Here’s my latest video for the Sir Whiskerton LoFi world. This one is about the Farmer. Please, when you get a chance, please visit it on YouTube so that I can get some eyeballs on it.
I would appreciate it.
Oh, yeah. Like, and subscribe.
Dixie gun works.
I used to buy 100% functional black powder fully-operational gun kits from this operation called Dixie Gun Works.
I would spend a year perfecting my pistol or rifle.
This was back in the 1970’s and you all must remember that I was from Western Pennsylvania and it was a different time and a different place.
Here’s in honor of that company…
Today…
What’s the saddest “card declined” moment you’ve seen?
While at work I had noticed a mother with her three children shopping for groceries.
The mother had two toddlers and her oldest daughter looked to be around 12 or 13 years of age.
The oldest daughter was so helpful to the mother as they shopped. Keeping her sisters occupied while her mother shopped.
Well when it came time to checkout the mother asked the daughter if she wanted anything since she was so helpful. The daughter grabbed a candy bar from the shelf and put it on the belt.
When the mother went to pay for the groceries her card was declined.
But thats not the saddest part.
The saddest part was the daughter thought her candy bar was the reason her mothers card was declined.
She quickly apologized to her mom and told her that she didn’t need the candy bar.
The mother didn’t know what to do.
Well the gentleman behind them had noticed what was going on and jumped in.
He noticed a mother with her hands full trying to buy a few groceries to feed herself and her children.
So he offered to pay for her groceries.
It wasn’t much maybe $30 worth but what made the situation even better was that he added candy bars for all three children.
China is clearly a developing country. Then why do many people like to say it is a superpower?
I’m a China-lover. China is a developing country. It is absolutely not a developed country. The CPC classifies it as a developing country. The Party’s goal for China is to “attain the level of moderately developed countries in terms of per capita GDP” by 2035, and to become a developed economy by 2049–2050.
China is stronger than the USSR ever was, so it certainly is a superpower. However, the CPC would never refer to China as a superpower. It refers to China working to become “a great modern socialist country.”
It’s not the Chinese who call China developed, but the Americans. This premature designation as a “developed country” is intended to hurt China: by removing preferential policies given to developing countries by the UN, World Bank, WTO, etc., and to increase China’s global obligations and the expense of them, even as the US is now shirking those very same obligations.
Chocolate Mint Sandwich Cookies
Yield: about 2 1/2 dozen sandwich cookies
Ingredients
Cookies
- 3 cups all-purpose flour
- 3/4 cup unsweetened Dutch-processed cocoa
- 2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 2 sticks (8 ounces) unsalted butter (room temperature)
- 1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
- 1 large egg, lightly beaten
- 1 egg yolk
- 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract, divided
Filling
- 4 tablespoons cream cheese (room temperature and soft)
- 4 tablespoons butter, softened
- 2 cups confectioners’ sugar
- 1/2 teaspoon mint extract
- Peppermint candies, for decorating
Instructions
Cookies
- In a medium bowl, sift the flour with the cocoa, baking powder and salt.
- In a large bowl, using a hand-held mixer, beat the 2 sticks of butter until creamy. Add the sugar and beat until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the egg, egg yolk and 1 teaspoon of the vanilla extract. Beat until well blended.
- Add the dry ingredients and beat at low speed until moistened and a stiff, crumbly dough forms. Scrape the dough onto a sheet of plastic wrap, pat into a disk, wrap and refrigerate until chilled.
- Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Line 2 cookie sheets with parchment paper.
- Divide the dough into quarters. On a lightly floured work surface, working with one piece at a time and keeping the rest refrigerated, roll out the dough to 1/8 inch thickness. Using a 2 inch round cookie cutter, cut out as many cookies as possible and transfer to cookie sheet. You will get more cookies than cookie sheets. Put the cut cookies onto the prepared cookie sheets.
- Bake 2 sheets of cookies for 10 minutes. Halfway through the baking, switch the shelves and rotate the pans from front to back to insure even cooking.
- When ready, remove the cookies from the oven. Sprinkle half of the cookies with crushed peppermint candies and return to the oven for a minute. Remove from oven and slide the parchment onto a cooling rack. Let cookies cool completely. Repeat with remaining cookies.
Filling
- In a medium bowl, beat the remaining 4 tablespoons of butter with the cream cheese until smooth. Beat in the confectioners’ sugar, mint extract and remaining 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla extract. Spread 1 1/2 teaspoons of filling on the undecorated cookies and top with the decorated cookie.
Why does Trump’s stance on economics, specifically regarding trade deficits and tariffs, receive attention and support?
Because some people are stupid to believe Trump.
Trade Deficit
Trump’s narrative is that “they rip us USA off”.
USA has trade SURPLUS with Saudi, UK, Australia & more. Yet they are hit with 10% BASELINE tariff. … USA is ripping them off.
attract overseas investment to USA.
Japan tried to help revive a dying US steel industry by acquiring a US steel factory. But protectionist USA stopped Japan’s acquisition.
Taiwan invested/moved the high-end section of TSMC to USA in Biden era. Trump 2.0 threatened to impose tariff on the entire world & asked Taiwan to move the entire TSMC to USA. Right away Taiwan invested an extra US$100 bn in USA (on top of the original $65 bn). Yet Taiwan was hit with 32% reciprocal tariff.
SK’s Samsung has also moved a section to USA. SK-Japanese investor Son Jeong-ui (孙正义) told Trump he will invest $100 bn in USA. But SK is hit with 25% reciprocal tariff & Japan 24%.
It is proof that attracting foreign investment is a LIE. LIE & LIE.
Germany, Japan & SKorea have car factories in USA. Yet they are hit with an additional 25% CAR tariff.
domestic
Tariff = tax increase on Americans. The crazily high tariff will cause sky-high inflation in USA. Yet some Americans support Trump.
