MM; the dancin’ fool

I felt we were right in the middle of a significant social event. If we assume Luigi Mangione is indeed guilty of murder, how people react to this murder tells me a lot more about them than the actual event. We have, in our hands, a morally right but legally wrong action. And how you see it and react to it is very telling of your character.

So let’s break it down.

UnitedHealth is part of an oppressive and exploitative system. We know this company (and other health insurance companies) put their own profit over human lives. We know the company had engaged in extremely problematic practices to deny patients’ claims. We know there are roughly 650,000 personal bankruptcies every year in the US. And we know UnitedHealth and other insurance companies are the reason for 60% of those bankruptcies.

We know this corrupted and exploitative system is entirely legal.

We know there’s virtually no way for normal regular people to push for a change. There’s no bill for us to vote. Our petitions fell on deaf ears because our politicians are bought by health insurance lobbyists.

Everything health insurance companies do is legal. They can roll out a policy that dictates what medicine is covered and what isn’t. They can send you to an out-of-network lab for your lab work, even if the clinic and the doctor you see are in-network. They can decide how long they are willing to pay for anesthesia for a surgery.

And there’s NOTHING we can do as regular people. There’s no free market for us to pick and choose because EVERY SINGLE HEALTH INSURANCE COMPANY follows the same practice, more or less. Every single one of them is a for-profit organization that prioritizes shareholder revenue growth over actual human lives.

That is the system we live in. It is a corrupted, exploitative, cruel, inhumane system, and there’s nothing we can do to change.

We would like to believe we live in a civilized society where non-violent protest and policy changes through proper channels are entirely sufficient to push for improvements.

In a world where one can push for social changes via legal proceedings or policy changes through their representatives, yes, violence is never the answer.

But do we live in that world?

When was the last time any politician submitted a bill to the House or Senate to strengthen regulation of insurance companies so they couldn’t deny claims so easily and arbitrarily? Every other developed country, some developing countries as well, has universal healthcare, except for the good old USA.

If an enslaved person killed his slave master in, say, 1812 in South Carolina. Was the enslaved person a “cold-blooded murderer?” After all, slavery was entirely legal back then. If an abused woman back in the 14th century killed her husband when he was beating and raping her, was the woman a cold-blooded murderer? After all, a woman could not divorce her husband for the majority of history, and marital rape was entirely legal until 1993.

If you were an esteemed gentleman or respectable lady of the South, would you shake your head and say, “Violence is never the answer! Sure, the slave master had killed many slaves and sold their families for profit. But violence is never the answer!”

We all imagine ourselves as the hero in historical events. We all imagine we would help our Jewish neighbors and help runaway slaves. And yet, we are living in a historical event that requires a tiny bit of bravery against the ruling class, social decorum, and the status quo. Here you are, saying, “Violence is never the answer.”

And when you see other people debating the morality of this issue and perhaps praise the vigilante action, you wave your hands and say, “Oh, people watch way too many movies. Hollywood loves to glorify a lone gunman who went on a rampage of vengeance, and you have a bunch of morons who couldn’t think for themselves and follow the stupid propaganda.”

Really? You think a lone hero fight against a corrupted and oppressed system is a Hollywood thing? Perhaps you should read more history.

People praise Luigi Mangione as a folk hero because that’s what he is, a folk hero. He stood against a powerful and corrupted system, and he made a statement with violence. That is, historically, what folk heroes do. John Brown was a folk hero. He led the abolition movement long before the Civil War when slavery was considered legal. Hua Mulan was a folk hero. She joined the army when women were not allowed to fight in the military, and she protected her nation and her family. Robin Hood was a folk hero because he committed crimes against the ruling class while helping the poor. Marsha P. Johnson was a folk hero because she was instrumental in the Stonewall Riot, eventually leading to policy changes for the LGBTQ+ community. All of them were criminals. All of them broke the law. Folk heroes are people who are operating OUTSIDE the legal confines of society to fight against injustice.

Luigi Mangione didn’t just kill Brian Thompson because he had a personal grudge against him. Unlike incels and domestic terrorists who lash out in anger and shoot up a school full of children and teachers, Mangione didn’t go out and hurt innocent random people. He picked a powerful man whose decisions and actions directly result in harm and misery. His action is the definition of punching up. Everything he has done so far is carefully planned out to make a statement. His action had indeed brought attention to our healthcare system. People from left and right had already found common ground against the evil practices of health insurance companies. They shared stories on social media and found solidarity with each other. Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield had already rolled back their stupid new policy about charging people extra for anesthesia if the surgery ran long.

