Department Of The Wild Wacky ® Streets Of Hillsboro, Oregon
I think it’s so touching that someone in My fair City ® decided to turn a portion of their front yard into a tribute to musician Herb Albert. 
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Department Of Things That Make Them Look Across The Table At Me And Say, “Stop. Just Stop.”
Dateline: a week ago Friday, dinner time. I told MH and son K that I was considering ending my fiction writing sabbatical – I had an idea for a series of historical novels! The protagonists will be a poor but loving and close-knit, 19th century pioneer family, struggling to carve out a life as fruit farmers in the Oregon wilderness as they confront a recurring plague of small, parasitic insects which threaten to decimate their currant crop. I’m going to call it, “Little Louse on the Berry.”
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Department Of The Argument For Acquiring A Basic Scientific Literacy
You may be saying to yourself, I didn’t know there was an argument *against* having a basic scientific literacy. Aside from the mission statements and curriculum listings I’ve encountered on the websites of fundamentalist religious “educational” institutions, I’m not sure that there is such an overt argument. Nevertheless,  all you have to do is wade through a few Facebook shares (sadly, often from people who Should Know Better ® ) to realize that an appreciation for scientific thinking – that is, a basic understanding and application of critical inquiry and “factual claims” analysis – is sorely lacking in our culture.
There are soooooooooooo many reasons why we should all be on a lifelong quest to “think like a scientist” – but you really need just one: thinking like a scientist will give you a lifelong, reliable ca-ca detector.
It’s not that having a basic knowledge of science and/or the scientific method will give you all the answers  – it’s that if you have the former, you don’t need the latter. You don’t need to know all the answers when you know the kind of questions to ask of those who allege to have The Answers.
All claims, from supernatural (“The stories in the Christian scriptures are true but those in the Muslim scriptures are false”) to economic (“Anarchocommunism is the most efficient political/economic form of socialism“) to medical (“The Chiropractic theory of subluxation is a valid diagnostic tool for identifying and treating human diseas “) to historical (“The moon landings were staged on a movie backlot by NASA”), can be understood and/or evaluated if you have a basic grasp of scientific thinking. Doesn’t even matter if it’s the first time you’ve heard of the “healing crystals” your friend is touting – you don’t (and shouldn’t) have to take your friend’s enthusiasm at face value.
That ambassador of science literacy himself, American astrophysicist and author, Neil deGrasse Tyson, puts it this way (my emphases):
To be scientifically literate is to empower yourself to know
when someone else is full of shit…
You have an understanding of the properties of the laws of physics, so when someone comes up to you to sell you crystals and they say, “Rub these together and you’ll be healed,” you say, “Well, what are they made out of? And how many people have they healed? And what aliments do they heal? And what’s the mechanism? How much do they cost? And where are they from? And what’s their molecular structure?…and the person runs away in tears.
Science literacy is not knowing the answer – you might know the answer, but that’s not what’s fundamental. What’s fundamental is the capacity to inquire about what is true and what is not in this world. And that is the empowerment. The power of inquiry.
Department Of But It Might Have Made The Checkout Clerk’s Day
Entering the grocery store, I counted my freshly-laundered, reusable produce sacks, which I’d grabbed fresh from the dryer before leaving for the store. Fortunately, I found the “hitchhiker” before I absent-mindedly used it to bag the kiwi….
* * *
May you always check for hitchhikers; May you realize why knowing some of the questions
is better than thinking you have all of the answers; May you, at least once in your life, place something in your front yard to make your neighbors smile; …and may the hijinks ensue.
As it is our neighborhood’s trash pickup day, residents have dutifully wheeled their green (for household garbage) and brown (for yard waste) garbage cans to the curb. I walk, and keep looking around, my nose reflexively wrinkling in disgust, thinking, who hasn’t picked up their dog’s crap? I occasionally stop to check the bottom of my shoes and the tips of my Exerstrider ® walking poles, hoping I didn’t step in, uh, “anything”…
….until I realize the smell is not in fact coming from the soles of my shoes (yay!), nor from the sidewalks or gutters or streets, but from every other trashcan I walk by.
