Politics...
I'm with my soul-twin-sistah Xanadoodle on this one. I want candidates to express their own opinions and visions. Then I could pick those who are best aligned with my own set. (And lets put electrodes on their nads that let us know if they're lying *weg*) Speak from your heart, as sincere servants of the people, and I will listen earnestly. I'll shovel the rest and turn it every so often until its useful under the roses.

Maybe we should do it like a dating service? Have each candidate fill out a survey of general questions, philosphical questions about life, the universe, and everything. Then we publish their answers. Then we vote. If their actions stray too far from their survey, well... technology has come a long way with invisible electronic fences (ref previous mention of nad control).

Let's use campaign money more wisely. Let's teach the masses to fish instead of feeding them fish stories about what candidates did and did not do, think and do not think. The mudslinging literally just muddies the waters, making it hard for us to catch anything of real use.

At this stage, I'm just trying to avoid the serious bottom feeders. Unfortunately, it's hard to tell who's who in all the muck.

The Frog Princess made me do it (because she did it. Gads, I can be such a joiner. )

Tickle.com Classic IQ Test results
Your Intellectual Type is Visionary Philosopher. This means you are highly intelligent and have a powerful mix of skills and insight that can be applied in a variety of different ways. Like Plato, your exceptional math and verbal skills make you very adept at explaining things to others — and at anticipating and predicting patterns. And that's just some of what we know about you from your IQ results.

I'd like to think they're right on most of that, but they're wrong on the math. I suck at math. It's not mathematics that helped me score a 140 on their test, but logic. Two different arenas, math and logic, even though they certainly intersect.

And Tickle.com wants money for the other 15 pages of what they think they know about me. Yeah, I sense a pattern, but again, I can choose to play in their free stuff and skip the rest.  Let's see what they think of my 140 IQ now! muahahaha

Two scoops of raisins...
Now who does not hear the finish of that?
(...in a package of Kellogg's Raisin Bran :)
and now can you see some groovy raisins dancing to the soulful beat of  "Heard It Through The Grapevine"?

Of course we're subjected to crass commercialism day in and day out.  It's sort of like brainwashing, but we're smart and strong enough to resist, if we want to.  I can sing Oscar Mayer's praises at the top of my lungs and still buy Fischer's hot dogs, even though they're the bacon makin' people.

Nothing is all good or all bad. TV can rot brains but it can also awaken them.  Some commercials do a better job of getting us to think outside the box than getting us to buy what's in the box.  Other programming can have secret benefits. Syndication has bridged generation gaps and even geographical gaps, giving chunks of humanity common experiences where there were none before.  And what pays for TV? Advertising. 

Like everything else, it's a matter of what we do with it.

From time to time I've considered creating a silly quest or story based on what TV commercials have fed us over the years. That might be a creative use of the fodder and covert the urge to buy into snickers  (packed with roasted peanuts).

~ After A While ~
After a while, you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts,
And presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With the grace of an adult, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight
And after a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure ...
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn... and learn...
And with every goodbye, you learn.
 
By Veronica A. Shoffstall 
 
 

Among the things I do not miss...
the screech of a modem dialing up.
 
All cable! All the time!
Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about!

Cryostasis might actually be a useful thing, a way to kill time without beating it to death. Why waste human kilowatt hours on days or weeks that drain energy with aggravation, annoyance, suffering, or even boredom? Why not skip forward a bit, suspend self and let the cycle pass? Of course, one might run the risk of being called... frozen chicken.  
 
Yes, the melancholia persists. 

UMS - Ugly Mood Swings. I didn't make that one up. I first heard it on Moonlighting, an 80's sitcom with Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd. I liked that show for the witty repartee between those two. It had a Taming of the Shrew sharpness to it and... I don't want to get off on that tangent.

I'm still experiencing ugly mood swings. I'm not getting many of the highs, but the lows are coming often enough and over the dumbest things. It's the monthly weepies only worse because they're not constrained by the calendar and I actually feel rather stupid at some of the things which are drawing tears. Part of me wants to just crawl in a dark hole and wallow in unjustified pity (over what? hellifino). Part of me wants to lean on the edge of the world and weep for all of humanities problems, or shed tears of joy for all the triumphs.

It really is a bit of a bother to just be crying a lot, in either direction. My frikken heart swells up and spills over onto my cheeks during the 'reveals' on the home improvement shows! I'd be a true puddle if I caught a Hallmark commercial. Hell, just thinking about those tightens my throat. What IS this?

I could write it off to hormonal flux, I guess, despite lack of physical evidence to bear it out. I know this perimenopausal process is far too long and much too harrowing when it flares up. I've been on the slippery slope for several years now and I've had quite enough. To borrow from Archie Bunker, "G'head, Edith. If yer gonna have a change of life, do it now. I'll give ya 30 seconds."

If my spouse had an iota of empathy or compassion in his person, I might curl up with him and have a good long cry. He doesn't, so I don't. For him, "hugging is faggoty" unless it's done horizontally. Crying is absolutely verboten in his presence. He has no idea what to do with it and I can feel him recoil into the next galaxy. Not very comforting.

I'm not all that shot in the ass about this tearfulness myself, but I think I would only do myself harm to try to bind it up and trap it within. I've come to believe that's how people end up with terminal illnesses, their bodies are riddled with stuff they wouldn't allow themselves to release. So, I'll just cry, reckon, til it's all cried out.

There are other effects going on as well. I'm worn out or irritated or frustrated. There are perhaps explanations but no real justifications, in my opinion. It's just a general grating with a myriad of manifestations.

I don't want to be numb, but I also don't want to be the volley ball batted back and forth across the net between the Warm Fuzzies and Cold Pricklies. I like a more even sailing with the occasional spikes. The blind slam dunks are starting to wear on me. Even more explanation than being an aging female would help. That excuse doesn't do much to lift one's spirits.

I almost feel as though I live in a resort park. I mean, the drive in or out is good paved road, but it's a winding narrow road through a tunnel of trees. Instead of passing house after house, most of the trip is only dotted with houses between stretches of forest.

From inside my house, the whole view out back is forest. When I'm laying in bed I can see nothing but trees through the two windows door. Same tree view from the kitchen nook bay and the living room. Only the dining room and guest room windows face the street.

It's like seeing my furniture in a nice resort lodge or something, but... I actually live here.

I know that when Fall comes and the trees go bare, there will be a few houses visible out back, albeit at some distance. I think I'm okay with that. Most of the view will still be the dark twisted fingers of trees reaching up into the sky.

We've had deer visiting, as well as birds and lizards and a host of squirrels. It's like living inside the grounds of a state park. It's just the sort of place I like.

Even as I've begun to scatter our things around in the new house, in order to make it more like a home, I don't ever want to take this scenery for granted. It's serenity straight from Mother Nature, and I thank her for her wonders.