Ornithopters; they are out there!

 

Here we have visual proof that Ornithopters exist!  

It is surely armed with a camera. We are being watched!

Have a Blessed Christmas

 

This has been a year full of uncertainty.  You know, being told you are nonessential and you will die or kill someone else if you do something nonessential or if you do just about anything without a mask on.  You know, looking for the whole story about what's going on in the world but getting only what the media decides to tell you.  There are businesses shut down, people out of work, families separated, our nation divided.

It's hard not to give in to fear and despair.  Let us remember that Jesus tells us not to be afraid.

On this Christmas Eve we remember that Jesus, the Word made flesh, was born in a humble stable.  

He will not fear evil tidings; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord.

-Psalm  112:7

Covidity

 


It's been six weeks since a state of emergency was declared here in Michigan.  We've been ordered to cower in our homes.  We wear masks when we go somewhere that is permitted.  When will it end?  First we were told in order to save lives, we'd only have to give up our freedom till the curve flattened.  It has.  Now the bar has been moved.

Yesterday Gov Whitmer said we're still safer at home.  As long as the numbers meet with her approval, manufacturing will be permitted to reopen May 11 provided they take everybody's temperature at the door, don't allow nonessential persons to enter, do social distancing, wear masks, etc etc.  The automotive industry may be permitted to resume operations May 18th.  For those still considered nonessential, the stay at home order has been extended to May 28.

Meanwhile, businesses such as restaurants and hair salons and veterinarians remain either closed or very restricted.  How many of these businesses will be lost?

Hat Tip.  MOTUS A.D.

What of the new normal?  Will we don masks everywhere we go from now on?

Will we retreat to our homes and shut down the economy every flu season?

And what of the nonessentials?  Are they forever second class citizens rendered hopeless in their insignificance?

Have we traded our liberty for an illusion of safety? 

In Before the Lock

I gave blood on Monday.  We entered the nondenominational church's gym through a single door met by a woman who squirted hand sanitizer onto our palms and ordered us to rub it in.  Then she took our temperature.  If we were normal we were allowed in.


Checking in was the same as usual.  A volunteer scanned my donor card then told me to sit and wait.



The chairs in the waiting area where positioned approximately five feet from each other.  I've been giving at this location for years because everybody is so nice.  On this day nobody talked to each other.



When it was my turn to be checked out by a nurse things got even less friendly.  She stuck my right middle finger to check my iron level.  I scored an eleven.  She said that was too low.  I remarked that I'd had a physical about three weeks ago.  Surely, they would have noticed if my iron was low.

Nurse Terse said, you must be 12.5 to give blood.  (One time a nurse told me my iron reading was low due to my cold hands!)  Nurse Terse asked if I wanted to try the other hand.  I'd already put 45 minutes into this venture so I said yes.  My left middle finger scored a 14.5.  I asked how can there be such a huge difference between them?  Nurse Terse said, that's just the way it goes.



Now I was back in the waiting area.  My fellow waiters stared into space or into their phones.  Things were slower today though the woman at the door said many blood donors had cancelled.



At the blood drawing station they sanitized the entire cot after each donor then waited till it dried.

The phlebotomist was nice.  She even smiled at me a couple times.



Now it was time to sit for a minimum of ten minutes to "recover" from giving blood.  Though I've never felt the need, I cooperate and spend that time drinking juice and enjoying the hospitality.  At this location they usually have a table set up with sandwiches and crudites and homemade brownies.  You help yourself family style.  This day of course was different.  Individual tables with a single chair were set up about five feet apart.  Someone wearing gloves served your snack.



The lady who usually offers shoulder rubs was there but didn't touch anybody.

It felt like Us vs Them.  But who is who?

PETA disapproves of Pets

PETA is back to help us use proper words when it comes to those animals that share our lives.  You see, the word "pet" is "harmful".   "Companion Animal" is OK.  It's vague enough not to be considered "Speciesist Language" evidently.

