It's 5:30am and I just woke up with a case of BRAIN BEES. (Thank you to Sean and Dawn for this term, though I'm sorry y'all had to coin it.)  In trying to get back to sleep and failing (it's now 6:53) I'm trying to think of more pleasant topics than my aging parents and Hurricane Michael and Kavanaugh and that article in the New Yorker whose last 3 paragraphs killed me and kids spraypainting swastikas on an historic Black schoolhouse and climate change report and Trump and Columbus Day and how I do not want to go to the dentist today for fear of what awfulness they will find and how much it will cost to fix. 

So let's think of something fun, shall we?

Many people have a playful, silly list of famous people with whom they would be allowed to [redacted for Adult Themes] without consequence to their current relationship. 

For example, I have negiotated a deal with my partners (past and present) which states that if I ever met either Jack Black, Nathan Fillion, or Questlove, and if they were interested in a one-night [redacted] with me, that I would be allowed to use my It's Not Cheating Pass and enjoy my one-time [redacted] guilt-free and consequence-free. 

I have now added Monica Lewinsky to my list. Lordy, I love her style. 

Who's on your list? 

For my second night of HARD WEEKEND PARTYING, for no particular reason on this here balmy Saturday night I decided to get my free annual credit report from the big three credit agencies.  WOOO!!!  Seriously though, it was painless and I highly recommend you do it if you haven't done it lately.  Doing this takes like 5 minutes, and while it doesn't give you your credit score, it does show you a list of your open and closed credit accounts according to the Big Three credit reporting agencies (TransUnion, Experian, and Equifax) so you can make sure there aren't any accounts opened in your name that you didn't authorize.  You can also see what companies have done a "soft credit check" on you so they can send you those annoying free "you've been pr-approved!" offers in the mail... these soft credit checks don't impact your credit score, but it's interesting to see who's been sniffing around.

So, to get your free annual credit reports from each of the big three go to AnnualCreditReport.com which sounds scammy, but it's the only site the government has approved).  It is totally free, painless, and a good idea.  (Some folks like to check all three agencies at once, once per year. Other folks like to pick one agency in January, another agency in May, and the final agency a few in Septemberish, just so you can keep a more constant eyeball throughout the year.  I'm not that vigilant, so doing all three at once was just ducky for me.)

Also: Fortune Magazine told me that as of September 21st, a new law went into effect that says that the big three credit reporting agencies must offer you the ability to freeze your credit for free.  Freezing your credit is a good idea, and it is painless.  A credit freeze simply means that nobody can apply for credit under your name while the freeze is in place... not even you.  So if/when you want to apply for a new credit card or get a loan or whatever, just jump back online and unfreeze your account, which takes two seconds.  So clicky on the Fortune Magazine linky at the top of this paragraph here, and it'll take you right to the Free Freeze pages for the Big Three.

Enjoy!

This is how I party on a Friday night!

.

.

PARTY!! YEAHHLH! WOOO!! FRIDAY NIGHT!! TETTS!!  OH MAH GAH!! 

 The math:

    Biore Pore Perfect Strips

+  B0rked Website Thing I Am Procrastinating About Fixing 

----------------------------

= Clean Pores.

Vince and I are celebrating the end of the week by watching a YouTube channel called My Virgin Kitchen. We're watching this adorable blonde haired blue eyed British family, testing various "kitchen hacks."

Honestly, I'm not in the mood for this right now. I want to test-drive a knitting stitch I found online, or finish knitting this purple hat for Trish, or drink screwdrivers while playing We Happy Few. But this family is so ridiculously cute and I'm so starved for People Being Nice To Each Other, and Vince wants to watch food videos and I happen to like being around him. 

Here's thing: Watch the kids. They are SAVVY. All Caps. They know how to look good on camera. I suspect this was filmed (a word that makes no sense, in the digital age, much like how a floppy disk as a symbol for "save" makes no sense) with something allowing the kids to see themselves on camera, like a phone camera in selfie mode or a laptop. The kids barely fidget, they're perfectly in frame, they follow instructions, only deviating when it's adorable to do so. The younger one, in particular, is working for Maximum Kid Cuteness. 

I said to Vince, "Imagine the amount of work that the Food Network goes through to capture Friday afternoon attention spans, how much money is spent, how much studio space, how many lighting assistants, whatever. These folks circumvented all of that and made something that's basically just as good, if not better." 

Admittedly, I like the videos better when it's just the guy in his kitchen making grilled cheese sandwiches and failing. But anyway.