My keen sense of deductive – or is it aroma-tive? – reasoning tells me I am passing the garbage cans of dog owners, who have disposed of their Fido’s waste within.
Phew ( p.u.?) – glad to have figured that one out. I look forward to the chillier, odor-quashing mornings of autumn and winter.
I don’t get it. Smells fine to me.
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Department Of By The Way
If you’re still with me, here, you just read someone’s writing about festering dog turds on a hot August morning.
And you kept reading.
I love it when she finds an excuse to use the phrase, festering turds.
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Department Of Further Information On The Eclipse I Did Not Describe
The total solar eclipse I didn’t feel capable of describing was featured in last week’s post. One aspect of the experience I can describe is how much everyone in our group  enjoyed the t-shirts MH made for us, to celebrate/commemorate the occasion.
This solar sartorial satisfaction was not limited to our band of eclipse groupies. At our viewing spot (overlooking the Lake Billy Chinook Gorge), which our group shared with about 20-30 other people,  many of the hitherto-strangers-to-us approached one or all of our group and commented on how much they *loved* the elegant simplicity of the shirts’ design – who did it, and boy-howdy could we have made some money if we’d set up a roadside stand selling them, ’cause they’d seen a variety of eclipse-related souvenirs but found none of them attractive and hadn’t been tempted to get anything, and then they saw all of us, each one sporting those Fabulous Shirts ® ….
Department Of It’s A Small World In Astronomy Haute Couture
Turns out even people who weren’t even there liked the afore-mentioned shirts, thanks to social media. Our astronomer friend and trip organizer MM posted pictures of the event on his FB page, which caught the eyes of two astronomy fashion bloggers.
Yep, you read right. There is such a thing as an astronomy fashion blogger (and it’s about time, isn’t it?).
Where science meets fashion and scientists get fabulous!
Yet again, I digress. But with good reason. You really ought to check out some of the duds on their site. These Ladies of Luminosity are legit – they’ve been written up about their expectation-defying interest in promoting science-inspired style. There’s a whole cosmos o’ celestial chic out there apart from Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s vast vault of vogue vests.
So: MM contacted MH and let him know that the startorialist astronomers had noticed our group’s groovy shirts, and had asked MM for more photos and info on how you made them. Generous and Humble Citizen of the World ® that he is, MH decided to forgo the opportunity to get all exclusive-y and copyright-y and make bazillions of dollars on Etsy: he sent the startorialists more pictures, and shared his trade secrets (i.e. provided step-by-step instructions as to how he’d made the shirts), which y’all may be able to read on one of their upcoming blog posts.
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Department Of Why Aren’t You Seeing This Movie?
Wind River is starkly beautiful, foreboding, poignantly distressing, lyrically blue, with unanticipated moments of dry wit/gallows humor…not sure of an adequate term for some of its droll dialogue. Superb writing and directing by Taylor Sheridan, who also gave us last year’s engrossing Hell or High Water. And it’s always nice to see the underused Canadian/First Nations actor Graham Greene in action. 
Just go see it, okay?
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Department Of Passing Comments
Dateline: Sunday afternoon. MH and I driving home from our errands-running. The panhandler sat on a chair in the median by the traffic light. He was puffing away on his nicotine death stick delivery system cigarette with a laconic-yet-defiant, fuck yeah I’m gonna spend your donation on my tobacco smirk on his face.
The why-you-should-give-me-money sign he held read:
Too ugly to prostitute too honest to steal
“He forgot, ‘Too proud to beg,‘ ” MH muttered.
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May your walks be perfumed by the sweetest scents nature can provide; May you always keep reading past the turd stories; May you have the opportunity to get science-fashion fabulous;  …and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
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 Who gets to decide what is “too” warm for an Oregon morning? Ido. You didn’t get the memo?
