Snow

Diego dropped some snow on us, not that much, an inch or so. (It was supposed to be rain, so they didn't treat the roads, which will make tonight fun.) But it's pretty.

Blurry shot of bunny(?) tracks

Great-niece Ayla trying to make a snowman

Fiona anniversary video

I love Fiona! Watch her galloping around!

Averages

Something to keep in mind when people start talking about average incomes or tax refunds or whatever: if by "average" they mean "mean", it's worse than useless.

Say you have 100 people making $20,000. If you add one person making $2 million, your "average income" is $39,603 - yet almost everyone makes only just over half that. (If you have 2 rich guys, the average jumps to $58,283, well over twice what almost everyone actually makes.)

And if your one rich guy makes $20 million, it's $217,821. If he makes $500 million it's $4,970,297 - the average income is now twice what all but 1 person COMBINED actually make.

Pronouns

Saw this today in an advice column. I don'tget it.

"I (she/her/hers) and my friend (also she/her/hers) recently applied for the same job."

Is there anybody in the world who says "I (she/them/his)"? If they're she, they're her and hers. So why write them all out all the time?

Please check for the answer you already knew KTHXBAI

Ah, customer relations is hard. I complained to Regal that they had stopped showing the TCM Big Screen Classics series at the local theater. They sent an email saying "Thank you for taking the time to contact our office. Please go to our website, regmovies.com, and go to the Turner Classic Movies page and you will find movies and times."

So, I did, thinking maybe I'd screwed up. But what I find is "Hmm... we couldn't find any showtimes for this date and location."

Once again, someone responds without paying any real attention. I am well aware that they show them IN SOME PLACES. That does not address my issue, which is that I am not driving to Chattanooga to see a movie.

Downed tree

So I just heard a crashing sound and went onto the deck to see this. Big old mostly, maybe all, dead pine just went down. So much rain the ground is quite saturated, so even though the winds weren't extraordinarily high - gusts to 30 mph - the tree couldn't stand. At least it went down the ridge, not sideways, though it still wouldn't have hit my house. (Might have hit the neighbors' if it had fallen uphill.)

Worst thing is, it took out several smaller trees when it fell, and one was the tree I'd seen the bluebirds preparing to nest in. This late in April, they might have had a nest already there. Hopefully they can find another spot close around.

Curtain of Red

The Japanese maple through the kitchen window

Were you satisfied?

What's with these store surveys? 

You go in, find what you need, buy it, leave. The survey asks if you were satisfied. 

If you say "Very" they want to know what wonderful thing they did. You sold me the books I wanted?

But if you just say "Yes" they want to know what they could have done better. Nothing. It wasn't wonderful but it was satisfactory. You sold me the books I wanted.

It was fine. I'm satisfied. But it wasn't a spectacular life-changing experience that I will remember till I die. That doesn't mean you could have done anything more. You had the books I wanted. You sold them to me. Done and done.

Happy Solstice!

It's the Solstice! Summer solstice here in the northern hemisphere - nearly Midsummer Day - and winter solstice in the southern, nearly Midwinter.


Longest day or longest night: may it find - and leave - you happy.

A Christmas Story

Enjoy!

My Xmas Story

by Mark Evanier
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED 7/9/99
Comics Buyer's Guide

I want to tell you a story…

The scene is Farmers Market — the famed tourist mecca of Los Angeles. It's located but yards from the facility they call, "CBS Television City in Hollywood"…which, of course, is not in Hollywood but at least is very close.

Farmers Market is a quaint collection of bungalow stores, produce stalls and little stands where one can buy darn near anything edible one wishes to devour. You buy your pizza slice or sandwich or Chinese food or whatever at one of umpteen counters, then carry it on a tray to an open-air table for consumption.

During the Summer or on weekends, the place is full of families and tourists and Japanese tour groups. But this was a winter weekday, not long before Christmas, and the crowd was mostly older folks, dawdling over coffee and danish. For most of them, it's a good place to get a donut or a taco, to sit and read the paper.

