Tag: Dunwich

The Human Element

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Einstein is said to have made the imaginative leap when he based his Theory of General Relativity on the notion that time (t) is just another dimension to go along with the three spatial dimensions (x, y, z).  Space-time.  When we talk about the where of a particle (or a person) we must also specify the when.

So yesterday when I travelled back to the place where I was born, I would have to travel back in time to reach my place of origin (x, y, z, t = 0, 0, 0, 0).  But Einstein also said that for matter time can only travel forward.  But maybe the mind (or the soul) isn’t composed of protons and electrons; leptons and hadrons.  Because I had an uncanny feeling I had stepped back into an earlier era.

After battling New York City traffic that defied belief, to attend a family funeral, I walked into the little Roman Catholic Church that I attended as a child and was transported into my past.  Sure, a few little things had changed.  They had freshened up the paint on the ceiling over the altar and on the bas relief stations of the cross but the stained-glass windows, the icons around the altar and the pews we sat in triggered memories that perfectly mirrored my surroundings.  And then there were my cousins and their children and their children’s children surrounding me with proof that the world I left behind decades ago still existed in a very human, very tenacious way.  God said be fruitful and multiply.  And we have.  From a tiny family that set foot on this continent less than 150 years ago there are now a whole town’s worth of descendants.

And some of the latest additions were unknown to me by name.  But just looking at their faces I could see the kinship.  And in the middle of the Mass one of the youngest made such a noisy nuisance of himself that he forced his mother to retreat to the annex to return the ceremony to dignified order.  But this outburst was of the very nature of the family.  We are noisy, somewhat spoiled, sometimes rude but genuinely good natured and extremely funny people.  And we do enjoy each other’s company.  Being surrounded by this small army of family felt so right.

One of my cousins remarked that it was a pity that only such occasions rounded us all up together again.  He spoke nostalgically about when we were all living within blocks of each other within the Italian ghetto that we all were now flocking to for this solemn occasion.  He reminisced about the parties and get togethers we used to have on a regular basis; holidays, birthdays, weddings, graduations, births.  But I reminded him that no one’s grandchildren could hope to afford the multi-million-dollar price tags that now attached to the buildings in this once humble neighborhood.  What young people could afford to buy houses here now?   I kidded that we would have to buy a whole town somewhere in the middle of nowhere if we wanted to live together in this modern and expensive age.  He ruefully nodded his head in agreement.

Quickly the ceremony ended and we said our goodbyes.  I wasn’t headed out east to the Long Island cemetery.  I was headed north toward New England through the grid-lock of the outer boroughs and onto the highways beyond.  But we made one stop before we headed home.  There was an old time Italian Bakery that specialized in Italian pastries.  They had sfogliatella riccia (seashell), coda d’aragosta (lobster tail) and various other pastries stuffed with cream that we would eat on Sunday nights when we were kids.  The only problem with this wonderful store was the old woman who had run the counter.  She was a sharp-tongued shrew who carped at everyone who entered the store.

I entered the store today and found the shelves still lined with all those Italian delicacies.  But now the store was run by a Chinese family that had bought the recipes for the pastries when they purchased the business.  And thankfully the pastries were just the same!  And even better, the young lady running the counter was entirely friendly and polite.  A miracle!

After too many hours I returned home with my small cache of desserts and told Camera Girl of my epic journey.  We’ll eat the cakes with our coffee this week.  And that will remind me of what I learned.  Einstein was wrong about not being able to go back in time.  You can.  What you can’t do is go back to the same place.  It’s always different.  But it can be worth the trip.

2024 Election Follies – The Recap

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Today was the first weekly zoom call I had with my work buddies since the election.  It goes without saying that high spirits and hilarity were the order of the day.  We compared the high we were getting from watching the compilation videos of despairing Kamala voters to the 2016 Hillary scream fests.  I think we agreed that the 2016 psychos were probably funnier but since we are more grateful in 2024 it was basically a wash.

We talked about some of the Trump cabinet picks and agreed that the panic and despair we had heard about inside the Deep State was a very good sign.  There was much schadenfreude expressed.

We compared notes on how things were going in our lives outside of politics and everyone seems excited about Thanksgiving this year.  Then we traded stories on “the Company” and how awful and woke it had become and how the stock price had dipped.  But even that hadn’t dampened our enthusiasm for the future.

