Archive for the ‘Body Count’ Category

People who’ve read this blog, may remember that I am not especially fond of ex-Governor Scott Walker, who I prefer to call Turdwaffle.  In fact, he often featured in my long-running feature, Fuck You Friday (to which we happily welcome guest-effer Congressperson Rashida Tlaib).

We often talked about his scant acquaintanceship with the truth, as well as his long running efforts to fuck over Milwaukee.

Which makes this news all the more inexplicable and enraging.

People on The Milwaukee reddit predict much food being thrown at him, and plentiful servings of Snotchos being served to him (don’t accept an offer to dine out with him).

The current County Executive, Chris Abele, has been living in a luxury condo on the same block as my office (and with a view of the Bucks Arena, which Turd-boy supported) and Abele has just bought a massive mansion on the North Shore (Narrator: Abele is independently wealthy).  Which makes me wonder if I will be seeing Turdwaffle around my neighborhood.  I cannot decide whether this makes me nauseous, blind with rage, or excited to be able to yell and spit at him in person.

It should also be pointed out that he is already starting the next fucking run at elected office.  I will point out that he fucking said, he would only run for two terms (Narrator: he lied) and that he would step down if he didn’t succeed in his promise of 250,000 new jobs in his first term (Narrator: he lied).

Why wouldn’t he take his fucking empty ball sack and enlarging Shiny Bald Spot out to Waukesha (now and forever known as That Fucking Walkersha), where they love him for the way he fucks up the minorities and supposedly makes the Libruls cry (Narrator:  He doesn’t make Liberals cry). It has already been said that the only place in Wisconsin that might provide less Turd-welcome than Milwaukee would be Madison.

I guess it makes little surprise, considering that he is angling for his next Koch-funded and Koch-directed elected position (Narrator:  he’s never held a real job), that he intends to move to the economic engine of the State, where much of the corporate power and the truly wealthy fuckers live.

I am not yet inclined to re-initialize the FYF (it was very draining to channel that much rage every week).  But it seems likely that with new Democrats running the State and House of Representatives, I would like to at least re-animate this crappy old blog.  You know, like a zombie or something.

Meanwhile, this is my farewell (and Welcome to Milwaukee) song for Turdwaffle:

Post title from the latest album by local bluegrass sweethearts the Whiskeybelles.  You could do far, far worse than checking out their music, and why wouldn’t you?

Have I mentioned here my brother and his estrangement with his daughter?  Well, let’s pretend that I haven’t or that neither of us remember it.  Short story;  she had a rough time, developed an Oxy monkey, and did some things that were not good, including stealing from my brother.  He had a new wife, who demanded that he sever ties, and his daughter did the jail cold turkey cleanup program.

Since then, she has soldiered on, tried to no avail to reconnect with her father, and started a new life in a community several miles away.  She moved in with a good guy, Andrew, and they seem to have gotten their shit together.

I know her mother from high school, and have been in contact with both of them through the evil scheme that is Facebook.  And after much drama more or less, my niece and her boyfriend got engaged.  I called my brother and was not going to spill the beans, but I told him, he had to call his daughter.

He didn’t.

So last November, they got married in Las Vegas.  It was a wrong time and wrong budget to travel and I sent my regrets; but her mother contacted me and asked if I could reconsider, because her father was still ghosting her and she needed someone to walk her down the aisle.  It was hard, but I just couldn’t make it for budgetary and timing issues.  But it looked like a lovely time was had by all, and I will regret not being there.

I called my brother prior, and after a bit of Sailor Jerry Bravery, read him the riot act and told him there would come a time that he would regret being so severe about cutting her so thoroughly out of his life.  He responded and said “you don’t know the whole story”. to which I replied that I didn’t, but still she was your only fucking daughter and don’t be a dick.

I have a picture sitting on our dining room built in of him and her when she was about three, when they came down to visit and he is holding her.  We still have a couple of photos of her as a child and later as well.  I mean, she’s goddam family, you know?

My brother’s house, like ours, has always had a fair amount of small animals sharing space, and for his place, they once had one than my niece particularly loved, a spaniel named Taylor.  So one year, when I had little cash for presents (and as brothers we said we wouldn’t spend any real money on gifts, we were all kind of less than rich), so I did one of my fuzz bucket drawings of Taylor as a shared gift for my brother and his daughter.  If you have been around here much (all TWO of you!) you may have seen some of my fuzz bucket drawings – we hav a gallery of them in our entry hall, and when some friend visited we realized no one realizes that I am the one that draws them.  In fact, fair half of the artwork in our house is mine, and most of the rest is Jon Langford or Salvador Dali.  Some is Escher.

