Suziecreamcheese Sings the Blues

After the “election,” I noticed, and I’m sure you did too, that nearly every headline, or tv news talking head, was using the same term for those of us who questioned the results. It was all “baseless accusations.”

I heard it so many times, I truly believe they’re all given a script and told to follow it because it’s exactly the same words coming out of so many different mouths. But my suspicions are probably “baseless.”

There was an email “dump” last week where thousands of emails from Dr. Fauci, aka “FlipFlop Fauci” were made public. I don’t have the time or inclination to search through them, but what I’ve seen published has shown me that several people who questioned him from the early days of the Rona (that’s what we’ve started calling it, with a huge emphasis on the first syllable, the ROOOOOHHHNAH!”) were right.

Today I click on my email, I’m still using AOL because it’s where I started and I’m too damned lazy to change. (Shut it, Maxwell, I am not too damned old, and get off my lawn) There was a story about the “vicious attacks” on Dr. Fauci. I read the story, and started laughing – because, of course, any accusations against him are, once again, baseless!

So I’m thinking that the definition of that term has changed recently. Perhaps “baseless” now means, “there’s plenty of evidence but it was never supposed to be made public, so look away, nothing to see here!” Or maybe it’s, “your evidence doesn’t fit what we want, so we’re going to ignore it.” Or maybe it’s something else entirely?

I watched the post “election” hearings and saw testimony from people, under oath, who had sworn to tell the truth under penalty of prosecution, who spoke about the things they saw and experienced. Was it enough to change the results? Does that matter? Shouldn’t any discrepancy be investigated?

Nope, it’s all “baseless” if the result was what you wanted. Take notes, people, and try to use this term correctly from now on. “Officer, your allegation that I was breaking the speed limit is baseless, so what if I was going 90 in a 30? Baseless, I tell you!” (Actually, I think Maverick has mastered this. “Did you dig that hole?” “Mommah, your accusation is baseless, in spite of the mud on my paws and all over your clean floor. Now give me a cookie to make up for hurting my feelings with your baseless accusations!”

That brings me to “vicious.” (Disclaimer – I haven’t been following this story all that closely, I’m dealing with family drama which, hey, you want to see vicious? Whew, let me introduce my family! ) From what I’ve seen, Fauci is being called out on some of the things he said in public when he said something totally different in private. Seems he’s also being called out on his disclaimer of any knowledge of gain of function – I have no idea what that actually means, by the way – or that this lab in China was working on the virus that almost took down the world.

New meaning of “vicious” is apparently saying that someone lied and should be held accountable? And then again, I’ve heard that term used for the January 6th “insurrection.” Hey, there’s another word to redefine! Walking into a building and taking a selfie? INSURRECTION, dammit!

So I have to attend a graduation party later today with family. (See “vicious” above) Perhaps I will throw out some baseless accusations, be accused of being vicious and stage an insurrection so I can get out of Dodge early!

My annual trip to the place I used to call home in under way.

I have been slapped in the face with all the reasons I left in the first place today

It’s gonna be a long week

On the good side – my adored great nephew got a job already, just out of college. I’m pretty damned proud of him.

On the bad side – my sister who has always treated me as if I were brain damaged, in spite of the three degrees I’ve managed to attain – she once described me as a “perpetual student” – is still trying to tell me what to think.

On the good side – not much was mentioned about the Rona, and nothing about politics. Phew, we are totally not in agreement about this stuff, but since I’m brain damaged, who cares what I think?

I am not a kid anymore. Why in the name of all that is holy do I let these people treat as if I am? I’m the youngest of five, one of the youngest of a plethora of grandchildren – and I mean it when I say that, my mother was one of 14 children and my father one of 6, they all believed that reproducing the species was a noble goal, so there are probably 150 grandchildren if not more. There is so latent jealousy because I was the spoiled darling of all the older kids, when they weren’t trying to throw me into a snowbank (perhaps this started my hatred of that white crap?) I was the smartest, the cutest, the one who went to college and got not one but three degrees, and also the one who stopped my life to take care of elderly parents when all the siblings went merrily on living their what others saw as normal lives. (I begrudge this not at all, I wouldn’t give up the years with my parents for anything and my life since they passed has been more than I ever dreamed it would be. Good things do come to those who wait sometimes)