Clinically Dead 6 Minutes; Man Visits Infinite Universe And Is Shown Our Purpose On Earth (NDE)
Mid-Life Crisis – a man speaks
What did it look like? Im still in it, hence my presence on Quora, similar as to many other +40 yr old (former) bankers.
The realization of being in one is a combination of your social network telling you, wtf are you doing? and you looking in the mirror asking the same question.
I remember wasting a few hours of my life in trying to train someone on simple mortgage modelling. I became irritated, annoyed, and my tone became overly cynical, my wife was looking at me;
I didn’t need to get upset, yet somehow my face was showing red.
I started to realize after a few years that one of the features of becoming a wrinkly old prune is that two things happen
- tolerance for bullshit lowers
- a new generation arrives with complete different sense of ethics, morals and what not
And I had kids (trying) to convince me of what they thought was right.
Ok, ok, I am getting older. Fine.
Am I depressed? Nah.
Unhappy? Perhaps? I don’t know what happiness is. Content?
I don’t know. All my life I have sort of done what I wanted to do. Because the world around me changed, what I used to do, how I used to live my life, I couldn’t do that anymore. That somehow upset me.
I am not suicidal, or an alcoholic or seeking escape in drugs. I run, work and well, quora has become that “place to vent” what used to be my workplace.. and as with everything in life, my phase on Quora will at some point also lower.
I am back where I was when I was 15.
Not a bad place to be.
I will see what comes on my path. The end of the world? More covid hoaxers? A new job? Starting an animal shelter? Who knows, all is fine. No rush. Look around you in this crazy world, headless chickens running around in a hamster wheel, when you get older, no need to do so.
Eventually life will bring something new on my path. Perhaps through Quora? Perhaps somewhere else? I don’t know. Irrelevant.
I am just a X’er trying to take the most out of every day. Currently for a walk with my dog and wife in the mountains of Poland.
What’s the funniest experience you’ve had with a pet doing something unexpected?
We had a cougar prowling the neighborhood.
So everyone was on edge. Cougars grab their prey by the back of the neck, and paralyze them.
My neighbor was changing the oil in his jeep, laying on the ground under it. He felt this hot breath on the back of his neck, and a second later a cold nose, then a lick.
His first thought was, do cougars taste their prey before deciding. Then of course my mischievous pup was in his face in seconds, so the thought didn’t last long.
His wife and I thought it was funnier than he did.
Bless Me, Father, for I Have Sinned
Written in response to: “Write a story with a character pouring out their emotions.“
Michael Jefferson
“…Just listen…”
***
Brandon grinds his teeth, stepping on the car’s accelerator.
“Promise me you’ll take your medication, Beth.”
“But it makes me sleepy.”
A tall, attractive, gray-eyed brunette with undeniable style and poise, Beth is the envy of all the wives whenever Brandon can coax her into attending one of Arlington Financial’s lavish parties.
“You need to pay attention to your mental health,” Brandon scolds. “I don’t want you wandering around the neighborhood naked again.”
“The neighbors didn’t mind. Some of them took pictures.”
“This isn’t a joke, Beth.”
Beth cups her head in her hands, sobbing. “You’re still punishing me for Albert. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”
“You left our son alone to toy with the mailman.”
“…We were only talking,” Beth says between tears.
“You were flirting while our son walked out the back door, fell in the pool, and drowned.”
“…And I’ve been paying for it ever since…”
“You smoke three packs a day. You don’t eat,” Brandon snaps. “You walk around the house talking and laughing to yourself, and you see things that aren’t there. You’ve had so many afflictions the psychiatrist can’t keep up with them. You’re making yourself sick so people will pity you, and you’ll get more attention. And you know what? That makes me sick.”
Brandon pulls the car into Rexall’s parking lot. He bounds out of the car but stops short, sniffing the air.
“I smell anti-freeze. Must have a leak. Why don’t you get your prescription while I check.”
“Aren’t you worried I’ll dance around naked in the aisles?”
“Just go.”
Brandon lifts the hood of the car, checking the engine.
A battered Chevy parks near the store’s front door. Leaving the car running, a jittery man with a big nose exchanges glances with Brandon before skulking inside.
A loud pop stops Brandon from playing Mr. Fix It.
The jittery man runs out of the door, dashing to his car. Smoking the wheels, he speeds off.
The store’s pharmacist races outside. Spotting Brandon, he yells, “Call 9-1-1! We’ve been robbed, and he shot a woman!”
***
Brandon struggles to speak, his voice a whisper. “…I’ve been living with the guilt for over forty years…”
“It’s difficult to care for a loved one with mental illness,” Ronin replies, patting Brandon’s hand.
“…Her doctor called after the funeral… He’d found a tumor in Beth’s x-rays. It had been pressing against her skull… He said the tumor and her guilt were why she acted so strangely…”
“It’s not your fault, my son.”
“…Yes, it is… I couldn’t take her behavior anymore. I hired that man to shoot Beth…”
***
Brandon Bohm’s confession hangs heavy over Ronin, who reminds himself that he’s duty-bound to keep it a secret.
Brandon’s secret dies with him two days later.
***
Lionel Liversay’s criminal past is well-known. He served twenty-five years for poisoning a co-worker. Now sixty-six, Lionel needs a heart transplant, but his reputation and his rare blood type have left him with little hope of getting one.
Ronin and Lionel eye each other guardedly as they sip their tea.
“This stuff takes nasty, but at least it’s warm,” Lionel complains.
Ronin makes the sign of the cross over Lionel.
“You should save your piety for someone who believes in that crap,” Lionel says.
“It’s never too late to give yourself to the Lord, my son.”
“Sure, if it’s Jack Lord, Jon Lord, or Majorie Lord.”
“Still defiant, still cynical, even at this stage,” Ronin comments. “Who hurt you, Lionel?”
“…Everyone…”
***
Logan Liversay musses his brother’s hair, punching him on the arm. Now that he’s sixteen and hanging out with the cool kids in school, Logan has stepped up his lifetime harassment of his twelve-year-old brother.