So, on a recent visit, I was kind of disgusted to see that my drawing was still on display in their living room, when I kind of intended it to be for his daughter, because Taylor was much her dog.  Upon reflection, I should have asked for it back.  It was one of my better.  Taylor was an artistic dog.

So, when my niece and her guy got married, and I couldn’t make the trip to do a duty,  I decided I would fix one damn thing my fucking brother wouldn’t:  I would gift my niece with an illustration of her current puppzors, Quigley (who is a Good Dog)

Of course, since I am a zombie I forked up the deadline, and just finished the portrait recently.  Took advantage of the regrettable closing of the local art store to get new papers and charcoal and pastels, and did a new one (good lord, fresh pastels and good paper makes such a huge difference!  you artists know).  Fortunately, my niece sent me an awesome picture of the three of them that I could use as a basis.  And with a few extra days off for whatever fucking holiday we are currently in the midst of, I finished it tonight.  I like it.  The dog properly take priority over the humans.

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Now to get it framed, and there is an awesome local frame shop who makes everything look fantastic.  And then to ship it off with a very apologetic note and card about the timing, hoping they love it enough to cut me some fucking slack.

And I am more than pissed toward my brother about his attitude.  He will come to regret it, I have no doubt.  And that is really very sad, and he doesn’t even realize it.

 

ETA:  Young Zombie got some farm kittehs when he got his first post-college apartment, and as such I also did portraits of those two little fuzzbuckets.  Now being framed:

Shudder released a new series of Joe Bob Briggs “The Last Drive In” movies, for the Turkey Armageddon Holiday, called Dinners of Death.  Did i watch?  Did I bogroll.

During the final movie, he went on an extended diatribe about seeing movies in a group setting (which is perfectly applicable to any group activity) in which he talks about how much more fulfilling it is to take part in a shared experience, even on a streaming service, where he insists that they limit the ability to download for a certain amount of time.  But to Joe Bob, it is the importance of the shared experience.  Which, if you have EVER spent any time reading this pathetic blog, you know I feel strongly about music performances.

And recently, we had just that kind of shared movie/comedy/improv experience when the new and old stars of MST3K brought a 30th anniversary live riffing performance to the beautiful Riverside Theater (a few days after Zombie Friend Scott saw it in LA).  E basically sat an watched a crappy movie. but it was relieved by snarky comments throughout and a few breaks where the people on stage did some stage humor.  A Canadian movie called the Brain, which features the evil scientist from Re-Animator, as an…wait for it…Evil Scientist.

As I said at the time, the experience of sharing it with a couple thousand like minded geeks was tremendous.  We laughed hard, so hard.  There was a guy right in front of us with an actual screen used Crow.  They made Packer jokes.  Joel revealed that he had Cheesehead heritage.  And my!  Didn’t we have a lovely time!

Spoiler alerts.  SODIUM!

Also, MY GOD!  IT’S FULL OF STAIRS!  Ok, it is two particular stairs.

Also, BANG!  Bang!  Bang!

The Mst3K folks just released THE GAUNTLET. a 6-episode binge-oriented series that I have resisted doing a full run through.  Joe Bob’s Dinners With Death has filled in the gap in a wonderful way.

I think this show was particularly a wonderful presentation, with one very mild political joke from the stage, but we are fucking relieved to have punched Scott Walker’s stupid bald spot on top of his stupid, stupid brain, into some Fox News/ Koch sinecures that pay for Tonette’s diet pills.  The audience was awesome, hilarious, and relieved.

Anyway, I am just killing time until the Mike McCarthy again screws up his play calling making Aaron Rodgers that much closer to achieving the “Best Quarterback Ever that was destroyed by his head coach” award.  But for what it’s worth, they have activated Whitewater Superstar Jake Kumerow…..

 

 

Last year, we attended a fundraiser for Tammy Baldwin, attended by Elizabeth Warren.  It was at a brewpub, and it was packed.  We didn’t even get close in the line to get our pictures with these two political rockstars before we bailed;  but I bumped into Tony Evers, who was just former School Superintendent at the time and had just announced his candidacy for Governor, aiming at Turdwaffle.  So I shook his hand, and wished him the best of luck.  He smiled, saying “We don’t need luck.  We’re going to win.”  I laughed and congratulated him on his confidence.  But you know what they say – If you come at the king, you’d best not miss.  Tony knew what he was talking about, and didn’t miss.  He’s going to be excellent, and it should be mentioned that Mandela Barnes, his Lt. Gov, is also going to be excellent.

