Anglo-casino game. But like any capitalist pig, it would be willing to lose only so much. That said, it participated in the casino free-for-all that took place in my beloved & missed post cold-war #Americant–with only its investment banking entity. As noted in the excerpt above, that entity won bigly. When the subprime crash hit in 2008, it was time to cash in its casino chips. Of course, the Anglo bankers didn’t like what they saw. Namely, when the casino bell ended all bets, the Germans were standing there with all the chips, or at least a lot of them. The losers, as mentioned in the excerpt above, where organisation like Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae and who knows how many more–to include, I’m guessing, a few large American banks. I suppose, under normal circumstances, things would have worked themselves out. But circumstances are/were not normal. Remember: Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae had to be taken-over by the US Government. In other words, the casino changed the rules. Instead of the US Government having to bail-out even more banks, it simply found a way to prevent all chips from being cashed.
Let me try to put that another worst-way. And keep in mind, this is purely worst-writer speculation and I ultimately have no idear what I’m writing about. #Nomatter.
There’s a reason that when you go into a casino you have to bet with chips. You go to the casino bank, give them your (real) money, they give you the chips. You then go around the casino and play whatever game you like, betting with your chips. You play blackjack, credit default swaps, craps, subprime mortgage blah, blah, etc., etc. When you’re done playing, you take all your chips, if you won, back to the casino bank and cash-in. In Deutsche Bank’s case, the casino (Wall Street) simply never let it cash-in its chips. And so. That makes me guess (speculate) that Deutsche Bank’s wrong-doing is a cover-up. It’s not a cover-up for the gambling, though. No. It’s all about covering-up, protecting, an insolvent American banking system–that no longer has enough money to cover gambling chips. It’s really that simple, dear worst-reader. DB won so much as the subprime casino crashed that it couldn’t get any money out of the casino bank–because there was/is no money there. Of course, the real joke is: all of these fines DB faces are literally taken out of the value of the chips that were never cashed in the first place.
So many have asked me over the years regarding my expatriation questions like:
So you must like it there, huh?
Is Germany really better than…?
And… Don’t you miss the greatest country…?
For this worst-post, my answers to those questions are irrelevant. But if you must know, answers abound (that’s a “expat” tag link). The important thing to remember, dear worst-reader, is that I really, really do miss the united mistakes of #Americant, the one true land of FREEDOM TO BE STUPID. That worst-said, if needed would I go and fight a non-war-of-choice for her? I would. If necessary, would I keep my US citizenship until I die on foreign soil? Things are certainly moving along that timeline. But will I keep worst-writing and bad mouthing my country? You betcha, baby.
But first, allow me to setup a worst-writer, worst-post with this applicable quote. New officer candidates for the US Navy arrive at OTS (officer training school) initialisation. A gun-ho Louis Gossett Junior commands that all new officer candidates toe the line. He is quite perturbed, don’t you know. And. Btw. This is what worst-writer is confronted with every worst-day.
AH TEN HUT! I DON’T BELIEVE WHAT I’M SEEING. WHERE YOU BEEN ALL YOUR LIVES? AT AN ORGY? LISTENING TO MIK JAGGER MUSIC AND BAD MOUTHING YOUR COUNTRY!
-Louis Gossett Junior, Officer And A Gentleman, 1982
So let’s move on.
President Piss-Hair actually said the other day that he wants to re-educate #Americant youth. And get this. He used the words patriotic education as though his idiot #MAGA followers could know any better, or that such words are reminiscent of other words like, gee, #HitlerYouth. I mean. Come on. Can things get any more obvious? Can things get more obvious about the direction this is all taking–and all because the idiots that elected Barry-O fell asleep just before they woke up to how much The Media had shat in their brains how evil #Hillary was? I mean. I grew up, I was reared by people just like President Pee-Pee-Hair. It’s the reason being an expat has nothing to do with how great or fun my host country is. Most of what Donald Dipshit has done doesn’t surprise me. But words like patriotic education among a country of highly dumbed-down shitkickers…?
There are indeed many reason I jumped the #Americant ship so many years ago, dear worst-reader–as my patriotic education only taught me one thing. To fcuking jump ship at any first chance. Go where things are just a bit less evil, don’t you know. Oh. Wait. Maybe I did learn to type during my patriotic education. Then again, now that I worst-think about it, I can’t remember any other thing any teacher ever taught me. Either that or I’m blanking on it all on account by the time I got to Highschool I was so traumatised about growing up in suburban hell #Americant… that has given up to the rhetoric of a moron president with cotton-candy piss hair…
But I die-gress.
The thing I remember about getting educated is how I did it myself. And part of that education started with the likes of Howard Zinn. Unfortunately I had to wait till long after graduating from my patriotic education before finding him. And thank the celestial time continuum that I did.
So many things need to be said, eh dear-worst-reader? Especially with the death of a so-called jurist icon. And what about this jurist icon–that I haven’t already tried to worst-convey? Well, here’s the thing. As great as #RBG was, did any of her greatness lead to anything worthwhile? You know, something worthwhile in the big-picture of things? Or was all that she did, achieved, taught, nothing more than a side-show that enabled real, raw political power to find its natural state by 2020 (2016?) #Americant? Sure. She’s got that feminist thing going–which may or may not still be trapped in the 1970s. Then there’s her stance on equal rights. Has that stance helped or harmed all those people resisting authority and then being shot in the back by weekend warrior cops? And let’s not forget her ability to charm even the cruelest beast of men with a law-wit only comparable to a dancing scene in Beauty and the Beast as it’s re-run on reality TV? But. As I’ve said. Or perhaps not. It’s time to get rid of all these icons who are so obviously stuck in the past. Or is it some kind of time-warp loop of… Of…?