So yes, Luigi Mangione is a criminal (if convicted) and a folk hero.

I personally will not go out and kill anyone simply because I have neither the physical ability nor the mental fortitude to carry out such an act. But if I were selected as a juror for Mr. Mangione’s trial, I would give him a not guilty verdict. So, it would either be jury nullification or a hung jury.


For all of you “good” people citing Dr. King about “non-violent” protests against injustice, let me remind you that at the time of the Civil Rights movement, Dr. King was deeply unpopular in mainstream media.

Dr. King wrote about his opinion on the so-called “White Moderate”, in his famous Letter from a Birmingham Jail:

I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

He’s talking about you. So perhaps let’s not cite the greatest folk hero of modern America, who was convicted of multiple crimes.

When I was in High School, I was a member of a Masonic organization for that age group. I and my friends had a meeting one time and a local older man delivered a talk to us, which was enlightening to us, but he ended the talk with a puzzling statement. He said ““remember, it’s later than you think”.

When we later reviewed what he said,we were told by our Advisor that this man had lost his only son in a private airplane crash , in a field right where the speaker was. This has encouraged me to be aware that we don’t know what is around the next corner in life, and that we should live life to its fullest.

Poc Chuc

This is delicious served with canned hominy, drained, sautéed in a little butter and heated through with some sour cream. Garnish hominy with chopped fresh cilantro.

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724838b13ab5455ae6fc277cc1f03895

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

  • 4 boneless pork blade steaks, about 1/2 inch thick
  • 1 large red onion, sliced
  • 1/2 cup fresh Mexican lime juice
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon cayenne

Instructions

  1. Place pork and onions in a self-sealing plastic bag.
  2. Combine remaining ingredients and pour over pork; seal bag and refrigerate for 2 to 4 hours.
  3. Lift pork steaks from marinade, brushing off onions.
  4. Broil or grill over hot coals for 8 to 10 minutes, turning once.
  5. Heat onions and marinade to boiling.
  6. Serve onions with pork steaks and warmed tortillas.

Donald Trump Tariffs Against China Just Backfired on the US Economy!

Thank you POET Technologies for sponsoring today’s video on China Tariffs. The US China Trade War will continue in 2025 and although Trump has promised 100% tariffs on China the simple reality is the US can NOT tariff China without hurting the US Economy. China has retaliated against US tariffs and started their own round of sanctions. What happens next in the US China Trade War? Let’s break it down in today’s video!

The War of the Feather Duster

Submitted into Contest #24 in response to: Write a story set in the dark recesses of space where the two main characters are often at odds with each other in humorous and comedic ways. view prompt