So, I'm watching this video and over-analyzing it, wondering how this guy gets compensated for this work. Is this his thing he does for fun, while the girls are at soccer or his wife is working? Is this their family activity, like board game night? He does have a cookbook, but I can't imagine that's hugely lucrative. 

Then I notice,  the older of the two girls is soaking up all this information like a sponge. This little girl is going to grow up to find a way to make YouTube able to use data from fitness trackers so that every time a video makes a viewer happy, the video creator gets paid. 

Yes, that's incredibly invasive and requires tremendous pressure to get users to opt in, along with working in the background to pressure the general populace to use fitness trackers. It requires a vision as detailed as it is vast. But, look at that face.

This little girl is working on a master plan. 

So, in researching this current art project, I came across an interesting thing: we all scale our perceptions to our own experience. We joke about first world problems, but that’s the thing; for the person who is screaming about how he didn’t get his appetizer as fast as he wanted, or, gee, I dunno, who whined about liking beer in front of Congress, or who maybe killed people because they had nicer business cards than him, those things ARE the worst things ever to happen, because they’re the worst things to happen TO THEM. They’d rate that ten out of ten on their scale, because that’s how they tare their scale.

The depth of feeling is the same as it would be for, say, Katrina survivors - the worst thing is the worst thing. The problem is how many people lack the basic capability to go “oh, not getting a 7 pm table at Prego’s is not the same as having cancer.” Or “Being told you can’t graze your herd on public land for free for years is not the same as systematic racial discrimination over three hundred years.” It doesn’t work any more than that thing we heard way back when about how we should clean our plates because there are starving children in Africa worked. 

The problem is that empathy, or even the ability to recognize that your scale of suffering might not line up with someone else’s, can’t be legislated, it can’t be forced on people. It’s actually somewhere in the physical brain. We evolved to have empathy, and it’s clear that not everybody got it in the kit.  Hell, maybe human society needs the occasional bastard to function, I dunno.  

But the key thing here is that appealing to a lot of people in power’s empathy is not going to work. They will think that because the worst thing ever was the time their frat bros have them a wedgie and they got through that all right, then everybody else’s worst problem can be gotten through just as easily. 

Facts don’t matter because their scale has been tared to a region of human experience where person-to-person interactions are all that matter.  If you’ve never had an experience where the world disagreed with you and you couldn’t tell it “No, there ISN’T a fire burning my house down”, then you have no way to deal with someone ELSE telling you that if you have a gasoline-and-sparklers party in your living room, bad things might happen. 

This is why I think a fair number of anti discrimination activists are attacking the problem where it can’t be hurt. Reason doesn’t work on the people whose scales are set to a region where feelings got hurt. Fairness doesn’t apply to people who haven’t ever experienced unfairness. 

What would work? I dunno. But if somebody thinks that being late for a dinner party is the same as having your children taken away and lost in the system forever, and can’t imagine there’s a difference between them, then you gotta try another way to solve the problem. 

So, the new heat pump went in yesterday. I've been living without a heat pump for 2 years, after the unreliable old one went belly up on the first cooling day of the year. Winters, I limped by on the emergency heat circuit, an electric blanket and two dog power. Summers were handled by a sophisticated array of window air conditioners and portable units providing enough cooling to be comfortable/tolerable.

But of course there are no windows in the bathrooms of my house.

Consequently I spent as little time in the necessary rooms as possible during the summer. They were always warm-ish. Post shower it was advisable to skip shaving as often as I could get away with it. Shower, brush my teeth and dash.

But now the new heat pump is in! Huzzah!

I noticed it immediately as the temperature and humidity both made a precipitous decline. Because the odd thing about portables is that you're either freezing your 'nads off if you're in the direct airflow, or you're a bit warm if you're anywhere else in the room.

But central air. Glorious central air, all hail Willis Carrier!

First impression: this thing is quiet. When the condensor fan kicks on I can't hear it. Which is probably the way it should be, I have just gotten used to listening to the industrial grade impeller grinding to life on the old one. It's a nice life upgrade.

For those keeping track at home, this is renovation project number three. Next up, windows. (No, not the OS from Hell. The other type.)

In the '90s, I bought the cheapest, crappiest bed I could afford on my temp-agency salary when I lived in Arizona, and slept on that god-awful bed for years.  

