Sunday, July 31, 2011

Still Hot In Tucson


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Since I usually devote Sunday morning to watching the TV news shows, I did not do my fitness walk. Which is just fine because today is another extremely hot day here in Tucson. It is terribly difficult to differentiate between the bald-faced lies, the constant political evasions, and the downright obfuscation of the Democrats and those of the Republicans.

And I am not smart enough to see through and to discern exactly who is behind and responsible for the government charade that plays itself out on television time and time again.

So, why should I even try to make sense of it?

I should not.

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To paraphrase from the novel, 1984 --
If you want to know the future... picture
a foot stamping on a human face forever.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Hot Summer Day


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Having finished the Steig Larsson trilogy, I decided to re-read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. I had read the book several years ago but when I opened it and began reading last night I found that I had no memory at all of the characters or the story. So it appears that I will be immersed in it each night before going to sleep, immersed in it for quite some time.

It's a BIG book.
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This morning I got a late start on my morning fitness walk to Fry's Supermarket and back; it was terribly hot outside and when I got home at 9:30 my shirt was drenched with sweat. The AC inside my apartment felt (and still feels) great. When the monsoon season ends and it cools down out there, I'll extend the distance of my walk from the current two miles to my former four miles.

I bought some fresh oranges and white seedless grapes, each on sale for 88 cents a pound and two boxes of Frosted Mini-Wheats, which I enjoy eating dry (no milk) as a between-meal snack. I have to be careful to keep from overeating. Since I moved from Mike's house out in the desert and into this apartment in Tucson at the end of March, I have gained ten pounds. Instead of my long-time 160 pounds, I now weigh 170. When I have lost those extra pounds, which are all located in my lower belly region, I will announce it here... soon, I hope.

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More news later... maybe.

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Friday, July 29, 2011

Stieg Larsson



Although reading has always been my most satisfying source of great pleasure, it seems that this source has become more and more meager as the years pass by. Of course, I know why that is; it's because of the plethora of new writers who have been ruined by having been taught that learning how to write is only gained by absorbing the methods and results of those writers who have succeeded in the past.

What a crock . . . I am convinced that certain people can learn to write well, but no one can be taught to write well.

One can search out new books that happily contain original (or at least non-standard) writing, but these are few and far between, and extremely difficult to find.

I just today finished reading a trilogy; this was a set of three books by Stieg Larsson, titled The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest. This is the first time in many years that I have been so completely absorbed in the characters and the story being told. Previously, the books of Cormac McCarthy did so, as did the works of Thomas Harris.

Stieg Larsson
August 15, 1954 - November 9, 2004

Sigh . . .

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For the last couple of days I have been plagued by sudden sharp pains in the lower left region of my back. These pains appear whenever I lean slightly forward while standing, as when I stand in front of the bathroom mirror shaving. And when rising from my easy chair after sitting in front of the TV. Don't know what is causing this but there is always the hope in the back of my mind that, "This too shall pass."

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Monday, July 25, 2011

A Quandary


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I have written a lengthy piece in Notepad but am still considering whether or not to publish it here in the blog.

Time will tell . . .

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Sunday, July 24, 2011

Short And Sweet


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Last night I realized why it has been so difficult for me to write... it's because I have nothing worthwhile to say.

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Friday, July 22, 2011

Life Goes On . . .


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As I ambled West on the sidewalk along Speedway Boulevard toward Fry's Supermarket at the intersection of Speedway and Pantano I heard (on my old Sony AM-FM radio) the weatherman announce that it was 85 degrees already at eight A.M. And I could feel the beaded perspiration on my forehead and upper lip. The temperature was forecast to be up around 110 degrees late in the afternoon. The worst part was that the humidity was quite high since this is the time of the annual monsoon season here in Tucson.

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Every time a condemned person is executed there is a huge uproar over how the method is inhumane... that it is cruel and unusual punishment.

I do not understand why the authorities do not adopt the most humane method of bringing about death that I can think of. All they have to do is administer the same anesthetic that is used in surgery. Then the surgeon can merely stop the heart, as is done in cardiac surgery. Also, the brain stem can be disconnected, if necessary. Painless and humane.

I suppose that I could be overlooking something, but I don't think so.

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There is a site I want to check out: http://www.futureoftv.org but there is something currently wrong with the site. I'll keep trying and report on what I learn afterward.

More to come . . .

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"Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."
--E.L. Doctorow

Thursday, July 21, 2011

New Post


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Tucson Weather Today

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When Mike and JoAnn returned from their trip to Washington State they brought me a gift of gourmet food that I am anxious to sample. It is a jar of Mutiny Bay raspberry jam.

Yum!

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Here is a bit of trivia:

The United States Postal service introduced ZIP codes on this day in 1963. "ZIP" stands for "Zone Improvement Plan," and they're designed to make sorting and delivering mail more efficient. The first three digits represent the part of the country the mail is going to, and the last two identify the post office within that region.

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More to come . . .

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There's no shame in being pariahs.
--Marge Simpson