“What’s that you’re doin’, squirt? You playin’ mad scientist again? You know, all the kids at school think you’re a weirdo, a dork. You’re actin’ like Doctor Frankenstein is messin’ up my action with the girls, and I’m getting funny looks from the guys on the basketball team ‘cause of you. You need to straighten up and fly right.”
Lionel ignores his brother, mixing the chemicals he’s created with his chemistry set.
“You hear me, squirt? Maybe you’ll hear this!” Logan says, punching Lionel on the arm.
“OW!”
Lionel’s arm jerks backward, the solution in the test tube splashing onto Logan’s arm.
Logan shrieks, “You psycho! You burned me!”
Lionel turns his head in time to see his brother’s fist hit him.
When Logan is finished beating his brother, all that remains of Lionel’s chemistry set are bits of broken glass.
Lionel and Logan sit quietly at the dinner table as their parents scream at each other from one end of the house to the other. Her eyes blackened, their mother leaves, never to be seen again.
The rest of Luther Liversay’s dinner consists of the three tumblers of Vodka he drinks while belittling his sons and cursing his departed spouse.
“You’re a useless little ant, you know that, Lionel?” Luther grumbles. “You think all that scientific mumbo jumbo and those little test tubes are gonna help you make a living?”
“Maybe I could cure cancer someday. Maybe I could help you if you ever get sick.”
“Me? I’m healthy as a horse. It’s you who looks sickly.”
Luther wobbles as he rises from his chair.
“…I got a cure for you…”
Grabbing Lionel by his long hair, Luther pulls his head back, pouring a glass of vodka down his throat.
Lionel gags.
“Don’t you dare puke! Don’t waste good booze!”
Luther’s anger fails to subside, even after Lionel mixes him another drink.
Logan gobbles down his dinner so he won’t have to be in the same room as his father and brother. Later that evening, he doubles over, complaining about stomach cramps. Over the next few days, he becomes violently ill.
As the paramedics carry Logan to the ambulance, Lionel whispers, “Bye, squirt.”
Logan falls into a coma on his way to the hospital. He dies two days later.
***
Within a week, Luther develops the same agonizing stomach pains as his late son and is taken to the hospital.
Lionel can’t hide his joy as he watches his father try to contain his pain.
“What are you grinning at, you useless ant?”
“Maybe I can help you.”
Luther can only summon enough strength to ball up his fists.
“You did this to me. You and your test tubes and your potions.”
“Yep. Like I said, I could help you… But I won’t.”
Luther lingers for another day as his intestines dissolve.
Luther’s autopsy reveals traces of hydrofluoric acid. Lionel tells the doctors that Luther, a metal worker, had probably been exposed to it while on the job.
***
Lionel boomerangs through the child services system, returning to an orphanage whenever his latest family becomes too sick to care for him or one of his science experiments blows up his room.
After working in numerous pharmacies, Lionel works as a lab assistant at Medix Chemical Company. When Lionel offers to make coffee for his coworkers, they merely view it as a kind gesture.
***
Lionel tells Father McIntire he might have gone on to become a Nobel Prize winner if he hadn’t kept a diary.
Lionel made Roger Ratelle a cup of Earl Grey tea on a Monday morning. He found the taste so sour that he only took a mouthful before throwing it away. Telling their supervisor he felt ill, Ratelle left work. He began to hallucinate, crashed his car, and was eventually taken to hospital. He died on Tuesday.
A second co-worker, Mitzi LeForge, was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday with numb legs, breathing difficulties, and chest pains. Her skin was so tender she couldn’t bear the weight of the bed sheets, and all her hair fell out. But LeForge survived, and when the police questioned her, she mentioned feeling sick after drinking a cup of coffee Lionel had given her.
The police searched Lionel’s apartment and found twelve pages of notes describing how he’d poisoned Ratelle and LeForge. They also found four types of poison in his kitchen.
“But you only served time for Roger Ratelle’s murder,” Ronin notes.
Lionel sips his tea. “Yeah. Luckily, the police only found my notes on Ratelle and LeForge, not my diary. Still, I figure I did a year for everybody I poisoned.”
Lionel yawns. “Don’t you have a christening or catechism class? I’m tired. I need a nap.”
“I’ll leave you alone then. Make sure you finish your tea. It’ll be good for you.”
***
The next afternoon, Killian stops Ronin in the hallway. Killian, who keeps an unlit vape pen in his mouth to pacify his urge to smoke, earnestly bites down on its stem.
“Lionel Liversay passed last night. He had a convulsion. It wasn’t pretty or pleasant. Shame. I got word earlier today that they’d found a compatible subject for the heart transplant he needed. He would have recovered if he’d hung on for a few more hours.”
***
A few days later, Killian knocks on Ronin’s office door.
Killian’s vape pipe points at Ronin like a divining rod searching for water. “I know you’re busy, but can you talk to Homer today? He doesn’t have any family or friends. The doctors say he’s got dementia. Homer can’t remember his own life, so he makes things up. Yesterday, he told me he was there when President McKinley was shot.”
“He probably means Kennedy,” Ronin says.
“He said McKinley’s wife, Ida, had epilepsy, and one time, when she had a fit at dinner, McKinley threw a handkerchief over her face, hoping the guests wouldn’t notice. The way Homer tells a story makes it sound like he really was there.”
“I’d expect that from a man with no last name who signed himself in and paid in cash. He enjoys being a man of mystery.”
***
Homer is one of those lucky individuals who looks infinitely younger than he probably is. The nurses have a pool to guess his age, which they estimate is between fifty-five and eighty. He has the nimble body of a gymnast, an abundant shock of styled silver hair, and his face is wrinkle-free. His tender brown eyes develop a playful glint whenever he tells one of his outrageous stories.
“Are you in pain, Homer? Feeling foggy?”
“I felt far worse at Shiloh.”
“The Battle of Shiloh was in 1862, Homer.”