Finally in 2004 I was making "a nice wage" (as my brother would once write) and splurged on an expensive mattress/boxspring set for almost $800, which was hella spendy back then. I bought a Serta Perfect Sleeper Modesto, and it was deemed by many people to be The World's Most Comfy Bed. (I don't know how to type that without it making me sound like a slut. I'm just saying I was proud of my purchase because it was one of the only nice things I owned, so lots of people tried it.)

They say you should replace your mattress every seven years, though that may just be the mattress companies telling you that... but for the last 9 or so years or so it was pretty obvious that the non-Jill side of the bed was significantly lower and more broken/sunken in (read: broken) than my side of the bed. Matt's back has been bugging him now for a while, so we decided it was time to buy a new mattress.

I take after my mom-- I am not a shopper. I have noooo interest in going to 12 different places to find the best price and compare 47 different things; I just want to walk in, try a few items, and buy the one that I like that also offers the least amount of hassle. I don't care if this means I might pay $3.69 extra for something. I've got a life to lead. 

So yesterday we looked online to see what stores in the area sold Serta Perfect Sleepers in hopes of getting a mattress close to what I've got now (only not broken on one side). We decided to hit the Concord Mall on 202 where we could go to Sears and Boscovs in one shot, and then head over to Raymour and Flanagan if those didn't pan out. 

On our way to the mall we passed Raymour and Flanagan, so we said "screw it" and went there first. (50,000 points for Matt's fast reflexes and driving skills.)  We walked in and were greeted by a lovely saleslady who showed us a bunch of mattresses. She was a good salesperson with just the right amount of personable gab, but also knew when to leave us alone. She'd clearly been to Mattress Selling School, asking questions about how we sleep, if we have back problems, what we like/don't like, telling us all about the best type of mattress for hinky spinal injuries, and I'm not gonna lie... we settled on the most expensive one we tried. She didn't even try to force us into it; it was just the most comfortable. We are thrifty in most other aspects of our life, so why not splurge on a thing where we spend 70% of our time? (We spend a LOT of time lounging in bed; waaaaaay more than your average human). (Another way I take after my mother.)

This bed is like a cloud, and it apparently will help keep Hot Flash Jill cool during sweaty nights. I'm skeptical, but hopeful... because right now I have a stack of towels next to the bed that I rotate in and out throughout the night. (In fact, that's why I started writing this blog entry at 6-something AM... the bed was soaked and it woke me up. Sexy.)

They have next day delivery, so it should be coming today. (actually, the delivery guy just called and said he'll be here between 10-1. Woot!)  They'll take away the old mattress and box-spring and set up the new bed, plus there's a 100-night no-questions-asked return period. I liked that there were no hidden or extra charges... the price is the price and you don't have to pay for delivery or setup or taking away the old mattress, yadda yadda. 

We opted for a split box-spring hoping we might move to NYC someday where narrow stairwells would make getting a queen-sized boxspring into an apartment potentially tricky. It felt nice to be thinking ahead. 

I feel like I'm saying goodbye to a friend that got me through some really important years of my life... but it also feels nice to be buying a thing with Matt as a couple. We don't really have anything like that, really; we just have my stuff and his stuff all co-mingled, but nothing that is *ours.*  It only took us seven years to make this leap. :-)

NYC

In other news, we went to NYC this past week to see Steven Page's new trio at the Highline Ballroom on Tuesday night. We were supposed to go with Jeff and Mindy, but they were busy so we went with Brian Marshall and Tom Moynahan.  Steve was funny, smart, sounded great, and did a great mix of old and new stuff.  Matt and I grabbed a hotel (yay, Hilton points!) and slept in the Financial District, right at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge in Manhattan, an area of the city we'd never stayed in before, and it felt like it could be home.  We saw an apartment building we loved, and a two-bedroom is only $7500/month sooooooo we won't be moving into that particular building anytime soon I guess. :). But it did have a great Australian breakfast/lunch place nearby called "Hole In The Wall" which was deeeelicious, and I had my very first flat-white, which is a coffee-drink originated in either Australia or New Zealand (they argue over it)... it's like a latte except the milk isn't frothy at all (it's flat; get it?). I'd wanted to try one forever, and it lived up to the hype. 

Anyhoo, it's 7:55am and I woke up in a puddle of sweat about 45 minutes ago, so I'm ready to go back to sleep. I'm turning my ringer on nice and loud so I can hear the bed delivery guy's call. (He called! They'll deliver between 10 and 1.)

It's hard to believe this is the last morning I'll be sleeping/snoozing on this bed. 

Thank you, bed. You've been the best bed. 

