May Justice Come To Assholes

Not just those who do bad, but assholes who insult in order to gain and keep power.  And I'm not talking about "karma," but "justice" -- not God's judgement, but consequences meted out by us, the people.

That's what I've been thinking about the past decade, minus four.

Random passive-aggressive lash-out: Sweat to fucking God, if that immature incel reacts to anything I say that he even remotely thinks questions his so-called superiority on the rules of football, I will say something.  Probably won't scream or completely insult him.  But I am too old for this shit, and I do not know if I can keep being stepped on by some twenty-something prick who believes he's got a ticket to move up in the industry he's wanted to work in since seeing SportsCenter for the first time without coming back on him.  Just saying that I cannot be complicit in my debasement for much longer.  Jesus, what a fucking goddamn asshole he was/is. ...

The Time Where I Almost Fucking Lost It Watching The World Cup

So I made the mistake of going to downtown to catch the last Matches of Group G almost a month ago.  I heard downtown was dead because it was dangerous (which of course is bullshit), plus there were no Twins or Lynx Games whose crowds I would have to worry about, so I thought I would have a good time digesting both Matches in relative peace.

I found a table where I would be able to see two TVs, each showing one of the Games.  One was farther from my vantage point than the other, but that was fine, or so I thought.  Shortly after I sat down, this group of three people sat at the table next to me.  That was OK, even though they got a little loud.  One guy ordered a round of shots and another guy was wondering if he could eat, and then I got a bit concerned.

Then, this fucking group grew like metastatic cancer.  A fourth dude came, then another group of some number, then another, then another.  They started blocking my view of the TV further from my eyesight, which was Egypt-Iran, the better of the two Matches going on simultaneously.  (That finished 1-all; in the other Game, Belgium routed New Zealand, 5-1.)  They of course started getting really loud, which only worsened when this same motherfucker who bought the first round of shots decided he was a bigshot and ordered a couple more rounds with even more shots.

As bad as that was, I really started to boil inside when they invaded my personal space which, in this specific environment, was my table.  The group got so big that a couple of them began standing inbetween my table and theirs, and their clothes and, for all I know, their body fat pushed up against and hovered over the side of my table.  I was already upset that I couldn't hear or see the World Cup Games I was there to see, so that shit really put me on red.

Then, some guy who probably was not part of their group (I'll get to why I say that in a bit) put his glass of water on my table.  The other end of this short table I was sitting at, but this was My.  Fucking.  Table.  And this asshole just walked away without it.  This was my red line.  This was the point where I lost it, or I had to do something while knowing I couldn't yell or punch someone.  I saw him talking to his group around the other side of the pillar against which my table was at.  I just grabbed the glass of water, went up to this dude, and said, "Hey, this is your water," then sat back down.  And he probably thought I was crazy and/or an asshole, but he, I guess, was puzzled enough to find another place to put the glass of water and then forget about it.  But at least that goddamn cup wasn't at my table.

As for these fuckers to the left of me, which seriously grew to about 20 or even two dozen people, it didn't get any better.  They got even louder and rowdier, and they even started pushing up against my table.  But hey, at least they got into the Eqypt-Iran Match like I was.  The only thing I can think as to why they seemed to be so OK with getting sorta close to me, and this is a complete guess, is that, and I was able to hear this with little difficulty because they were talking so fucking loud, they were in town for a conference of Asian journalists.  They were all Asian, as, of course, am I and, even though I didn't have that good of a look at him, the shit who left his water at my table.  They may have thought we were all a part of this conference in downtown Minneapolis.  I find it kind of funny since I have a degree in journalism.  I am out of the industry, way out.  And while looking at these drunk and dumb fucks ruin my night, it crossed my mind how many of these young, over-confident shits will wash out of the industry like I did.  From those who are able to carve out a career, I wonder how many of them will become "insiders" whose egos will be so big they'll become insufferable pricks who fall in love with the smell of their own shit.  Then again, they're Asian.  They might not be allowed to get that big.

Thinking/Wishing all of these journalists-to-be will fail was the only socially-acceptable way I could get back at these assholes that ruined my World Cup viewing.  Good luck in journalism.