“That’s right. April sixth and seventh. Twenty-three thousand casualties… Some of the wounded soldiers gave off a greenish-blue glow. We called it ‘Angel’s Glow.’ The soldiers who had the glow recovered faster like they were blessed… Yeah, I saw a lot of suffering then. It was heartbreaking on the Titanic too…”
“Are you saying you were on the Titanic when it sank?”
“I was an electrician. I got out just before they shut the watertight doors to try and save the ship. I was lucky… Did you know there were seventeen newlywed couples on board? Seven new husbands and twelve new wives survived.”
“How do you know details about events that others don’t?” Ronin asks.
“I told you before, Father, I’m a time traveler.”
“And I’m Francis of Assisi. I bet you’re just a better internet surfer than the rest of us.”
Homer’s leprechaun charm dissolves. “It’s nearly time for me to go. I want to thank everyone for letting me rest here for a while… I hear White Birch is in financial trouble… I can help.”
“Unless you’ve got access to a goldmine, there’s not much you can do.”
“I’ve got four million dollars, and I’m willing to give it to you.”
Ronin tries to contain his laughter. “How and where did you get four million dollars?”
***
Homer’s story begins in Norwalk, Connecticut, in June 1975.
Homer greets Sanford DeNiro, the President of the Second National Bank, with a warm hello.
DeNiro looks up at the clock, his bushy eyebrows rising. “Right on time, as usual, Homer. You keep showing this kind of dedication and excellent work, and you’ll have my job!”
The bank’s other teller, short-haired, perky Crissy Coyne, smiles, muttering, “Suck up.”
“How’s Dan and the kids?” Homer asks.
“The same. We spend money faster than we make it. But I still love them.”
“Don’t worry. Dan’ll get a promotion. And your kids are destined for greatness.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Crissy replies. “Hey, did you hear the latest? Wells Fargo is bringing four million dollars here this afternoon. Can you imagine getting your hands on that much cash?”
“Yes, I can,” Homer answers, whistling as he counts the money in his cash drawer.
“How do you do it, Homer? How are you able to stay so happy? We get paid next to nothing, yet you have beautiful clothes and a sports car and live in a gated community.”
“I told you. I’m a time traveler.”
Crissy rolls her eyes. “Just admit it, you’re either dealing drugs or gambling.”
“Okay, you got me. I’ve got a hot tip for you, Crissy. Keep this date in mind: February 11, 1990. Thirty-five to one odds. Bet on Buster Douglas against Mike Tyson.”
“That’s fifteen years from now. And who’s Mike Tyson?”
***
“The wife and I are spending the weekend in Banksville,” DeNiro says to Homer. “You don’t mind closing up, do you?”
“Of course not, sir.”
Smiling, Crissy mouths, “Suck up.”
***
Homer locks the front door of the bank, turning off the lights.
He goes to the vault. Stuffing six million dollars in three sacks, he walks out the back door, disappearing.
Homer spends the next fifty years enjoying a bachelor lifestyle, spending his free time sailing, traveling to exotic locales, whipping around in his sports car, and telling inquisitive acquaintances he made his fortune in junk bonds. He also occasionally robs other banks.
***
Ronin smiles broadly. “That’s a wonderful yarn, Homer.”
“It’s the truth… Go to my house…Check the Kennedy wall…”
***
Ronin arrives at Homer’s house as a tractor tears down the four-car garage.
He walks toward a well-kept house, slowed by a gruff voice yelling, “Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”
Ronin turns to face Stash Diesel, the stocky demolition team foreman.
Noticing Ronin’s collar, he says, “Sorry, Father. I was hopin’ you were J.P. Morgan.”
“The financier? He died a hundred years ago.”
“His name’s on the deed,” Diesel replies.
“I’m here to look into something for Homer, the man who lived here. Maybe you can help me.”
“His neighbor said the owner was hardly ever here, that he spent most of the time travelin’,” Diesel says. “He said the owner forgot to pay his property taxes. Nobody can find him. Some real estate agent now owns the property, and he wants to build a condo here, so this is where I come in.”
Diesel follows Ronin inside.
The living room is a treasure trove of gold vases, hand-carved tables, luxurious Italian sofas, and mahogany chairs.
“I was expecting IKEA furniture,” Diesel comments. “Somebody should take this stuff out before we demo the house. I bet it’s worth a fortune.”
Ronin picks up an unusual art deco lamp shaped like a planet. Turning it over, he looks at the label.
“…World’s Fair, 1939… You’re right. Everything in here is a valuable antique.”
“Where’d you say the guy who lived here is?”
“I didn’t. He’s in hospice care. Dementia.”
“I’ll go halfsies with you on everything here, Father.”
Ronin sees the painting of John Kennedy on the far wall.
“Do you have a sledgehammer?”
***
Diesel wheezes heavily as he destroys another section of the wall.
“You sure about this, Father?”
“The nurses think Homer was telling another one of his tall tales, but he seemed serious when he spoke to me.”
Diesel grunts as the hammer punches another hole in the wall, revealing a small bookcase with three shelves.
A sack sits on each shelf.
Diesel grabs one of the sacks, opening it. Reaching inside, he pulls out a stack of hundred-dollar bills.
Diesel reads the lettering on the bag. “Second National Bank, Norwalk Connecticut.”
***
Killian sits back contentedly in his office chair, twirling the vape pipe around in his mouth. “I can’t thank you enough for finding such a generous donor, Ronin. I want to thank him. Are you sure he wants to remain anonymous?”
“It’s a condition of his donation.”
“Two million dollars will keep White Birch going for a long time.”
“I should make my rounds, starting with Homer.”
Killian throws the vape pen in the trash. “The nursing staff went to check on him this morning. He’s supposed to be forgetful, confused. But he managed to walk out of here. He’s vanished. The only thing he left behind was a gag gift.”
Killian pulls a sailor’s hat out of his desk drawer, showing it to Ronin.
The lettering on the cap reads: RMS Titanic.
What is the NHS really like in the UK?
It’s the little things.