And since I just finished the biography of Scott Miller, Here is his band Game Theory with their take on the post title; they used it as an interstitial noise collage before the classic album Lolita Nation started proper with the song “Not Because You Can”.

 

I went to bed with the Gov race essentially tied, and my wife preceded me with a disgusted “that fucker Cruz won, and it looks like Walker is going to pull his own ass out of the fire again”.  I agreed, and rather than hit the bourbon, I went to bed too.  But I woke up before the alarm, and checking my phone, I found that Milwaukee had coughed up 47,000 additional ballots which put Tony over the top.  Milwaukee hates hates hates Turdwaffle since he was County Exec, and got out of town just before the pitchforks and tar-and-feathers crowd got to him.

And in one of the most delightful bits of schadenfreude ever, Walker and his craven Lege had passed a restriction on recounts, only allowing them in the state when the difference is less than 1%.  How much was Tony ahead?  1.2%!!!

Sad to say, Ironstache could not pull it out in Paul Ryan’s old district, which was disappointing but given the demographics, was a long pull anyways.  Randy will be back.

Also, disappointing that Beto did not take down that simpering asshole Cruz.  But let’s remember, he was never even supposed to get into striking distance!  However, as I said, if you come at the King, you’d best not miss…. but Beto gives a memorable speech to his supporters:

If foot-in-mouth Biden can be a VP, Beto who drops an f-bomb is certainly qualified.  Just saying.

But the real deal is that the Democrats made a historic wave, against all the structural advantages the Republicans and the small-population states have, and against all the ridiculous gerrymandering that has been going on for decades.  Democrats have to outperform Shitheads by at least 7 points to just break even.  In the Senate, the Democrats out performed the Crapweasels by something like 12 points (for some reason I can’t find the actual numbers right now THE INTERNET IS BORKEN!) and still lost seats…

So the Democrats have taken decisive control of the House.  More than the supposed Tea Party wave, but we expect the calls for civility and reaching across the aisle to start before this weekend.  But fuck that:  Nancy, use that hammer!  Maxine, start beating on banks.   In any case, Trump now has to face a check on what he thinks is unrestrained power, and he will not react well; he already is melting down and taking too many of his medications.  I would not be surprised if seeing Jim Acosta on his blessed Glass Teat inspires a full-fledged stroke or heart attack.

But here’s the thing.  For two years, us liberals have been reeling and feeling like we have lost everything we have worked for, and suffering from more than a little depression and PTSD.  And yes, we have lost things; but I came of age with Reagan, and had to live through TWO fucking Bushes.  We lost a lot over many years.  And we can survive, and we can be better; remember when there were no such things as same-sex marriages?  And there are people you know, right now, who can remember when women could not access safe abortions.  The Shitweasels never stop trying to spread their hatred and authoritarianism.

We can’t, stop, either.

 

That quote, of course, is from the estimable Big Bad Bald Bastard, Fellow hardcore libtard and martial artist, in the long-ago time when we all bloggered.

Wife Sublime likes to travel, and coordinates with the basic school schedule; before, because of Young Zombie and now because she is working on here second Master’s degree.  YZ has shambled off on his own,  which frees us up to go places with better food and wider range of experiences.  but this fall, we went to…of all places… Nashville.  I KNOW!  And we did a day trip to Huntsville.  I KNOW!

So what I learned about Nashville is that this is, essentially, where the music industry discovered how to be an industry, based on the radio broadcasts of country music and what became the Grand Ole Opry.  This is where the pattern of sucking talent in, churning it in, making them play the songs selected by the labels, and doing it over and over again, became the pattern.  Sun Records; Sam Phillips took in people like Elvis, Cash, Roy Orbison and figured out where there talents were best focused;  This became what is known as A&R.  Then these folk went to Nashville and cranked out hits on an assembly line at RCA Studio B.

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Yeah, that’s me at Elvis’ favorite Steinway in the studio.  I used to be able to play a ninth interval cuz HUGE hands, but I broke my little finger shoveling snow and now I suck.

 

But here’s the thing.  There have been so many people for so long, coming to Nashville, and not just for country music, that this is a place that revolves around music, that exists for and because of music.  Jimi Hendrix said that he learned how to really play guitar in Nashville, and the Musician’s Hall of Fame had video of him playing in a standard R&B band, but you could see him starting to play.