For me, it's a good place to get out of the house and grab something to eat. I arrived, headed for my favorite barbecue stand and, en route, noticed that Mel Tormé was seated at one of the tables.

Mel Tormé. My favorite singer. Just sitting there, sipping a cup of coffee, munching on an English Muffin, reading The New York Times. Mel Tormé.

I had never met Mel Tormé. Alas, I still haven't and now I never will. He looked like he was engrossed in the paper that day so I didn't stop and say, "Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed all your records." I wish I had.

Instead, I continued over to the BBQ place, got myself a chicken sandwich and settled down at a table to consume it. I was about halfway through when four Christmas carolers strolled by, singing "Let It Snow," a cappella.

They were young adults with strong, fine voices and they were all clad in splendid Victorian garb. The Market had hired them (I assume) to stroll about and sing for the diners — a little touch of the holidays.

"Let It Snow" concluded not far from me to polite applause from all within earshot. I waved the leader of the chorale over and directed his attention to Mr. Tormé, seated about twenty yards from me.

"That's Mel Tormé down there. Do you know who he is?"

The singer was about 25 so it didn't horrify me that he said, "No."

I asked, "Do you know 'The Christmas Song?'"

Again, a "No."

I said, "That's the one that starts, 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…'"

"Oh, yes," the caroler chirped. "Is that what it's called? 'The Christmas Song?'"

"That's the name," I explained. "And that man wrote it." The singer thanked me, returned to his group for a brief huddle…and then they strolled down towards Mel Tormé. I ditched the rest of my sandwich and followed, a few steps behind. As they reached their quarry, they began singing, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…" directly to him.

A big smile formed on Mel Tormé's face — and it wasn't the only one around. Most of those sitting at nearby tables knew who he was and many seemed aware of the significance of singing that song to him. For those who didn't, there was a sudden flurry of whispers: "That's Mel Tormé…he wrote that…"

As the choir reached the last chorus or two of the song, Mel got to his feet and made a little gesture that meant, "Let me sing one chorus solo." The carolers — all still apparently unaware they were in the presence of one of the world's great singers — looked a bit uncomfortable. I'd bet at least a couple were thinking, "Oh, no…the little fat guy wants to sing."

But they stopped and the little fat guy started to sing…and, of course, out came this beautiful, melodic, perfectly-on-pitch voice. The look on the face of the singer I'd briefed was amazed at first…then properly impressed.

On Mr. Tormé's signal, they all joined in on the final lines: "Although it's been said, many times, many ways…Merry Christmas to you…" Big smiles all around.

And not just from them. I looked and at all the tables surrounding the impromptu performance, I saw huge grins of delight…which segued, as the song ended, into a huge burst of applause. The whole tune only lasted about two minutes but I doubt anyone who was there will ever forget it.

I have witnessed a number of thrilling "show business" moments — those incidents, far and few between, where all the little hairs on your epidermis snap to attention and tingle with joy. Usually, these occur on a screen or stage. I hadn't expected to experience one next to a falafel stand — but I did.

Tormé thanked the harmonizers for the serenade and one of the women said, "You really wrote that?"

He nodded. "A wonderful songwriter named Bob Wells and I wrote that…and, get this — we did it on the hottest day of the year in July. It was a way to cool down."

Then the gent I'd briefed said, "You know, you're not a bad singer." He actually said that to Mel Tormé.

Mel chuckled. He realized that these four young folks hadn't the velvet-foggiest notion who he was, above and beyond the fact that he'd worked on that classic carol. "Well," he said. "I've actually made a few records in my day…"

"Really?" the other man asked. "How many?"

Tormé smiled and said, "Ninety."

I probably own about half of them on vinyl and/or CD. For some reason, they sound better on vinyl. (My favorite was the album he made with Buddy Rich. Go ahead. Find me a better parlay of singer and drummer. I'll wait.)

