March 30th, 2017

#5510: Well, that's a good start, isn't it?

Got up at 6:30 this morning to be at Dad's house by 8, to let renovation guys in. Got there at 7:51 and they were waiting. I ducked out to run a couple errands; when I got back about 8:30 they'd already removed all the flooring in the living and dining rooms, and were starting on the kitchen and hallway.

Got everything done in the west suburbs that I wanted done; now on to stuff at home: I'm going to get the electronics recycling out today, and maybe even get the donation pile hauled off to Salvation Army. Hopefully.

In my perambulations, I happened across a bar I have visited once in my life. I don't know if the name has changed since 1991; now it's the Rockwood Tap House and it's entirely possible it's still the same place it was 26 years ago.

The occasion was Robb H's 21st birthday. My friends in college and I, that trimester, had a 2-hour break between classes on that particular day, so we all headed down the street from school. I remember that besides me and Robb, Chev went with us, and the guy who's name I forgot who looked like a member of the Moody Blues. I think a couple of other people came by, too, though they weren't there for the whole celebration.

I can remember, partway through our revels, the last guy making a comment: "We probably look like we're gay. We're all crammed into this booth, and he's got a blue drink," he said, gesturing at my drink. (I don't remember what it was. Something with blue Curacao in it.)

I had two drinks, I think; the others began working on getting drunk--so when we had our English Composition class, it was...unusual. Heh.

(Other memory: Robb H. yelling, "Boner!" at the teacher. I also seem to recall one of the members of T3--a trio of friends who all had "T" as their first initials--saying, "Ah, to hell with this! I'm going to go home and masturbate." He was the one with the smokin' hot wife, though.)

Two drinks, and by the time English class was over, I was fine to make the 45-mile drive home. No problem.

Seems like a long time ago now.

* * *

"I wonder if the suspect would have spared her had he known how hard she fought for social justice during her life."

No. And shut up. The white victim of anti-white racism would not have been spared even if the black killer knew she was a SJW. Because he wouldn't care about that.
Just a few days after she was photographed with Nancy Pelosi grinning in approval, friends found [the victim] tied up, stabbed, tortured, and ultimately dead at the hands of El Hadji Alpha Madiou Toure, a black man arrested driving her car and using her debit card.

He said he didn't do it.
Of course not. Sumdood handed him the debit card and car keys, saying, "Here, these are yours!" Right?

Even the newest practitioner of Critical Race Theory learns that the expectation of safety is a white thing: black people don't have it. So why should white people think they deserve it?

That is what activists by the score told Tracey Halvorsen, in response to her article titled "Baltimore, You Are Breaking My Heart," detailing the day to day black-on-white harassment, threats, violence and murder in her gentrified Baltimore neighborhood. All detailed in that scintillating best seller Don't Make the Black Kids Angry.
You see, white people have the expcatation of safety because that's how western civilization works. The entire point to having a justice system and rules and morals and etiquette is so that people will be safe, so that there won't be drive-by shootings and rape and murder and gang fights.

Consider the fact that the greater the percentage of black people living in a particular area, the less safe it is. If you look at the crime statistics you find that black people kill (and otherwise victimize) more black people than all the other demographics combined. The biggest danger for a black man living in a predominantly black neighborhood is the other black men living there. Attempts by whites to address this problem are decried as "raciss!", and inevitably fail.

Black people evidently don't care as much about safety as white people do. Their lack of an eminently reasonable expectation of safety in public places is therefore no real mystery.


And notice, if you will, that the assumption is that dangerous living conditions are acceptable. What isn't acceptable is white people expecting their living conditions to be safe.

When Vox Day talks about SJWs being dyscivic, this kind of thing is exactly what he's talking about.


* * *

The press absolutely hates it when the people they're attacking fight back. And I laugh my ass off.

* * *

Now, the other night I had a dream set in the world of Haruhi Suzumiya, and I am desperately trying to remember the particulars because it was very interesting.

I don't remember all that much of it, but I was in the SOS Brigade with the other characters of that series, somehow. I seem to recall that Haruhi was Kyon's invention. She didn't actually exist, but when he recounted their adventures, he wrote the stories as if she had. All the other characters (Asahina, Koizumi, Yuki) were present, and the stories took place--but Haruhi's part in them was fabricated. It was some kind of cover-up.

