Neanderpundit

I have added bay leaves to recipes for years. Now I find out that they use them to cut down on the gas in gassy food.

Sons of bitches.

All those good farts that never were. It’s like finding out that you were adopted and your real parents were John Wayne and Audrey Hepburn.

That there seem to be two kinds of hatred in this world. There is the hatred of your opponent, those people that are at their core so unlike you in almost every way you cannot fathom their ideology, and it is repugnant to you. Muslims to Christians, for instance. Democrats to Republicans. These people, sometimes, despite their differences, can coexist.

The other hatred, and this seems to be the unforgiveable one, is the hatred you have for people very much like you, but who act as funhouse mirrors to your secret faults, amplifying them back to you. I think you know what I mean. The people you hate because they are so much like you at your worst or weakest.

thoughts?

I turn the radio off on my way to work. I have a long drive and a lot of talk radio invariably leaves me wanting to shoot the radio.

Most music stations anymore play either abject crap or moldy oldies, and while I have no objection to moldy oldies, at least play the ones I LIKE more than once an hour.

The hour and a half of silence in the morning is good woolgathering time. When most of your career involves pulling manufacturing solutions out of thin air using powdered unicorn horn, butterfly farts and unobtanium, the more time you spend woolgathering the more likely you are to be able to provide meaningful solutions.

Sometimes, though, I use one of the functions of my magic Elf box and play youtube videos of songs I like through the stereo in the car. This morning was one such time, and one of my ‘Drive” playlists involves the lively rhythms of “Solsbury hill” and the crunchy guitar of “Locomotive breath” and the driving chord progression of “Riding the storm out”

So today, instead of arriving beaten and bruised and ready for another day of torturous abuse, I arrived beaten and bruised and ready for another day of torturous abuse but with a couple good songs running around my head.