Harleys, Cars, Girls & Guitars

Ann Althouse... Whiny Bitch... Spoiled Brat

If you don't read Ann Althouse's weblog, you probably should. She's a law professor at the University of Wisconsin. I worked at the most powerful and important corporate law firm in the world for 5 years, so I know a great legal mind when I encounter same. Althouse is a brilliant legal analyst. She's also a hideously spoiled brat and whining, nagging bitch. The problem here is that she's a feminist.

This woman pulls down a $150,000 salary, has enjoyed tenure for 45 years and has not really had to work much in those 45 years. She absented herself from the hard work, long hours and the need to hustle for clients that most lawyers face to live this life of idle pleasure.

But, she can't stop bitching about how badly women are treated. Everything about her life demonstrates that her bitch has no foundation in realty, but she can't stop bitching. She seems determined to prove that the widely held stereotype of women is true... that nothing you give a woman will stop her from bitching for more.

I actually enjoy reading her blog, until I run into the inevitable bitchery. Once I get to that, I just want to kick this fucking spoiled brat in the ass. Her daddy obviously spoiled the hell out of her. She was cute when she was a kid, too, and she undoubtedly enjoyed manipulating men with this bitch act. She's an old woman now and she's still carrying on like some fucking 20 year old spoiled brat bitch.

Althouse got started on this bitching back when she was a kid, joining in the feminist fable that women were treated just like blacks under Jim Crow. You'd think that the circumstances of her life would have caused her to abandon this stupid lie decades ago. No, she's only embraced the "cause" more fiercely as we've dumped wealth, leisure and privilege in her lap.

Here's how bad things are. She and her colleagues purged the faculty of the University of Wisconsin Law School of anybody we might think of as "normal," that is Christian, conservative and oriented toward traditional family. The law school is now entirely in the hands of far leftist feminists, critical race theorists and other such pieces of shit. She and her colleagues get paid to prosecute their bitch, and she still can't stop bitching like a rotten cunt.

It would be interesting to know what we could give this rotten spoiled bitch that would put an end to her whining and bitching.

We spoiled women rotten in my lifetime. It's been 60 years of bitching and whining for more. And, yet, we've given women everything they've asked for, usually within moments after they've asked. The results of this stupidity should have been predictable.

As any daddy knows, you have to say no to your kids or this is what you get.

I really do enjoy Althouse's legal analysis. The bitching and spoiled brat whining, however, drive me away. I go away for a couple of months and then get drawn back in... and she's still whining and bitching.

Althouse seems determined to prove that our fathers and grandfathers were on the money when they said that women will bitch about anything and everything and there's nothing you can do to stop that. She's certainly convinced me.

Happy Hippie Hobbit House for Sale!

When you sell a house, the buyers all negotiate as if they intended to do a gut renovation of the house. My house was designed, not so much to be a showcase, but to be a cheap place to live.

My house started life as a cinder block hunting cabin in the woods. The trappings of a house were superimposed in a couple of different renovations. Aluminum siding... what a great idea!

You could just sit out here in a cheap house, let it crumble around you and enjoy life. 

I've never been much into home improvement. The girlfriend has been nagging me for several years to replace the windows in the back and, in theory, she's right. The decrepitude never bothered me.

Admittedly, my laissez faire attitude toward home maintenance has added up over the years and the house could use a redo.

Maybe I'll get into home improvement at my new digs, the in-law apartment with my daughter and son-in-law. Of course, I wouldn't have to do the work. My son-in-law has his own little crew.

I'm burrowing deeper into being a retired grandpa.

Systemic Inflammation, Scourge of Old Age

Some days, I feel as if I'm being slowly roasted alive. Rosacea, arthritis and elevated body temperature. Inflammation is what ultimately kills most of us.

What is it that goes wrong within our bodies as we age that causes our bodies to consume themselves?

Among my many age related chronic conditions, I count rosacea and arthritis. Both are caused by systemic inflammation. As I understand it, the buildup of bacteria and detritus in the tissue causes the body to launch an inflammation attack as a method of defense. In other words, the body thinks it is defending itself when it is actually destroying itself.

My dermatologist has treated my rosacea with antibiotics, both internal and external. The results have been mixed. This has slowed the spread of the disease, but it hasn't stopped it. I see no hope for reversal of the condition.

I treat my arthritis exclusively with yoga. Yoga makes the most obvious symptoms disappear. I'm not in pain and I can engage in normal physical activity and sports. But, yoga does not stop or reverse the gradual hardening of my body caused by inflammation.

 From Science Daily, a definition of the problem:

As animals age, their immune systems gradually deteriorate, a process called immunosenescence. It is associated with systemic inflammation and chronic inflammatory disorders, as well as with many cancers. The causes underlying this age-associated inflammation, and how it leads to diseases, are poorly understood. New work sheds light on one protein's involvement in suppressing immune responses in aging fruit flies.