I was going to blog post about me deciding to attend the Women's PGA Championship at Hazeltine (tl;dr in case I don't ever get back around to talking about it: I'm glad I went) or the time Friday I went downtown just to watch the World Cup and a growing party just fucking got in my way.  But before I left for Hazeltine yesterday/Sunday I juice half a lemon and got 35 mL out of it.  That meant I had to drink two cocktails, and since I got back so late I had only till 9:30 p.m. (I juiced them around 11:30 a.m. and I think you have up to ten hours before the juice starts to taste bleh) to use them, and I realized while watching Red Sox-Yankees on NBC that it was past 9, so I made and downed a lemon drop martini and then quickly followed that up with a between the sheets, and not only do I have a pounding headache, I think I may have poisoned myself.

So, to summarize, that is what I'm blog posting about ... while also providing a possible cause of death in case I don't wake up in the morning.

He's A Little Bitch

So I stumbled on this account on Bluesky that tracks and notifies you when someone blocks you.  I didn't seek it out, but like I said, I just came across it, and without thinking about it beyond saying to myself, "You know, I might want to know who hates me," I followed it.

There is a guy I follow.  This little bitch will remain nameless so my dissection of him (hopefully) remains untraceable.  He's a local person who likes sports and keenly follows the Lynx.  I like the Lynx and local sports, so I followed him.  He skeeted the World Cup schedule, specifically that there are quadruple-headers from today/Sunday until Tuesday, then tripleheaders where two Matches go on simultaneously for the next three days after that.  All I said -- all I said! -- was that this was a soccer orgy.  A little later, the block Bluesky account told me that this snowflake blocked me.

For what?!  I just wanted to confirm with him that he regarded it as a soccer orgy.  What the fuck is the problem with that?!?!  Does he not think my wit is refined?  Does he hate the word "orgy?"  What the fuck is wrong with him?!?!?!  So I did the mature thing and blocked his ass in return.  And then I worried about all the other Lynx/Minnesota sports accounts I follow on Bluesky and wonder if they would take his side over mine.

And then I had to stop myself and remember something all of us too often forget: This is social media.  This is the fucking Internet.  I don't know this guy.  I like (well, liked) his stuff, but I don't know him.  And even if I am butthurt, I have to remember that this guy doesn't know who the fuck I am and doesn't give two shits about me even if I did like and repost every skeet he made.  So even though it hurts to seemingly be rejected by someone whose work I admire ... I'm getting bent out of shape over some motherfucker I don't know.  Why am I so upset?

Maybe it's better to be ignorant.  Maybe it's better to not know who blocks you on Bluesky.  But once I realize this doesn't affect my life in any meaningful way, I'll get over it.  But he's still a little bitch.

My Thoughts On Who To Root For In The Stanley Cup And NBA Finals

I have no interest in seeing the Stanley Cup Finals.  Out of principle, I don't watch a postseason once my team, in this case the Wild, are eliminated.  It hurts too much.  (This may be paradoxical, but if my team doesn't make a playoffs, I am more than happy to watch the whole thing ... with exceptions, of course.  If my team can't even make the postseason, that means my team didn't even have a chance of winning that Year's title, so I cannot have any bitterness over what could have been.  Does that make sense?)

Beyond that, though, I don't care how intriguing this matchup has become after Games 1 and 2 have both featured stunning comebacks and late Goals.  The Vegas Golden Knights are in their third Stanley Cup Finals and they're only nine years old.  They were given the most generous and bountiful birth of any expansion team in North American sports, immediately seeding their roster with stars and upside role players and parlaying them into a Stanley Cup Finals birth in their first Year.  And they have continued to cash in on the excessively valuable assets they were given, trading those away for a bumper crop of promising youngsters and aging role players, thus giving them a higher ceiling that few other teams in the NHL have, let alone were given.  And that's why I refer to them as Team Privilege, or Team Third Base.

On top of that, their starting, starring Goaltender, Carter Hart, was one of four people accused of gang raping a drugged-out women several years ago.  The Canadian judge let him off the hook, and he hooked up with the Golden Knights, and he's playing very well, thus proving that there is no God.  Oh, and he is a supporter of this separatist movement in the Canadian province of Alberta.  And on top of all that, the owner of the Vegas Golden Knights demands that his franchise is not named the Las Vegas Golden Knights, purportedly because "Las" sounds too close to "loss."  Putz.