 Sixteen total: MH, K, Belle and I, plus twelve Californians – longtime friends and their families and S.O.s (plus two dogs, which, of course, didn’t want to miss out on the eclipse action)
 Whom, we assumed, had also previously checked out likely viewing spots and decided, “This is the one!”
 What happened to all the footnotes? There should be at least five.
A Japanese restaurant where I have become a weekly lunch regular recently installed a video screen which plays a continuous loop of some truly gorgeous pictures of their various sushi and rolls, combination platters, bento boxes and other menu items. Last week I was enjoying the show as I ate my bowl of edamame, until I almost choked when the picture of a long, brown, slightly curved, specialty roll flashed by on the screen – a roll that someone had unfortunately decided to dub, “The Johnson Roll.”
Slang terms and idioms don’t always travel graciously across cultures. My server gave me a curious look when she caught my mirthful reaction, and I wondered if I should say anything – just pose an innocent question, to see if she “got it.”  I mean, I’d feel like a pervert ordering the thing.
If I order the Johnson roll will you be happy to see me?
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The Electorate I’m Not Analyzing
Because simple ad hominem attacks, the usage of which I am usually (or at least philosophically) opposed to, will suffice:
Are people bloody bonkers?
I refer of course to the great mystery of our time.
No, not that one. The mystery is that the Trumpster is not in the dumpster at this point in the primaries. My theory: there are many short-sighted people who, the more they feel ineffective, unappreciated and threatened, the more they gravitate towards that which they perceive as powerful. And these people apparently equate bombasity with power, and there are enough of them to keep That Man at the top of the festering turd of a heap that is the Republican presidential primary contest.
And yes, bombasity(the condition or quality of being bombastic to the nth power) needed to be a word.  Now it is. So let it be written; so let it be done.
I love it when Someone Smarter Than Moiself ® articulates a concept with which I am in total agreement.  As per the referenced podcast, that concept is this: constraints, both in art and science, can be liberating, and are in fact what lead to creativity.
Many wannabe (IMHO) artists chafe at the mere mention of restraints or controls or guidelines when it comes to that nebulous concepts creativity. On the other hand , mature/experienced artists realize that when there are no boundaries you can just do anything…which often seems like – and sometimes leads to – doing nothing in particular.
Witness the creativity called up by the NASA engineers – the astounding, seat-of-their-pants, imagination and resourcefulness that enabled them to create solutions for the Apollo 13 crew to bring their severely damaged spacecraft home safely. These solutions were arrived at not by using anything/everything at the engineers’ disposal; rather, they had to work within the constraints of what the astronauts actually had within their capsule.
Constraints, even those which might be called “censorship,” can be liberating, in that you can focus on what you can do with the materials/talents/themes/venues at hand, and not ramble within a world of seemingly no limits. The beauty of haiku is in its structure. The insipidness with much of so-called free form or free verse poetry…tennis without a net, anyone?
We’ve all had the experience of listening to/reading/watching/observing a less than magnificent (or not even marginally competent) book/painting/play/movie/recital/concert. Some of us have also been witness to (read: somehow forced to attend a showing of) the “art” of someone who evinces little or no actual artistic talent – someone who lacks the discipline to put in the years and hard work to develop the talent but who is so enamored of the concept of being an artist that they have to come up with another name for…for whatever it is they can do. 
I’m artist, dammit, and who are you to limit or define what that is?
Nowadays it seems you can show/describe/sing about just about anything, including people performing personal hygiene rituals, people fucking, people being disemboweled and tortured…. The proponents of this show-it-all-ness call it realism, and fling the censorship! pejorative at those who suggest subtlety or moderation in presentation.
Excuse me, but your story might be more enjoyable if it had complex, three dimensional characters and a more intricate plot, or one which might encourage viewers to imagine and anticipate and….
(Gasp!) This is intentional – you would censor/constrain my art?!
The Realism Rah-Rahs seem clueless when it comes to understanding how their in-your-face approach loses the poetry of subterfuge, the beauty of obfuscation, the creativity of concealment.