Knowing what causes systemic inflammation doesn't do much to solve the problem.

The only general advice I've received is that I should live like a nun. Avoid red meat, liquor and spices. I figure I might as well be dead as follow that advice. I've cut down a lot on drinking because the negative outcome, i.e., pain, is immediate.

Folks on FB have suggested everything from antihistamines to steroids to slow the process of systemic inflammation.

Maybe we're just meant to die. We live by transforming energy into heat, a destructive process.

I'll be visiting my general practitioner soon and I'll have a lot of questions to ask him about systemic inflammation. If you have any suggestions, please let me know.

Leftists Worry About My Dick

We can now apparently add sexual inadequacy and a tiny penis to the causes of disagreement with a leftist. Racism, of course, is to be taken for granted. Below, a nice sketch from DeviantArt.

I've been encountering this theme with some frequency on Facebook and other web sites. Some lefties become so obsessed with the size of my dick that they can't talk about anything else.

Feminists online have been obsessed with this issue for years. My loathing for feminism is, of course, proof that I "hate women," a hatred which must have been borne in my fury over the size of my member.

Racism pimps joined in with the penis fantasies some time ago. 

"You wouldn't be talking that way if you were face to face with a black person!" lefties like to say. "You'd be too afraid. Your problem is just that you've got a tiny dick."

Telling the lefties that I'm not going to show them my dick doesn't do a bit of good. I'm not the kind of guy to take a dick selfie and put it up on the web. I'm not sure that that's really proof anyway. How would I prove that the dick in question is mine? 

Lefties have always enjoyed imagining that their ideology is proof that they are free spirits with wide ranging and hot sex lives. I've lived in Woodstock long enough to know that that is mostly bullshit. Lefties get divorced, experience failure in relationship and change partners frequently. No doubt about that.

Drama and failure give an illusion of spicing up one's sex life. The toll from that sort of life adds up over the years. By one's 30s or 40s, a constant parade of partners ceases to seem glamorous. It's simply dreary failure.

I guess this "tiny dick" thing is an elaboration upon the "angry old white man" bit. My backward political thinking, so this theory goes, originates in my fury over my obsolescence and minuscule dick. Eat shit and die, old white guy!

I've always been happy with the size of my dick. Perhaps I'm fooling myself, but I can't recall spending any time fretting over this issue. 

And, no, I won't show the damned thing to you either. You'll just have to take my word for it. The damned thing is YUGE!

World Still Going to Hell... I'm OK!

"I am never sure whether I should lament the state of the world or be complacent about it. For on the one hand everything is going to the dogs and on the other I am a happy man." Theodore Dalrymple, writing in Taki Mag.

I still support Trump. My reasons have not changed. I did my civic duty and wrote up a long winded essay explaining why I support The Donald a while ago. Go read it if you're so inclined.

I volunteered to work in a presidential campaign once... the Gene McCarthy Kids' Crusade in 1968. Anti-Vietnam war candidate.

Nobody seems to notice that Trump is, relatively speaking, the anti-war candidate in this election. Yeah, I know... how in the hell can you tell what a candidate is really going to do once he assumes office?

Trump has suggested that we might pull back from policing the world and invading other countries to focus mostly on self-defense. I'm down with that. Hillary, on the other hand, has already knocked over a couple of foreign nations... the Ukraine and Libya.

I'm still trying to stay out of the fray. My life will continue to be fine, no matter who wins or loses. I think. Each side keeps trying to tell me the End is Near if their loathed opponent wins.

I'm an internet idiot like anybody else. Catch me on a day when I'm tired, or tired of being lonely, and I'll tear some Hillary supporter a new asshole and fight and bitch for hours. I regret it later, but what can I do? I am but a sinner.

Life is too good for me to get caught up in the histrionics.

I'm just a retired Mr. Mom Grandpa. I never wanted to run the world. Shit, I never even wanted to be a manager in an office. On a few occasions, I somehow found myself fulfilling that function. Be damned if I know how or why that happened. I failed as miserably as I could and got out as fast as I could.

Life is pretty damned good. Getting ready to move into my Mr. Mom Grandpa in-law apartment. Cleaning up the house and getting it ready to go on the market. Health returning to normal.

Friggin' Cubs are going crazy this year.

Who could ask for more?

Filling Up the Dumpster

The real estate agent told me to get rid of all the piles of stuff before he shows the house. So, my son-in-law towed the dumpster over, dropped it off in my driveway and I'm filling it up.

I've owned my house in Woodstock for 25 years. So, the junk is piled high. 

Stuff I absolutely had to buy has been gathering dust under my bed for a decade or more. Guitar stomp boxes, computer cables, etc.

I have a couple of bookcases full of programming and software manuals that are obsolete. At least I made money reading those books. 

