laripu

Bludog, thank you. You are completely correct, and don't need me to tell you so. Before Dylan Thomas himself died at age 39, of bronchial disease and other ailments exacerbated by alcohol overuse, he was working on another poem for his father. It was incomplete, but kind of completed, as it were, by a close friend, based in notes Thomas left. Even imperfect as it is, I think it's a pure expression of grief. Perhaps better in this raw form than if it had been as polished as Thomas could have left it. Better than "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night". Elegy by Dylan Thomas Too proud to die; broken and blind he died The darkest way, and did not turn away, A cold kind man brave in his narrow pride On that darkest day, Oh, forever may He lie lightly, at last, on the last, crossed Hill, under the grass, in love, and there grow Young among the long flocks, and never lie lost Or still all the numberless days of his death, though Above all he longed for his mother's breast Which was rest and dust, and in the kind ground The darkest justice of death, blind and unblessed. Let him find no rest but be fathered and found, I prayed in the crouching room, by his blind bed, In the muted house, one minute before Noon, and night, and light. the rivers of the dead Veined his poor hand I held, and I saw Through his unseeing eyes to the roots of the sea. (An old tormented man three-quarters blind, I am not too proud to cry that He and he Will never never go out of my mind. All his bones crying, and poor in all but pain, Being innocent, he dreaded that he died Hating his God, but what he was was plain: An old kind man brave in his burning pride. The sticks of the house were his; his books he owned. Even as a baby he had never cried; Nor did he now, save to his secret wound. Out of his eyes I saw the last light glide. Here among the light of the lording sky An old man is with me where I go Walking in the meadows of his son's eye On whom a world of ills came down like snow. He cried as he died, fearing at last the spheres' Last sound, the world going out without a breath: Too proud to cry, too frail to check the tears, And caught between two nights, blindness and death. O deepest wound of all that he should die On that darkest day. oh, he could hide The tears out of his eyes, too proud to cry. Until I die he will not leave my side.)

It's worth noting that 1) Hunter Thompson was an amusing writer, but not a medical doctor and 2) he committed suicide at age 67. I believe his writing talent was despite his drug use, not because of it. https://www.today.com/popculture/writer-hunter-s-thompson-commits-suicide-wbna7005168

It's worth noting that 1) Hunter Thompson was an amusing writer, but not a medical doctor and 2) he committed suicide at age 67. I believe his writing talent was despite his drug use, not because of it. https://www.today.com/popculture/writer-hunter-s-thompson-commits-suicide-wbna7005168

If it gets you through the night, without getting you in jail, and without getting you in the hospital. John Lennon notwithstanding.

At a bare minimum, we need unions to combat this: https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/10/21/business/pregnancy-discrimination-miscarriages.html

There have been other examples, both ways. Our (former) dry cleaner, a old man, a Pakistani immigrant, made an anti-Jewish crack, and my wife told him her husband was Jewish and that we'd go elsewhere. Now we go 0.2 miles further. But there's also a nice grocery there, same strip mall as the new place. Someone with whom I work, and his wife, were supposed to go out to a British-style pub with us. They stood us up, and my wife found out through Facebook that his wife wanted to go elsewhere, and did. His wife was never all that keen on mine and vice versa. I've told him we're never going out with them as a couple again. I'm polite to him at work. That's it. I think all he ever wanted from me there is help, especially with writing and math. I'll help anyone, but won't be dismissed or abused. My personal feeling is I won't sacrifice integrity for friends. I won't be disrespected or abused. Therefore we have few. I've also found that there are many ways people might treat you. They might be jealous. They might want to use you. They might have a feeling of superiority and put you down, subtly, to feed that. We get some of that because we don't wear jewelry or fancy clothing. So some people think we're poor and dismiss us because of that. Those people are not worthy of my company. They dress fancy, wear ostentatious fake jewelry and have car loans and mortgages. We're plain, and 100% paid off. Reality versus show. Screw 'em.

The operative word was "was". They haven't been friends since around that time.

The company for which I work has contracts all over the world. In 2004, I was sent to do work in Tel Aviv, Israel. I had a green card then, not yet citizenship. A woman who was friends with my wife said (almost exact quote) "you're lucky I don't report him to the government for working there". Firstly, Israel is a US ally. Secondly, it isn't illegal. Thirdly, that woman was a moron. She once lost an argument to us and said to me, with recrimination, "why do you have to be so smart?" Geez, sorry, Maria. I'll try to give myself a homemade mental nosejob. Stupid people make stupid accusations and stupid threats.

Bludoggie, the reason I'm quoting you is that I like the large font upper case request. LoreD, I liked both videos, and so did Mrs. Laripu. We're both hoping for either an impeachment or a fortuitous fatal heart attack for Mr T. (No, not the guy from the A team.) Whichever the f**k, comes first ... we've stopped caring.

I also like Bob Dylan's lines. They certainly resonate today. They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings. Steal a little and they throw you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king. See the whole song here: https://www.bobdylan.com/songs/sweetheart-you/

Smoked herring, i.e. kippers, are yummy indeed. I make cold-smoked cheese and salmon (lox) when it's cold enough in Tampa. (December or January). I also hot-smoke turkey, pork, and sometimes beef. I wouldn't know, as (1) I'm incapable of smoking and (2) I'm a compulsive law-obeyer. Years ago I smoked cigarettes and they damaged my lungs, which I regret every time I get a cold. However, when I've retired, if pot ever becomes legal both federally and in my state, then I'll make some sort of concoction to eat it. Maybe cannamead. Ethiopians make mead (they call tej) flavored with "gesho", the twigs of an Ethiopian plant. I have a feeling cannabis might work well as a replacement for gesho, and bring psychoactive properties to the mead. I've made traditional mead, ginger mead, raspberry mead, gesho-flavored pseudo-tej and pineapple mead. I'm planning a banana mead eventually. I'm drinking my home brewed pineapple mead as I write this. 😊

ExPDXer, you are a cartoon prodigy. They're all great. I can't say I enjoyed them... because they're all true ... and Trump.

Thanks for that. I like Deven Green a lot. I hadn't yet seen this video.