Lily Kingston

“I never thought it was possible for a person to be so damn arrogant!” Zed screamed as he slammed the front door of his house. “Your ass better stay on your own damn asteroid or I’ll kick it all the way to one of Jupiter’s moons!”Through the blinds of his window, Zed glared at the abyss of space outside his personal asteroid upon which his house sits. His eyes zoned in on the house of his one and only neighbor, Mandy. Across the asteroid belt, he saw Mandy’s front door fly open and her step out in a space suit with a brick in hand. She threw the brick and shattered Zed’s window as it landed in his living room. A tight vacuum sucked in from the broken window. Grumbling under his breath, Zed slapped some Flex Tape ™ on it. “Crazy woman,” he muttered, then looked down at the brick. There was a note on it.Crouching down, he picked up the note. I didn’t steal your damn duster! Zed scoffed. “That’s just what a duster-stealer would say,” yelling louder so Mandy could hear him this time, he added. “I know you stole my duster ten years ago! I bet my house on it!”“As if!” Mandy hollered back.“That duster took forever to be shipped here from Earth, Mandy! I’m getting it back!”“I ain’t no thief!”“Yeah, right,” Zed remarked under his breath.Staring at the mess of glass in his living room, Zed realized he had spent enough time arguing and definitely has to swept up this mess. “Damn, when does that woman ever stop causing problems for me.”Zed glared at his closet door. Space-spider webs covered the knob. He hasn’t cleaned anything in years. Signing, he twisted it open and saw its crooked shelves propped up by a singular wooden broom. Slowly, just as he thought the broom was free from being Altas, and was about to carefully make his exit, the shelves can clamoring down.“Juck!” He cursed as debris cluttered at his feet.Something tapped his ankle. As he looked down, his eyes widened. It was the feather-duster.“Oh, juck.”Zed paced around his living room with the blinds closed and the duster in hand. “Oh, juck. Oh, juck. Oh, juck.”What the juck was he supposed to do? Apologize for his wrong actions? Admit he was wrong? To Mandy??No! Those were all horrible options!Then, he stopped pacing a sly smile grew on his face. “What if Mandy never knows it was here?” He cracked open his blinds and peeled at Mandy’s house. “Because I’m going to sneak it into her house before she ever finds out.”Zed didn’t bother to wait until ‘night’ or anything because what night? He’s in space! Instead, he immediately suited up and floated under the asteroids, out of sight, to Mandy’s house. He entered through a window in the basement. His weak muscles barely pulled him through the vacuum as he flopped onto the floor. “Man,” he mumbled as he stood up. “These houses were not designed for space.”After fumbling around looking for the staircase upstairs, Zed just ended up wiggling off a loose vent panel and shimming his body through the vent. He peeked out the occasional vent, using it to navigate through the house. Finally, he found himself in Mandy’s master bedroom while she was taking a shower.Zed pounded his fingers through the vent and tries to shake it off, but the metal held firm. “Juck!” He cursed as he heard the water turn off. Mandy would come out of the bathroom any minute now.Rushed to get out, he left the duster inside the air vent and shimmered back to the basement, went out the window, and made his daring escape by floating casually back to his house.Goosebumps run up and down Mandy’s arms. “Why is it so cold in here?” She asked herself as she pulled on a second sweater. “Geez, don’t tell me there’s something wrong with the furnace again. Ugh! It’s going to take so long to get a repairman here!”Mandy drastically pounded on the thermostat, but the temperature stayed the same. Then, she heard a quick rat-a-tat-tat-tat coming from her air vent. Slowly, she crept over to it, wondering if something was inside. She used her nails to unscrew the vent and remove it. Inside, she pulled out… the feather duster. Mandy went white.“Oh, juck. Oh, juck. Oh, juck. Oh, juck.” She softly cursed to herself.

She had been the one with the feather duster, she thought. Mandy began pacing. What the juck was she supposed to do? Apologize for her wrong actions? Admit she was wrong? To Zed??

No! Those were all horrible options!

Mandy’s Mind scrambled for a solution. Wait a minute, she thought, if I hide it in Zed’s house, he’ll never know

 

Mandy broke into Zed’s house from a sky light on the roof because I guess just juck breaking and entering laws in space, right? Tiptoeing around, she looked for any convincing hiding spot to but the duster. A hungry stomach lead her to the kitchen.

As she stole all of Zed’s leftover pizza, an idea hit her. Underneath the fridge! Who cleans under there? Quickly, she stuffed the pizza in her mouth and the duster under the fridge as Zed’s footsteps approached. She dove behind the couch for cover as Zed opened the fridge looking for his leftover pizza. “What?” He asked himself. “I don’t remember eating it…”

Mandy nibbled on the crust in silence.

Zed tsked and closed the door. Instead, he grabbed a glass and filled with ice. Mandy’s eyes widened in horror as a cube slipped and slid under the fridge. Zed groaned and swiped underneath… only to have his hand find the feather duster.

With a fearful expression of his own, Zed pulled it out. Oh juck! I thought I hide this in Mandy’s house! What is this some kind of boomerang duster? Zed thought.

Swiftly, Zed grabbed his space suit and headed out the door. After it slammed shut, Mandy emerged from her hiding spot and watched from the window Zed hiding the duster back inside her house. “That punk!” She exclaimed, ironically. “How dare he tried to shift the blame and hide the duster in my house!”

 

Zed came back inside his house to find a Mandy with a crooked grin sitting on his couch. “What are you doing here, Mandy?” He asked.

“What were you doing in my house?” She remarked.

His face paled. “Nothing.”

Mandy wagged her finger in front of his face. “I don’t think so. You were hiding the duster because you were the one who had it along.”

“Ok, fine!” He confessed. “I found the feather duster but–wait a minute, how did you get into my house without me knowing? And how did you get back here just as I hide it?” He stepped closer. “And how did you know I was even hiding it, or that I had it?”

“I–well,” Mandy stuttered.

“You hid it in my house first!” Zed declared.

“I so did not!” She shouted. “How do I know you didn’t hide it first!”

Zed gasped. “Like I would ever do something so scandalous as that!” He lied.

“I just saw you hiding it,” she snapped.

He crossed his arms. “That doesn’t prove anything. You don’t know if it was originally in my house!”

“And you can’t prove it was in mine!” She hollered back.

“You wanna bet!” Zed screamed with a red face.