Last night a foreign tourist in a hotel in the highlands (50 miles from a hospital, 40 miles from a Doctor) developed a urinary tract infection. She thought that’s what it was, but she seemed to be peeing a lot of blood. The NHS sent an ambulance 47 miles to check her out. They confirmed it was a UTI, and the woman asked if she could go to a chemist in Glasgow (where they were planning to visit the next day) and get antibiotics.
The paramedic on the ambulance phoned an specialist paramedic to ask his advice, this paramedic said she could go to a chemist in Glasgow, but since that wouldn’t be for twelve hours, he would drive up (24 miles at 1am) to dispense antibiotics to her immediately so she would be more comfortable as soon as possible. The course is three days so 12 hours is significant.
Cost £0, since she wasn’t from this country it really was £0.
Foreign tourist happy, condition will be cleared up quicker, cost to the NHS £0.38 for the antibiotics.
Shorpy
What is the ugly truth of getting older?
If you don’t die, others you care about will. You can talk all you want about wrinkles, aches, loss of balance, etc., but those are things we can live with or fix. I will never get over losing my wife of 60 years. She was brilliant (IQ in the 140–160 range), caring, and unceasingly generous. She wasn’t bad-looking either. We had a wonderful partnership and even lived together 24/7 for the last 40 years. The truth of being alone without her is about as ugly as it can get.
Until you experience it yourself, you will continue to worry about losing hair or requiring a walker. Those are nothing… nothing! Without that love and someone to love back, I am an empty shell. I awake daily with ideas of things to accomplish, but deep inside, I know that every accomplishment of my life after our marriage was because of her, for her, and about her. The feeling is like climbing a ladder and reaching up for the next rung, but it isn’t there. You hand brushes empty space, and there’s no way to fill it.
That’s the ugly truth of getting older.
Archeologist Dies In Explosion; Told Secrets Of Time & Life’s Purpose (NDE)
Is it a tactic at expensive car dealerships to talk to someone as if they can’t afford the car?
In my experience, it was just the opposite. I had been following the development of the Porsche Taycan for some time. When I heard that they were taking deposits for them, I went to the local dealership. I forgot to dress for the occasion. When I visited, I was wearing nice jeans and a button-down shirt (nicer than what I usually wear). I talked to a friendly salesman who took my information and ran my credit card for the deposit. Sounds good, right? About a month later I heard that the dealerships now had more information about the car. I visited again, only to find out that they had no record of me or my deposit. They never ran my card. They assumed I was wasting their time. I called my financial manager, who had purchased many cars from the dealership. He called the dealership. Within 10 minutes, while I was browsing the cars on the floor, the manager came out at a brisk clip and made sure that I was taken seriously. I have been driving my Taycan for almost 5 years now. I’m very happy with that car.
If you want to be taken seriously at a high-end dealership, get a fresh haircut, buy some new clothes, and show up dressed like one of their customers.
Sir Whiskerton and the Great Farmyard Escape Room:
A Tale of Trapped Animals, Incompetent Carpentry, and the Case of the Missing Fishbone Lockpick
Chapter 1: Hank’s Bright Idea
The trouble began when Handy Hank—the farm’s most enthusiastic and least skilled handyman—decided to “spruce up” the barn with his latest creation:
“HANK’S HEE-HAWIN’ ESCAPE ROOM!
GUARANTEED FUN OR YOUR HAY BACK!
(Disclaimer: No hay refunds. Ever.)”
The animals gathered, eyeing the rickety structure that looked less like an escape room and more like a fire hazard with dreams.
- “Y’all ready for some problem-solvin’?” Hank beamed, waving a hammer that was, concerningly, still smoking.
- “This is clearly a death trap,” muttered Sir Whiskerton, eyeing a “puzzle” that was just Big Red the Dog’s chew toy nailed to a plank.
But before protests could mount, Catnip the Stray Cat slithered out of the shadows, his tail flicking with mischief.
- “Pfft. Escape rooms are for amateurs,” he sneered. “But since I’m clearly the smartest feline here, I’ll grace you with my genius.”
And with that, he slammed the door shut—and locked it from the outside.
- “First clue’s on the wall!” he cackled. “Try not to die of boredom before I get back!”
Silence.
Then—
- “…Did that jerk just lock us in Hank’s deathtrap?” Porkchop the Pig said, voicing everyone’s thoughts.
Chapter 2: The Clues (Or Lack Thereof)
The “escape room” was a masterpiece of Hank’s trademark “good intentions, terrible execution”:
- A riddle scrawled in crayon: “What’s yellow, clucks, and holds the key?
- Doris the Hen gasped. “Is this about ME?”
- Sir Whiskerton: “No, it’s about corn.”
- Doris: “OFFENSIVE.”
- Bessie’s mood ring, duct-taped to a post, flashing “panic purple.”
- Bessie: “Whoa, man. Deep.”
- Sir Whiskerton: “It’s broken.”
- A “maze” made of Big Red’s shed fur (he’d eaten the original blueprint).
- A locked chest with a note: “The code is in the cluck.”
- Doris: “THE CODE IS CLUCK? That’s speciesist!”
- Sir Whiskerton (already picking the lock with a fishbone): “It’s literally just the word ‘cluck.’”
Chapter 3: The Chaos Unfolds
As the animals bickered, the room somehow got worse:
- Ferdinand the Duck tried to sing the door open (opera-style), succeeding only in making Count Catula swoon.
- Bessie attempted to “manifest freedom” via interpretive dance, knocking over Hank’s “non-load-bearing” hay bale wall.
- Big Red, having eaten the “do not eat” clue, now had indigestion and regrets.
Meanwhile, Catnip lounged outside, gleefully updating a “minutes since last meltdown” chalkboard.
- “Tsk. And they say I cause problems,” he smirked.
Chapter 4: The Breakout
Just as Doris was drafting a formal complaint about riddle-based discrimination, Sir Whiskerton made a grudging realization:
- “…We have to work together.”
A horrified silence fell.