Without constraints, there is no thrill of sneaking a song like The Kinks’Lola past the censors.  And the snappy, now-classic cinematic dialogue, the clever artistry of cinematography and staging necessary to impart certain concepts (e.g. a sexual rendezvous) was enabled, and made necessary, by the movie production codes of the day.  The saucy double entendres of Mae West –
When I’m good I’m very, very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.
You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.
Too much of a good thing can be taxing.
When I’m good, I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.
Why don’t you come up and… see me some time?
– why write those lines today  when you can have your actors openly proposition one another (and then follow through) on camera?
Perhaps you remember (or are desperately trying to forget) my blog post from two weeks ago, wherein profanely ranted about I articulately lamented what I saw as the lack of respect MH received for his 25th anniversary with his company (all together now: Twenty-five years and they gave you a fucking $8.99 Safeway cake?!?!?”)
That’s not all the recognition he received. Tuesday eve MH came home from work bearing a Certificate of Accomplishment, in the form of a white 8 ½ x 11 inch piece of paper that had his name, a Congratulations, 25 years, yay you! message and a couple of color graphics printed on it. The cheap piece of paper certificate had been laminated, and was slightly bent/curled in the middle, as if someone had tried to roll it up or had sat on it.
Perhaps the yeah-isn’t-this-great twinkle in MH’s eyes as he showed the paper to me should’ve reassured me that I didn’t need to suppress my reaction. Still, I waited until the next morning, to see if I felt the same about it. I asked to see the certificate again, and summoned all the enthusiasm such an honor merited:
Moiself: “I’m sorry for snickering at this. I mean, it’s obvious someone went to the trouble to go all the way to Kinko’s to have it laminated.”
MH: “I’m pretty sure it was in-house job. If they’d gone to Kinko’s it wouldn’t be bent.”
I could not let that stand. I made a rare (for me) trip to a local crafts store, got a shiny purple frame and what son K refers to as “bedazzlers,” and I pimped that certificate.
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May your accomplishments be bedazzled; May your constraints be creative; May The Martian win this year’s Best Picture Oscar; and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
 I did: “So, what is a Johnson roll made of?” Her straightforward description of the ingredients indicated to me that she’d no idea of the…possible interpretations of the roll’s name.
This has been a week of Deep Thoughts ®. Bear with me.
Conversation Of The Week
Sensing that I’m a friendly person – or perhaps that pesky, Go Ahead, You Can Say Anything To This One sign was flashing on my forehead, again – the stranger behind me in the checkout line begins chatting with me while she unloads her cartful of groceries. I had just a few items, including a bag of son K’s favorite cookies, which she commented on (“I didn’t know they came in mini-size!”). She hefted a 10 lb. bag of potatoes onto the scanner belt, followed by several other fresh vegetable items, and began to complain about the produce selection at the “new store.”
Woman Whom I’ve Never Seen Before: “I was really disappointed at the produce selection at the new store. There’s hardly any variety in vegetables – nothing like here.”
Me: “The new store?” I assumed she meant that a new franchise of the supermarket chain she and I are in has opened. “I didn’t know they’d built another one.”
WWINSB: “Yeah, the new store.” She paused, anticipating the light of recognition in my eyes that never appeared. “You know the one. It’s right by where I live.”
Me (as sweetly and patiently as humanly possible): “I have no idea where you live.”
WWINSB: “Right by the new Wal-Mart.”
We were not in a Wal-Mart.
* * *
Fess up. Neither you nor I nor the rest of the world, I bet, have ever seen someone actually flying by the seat of their pants. For some reason, this is bothering me.
I’ve a general awareness of the definition of the idiom (“to proceed or work by feel or instinct, without formal guidelines), and also that it has several origin stories, including, no surprise, an anecdote from the early days of aviation.
But that story doesn’t help to explain the images that come to mind or are implied when that expression is employed.