I regaled them with stories about the elections here in Dunwich and they told me about the follies in their communities.  All very familiar.  One of the guys is an Indian American who used to be a Democrat.  So, we gave him a bunch of grief about how his relatives will now consider him a traitor for voting for Trump.  He told us the rationale that he uses to justify himself to his parents and other relatives and we hooted at how lame it all sounded.  We told him that as our official token POC and Indian American he must take all the blame for Trump winning and he must apologize to Kamala face to face.  He proceeded to say some very rude things in his best subcontinent English and that was that.

I had hoped this week would be a calm after the storm.  But commitments piled up and my first real breather doesn’t come until Thursday afternoon (I hope).  But from that point it should be clear sailing.  The last two years have been a kind of great experiment getting involved in elections and politics.  I’ve learned how it all works and now I know what is likely and what is unlikely with respect to election fraud.  What seems clearest is that mailing out absentee ballots and allowing “voters” to access ballot drop boxes is the weak link in election integrity.

There are well-documented cases of individuals stuffing drop boxes with dozens and even hundreds of ballots.  This is completely illegal and also extremely hard to prevent.  Other irregularities weren’t part of my experience.  I suppose if the ballot tabulators in some jurisdictions do not use paper ballots and are connected directly to the internet that any kind of skullduggery is possible.  I have to assume that any reasonably intelligent person would know that.  What happens going forward will depend completely on the state government in power.  Places like California and New England will allow whatever irregularities they deem helpful to the Democrats.  Hopefully, the red states will protect themselves from voter fraud and election fraud.  But many of the cities are run by Democrats and the state government will have to provide oversight to protect against it.  So, my great experiment has been somewhat successful.  Now how do I separate myself from this quite onerous responsibility?  Well, we’ll see.  The First Selectman doesn’t like to be disappointed.  To be continued.

Penny Portraits in the Crowd

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“It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.”  That Dickens had a way with words.  He could turn a phrase that people are still using a century and a half later.  And the characters he created; Ebenezer Scrooge, Fagin, Mr. Micawber, The Ghost of Christmas Present, Uriah Heep, Wackford Squeers, Jacob Marley and all the rest.  Some fully fleshed out and some mere pencil sketches but all highly evocative of the world that Dickens created from his London and the world view he imagined within it.

I could really use his gifts right now.  I have about three days of awfulness ahead of me and really nothing to write about.  Or rather my brains are too scrambled to produce a coherent essay from the experiences I’m immersed in.  And there are all kinds of characters.  Some would make fine character sketches, with their stereotypical behavior and odd tics.

Today I briefly met people of all stripes.  Young and old; rich and poor; Left and Right; apparently normal and obviously insane.  Like a kaleidoscope, they flashed by with just enough time to reveal some small facet of their personalities.  And consistently, the most interesting people are in the middle.  They’re not the weirdest or the best dressed.  But they’re always the easiest to talk to.  They’re the most American.  And they’re the easiest to deal with.  The elites are always disconcerted when they have to deal with other people one on one.  It’s all such a bore.  They just want to pay someone else, “to take care of all that.”  And the opposite pole; the broken people are all over the field.  They’re angry or crazy or just too confused to be understood.  You can pity them and wish they could be helped but at this point we can barely help our own.

Probably the most pleasant moment was when a young woman with two children came in.  A boy and a girl, respectively six and five years old.  The kids were engaged in a low-level battle that you could tell must have been their continuous state.  The mom just grabbed each of them with one of her arms and carried them along like two bundles of firewood as they still tried to reach each other to battle.  I said to her, “Those are both good ages.”  And she laughed but nodded her head and said, “Yeah they make my day fun.”

A little while later a very well-dressed man came in pushing some kind of very expensive looking wagon that contained two little boys.  They were somewhere in the age range of four to six years old.  The two boys spent every minute throwing things out of the wagon onto the ground.  And the father dutifully retrieved this jetsam almost continuously.  Finally in utter exasperation he started yelling and threatening to withhold their toys.  But they ignored his threats and continued to toss these items overboard.  And completely defeated he handed back the ejected items with an expression of utter resignation.

And then there was the freak show.  Blue hair, large metal rings drooping down from the nose and various other facial piercings.  There was a lot of weird squawking and involuntary noises along with strangely discordant singing.  There were parents with grown children who seemed to just accept whatever weirdness escaped from their progeny.  And then there were even cases of multi-generational weirdness.

When you look at a cross-section of our society it’s easy to see that things have changed for the worse.  But it’s also clear who will survive and who isn’t going to make it.  What Dickens could have done with this crew.

Berries and Tech Stuff and Trump, Oh My!

