Not the view from my apartment window right now.
This is a screenshot from Paul Hardcastle's "Bird Island" video (at least the one I found on the internet and posted in my then-Friday Night Musical Interlude entry just over a year ago).
It's a showery, gloomy, chilly Friday afternoon in January here in Whar'shington, Deecee. A significant amount of rainfall is forecasted for tomorrow -- maybe 2 inches -- and a flash flood watch is out for tomorrow.
This is more of the view I see -- well, actually, it's a traffic cam view at Connecticut and Florida Avenues just northwest of Dupont Circle, Washington, D.C., 4:58PM January 10, 2014. This is about 3/4 mile from where I live.
I got home short while ago just before 4 o'clock because this evening is our delayed annual holiday party -- it's being held at the Reagan Building -- and I don't want to be fantastically late. I even want to try to make the "pre-gaming" happy hour at Elephant & Castle on Pennsylvania Avenue. I needed to come home to change. I was also going to do some work at home, but that's not going to happen at this point.
I'm really not feeling that well. I have what feels like one of the migraines (a non-aural one) and I took one of my last Imitrex (or the generic version, if there is one). I'm going to have to get refill the prescription soon (you only get four at a time). I also may be coming down with a cold, at least minor. I've been highly stressed lately and I'm not sure how a person can live to old age feeling like this.
I'm also deeply annoyed that my weight notched up several pounds from my recent low of 141.5 pounds and recent average of 142.5 pounds. It was 145.5 pounds on the big scale at the National Capital YMCA last night, although after a vigorous swim, it was 144.5 pounds. I don't want to be fat -- zooming back up to 185+ pounds as I was a year and a half ago -- and like a gelatinous dugong in some sunlit tropical sea.
God would love that outcome. He/She/It/They/Whatever/? would start in with that "Yea, verily ..." stuff. That is, if He/She/It/They/Whatever/? existed in any real way.
A dugong in a warm tropical sunlit sea.
At age 44, all one's body wants to do -- at least the dumb hybrid Italian-Polish peasant one I have -- is to be fat. Even breathing makes you fat. I try to eat healthily and for the most part, I do, as well as in moderation (though I've eaten more than normal in the past few days). I realize liquor is the big failing, even if it is clear liquors (vodka) with soda water.
Anyway, I'll go to the Anthony Bowen YMCA tomorrow and Monday to do my usual jogging, weight-lifting, and swimming and not worry about it tonight. I've been doing some additional weight-lifting, so maybe that is part of the issue? It's never the free-weights, though -- just the machine-based stuff, which I know some personal trainers will tell you is problematic.
Again, not the view from my apartment. Rather, it's another Paul Hardcastle "Bird Island" YouTube video image.
As for being a 40-something bourgeois marshmallow -- or in America, a working class stiff marshmallow who still eagerly votes Republican against his and his own family's interest because of the Muslim Kenyan, Nancy Pelosi, and something I heard on Fox & Friends ... or maybe something Glenn Beck drew on his chalkboard ...
I know what I heard: Actor Dean Cain, now in a dumbass reality show searching for Sasquatch, told me I should buck up and work at McDonalds while corporate oligarchs get another trillion dollar giveaway (who knew he was such a clueless rightwing d-bag, but at least I have a reason to dislike him now).
As it is, here in D.C., we don't need celebrities to do that -- instead, we have this-or-that rightwing billionaire's or corporation's foundation-funded think tank and, of course, the WaHoPo editorial / op-ed pages to do it.
I guess the rest of the country needs a celebrity endorsement for corporate oligarchy.
Where was I?
Oh, yes ... About getting fat ... I refer to all those people I once knew in the 1980s and 1990s here in the D.C. area that are all married-with-children mac-and-cheese bovine, living in houses filled with plasma screen TVs and consumerist fetishistic Chinese, Malaysian, and "NAFTA Free Trade Zone," er, Mexican, made appliances. Sticky, poopy little kids everywhere and (for the men) wives that have long since turned them into buccal-pumping frogs on suburban lily pads. And all of them with "professional" jobs as tools, shills, and instruments of the oligarchical overclass.
A buccal-pumping frog. Or a straight, married man with children after 7 years.
The Washington Consensus of Conventional Wisdom -- which comes out of the backsides of Fred Hiatt's neocon "stable" -- is what they all readily believe as Received Wisdom.
As for Wall-P, he just ended up with his Staff to tell him what to think and do all while convinced of his own genius, legal and otherwise, not to mention his alleged hip, urbane sophistication that's just his zero-dimensional personality. It's just like in his professional life, only at home. And dogs take the place of kids.
It's always dinner with the Mundanes** (or other Staff-approved individuals) or poker with Mr. Mundane, provided Mrs. Mundane lets him out of the house. And She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed doing horizontal jumping jacks in bed while he sleeps all balled up in a wee corner, awaiting the day's computer programming instructions.
**I got that line from a long-ago episode of Cheers.
As a follow-up to our recent / concluded cold wave, it never actually set any records at KDCA (what a worthless wintertime spot), though KBWI and KIAD both did. I need to post those numbers and the 2013 yearly precipitation ones.
There was more I wanted to write, including posts to pieces by Jonathan Chait, Paul Krugman, and Josh Barro, but I'm out of time.
Let me just post to this Chait piece: George Will Keeps Getting Nuttier. It has to do with Will's anti-climate science mania and why he thinks pumping out ever-greater amounts of CO2 is a great way to spite Obama.
Returning to Fred Hiatt, this is the kind of "let's consider BOTH SIDES" of the (settled) issue op-ed piece that he loves. Indeed, it gets him tingly all over.
Indeed, Hiatt views that kind of nonsense from Will as "part of a healthy, rollicking debate" rather than what it is: Dangerous disinformation from a dyspeptic, increasingly nutty, phony-baloney pseudo-intellectual who is poisoning public discourse.
Best Chait line in the above piece: "Will can rest assured that, even though Americans do not share his weird mania for emitting greenhouse gasses to spite Barack Obama, they aren’t cutting back for political reasons, either."
More importantly than running out of time, though, is keeping up this blog is a flippin' difficult chore -- and with very little payoff. Indeed, no matter how many entries I write, it's never enough and going more than a day without writing one is a source of great agony, along with all the other mostly bogus sources in my life. I should instead be writing that (everyone together) "one great novel" that I jus know is in me.
Third and final screen shot from aforementioned Paul Hardcastle "Bird Island" YouTube video.
OK, I may update this blog tomorrow, if only for a jukebox Saturday night entry.