Yes. Icons do what they do. They are (t)here. They stand tall. Their stone is edged in the time of our rock quarries. And what do those of us do as we stare into the abyss that built such icons? That’s right. We don’t question them. We don’t demand anything of them. We don’t fight them to be more. Indeed. We conform. It’s all that’s left for those who live in the past or are too afraid of the/a future.
What is my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant if not THE LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID that can only culminate in electing to its highest office a man who has hair that looks as though it came out of a cotton candy machine working with orang-utan urine? And that’s not all. Because #Americant is also the land of supreme conformity, does it actually have the capability to reform–as it conformed? You can see it everywhere, don’t you know. Go to an event. A bar. A sport arena. Walmart. Church. Everyone–and I mean everyone–is a conformist. It’s surely, I suspect, the greatest achievement of #RBG’s generation–the silent generation, if not the so-called greatest generation. It’s all been passed onto #OKBoomer and beyond. Don’t question anything. Don’t think critically. Think not originally. Live in and for that past. All you need is… money. And. Now. #RBG is done. There you have it: President Pee-Pee-Hair. Or #AOC? And while I’m throwing the boomerang of #AOC in the lick bucket, check this out. Have a look at how even the nicest conformists slide down the slippery slope of a freak-out society that can’t comprehend (its) conformity. And then watch the ricochet bullets and bombs of conservative, liberal $hit flinging. Yeah. This is brutal. I’m laughing my arse off?
And so. Let’s go a bit deeper. For whatever worst-reason, since the news of #RBG passing hit my computer screen yesterday early morning Central European time, I have been struggling with the following comparison-contrast. So I hope you’re sitting down, dear worst-reader.
I couldn’t help but think of Nurse Ratched. Anyone remember Nurse Ratched? She’s the hell nurse from the movie One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. What a study in conformity, eh, dear worst-reader? I’m gonna compare conformity in a famous #SCOTUS overseer with that of Nurse Ratched–a character in a movie that terrorised my mind for years and years and years. Ratched is so convincing to worst-moi as not only a nurse in a mental ward but also as a matriarch–so clever connected to patriarch. She is the overseer of those few men who question things. Or. Better worst-put. Men who question all the conformity they’ve never been able to cope with (in this life) must be subjected to the wrath of Ratched. She (and most conformist females of the submissive type) is the archetypal architect of the family if not social unit that is my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant. And so. Do what you’re told. Or else. Nurse Ratched is waiting while #RBG is passing on to being an idol in statue form. Remember that. Nurse Ratched will always be with us. #RBG’s fight, whatever it was/is, is now just an idol. Or will something whip Ratched’s arse out of the way–and turn her into a statue idol? Conformity says not.
Or did you think One Flew Over A Cuckoo’s Nest is a movie about the goings and comings of a mental ward? #Nomatter.
Even though it’s very hard for me to watch this movie, as it hit my soul hard when I first saw it forty or so years ago, whenever I question the same comings and goings of my beloved & missed #Americant, I can’t help but think of Ratched and now #RBG. The things is this, dear worst-reader. While #RBG solidifies her idol statue, how is it that all her so-called achievements may or may not have resulted in America becoming #Americant? What? Am I stretching things too far with such a comparison? I mean, obviously #RBG’s achievement as a fcuking lawyer or #SCOTUS over-seer is impeccable. Yet I can’t help but wonder while thinking about her… What the fcuk was the point of her generation fighting against Hitler, Communism, labour, and then fighting for consumerism, superficiality and nothingness-galore, etc.? Were #RBG’s achievements so great that it turned us into mystified fcuk cretans of capitalist big cocks and our only relief is to find an idol–or golden piss-hair calf?
So. Like. What’s the difference between being blind and being blindfolded? One means you can’t see and the other means you don’t want to see, or someone else doesn’t want you to see. With that in worst-mind, I’ve never been a fan of Lady Justice. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a gotta body that gives (me) wood. And that sword looks like it could do a number on anyone’s arse. And who doesn’t like to be blindfolded when s/he is being, hopefully, royally shagged by a woman in Roman garb? But on that note, I die-gress.
Once again, during morn coffee, jazz and news, anger ripped through me, dear worst-reader. I even belted out…
I HATE YOU RUTH BADER…
Then I drank more soothing dragon pearl jasmine tee so as to calm my über-espresso throat while listening to Miles Davis’ Oleo playing through bookshelf speakers galore and thereby letting that inner worst-dialogue run its course.
Worst-Moi: You don’t really hate RBG. Moi: Of course not. I love her. She’s a giant. She’s an inspiration. Worst-Moi: But her statue should not replace Lady Justice, correct? Moi: That’s right, old friend. Enough with all the idolatry. Worst-Moi: But you’re still bothered? Moi: Indeed, I am. We’re fcuked. Let me explain.