But necessity bred desperate alliances:
- Bessie’s mood ring (when thrown at a weak hinge) jammed the lock mechanism.
- Doris’s gossip (“Did you know Hank once built a canoe out of spaghetti?”) distracted Catnip long enough for—
- Big Red to barrel through the door, propelled by Porkchop’s well-timed sausage roll.
They tumbled into the sunlight, free at last—just as Hank’s “escape room” collapsed into a pile of splinters and questionable life choices.
Chapter 5: The Aftermath (And Moral Victory)
Catnip, caught mid-chalkboard gloat, froze.
- “Ahem. I meant for you to escape. It was a test of your… teamwork.”
Sir Whiskerton arched a brow.
- “And the ‘smuggest feline’ award goes to…”
Moral: Teamwork beats smugness (and bad carpentry).
The End.
Key Jokes:
- “The code is CLUCK? That’s offensive!”
- Big Red eating critical clues.
- Hank’s spaghetti canoe backstory.
- Catnip’s “minutes since meltdown” chalkboard.
Starring: Handy Hank (disaster carpenter), Catnip (smug saboteur), Big Red (clue-eating menace).
P.S. Hank’s next project? A ferris wheel made of wheelbarrows. Pray for the farm. 🎡🚜
Mid-life crossroads…
To me, it means waking up one day to realizations that look like this:
How did I end up here?
I need to start over.
How is it that I have everything I want and I’m still not happy?
This can’t be all there is. Can it?
As a result of these realizations you begin to make changes, sometimes drastic, sometimes desperate, not always wise, in an effort to put yourself in a better position.
Because this is your life, and you only have one, and you are running out of time.
Which gives rise to another beautiful question.
If not now, when?
These efforts are usually met by aggressive disapproval, because no one likes change and the people who love you want you to remain the person they know.
This reinforces what you have been feeling: that no one else will live your life for you and that therefore there is only one authority on the matter: you.
So off you go, experimenting, exploring, stumbling.
Less comfortable for sure, but so much more alive.
This makes you re-evaluate your definition of happiness.
It’s not about stuff but about being awake.
What you want is for your life to mean something.
For me, a midlife crisis is coming into your own power.
It’s what I wish upon everyone.
Is Taiwan’s time for being politically independent from the PRC running out quickly?
Shortly before I came to Taiwan, in 1970, I forget what the crisis was, but a reporter asked an ROC government spokesman if Taiwan’s time was running out. His response, although I do not remember it word for word, was memorable: We will weather this just as we weather the typhoons that cross Taiwan every year.
I came shortly before the ROC was removed from the UN (yeah, I’m that old), and the whole world was expecting the ROC to be exterminated within a month or two. I lived in Saigon before I came; Taiwan’s situation was so precarious that people advised me that it would be safer to stay in Saigon, Taiwan was too dangerous.
But you know what? We’re still here. So I really don’t know. Taiwan weathers typhoon after typhoon, crisis after crisis.
Here’s what worries me: during the endless crises of the 1970s, people were capable of working hard to overcome difficulties, and used their minds to find a way forward. Look at the UN crisis, when all the world broke relations with the ROC. Rather than lie down and kick and scream, the government devised clever ways to maintain relations without formal diplomatic relations. This is why there are the Taiwan Trade Offices, the American Institute in Taiwan, the British Council, and the rest. The PRC economy had little to offer the world. Students from Taiwan were welcome in the best graduate schools in the US, and earned grades at the top of their classes.
Now, of course, times have changed, as they always do. The PRC economy is powerful, and their military is up to date. Since Taiwan’s Educational Reform of the 1990s, students’ ability has plummeted, and their main objective is to avoid the pressure schools and their parents give them.
Students’ ability: back around 1990, when I was teaching students TOEFL, GRE, and GMAT, if you mentioned the periodic table of elements, most of the class had it memorized in English, even the English majors and the business majors. Now if you mention it, most don’t really know what you’re talking about. 化學元素表？What’s that? Students then were motivated to get ahead, no matter what the obstacles. Most college students now are motivated to keep playing their video games until the bell rings.
Last year I was talking to four college students in an advanced English program. I mentioned ‘war,’ and not one of them knew this word. It seems that the more the administration pushes English education, the worse students’ ability gets.
Young people in Taiwan now are like cotton candy: they are nice to look at, really pleasant to deal with, but they melt away with the first drops of rain.
Another thing that worries me: too many people think that ‘because I say something, it must be so.’ They are frequently out of touch with reality. For example, look at Greater Taipei, with intense population density, and few trees outside of parks. But the Taipei municipal government says that Taipei is a forest city. Yes, there are beautiful forests in the mountains, and nice parks here and there, and we are certainly better of than Hong Kong, but calling Taipei a forest city is simply delusion.
People say that Taiwan is so important that Trump does not dare allow us any harm, and that Elon Musk is sure to do his best to protect Taiwan. Can you imagine that degree of self-delusion?
IMHO, the idea of a ‘country’ is outdated and belongs to the 20th century or before. But the DPP in particular is so obsessed with that idea that they lie down and kick and scream, but cannot limber up their minds to think with the flexibility shown during the diplomatic crises of the 1970s.
This is indicative of the way a lot of people think: they get ideas glued so tightly inside their heads that they cannot, will not imagine alternatives or think up ways to get around problems. Wishful thinking is the key! Seriously, the DPP’s anti-nuke stance has harmed the global environment and made energy production a big problem in Taiwan. President Tsai’s solution: 用愛發電：‘We will use love to generate electricity.’
tldr: in answer to your question: I’ve got my fingers crossed, but I don’t know.
Dead For 13 Minutes; Man Witnesses The Beginning Of Time And The Creation Of Reality (NDE)
Have you ever walked into work only to realize that you were fired?
Yes, I arrived at work at 6 am since I was early morning on call. But I couldn’t log into my computer. Locked out. Dang, what do I do??? So I called my supervisor who was evasive & said I needed to wait for their supervisor to arrive at work a couple of hours later. OK, this is friggin strange???
