Friday, September 30, 2016


Everyone knows what clouds look like. And we know what lenticular clouds are: It's probably not impossible for them to form without any of th qualifying ingredients but this happened over flat land and no structures...

On a very windy day when the rest of the clouds were cirrus and rapidly whirling into wispier, even thinner ones, this little cotton ball number had its own personality. And it stayed in this position for one hour.

Pun not entirely intended, but I think there's a 20% chance this is only partly cloud. (Yes, we know. There's not a 'y' at the end.)

The implication? Oh all right then. No we can't. It's just too laughable... but if we wink juussst slowly enough, we think you'll get what we're saying.

Thursday, September 29, 2016


Dreams Come True...

We are playing in an episode of Family Guy and are grinning pretty big about this.



Tom Q

Tom Q, our moon man in Rochester, apparently has some very important messages to pick up from this fella, whom we've come to call - privately, of course - the pwecious widdle bunny wabbit.

We like the boldness of this fellow: He seems to be angling for his very own kids' book or, at least, his own Upstate New York Rabbit in Winter preparedness calendar.

May happiness and belly laughs multiply in your lives like - well, these guys do.

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

The Quality of Mercy, Y'all

In a world where rules often countermand sanity, we'd like to introduce a contender for the Sacred for a Minute That Lasts Forever Award that we just now made up - but one we'll happily begin bestowing upon folks who see the Biggest Picture of all, and in so doing, open the rest of our eyes to what mercy can do.

Selah, fanny shake and a you go, girl, high five to Judge Amber Wolf.

The Judge's own words might explain her actions for those who are curious, critical, etc., much better than our new award for which we're designing a statuette right now.

Maybe in honor of its first recipient, it'll look like a whistle.


We're not PETA. We're not vegan.

And we don't just sign petitions blindly. In this one, actually, and without intention, 'blind' is an operative word.

Thanks to our friend Dan from the Missouri National Guard who was kind enough and pissed enough to send this along...

Dan, thanks for the job you do while in uniform. And for the job you do out of it. (Um, wait. That came out wrong. You know what we mean.)



:57 of divinity download.

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Bit of footstomping. Better get the kids out...

A few days ago, someone thought they were being helpful telling us to calm down. Strangely enough, it just chapped our ass, as they say in Texas. Apart from the soul curdling condescension of that remark, it appears, as is the occasional wont of human beings, that they missed just how closely we were holding the blade of annoyance to our own skin.

But we sure flipped it around fast enough.

This straight, white, Jesus-loving dame, longtime disliker of those who threaten damnation or calm downing, writes, from time to time, about cornered humans who aren't, perhaps, any of those fleeting adjectives that label us. Because there isn't just disapproval in those corners - there is danger and hate.

So we scribble about it.

It's how we roll.

And I daresay there are plenty of FB pages where you may receive calm posts that align perfectly with your own version of what may be acceptable bitching.

What prompts this particular kvetch-session..

To paraphrase Tom Robbins in "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues"..

"The world, as usual, was in a desperate situation."

Last night we heard this segment on "Reveal", a program on NPR. (Link below)

An extremely bold young Russian journalist covered the in-country reporting and we can't help but fear for her physical future.

We know that the LGBT community is besieged in certain places more than others, but, in Russia, the equivalent of Westboro Baptist Church with hate magnified exponentially, if that even seems possible, is happening today and you may or may not be shocked to hear that they're importing a few grotesque members of the US clergy to make their murderous points.

(And "murderous" isn't an exaggeration here.)

So to those of you who see fit to write crap about homosexuality being forbidden by scripture on these pages, consider this, please: There are many other things in the Bible that are recommended that we don't see you endorsing here. How convenient for you. And in this case, we beg you to look at your own fears and prejudices. And if that doesn't work, despite being a huge First Amendment supporter, we do believe in exiling hate on this Facebook page - no matter if it's dressed up in Sunday finest.

To the rest of you, I'll take that big hug and strong cup of joe you're handing me. Thanks for sticking around. Hell, just a few more clicks and we're at 20K. That is, if the haters who split don't take their little likes and go home...

In which case, we'll be happy with our old core group that was here before the reruns began. ; )

Monday, September 26, 2016


There is something funny about keeping up with the debate via NPR transcripts.

For one thing, both candidates pledge to take out "ices".


Ryan Buell

It's been some time since we've heard what Mr. Buell was doing. Sure, we've heard stories, accusations, etc., formal and otherwise, that led us to think he's in a bad way.

But a while ago, deciding the horse's mouth might be the best, maybe the only fair place to turn, we went to his Facebook page to see his latest video post. It's worse than we imagined...

It's devastating to see anyone in this shape. His mother's own Facebook plea was what caused us to take note and, after seeing what he intentionally posted, it's clear to us that he's very sick, indeed.

Because addiction is one of those things that garners less empathy than other diseases - after all, the sufferer does have some control, is the standard, understandable response - even my own personal comprehension of addiction is tempered by what I saw in these few minutes of him talking - without making any sense at all.

I'm looking at a dying man.

Inside and outside.

As in not long for this earth.

And now, because he's jailed in a state removed from the actual "scene of the crime" - he allegedly stole a rental car - I've got a feeling this guy is kicking something fierce in a cell far from home.

Prayers may not be enough. Because the stubborn and relentless march for that very thing that's killing us is hard to kill, it'll take something bigger and meaner and smarter than Ryan to untangle this mess.

Whatever you thought of the show Paranormal State, this much is true: Ryan Buell is a very intelligent, compelling, unique personality and, like everyone else alive, has a spark of good within. Whatever drugs he's on are all but obliterating those traits and leaving a skeletal, babbling guy who's slow dancing with the devil himself.

That term, by the way, is usually a clichéd metaphor given to those risking much for little. But - limb crawling-out time - because our etheric bodies have unique compositions, it's surprisingly easy to rip one open and have low things gain access.

The lower astral is teeming with hitchhikers who like nothing better than to cop a free ride. One can live a life making such access impossible or one can leave all the doors unlocked with a welcome mat out... Which is exactly what quantum drug use does.

We think good angels are more numerous, bigger, stronger than the fallen ones who don't fight fair. While we certainly didn't mean to go all meta-chat in this post, we'll chance that many of you know exactly what we mean.

Opiate addiction is claiming more lives by the minute: the stats are up there with cancer and auto accidents. Because it's entirely possible to appear functional on these drugs - until it's not - it's a gnarly way to go.

Not because Ryan is more special than anyone else, but because, perhaps, he's visible, maybe he needs some extra angels. The good kinds.

Sending his Mama thanks for her courage in speaking out. And huge hugs across the miles. We cannot imagine her agony, especially seeing so many enablers in his wake. They've clearly kept him two steps ahead of being called out on his crap for some time. Until now. So what seems like rotten luck for Ryan may be the one damn thing that'll save him.

About his mother's post: Anyone who calls what she did a betrayal is either part of the problem or too naïve to be included in the solution. And there is one, Ryan...

It won't be fun - at first. But you can do this. Your choices are dwindling if not out of your hands altogether at this point.

I wish I could help. And while it has become a punchline, honey, I'm saying this in all seriousness:

I feel your pain.


Because haters are like moths made of - well, hate - in a way, it's beckoning them to write this at all. With that in mind, kindly note: We've sharpened delete/ban scissors here, and all snark will be summarily removed.

RB will answer for his deeds, misdeeds, etc in the way we all do. It just might not be on the earthly plane. And this is being posted in hopes that it's not too late for this life to be enough for him.

The difference between tough love and merciless jerks who traffic in sheer gossip is a large one, indeed. Please think before you write.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Bigger Than Life: A Few Words About Two Great Athletes

I swiped this great photo from Arnold Palmer's official website. It's AP, obviously, quite some time ago. Ah, youth, sweet youth. When dreams are stacked up so high. And the dissuaders? Small things in the shadows, mostly. Until they leap out and give the most dreadful surprises...

And I mean the fastest surprises: No gradual inch by inch nonsense. No, tragedy coming out of nowhere just as fast as youth itself: It's the only thing that can knock it down or outrun it.

Before Arnie was finished with his scholarship at Wake Forest, his best friend and roommate, Bud Worsham, was killed in a one-car accident. Palmer left school entirely, entering the Coast Guard, in the wake of grief for his friend.

Bud was about the same age Jose Fernandez was when he died this weekend. And his death stayed with Palmer his whole life.

Unlike Palmer, Bud and Jose couldn't give us years, decades, entire generations of time to fall in love with them. With who and what they might've been.

In the case of Fernandez, we knew he was a great pitcher and only time would tell about how big that legacy would be.

Now, his legacy of grief is the larger part of who he was. His beloved grandmother outlives him...

And later maybe the legacy will partly be one about the dangers of speed - and I mean the going too fast kind - which young men tend to crave too often and at great cost.

Now the heaviest kind of loss has descended over Jose's beloved: the jagged-edged kind of grief, the early, sudden exit stuff that rips open love and hope in all its glory and prime.

We've never been big golf nuts, but appreciated Arnold Palmer, that guy who stayed around to be a legend, scandal free - with seeming ease and a gallantry that is almost quaint these days.

There will be beautiful eulogies written and spoken about both men. This isn't one of them.

But I wanted to give the old man a thanks on his send-off and all my condolences to Jose Fernandez's loved ones, including his little girl who hasn't even been born yet.

If you're reading this and you're young... Be that dope who slows down. The life you save, etc etc. I promise. You matter a lot to someone.

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