I was so angry when Barry-O tried to fill Scalia’s seat in 2016 which ended up giving us the fiasco known as #McConnellRule. For, don’t you know, dear worst-reader, for most of my adult life, a life plagued by ignorance abating (through) self-teaching, I’ve always idealised the idear that is/was #SCOTUS. Until, of course, I learned how republican $hitbags and their pseudo-nazi-faith (ideology) could so easily turn the court and the country into a/the protectorate of…
THE LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID.
Indeed. The Law is inherently fallible and when in the hands of generation after generation of ineptitude combined with greed… In fact, I’d go so worst-far as to worst-claim, there can never be justice because The Law is about injustice. But enough my worst-writer cynicism, eh.
The thing is this: #RBG should have retired a long time ago. She should have been smart enough to know that she could have done more good by allowing a youthful, healthy replacement–as she’s been battling cancer for how long?–during times when GOP/Republican $hitbaggery wouldn’t be so blatant. She should have helped secure #SCOTUS from being turned into a a mirror of Republican slime. She should have seen the damage already done long before she was even appointed, i.e. going as far back as Ronald $hitbag Reagan and even Dick Nixon. But. Just like so many of her generation and the #OKBoomer generation that followed, the first rule of generational greed-mongering where commodified achievement can only lead to a meritless society: don’t make way for something new. Keep everything old and rotting and decrepit. That’s how you get to President Pee-Pee-Hair and an #Americant that already appointed the scariest Justice ever IMHO. And now the next scariest justice is surely on his/her way in.
And so, to replace not only #RBG but also Lady Justice, this is/should be the new face of #Americant (in)justice:
And don’t #Americants deserve it.
Good luck suckers.
Example 1 of how conservatives and $hitbags can abuse so-called justice
Example 2 of how a $hitbag uses the law to prove he’s a smart arse
Example 3 – a brilliant video take down of law abuse that so many have to use to show the world how small their dicks really are
This (worst)post was updated March, 2021. (Strike throughs.)
Title 2: No such thing as Hifiberry overkill. Or?
Gotta say a few worst-words about my Hifiberry collection, dear worst-reader. Not sure if you can tell, but I’m a Raspberry Pi fan. I love these these little SBCs (single board computers) and when combined with DACs, IMHO, there’s no better way to enjoy audio without breaking the bank. Speaking of which, this equipment allows me to avoid krapp like Apple’s HomePod or whatever branded ridiculously priced streaming device, sound bar, etc. Also. As far as I’m concerned, Bluetooth ain’t quite there yet when it comes to quality audio streaming. On the other hand, I am an Apple fanboy. That means, I always have to compromise something when it comes to compatibility. I also have some legacy audio equipment that includes active and passive speakers, plenty of cables, connectors, and few really cheap Chinese DACs (smsl, etc.) The thing is, even though these devices are cheap and require a bit of maintenance, they do not lack in audio quality. But let’s move on.
As you can see from the pics above I currently have four RPi’s with HifiBerry DAC hats. I use them mainly as media players or streaming endpoints. If you can do some basic linux stuff, you’re in the green with these babies. Although there is a swath of audio DACs from other makers for Raspberry Pi, I’ve never bothered with any of them, so this is obviously a one-sided pseudo-review. With that in worst-mind, let’s run down my use cases.
Let’s start with the old and weak, shall we. In order to make use of my oldest RPi3 (from 2014), which was collecting dust in a drawer, I ordered the HifiBerry analog DAC with the 3.5mm headphone jack. It’s running HifiberryOS, which makes it a streaming endpoint (if I’ve got the tech vernacular correct). I use it mainly as the audio output for my AppleTV4k via shairport. The AppleTV drives a 1080p Beamer. Connected to the phone jack of the HifiBerry DAC–because the onboard headphone jack of the RPi really, really does suck–is a pair of Bose Companion 20 powered speakers. These are my trusty play-anywhere, use-anytime speakers for the past fifteen or so years. These old Bose’s are perfect for TV (instead of a stupid soundbar) or desktop PC use. Heck they even suffice for outdoor use if a party or a cook-out needs tunes. Also. Keep in mind. I live in a very rectangular townhouse with an inner loft-like atrium that is surround by kitchen, dinning area and living room. The living room and dinning room merge at a corner of the atrium. The main wall at the end of my living room, with bookshelves, is where I have what I consider my music speakers. Hence, I have a room with two disparate sound systems. More on that in a sec. The beamer projects on a perpendicular wall. As you can see in the pic below, the Bose speakers are on a high wall table and they project whatever audio comes out of my AppleTV, which is also hidden away atop my bookshelves.
A second RPi3 has a HifiBerry AMP2 DAC hat also running HifiberryOS and functions as a streaming endpoint that I feed with iPhone, Mac or iPad. It’s currently my only remaining Volumio device hidden away behind books at the top of my bookshelves (see pic below). It provides my living room with… you guessed it: music only. Even though I love the old Bose Companion speakers, they are nothing compared to the AudioEngine P4s that resonate beautifully in the most expensive bookshelves I’ve ever owned. The reason this is my only Volumio device is because 1) my wife’s not ready to learn new player software and 2) it works better than HifiBerryOS when it comes to accessing SMB shares. More on that in a sec. The RPi and AMP2 drives the AudioEngine P4 speakers with enough quality to make me grin ear to ear every morning while drinking earl grey and waking up to jazz.
Btw. Morning jazz is a worst-writer ritual.