But I don't remember what was being covered up, nor do I recall why--and in fact I may have been awoken before my subconscious got around to that bit. But damn if it wasn't a hell of an interesting story!

It was almost certainly not the oft-repeated idea that Kyon is the superbeing in the story; Kyon was an ordinary guy.

Sure would be nice to remember that one better. Dang.

* * *

Thanks to Wonderduck I ended up looking for Tonari no Seki-kun, which turns out to be worthwhile. (Here's a site which streams it.) I've seen a few episodes now--they're short, 7.5 minutes each with credits--and thought that the schtick would change, but so far, it hasn't.

The schtick: Seki-kun does bizzare and elaborate things to kill time during class, and Rumi-chan reacts to these schemes in various ways. Inevitably, she gets pulled into whatever he's doing, one way or another. Comedy results. It's very entertaining.

We'll see how it turns out, but having seen about half the extant episodes I don't think it does. And I'm not expecting that to be a problem.

#5511: Done--mostly.

Stupid Illnois.

Today I finally got around to hauling from the basement the electronics recycling I've wanted to be rid of; also the two TVs from Dad's house, both glass bulbs, both absolutely obsolete and undonatable. One didn't even work.

The console TV came apart pretty easily, even though my drill ran out of juice at the 60% mark. I managed to eke the rest of the disassembly out of the thing by letting it sit for a bit between screws. Eventually I got the front panel off, the circuit board out, and the CRT removed. Threw those bits into the truck and demolished the cabinet with the BFH, and put the cabinet chunks into the trash can. That'll go out tonight.

Loaded up the computers, printer, and other junk, headed to the Monee see there was no longer a dropoff point there for e-waste.

Me: Motherfucker.

So I dragged out my phone and did a quick Internet search--this LG Stylo 2V is fast--and found that the only way to get rid of the TV is to wait until Wednesday of next week, then take it to Peotone.


Fine. Returned to the bunker, off-loaded the e-waste, and on-loaded the donatables. Hit the shower, hit the road; delivered the donations into the hands of the Salvation Army, to do with as they please, and then stopped at Jewel for cat medicine.

See: Bosco has been peeing a lot. He's 13, so we took him to the vet, expecting bad news--but it turns out he's diabetic, which is eminently treatable. Nothing else wrong with him; he's healthy as a horse otherwise.

So I've since learned how to inject a cat with insulin, and today I picked up the insulin and syringes. Cat takes human insulin, which costs TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FREAKING DOLLARS PER BOTTLE thanks to the fact that the medical industry is not beholden to price-fixing laws the way other industries are. Besides, Obamacare.

Plus side: cat may require as much as 2 or 3 units per day. The bottle contains 1,000 units. Everyone's telling me (off the record) that'll be good for six months. (Expiration date is 28 days from first draw from the vial.)

But fuck, even so. It's insulin, something we've known how to synthesize for a very, very long time. I expect we'll find a cheaper alternative before we need to buy another bottle, though. Not sure why vet prescribed the most expensive insulin possible, but I'd wager there's something else that'll do the job for a bit less.

Tomorrow will be his first injection of the stuff. I'll take him to the vet and give him the shot; then they'll monitor his blood glucose and see how he does. That'll tell us how much insulin he needs per shot, and so on. And then, every day--at least once, and probably twice--I'll have to shoot the cat.

* * *

I'll have to go to the house at least one more time, to let the cleaning people in (the folks that'll shine the place up and make it sparkly for prospective buyers) and when I do that, I've got a couple things I want to put in the storage locker: my window AC, and a couple of bits of furniture we have knocking around here that we don't use. (One chair is already in the garage, for crying out loud.) The locker itself is almost full now, and there's only a bit of space left. I could stretch the point a bit by stacking some boxes atop the dining table we got from Dad's house, between its legs; but otherwise that unit is full and won't take much more.

But that's next week.

Right now, I'm going to relax. I have another early day tomorrow, and I don't feel like doing one damned thing more today. I mean, I drove 160+ miles today. F it.

* * *

This is the logical endgame of allowing people to choose their bathrooms based on how they identify. You can't ask a man what he's doing in the womens' bathroom any longer, not without being INTOLERANT BIGOT! Makes you kind of uncomfortable, doesn't it, lady?

You made that bed, asshat. Enjoy laying in it.