Mandy stuck her finger in Zed’s face, opened her mouth to say something before a confused expression flickered across her face as something outside the window caught the corner of her eye. “Wait a second, where’s the duster now?”

“It’s in your house.”

Mandy glanced back at the object. It was the duster. Just floating in space. “No it’s not.” Mandy pointed. “It’s right there.”

Zed twisted his neck to see it. “Oh, juck.”

I must have forgotten to close the window all the way.

 

“I guess that’s one way to solve the problem.”

The Noun Project

A collection of icons and symbols from artists around the world. It’s a great resource for designers or anyone looking for unique icons.

Noun Project

Some examples of the content…

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screen 2024 12 15 07 30 54

MM’s AI adventures

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(17)
AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(17)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 2(13)
AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 2(13)
AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(16)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 0(16)
AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(12)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(15)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(11)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(14)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(10)
AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(10)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(13)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(6)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 2(4)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(3)
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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(2)
AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(2)
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Imposter syndrome

I wonder if any of my Boomer generation round here has a sort of “imposter syndrome” relating to their age. I’m 63, so, obviously, I’m way past being an adult. But I still feel like, when am I going to grow up and be a Big People? Somehow I became an old fart and I’m not even certain that I attained adulthood.

The Pink Floyd song “Time” has a lyric that says “..and then one day you find, ten years have got behind you, no one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.” And honestly, that’s exactly how I feel, except it’s 40 or 50 years that got behind me, and I’m still waiting for that starting gun.

Space Oreos

Submitted into Contest #24 in response to: Write a story set in the dark recesses of space where the two main characters are often at odds with each other in humorous and comedic ways. view prompt

Julia Vonalean

They’d finally run out of oreos. It took months, but finally, finally, they’d run out–the last one accidentally ejected into space. Sirius stood stewing in front of the glass window of his ship. It wasn’t his fault the oreo had been in that little cup he’d tossed in the trash. Oren was the one who had hidden it there, figured he’d never find it.He hadn’t. Obviously. Which was why it was floating in space right now instead of in his stomach. Sirius scowled at the speckles of light drifting out of the immense black.“Go see the stars,” they said, “they’re beautiful up there in space.” They said. Yeah well, Sirius wished he could haul those freaks up here and make them stare at the murderous fireballs for fifteen months in a broken down ship, with no outside contact and then see how beautiful they thought the stars were.Stupid stars. They could blink out of existence for all he cared–the people too.The ship had been quiet since their malfunctioning, sandwich loving AI had decided to go completely silent until they were – as she put it – ‘found by certain functioning individuals who could clearly state which sandwich was their favorite as well as help them out of this black hole of utter despair’.Stupid ship. He was decidedly disappointed in his ship’s ability to…well…move.”It’s not your ship.” Oren said from the deck where he spun aimlessly in the only swivel chair in the ship. Sirius turned to glare at him. Sometimes he thought his friend could read minds, other times he thought Oren just psychoanalyzed everyone like some villainous creep. Which….he was, a villain–that is—not a creep.”So how come we only installed ONE swivel chair?” Sirius said, stepping away from the ship’s window. Oren shrugged.”We should have installed two, because there are two of us.””Are there.” Oren said idly.Who knew, really, one of them could be imaginary by now. But imaginary or not…Sirius took another step forward. “Up. My turn in the chair.”Oren gave himself another spin.”Oren.””There’s a perfectly good chair over there.” Oren said, still spinning.”It doesn’t swivel.” Sirius said.”Sad.”Sirius glared at Oren, the little….. But instead of grabbing him by his perfectly manicured hair and hauling him off the chair, Sirius walked towards the doorway. “No prob. I’ll just go look through your knives.” Behind him the chair came to a halt. Slipping out the entrance, Sirius broke into a jog through the steel hallway of the ship.”Don’t you dare touch them! That’s my emotional support knife collection!” Oren hollered from the deck.Sirius made his way down the hallway of the ship to the third room to the right. Oren’s studious room. It used to have a lock, but now the door knob was completely gone. Sirius shoved the door open. He had melted the knob a few weeks back. Some of his finest work, if he did say so himself.Oren’s room looked like a real life replica of perfection: it was white–the walls and ground and ceiling-and there was a bed directly across, its stark sheets laid across the mattress more smoothly than Sirius could ever get his hair to lay. To the side of that was a desk, bolted and firm, with a spotless furnish and all the drawers safely locked. He’d have to see about melting those knobs later, maybe to get back at Oren for being responsible for the loss of their last oreo. For now though, there was the matter of the swivel chair and the knives. On the right side of the bed was a sparkling glass showcase, inside which was the most impressive knife collection Sirius had ever seen. And they weren’t just ordinary knives, there were knives from nearly every person Oren had ever fought — and then some which he had picked up from one market or another. Sirius leaned closer to get a better view of a smaller knife, its blade was shaped like a half moon. It—“STEP.AWAY.FROM.MY.KNIVES.” Oren growled from behind him. It was the voice he was famous for, the one that said ‘I’m a master villain and I’m to be feared’. At least that’s what it said to anyone who didn’t know him as well as Sirius. He turned with a smirk. “Oh calm down, I haven’t even touched them.” Oren stood in the doorway, stiff and imposing in his suit of white with gold trimmings. He glared at Sirius a good moment before stalking forward to inspect his knives.”See? They’re perfectly fine.” Sirius said, “in fact they’re perfectly wonde–“”You breathed on it.” Oren huffed.”I…breathed…on, what?”Oren went back to glaring at him. “The glass. You breathed on the glass.””But it doesn’t look any different.” Sirius said.