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Sunday, Monday and Tuesday will be a marathon for your truly so I might as well say a few words about whatever I think of to talk about now.  This balmy weather has been amazing.  And whenever I get a few minutes outside it puts a smile on my face.  Today I walked past the garden with the red raspberries and what do you think?  There were a ton of them ripened on the plants.  I tried to carry them in my hands but they kept dropping so I filled up my hat.  I got a pint or so and I’m sure Camera Girl will wash them and serve them as dessert tonight.

I decided to try a couple of focus bracketing shots with the A7 IV’s new firmware upgrade.  I’ll be processing the results later on today.  I put together a phony indoor version of the autumn ground cover, complete with pine needles and cones, acorns and a bunch of leaves and dead flowers.  Very evocative.  Then I took a dead Luna moth from last summer and threw it on top.  I hoping it produces a nice effect.  But more importantly I want to see how the stacking program handles the files I made.

If I use a small number of files (30 – 50) the program can crunch through the image processing in a short time.  But I think one of them was 150 files.  I know it will take a long time but I’m not sure it won’t have the AI equivalent of a nervous breakdown.  I’m looking forward to the results.

Speaking of technology issues, a couple of weeks ago my generic MP3 player gave up the ghost.  Since then, I ‘ve only been able to listen to the music from my collection in the car.  I bought a new and improved device a week or two ago but being a broken-down engineer from the 20th century every time I have to interface with equipment it has mutated again into an unrecognizable form.  I’m sure this new device will not work with my earphones or carrying device of something else.  It’s funny how quickly I became a Luddite.

I was talking to an old friend today and he asked me about my plans for the election.  He’s going to be on a zoom call during the results period.  I told him I’ll be incommunicado until probably 12:30 am.  He gave me his condolences for this situation but I told him I’m glad I won’t be covering the vigil.  On reflection, he agreed saying it will probably be a week-long marathon involving lawyers and rioting and other absurdities.  Best not to get too caught up in the ballyhoo.  After all, if Trump wins, they’ll do everything the can to stop his agenda.  And if he loses, I’ll have bigger fish to fry.

Well, here’s my post for Sunday.  If I can get three more in the can I can try and cover the interregnum and spare Orion’s Cold Fire from the ignominy of dead air.  But in the words of Bob Wiley and Dr Leo Marvin, “Baby steps, baby steps.”

Painting Myself into a Corner

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Last month I whined about an insanely expensive critical repair project going on at the Compound.  Well, my contractor performed flawlessly and after a month or so of staged demolition and construction we ended up with the end of the house restored to its former functionality only with the ground floor consisting of a poured slab instead of a pier supported wooden floor.  The only hitch was that the slab needed to cure another two weeks before staining it.  And since this contractor has moved onto his next big project, getting him back to stain the floor isn’t possible.  No problem, I promised Camera Girl that I would take care of the painting myself after the requisite two-week delay.

Well, last night she reminded me of my lightly given promise and that by her reckoning Friday was the end of the two weeks.  Like a trapped creature I looked around for a sliver of daylight that I could run through.  But as I’ve said, the middle of October will be a tragically busy time for me when I won’t be able to do anything significant like painting rooms and moving furniture.  Checkmate.

So early today (11am) we went to the big box store and I bought the stain and all the accoutrements.  And after lunch (the condemned man had a hearty meal) I performed the ritual first coat.  Tomorrow, I’ll purchase a paint brush (I thought I had one lying around), do the detail work in the tight spots and put on the final coat.  Then, Sunday I’ll be toting barges and lifting bales for several hours restoring the contents of the room to their original positions and thereby fulfilling my promise to Camera Girl.  Such is the life of a modern husband.  When his wife has the effrontery of quoting his own words back at him, wife beating is no longer a convenient option.  In fact, it’s positively frowned on in some circles.  O tempora, O mores.  I really need to bring Camera Girl to a showing of Shakespeare’s, “The Taming of the Shrew.”  Kate saw the light.  Camera Girl should follow her good example.

But when all was said and done, I rather enjoyed the event.  Well, all except taping the moldings.  That really should be done by someone young and spry.  But rolling on the stain was fun.  Painting a floor is easier than painting walls and a lot easier than ceilings.  No drop cloths, no crick in the neck.  So, I acquiesced semi-gracefully and pretended that I was completely on board with finishing the room this weekend.  Mental agility (or self-deception) is an important survival trait.