However. We are not kids anymore. My oldest sister, who has been discussed previously, many times, was a joy sucker. It appears that my next older sister has taken on the role the Evil One who Shall Not Be Named deserted when she passed over into eternal flames. (Forgiveness is not one of my virtues, by the way) (That’s not true, I actually forgive pretty easily. This is a special case)

So some of my plans are being rearranged. I will spend as little time with Joy Sucker #2 as I can because I seriously don’t want to argue when I’m only here for a week. However, I won’t be a doormat. And I’ll be damned glad to get back home.

I read a post on Fakebook the other day from someone commenting about Memorial Day, and the Greatest Generation and the differences between then and now. A comment was made about “fake patriots in blue paint and viking hats.” Maybe my mind is wandering because I woke up an hour before the alarm and had to pee too badly to pretend that I could just go back to sleep -which means I tried to go back to sleep for about 15 minutes before giving in and getting up, and then there was just no point in going back to bed. At any rate, it struck me that the silliness of wearing Viking horns has been painted as the most horrible thing for anyone to do. I’m not saying that January 6th wasn’t serious, and it needs to be investigated for a lot of reasons – how in the hell did anyone get that far into the Capitol when Congress was in session anyway? It wasn’t like no one had a clue that people were planning to protest!

And then, because I was knitting I suppose, I got to thinking about pussy hats. Wearing a vagina on your head has to be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever seen anyone do. But the women who did that were considered brave and empowered. (Empowered is a word I seriously find annoying, by the way. It usually means that someone feels like they have to right to do something that most of us would think was probably not a good idea, like wearing a vagina on your head)

Blue horn Viking guy is still sitting in prison. People who burned down Portland and other cities all last summer were released within days, if not hours. Nobody got arrested for wearing a pussy hat, because apparently the fashion police had been defunded.

I’m of a generation that was raised to think of our vaginas as private, something that wasn’t to be shared with the world. Did this mean we were ashamed of them? I don’t think so, I kind of think that talking about your parts is like talking about pooping – we all have them, and we all poop, but do we really have nothing better to discuss? I’d really rather talk about a book, thanks.

And on a random note, becoming a student again is stressful!

We’ve gone from having the heat on to having the A/C on in the space of a week. I love Summer, I love the heat, I don’t mind humidity, I could cheerfully live in 80 degree weather year round and you’ll never hear me complain it’s too hot. (I may be preparing for my future life, who knows? But in my view, Heaven is hot and Hell is cold, so there’s that)

Maverick, on the other hand, does not understand that he doesn’t get to shed layers of fur like Mommah sheds layers of clothes and he really should not be outside for long periods of time when it’s 80some degrees out there and he can’t stop moving long enough to even get a drink.

We’ve taken to walking at the small park – a half mile – with him, because he’s just too hot. I take him home, then go to the big park and do my miles. I like to eat and that means I need to walk at least three miles a day or I turn into a balloon. I don’t like myself when I’m fat. I also like ice cream so I do what I have to do to have both – me sorta not fat but able to eat a fudgesicle when the mood strikes.

(It strikes almost every day)

I’m heading to NY again in a couple of weeks. I’m kinda dreading this trip – because I’m not getting this experimental vaccination and most of my relatives are convinced I’m an idiot. I’m also sort of an anti-masker, and when I mentioned to my sister that I rarely wear one, her reaction was “WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?” Ummm, I’m thinking, that’s what I’m doing. I will bend enough to wear a face diaper when required while there, but I will not be pressured into a vaccine. I’m afraid it’s going to lead to arguments. Le Sigh.

I’m teaching two nights a week. And I signed up for a computer science course, so I have homework of my own – I finished the first chapter today (yes, I know it’s only Monday and the class opened at midnight last night, I’m a nerd, k?) but I’m stressing about the quiz on this chapter because it’s an adult student thing – (and I’m a nerd) – that I have to get an A. (But it is fun to be a student again. ) I’m going to be busy with that, and it may just be my excuse should the family pressure become unbearable.