“It does too.” Oren insisted, “it just takes a sophisticated eye to see it.”

Sirius snorted.

“Okay Back! Back back back!” Oren said, waving him out of the room. “The next thing I know you’ll be sneezing on it.”

“Alright, I’m going.” Sirius said walking out. He hesitated in the doorway, watching as Oren glanced back at his precious collection. Sirius grinned as he watched Oren’s eyes snag on the tiny empty place on the far edge of the display case. Oren looked back at Sirius, and then, the man smiled.

A heartbeat later Sirius smelled the smoke.

Two heartbeats and the ship’s fire resistance system blared active.

Five. Sirius was pelting down the hallway to his bedroom and—and, it was in flames.

His…his bedroom was on fire. How was THAT even possible! The thing was made of steel. But…not everything else was: the furniture, the bed, the—“OREN!” He yelled, gripping the sides of his doorway. The vents opened in his room and released a white gas that filled the room, snuffing each hungry flame as if it were a boot and they–bugs. And then it sucked the remnant gasses back into the vents, sealing them again. Leaving behind a black scorched, smoke smelling, grave of bed-sheets and used-to-be-valuable collectables.

“Well” Oren said from the hallway behind him, “That’s a sight.”

“I can’t believe this…You don’t just set someone’s room on fire!” Sirius gestured wildly to his once semi-nice bedroom.

“Says the person who melted my door knob.” Oren said.

“You put A SCORPION IN MY BOOT.”

“Because you lost my knife.”

“I…” Sirius paused. “Well, it went to a good cause.”

Oren raised an eyebrow.

“Oh come on, scratching my initials on your armor is a wonderful cause,” Sirius turned to inspect his nearly nonexistent bed, “not my fault it somehow wandered off after that.”  He poked his mattress and it dissolved into ashes. “Wonderful.”

Oren leaned against the wall. “Anyway, you’ve gotta admit, Sirius, I did pretty good hooking up the ventilation just right so you’d smell the smoke exactly a second before the alarms went off.” Oren said proudly.

Sirius wiped his now ash colored finger on his clothes and deliberately refused to look at his friend. Stinkin villain, had to be so good at his job.  “I suppose you can do pretty good cleaning this up as well,” he said, “and replacing all my very valuable collectibles once we get rescued from this useless bucket of steel.”

“Hmm. I think I’m going to go on over to the Kitchen and look for something to eat while grieving the tragic loss of our last oreo cookie, instead.” Oren said, walking away.

“Hey!” Sirius barked, spinning from the sorry remnants of his collectibles. Oren was already gone. But he wasn’t going to get out of this, not this time. The oreo cookie–which was not his fault, in fact, it was Oren who tried to hoard them all up for himself in the first place–was the least of Oren’s worries. He grabbed a heavy bag from his closet and stalked down the hall towards the kitchen.

“OREN!”

Nothing, no sound. Except the thrumming of the horrid prison he’d been trapped in for what seemed like forever now. And he didn’t even have a stupid oreo cookie to solace him. Why? Because of Oren, because he stuck it in a cup.  He rounded the corner of the kitchen section of the ship and stopped short. Oren was sitting on the table there, eating cookies. Chocolate chip cookies.

“You’ve had those this whole time!” Sirius exclaimed.

Oren stuffed the last one in his mouth.

“You could have left the oreos for me.” Sirius said, jerking his bag open. “But instead you put the last one in a cup.”

“A clean cup,” Oren said, swallowing. “It was most certainly clean.”