I was thinking today about the kind of world that the information age is creating.  Specifically, with the monopoly of advertising being in the hands of Amazon and Google, there is an incredible need (opportunity) for alternate information flow paths.  Google has been declared a monopoly by the federal government but no action seems in the offing.  Since that is the case, it seems more important than ever that some private resource step in and provide an alternative.  Elon Musk has hinted that X is that alternative.  But will it be?  Does he have the vision to provide an unfettered electronic agora where both commerce and information can flow unimpeded by ideology?  So far, I haven’t seen that realized.  Maybe he’s waiting to see if Trump wins the election.  After all the federal government is the biggest customer for his batteries and his rocket ships.  If the Democrats are ensconced in power maybe he’ll just give up his free speech and populist efforts and concentrate on making money.

So much seems to depend on an election that probably won’t be honest.  Maybe I’m the one who is looking at everything all wrong.  Possibly the important lesson to be learned is not how to have free speech but rather how to have hidden speech.  Now that’s a thought.

Eureka

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After yesterday’s epic whine about the vicissitudes of home ownership I looked around for some kind of salve for my male ego.  And fate or something provided me with the opportunity to redeem myself.  A clogged bathtub drain.  For the last few weeks, the drain in our tub has been getting slower and slower.  Lately I’ve left the plunger near the tub and after every shower I played a game of trying to get it to break loose.  All I achieved was to dredge up a goodly amount of black flakes that were some kind of fossilized soap scum.  And all that achieved was to waste ten or fifteen minutes while I cleaned up the tub of this disgusting residue.

But today I had had enough.  I gathered my equipment:

  • Screwdrivers … check
  • Needle nose pliers … check
  • Accordion Toilet Plunger with Large Bellows for Extra Powerful Plunge, Black … check
  • Snake auger … check
  • Electric drill … check
  • Safety glasses … check
  • Disposable rubber gloves … check

All that was left was to let Camera Girl see that I was preparing for battle and even though I would be expending tens of thousands of dollars to have someone competent repair my home, at least I was capable of saving the cost of a plumber to get my bathtub back in good operating condition.

I solemnly explained to her how I would be removing the plunger from the trip-lever stopper to properly auger the drain line.  I don’t think it would be possible for me to overstate the intensity of contempt her look communicated to me.  Well, that’s the problem with women.  They don’t understand or appreciate technical genius.

So, I removed the drain filter and tried pulling out hair with the pliers.  Nada.  Then just for old time’s sake I put six inches of water in the tub and tried the “Accordion Toilet Plunger with Large Bellows for Extra Powerful Plunge, Black.”  I pushed down on the stupid thing once and the tub drained in seconds.  And of course, Camera Girl walked in just as it emptied and gave me the same look.  She picked up the plunger and asked, “How much did you pay for this?”  I said, “ten bucks.”  “And this?” (pointing at the auger).  “Sixty dollars.”  She shook her head and walked away.  Women don’t understand about contingency planning.  Very short-sighted.

Well, as pathetic as my victory was, it has transformed my attitude.  We’re definitely on the upswing.  And after she took a shower, she readily admitted that a working bathtub drain is not a commodity to look down your nose at.  And there’s no telling what I might do next.

Who knows, maybe I’ll tell my builder to stop all work, figure what I owe him so far and take over the job myself.  I mean how long could it take me to shovel ten thousand pounds of gravel?  And how hard can it be to jack up a building off its foundation?  And who needs a truck to pour concrete anyway?  What was it Archimedes said?  “Give me a place to stand and a lever long enough and I’ll move the Earth.”  Well, some of my ancestors came from Sicily.  Maybe I’m related to Archimedes (at least by marriage!).  Well, baby steps.  I think I’ll shock Camera Girl and brew my own pot of coffee.  How hard could it be?

Debate in Dunwich – Part 4

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BISHOP – Welcome to the third and final 2024 Debate between the candidates running for the office of Dunwich First Selectman.  I’m head moderator Uriah Bishop and tonight we’re here with Great Old One Hastur and unfortunately none of his opponents was willing to show up for this last debate.  Probably this is because he cooked and ate his last opponent, Azathoth at the conclusion of the debate.

HASTUR – Oh boo-hoo.  The big mean monster ate one of the other big mean monsters.  Grow up little pastry.  That is my world.  And that is your world too.  Look around you and observe how things really work.  The big fish eats the little fish.  Or bird or cat or man or monster.  Everything else is just make believe.  The strong survive and the weak go to the wall.

BISHOP – Then what is the point of the weak even trying?

HASTUR – The point is you want to breath that sweet air and feel your blood pulse through your veins for the next minute and the minute after that.  You’ll do whatever you can to keep alive.  And because the strong aren’t all that strong.  If you want something bad enough and work hard enough you can survive.  But just remember not to believe the hype.  Remember who you are dealing with.  Me.

BISHOP – And how are you going to run the show?