Twelve years after Myrna's death, I'm finally throwing away the last of her affects and possessions. Her pics will be stowed away in boxes. Time to close the books on that chapter in my life. You can't mourn forever.

Well, you can, but what the hell good does it do?

I might put one of our couple pics up on the wall in my new in-law apartment.

I'll be cleaning out my closets and tossing all the clothing that doesn't fit me that I'll never wear again. Might drop that stuff off in the Goodwill box instead of dumping it.

I'm finally free from the pain of surgery and I can lift heavy objects again. Trying to slowly get back to my exercise regimen. 

I'm deep cleaning the house as I toss stuff out. Lonely old widower that I am, I've fallen into the usual male trap of settling for superficial cleaning. My girlfriend nags me constantly on her weekend visits to adopt her standard of cleanliness, but lifelong habits are difficult to change.

The attic is the tough hack. Spiders take over any space not regularly swept clean and I don't go up in the attic often. Out here in the Catskills, spiders constantly threatened to take back any human encroachment on their territory. I routinely sweep the walls and ceilings of their webs.

That stuff in the attic is the really old junk. Some of it even predates buying my house. I don't know why I dragged that crap up there. Should have simply tossed it.

I'll still be living at my house for another 3 to 6 months. The real estate agent thinks my house will sell quickly. But, it still takes a while to go through the process of showing it and dealing with the legal and financial issues of selling.

That Part of Life Might Be Over

I googled "Old People Sex" and the search engine returned porn pics of naked old people screwing in various configurations. This was not what I had in mind. But it reminded me of Rule 34... I was looking for a pic like this one:

The media and FB friends keep telling me that seniors should just go ahead and enjoy themselves. Screw away!

If only it were that easy.

For old widows and widowers, the major problem is finding a partner. Yeah, I could be dating online. Tried that. There are plenty of women out there who want to go on a date and enjoy a free meal. I'm living on a retired senior budget. Really can't afford to do that any more.

The real libido killer is physical disability. 

After the age of 60, the body really starts disintegrating. One of my favorite jokes to tell my girlfriend is:

"Don't tell me which parts aren't working. Which parts still work?"

I work out a couple of hours per day. Yoga, bicycling, weight lifting and some occasional basketball and softball workouts. I'm still falling apart and overweight. I've got a nasty bald spot on the crown of my head. My face is being slowly burned away by rosacea.

You can say that this shouldn't matter much. It does. The visual part of sex is important and that part is no longer particularly edifying. Best to turn out the lights and screw in the dark.

Especially in the aftermath of three surgeries that have disabled me for the past few months, I'm wondering... is that part of my life over? Has sex ended for me?

I'm not feeling sorry for myself (well... maybe a little). In fact, I'm wondering if the end of sex might be a good thing for me. Obsessing over sex, trying to find sex... that's been going on for six and a half decades. Maybe it's time to focus that energy on something else.

On occasion, I think I might try to find a young whore and simply pay for it from time to time. My budget is a little thin for that. I've always had a sex partner, so I've never been in the position of having to look for a whore. I don't even know how to do that.

As with most things in life, I doubt that I'll have an epiphany that answers my dilemma. I'll just struggle through and deal with what happens on a day to day basis.

The cartoon above certainly has one thing right. Peeing and pooping takes up more of my time and my attention with each passing day. The exhaust systems are the first systems to start breaking down as we age, for obvious reasons. Cancer seems to attack the urinary and intestinal systems first in most people.

Oh, well... We have to find meaning in different things in each stage of our lives. Might be time for me to find that in something other than sex.

Electoral Fatigue

This presidential election has been exhausting. Damn thing has been going on for two years. As I long ago stated, I'll vote for Trump. That's about it. I'm not a campaigner. Here's my long, tedious essay explaining why I'm voting for The Donald. Not much has changed since I wrote that bit.

The furor on social media over the election wore me out a few weeks ago. Maybe being sick had something to do with that. 

Truth is, I'm feeling pretty jolly. No cancer! Yay! I'm going to live a little while longer.  But, I'm not entirely likely to live through the next president's term. If he/she goes to two terms, my chances are dim indeed. 

Bloodlust crept into the electoral process this year. Everybody's itching for a fight, and lots of people are ready to bust heads and shoot people. What in the fuck do I need with that shit?

I'm just an old Mr. Mom grandpa. It's no longer my business to fix the world. Maybe my grandkids can do that. 

I'm trying to focus nowadays on what's really important and relevant to me. Politics is pretty far down the list. No matter who's president, I've got a good (if not that long) life ahead of me. I'm going to be teaching and playing with my grandkids and bundling them off to school in the morning. 

I'll be moving into my new in-law apartment with my daughter, son-in-law and grandkids within a few months. Might wait until I sell the house in Woodstock. Might not.