Then I got to looking at some of the desks around me, and they were empty of my co-workers personal effects & surprising clean. All right, I could figure out what was going on here. So I waited another couple of hours, read my newspaper & waited for the ax to fall.
Definitely a bolt from the blue.
Strange Characters
Written in response to: “Start or end your story with a character making a cup of tea for themself or someone else.“
Carolyn O’B
“They?” The woman slurped.
Joel prattled on. “Did you ever look at a piece of cut wood and see an abstract picture embedded in the grain?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Most people think the images are natural and coincidental. I however, understand that they are deliberate sketches; one of the ways extraterrestrials communicate with us. The fence that surrounds my house is full of their graffiti. They are asking me to help them learn the anatomy of life on this planet.
The woman fell unconscious before Joel finished speaking. He cradled her limp body in his arms and carried her to the bathroom while humming the tune to ‘DEM BONES.’ He laid her tenderly in the porcelain tub, then he strolled into the kitchen and drizzled the ethyl acetate onto a couple of cotton balls. Hurrying back to the bathroom, he crammed them into the woman’s nostrils.
~~~
Two days earlier, Joel knelt just inside the fence that surrounded his house. He sang while cutting a rug of grass at the base of one of the pickets. “The leg bone’s connected to the knee bone, the knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone, the thigh bone’s connected to the hip bone, now shake dem skeleton bones.”
Mark approached the fence and stood on the opposite side startling Joel. “Need any help?”
“Found a dead bird on my doorstep this morning, probably a gift from one of the stray cats I feed. Just giving it a proper burial. I think I could handle it.” Joel gestured toward the paper bag beside him. “My house is in the center of a pet cemetery.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Mark trotted back to the road.
Joel commenced with using the garden spade to dig a grave. He placed the bird’s wrapped, dismembered carcass into the hole and filled the void with the extracted mound of dirt. After covering the site with the piece of turf, he wrestled onto his feet and stomped it flat.
He glided his rough fingertips over the outline of a bird on the wooden board in front of him. The curve of a head, the open beak, and the dark brown streak arcing downward from a solid, brown sphere that represented a heaving breast. Strategically placed fissures in the timber signified the feathers of a wing.
His head swiveled to the right and his eyes fixed on the coiled snake depicted on another picket in the fence. He stepped closer and lightly caressed the image; the loop that formed its long neck, the V that showed its forked tongue, the hypnotizing spiral, like an archery target, denoting its coiled body.
He moved along the enclosure. The next wooden slat was for Golden Guy, the fish. A figure in the shape of a torpedo appeared to be jumping from a ring below it. Undulating lines surrounded the figure like splashes of water. “My low-maintenance roommate,” he sighed.
He rounded the corner and walked past the gated entrance to the opposite side of the enclosure then paused. “Aw, Jerry the mouse. Your pointy nose, your round corkscrew ears, your delicate hooked feet.”
Resuming his trip down memory lane, Joel turned to his right and focused on the board next to the corner beam. He smirked as he lifted his arm to touch the darkened elongated oval that stretched like a rubber band. A series of arched contours spread outward, like sound waves bouncing off it. “You wanted a butterfly, you got a butterfly. No problem. Dedicated to everyone that laughed at me for collecting butterflies.”
He sauntered toward the back of the house and stopped. The board he examined contained the burnt silhouette of an inverted lightbulb. He ran a finger along each of the eight curved streaks the sprouted from it like rays of light. “Spider. Should be easy,” he mumbled.
He walked through the back gate and headed for the dilapidated shed at the edge of the woods. He breathed heavily, “Plenty of spiders in here.”
It didn’t take him long before he spied something crawling along the windowsill. Upon closer inspection, he was able to identify it as a wolf spider. He cupped the harmless creature in his hands and hustled back to the house.
Slamming the door with his foot, Joel hurried to the bedroom. He dropped the creature into an open jar he kept at the bottom of his closet. It was the “kill jar,” a jar any serious butterfly collector would have. He carried the jar to the kitchen and set it on the counter. He threw in a few cotton balls soaked with ethyl acetate and sealed the tomb. “There you go buddy.”
Once the spider became rigid, its legs curling inward, Joel removed it from the glass chamber with a long pair of forceps and began detaching the legs from the abdomen. He used a paring knife to separate the figure eight form and put the ten pieces in a small manila envelope.
The following morning, Joel buried the grim package containing the spider at the foot of its grave marker in the wooden fence. His gaze wandered to the run-down shack. Two almond-shaped knots in the wood were positioned approximately a foot apart and resembled human eyes. The natural darkened grains in the wood formed a lengthy and rather pronounced streak, like an aquiline nose between them. Inches under that streak, a horizontal split in the lumber signified parting lips according to Joel. It was like a portrait on a mausoleum.
~~~
The extraterrestrials observed Joel via one of the many screen monitors lining the walls of the rocky cavern. They were counting on him to provide them with prototypes of the life on Earth.. Unfortunately, the first woman Joel targeted when they asked for a human specimen, wore a prosthesis and the puzzle would have been incomplete.
End
Is British cuisine the worst in the world?
Let me say it as an Italian: it’s not even in the same province as the worst cuisine in the world.
Now, the UK is up there, in a fairly cool (although not cold-cold like, say, Finland), rainy, and pretty not sunny place of the earth. This kinda limits the range of fruits and vegetables it can produce, and also high quality wheat is out of the picture (aka, they don’t have the stunning range we have down here in the Mediterranean). Still, those pesky Britons have historically been able to turn a sow’s ear if not in a silk purse at least in a pair of very comfortable mocassins.