Today, as I'm reading obits, I'm reminded of that moment. And I'm impressed to remember that Mel Tormé was also an accomplished author and actor. Mostly though, I'm recalling that pre-Christmas afternoon.

I love people who do something so well that you can't conceive of it being done better. Doesn't even have to be something important: Singing, dancing, plate-spinning, mooning your neighbor's cat, whatever. There is a certain beauty to doing almost anything to perfection.

No recording exists of that chorus that Mel Tormé sang for the other diners at Farmers Market but if you never believe another word I write, trust me on this. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

(Source credit: Mark Evanier

Why?

Why do people feel the need to get all aggressive about "saying Christmas"? Seriously. I almost feel like not going. But "Winterfest" redeems it ;-)

Text: "Come back to the Smokies. Network news does not tell you everything, businesses are still open, we are celebrating Winterfest, you can still visit Pigeon Forge and Sevierville. Sadly Gatlingburg is closed as much work is needed in the area. Ripley's Aquarium of the Smokies is closed but ALL animals are SAFE AND SOUND and will reopen soon. Today Dollywood reopens! The Christmas (yes, we still say Christmas here in the Smokes) lights are all on in Pigeon Forge and Sevierville. The theaters in Sevierville/Pigeon Forge all have fantastic Holiday Shows. The stores are open for shopping and our restaurants for dining. If you have plans or are thinking about coming, PLEASE COME."

The festive table

A good meal with good people.

O hai

No mas

An email I just sent to End Citizens United, in response to one from them with the subject line "Did Karen ABANDON Hillary?", which I found pretty rich since I just got hit up by her campaign.

I'm sure this is useless but I am going to say it anyway. Trying to guilt people into giving is an obnoxious tactic. Especially all this crap like "Did Karen abandon Hillary?" or "Karen voting for Trump?" And the damned surveys that end with a choice of giving X dollars or giving more. ENOUGH.

I am getting upwards of 75 emails A DAY asking for money. At least 1 phone call a day. You, a bunch of congressional and senatorial candidates and their campaigns, the Clinton campaign, DNC, DSCC, DCCC, DDLC... freaking James Carville calling me a slacker. And everybody sends them over and over, sometimes daily, certainly weekly. Everybody wants $300 or $400 and then they want me to add "just" $20.16 or enough to get the matching funds up to some bigger number. Everyone is desperate and everyone just needs 4 more people ftom my ZIP code or 10 from  my city. I CANNOT GIVE EVERYONE MONEY ALL THE TIME. STOP ACTING LIKE YOU ARE ALL THERE IS.

I'm sure it won't even be read. But I feel better for sending it.

No, thanks

Protip: I'm not sending any money to anyone whose calling technique goes like this:

Them: "May I speak to Jessica?"
Me: "You have the wrong number."
Them: "Sorry, but maybe you can help me. I'm calling on behalf of..."

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaack

Any rumors of my demise are premature.

However, moving is not for the faint of heart. Also, it's a massive time-suck.

A quick overview of the process (pics at the bottom of the post):

Spent a couple of weeks sorting and deciding what not to take. Had a walk-through by the company rep to give me an estimate (couple of them; I went with Ace Relocation Systems, part of Atlas Van Lines). Hired a company - TurboHaul - to come and take away a lot of the stuff I wasn't moving, like some 30-year-old chairs and a sofa older than that. They were great, fast and efficient.

Then moving day. I had gotten a room at a hotel for Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday nights. The customer rep for Ace thought it would take two days - well, one and a half - one to box up everything* and one to load the truck. But when the driver showed up Monday morning he looked around the post-TurboHaul apartment and said he figured they could do it all in one day "if that's okay". Yes, well, it was.