He reached into the bag, “honestly I really don’t care.”

“And I’m not going to help you cle–” Oren paused, “hey, what’s in the bag…”

Sirius chunked a shoe at him. Steel-toed, well made, firm as a rock. Made throwing it feel gorgeous. Oren gave a sound like a strangled mouse as he scrambled off his perch and out of the path of the wrathful footwear. It slammed uselessly into the wall behind. Sirius chunked another.

“Hey!” Oren yelped, ducking behind the counter, “What in the universe are you doing?”

“Throwing shoes at you.” Sirius said. Obviously.

“Now now. Heroes aren’t supposed to hurt their villain friends.” Oren said from behind the counter.

“Ah yes,” Sirius said, “except that doesn’t really matter right now, because if it weren’t for you wanting to run off and save the world from imminent disaster, I’d be safely on a planet eating as many oreos as I want.”

“Well then, you’re welcome. That would be incredibly unhealthy.” Oren said.

Sirius threw a gold trimmed boot. It plunked against the counter. Oren peeped up to stare at it, and then ducked right in time as he hurled the boot’s pair.

“Actually,” Oren muttered, “I’m rather concerned why you have so many shoes.”

“If I wasn’t in a broken down ship in the middle of nowhere, with no hopes of ever making it back to civilization, those shoes would be quite valuable!” Sirius wasn’t even aiming for Oren anymore. He catapulted a pink dotted pair of tennis shoes into the far wall, they hit it with a satisfying thump.

Oren stood, staring at him. “You mean to tell me….you collect shoes.”

Sirius threw a bright yellow sandal at Oren’s face. It didn’t even get close, of course. Oren looked at the sandal and then back up at Sirius.

“You’re a shoe collector!” He broke out laughing, gripping the sides of the counter. “How did I not know this sooner!”

Sirius paused his onslaught of shoe missiles, there was only like, one more left in the bag anyway. “They’re very expensive. And valuable.” he said in his defense.

Oren only laughed harder.

“Took me a long time to collect them all too.” He muttered under his breath.

“I’ll”–Oren said between gaspy breaths–“make sure to leave you my shoes when I die. Something to remember me by.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and tossed his bag in the corner. “I’d probably eject them into space if you did, like the oreo.”

Oren managed to stop laughing enough to bow his head and murmur, “we shall forever grieve your greatest mistake, Sirius.”

“MINE?”

“Yes.” Oren said, “You killed Mr. Oreo.”

Sirius opened his mouth to object when the entire ship beeped, as if jolting awake.

“What did my ship just do?” Sirius rubbed his ears, glancing around.

“Um…it’s not your ship. It’s mine. Remember? I convinced the previous owner to give it in exchange for his life.” Oren said.

“That’s not how I remem—” Sirius began.

“SANDWICHES.” A crisp, emotionless voice vibrated from the ship’s speakers. “THE LIFE-BLOOD OF MANKIND.”

“Hey Sandie!” Oren exclaimed happily.

“Welcome back weird, malfunctioning AI who secretly wants to murder us with sandwiches and false facts.” Sirius said. “Guess you got bored, huh.”

“HUNGRY?” The ship’s AI said.

“For people.” Sirius muttered. “And better company.”

“CANNIBALISM, PERFECT.” The AI said. “THERE IS A SHIP ENTERING THIS SECTOR AS WE SPEAK.”

A ship? Sirius met Oren’s gaze for a single life changing moment as the realization sunk in.

“We’re saved.” Sirius whispered.

They both raced for the console, and started broadcasting their existence to anyone listening. The radio fuzzed in and out for a few seconds before finally the first voice they’d heard in months came over as clear as the black in space.

“Unknown transporter. This is Fate-12, prepare for boarding.”

Sirius grinned, unholstering the pistol at his side. Oreos here I come.

There are a lot of things I like about being in my eighties. For one thing, I don’t worry about most of the things I worried about when I was young (or even just younger). You know, from will I be able to get a date, to am I good enough to go to grad school, or can we really afford to buy a house, or what happens if our kid gets sick, or will I get tenure, or what will we do in retirement and can we afford it and how good is our health insurance, to what will I do now? I don’t have to worry about any of those life-things.

I realize I’ve been lucky to remain healthy and active into my eighties – even though my wife did not, and I live comfortably in the small home we purchased nearly fifty years ago in a small and quiet community in a very pretty area. So even though I’m not wealthy by the usual standards, I don’t live extravagantly and hence don’t worry about money (which is the cause of many people’s worries). I can generally do most of the things I want to do, and although fully retired I still live a productive life, have things I’m looking forward to, and have friends of all ages that I love spending time with.

