5.2.10

Born of Blood and Insurrection: The Dark Days of February (A Snake Dance)

I actually found myself turning off the news last night.  No, I have not gone the way of the willfully ignorant and have decided to live my days out under the umbrella of sunshine, daisies and consumerism.  I just thought that reading was the better alternative.  Actually, seeing Meg Whitman's oddly emotionless face kind of turned my stomach a bit, so I thought it best to turn to the written word.

Didn't want to hear more about the earthquake, the Humboldt Creamery cancer or the crime in the Bay Area.  Wanted to read about secret weapons programs and dark rituals carried out in remote areas of Germany.  There are, of course, connections.  Not always direct, and rarely noticeable, but they are there.

Let's remember that the Nazis aren't the only group who made jingoism and hegemony a country-wide trait and barometer for patriotism.  Cue the stars and stripes of deception ...

It is going to be a weird day.  I can feel it in the air.  I woke up with an odd pain in my stomach, one I hadn't felt before.  I could not trace it to the usual suspects of stress, spicy food or back ache (I am well aware of what that stomach pain feels like).  Nor could I envision the cause being voodoo or black magic related.  (Wasn't a Wiccan just killed over something silly?)  It still lingers, but I will go to work and ride it out as long as I can.  

I don't believe in karma, but I often wish such a thing existed.  I think it would be the only way some people would learn.  A lady complained about me putting weed killer on my lawn this weekend.  She was walking her dog and told me that the dog liked to defecate in my hard and would sniff the grass.  She didn't want it getting sick.  I assumed this was the dog that was always leaving its waste that the dog owner wouldn't clean up, but never really cared to much because it was on the side of my yard that I rarely use.  I told the woman I really didn't care how she felt because she shouldn't be letting her dog shit on other people's yards without cleaning it up.  I said that now that she saw what I was doing for the weeds, she should take precautions to make sure her dog didn't sniff there.  She told me she'd rather I take them out by hand.

I thought, "The nerve of some people."   I said, "I'm sure you would, but unless you volunteer to do it, I'm using the spray."

She walked away in a huff, taking her dog with her.

Good riddance to bad garbage.  No responsibility, yet very happy to tell others how to live their life and what to do.  I find that is often the case.  It made me wish I could put some kind of spray down to keep her the hell away.  I'm sure she went to the mall afterward to make some teenage clerk's life hell as she bought perfume to "calm her nerves."

It's a good month so far. 


2 comments:

Silent Eagle said...

I prefer umbrellas that shower me with magical rainbows and talking unicorns.

You have no idea how much it pains me to know that my ancestors hunted unicorns to the brink of extinction.

Anyway, are we still on for a matinee of "Dear John" this weekend? Keep me posted.

Hugs!

-Doug Brunell "America's Favorite Son" said...

You bet! Dear John!