And they did. He had a local crew of two people and they were packing demons. They had the whole apartment boxed or packed and loaded onto the U-Haul truck (there was no way to get an 18-wheel rig around the back of my apartment complex, so they used the U-Haul to ferry from the apartment to the semi) in 6 hours. Delivery was set up for Saturday morning. I went to the hotel and crashed.

Next day TurboHaul came back (fortunately they were able to reschedule) and took everything left in the apartment. They even cleaned out the fridge! I had decided not to take my old sleeper sofa - Gwen's one bad habit was clawing at that sofa, and reupholstering it would have cost more than replacing it, plus the movers charge by weight and sleeper sofas are heavy! So that had to go, too. When they were done the apartment was bare. I dropped off the keys and a check to cover final cleaning** and went to dinner with a good friend whom I'll really miss (but we'll see each other in NYC a few times over the season). Then to the hotel and bed.

Wednesday morning I got up and left at 8. Stopped for breakfast and hit the road. Traffic to I66 was bad, of course, but never terrible, and once I got on 66 it was clear sailing (since I was leaving the city). Stopped once for lunch and then for the night in Salem, Virginia. My days of driving straight through are done, even if all the 70mph stretches have cut the trip from 11 to 9 hours. Thursday I got breakfast in Salem and hit the road by 8. I was home by 11.

Friday I went over to Harvey's and bought a new sleeper sofa and a chair and ordered bookshelves. They delivered that afternoon, and weren't able to get the sofa through the door of the guest room/office. Fortunately, the old one in the living room would fit, so the new one's out there. Had lunch with my sister Laura and later went and bought a little dogwood to replace the one that I'd bought last fall. Actually,  the nursery didn't charge since the other one had been planted less than a year ago, so that was nice.

The driver had called me Thursday to ask if a Sunday delivery would be okay; his truck was in the shop and they'd told him he could get it on Friday. I said that was fine, so bright and early (well, 8:30) on Sunday he inched his semi up Outer Drive, trying not to take down any of the wires crossing the street. He and his local team of unloaders worked really quickly unloading, too. They put the boxes where I wanted them with (so far) only one exception - a box of dvds that ended up among the books. They also put the bed back together in the spare room, set up the chests, and were done in about three hours, maybe less. Neat, fast, careful.

My sister Molly and her daughter Krista had come over to help. Molly and I built a desk that afternoon. Pro tip: don't buy furniture from Staples. That damned desk took almost four hours to assemble, though it does look good. Krista put the chair together - took her about five minutes! She also unpacked a lot of dishes while Molly and I were struggling with the desk.

So... then came my part. Three weeks of unpacking a little bit every day and I'm not done. Nearly so, except for the bulk of the books which will have to wait until the shelves arrive. But all the dvds are unpacked and shelved, and all the cds are unpacked and in their new chests. Which Molly and I put together last weekend. The first one took about two hours, but the other two took slightly less both together.

I also got a new kitten - there'll be a post about her.

I think I'm basically settled. Been having lunch with my brother and one sister every Thursday, and sometimes, depending on their schedules, the other sister and my niece come, too.

With luck, things will continue to go smoothly. OPM has been very fast with the pension, and that's all sorted and regularized. TSP was very fast with sending me that money (I feared the worst when they wanted the form faxed), which was very good since that payed for the move, the new furniture, and all the little nitnoy things I had to pick up for the house.

So: tl;dr - I'm in Tennessee and basically moved in! Hoping that things settle down now, and feeling very good about it all.

* Yes, I suppose I could have done it all myself with some friends. But I didn't want to. I prefer to pay people to do things so they're done right and fast. I know I couldn't have packed up a U-Haul truck in half a day.

** See above

The back spare room with the chests I brought from Maryland

Barsa on top of boxes in the kitchen (the flats are left over from packing stuff out of this house). Wine was unpacked very nearly first, of course.

The spare room with the bed I brought from Maryland - board games and light reading on the shelves, also brought from Maryland

Boxes in the living room. Note the Christmas mantelpiece is still up...