That could all change, I realize, given my age. But as long as I am healthy and active, I am quite okay being the age I am.

I’m coming up to 77 and have various health isdues and constant pain, some days are better than others but I refuse to give up. Still play my piano and organ but can’t spend the time playing I use to. Could practice for 6 hours plus a day but now I’, lucky if I can do an hour before the pain in my spine stops me, just compression fractures, scoliosis and osteoporosis but life is still worth living and if I had to live for much longer I’d be glad. I panicked a bit at 60 but then got my pension and soon forgot about age. Happened when I was 70 and now it’s a number and I value each day and thank God for each day. Still do my housework, look after my hubby and aged sisters. Not as agile or can’t rush around as quick as I could when younger but still get on. I use a walker when out but no stick indoors. Have an electric mobility ‘buggy’ in our camper for the supermarket. Have a good sense of humour and I’m a chatty person but lije quiet times too. Don’t give up as to is the 30 nowadays. Perhaps worry when you hit 100!

A chap of 92 just played the piano on the tv. Also known another pianist in her mid 90’s and is a professional pianist. My sis in law at 80 composes beautiful music, is a choir mistress and professional pianist. Go get a piano and learn to play as you are not too old. My hubby started just a couple of years ago thought he couldn’t ever play both hands together and then found he was wrong. I taught him how to play simple chord accompaniment to start with. I had 3 strokes aged 28 and lost my ability to memorise music and had to reteach myself to play again. Willpower and cussedness! I sight read now and even tackling harder more advanced pieces. I just love music. Started learning at 5 years old. Wanted to be a concert pianist but ‘fate’ got in the way. But still play for my own enjoyment.

Don’t give up find a hobby, mix with others as life is not over at 60. Get a check up just in case you are anaemia or need vitamins.

Money.

Money can’t buy immortality, but it can make a huge difference in how peaceful or miserable one’s passing will be.

Ubers make up for one’s lost drivers license. Family is nice, but not always nice. Money can hire assistants who are loving and honest and kind. Money can allow you to fire any assistants who are not loving and honest and kind. Money can make a home handicap accessible. Money can allow a person to choose the very best assisted-living or nursing home, and can pay for carers to come in and provide more personal attention.

Money alone is not enough to create happiness inside a person. But money alone can help that person to be physically and financially comfortable. A lack of money means a lack of power and control over one’s life.

We theoretically sneer at people who focus too much on money, even as we worship billionaires. It would be more reasonable to teach ourselves and our children to enjoy health and life, while young, but saving what we reasonably can for our miserable old age. We can keep our car for one additional year. We have to fix the roof today, but we can cut corners a little bit on redecorating the kitchen. Save a dollar to match every dollar we spend on pleasure.

Do as I say, not as I do. I could have saved more, but I’ve got a bit of a nest egg. It helps me sleep at night.

Slow Cooker Brisket Sofrito

Slow Cooker Brisket Sofrito is an excellent filling for corn or flour tortillas.

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a9df75a7867951f8567ab0d0bb9947e1

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 (3 pound) brisket
  • 2 teaspoons salt, + extra after cooking
  • 2 teaspoons freshly ground pepper, + extra after cooking
  • 1 large onion, sliced
  • 4 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 (12 ounce) jar tomato Sofrito
  • 1 teaspoon ground chipotle chili (or more for an extra kick)

Instructions

  1. Season brisket on both sides with salt and pepper.
  2. Place onion and garlic in a 3 1/2 to 5 quart slow cooker. Place brisket on onions and garlic, fat side up. Pour Sofrito over brisket and sprinkle chipotle chili over sauce. Cover and cook on LOW for 9 to 10 hours or until brisket is fork tender.
  3. Carefully remove brisket from cooker with as little sauce as possible. Place on cutting board and cut into three pieces cross grain. Shred beef with two forks and return to cooker. Stir into sauce and season with salt and pepper (and a little more chipotle seasoning if you like it spicy).
  4. Serve with tortillas and other desired toppings.

