To have more fun with the new headphones, I added an equalizer to Mizz Sweet Lady Linux box. Workin’ fine.
Ah, the beauty. 🎶
To have more fun with the new headphones, I added an equalizer to Mizz Sweet Lady Linux box. Workin’ fine.
Ah, the beauty. 🎶
I was in a room today with a television tuned to Fox News, so I got some rare exposure. Many of the gripes aired were legitimate, some even spot on. An issue that caught my attention was Fox using the terms “the left” and “Democratic Party” interchangeably. I don’t define that party to be left at all. It’s mostly a roaring, contemptible, dangerous disaster, but not left.
For me, that party closely resembles the other party but with a few pretty glittery things tacked on. Same bombers, same aggression, same gutting of everything. The mind reels.
Mainline corporate news outlets of any stripe are of low value truth wish, of high value propaganda wise. With that in mind, one can learn from them.
Posted in rage against the machine
I saw this at Antique Marketplace near the airport. Is it a sugar bowl, ink well?
Wachovia Bank, sometimes called WatchOverYa. I had my first checking account there many decades ago.
One of the early banks to roll out ATM service in the area, Wachovia named the machines Teller II. BB&T named theirs Tillie (the all-time teller).
The old ATM’s had a scrolling plastic tape with dozens of messages on it that you could see by looking through a little window. The motors would run to scroll the tape to the right message, then a light would turn on underneath to make it readable. It looked like the window on the Magic 8-Ball except bigger. By noting the amount of time it took the machine to display a message (the common ones were grouped together for speed), one could sense a transaction decline comping up even before seeing it display.
After some service incidents where I felt like I was being screwed over for being young, I left Wachovia and would never go there again.
I think Wachovia was given away to Wells Fargo at some point.
There is no The Nation reader pushing any candidate in any direction unless they have a ton of money. For me, this magazine would be a waste of time. Into the trash with this envelope. This is far too tame for me.
Me, 1991, Pride in Carrboro. Brian and I were already together, so things were looking up.
I often push it out of my mind that by that year I’d lost a good third of my friends to “that disease.”
I went out on dates almost none in high school and didn’t go to the proms. I just wasn’t up to tackling all the issues that would have made it possible for me to do it the right way.
Instead, I got an amateur radio license (ham radio), covered my parents house and yard with huge antennas, and sat down in their basement alone with my tube-type radio (Heathkit HW-101), and geeked out by talking with people all over the world.
My parents seemd to like it because it mostly kept me out of trouble.
I was often up by 5:00 a.m. before school so I could run downstairs and work the USSR for a couple of hours before leaving.
Then when I hit my twenties, I tried to make up for the lack of dating.
I still have a valid radio license.
Can you hear them, they talk about us, telling lies, is that a surprise. Go Go’s. Our lips are sealed.
"If you are not willing to be a fool, you can't become a master." ~ Jordan Peterson
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