My third RPi3 has a Hifiberry DAC+Pro and is a Plex media player OSMC player. It’s attached to a flatscreen 40″ TV in my work room (not pictured). For audio it is connected to a TEAC (ice powered) integrated amp via RCA cables and powers Pioneer BS22LR speakers. I think it’s my second oldest Raspberry Pi (from 2015 or 2016). When I started using Plex back in the day, btw, I thought it would be my streamer and player of choice. Turns out better players software abounds. And, if you ask worst-moi, Plex has become too complex. (Pun intended.) Plus I hate subscription software. Anywho. I mainly use Plex OSMC with RPi and with AppleTV for for viewing my ripped movie and TV collection. When playing music I simply stream to it via OSMC shairport. Btw. All my media is stored on a simple samba server The Plex server is on a Pine64 RockPro64 which is in my basement. This is my minimalist, go-to, as audiophile-as-it-gets, setup. I absolutely love it.
The last RPi in my collection is an RPi4. I’ve been using it mostly as a testbed and/or fiddle device. It has the HifiBerry DAC+Pro and is currently connected to my TEAC’s second RCA inputs. It’s currently running HifiBerryOS and I’m really digging how it functions as a streaming endpoint. The RPi4 is the most powerful device here and it shows–especially when loading SMB shares or fiddling with operating systems. I’ve been switching between HifiBerryOS and Volumio with it trying to figure out which player I prefer–and HifiberryOS is winning on account Volumio seems to be going down a path of greed-mongering. More on that in a sec. What’s become very clear to me while fiddling around with all this stuff is that the day is nigh when these little things will easily replace modern desktop PCs. As far as media players go… they’re already the bomb.
HiFiBerryOS vs Volumio?
My only gripe with with RPi + HifiBerry is the software. I’m still, kinda, in the experimental stage of how to setup all these devices. Although I would like something similar to what iTunes used to be, I stopped using iTunes years ago because of proprietary issues, including the fact that Apple doesn’t support FLAC. Currently I’m pretty happy with webradio and direct streaming via shairport. The only thing missing is to be able to do it all with one software. But which one? I’ve got HifiBerry OS on two devices, Volumio on one device and Plex on the others (including my basement Pine64 server). Anywho…
I’m starting to dig HifiBerryOS more and more. Even though HifiBerryOS on the older RPi3 seems to have fewer capabilities than when on the RPi4 The OS works so well with shairport (open source version of Apple’s Airport streaming software) that I’m actually streaming more and more music from my Mac and/or iPad–as opposed to accessing music via SMB shares and Volumio, which I can’t getting running on HifiberryOS anyway. Update: using info provided here, I managed to get HifiBerryOS connected to my SMB shares. It works like a charm! Hopefully they’ll fix the bugs soon. Right now I’m streaming The True Loves Live Performance from KEXP (YouTube) and it is rocking’ cool!
It’s time to admit the obvious. I’m becoming more and more disappointed with Volumio, which has been my go-to music player for a few years now. Also, since Volumio has decided to go down the cost-path of subscription fees in order to monetise, plus it thinks it’s OK to charge for Bluetooth access…. Come on Volumio, subscription fees suck. And how is it that HifiBerry doesn’t charge for its Bluetooth access?! Just charge a flat fee for your software. Or not! But heed this: as a streaming endpoint, I’m really digging HifiBerryOS.
IMHO. Raspberry Pi and Hifiberry have really done a number on an industry that is obsessed with cheating consumers. Am I referring to the so-called audiophile industry? Or just the Denon and NAD makers? Yeah. Something like that. What’s important is that if you don’t want to be owned or miss out on modern music consumption and have a bit of tech knowledge plus you are willing to fiddle around with opensource software…?
Who owns you, baby? And once you finally answer that question, whether you’re a #MAGA moron or a tree-hugger genius, the future might just open up to you instead of being dark and dreary like the transplanted roots of #Trump’s pee-pee-hair. Or maybe not.
So here’s the thing, dear worst-reader. Have you seen the brilliant advert from the makers of some fancy-pants computer game that totally demolishes the universes greatest (most profitable) corporation and thereby turning corporate hierarchy into exactly what was going on back in 1984 but kinda upside-down, if not inside-out? I’m referring, of course, not to Orwell’s book, 1984, that so ingeniously, and obviously, predicted the end of my beloved & missed #Americant–as republicans and conservatives turn the country into a $hithole of suburban hell, newspeak, big-brother bat$hittery, etc. Indeed. I’m referring to the 1984 of Steve Job’s wet-dream that would become one of the most famous adverts of all-time. An advert that was supposed to show the world that Apple ain’t evil. But before I get too far off worst-subject.
One of the most astonishing things to this expat every time I would traverse the Atlantic to visit mother back in the new country (#Americant), was the reality of how the country was nothing if not a bastion of modern day corporate monopolisation run amok. By-the-buy, the word monopoly is pretty much synonymous with corporate, if not Econ-school newspeak’s: vertical industry. And so. Whether it’s your cable company, bank or grocery store, there are so few choices when it comes to how/what you consume, that it’s no wonder the country is stuck in an internal mind-battle of good and evil, right vs wrong, #MAGA hat or rational thought, etc. There are simply too few choices when it comes to consuming-to-survive, which means, ultimately, you’re value as a citizen is dependent on who/what sets that value. Capisce?