Today I decided to make molasses cookies. My dear departed friend Cindy would say, “Mole Asses?” She was a character and is much missed but that’s another story for another day. I’m using my mom’s recipe. She didn’t write down directions, only ingredients. This is interesting. They smell good, they look funny, Bear will eat them and all is good

It’s been busy around the kingdom lately. The semester is done, seven wild weeks of five classes but I made it through without too many scars or too many alcoholic beverages. (hush)

My schedule was class from 2-3:30, and again from 6-7:40, every M/W and then office hours from 4-8 on Thursday. Maverick was not impressed.

Maverick has been with me or the Bear every minute of his life, except for the few hours that he’s gone to the groomer. He doesn’t know what to do with other dogs, I think. He sees dogs at the park, from a distance, and sometimes tells them to keep that distance, quite rudely. I am at his beck and call 24 hours a day. I love him more than I ever thought possible – after Max died, I didn’t think I could love another dog. I was wrong. I’m not built for 24/7 attention to anyone or anything. I need my me time and when I don’t get it, I get incredibly crabby. I know hard to believe. (Maxwell, shutty)

So last week I made the decision that Maverick was going to daycare. Our groomer/trainer runs daycare and I trust her with him like I wouldn’t trust anyone else. He is doing extremely well, meeting other dogs in a safe environment – from the other side of a fence if she’s not sure of them – and playing with a couple of dogs who are very sound and no worries at all. He is also involved in a budding romance, he tells me, but I’m sure he’ll blog about that himself.

And Mommah’s getting some time to relax and get some stuff done around here.

Which leads me to knitting. A wonderful person sent me a wonderful gift yesterday. My morning was not the best today, because mornings! I sat down to check email and found that I had been given a present, a pattern for slippers that I had admired on this blog: https://cosmicknitter.com/

I shall be smiling all day from this act of kindness.

(Also, I get to see the perfect baby this afternoon, and the sun is out, so pffffttttt to mornings, this afternoon will be lovely) (And I’m going to find yarn for slippers too!)

There is no account titled “profit and loss.” It didn’t exist for the past three weeks, so why do you keep putting it in your journal entries?

Cost of Goods Sold has nothing to do with Supplies. It hasn’t for the past three weeks

You can’t credit an asset when you depreciate it. You couldn’t three weeks ago, two weeks ago, last week, and you can’t this week either.

I’m not accepting your latest homework submission because it was due two weeks ago, and the answer dropped open a week ago.

I’m not accepting your homework submission that you created in some format that only someone with an advanced degree in computer science and possibly access to government super computers can open.

Nor am I accepting your homework submission that you created with some format that comes off so small on my computer that I have to enlarge it 500% to even think of reading it.

I’m not thrilled that you decided that the template I provided for you wasn’t good enough so you created your own that makes absolutely no sense and since you won’t change it, I’m not accepting that submission either.

Your final closes on Sunday at mignight. No, I’m not going to extend it. I’m not going to give you an extra chance because your friend let me know there was an issue and you decided to just sit there and whine until your time ran out.

Can you tell it’s the last week of class? Can you tell I’ve been grading homework for several hours and answering emails in the middle of that? Can you tell that I’m tired of the “you may have 85 students but none are as important as I am so drop everything and do what I want now, bitch!” attitude?

I wonder if it will get better or worse when we start having students who have been “learning” online for the past year?

I signed onto Facebook this morning – I haven’t posted anything there since December but I like to keep tabs on the few friends who still use that hot mess. One of them is from Canada, so she posts stuff about what’s going on there. Today it was an article about Halifax shutting down. People were commenting about how this is just wonderful and the way to end this problem and along with the vaccine, maybe “by summer we’ll be allowed to go out and play a little.”

That was my WTF? moment.

They’re CELEBRATING the government AGAIN telling them they can’t “go out and play?” I am so not a rebel. Okay, maybe I am. I never thought of myself as rebellious, I don’t like getting into trouble, I follow rules and in my entire life, I’ve been pulled over ONCE for speeding – and didn’t get a ticket, by the way. (okay, we won’t discuss the time I got a ride home because I was a wee tad tipsy – there are benefits to growing up with the chief of police in a very small town) And yet, I am astonished at the willingness of people to allow the government to take away their rights and not make a whimper, and then thank them for MAYBE giving back a crumb!

