I've been thinking a bit about mortality lately, and there's a few things I won't miss when my time comes. I'm not expecting any afterlife, so if I get stuck in one I imagine that's the first thing I'll regret.

The anniversary of the Tylenol scare just passed, and there were a few news accounts making mention of it. Man, that dude changed the world, and not in any way I like. Thanks to him, and I'm not even sure anyone died from that poisoning thing, damn near every product I buy now has more safety seals than the space shuttle. Hard plastic wraps around the cap that need to be cut with a knife to remove, then some sort of vacuum safety seal on the inside that, as often as not, doesn't peel off properly.

Even things *I* know would be a dumb choice for some random, terrorizing, mass poisoning stunt, like dishwashing soap or shampoo (which may actually be the same thing) sometimes are sealed for my safety. I mean, really, if something's in my shampoo that  burns or dyes my hair, well, I'm probably using it in a place where I can quickly wash it out.

Anyway, all this product safety stuff bugs me. Not that I've got anything against safety, mind you, but theses gimmicks have far less to do with safety than they do with ass-covering for litigation purposes.
Because of one sick whacko, the whole world changed.

Another thing I'll be really happy to get away from is the unavailability of rare hamburgers. They were excellent. I'm sure cooking the hell and taste out of meat is a good thing, but I'm not one of its fans. I know, I know: listen to the vegetarians. They'll set me straight.

I also won't particularly mind getting away with partisans pretending that every thing that happens is some life-shattering evidence of duplicity or worse by the opposition, either. I know, I know: Everything has to be dramatic, and if Bill O or Keith don't act all worked up, there won't be any viewers. Still, I'll be glad to be rid of it.

The world's changing, and most of that change is good. Not all of it, though, are changes I like.

I'm sure I've mentioned before this great thing I heard or read somewhere about memory and how someone said something about how some things are remembered because of utilitarian reasons, some for no reason at all, and others, maybe, because we make a conscious effort to remember them.

I'm not sure, exactly, because the quote and whoever said it must have fallen into the second of the three because I sure didn't make any effort about remembering it for future citation. Still, it's true, and things in the second class are the best, anyway.

I can't help it. I'm intrigued by how inconsequential shit sticks in my mind for years and years.

I'm not sure if I remember it because I heard it so often growing up, or if it was just one of those things my mom said once, but quite often at three in the morning I remember my mom scolding me about "wishing my life away." I don't remember the exact wish of mine that incited that remark, but it may have been the typical "I wish I was grown up" thinking I believe lots of kids do. The only time I can honestly remember wishing time would pass quickly was once on July 4th when I was bored setting fire to snakes and staining the sidewalk and wanted to see some real fireworks.

I think of it often at three in the morning, though, when I wish it was five so I could get out of bed at a more reasonable time. Not that five is a such a good time to wake up, but it beats three, hands down. Three is just plain weird.

All of which has nothing whatsoever to do with any of the Fs referred to in the title. I was going to dazzle everyone with my knowledge of anatomy and talk about frenums (knowing full well that the plural of frenum is actually frena) and, then, show my insight by talking about how knowledge is frequently confused with simple memorization of terms.

I still think that, mostly because whenever any expert is consulted, they far often are only conversant with the specific and accurate names for things, which we all take for conclusive evidence of their wisdom. In fact, I think use of jargon or technical terms is pretentious, and mostly used to disguise or obscure insecurities, but I think that about lots of things.

In any case, the point is, using and insisting on technical terms, to me, is the exact opposite of knowledge. It's an old saw, but it's true, that being able to teach is the best indicator of knowledge. If you can't make a lay person understand what you're talking about, you don't know it very well. Hammering people with technical terms only makes you look like an ass, and not a very knowledgeable one at that.

Then, California wildfire season sprung on us, and everyone in the LA area who watched TV was treated to newscasters rambling on and reminding us all of two things:

1. Most newscasters, when not given copy to read, are indistinguishable from any other great looking person


2. Extra points are given any newscaster who mentions Foscheck

It can't be easy to fill several hours of broadcast time when there's, honestly, very little to say. Many of these news anchors, and I suspect they do it just to piss me off, spend an inordinate amount of time treating the reporters in the field as if they were absolute idiots by warning them repeatedly to "stay safe" and checking that they're wearing their goggles and masks.

Now I'll grant you that the reporters in the field have no more to say about wildfires than they do hurricane winds and rain, but I guess it's their lot in life to stand about outside when any sane person would be inside and offer inane comments about the most glaringly obvious of observations. Maybe they're all hoping to get a job with Fox News, I dunno.

In any case, I got my two Fs in, and even talked a bit about memory.

I'm not sure how far this can be extended, but I may try to push this three thing into another area of everyday life: eating.

And, by eating, I mean mine. As in, dinner. And by pushing, I mean "let's see what happens when I divide the food I eat into the same three categories."

