The novel comes from the assumption that we actually ought to be in an ice age right now, and the fact that we're not stems from human carbon emissions: "They threw another log on the fire," is the phrase the authors often repeat in the book. (For the story to work, the premise must uncritically accept that human carbon emissions are sufficient to affect world climate; but I do believe that the writers know that ain't so.)
* * *
Dennis quotes some liberal who is incontinent over the recent court ruling that strikes down the ObamaCare provision that forces people to buy health insurance.
The record here may be inconvenient for the right, but it's also unambiguous: the mandate Republicans currently hate was their idea. It was championed by the Heritage Foundation. It was part of Bob Dole's 1996 presidential campaign platform. Nixon embraced it in the 1970s, and George H.W. Bush kept it going in the 1980s.The first six names all belong to liberal Republicans.
For years, it was touted by the likes of John McCain, Mitt Romney, Scott Brown, Chuck Grassley, Bob Bennett, Tommy Thompson, Lamar Alexander, Lindsey Graham, John Thune, Judd Gregg, and many others all notable GOP officials.
Chuck Grassley--I'd say he was generally a conservative Republican with moderate leanings; when I lived in Iowa I approved of his positions, and still do (with the exception of his position on ethanol subsidies...and face it: Iowa is corn land. He couldn't get elected there if he wasn't for the subsidies). The rest of 'em are names I've heard but I never really paid attention to their politics.
Anyway, Dennis strikes down this fatuous argument better than I'm capable of managing, right now.
Advice Goddess on the same issue.
* * *
Cops found a way to use SWAT teams without bothering with those pesky search warrants.
Yeah, the police state's coming, unless we can find a way to stop it.
* * *
The parade of low-sleep continues!
I tried to figure out how much sleep I've had in the past three days, ended up counting on my fingers, and lost track of the total; but I think it's not more than about 14 hours in the last sixty. And the single largest chunk of it was the six hours I slept Saturday afternoon. Otherwise, I've gotten no more than three or four hours at a time, in spots.
I took a Xanax last night, and it took its own damn sweet time kicking in; finally I hit the hay around 1 AM and slept for a glorious 3.5 hours before waking at 4:30...and proceeded to toss and turn for the next four hours. At about nine or so, I finally drifted off...slept perhaps forty-five minutes before the cleaning lady called.
She was outside the front door, a fact which took me several moments of confused conversation to comprehend. She'd knocked, seen the cars in the driveway, and then called via cell phone when no one answered. I told her about Mom, thinking she was calling from home or somewhere, and finally I understood she's right outside. Then I got up and let her in and let her do her thing.
I can't function for long on less than 6 hours of sleep per day. If I'm getting at least six, I might feel like crap, but I can function. But if I fall beneath that threshhold--and it continues--my brain starts dropping cylinders.
At this point, the 48-valve twelve-cylinder engine balanced to micrograms and capable of running at 15,000 RPM that is my brain--that precision instrument--has turned into a one-lung farm motor with an atmospheric intake valve and bad rings. I've lost the ability to speak words longer than two syllables with any reliability whatsoever; I'm not sure what day it is and I'm on the verge of losing the ability to add and subtract. I NEED SLEEP.
...but stuff's got to get done. My brother's on the way down here and we're going to dive into the funeral home thing, but once that's done--
Well, no doubt something else will crop up.
The one good thing is that once the funeral arrangements are dealt with, there should be nothing else that must be done in a specific time frame before the actual funeral. At least, theoretically; and in all probability there will be others around by then and I won't be the only person who can possibly do them.
If I can just get some freakin' sleep I won't lose my mind, I think, but my self-control is already slipping pretty badly. Take a gander at this approximate transcript of a phone call from this morning:
Caller: Hello, this is Dr. Rao's office. May I speak with Mary Hering?My filters are losing power; for me to get like that with total strangers represents a serious failure of manners. (Especially a total stranger who's just doing her job and who has done nothing offensive whatsoever.)
Me: No, you may not! She's deceased!
Caller: Oh! I'm so sorry to hear that!
Me: Uh...yeah, uh, I'm sorry--I shouldn't have said it like that. Thank you.
Understandable, yes. Excusable, ehh...not particularly, not in my book.
So my brother called a bit ago to coordinate with me regarding the funeral homes, and I had to explain to him that I am in no condition to do anything without supervision which is more complicated that sleeping, eliminating, or bathing.
"So, anus," you may ask, "how the hell can you be writing this?" Have you any idea how long I've been writing? I've written since 1979, and with a keyboard since 1982. Getting text out of my brain via the keyboard is so automatic I can do it while sleeping
WHICH IS PRACTICALLY WHAT I'M DOING NOW
...as you can see I still have my sense of humor.