This Fan costs ₹ 9,199/- in India retail to the customer

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main qimg b1470e0db36346234cf93e68874cb5cc

In Shenzhen, it costs 650 Yuan retail and 500 Yuan on a MOQ of 200 pieces

Factory price 380–400 Yuan to manufacture & assemble

It retails in Europe for € 249 and US for $ 185–230

So when this company Atomberg decides to sell in US and quotes $ 150 a piece, the US and EU laugh and say “We have offers at $ 70 a piece from Shenzhen”

In India they may have protectionism but in Europe or US it would cost almost $ 300 to make these fans and then retail them for $ 450–500

So buying at 70 Bucks a piece is godsend and helps them make at least 90 Dollars profit

That is how China works

It keeps the ever burdened middle class still capable of affording stuff

You can pick up a Hair Dryer for 8–10 Dollars today thanks to China

You can pick up a top notch iphone for 1100 Dollars today instead of 2300–2500 Dollars each

Your Lawnmower motor comes from China and costs $ 140 to replace instead of $ 600–650 it would have taken for a Made in US lawnmower

You can have 8 Solar Panels installed for $ 1900 instead of $ 6000 it would have cost you a decade ago

Hell in India – A Home Solar Panel Grid in 2013 costing ₹ 4 Lakh now costs ₹ 1.2 Lakh


How can China ever lose the Trade War?

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main qimg 780070da65459b1d6d95d85afc57621d

A German company comes to China, places orders for 2,000 Curling Irons for 300 Yuan a piece asking for their logo to be branded on the curling irons and places orders for printing boxes with their logos and printing manuals in German

That’s € 38 a piece

Retails for € 118 – € 120 a piece in Europe

Same factory gets a Japanese company at 2 PM and a Hungarian Company at 3 PM

Japanese place 1,000 Orders for 340 Yuan and Hungarians place 800 Orders for 370 Yuan

One factory makes exactly the same curling irons, brands them with 3 brands, 3 boxes, 3 user manuals in Hungarian, Japanese and German

One retails for € 118–120 in Germany

Another retails for € 87 in Budapest (36,000 Florints)

Another for € 80 in Tokyo (13,000 Yen)

The Chinese Factory makes all the 3,800 Orders and earns 1.236 Million Yuan

A profit of 8% means around 100,000 Yuan after taxes

Win – Win isn’t it?

Guess how much curling irons cost in 2000?

Around € 100

So thanks to China – Europeans are STILL PAYING the same price for Curling Irons as they did 20 years ago!!!!!

Make them in Germany and they would retail at € 350


Take India

In 2013 – a Inferior Micromax Phone, a Low Quality Crap Phone cost ₹ 17,000/- and if you wanted a smartphone you either paid ₹17,000/- for a crap micromax Or Lava Or Intex Or had to cough up ₹40K for a Samsung or ₹ 60K for an Iphone 5

The Micromax was 50% the quality of the Iphone Or Samsung but around 40% of the Price

Now for the SAME ₹17,000/- you get a phone that is 90% Iphone quality at around 20% of the price !!

In ten years!!!!!

China again!!!


It’s Economics!!!!!!

You can never lose

Hence why it’s called Win – Win Economics

You think US can fight economics and win?

Impossible

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main qimg 05102c66ea00452efc7c383db27c1397

Only way to do so is to CREATE ANOTHER CHINA

Or just give up, lift your hands and enjoy Chinese Prices

That’s ultimately what’s the end game here

This is actually a compilation of things a great-uncle, my grandmother, and parents told me, with a dash of what I would say now that I’m old myself.

I remember asking an elderly relative what it was like to be old. I was 14 or 15 at the time. And he was probably in his early 60s, younger than I am now. He paused, and I started to think he was going to give me a hard time for calling him old.

But he said, “When you’re young and looking ahead, it seems like you have all the time in the world, years and years and years. But when you get older and you’re looking back, it seems like it went by in a flash. You were young , you had children,” and he snapped his fingers. “And just like that they’re grown up and off having their own families. And the same goes for work and building a home for yourself. Happened in a flash.”

“The hard part is every one starts dying. One by one your parents, aunts, uncles, then cousins and siblings, all go. And people you knew since you were kids, and people you used to work with.”

“You go to where you used to hang out and suddenly out of the corner of your eye you see someone and think it’s them. ‘Oh, there’s John or there’s Susie!’ then you remember they’re dead and you’ll never see them again.”

“And you get nostalgic, sometimes for people you weren’t so close to but you were young together. And it’s pleasant to visit with people who remember them too. You reminisce about your adventures. You marvel at how stupid or rash you were, what poor judgement you had, and how lucky you were. And you’re grateful you survived.”

“One good thing about being old is you are never at a loss for stories to tell.”

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Carl Zha talks to tech expert TP Huang on why the US chip sanction against China have failed and why Chinese tech people feeling confident that the West will not be able to compete with China, How Huawei was able to defeat the US sanction to be an unstoppable tech giant.