--

PS: The weather has been absolutely GLORIOUS the last few days, hasn't it? Man, this season (aka 'the Fifth Season') is by far my favorite season. 75 degree days, low humidity, slightly foggy mornings, starry nights, sleeping with the windows open... so good!

PPS: I watched the clips from this weekend's SNL premiere and I howled! I thought they really nailed it. Apparently I like Adam Driver. I did not know this before, even despite my Kylo Renning.  (Kanye though... what the hell was that?)

x-posted to dreamwidth.org

NAFTA
you're a Clinton treaty
i said, NAFTA
from the past century
i said, NAFTA
you're not all about me
there's no need for you today

NAFTA
it's time to let you go
i said, NAFTA
i want people to know
i said, NAFTA
that this time it's my show
so i'm going to rename you

your name is now Us-M-C-A
your name is now Us-M-C-A
yet much to my chagrin
i could not work "Trump" in
but we know who did all the work

OK if you take the soft white corn tortillas (which are very thin and fragile) and spread a tbsp of pasta sauce on them then put them in the toaster oven for a "toast" cycle and let them rest a bit, the sauce will cook down enough so that you can then put cheese and meat on top for a second toast cycle and they won't fall apart when you eat them. Maybe even have a bit of browning on the bottom for a lovely crusty crunch.

And it's not terrible, even tastes pretty good, for a GF pizza-like food product.

It's taken like a half dozen disintegrating, bad tasting, why am I eating this garbage variations to arrive at this bit of culinary wisdom over the past few weeks.

So if this is a road you'd like to travel, I've put down some gravel, at least, so you don't get your wheels stuck in the soggy tortilla mire.

Bear with me here; this takes a bit before I get to the point. So I'm a nominally heterosexual caucasian white male. I have a tiny little amount of street cred when it comes to prejudice and discrimination, but nowhere near enough to justify me going on about it (anti-Appalachian prejudice does exist, but I can pass, kind of thing.) That said, it's bloody well time for everybody to go on about it, because Trump and his fellows have enabled a huge amount of complete assholery and oh-my-god-are-you-really-saying-that that has actual, real world consequences for huge numbers of people across the planet. 

I want to do something. I donate to causes (it's hard to donate to political campaigns in the US from Canada), I vote, all that kind of stuff, but I was at a loss as to what. 

When I sat down and thought about the situation, I had an idea of something I can do. It's not a lot, and it won't actually affect the people who are most complicit in this disaster, but it might nudge the center of the bell curve 0.000001% in the right direction. The thing is, I'm worried about it. 

Here's the idea:

As a piece of art, I'm designing and building a game. Six players, concentric track-based - imagine Trivial Pursuit if it had three circles instead of just one- drawing cards to affect gameplay, etc.  Players draw cards -I'm stealing from Ticket to Ride here - that tell them what they have to do on that game board. So far, so good. 

The key bit is - I am building discrimination into the game rules. Certain players will have a definite, highly unspoken, advantage; they get more choices, they get a starting bonus, they can do things to the other players that  the other players can't do back, and so on. I won't state it in the rulebook that "Player X represents WASPs, and player Y represents Mexican-Americans" - it's just that there are more cards in the deck that let the blue player do things to the yellow player than vice versa. 

I'm thinking about including cards that let the players choose to vote on altering the rules - five out of six players can vote and say that the yellow player can't enter the inner circle, say, or that three out of six can demand the other three give them all their cards. 

It will be entirely possible to play the game so that everybody has the same shot at victory - just don't use the cards that screw other players over.

The goal is to get six male, white, cis players to sit down and play it - and maybe film the thing, maybe not, depending on human experimentation permission. Hopefully, as the game goes on, one or more of the players will realize that they are being systematically dicked over by both the rules and the other players. "Hey," they should say, "This ain't fair. I can't win", at which point I leap in and go "That's the point!"

There are games-as-art out there; there's one called Train that uses the act of playing a game to induce a feeling of complicity in an atrocity (I won't say how, that's part of Train's point). This one, though, isn't about complicity, it's about systematic discrimination.

The thing is: I am nervous. 

I don't want to be a dick. I don't want to be the white guy co-opting the oppression of others. I don't want to be Kevin Costner doing Dances with Wolves and thinking he's doing the First Nations a favor. 

I am, being white, cis, male, etc., complicit in the system that discriminates. I can't speak to the nonwhite, noncis, nonmale experience. What (I think) I can do is address how systems are put in place by people somewhat like me that result in systematic discrimination.

Is this fair?

Can I do this without being a dick?