Of course, worst-writer can’t get too detailed about this sort of stuff on account I ain’t no economist, but instead I am just your average wannabe pseudo social scientist. (Or maybe not.) What is clear to me, in these times of greed-galore, is that even if you can make the case that there are a few cable companies or phone companies or banks, etc., that give the illusion of choice, it most certainly doesn’t contradict the idear that industry itself isn’t monopolistic. Take grocery stores, for example. Even though there are a few stores to choose from, the chickens and eggs that are sold there are from monopolies, hence vertical industry. But. Again. I’m probably getting into territory beyond my capacities. So let’s move on.
I for one was tickled to death when I first saw the vid above. Epic, the maker of the game Fortnite, nails it. I mean, why didn’t I think of it. As an Apple fanboy, I’ve been frustrated with the company’s direction for years. I hate how they have been turning my Mac into a device that only they can control. That’s the reason I’m not an iOS fan, btw. iPads are horrific to me in how the system is so shut off from the world. Now that Apple is turning Mac hardware into the same monolithic system, it’s quite possible that I will move to Linux in the near future. I’ve already replaced my home network Macs with Linux based SBCs. All of my media players, too, are on raspberry pi hardware–also because I can’t stand the idear of “subscription” music services, I won’t touch an Apple HomePod. But. Again. Allow me to die-gress.
Let’s break the video down, shall we? Epic Games rightly claims that it is Apple in 1984. Keep in mind, back then, Steve Jobs hated Apple’s main competitor: IBM. Almost identical to the original, here an animated female runs into the corporate conference room with big brother Apple on the screen telling the groupthink corporate automatons (of Silicon Valley): “…platform unification directives”. The female then releases her unicorn hammer into the screen, destroying it. As she walks out of the conference room we read the following:
Epic Games has defied the App Store monopoly. In retaliation, Apple is blocking Fortnite from a billion devices. Join the fight to stop 2020 from becoming “1984”.
Even though I’m not a gamer and have never even seen Fortnite, I’m all in regarding what they’re trying to do. This is yet another battle in the war of #Americant that has been suffering a long, slow death by a thousand little political (right-wing, Neo-liberal policy) cuts since Ronald Dip$hit Reagan filled peoples heads with subpar acting talent that can only be followed by the vulgarity of white trash reality TV in the form of President Orange Shit. And let’s not forget all the wars of choice that have sucked the life out of post WW2 middle class greed run amok. Has there ever been a generation so deserving of seeds sown! But, again, I die-gress.
The thing that bugs me the most about all this greed and one sided politics is how so many can’t see through the grift that is #Americant. It’s as though the pledge of allegiance or the star spangled banner was draped over the rotting corpse of your mother because something has to hide her murder and you’re just playing around with rainbow $hit fresh from a unicorns… But I die-gress.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest– For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men– Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him? O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me.
-Marc Antony, Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare
Yes, dear worst-reader, these are the moments where things read cause a thought or three while cleaning my weber über-grill this morn. Oh how it needed a cleaning, don’t you know. So much oily stuff accumulating underneath the flames after month upon month of use–since our oven is broke. It only takes a piece of fatty steak to drip at the right moment to ignite the oily undergrowth. So it was a few days back. The whole grill and the steaks bellowed a black smoke as the grime lit up into dull, orange flames. And as I age, admiring the gluttony of the couch during these days waiting for the clock to strike “it’s drink time”, I gathered myself and said: Clean the fcuking grill you lazy biatch of man, earn your afternoon drink. And so I did. But then. While my power washer was acting up, I got to thinking about Marc Antony’s speech from Julius Caesar. Oh, how I’ve battled with this speech, perhaps not unlike I’m battling with my power washer. Even though I’ve only directed this play twice in my dream-mind, both times I fought with this speech the most. You know, what does it mean? Where is it going. Where has it been? Heaven forbid you’re stuck with an actor who thinks this play is about power. Hence the varied right-wing bend this speech can take, as though it were a crowd pleaser or crowd controller. Being the liberal I am, of course, means I can only allow Marc Antony to be the sarcastic prick that too few know he really is. And so, while power washing the grill plates and flame diffusers and heat deflectors of my grill, the parts that catch all the flammable grime waiting to light if not properly cared for–not unlike California these days, eh–I allowed my dream-mind to imagine, even for a brief amount of time, that I would play Marc Antony in my third directorial attempt at Shakespeare. And I would give the speech as I see fit, don’t you know.
PS After my grill caught fire the other day, indicating it was time for a cleaning, the steaks that caused the fire weren’t all that bad. Indeed. They were tasty.
The almost, worst-writer, true story of #Americant, the greatest land of FREE-TO-BE-STUPID the universe has ever received and for proof of the proof all one has to do is get a load of #OKBoomer, the generation that failed to grow up. The generation stuck in nostalgia. High school was never graduated. Pom-poms attract all attention. And your real puppies are your children’s shadows. Or maybe not.
What is a generations greatest achievement? How can it be measured? Is there a microscope or other technique available for empirical data gathering? Who the fcuk knows. At the worst-least, one can simply have a good look at what’s been left behind, especially now that the #OKBoomer plague reeks havoc on such a deserving group of $hitbags. With that in worst-mind, worst-writer best-guesses that #OKBoomer’s greatest achievement is nothing less that FAILING UPWARD or fake it till you make it. I mean, look at the $hit they’ve done that culminates in the likes of #Trump. Or maybe not.
