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FOWC – Quintessential

The quintisential quintissential quintisentual Q word that I have check the spelling for of of/for (?) is quintessential.

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Fowc with Fandango – Contract

Ever since I updated my iPad, I can’t do pingbacks the way I used to. I don’t know how to do it any other way. Same with the phone. Oh well.So, the word is contract. I guess people read contracts all the way through. I don’t. One time, I was on a game show and the contract was about 25 pages long. I was sequestered – surrounded by a 4 x 4 black curtain – in what I thought was a bunker, but I think it was really a basement in a tv and movie studio in Burbank. It was so eerie. There were about 20 of us and we were all separated by those black curtains. We weren’t allowed to see or speak to each other. We got herded in separately to our curtain room and given a contract.I read the first page. Initial each line and sign the bottom. All I remember is: If there are technical difficulties during filming and you somehow hear or receive answers or clues, you must inform us. You can’t be on another game show for a year.You can’t write a book, or blog about your experience for 3 years.If you know someone from the staff, or any of the other contestants you must report it. You will pay all taxes on winnings.That’s all I remember. About 20-25 pages of this kind of stuff. Who’s going to remember all that? Not me. I didn’t even read most of it. I just initialed and signed. I scanned some of it. One of the other contestants and I kept getting in trouble for talking when we weren’t supposed to. Finally, this big lesbian production lady with a headset screamed at us. STOP FUCKING TALKING! We shut up. Anyway, I guess I must have followed all of the rules because I never got sued or anything. Plus, I was a 3 time champion and got all my money, so I guess I did everything right.
When I posted this all the paragraphs ran together. Wtf

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Yesterday, I attended my Uncle Jim’s memorial service. He had been a very successful businessman. He had been the Vice President of a big company and the President when it became international. He was one of those people that could relate and talk to anyone. He was the youngest of my mom’s 3 siblings, and the one that had been cherished by my grandparents the most.

At the service there were 4 speakers. His best friend since the 8th grade, Mackie, a judge. He was followed by 2 men I didn’t know that had worked with him for decades. The last speaker was his son in law, Peter. There was a guy who played guitar and sang. The last song played was Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die. Jim had planned he entire service ahead of time.

Continue reading “Continue”

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I was always horrible at strategic games. Checkers, chess, monopoly, Risk. One time I got beat by a monkey, who made random moves, on a video chess game. It was level zero. Level one was a 5 year old. I can’t think more than 2 moves ahead. I’ve learned a few opening moves from books, but that’s about it.

Other stuff I’m really good at. A natural, if there is such a thing.

But not strategy. I will probably forever be the guy who gets captured first. The first one out in hide and seek. Always it in tag. Maybe, I’ll have one house in the slums of Monopoly.

I’m not really a competitor. If I’m last, I’m last. If people think I suck, I suck.

But, if I’m really interested in something and truly love it, I’m all over it.

If it’s Rubik’s cube, I’m out. If it’s memorization, I’m in. If it’s Sudoku, I’m out. If it’s Crossword puzzles, I’m in.

I’m great in Geometry, awful in Algebra. I’m written a Symphony, but still get confused with right and left. Forget about directions. If people say, “Go North on Elm street”, I look up. I don’t know where north is. Or south, east, and west.

I’m good with concepts and figuring out people’s convoluted discussions. I can usually figure out the difference between fact and bullshit.

But yeah, if we play chess, I’m gonna lose that queen in about 5 moves.

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Kudos to my piece of shit phone. Kudos to the battery being completely drained after 5 minutes. Kudos to the blisters and blood on my fingers from me having to jam the cord in and hold so that I can charge it for an increase of maybe 2 percent. Kudos to technology that kaputs after 3 years. Kudos to making the stupid thing a lifeline. Kudos to satellites. Kudos to phone towers. Kudos to people driving while texting and killing themselves and other people. Kudos to people ambling like zombies while inserting smiley face emojis. Kudos to convenience. Kudos to the 21st century. Kudos, kudos, kudos.

Oh yeah, did I mention that I hate my fucking phone and am going to have to walk around with a big ass iPad just to receive texts from people until I get a new one.

Yeah, I know that it’s not that big of a deal. I’m alive, I have a roof over my head, I can walk, I can see, I have money for food, I’m not homeless. I’m just pissed. I’m sure I’ll get over it. Probably about 5 minutes after I post this and think, “What a big crybaby”.

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So, the guy from Mr. Sparky came and fixed the ceiling fan that fell out the ceiling last night. It wasn’t even running. I already did a post about it so I’m not gonna rehash. My sister came home on her lunch break to meet the guy and, idk, explain it from the woman’s side or something. He saw her military shadow box and awards, so they talked about that. She always gets thanked for her service. She’s even gotten out of speeding tickets because of the veteran bumper sticker.

Anyway, she was here for about 30 minutes and went back to work. The guy explained to me all about what he was going to do and then went up in the creepy attic to put in some new thing and blah blah blah. I had to resist every urge I had to want to help. I do that even when I have no clue what’s going on. I always want to make people’s jobs easier.

The attic is super hot, so he was like, “Do you mind if I take my shirt off”? No, seriously, go ahead. I had one of those erotic fix-it guy fantasies for about 2 seconds, then told myself to grow up.

He was a talker. He worked quick, but talked the whole time. I didn’t mind. Normally, I do. Oh yeah, he also fixed the smoke alarm which, for some odd reason, wasn’t connected correctly. I blame that on the same ghost that made the ceiling fan just magically fall out of the ceiling.

I signed everything that I was supposed to sign. It was all covered in a warranty. No cost.

It was all quick and painless. Since I always imagine he WORST scenario, I just knew that it would be some super-complicated thing that would take weeks or even months. I tell myself to stop doing that, but the second I do, it really will be a super-complicated thing that takes forever.

This post has nothing to do with temper. Tempter maybe, because of the shirt thing. Idk. 😐

Oh yeah, my house burned down and I lost everything on August 8, 1988. That’s 8/8/88. It was an electrical issue. So, when I saw that phone number I was like, “umm, gee, I don’t know about this”.

and then somebody rebuilt on that lot, and 4 years ago a tornado came through the town and killed 5 people. Two were in that house. So yeah, it’s a voodoo lot.

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I’ve always felt estranged. I’m sure everybody has. From family, from society, from whatever.

Sometimes I think it’s because of me. Sometimes I think it’s because of something else. It all gets so convoluted and confusing. And then, I just don’t care anymore. Some people call it apathy. I call it I’m just sick of it all.

I’m not a pessimist. I can look at situations and think, “Yes, there is a possibility of a bright and positive outcome”. I look at other situations and think – via inateness, logic and past history – that the shit is going to be fucked up forever. No amount of marches, protests, sit-ins, or even prayer is going to fix it. That’s just my dystopic and existential nature. Oh yeah, and common sense.

Man is just an aggressive animal. I could do a whole discourse on how man justifies his hatred, and bigotry, and xenophobia, and greed, but it would just all be a waste of time. Everybody has an opinion. They really don’t mean anything.

The funny thing is, I’m basically a happy person. Probably because I don’t delude myself about the world, or my country, or mankind in general. I am not Pollyanna, but then again I am no bumptious, jingoistic ogre either. To quote Jan Brady, “I’m in the middle. And being in the middle is like being invisible.” I’m fine with that.