One maor advantage of having a cool but not extremely cold and pretty rainy climate is that grass grows fast and lushious, and if you have a lot of grass you may plan making beef, lamb, and milk (which can get turned into cheese). Good quality british meat is… Well, good quality British meat! Which can be turned into something like this:
A couple slices of meat (beef, lamb, chicken, or even pork), roasted potatoes that are crunchy and caramelised on the outside and fluffy inside, an array of seasonal vegetables, a couple Yorkshire puddings, and a good drizzle of gravy to finish it off. Sorry, mate, that can be a proper festive meal. Would I eat a Sunday roast dinner every Sunday? Maybe not, but I would certainly not complain about eating it a few times a year.
On a weekday I wound neither complain about a meal of bangers and mash: proper sausages, mashed potatoes, and again seasonal vegetables.
This is something else I could not complain about: a steak and ale pie, with tender meat, a rich ale based gravy, vegetables, herbs, and mushrooms, all encased in a flaky and crisp crust that serves as bread. YUM.
Another British advantage is that it’s an archipelago, aka it has lots of sea. And this translates into one of the cheapest but also tastiest option for a late night snack or a lunch almost on the go. White fish, battered in a beer batter that turns crisp and light in the frier and accompanied by real chips. I’ll personally skip the vinager (I know…), and appreciate a bit of mushy peas on the side.
In Milan we say “La bucca l’è minga stracca se la sa no de vacca”, the mouth isn’t tired unless it tastes like a cow. Cheesemaking in the UK is on the raise in terms of quality and quantity, and while their cheeses lack the variety we can make in Italy (I would say “and in France”, but I will not because they are our cousins). So, just give me this spread, some bread, and maybe a teaspoon of jam or honey, or also some fruit to reset my mouth while I switch from one to another.
Britons also have a sweet tooth, and some of the desserts you can find up there are really amazing. Like Scottish cranachan, which is just whisky-perfumed whipped cream, raspberries, and a little toasted oats for some texture: fresh, light and delicious.
While cranachan is fresh and light, other desserts can be so sweet that they instantly make your teeth hurt. Like a banofee pie, which is essentially a pie crust filled with toffee, then topped with ripe banana and whipped cream.
Sorry, I feel stuffed. I need a cup of tea to digest everything. I’ll also have one of those scones with a bit of clotted cream and a bit of jam.
Pumpkin Pie-Stuffed Cookies
Sugar cookies stuffed with pumpkin pie filling – a delicious combination!
Prep: 25 min | Bake: 16 to 18 min | Yield: 12 servings
Ingredients
- 1/3 cup canned pumpkin pie mix (not plain pumpkin)
- 2 tablespoons cream cheese, softened
- 1 (16.5 ounce) roll Pillsbury™ refrigerated sugar cookie dough
- 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 tablespoon cinnamon-sugar
Instructions
- Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
- In small bowl, mix pumpkin pie mix and cream cheese; set aside.
- In large bowl, break up cookie dough. Stir or knead in flour until mixed well.
- Sprinkle work surface with additional flour. With rolling pin, roll dough 1/8 inch thick, adding flour as needed to prevent sticking.
- With a floured 2 1/2 inch round cutter, cut 24 dough rounds, rerolling scraps as needed.
- On a large ungreased cookie sheet, place 12 dough rounds about 2 inches apart.
- Spoon about 1 heaping teaspoon pumpkin mixture on center of each round.
- Top each with another dough round, crimping outer edges with fork to seal.
- Sprinkle tops of cookies with cinnamon-sugar mixture, gently spreading around with fingers if necessary.
- Bake for 16 to 18 minutes or until golden brown around edges.
- Cool on cookie sheet for 10 minutes; remove to cooling rack until completely cooled.
Notes
Store cookies in refrigerator because of the cream cheese in the pumpkin filling.
Leftover cookie dough can be baked into sugar cookies.
I recommend everyone read David Fishman’s posts, particularly when he reports on these national developments. Personally this one (within a thread of gold) jumped out at me.
I can see the reasoning for a green hydrogen approach. If we are trying to decarbonize shipping, this is one of those cases where highly volatile and inefficient green hydrogen can make sense. It is not like mariners are strangers to highly pressurized, dangerous power plants; supercritical steam is practically a time-honored tradition now. Likewise, we do not expect massive container ships to regularly collide in such catastrophic manners as to breach fuel compartments; further if it does happen, at least the damage is on the ocean where it can be minimized. I do not mind this narrow case for green hydrogen. If in fact we as a united mankind care about decarbonizing as aggressively as reason permits, then these explorations matter (and so does their funding).
In the parlance of green policies here in the US, we have been largely beholden to policies that politicians can wave around as the next miracle. At the end of the day, what we really need to do is accept that all solutions are good so long as they tackle existing problems effectively and efficiently enough. Unfortunately, we are stuck in this meaningless fight where people invested in certain solutions oppose others invested in other solutions. Is it any wonder that a bunch of populists drunk on power can castigate the entire field as being worthless, calling for not only zeroing of funding, but outright bans on any mention of any solutions? The democratic process here in the US seems to promote the very anti-intellectualism that experts cringe at, by pitting experts against each other via political sloganeering.
Meanwhile, centralized planning continues unabated in China. In many cases it stumbles, but many of those become happy coincidences. Take for example:
I came for the CN drama reviews. I stayed for… the central planning insider stories of Chongqing???
I have said this time and again— the best system of the modern age is a system that can draw on the advantages of different types of ideology and discard their weaknesses without suffering from critical internal cohesion issues. Living in contradiction is what we must do; hell, that is likely what most of our historical high points across humanity were good at. The US system currently is suffering because the contradictions are too much, ergo ideological purity is the go-to solution. The Chinese system? I see plenty of leftists nodding very vigorously that China is an exemplary of dialectical materialism, all the while rightists claim it is the pinnacle of modern fascism, liberals claim all of its riches are due to Dengist embrace of capitalism, and nationalists believe it is the rejuvenation of the Chinese civilization.
Let us all live in contradiction. The principle is deeply Daoist, but quite frankly Westerners should be comfy with it too. After all:
Maybe the West should be comfier with the inherent contradiction that its peak liberalizing, civilizational thinking is actually in part just another frontier of Chinese philosophy…