I'm not sure I've ever actually said it, but according to early TV sitcoms a very common question is "What's for dinner?" Borrowing from before, we can divide dinner into three categories (again, in handy bulleted format):

• What I will eat for dinner


• What I should eat for dinner


• What I want to eat for dinner

I'm not what you'd call a good grocery shopper even though I do it a lot. I shop not only when I should be doing something else, but often when I don't need to do it at all. I think part of that is because I know how to successfully maneuver my way around stores filled with food. It's far less intimidating for me to buy something I know about, so perhaps it's just as a way of getting a feeling of accomplishment that I'll head to the grocery store and pick up some pineapple tamales or a bag of frozen corn.

I know, down deep inside, that I can do that task pretty much without failure.

The problem stems from the fact that I never can buy just the one thing I need. I invariably wander the aisles, picking up things that I can envision myself preparing or eating, and then forgetting all about most of them once I get them home and safely into a cupboard or the refrigerator.

Which brings me to one of the main determinates in answering ""What's for dinner?"

As often as I can remember, I base my dinner on what I expect to be on the verge of spoiling. I don't like to waste food on principle and can't really afford to do so, so as often as not what I have for dinner is what I don't think can wait another day. One of the problems with this scheme is that what's about to turn inedible is often something stupid, like a tomato. While I've got entrees waiting to be enjoyed, I end up whipping up something just to use a tomato or two.

In any case, "what I should eat" ends up being populated not so much with what would be a good thing to eat as what I can't put off eating any longer. I know most people would consider the answer to "what should I eat" to be some intellectual exercise involving amino acids, the nearness of the farm, and maybe even political ideologies, but I guess I'm not that evolved.

What I want to eat is, at the moment, pie. What I had for dinner was leftover Dinah's chicken (the Little Miss Sunshine meal of choice) that my sister bought, thinking she could stomach it, and some frozen vegetables. I'm sure I failed the amino acid test, didn't score many points on the "eat local" front, and failed, miserably, to pass anyone's political litmus test.

But I'm full. And I don't have to throw out any chicken.

Life was easier, more a matter of black and white, back when I divided the world in two. That whole duality thing has quite a bit to recommend it, but it doesn't help me much at all.

But maybe it would, if I used it.

Instead of that, though, I'm currently all about splitting my activities into three. An effect of this, of course, is that it makes me more miserable, but that may explain its attraction. In any case, here goes: how I divide my actions into three and with what results and the nature of each.

When it comes to actions, those things most normal people do instead of just thinking about things, the most obvious and first is the smallest of the three: What I'm doing at any particular moment.

At any one time, rest assured, I am performing precisely one thing.  There may be other things moving to some sort of completion in the background, but those were probably set in motion by me earlier and are either waiting for me to get back to them or humming along nicely without my interference or helpful assistance.

So, there's the thing I'm doing now, and that actually is what causes most of my problems because the remaining two categories are things I *should* be doing and things I *want* to do.

So here's the entire list, in handy bullet format:

• What I'm doing


• What I should be doing


• What I want to be doing

The number of things I should be doing is, frankly, pretty large, and it depresses me to even think about them. Worse, since I can attempt them and suffer the pain of failure, things in this category don't get acted on as often as you might think. Yep, the chance of success is probably even greater than the likelihood of failure and would not only lead to an accomplishment and getting something off the list, but would make me feel better. You would think that would be enough motivation for me, but you'd be wrong.

Anyway, whenever I'm doing something, I can't stop thinking about what I should be doing instead of what I'm currently involved with. If I'm doing something I want to do, I can't take as much joy in that as I should, because I'm always thinking about what else I could be doing.

I have no idea what any of this means, but in the meantime there's something I should be doing instead of writing this entry...

I'm not sure how common this knowledge of mine is and I'm not forgetting how dangerous a little knowledge can be, but this news is too good not to share with everyone who reads this!

I've lately been working on writing content for an estate planning website. Since I've had to read and re-write over a hundred pages of really exciting stuff having to do with probate, wills, living trusts, and the IRS tax code, it's been tough to sleep. Along the way, however, I've managed to pick up a thing or two that's really worth sharing.

Every person, every year, can give me $11,000, and I'd just like to repeat that.

Every person, every year, can give me a gift of $11,000 and not be subject to the gift tax.

Why so few (read: anyone) are taking advantage of this great tax opportunity is beyond me. Not only will this gift remain within the guidelines for gifts established by the Internal Revenue Service, but more importantly, it will reduce the amount of your estate after you die.

We've all heard horror tales about this "death tax," and no less a person than the friggin' President of the United States has spoken out against it. He should know.

