atomic_fungus (atomic_fungus) wrote,
atomic_fungus
atomic_fungus

#3877: No purple drank for Jeantel.

First, let's get the Travon Martin BS out of the way: the government's star witness is not exactly unimpeachable, IYKWIMAITYD. She's 19 and various tweets posted by her talk about needing "a drink". Also:
On her Facebook page, Jeantel uploaded a photo Sunday showing an empty bottle of Hennessy cognac, along with the caption, “Last drink for the week long ass week too.” According to her Facebook profile, Jeantel attended Miami Norland Senior High School and has “studied criminal justice at Miami University.” As for where she works, Jeantel reported, “My mama n daddy do all the work I just spend it.”
Okay, first let's just assume that she took a picture of the Henessy bottle but didn't actually drink it, because that shit's $30 a bottle. Instead, let's focus on the fact that the legal drinking age is 21.

But it's really easy to plant "reasonable doubt" in a jury's mind when you've got something like this:
Earlier this year, government lawyers had to acknowledge that Jeantel lied under oath when she claimed that the reason she did not attend Martin’s funeral was due to a hospitalization.
See, in the old USA, when "rule of law" still existed, that was called perjury and it was a crime...and it made people wonder what else the witness in question might be lying about.

* * *

So Mrs. Fungus told me a story yesterday, and told me I should blog about it, so I will.

One of the people in her call center, last year, was the #1 performer for something-or-other, and so he got a nice fat bonus check. The event where they awarded the check was attended by a whole bunch of high muckity-mucks, featured posters of him, and even a cake with his picture on it. Even now there are still posters of this guy hanging all over the call center.

So, yesterday, one of Mrs. Fungus' friends in the call center was talking about the budding relationship this woman and this guy have, and she showed Mrs. Fungus the cell phone pictures he'd sent her.

...including one of his penis.

Mrs. Fungus has been on a tear about that recently. Her friends in the call center show her pictures of their new boyfriends, and inevitably--invariably--after the typical smiling face shot, the next one is one of his erect penis.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE

"Today, my husband thought it would be funny to mow a penis into our lawn. I guess he forgot my parents are coming over. FML"

Am I that old fashioned? I remember when "privates" used to be PRIVATE, you know, and you didn't send pictures of them to people. Of course that was back when pictures had to be developed. *sigh*

Interestingly enough, my Bible study class focuses on Genesis. Last week's chapter was on Noah and the Flood; this week's is about Abraham. (Next week's lesson is also about Abraham, and Isaac.) Lost in the middle of all that is the story of Sodom and Gomorrah; a more exhaustive study of Genesis would probably have included a chapter on the destruction of the city that gave us the word sodomy.

But when I consider the lesson of Sodom and Gomorrah, I have to wonder when the fire and brimstone is going to start raining down on us. Holy crap.

I'm not alone in this. Vox Day says, "I wouldn't put too much confidence in that 'God bless America' notion. The best-case scenario is that He's not paying attention."

*sigh*

* * *

So I went to see the doctor yesterday...actually, my doctor's nurse practitioner...well, actually my doctor's nurse practitioner's student who's doing her clinicals--is it obvious yet that I have little faith in their diagnosis of cataracts?

Symptoms of cataracts.

...rode the motorcycle down to Beecher yesterday, because it was a warm sunny day and I didn't feel like driving the truck, which gets 1/5th the fuel economy of the bike. Got into the office, discussed the issue with the nurse, she took my vitals, etc.

First the student comes in, takes a history (complete with copious notes) and then spends about two minutes looking at my eye. I wait for a bit, then the NP comes in and she spends even less time looking at my eye before delivering her diagnosis that "it's probably a cataract, so you need to see an opthamologist."

*sigh*

Okay, if you didn't look at that list of symptoms, go look; I'll wait. Finished? Notice that eye discomfort is not on the f-ing list?

I mean, I told them--all of them, nurse, NP, and NP student--that I SAW a defect in my cornea, yet none of them could be arsed to say, "Here, let's put some UV dye in your eye and check for corneal defects."

Furthermore, most of the diagnostic questions I was asked which look for symptoms of cataract were negative.

Now, me--when someone presents with irritation and discomfort in the eye and says, "I could see that there's a defect in my cornea" I at least look to see if there's a defect with a diagnostic procedure designed to detect them. Okay, my eye isn't red, there isn't any unusual discharge, but come on.

Then again, I am not a highly trained medical professional. Welcome to the age of Obamacare. *whimper*

On the plus side, they didn't charge me for the visit. I guess I can't complain too much.

But who did they refer me to, for the opth consult? The same eye doctor my Mom used to go to, the one who takes 3 hours for a 30-minute visit. Whee.