My second WTF moment came after reading a book review. I finished We the Living the other night, posted it on Goodreads, which I pretty much do only so I can keep track of how many books I read in a year. I posted about this book the other day so no need to revisit my review, however I was totally astonished to read a review written just recently – and be aware this book was published in (I think) 1936, that said that the author knew nothing about the topic and was obviously just pissed off that she had lost her privilege when the Russian Revolution happened. She also damned near lost her life, many people were starving or damned close to it, but apparently eating is now a privilege? Seriously?

And my third WTF moment came when Maverick decided that every guy at the park was his new best friend. HE DOESN’T LIKE MEN!

I’m living in the Twilight Zone. Oh, and then I saw that we’re supposed to only eat one burger a month, according to the CSM who is not my president but currently resides in the White House. Yeah, not happening. Guess I am a rebel, cuz when you tell me something like that, it makes me want to say, “you want fries with that?” Yes, as a matter of fact I do.

I learned to read before I went to kindergarten. (Trust me, this will piss off a teacher no end) My oldest sister – aka Satan – was in college, learning to be a teacher, and she practiced on me. Actually, all the kids did, I was the youngest so when we played “school,” I was the one who learned something while they were just being bossy. 🙂

When I got to first grade and was totally bored with See Jack Run (yes, I’m old, as my friend Kristy says “shutty.” ), the teacher was equally bored with me and didn’t exactly encourage my prowess. It didn’t matter. My parents were both readers, and all of us in my family share a love of books to this day.

I read everything that looked like a good story, and some that were not so great. It didn’t matter, really, it was a book, and it was a ticket to an adventure, and another world, and I can’t tell you how many times I was told to go to bed and I begged for “just one more chapter!”

I think I was in high school before I paid attention to the name on the front of the book, the name of the person who actually wrote these stories that took me to far off lands and wonderful adventures. I had never paid attention to anything but the story itself. I think it was J.R.R. Tolkien who changed that for me, I tore through The Hobbit and the trilogy and what the heck? People actually write series? I can read more than one book about a character? Holy cow, who knew?

I never cared about the author, except if he or she had a new book coming out, or if the last one was as good as the others, or dear Jebus, does the library carry them? I didn’t care about the author’s skin color, or race, or nationality, or religion. I didn’t care about the characters skin color, or race, or nationality, or religion unless it was pertinent to the story.

I still don’t care. I just want to read a book, If the book is about something abhorrent to me, if the main character were a horrible racist and described as a hero, I wouldn’t read further. I’m an adult, I can figure out that I wouldn’t enjoy that story. I don’t have to agree with someone to enjoy their work. I might not like the guy who plows the roads but I’m damned happy if he does a good job! (It snowed here this morning. In April. Don’t get me started on global warming.)

And in today’s world, children – and yes, they seem to be children to me – are cancelling authors who may have written wonderful, amazing stories, that would be a life line to a child in need of one, They’re cancelling authors for any number of reasons. I saw a sad post from an aspiring writer the other day – she said she loved to write stories but as a white person, she felt terrified that she would get some detail wrong if she wrote about a character of another color, as a heterosexual female, she felt she had no right to write about a character who was of another gender or who was perhaps bisexual or gay, and that no matter how much research she did, she would never feel that she wasn’t making a mistake, some tiny mistake, that would destroy any work she might have done. She said that she was thinking of giving up her dream because there was no longer any joy.

I just read We The Living, by Ayn Rand. (Speaking of authors, this one I never read till college and then was forced into Atlas Shrugged at a time when it made no impression on me at all. Or did it? I returned to her work at the suggestion of Peachy (aka, my enabler) and it’s certainly making an impression on me now) Some of the characters in this book experience this same despair – for those of you who haven’t read it, it’s set in the early days of the Russian revolution and the Communist takeover. It saddened and frightened me to see this same despair playing out in a young person today. In America – where I grew up believing you could be anything you wanted to be if you just tried hard enough.

What’s the point of trying if you’re going to be cancelled for a “micro-aggression?”