Like a single pixel on something spit out by a dot matrix printer. If you focus in on the one point, you can see it, but miss the larger message that you could see just be zooming out a bit. Saw this this morning about a place where I used to work. Well, I worked as a contractor for them, because they, along with the effort to get rid of old people, didn’t want to hire anybody full-time.
What the company there did, and what several other companies are doing, is just hiring contractors. No benefits to pay. No paid time off. The Winter holidays are coming up? Enjoy working less, and making less money.
At least the last place I worked that did that paid Federal holidays. Well, most of them.
I remember begin a young broadcaster, and being told about needing to “hear the smile in your voice.”
I’m starting to think that that’s probably a part of my issue with this one MS podcast I’ve been listening to. The host just sounds pissed off a lot of the time. The very serious sound effects and bumper music don’t do anything to change that perception.
When he was discussing something about which he was actually excited today, that did come across, and he didn’t sound like such a wokescold.
Speaking of that, I still glimpse at what’s going on with Nextdoor, a.k.a. Twitter for old people. Some of what you get there is illustrative of the Karen attitude so heavily-represented near where I’m living. I mean, we’re no Montgomery County, Maryland, but there’s a lot here.
I’ve long referred to Maryland as “DPRM,” as a nod to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. After more consideration, however, I’m thinking that “MDDR” might be more appropriate; Maryland Deutsche Demokratik Republik might be more appropriate.
The Karens of a place like MoCo would probably like the Stasi’s reporting tools.
Trolling around the series of tubes today, and I stumbled across this. Nonono; you need regulations like that, or people will die. For reasons I can’t find, immediately, that’s been floating through my scarred brain the past few weeks.
Also trying to pay attention with some interest into the LP nomination discussion yesterday. My oldest friend asked me what I thought about Vermin Supreme. Que? Well, as far as I know, he’s not out on a boat trying to avoid various authorities.
But, if anything, the longer that things go on with this COVID-19 stuff, the less I confidence I have in government as a rule.
No, that’s not a black helicopter that’s outside my window, it’s just the A/C unit.
Seems like this is when I’m writing. There’s not a lot to do, really; what can you do?
The news cycle this week has been dizzying. I had Sarah watch one particular commentator’s take on the dismissal of the Flynn case. I don’t agree with the guy on many, nay most, things, but he laid out the disclosures in a pretty straightforward fashion.
It’d be amusing watching the respective approach to what government(s) are doing. Lots and lots of emphasis on what the President is or isn’t doing, and barely any attention to government messed up the testing.
Other stuff I was going to write about:
In a bit of nostalgia, and I’m sure if you look, there’s many links here (which I’m too lazy to expunge), but I decided to see what’s going on over at a place where I used to try to help, AltDaily. Broken Tribune.co redirect. Seeing that does make me a little sad, but that does reinforce the tagline here. If I ventured into the sewer that is Facebook, I’d find more that a few friends who were involved with it.
Speaking of social media sites, I’ve been playing a little with Locals. I also have an account on Minds, but I’m not sure what to do with it. But back to Locals, I’m following four channels at the moment — Dave Rubin, Bridget Phetsay, Andy Ngo, and Michael Malice. I pay varying attention to these four, but I was curious after hearing Bridget’s adoring review (probably with Rubin on her own show). Some of the content looks interesting, but you do have to pay for a lot of it. Same goes for one of Ngo’s efforts, Quilette, and The Fifth Column. My friends over at Mouthy Broadcast also do some things with one of the donation sites where you can see exclusive content. I’ve been avoiding that particular site for a while since they started making editorial decisions on folks’ content. (Sorry for going full RMS-information-needs-to-be-free, but…) On the site, you have to pony up to like/share/comment on posts. I definitely understand it, but I was totally broke for so long, and I’m accustomed to getting free-of-charge content free pretty much forever. Would I start paying for podcasts? I doubt it. Do I buy things from companies that advertise on the pods I listen to? As sure as my ass is in a pair of underwear I heard advertised on one of them.