We spent over two hours in the Cash Museum, which is small, but man how many times can you watch him sing Hurt?  Well, for me, I can always watch Johnny sing Hurt.  Trent Reznor admits that that is no longer his song.  I got a t-shirt which I will likely wear to bed until it falls apart, and a magnetic “Million Dollar Quartet” bottle opener on our fridge.

We have visited many places, and even New Orleans and Ireland did not have the high music content that we did in Nashville.  One of my sisters-in-law said she was surprised to hear country music at the party, and the thing is; much of  the music I love is at least country-adjacent, if not proper country.  Listen to Robbie Fulks and tell me that’s not country, and we have tickets for him later in fall.

We went to the country Music Hall Of Fame, of course.  Also the Musicians Hall of Fame, which is WAY less country oriented.  And a fair number of the service people we met, they were in punk or noise or other kind of bands. Everyone we met, they were musicians….

Based on recommendations of our friends, we went to a place called the Station Inn.  It is noted as the local musicians’ place to see other musicians, and once was a hangout for Bob Monroe.  We saw Jon Byrd, and he admitted that he learned everything he knew about playing guitar and writing songs in Nashville;  because there is no choice and the competition is fierce and stupendous.  And, of course, he was one of the best shows I have ever paid 12 bucks for.

Because we know history is history, we knew we needed to see a show at the Ryman Auditorium, the original location of the Grand Ole Opry (you go see a show at the overdone theme park version, there is a circle of contrast wood that was stolen from the Ryman when they figured it was going to be torn down).  Our choice was fish, as Rollins once said, so we went to see Lucero with Langhorne Slim opening up.  It was good and for my part, I felt the resonance of the structure with the spirits of the past.  They rocked kind of hard, and I felt the ghosts resonate with us….

 

But look at this; we had bunches of music in various forms, and while most were country, not all of them were.  And being a music fed zombie, I took them all; in the museums, I saw guitars that were worn and played and part of the continuum.  They all still vibrated with the energy of their players, fuck me if they didn’t.  walking through the Musicians Hall of Fame was thick with remembrance….

And so there you have it it, we spent no end of time in country music bullshit one thing or another.  Including  RCA Studio B, which was instrumental in making artists…. but even with that , the musicians in the city still work their asses off to get to one or the other levels.  Everyone in this goddam city plays or sings, and they all are working to be better or get another opening or chance….

And that, fellows and guinea pigs, is what I always say and shout out to you on an unrelenting basis.  There is an unrelenting amount of music being produced by amazing bands at any different directions you ever have seen.

At the end of the day, and tomorrow too.  There is a place for music.

But I bleed music.  And I discovered that there is a City that, while they may not bleed music when cut, they certainly ooze  music when squeezed.

And damnitall, and against all odds, I felt at home there……..

 

 

Weirdness abounds.

I designed buildings for a suburban development several years, ago, 8 family condominiums in a squiggly road suburban silliness, but still I did what I could to make them better than the average.

And then 2008 happened, so the developer let the sites lay fallow.  And since then, he (and I ) have moved on to larger, different  projects that do not depend so much on the largesse of bankers, and the remaining sites have been allowed to be sold off to people on a piecemeal basis.  And since I am the Architect of Record and the official holder of Copyright, some of them contact me….

This is not a difficult thing, but neither is it straightforward.  The original permits, which included all the buildings in the development, were obtained in 2004.  And admittedly, we used previous plans as a starting point, but we altered them to include basements and changed the elevation to make them look  a fuck of a lot better.

These were developed as condominiums, intended for young singles and couples and being relatively inexpensive and fitting into the suburban sprawl.  And the Bush Debacle killed them all off.

So I have been contacted by a developer who wants to take a couple of these on, and I wish him the best.  He is going to develop them as rentals, until he can sell them, WTF.  So I am engaged to update the plans and obtain new State approvals.

Here’s the thing. in the intervening 14 years (!) we have adopted a couple of iterations of new building codes.   As I am going through those old, old plans, we had designed a couple of different elevations and a couple of color schemes.

And today I was trying to update the plans for sections and plans, particularly roof plans.

And I discovered the roof plans as recorded were not accurate.  And the drawing essentials, like elevation references, were not properly referenced, as well as all kinds of goofy computer drawing weirdness.

This is the thing that CAD is supposed to allow us to avoid.

I recognize that the setup of these drawings was done before the modern drafting systems.  But they were still confused and not simple.