According to a February 5th announcement from PETA, addressing animals as "it" is also harmful.  We should use terms such as he, she or "dog guardian".  (One would think the word "dog" is specieist but using logic will get us nowhere here.)  PETA is concerned that we mustn't get the feeling that an animal is a human owned object.  

Wrong PETA.  Call me anything, just call me in time for dinner.

What is this obsession with pronouns?

Here's a brain teaser.  I'm a biological male with no testicles.  What is my pronoun?

I'm a feral cat but I just have to weigh in on this.  Wake up, PETA.  No animal gives a hoot what you call it.

Dear PETA,
You know how sometimes your dog tilts his head when you talk to him?  News flash. He is not trying to ferret out harmful words.

OK PETA, you want to help me out?  The next time you run a chicken truck off the road, deliver the birds to me.

PETA, it is you who are an object.  A tool.  I own you.  Me and my bretheren live in your heads.  Now, serve up some pate'.

I may look mild mannered, but if PETA came to my house and hassled my people about their vocabulary, I would use my teeth on them.  Ya know?

Just tell me, how would my quality of life improve if I became a "dog guardian"?

Read the PETA crap here 

By the way, you bossy boots wack jobs, sometimes Lynn calls me a Pomeranian Freak.  Is that harmful too?  Like xenophobic or something?  Hey, PETA!  Bite me.

The Butcher's Secret

There is a smallish store in my town where I shop for groceries.  Smallish, in that it is big enough to have a decent selection of items, but not so big that you need a compass to find your way from the  soup to the cereal.  And being a regular customer affords me the pleasure of banter with some of the staff. 

Take the meat department for instance.  This is a cheerful group.  Raucous laughter is generally heard from the deli area.  The meat gang is slightly more restrained but typically jolly.  (Ever notice that the disposition of meat eaters leans to the convivial as opposed to the often gloomy manner of the vegan crowd?).

I home cook for my dogs and husband (omnivores all, but clearly flesh aficionados) so I am always on the lookout for good meat deals.  The butchers know me because I buy in bulk.  Today pork chops and chicken thighs are on sale.  As my favorite butcher wraps my order, I happen to notice a little note on the back wall near the time clock. 

It reads:  Bill's Blasting Zone A. 

I chuckle and ask if that is where Bill (my other favorite butcher) goes to fart. 

Yes, she says.  You would not believe the gaseousness of that guy! 

Bill is always friendly and pleasant.  Now I know why.  No pent up gas.  Ever notice how pent up people are usually not so very friendly or pleasant? 

Advice well worth putting into practice.  Let it rip.  But please confine your releases to the designated blasting zone.

Thank you and happy digestion to all!





**the name of the flatulent butcher has been changed to protect him from, well, fart jokes.  Enough is enough.  pfffft

Matching Style, Interspecies Version

Last week one of my facebook friends shared an article on matching jewelry for you and your dog.  There was an invitation to Enter and Win a Beautiful Necklace/Collar Set containing Real Gems!

The accompanying photo showed a garish wide grayish colored collar sprinkled with blueish colored stones, alongside a thick silver necklace laced with similar blueish colored stones. My first reaction to this was not as positive as the comments that followed the article.  Here are some highlights to give a general idea of the enthusiasm contained in those comments.

"It's soooo beautiful!"

"Me and my sweet Poopsie DESERVE to win this!"

"Everybody should want to wear this unbelievably fantastic jewelry and show the world how glamorous a girl and her dog can be!"

"I can't believe they are giving this away!  I want it so bad!  My dog wants it so bad!"

"Where can I buy a set of matching jewelry for me and my Precious?!"





By now, someone has won this Matching Set of Gal Pal, Human/Canine Edition Fashion Nirvana.  Even if I wanted to decorate myself and my dog thus, it is doubtful that I have enough money in my trinket budget to purchase any such ornamentation.

Guess I'll stick to my old ways.

Matching Rubber Bands