Does that mean that you are able to fly by, what, flapping your pants’ seat? Or, is it that the seat of your pants is flying, as are you, and you are flying “by” (in formation, alongside, or proximity to) the seat of your pants…in which case, if your pants are flying by themselves then you are flying pants-less, and the wind-chill factor is likely to do a number on your noonies.
Yeah, I know: A mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Some of my questions/thoughts were addressed or at least acknowledged…but not fully answered, IMHO…by my buddies, Neil and Bas. The issues facing the successful, long-term survival of colonists do not, to me, seem to be primarily those which will be solved  by engineers and – oh, I love the chance to type this – rocket scientists. The main obstacles of establishing and maintaining a colony on Mars would seem to be psychological and sociological. Some of my concerns include:
* What kind of person volunteers for a no-return trip? Are you going to end up with a ship (and then colony) full of highly intelligent, scientifically and technologically literate, highly motivated…sociopaths and misanthropes? I know there will be psychological/personality testing up the wazoo for any volunteers…and I also know that highly motivated and highly intelligent and highly manipulative people can figure out how to beat those tests.
* Establishment of a long-term or permanent colony brings up the dilemma of how the colony members will be replenished: by continuing trips from earth, or via reproduction? Humans evolved to live in social groups; most people instinctively crave the love and support of family life, want to pass on both their genes and their experiences, and find pleasure in raising children. If you assume that people will do what people will do and plan to let nature take its course…will nature even be able to find a course? Can humans, who evolved on earth, even reproduce in different gravity environments, and what will happen with pregnancy and fetal development?
* Humans are humans. If you don’t send already established couples to the colony, there will be competition/jealousy when it comes to the finding a mate issue. Also, the pickings, initially, will be slim. Will the desire or need for reproduction (to keep the colony going) rule out sending gay male scientists and explorers? 
* If/once you have a colony rug rat or two, ay yi yi. How can you give a child a normal life without endangering the colony and/or driving both the parents and the child insane via the need for constant vigilance? It’s one thing if little Marina kicks a soccer ball through the neighbor’s plate glass window, quite another if she inadvertently takes out a solar panel or other crucial piece of equipment.
* The most important question of all: will I live to see any of this?
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Department Of This Is What Happens When You Talk Loudly Next To A Blogger Aka, With Friends Like These, Who Needs Lunch Dates?
After my Qigong class at the community college I treated myself to lunch at a nearby pasta restaurant. Two women in their mid-to-late sixties were seated at the table next to me, and I had no problem catching parts of their conversation about a friend of theirs who had bailed out on their lunch invitation.
Friend #1: I probably shouldn’t say this…
(But of course, she does.)
Friend #1: I know there is such a thing as migraines, but sometimes I think she just doesn’t want to get out of bed.
Friend #2: “Well, that’s her problem.”
Friend #1: “She takes one or two prescriptions, but she won’t take the prescriptions that the doctor gives her.”
Friend #2: “So why bother going to the doctor?”
Friend #1: “That’s what I told her. She said she doesn’t want drugs, she only (#1 sniffs disdainfully) wants ‘natural stuff.'”
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Department of Great Movie Lines
One of the greatest (IMHO) pieces of movie dialogue consists of only one word. Oh, but what a word. A Golden Scroll from the Department of Cultural Literary ® if you can remember  where this one comes from:
Think hard, and coveted this trophy is yours.
* * *
May you never have your lunchtime gossip chitchat recorded by a stranger; May your flights by any kind of pants be safe and turbulent-free; May we all live to see a (human) Mission to Mars… and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
Bas Lansdorp is a Dutch entrepreneur best known as the founder of the Mars One Project , not a kind if rocket or an extra planetary colonization technique. But you knew that.
 And I believe the mechanics of getting people to mars and housing and feeding them while they are there will be solves.
 Gay women can still conceive and bear children.
Department Of Can We Stop Using This Phrase, Please?