So I spent a few hours making the roof plans make sense, and correspond to the elevations we have.

I have no anger toward the architects who helped me draw these up in the first place.  The probably did not understand the the way CAD could be referenced and layered, and not the way drafting actually made input to drawings. And the Software we use, has changed-a lot!- over the intervening time. And it is hardly not inconceivable  that I was spending my time on some other issues and did not review it in the amount of detail it should have been….

Which is always the aspect i have struggled with.  I am way more concerned with the specifics and details of the construction and specifics of the buildings I design.  And frankly, I spend WAY more time on design issues than I should on a day to day basis, especially on these smaller scale projects.  I have always been very hands on, until I am not, and then I trust people who are maybe not ready for it.  I never claimed to be the best project manager, all  I am is the best project manager I can be.

So I have been spending a fair number of hours, straightening these drawings and making them conform to the standards that I now use.  I will not, of course, bill the clients for these;  hardly their responsibility.  But it makes me way aware of the importance of seeing the abilities of the CAD software we use, and how to be aware of how to use it on a daily basis as well as use it on our older documents.

It is simultaneously annoying in the extreme and amusing to work through these issues.  And it informs me in a visceral way with how I will interact as a supervisor in the future.

If I ever do again.

 

One of the most difficult bargains we, as human persons, ever make is when we take small fuzzbuckets into our lives for care and comfort.  Knowing that their span of days is much less than ours; it is at one strike both lovely and amazingly blind to the eventual end, when a beloved friend has to go on to the find their place in the heart of the sun.

In our own damn house, we have been entitled to share and enjoy the companionship of three cats, one guinea pig, and one Big Hairy Dog, and this does not count my own personal track record with dogs, cats, and guinea pigs.  Not to mention the current roster of two cats and one Big Orange dog.

And whenever any one of them leaves us, we still feel the pangs of loss and sorrow.

I have been disdainful about the Orange, leaky-ass dog, but after the Event (I guess I may have to start referring to it as different timelines, like the New Star Trek universe.  Initial Timeline, Mekons timeline, how does that work?)  We were walking buddies.  I made her walk more briskly, as that was what my Watch said I needed, when she wanted to do sniffing and peeing….

And man;  I have to salute her ability to control her bladder and dispense it in small bits on all the best doggy places in the neighborhood.  I wish.

The New Timeline Event, where brisk walks are not the issue and I came out of the hospital with foot issues, I still like to take the Aging Buddy Walks.  But she gets tired, usually before  I do, and I am considerate to let her sniff and pee and take her time.

Because she starts to limp noticeably pretty early on a walk, and if we go too far she limps for a while after.  In fact, she is having problems with the stairs.

And here’s the thing.

Lucy and I were never the best of friends in the early days.  It was when I coined the “Lucy, the orange, leaky-assed dog” moniker, when she would sit on the couch and fart at me.

But when we both suddenly realized we were old, we came to terms.  Walking is a pack activity, and we did it.  For our own reasons, but there’s nothing wrong with that, you know?

And so tonight, I watched Lucy limp to her sleeping pad in the kitchen and not going upstairs because that entails a bunch of stairs, and it became plain that this is not going to be going on much longer.  And I remember back when our previous love, Mieshka, woke up in the morning with no ability to control her back half, and we knew there was no alternative but to schedule the Final Trip.  I carried her out to the yard for any pee or poop, and then carried her into the car and into the vet’s

Lucy’s nose has gone just as white as my own damn hair.  And our joints are similarly stiff, and we both need to walk more.  After a rough beginning in our relationship, we are suddenly congruent….

But here’s the thing.

 

When walking by her in the Kitchen, on my way to get a new drink, I recognize that she is struggling.  She limps from visits to the dog park or from long walks, but dammit she insists on these activities, because DOG.

But I know she is fading.

And the thing is, after all this weird history, I can now see that this is going to hit.  Hard.  HARD. Orange and I have been through so much in the past few years, and I now recognize she supported me during the heart attack and the Pulmonary Embolism, looking up to me and being so loving and willing to go for a walk at any given moment.

But the clock is ticking on that, and that is part of the fucking contract we enter into with fuzzbuckets when we take them into our lives and our hearts.

And this goddam stupid orange asshole has become part of our hearts, yeh, part of my stupid heart, and I know that when she can no longer be a big farting part of the world, I will carry her to whatever destinations, even if I am crying while I do so.

So here’s some before and after for the Beloved Orange:

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Dammit, You big stupid orange dog, I love you.