How to set the stage of a world based on failing upward? First. There has to be a lot of TV. TV that is perfectly moulded to minds. You’ve already got the minds, of course, don’t you know. Just visit a Walmart. Get a load of the clothes everyone wears, too. Then, just to be sure, check out interwebnet videos of #MAGA leisure boats sinking while promoting President Pee-Pee-Hair’s re-election. And so. Same here, same there. And by-the-buy. Sure, there are a few trinket differences in the fail upward $hitshow as in, say, some wear bumper stickers, others lapel pins, and some take pictures of sunken leisure boats as they suck the fat nipples of money-galore Poseidon.
Second. The mind setting of the stage is a bit more complex than costuming that stage. Here one needs to understand the intricacies of content. Take a look at all that TV which has given the world #OKBoomer #Americant. Generation after generation, post WW2 of course, is pumped full of nonsense and feelings. Brain food, indeed. Take, for example, the #Americant sitcom. Especially the family sitcoms. Whether it’s a real-world show (Married With Children) or a cartoon (Simpsons, South Park1), the brain is dependent on the content. Content, hence, rules. Or. At best. Is profitable. (For adverts.) But before I get too far off worst-subject.
The #OKBoomer generation has screwed the pooch. But what should one do with a peoples that never grew up or that never grew out of the shadow of misconstrued parenting? Don’t believe for a second that the generation that gave us #OKBoomner is any better. Greatest Generation, may arse. And so. What else can these morons do but leave the world in havoc and chaos and misdeeds? I mean, wars-of-choice, catastrophic economics, porn, etc. Well. I guess the porn’s pretty good. But I die-gress.
Once the lights go out and time stops (death), the only thing that matters is what you’ve left behind. Considering generation X, millennials, etc., things ain’t lookin’ rosey. If that’s the case, hell must be a pretty big place, probably filled with #Trump failed hotel deals. Or maybe not?
In the game musical chairs players prance around chairs while music is playing. When the music stops prancers have to sit. The prancers who have not found a chair to sit in are removed from the game along with one chair. I suppose, in that vein, the game could also be called music, losers and a chair. But that’s neither here nor there.
In the game musical chairs, like life, perhaps, chairs are the/a limited resource for which prancers (consumers, corporatists, automatons, etc.) live. And so. The last person remaining who is sitting in a chair… Winner! If you’re not a delusional demon capable of comprehending the/a #MAGA hat BS, this game must remind you of something? But what?
What’s the point of such a game, dear worst-reader? Is it the superficiality of the superficial, i.e. childhood–where life was once or thrice fun? Or is it just plain $hits & giggles as a kind of foreplay for the big deal/fcuk that we all must eventually face–after we’re no longer useless eating but smile-baiting man-children? No. The point of such a game is the/a metaphor, don’t you know. In fact, according to the opinion article below, from that infamous newspaper of record, i.e. New York Times, musical chairs is the only game of life for which humans have evolved (or is it devolved). The reason most prancers are unable to figure this out is due to one systematic, collective, universal construct. That’s right, dear worst-reader.
Am I wrong?
Let’s worst-continue, shall we?
Actually, dear worst-reader, musical chairs isn’t mentioned once in the article I’m linking to (see below). Still, while reading the article, I couldn’t help but think of the game. Considering current events and how a bunch of morons on boats on a lake in Texas would/could not follow certain rules and thereby sinking their boats…
But I die-gress.
Oh yea. The game. The game’s the deal, eh, worst-reader? It’s the deal that is the lie of the mind that is also the joke that we call life–in a world that can only give rise to the likes of #Trump, #MAGA, and a country like my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant that has one of the universe’s newest and largest government agencies with the word Homeland, as in DHS. Are you $hitting giggles yet with all that edumacation? Is your boat still floating?
No. Seriously. If you’re not $hitting your dollar ridden pants-giggles right now because you live in what is supposed to be a free country but also a country that has a government agency and a society that only Orwell could have predicted…
But I die-gress.
What is the game we’re all being forced to play at the behest of a system run amok? Shall we call it the Merit game? At the least, musical chairs is a game where not much thought is required to play, which means a whole lot of people, whether deserving (merit) or not, seem to play with gusto. Still no echo of Orwell? How ’bout #Trump?
Yet the game is played on a mass scale as humanity progresses towards its demise, happy and $hitting and giggling, prominent and shrewd, callous and demeaning, #Americant: the covid-19 nation. And while that’s taking place there are some still out there thinking they need to measure and/or codify, hypothesise(?), label whether peoples of privileged means actually earn their keep. Indeed, dear worst-reader. Most peoples these days don’t/can’t earn their keep. For that’s the whole system, ain’t it. Getting on–on the backs of others–thereby not really having to do much–especially much worth anything akin to merit or education for that matter.
And so. Never having a creative thought. Unable to (intellectually) fight your way out of a wet paper bag. Brainless but with a bank account and/or a credit rating. Indeed. That’s what the over-edumacated do now. Thank the universe not only for all the fancy named degrees but for all those who earn those degrees and then go out there and give us… this, i.e. what we have, what we’re living in right now. Seriously. Trust me. As a comfortable loser of the game–who was/is able to get far enough away from it, you prancers are truly fcuked.
And one last thing from worst-writer regarding edumacation (which is what the article is almost about). The only reason for learning is exactly that. It’s not for degrees, for titles, for posturing, etc. Learning is to know when the shit has hit the fan and thereby stop throwing shit (at the fan) or get out of the way or get rid of the fan or or or. Anything that is not what we have. Also…
Education should simply NOT be a commodity.
