Walking Mister B around the hood this morning, I noted two Trump/Pence signs and a flag. Balancing those, this neighbor’s mellow message. A guy up our street put up signs for Democratic candidates, but they’re locals running for county and city offices. There is not a single Biden/Harris sign. The magnetic sticker on my truck bumper may be the only such sign in the subdivision, and it’s only visible when our garage door is open.
Some say it doesn’t matter what you do to get famous, as long as your name’s in the lights. Jeffrey Toobin, for example. I wasn’t going to mention the incident here, because who among us hasn’t flogged the log on camera during a Zoom meeting, but then a day later America’s Mayor, Rudy Giuliani, goes into a hotel room with what he thinks is a young woman reporter, lays down on the bed, and fondles himself inside his pants while they’re making sexy talk, and oh my god what is this, a Borat movie? Yes, it is a Borat movie. As Rudy soon discovers!
Guns and dicks. What is it with guys, guns, and dicks? Also: what’s the German for simultaneously knowing/not wanting to know everyone does it? Kennennichtkennenjedermasturbiert?
With my birthday coming up, Donna turned me loose on Amazon. I bought an LED floor lamp to go by my reading chair in the family room, and this morning ordered a side table with drawers to go on the other side of the chair. It’ll replace the plain side table I use now. That one doesn’t have drawers, so there’s junk sitting on top, namely a growing collection of remote controls. My first thought was to get a table-top caddy for the remotes, but I couldn’t find one that didn’t look fussy and geeky.
When I flew jets in the Netherlands, from 1978 to 1982, we used cash for everything, on base and off. Which meant carrying US and Dutch currency in our wallets, which in turn meant always having a lot of change in one pocket or another, coins of all shapes, sizes, and weights. I bought one of those rubber oval change holders to keep in the cigarette pocket of my flight suit (yes, that’s what the pocket, the exact size and shape of a standard pack, was designed for, and to this day flight suits still come with them). My squadron mates gave me no end of grief over it. Hence my aversion to fussy, geeky things.
Anyway, Donna suggested getting a side table with drawers, and I immediately saw the wisdom in that. Or maybe I should say I see the wisdom in agreeing with Donna?
So I wrote this thing about training against MiGs in Nevada many years ago. I cross-posted it to Daily Kos to reach a larger audience. A day later my friend Joe Coles, he of the widely-read Hush Kit aviation blog, asked if he could run it as a guest post and I said sure. He always gives my blog a plug, and hey, more readers. Then, the day after that, the Popular Mechanics website ran a feature about the article. Fucking Popular Mechanics.
Fame is a heady drug. So where are the girls and money already?
© 2020, Paul Woodford. All rights reserved.