My remaining time is short. Gotta focus on the important things. I'm looking forward to getting un-Woodstuck.

Everybody Liked the Meatballs!

That's what I told my girlfriend this morning. Over the weekend, she taught me her meatballs with tomato sauce recipe. I'm learning to cook some basic dishes that my grandkids will eat.

My last act in life is playing Mr. Mom to my three grandkids. Not complaining. They're a lot of fun. They're also full of a lot of hugs. My toddler granddaughter is three. The twins are one. Boy and girl.

My girlfriend is giving me Mr. Mom lessons. Tips on housekeeping. Good snacks for the grandkids. That kind of stuff.

Took a drive-by of my new home over the weekend, too. Lots of land... almost 7 acres on top a mountain. I'll put in a vegetable garden and also do some landscape gardening. The house could be quite a showplace.

I remind myself frequently that I don't need to clinch my jaw any more. Hadn't realized that I had been doing that. In the early days of my retirement, I noticed that I was clinching my jaw.

"You don't have to do that anymore," I told myself.

My life was a wild adventure played out mostly in Chicago, San Francisco and New York City. I was on edge all the time. No matter what I did, I had to do it the most difficult way possible. Especially with women.

So, I was always fighting with the world and struggling to hold myself together. And, always clinching my jaw.

That is not an easy habit to stop. I'm consciously trying, but the habit keeps popping up.

Everything has changed. I no longer need to fight anything. No longer have to look over my shoulder. No longer even have to worry about money. (I'm fixed for life at the level of a college student with a decent part time job.) 

Once I sell my house, I won't even have any bills. No car or house payment. I'll pay into the general house fund with my daughter and son-in-law. Pay for my own cable and internet. 

When I get drawn into a political fight on Facebook or some weblog, I remind myself at some point that political controversy has become irrelevant to me. Hell, I'll be lucky just to live through the next presidency.

I'm focused on the grandkids. They're fascinating people already. I am privileged to spend a lot of time with them. I'm involved in their most formative years. Cooking and cleaning for them, and taking care of a yard so that they are free to play without worry... these are the things that concern me now.

My girlfriend is a very happy Filipino. That's the first thing that people notice about her. The reason for her happiness is obvious... she lives solely to serve other people. She's as deeply Christian as a woman can be. She's a fantastic cook and homemaker. She loves to do the things that so many other people consider chores.

The kids did like the meatballs. The twins dug in, mostly into the hamburger. They tried a few slurps of sauce from a spoon. My toddler girl haggled over dessert before she finally gave in and ate meatballs, sauce and pasta.

Getting Un-Woodstuck

Got the OK from the doctor to resume my normal physical regimen. Good thing! I was going nuts sitting on my ass after 3 surgeries in two months. The good news is... no cancer! The other big news is that I'll be departing Woodstock, although the date for that is not yet set. I'll be getting un-Woodstuck.

"Woodstuck" is a term the locals have always used to describe somebody who moved to town, excited by living in the most famous small town in the world, only to become stuck with no way to get out. 

I got Woodstuck over 40 years ago. Immigrated to the burg to immerse myself in the music scene, and to put my kids in safe schools. Got stuck. Long after there's any reason to be here, I'm still here. 

Not moving very far away. Less than 20 miles, on the periphery of Kingston, but still out in the country and atop a mountain. A shorter mountain.

I will, however, be moving to an entirely different universe. I'll be living in an ordinary small town with no claim to fame, populated by people with a lot more sense and much smaller egos. No flocks of tourists.

The reason? I'm going in with my daughter and son-in-law to buy a house. They need all the help I can give them to care for my three grandkids, and I'm retired and happy to play the role of Mr. Mom. So, we'll be building an in-law unit in the basement of the new house for me. I'll be selling my house in Woodstock.

I've never lived in the town of Woodstock. That's too damned crazy. Town is full of rental houses for the transients, and shops and amenities for the tourists. The transients are artists, usually musicians or painters. An entertaining but addled bunch trying to continue to live the hippie dream.

No, I've always lived in isolation in the forest in the mountains to the west of Woodstock. That area belongs spiritually to Woodstock, isolated from the melodrama and mental illness. Every crazy artist and burned out far leftist must live for a while in Woodstock.

Another reason for the move is that I need somebody to look after me. I'm headed toward 70. No serious health problems, but living in isolation out in the mountains will soon be too much for me to handle. And, if I fall down or have a serious health problem, I will need to have somebody nearby to help me. 

While I'm still completely independent, capable and mobile, I am old.

I'll be Woodstuck until my house sells. Might be a year or two. Or might happen in a hurry.

I'm ready. God has blessed the final chapter of my life... He has given me these beautiful and fascinating grandkids and He's given me a big role in rearing them.

I'll be commuting to my babysitting gig until the house sells. Then, Crazy Grandpa will move into the basement apartment. Happy days ahead, indeed.