And so. Finally. In worst-closing. Good luck suckers, especially you edumacated suckers that think all that college was worth it–because you can’t call it what it really is/was: indoctrination.
Originally from Maryland, dear worst-reader. But don’t fault me for that. Don’t fault me on account, don’t you know, Maryland has given the world Kavanaugh. But I die-gress. After living in the golden cage of Germania for all these years, sometimes I need reminding of where I’m from. With a little help from my better-half, of course, she comes home here or there with just such a reminder. Indeed. Every once-a-once she brings something home that is supposed to remind me of who I am, where I’m from, what reared me. Little does she know the horrors that surge around my worst-mind. But that’s for another worst-blog, perhaps. Or. Are these little things supposed to do something else? #Nomatter. I allow the entertainment–especially in these times of covid and other pig capitalist misdeeds that have turned the world into a cesspool of shitfilth and other happy whatnot of demise. Yet here’s the thing. When I’m reminded of where I’m from I usually just give off a wink and thumb-up and then go about my merry bidness. Then, usually a day or two (or maybe more) later, I take another look at the reminder and realise: the world has my Maryland all wrong. But is that any wonder? I mean. Have you ever been to Maryland? It can be a nice place to visit but like so many other places… it’s just another shithole where one group of people can poop on another group of people and no one thinks once or thrice about any of it. Still. Some stuff irks me. Take a close look at the pics above. The “blue crab” isn’t quite right, don’t you know. In fact, to the best of my crab knowledge, that’s the image of a mud crab. Although the Schooner is a fine sailing vessel and deserves to have its image on a mini-bucket of oddly flavoured nuts, Maryland is not known for Schnooners. Maryland, especially the Chesapeake Bay, is known for its Skipjacks. But. Again. I die-gress.
To avoid all my worst-writing and get straight to the pseudo-review, just scroll down a bit. Otherwise, good luck.
This consume-to-survive world/life is gettin’ to me, covid n’all. You too, dear worst-reader? I mean. Just the other day, after purchasing another one of them fancy-pants robot vacuum cleaners, after my previous über-expensive robot vacuum cleaner stopped working, I thought: what will be the last thing I ever buy? I mean. You know. Before I die, what will be my last purchase of this life? Which begs the worst-question: should it be something big and exuberant and gaudy? Even though the thought of buying a sailing yacht as a last purchase has crossed my mind, I’m starting to reconsider. For you see. Don’t you know. The dream-purchase of a yacht is two fold. First, it would be used to sail out to the middle of the Atlantic, once and for all. Once there I would hang out for a few days dancing and prancing in a state of glorious inebriation. After that I would pull the plug. You know, the plug at the bottom of every boat’s hull. And while the boat is filling with water, I will dawn my scuba gear and jump over board. While still on the surface, I’ll watch my last life-purchase sink and shed my last tears. Just as the hull breaches the water’s surface I commence to join it by grabbing the mast but continue breathing with my scuba gear as we go down. Now. Get this, dear worst-reader. This is my death fantasy combined with my last consume-to-survive purchase. And so. I commence a rapid descent along side my yacht and thereby watch my depth gauge. Once I surpass forty-five or so meters I then give way to my fate and submit to nitrogen narcosis, which, in my case, as I learned during a fifty meter dive in the Red Sea in 2010, sends me into a hissy-fit of giggling. Of course, since I enjoyed all those dreams of yachting across oceans for so long, it’s my hope that those same dreams will accompany me as my body submits to rapture of the deep. Without struggle or stress, the chemical imbalance of oxygen in my blood stream, at depth, sees to it that the lights finally go out and time stops and the misery that is a life that can give way to the likes of #Trump and #MAGA and the demise of my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant… to fascism… is finally over. Good night sweet prince.
All kidding aside. Since I ain’t never gonna afford no yacht, how ’bout we make my last purchase something akin to a last meal. But would mine include ice cream? Certainly not. It would be all about blue popcorn and watching the tale of a salamander as it wiggles (and giggles) hanging out of the beak of a horned rabbit… with Monty Python pointy teeth.
Today, dear worst-reader, we pseudo-review our new robot vacuum cleaner, the Neato D7. It is replacing our old iRobot 866 which we purchased in early 2016–or was it late 2015? Needless to say, I was very disappointed that our iRobot died. I’ve since ticked it away via that online auction service as “defect”, don’t you know. Good riddance. In fact, after a few years of use and being a device that I thought would hold up for a few more years, I can gladly admit that iRobot is on my shit-list. Indeed. The one good thing about being able to afford consume-to-survive purchase like this, is that I can also express my deep, deep disappointment in the corporate misnomer that some stuff that you think is quality ain’t really so. More on that in a sec.
The Neato D7 cleans better than the iRobot. It’s also quieter and is easier to maintain. The most important thing, though, is the Neato is much, much smarter than the iRobot. Although the Neato software sucks buckyballs, I’m slowly adapting to its inadequacies. That’s what software is all about, or? It’s never about what software can do. No. It’s always about the compromises made when using it. Am I wrong, Microsoft, Apple, etc.? Anywho. As of the writing of this worst-post Neato’s software cannot be used by multiple devices, i.e. two separate iPhones. Also. The iPhone app crashes here and there. The app interface reminds me of lost Windows 95 sys admins who may or may not have jumped ship. But before I get too far off subject. The first downer I noticed about the inadequate software is that it doesn’t run on two different iPhones. Well, it does. But then it breaks things. That is, when my wife tries to control the robot with her iPhone and then I try to access it later with my iPhone, the device becomes disoriented and is unable find its home base. Another downer about the software is that room mapping on multiple floors only works if you have multiple home bases, i.e. charging stations on each floor. WTF!