HASTUR – I intend to simplify things.  I’m gonna get rid of all the make believe.  I’m strong enough not to need the divide and conquer stuff.  I’ll deal with all of you insects at once.  You’ll all get the same deal from me.  You do what I say and the game goes on.  You get to keep your little lives and hoard your crumbs.  But rock the boat and you’ll get my undivided attention.  Now that’s pretty fair.  You might almost call me a humanitarian.  I love all the little people.  Especially with tabasco sauce.  So don’t rock the boat.

BISHOP – Well folks you heard it here first.  Great Old One Hastur has laid out his agenda for his term as First Selectman of Dunwich.  And in retrospect it is surprisingly close to the policy that dearly departed First Selectman Cthulhu followed.  He tended to eat anyone who forced him to break his routine or questioned his orders.  I’m sure we all will adapt easily to this new management.  Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

HASTUR – Sure.  When you think about it, it’s a better deal than you’re getting from Washington.  At least I don’t insist that you pretend to like being eaten alive.  Honest tyranny is preferable to fake democracy.  You don’t have to love Big Brother just stay out of Caesar’s way and live to pull a galley slave’s oar another day.  Besides you can dream about a revolt and how you’ll slit the throats of all the masters one day.  Doesn’t that sound like fun?

BISHOP – Yes, your excellency.  What could be better than that.

HASTUR – That’s the spirit Bishop.  You know I’m starting to like you.  How would you like to be my emissary to the humans.  It doesn’t pay much but if you follow orders, I’ll probably eat you last!

BISHOP – That’s an offer no one could refuse.

HASTUR – Literally.

Debate in Dunwich – Part 3

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BISHOP – Welcome to the second 2024 Debate between the candidates running for the office of Dunwich First Selectman.  I’m head moderator Uriah Bishop and I would introduce my four fellow moderators but they were eaten by candidate Hastur during the first debate.  Well, one wasn’t eaten but he started running as soon as the debate ended and by now, he must be somewhere over the Canadian border.  I will be running the debate but we have suspended all rules associated with the candidates’ actions out of naked fear of being ingested.  So, we expect a lively but chaotic night.

Tonight, our candidates are Hastur and Azathoth also known as the “Blind Idiot God,” but in a positive and non-judgmental way.  Seeing as Hastur scares me worst I will open up the debate by turning over the microphone to him.

HASTUR – Very good human, you managed to avoid immediate death.  Keep up the good work.  Well, Azathoth I see you’ve managed to scrape the cosmic barnacles off your face and show up for this debate.  What do you have to say for yourself?

AZATHOTH – Hey, watch that kind of talk.  Why in my day young whippersnappers knew enough to only speak when they were spoken to.  If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I’ll take you out behind the Crab Nebula and teach you some manners, by gum.

HASTUR – Calm down sleepy Joe.  They don’t call you the Blind Idiot God for nothing.  If we squared off, you’d be lucky not to poke your own eye out with one of your claws.  Now let’s cut to the chase and tell the audience of puny humans what we each hope to achieve as “First Selectman.”  For instance, I hope to ban humans from adding artificial sweeteners to their foods and drinks.  All of these additives build up in human cells and always give me a headache if I have more than two or three humans at a meal.  Especially the female humans with their attempts to lose weight to attract a man.

AZATHOTH – Hey, what do you mean by stereotyping women that way?  That’s obviously sexist and it’s fat-shaming too.  What are you?  Some kind of agent of the patriarchy.  Why I oughta haul off and belt you one, you dog-faced pony soldier, you!  And why do you assume a woman is trying to attract a man.  Are you trying to deny the existence of the LGBTQ?

HASTUR – Okay that’s enough.

(Hastur closes with Azathoth and proceeds to dismember him.  First, he snaps off his lobster-like claws and then all of his remaining limbs.)

AZATHOTH – Ahhhhh!  Ahhhh!  You can’t do that to me.  I’m the supreme deity of the Cthulhu Mythos.

HASTUR – Yeah, yeah, yeah.  But you also taste really good baked with some dipping butter on the side.  So, everyone is invited to join me on the beach tonight for a good old seafood bake.  Bring your own bibs and I’ll provide the sides and beer.

BISHOP – Well, there you have it folks.  Hastur has taken to our New England customs and cuisine surprisingly quickly for an invading intergalactic demigod from another dimension.  And I for one applaud his generosity in hosting this party.  But I will not be attending.  There was no talk of what the side dishes would be and I don’t wish to tempt fate by ending up as one of them.  So, until the next debate this is Uriah Bishop wishing you a good night and nightmare free dreams.