Punch line: the irritation continues, but the halo is smaller, which leads me to think that the thing is quietly healing up on its own. By the time I get in to see the opth, I bet there won't be anything to look at. *sigh*

* * *

So, about that weather....

Humid. Sticky humid. It was hot outside yesterday; today it's in the low 70s but unfortunately the dew point is also in the low 70s, and the only thing keeping it from being misty/foggy is the 2-3 degrees separating air temp from dew point.

I turn the thermostat up when Mrs. Fungus leaves for work. I can handle the indoor temp being 75-80 as long as it's not humid and I have a fan blowing on me. (Actually, the 'stat was set at 75 last night and we slept fine.) I turn it down a few degrees about an hour or so before we go to bed, and that seems to keep things comfortable.

I've actually gotten to the point--hallelujah!--where it feels like a meat locker in here when the temp is around 70°.

Still, electricity is too damned expensive. It'd be nice if we lived in the world where it's too cheap to meter. *sigh*

* * *

Speaking of which--
Alan Caruba had this post up a few weeks ago and I forgot all about it: Gas Prices Should Be Lower.
Refiners do not need all the ethanol the government forces them to purchase. They, in turn, must purchase Renewable Identification Numbers (RINs) whose cost has jumped from seven cents a gallon at the beginning of the year to more than a dollar by March. The cost is passed along to consumers.
Emphasis mine.

...because government fees and taxes are now the majority of the price of gasoline in the United States. That's more than the cost of the crude oil in each gallon of gas!

So right now, in the Fungal Vale, gasoline is about $3.86 per gallon. Without that stupid, useless ethanol requirement, gasoline would only cost TWO DOLLARS AND EIGHTY-SIX CENTS PER GALLON and I could actually afford to fill my Jeep's tank.

And do you know who is making all that money? It's not the oil companies; it's people like Al Gore who are selling those RINs.

Then again, if the United States had a sensible energy policy--if the United States were capable of having a sensible energy policy--gasoline wouldn't even cost that much. It'd be cheap as tap water. But we're not. We're not capable of having a sensible energy policy because if we were, we would have had one sometime in the last 25 years, and we have not.

Wait, did I say "25 years"? I meant FORTY YEARS, because this shit goes all the way back to f-ing Nixon, his EPA, his price controls, and the Arab Oil Embargo. The Reagan years were an anomaly, a blip of sentience in an otherwise completely insensate, fumbling mess.

So that's why I can't run my AC as much as I want to, and that's why I can't drive my Jeep, and that's part of the reason our economy is stagnant: energy costs a hell of a lot more than it has to and the reasons for that are entirely--100%--political. There are no technical reasons why energy should cost so much; certainly it is not a matter of actual scarcity of resources, not when the known worldwide exploitable petroleum reserves have quadrupled in the past decade, and certainly not in a world which has the technology to extract energy from uranium.

Let me say it again: the high price of energy is entirely political; it is a false scarcity imposed on us by politicians and special interest groups. If that doesn't make you angry, you're not paying attention.

* * *

Anyway, that's about all I've got. I've rejected adding several rants because it'll just take too much time for me to type them out, and all of them are things I've ranted about before. So instead, yet another "the olden computer days" screed, this time about the VIC-20 ad that was recently posted on AoSHQ.

...the ad merely reminded me of the heady days in the early 1980s when owning my own computer seemed like a distant and impossible dream. They simply cost too much; when you're 13, $1,000 seems like an impossible amount of money, particularly when a new car costs $9,000 and a candy bar is a quarter. I got $5 a week for cutting the grass, for crying out loud. I couldn't get a job (see above, "13").

Then I saw that ad. $300--I didn't think about peripherals or anything, just computer!--and started trying to figure out how I could earn the money. I never found a good way to do it, of course, because the US was still suffering from Carter Malaise (that didn't begin to lift until after 1982); everyone was being parsimonious and my attempts at doing odd jobs for money did not yield anything useful.

By mid-1983, the C-64 was $200 and a floppy drive for same was $200, making the whole computer a $400 proposition, and Dad bought one for me. It was my "big present"--all the kids in our family got one. My oldest sister got a motorcycle (the dirt bike that's now mine); my other sister got a horse, saddle, and stabling for the creature; my brother got a minibike. (And later he got a viola.) Mine was a computer. Whee!

Even so, the ad evokes echoes of those excited feelings--here's a computer I could actually buy!--that I had when I was a young teen with delusions of grandeur.

These days, of course, $300 buys you a tablet or telephone which can emulate a VIC-20 or C-64 in real time (or could if someone wrote the app) and in relative terms that $300 is worth a lot less than it was in 1983. That $9,000 car now costs $30,000, after all, and that $0.25 candy bar is now $1, and about 2/3 the size of its 1983 counterpart.

"An old man says, 'I'm an old man!'"

*sigh*
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