Oh yeah. The price. The Neato was on a special end of summer offer for 370,-€. Compared to the dumb-device cost of the iRobot from 2015 @ 699,-… that kinda makes the Neato a frickin‘ steal. Another notch in the hate-gun of iRobot? Nevermind.
Back to software krapp.
Although initial setup of the Neato’s room mapping was a bit cumbersome, requiring two hard resets, where the ground floor of our house had to be mapped twice, I eventually reached the point of… fcuk-it. If all else fails, I’ll forget the room mapping and just let it clean without it. That’s what the iRobot did. The biggest difference to the iRobot was that the Neato works as though it can see where it’s going. And that’s a big deal. Considering iRobot’s latest product that can also see costs triple that of the Neato…? I can live with krappy software as long as it cleans and doesn’t just bang into stuff.
And clean it does, baby.
After a few weeks of use, just letting it do it’s thing, I’m not convinced that Neato’s mapping algorithm is fool proof. But I did get it working. Things like “no-go-lines” are a good idear, don’t you know. “No-go lines”, btw, you can set in the app, which has a virtual map of your house, and they’re supposed to prevent the device from slamming into, say, the dog’s water and food bowls or any other complicated floor areas, e.g. cables, floor lamp bases, etc. The only problem with “no-go-lines” is that you have to make sure that what’s ever in the lines is always in the same and/or original place. A bit of a cumbersome thing considering a real world floor doesn’t contain “no-go-lines”. Even though our older iRobot could see walls but couldn’t see furniture, the Neato seems to be able to see everything–with or without mapping. Which brings me to…
I was very disappointed when our iRobot stopped working. After searching and researching, I found out that the iRobot didn’t wear as well as I thought it would. That is, the build of the iRobot is better, more solid than the Neato, that’s for sure. On the other hand, the iRobot seems to be more complex. For example, before its demise, the iRobot kept indicating “Error 11”. I since learned that depending on the model, “Error 11” either meant bad battery or bad waste bin. I eventually bought a new (albeit third-party) battery for it. After one cleaning session “Error 11” returned and I was pissed that I might have just wasted my time replacing the battery. Turns out that the waste bin was also faulty. That’s when I found out (realised) that iRobot builds the suction fan into the waste bin. IMHO, after a few weeks with a new robot vacuum, iRobot might be stuck in that industrial mindset of not just over-pricing but also (aghast!) OVER-ENGINEERING.
Anywho. The Neato has a much bigger waste bin, cleans waaaaay more efficiently, is quieter and after (finally) getting the mapping thing going, allows me to clean room by room with a few taps of the app. If/when I want to clean the second floor of our house, though, I do so by just taking it up stairs and hitting the clean button. After that I have to take it back downstairs and manually put it on its home-base. Oh yeah. That damn home-base. Hold a sec. That’s another thing.
If you interrupt the Neato’s cleaning session by picking it up or moving it, it gets confused. That wouldn’t be so bad if I could just tell it to find its base. The problem is, removing it from its mapping seems to make it forget where the base is. The only way to get it back to the base is to manually put it there. Again: krappy software! I hope Neato will improve it with future updates. If not, compared to the 2015 iRobot, I’d still buy Neato. Reason? The most significant difference between these two robots is I no longer have to deal with one of them just banging into stuff.
As far as cleaning goes. The Neato wins hands down. Our hard wood floors are much freer of dirt and tiny particles now. For the price and compared to equivalent smart devices from iRobot, I’m throwing the Neato in with any great deal I’ve made lately. Even though the software kinda sucks, it does a good job of cleaning. Add to that it doesn’t get stuck…
And let’s never forget, dear worst-reader. It can happen here. Or. Put another worst-way: Oh well. You fcuked. I mean. You had a chance. As in. In the last forty years, you didn’t really have to move the country so far to the right (of politics). Then again, as far as a country of collective stupid goes–that would allow #Americant to go so far to the right–Bill Maher says it best: there’s simply too much STUPID out there. With that in mind, I finally got around to reading George Orwell’s review of Hitler’s Mein Kampf from, like, 1940.
Fascism and Nazism are psychologically far sounder than any hedonistic conception of life. The same is probably true of Stalin’s militarised version of Socialism. All three of the great dictators have enhanced their power by imposing intolerable burdens on their peoples. Whereas Socialism, and even capitalism in a more grudging way, have said to people “I offer you a good time,” Hitler has said to them “I offer you struggle, danger and death,” and as a result a whole nation flings itself at his feet.
The three dictators Orwell refers to, of course, are Stalin, Mussolini and Hitler. And just so we’re on the same wave length, Stalin is militarised socialism, Mussolini is fascism and Hitler is Nazism. The thing is, I came across this review in my quest to figure out the difference between Fascism and Nazism. As I’ve attempted to point out here, even though to some it may seem like splitting hairs, I believe the difference between the two are quite relevant in also understanding the current political situation regarding my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant.