linda-danvers1Quick note. This is the fuckity fuck, Pablo. I been buried. My life is often about merging perspective into lives that thrive on denial. It was kind of a depressing line of work back in the day, but this license to insanity of late…well, I’m over it. And I have tried to reason and believe that anything this president does could be positive, but I’m seriously constipated with fear over his Nazi like control and the way the media fondles him as he degrades freedom and personal liberty with each and every move.

I do have Blown Star on the brain. The only weekend available at Toad Hall is Aug 15th. That is the same weekend as my twenty year reunion. I don’t even know if I can go to my twenty, but I hate to go and make it impossible by planting Blown Star in it’s place.

So I know a lot of folks need to know soon, and I hope to have plans in concrete in a week. So check back if you’re interested. And if you have any suggestions/input, drop it in the comments. And especially if you are a newbie, make sure you let your intended attendance be known. We’re all about accommodation at Blown Star.

Happiest Good Friday to All! More than any day on the calendar, this day represents true hope, kindness and life-changing love. I hope all those virtues are especially alive in you today.

I hope I have deceived none of you. I am not an economist, nor am I of any particular significance within my field. I am one severely exposed individual, which I think gives me a unique grasp of current events.

Everybody seems traumatized these days, and who can blame them? I feel as if I’ve been at war for six months. But you can’t deny the pattern, people. I know, I know. This time it’s different. Yes? Of course, it is.

In my tiny corner of the world, I hear the same old tired arguments rising up to a crest. Gold. The most precious metal. What a crock! I listen to a lot of conservative radio and some of the personalities go as far as voice-over endorsement ads, recommending people diversify into gold. Suprises me, to hear the most staunch conservatives advocating such an obcenely volatile asset class, with no remorse for peddling it to the masses. It baffles. Commodities are volatile assets, folks, always have been. How then did we come to accept this premise? Are we being duped again by the fear mongering media?

While there’s obviously no limit to the number of dollars our government is willing to print, I can clearly imagine the value decending rapidly towards obsolete. I’ll even one-up that part of the theory by stating it’s a rare few that can fairly value a dollar today, as is. Enter stellar debt and black hole deficits, and most won’t have a prayer. Still, even if you ride that bus all the way to Armageddon, you believe that once the world goes to shit we will suddenly become a nation of barterers trading in precious metals? Krugerrands & bars of gold? Really? I doubt it.

The most precious metal is lead, bar (of gold) none. With lead you can protect your family. Lead has real muscle when it comes to control and power. Life stopping lead, why you can even eat it should the situation become dire enough. Put yourself between your family’s starvation and your last loaf of bread. What would you rather have, a bar of gold or a round of bullets? I think I’d choose the latter. Definitely, more bang for the buck.

But again, I’m no economist. What do I know? Nothing special. I’m just another twitchy eye on the world upside down. I’m as moderate as I can be with my lifestyle and I’m still a gluttonous, capitalist pig. And still, I think I’m only mildly infected.

Take heart: Optimism equals courage. Don’t be afraid to believe that things may work out (despite the communists in power.) Without that belief, things won’t. Go ahead and put the I in resilient. Don’t make the same mistakes. If you can’t find anything great to believe about this country, if you can’t see a recovery on the horizon, then by all means, please, sell everything you have and buy lead.

I never saw it coming. In fact, I ridiculed my brother when he became overly infatuated with Facebook. What’s the big deal, I wondered? I fell in love with your sweet faces so long ago, you became my reason for being on the internet. And plus, I didn’t see the need to go digging up the carcasses of friendships past.

It’s funny how persistent the internet is in providing a medium of limitless interpretation. I can not believe the long lost cherished relationships I have rekindled thanks to Facebook. It has been a real joy to reconnect and remember things that haven’t crossed my mind since grade school. A veritable smorgasbord of love with a renewing feeling, a fountain of youth.

But like youth, it’s fleeting. I am constantly reminded why I prefer an anonymous voice via this hallowed website, as opposed to trafficking in my past. Every once in a rare while, as I’m wandering down memory lane, I find myself at abandoned crossroads, dead ends. Things that stopped though somewhere I let go of the whys. Mostly, my nature demands it: I despise having public property in purgatorial places.

I am Christian, and therefore by definition a fuct up sinner. I have done some wrongs in my life, but I’m not sure when we were drooling about our rocket powered futures back in grade school that it ever occurred to us we could be so grounded by our past. It’s definitely a new dimension in social interaction, but is it helpful, necessary or truly restorative in any way? That’s a subjective matter, I guess, which I mean only to relate back to the idea of the persisent interpretive powers of the internet.

All this to say, I have been distracted lately. But as the old adage reminds us, absence makes the heart grow fonder. You have been on my mind, and I’m striving to make you a more central priority in the near future. Thanks for checking back, I adore you.

linda-danvers.jpgI guess it was probably a month ago now, this poor neglected blog. I don’t know what to say.

The news was on, blaring in the living room, enough to be heard in the far reaches of the house. The announcer said something like, “This bailout is costing each and every American $20,000.”

The Scientist, wandering through the kitchen looks up at me in utter despair and asks, “Twenty thousand dollars? Do I have to pay that?”

Well? What do you think I said? I told him there was that and a whole lot more. The boy is seven, people! Can we carve him out just a little more time before we inflict him with colon cancer-causing stress? It is utterly ridiculous.

While we are on the subject, shame on you, Viagra nation! You are disgusting. Your parents would be appalled at your lack of sensibility. I am up to my neck in excuses, trying to rationalize horny grandma/grandpa behavior to my kids. They stop at every ad and question, what does it do? Have some freaking conscience, folks. Please. See the danger, stop the madness. In a world where the cephalopods have us greatly outnumbered already, we who can still rationalize must do so and in all seriousness, Godspeed.

Listen to me, please. My granddad was a great man and rancher (not a nasty crooning horndog.) He understood well that you reap what you sow. We all do. I want to sow great things for the future. I want to reacquaint you with a forgotten concept called resolution.

And not the sort of temporary feel good resolutions we make and break year after year, but a thorough renewing of our spirits with acceptance of the wear. We can’t go back, but we can resolve to hold some virtues more dear in the great unknown ahead. Those of integrity, freedom and entreprenurial spirit could easily unhinge our current predicament and restore confidence in what we all know to be the absolute undeniable truth: there’s no place like home.

Nothing is impossible! I wish you great things in the year to come. If you’re going to catch the winning shot, you had better get your hands up. And hastily please, bring your genius. I want to get out of this hole this year and not pass on a culture of entitlement to another generation of young innocent children. Viagra nation, stop your impotent gyrating and please, concentrate on productivity.

Finally, what beats anticipation for good old-fashioned optimistic exhiliration? My hopes for you are that the wait will be as exciting as reaching your destination. Good luck on your individual quest, mighty blown-eyeds.

San Francisco. I landed the day after the election. Not the best place for a conservative to spend the apocalypse, but you know, no one embraces the suck like I can. So I went and enjoyed every minute of it.

Never had been there before. And it was a whirlwind. I went there for work. It was in no way a junket. It was among the most stressful experiences of my career, actually. A lot of things were made clear for me. Things that, looking back, I’d rather have languished in denial a little longer. Hindsight’s 20/20, and all that.

And the Golden Gate made for interesting background noise for all of it. I don’t remember knowing anything about it before, but I got an interesting history lesson while waiting for the sun to peek into the pacific time zone.

He told me that the bridge was designed prior to the great crash of 1929, and how the economy entering the Great Depression had thrown even more cold water on the idea of building “the bridge that could not be built.”

The guy that was telling me was there from New York. His foreign dialect rang familiar in my ears and intensified my interest in the tale. And he’s explaining the hard times, the protests, all led by the Ferries, because before the bridge of course, the only way across the Golden Gate was by riding a ferry… F-E-R-R-Y.”

And he actually spelled it. I said, “I know, I’m from Texas, but did you really just spell “ferry” at me?” Which of course made me think about riding a fairy across the bay. How could I not? I freaking detest when I find myself drowning in gutter thoughts like that. Honestly, I blame you people.

But it cost me the end of the Ferry showdown story. And a real life drama that enveloped the same time period as the Great Depression. I love the Great Depression. My narrator said their were books on the subject, and I intended to buy one, but alas, this is all I learned. Maybe I’ll hit a book store this weekend.

Or, you could make up some history for me in the comments? C’mon. Finish the story for me, would ya? Let’s play some mad libs history, can we? It’s the weekend, make up something meaningful. It’s good exercise for a dull world. Thanks for your historical perversions in advance. I dig your madness.