Re the ongoing blah blah blah political rhetoric of What We Would Or Shouldn’t Do To Help The Syrian People/Fight ISIS ® : there is a certain phrase I want to consign to the idiom trash bin. Because
1) it glosses over the gritty reality of soldiers – flesh and blood human beings who are more than the parts of their uniforms – being deployed, and
(2) it doesn’t make me feel any more or less safe, or any more or less certain that we (the USA) are doing the right thing.
I mean, Boots on the ground– c’mon. That’s a given in my home.
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Department Of Just Wondering Aka, Further Idiotic Idiom Inquiries
While we  are on the subject of idioms, you know the one some people use when they wish to emphasize their certainty about a subject?
“I ____beyond the shadow of a doubt.”
This expression assumes that a doubthas a corporeal heft to it – a mass that could cast a shadow. Now, what would a doubt’s shadows look like? How would you know that what you saw was the shadow of a doubt?  And, like most physical objects, would doubt only cast a shadow on a sunny day, and thus on a cloudy day you could have no such certainty?
For the sake of further blithering discussion, suppose you indeed found doubt’s shadow: how would you know you were beyondit? Would it have clearly demarcated borders? And would beyond a shadow of a doubt mean that you were before, after or to the side of…which of the borders?
Whichever one of you is Doubt, please raise your hand…damn….
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Department Of Put Down Your Green Tea And Reach For An Antiemetic
Stewart writes that we non-conservatives might picture religious conservatives via stereotypes of Midwestern farmers and small business owners, but warns that the leaders of the conservative religious movements to whom the seemingly benign Farmer Jethros of the nation deliver their votes have a more powerful, radical, and far-reaching agenda.
When they hail religious liberty, they do not mean the right to pray and worship with other believers. Instead, the phrase has become a catchall for tactical goals of seeking exemptions from the law on religious grounds. To claim exception from the law as a right of “religious refusal” is, of course, the same as claiming the power to take the law into one’s own hands.
The leaders of this movement are breathtakingly radical. Like Mr. Swanson, they feel persecuted and encircled in a hostile world. Like him, they believe that America will find peace only when all submit to the one true religion. … they do share the ultimate goal of capturing the power of the state and remaking society in ways most Americans would find extreme: a world in which men rule in families, women’s reproductive freedom is curtailed and “Bible believers” run the government.
I know that such people exist; I’ve heard their frightening rhetoric. Still, sometimes I wonder how much I really know about what they would like to do, if given the chance. Change the name Swanson to Imam Shafi’I and Bible-believers to Quran or Shariadisciples….in case you haven’t already noted the identical mindset.
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Department Of Time To Pick On The Other Side Subdivision Of Stop This While You Still Can
It’s not LGBT anymore- it’s LGBTQ! (overheard from a probably well-intentioned but nonetheless shrill acronym cop)
Not long ago, I overheard a portion of a conversation between two people, in which Person 1 corrected Person 2 for using LGBT, an erstwhile standard acronym which, according to some burr up their butts concerned citizens, is no longer acceptable due to its inadequacy of inclusion.
I’ve been reminded of that unintentional eavesdropping incident several times in the past few months, when I’ve encountered variations on the term LGBT. I’ve also encountered More People insisting that Other People must employ a longer variant of the term (of the More People’s choosing). Most of these variations involve LGBT ‘s acquisition of Q, which, I’ve both told, stands for queer or questioning…or queerand/or questioning.
And then, earlier this week, I came across a new literary journal’s submission guidelines, which included this specification:
We are especially excited to hear from LGBTQIA + writers.
This was just a few days after I’d read some political observations online, wherein a commenter was questioned/corrected when he used LGBT instead of whatever acronym the Corrector deemed proper, which was something like LGBTQIA+ …only there was another symbol after the A, which wasn’t a + .
The Corrector didn’t say what his replacement acronym stood for, which of course led me to a so-what-does-it-mean? Web search. I found several sites which define LGBTQIA as Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transsexual, Queer, Intersex, Asexual – a “more inclusive term than LGBT for people with non-mainstream sexual orientation or gender identity.”