Instead of letting your estate be eaten up by evil bureaucrats after you die (and we know that interferes with resting in peace), you can do yourself and me a favor by giving me an $11,000 gift each and every year!  Think how good you'll feel! Not only will be giving it to the man, but you'll be giving it to me, too!

To facilitate this process, I've updated my website. A simple click on the item at the bottom of the page will reduce your tax profile, and you can expect a letter of thanks from me, personally!

I've been away for most of the month, minding other people's pets and sleeping in comfortable beds, and I returned home here to a few welcoming gestures.

My dog, of course, attacked me as if I was wearing a suit of ham bones, and my computer welcomed me back with a dying video card. I've been restricted to laptops while I was away, and while I certainly am grateful for having them, they've never been my computing medium of choice. I like big screens that I can read without my glasses and that have enough real estate to display all the things I've usually got going on at once, but the biggest advantage of desktop computers is how easy they are to upgrade or repair.

Maybe that's just because I'm used to them. Whatever, given a choice I always jump to my desktop computer and leave the laptop for offline writing.

So, after a moment's cursing and gnashing of teeth, I bit the bullet and bought a new video card. As a reminder of my state, I shied away from upgrading to the best and brightest and just got one slightly better than the one that died. I never used to do that, but I never used to worry about money all that much, either.

Because I'm so well-practiced at it, swapping out the video card took far less time than crawling under the desk and disconnecting all the cables connecting the box to everything under the sun. Then it just took another few minutes to see how all the various operating systems would respond to the new hardware.

That part is always good for excitement. It didn't hurt that my heart was pumping blood that held as much sugar as corpuscles, either, thanks to a generous house sitting gift.

I guess I should feel honored or something that my computer waited until I came back to get sick. Maybe it missed me as much as I did him.

This morning I had a pretty good plan, another one of those that never quite pan out.

Yesterday, when I was driving around near the place I'm housesitting, the brake pedal made it all the way to the floor. It got some traction, and between that and the hand brake I was able to drive safely home. No biggee. I think I mentioned before that Timmy has this little brake problem, usually solved with replacing his brake fluid.

By the way, brake fluid is like really weird stuff. Feels weird and stays on your hands funny.
Anyway, so, this morning I was planning on heading back home and dropping off some shit, but Timmy refused to cooperate. Even with the addition of brake fluid, one of his precious bodily fluids, when I got in the car and pumped the brakes, nothing happened.

Well, that's not quite accurate. Pumping the brakes, it's true, did nothing to get them to perform any better (the pedal still descended to the floorboard, without much resistance), but what I failed to see is what was happening.

Which was my depositing about a pint of brake fluid (that earlier mentioned really weird stuff) onto the driveway of the place I'm housesitting.

What to do?

It's one thing, and this, of course, was my first reaction, to hang my head in disgust and pull my hair. That soon passed, and I was left pacing. When I remembered the sage advice ("What would a normal person do in this situation?"), I knew I had to act.

I have AAA membership, which lets me get one free tow a year. I think. What I don't have with me is my AAA membership card, but I did have a copy of my temporary membership. The next thing I needed was a place to tow the car, and here the Internet came in handy.

Battambang Auto Service is quite close by and someone on Yahoo! gave them five out of five stars. That was the only person who had anything to say about them, and I had my suspicions it was Mr. Battambang himself saying that, but it was one more rating than any of the other auto places had.

I called, and they said they could work on the car, but they always say that.

I then called AAA and arranged a tow, and, to my surprise, my AAA membership had not expired. Sure, it will in less than a month, but I was a still a member in good standing, and a handsome and capable AAA tow truck subcontractor soon lumbered up the street and hooked little Timmy up.

Then, off to Battambang Auto Service, which was in one of those auto repair strip malls I sometimes see. There were about a half-dozen tiny shops offering tires, transmission, oil changes, all the usual car stuff, and Battambang Auto Service was in the very rear. It was but a moment's effort to push Timmy back there, and he was soon ready to be hoisted into the air.

Instead of being told to wait outside, I was told to sit in him, and soon I was six feet in the air while the mechanic putzed about somewhere below me. It was pretty soothing up there, but I did, once, have to depress the brake pedal.

Some five minutes later I was lowered, and some three hours later I was home, the proud possessor of a replaced brake line.

One good thing about this auto mall was that I saw a parade of POS cars like mine coming in to visit the various shops. A not unattractive Asian girl, with a lapful of anatomy flashcards, waited to have the window repaired on her 1992 Camry, and we chatted a bit, and I wandered around to look at tires and see how professionals spent their day.

Some girl came in and got an oil change in about five minutes for twenty bucks, and her Honda took about six quarts of the stuff. I was later offered an oil change for the same price, which would have netted Mr. Battambang about twice the profit for my car.

Anyway, he offered me a great deal of needed service, later, when I could afford it, for a special price "just for me." If I can't do things myself, I may take him up on it.

Not a bad experience at all.