The new chest in the front hallway, stuffed with cds

The new sleeper sofa (with boxes)

The devil desk

I know, but still

I know that companies don't want to/can't afford to hire enough people to answer their phones and deal with the things a phone menu can deal with.

I know that they don't want an upfront option for getting to a person - that defeats having the phone menu in the first place.

But if the "key code" is not on my bill, I don't care now many times the robot lady tells me to look for it and type it in. I can't do that. I need a human.

And I hate how long it takes to get that message through.

The banality of evil, slightly reformulated

This comment from Fred's place really hit hard:

"I knew we were well and truly fucked as a society when I realized what my high school students do after a mass shooting: nothing. They don't even talk about it the next day. For them, this is just how the world works."

All Are People

I've seen a number of posts, comments, and even articles saying that it shouldn't matter that the people at Pulse were gay. We shouldn't divide ourselves up. It was, in the words of Mark Longhurst on Sky TV, a crime against “human beings” who were “ trying to enjoy themselves, whatever their sexuality."

This sentiment may be a wonderful one. BUT. This is not the time to trot it out (and that goes a hundredfold for people who have nothing but hate for LBGT people in their daily lives and politics).

When Marc Lépine walked into the École Polytechnique in Montreal and killed fourteen women, twelve of whom were engineering students, he wasn't killing "people" or even "people who were studying engineering". He was deliberately killing women.

When Dylan Roof walked into Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston and killed nine black church-goers, he wasn't killing "people" or even "people who were Christians". He was deliberately killing blacks.

And when Omar Mateen walked into Pulse in Orlando, he wasn't killing "people" or even "people who go to clubs." He was killing LGBTs.

As soon as we say that the victims of a crime shouldn't be described as what they are that made them the target, we are begging off from confronting what it is that our society does to make people into misogynists, racists, or homophobes. Also, we remove our ability to understand what just happened. Julia Hartley-Brewer, another panelist on the Sky show, said that the killer probably hated her, “a gobby woman”, as much as he did gays. Maybe. Maybe he did; he seems to have also hated Jews and blacks. But dammit, he didn't walk into a Curves and start shooting, just like he didn't walk into a bar in his own town of Port St Lucie, or a black club or a synagogue. He walked into Pulse. Maybe he did it because he knew Pulse and knew who would be there; maybe he did it because he might not be noticed for a while (Port St Lucie has gay bars). The point is: of all the groups he hated, it was gays he decided to kill.

And pretending that he didn't target gays, or that Lépine didn't target women, or that Elliot Rodger didn't hate women and the men who "got lucky with them", means we're just saying that oh, gosh, crazy people kill people and what are we going to do about it.

Omar Mateen didn't kill "people". Omar Mateen killed gay people. It's important to acknowledge that.


ps - people's reactions to Owen Jones's argument and actions on that video are illuminating, I think.

A few thoughts on Orlando

When we have lax gun laws and one major party demonizing a group of people and several religions ditto including prominent leaders (or at least people claiming to be the public face) of those religions making public statements about how that group deserves death and then a month dedicated to that group of people, this shouldn't be a surprise. Abrahamic religion taught this guy to hate (though they aren't the only ones who preach it) and the NRA-GOP alliance put the weapons in his hands.

They also put them in the hands of the guy who was headed for the LA Gay Pride march, though he never got a shot off.

Gay people are marginalized at best in the homeland of those religions - yes, Israel included - and that makes them a great target here; it's easy to stir up hatred against the Other. (Look how NC legislators cloaked anti-labor laws in trans hate.) Bronze Age religious texts have no place in the laws of an Information Age nation.

Good guys with guns were there. Fifty-plus still died.

Thoughts and prayers don't solve anything (I feel like I've said that before). Legislation is what is needed.

PS And no, I will not pretend that transwomen were his target, Latinx or not. Pulse is a gay bar, not a trans bar. "Two men kissing" are what set this guy off, apparently.