But wait, that’s what the Q is for – inclusivity, right? One Corrector explained it to me many moons ago: Queer was for other identifications that were not specifically or mainly LGBT.
Okay; fine. LGBTQIA. Now, what’s with the addition of the addition sign? What does + signify? There is more inclusivity to be included?
Look, I’m sorry…. Strike that.
I’m not sorry at all for holding the opinion that the acronym is becoming unwieldy. This opinion o’mine is based on matters of convenience and accuracy of usage, and is not indicative of any political or social stance. 
Calling all Acronym Correctors: Don’t potentially alienate supporters – don’t shut down dialog or push people away by being a usage cop. Strive to gain and maintain allies by listening to what people say over how they are saying it; i.e., go for substance over style. And BTW, since when are all LGBTQ/minority sexual identifying people part of one, monolithic community, with the same political, economic, social and cultural concerns that can be encapsulated in one acronym?
LGBTQIA+ = TMI.
TMI in this case = Too. Many. Initials.
We now return you to our regular ranting…er, programming.
* * *
Department of Public Service
The Tooth? You Can’t Handle The Tooth (A Few Good Men, the Dental Hygiene prequel)
Glide dental floss is sold by the crapfull caseload at Costco; thus, a crapload whole lotta people use it. According to my dentist  it is one step up from useless, as are all flosses coated with PTFE (a synthetic polymer, the most familiar brand name of which is Teflon).
Teflon-coated floss slides between your teeth nicely, but that’s about all it does. Plaque doesn’t stick to it, and the point of flossing is to have the floss latch on to and remove plaque. Remember what kind of surfaces Teflon is used for? All together now: non-stick.
* * *
One Ticket For The Time Travel Shuttle, And May I Have The First Class, Low Sodium Seating Option?
Somebody talking something  about the possibility of time travel got me to thinking about the temporal reality I inhabit. I’ve long considered that I live in the (near) future, in that my today is what was the tomorrow of my yesterday.
That may sound like cheating, but think about it: we are living in the future of our past. Those months and years ago, when we thought about the times to come? Every day is just that. Oh, and that proverbial rainy day that we are supposed to save for? It’s here (well, at least in the Pacific Northwest). So do it/spend it now, if/while you can.
Something else I heard from the Somebody Talking: apparently, when people are asked to imagine the option of time travel (Pretend you could travel in time; where would you go and what would you do?), they commonly elect to go backward in time to try to right some historical wrongs or atrocities (hint: fanatical German dude with unbecoming mustache).
For moiself, I’m not so sure I’d take up the offer. I’ve seen too many Star Trek episodes to think that I’d be wise enough so that my tinkering with history would produce only positive changes. Were I to travel back in time, I wouldn’t choose to do anything grandiose or ostensibly noble (I would not assassinate Hitler, nor his mother). I’d revisit more personal scenarios. There are some people I’d like to kiss that I didn’t…and there are some I’d like to punch that I didn’t. But, wouldn’t changing anything be mucking up history, even if on a smaller scale?
My brain hurts.
* * *
You Know It’s Almost Here
* * *
May the seasons you celebrate be upon you and yours,
and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
 Yes, technically it’s me who’s on the subject, but y’all are along for the ride.
 What if you confused it with, say, the shadow of a debit? Or a donut?
 Former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee, Gov. Bobby Jindal of Louisiana, Senator Ted Cruz of Texas.
 And I FHTF (fucking hate the fact) that I feel obligated to make that disclaimer.
 Who is now asking his patients what kind of floss they use, instead of just the yes/no do you floss question, as he’s seeing more and more avowed regularly flossing patients whose teeth have the plaque buildups of non-flossers…and guess what kind of floss they use?
Active, reliable, sarcastic, affectionate, bipedal, cynical optimist, writer, freethinker, parent, spouse and friend, I am generous with my handy supply of ADA-approved spearmint gum and sometimes refrain from humming in public.