COVID-19 has delayed my infusion by a week, and I’m getting kind of crabby with as fatigued as I am.
One of the other things I added to my already-full pod queue is Filmphoria. I heard him on with Robbie Bernstein on Run Your Mouth. I think I bought one of the host’s sweatshirts, too. So I had an odd craving for Jiffy Pop popcorn. The stuff that’s in the Smartfood bag has placated me. Sorta.
So, stopping again. Too much rambling. Whatever. It’s what I do.
Back in the
summer of 2019, I wrote a blog post called, “You can leave.”
When I wrote
it, I was talking largely about what I was seeing happening with Google and
Since I’ve been in virtual isolation worried about COVID-19/Coronavirus/”The Chinese Virus,” I’ve opened back up to social media, I’m leaving again. I’ve been glancing at Facebook more often. I’ve been reading Nextdoor, after the wholehearted endorsement by the corporate media’s Republican sweetheart, David Brooks, on the dumpster fire (all apologies to Ms. Bridget Phetasy, whose Totes-Didn’t-Used-To-Be-Evil video show is called that) that is Meet The Press.
mistake. But understand that I’d be okay
never speaking to some of you ever again.
If I care the last about you, you’re getting muted during one of my rare
visits. If you do it repeatedly, you’re
getting removed from my friends list.
kindest way to deal with it, even if it means that those people will hate me
now, want to see me executed later. I
don’t care. But, then, I am the one who’s
seeing a Psychologist on the regular.
But, back to
Nextdoor, the sentiments go along
with the area where I live. My neighbors
are authoritarians who want to use the force of government. Today it’s forcing businesses to close. What is it tomorrow? When does it get to killing people who don’t behave
the way you want them to?
So I’m withdrawing into myself, and praying for Senator Paul.
That’s how long it took me to realize the reason my early alarm didn’t go off was because, um, it’s Saturday, and the alarm is only scheduled for Monday through Friday.
I’m glad I didn’t wake my wife, worried that she’d be late starting her telework.
The semi-isolation for COVID-19 is ongoing.
Monday I have two medical appointments that are going to be done over the phone. The second one is a follow-up to an MRI I had at Georgetown on Friday.
That I was sedated might explain a bit better about why I didn’t fully-comprehend that today is Saturday.
For me, though the experience at Georgetown was a bit off, things have been really not all that different for me, but, as someone who works from home most of the time, that isn’t that big a surprise.
I haven’t been to my office in like three weeks. Okay. And? I’m really smoothing things over with this system I help run, as well as pointing out things that can be done to improve corporate contract performance.
This is what I can still do.
But do I still want to when I see the effects on people, including very good friends, of what’s happening?
That didn’t make a lot of sense, so maybe I ought to quit writing for now.
The temptation to write is very much there right now, and that’s one of the things that I tend to do when I’m mentally-stressed.
No, it was me going home for Thanksgiving. I really kind of was having a breakdown when I wrote twenty-nine. But I’ve kind of been cloistering at home the past couple of weeks, trying to get my head back together.
I think it worked, but I am very much in need of my next Tysabri infusion. Tuesday can’t get here soon enough. Ugh.
I did the trip, and ended up on the train thinking my psychologist didn’t want to see me anymore, and I should blow up just about everything in my life.
So I emailed her.
For whatever reason, I convinced myself she was trying to get rid of me as a patient.
We discussed it, and it might come down to my life as a kid. Things suck? Okay, just hang on for a few more months, and you’ll be able to start anew, somewhere else.
That also might speak to my longtime urge to always build from scratch, and nothing is, or maybe, nothing should ever be permanent.
I think that the resistance to that might be rooted in the desire to improve on something previously good. Or perfect.
Speaks to my admiration of certain sports figures. Will anyone ever match Brett Favre’s interception record? Would anyone ever be allowed to play long enough to break it?
And that speaks to my subtitle — Everything Gets Deleted, Eventually.