Meanwhile, The Carolina Hurricanes have a boss, Tom Dundon, who may be riding high on the success of his hockey team, but is curiously thinning the workforce of the NBA team he owns, The Portland Trail Blazers.  He sounds creepily close to all these tech bros who think their achievement and moxie in their industry means they know everything and must be allowed to do anything, even if it means taking the livelihoods of people who just want to put food on the table.  Sounds like an asshole.  Oh ... also, The Carolina Hurricanes were stolen from the good people of Hartford, and The Hartford Whalers' famous fight song, "Brass Bonanza," has been adopted for North Carolina.  As hoary a form of cultural appropriation you can get without lasting consequences for civilization and society.

So, Team Third Base vs. The Bastard Hartford Whalers?  I choose death.

Meanwhile, my feelings for which team is winning the NBA Finals are so mixed up that I can't accurate describe them.  I know that I should hate The San Antonio Spurs because they beat my Minnesota Timberwolves, and loyalty demands that I wish evil upon those who've wronged me.  On the other side, Karl-Anthony Towns, who was loyal to the T-Wolves until the point the organization stopped being loyal to him and traded him, has a chance to win a championship with the team he was traded to, The New York Knicks.  I think he's a good guy, and I want to see him happy and successful.  And I saw what Jalen Brunson did at the end of Game 1's Win; that dude has big balls, and I really respect that, too.

So why do I catch myself rooting for the Spurs and rooting against the Knicks?  Those are two different questions that demand two different answers.  I don't know him, but it feels as though Victor Wenbanyama is a good dude who's still learning how to play in the NBA.  I like the really tall kid.  And on the other side, when the Knicks made big shot after big shot to pull out a Game 1 upset at San Antonio, I saw Knicks fans in the San Antone crowd cheer, this well of hate rises up within me.  Dammit, man, New York City sports fans are insufferable.

Such a jumble of preferences may drive a man mad.  But I'll try and tease this out.  I'm not specifically hoping that the Spurs will win, but I do hope that Wemby wins.  Meanwhile, I want to see KAT win one championship ... but I don't care about the Knicks franchise or Knicks fans winning a championship.  Hey, I need to compartmentalize if I am supposed to analyze Game 2's broadcast with any sort of objectivity.

With all that said, I plan on going to that Prince celebration concert tonight/Friday night, so I will likely miss Game 2.  Shucks.

Toxic Male At Work

Friday was one of the days where I hate customer service, and cringe when I remember that I was not told there was customer service when I got hired for this job.

It didn't happen to me, but to my co-worker.  I was going to go back to my work when I overheard her being interrupted by someone over the phone.  After several seconds where she was just listening, she slammed the phone down.  That got the attention of my other co-worker, to whom she had to say that she was confronted by someone when all she was asking for was information missing from the form.  What was really bad was that he immediately called back, to which she declined the call.  And then this piece of shit called again, and again, and rightly so, she declined the call.

I hate that this happened to her, and I really hate that this prick obviously got bent out of shape over something that pretty much every other person we have dealt with has just, well, answered.  I don't know exactly what he said, but it clearly upset my co-worker, so I don't need to hear it.  I asked her to hand over this asshole's contact information so I know who I'm dealing with if I ever have to deal with him.  I mistakenly threw it away, but I remember the name, the area code, and the client he was working for.  I hope that's enough.

I wonder why people are like that.  Then I remember that, even though I want to think I would never lash out like that, I have been upset at people.  And I was upset because something didn't go my way that I thought should.  Yet in the wildest reaches of my imagination, I could never scream at anybody if someone called me in a similar situation.  How could he feel so attacked, so hurt, over being asked for more information?  The fuck is wrong with him?

The only thing I wish I could have realistically done (because I want to get this fucker fired) is asking my co-worker if I could do calls for the rest of the day.  Instead I volunteered to take something off her plate when I should have taken the task that upset her.  I hate calling too, and this toxic male is the reason why I shied away from helping her in that regard.

Bored Me Napping, Then Shopping For Big-Ticket Items

Braced myself for another long day at work yesterday/Friday ... but it wasn't; it was actually tame, and very tame compared to Thursday ... and yet I have to brace myself for today/Saturday, because my bosses said that today/Saturday could bring in a bunch of work which I don't understand why it couldn't have come yesterday/Friday, and so I'm coming in to work as soon as I wake up.

So my plan of staying in today/Saturday has blown up, but hey, I am getting beaucoup overtime this week, so I'm not too upset.  Still, I wondered what I would do once I got home (on-time, which I did not expect) yesterday/Friday.  I thought I would be awake enough to start on the leftover pizza that I had decided I would eat, but the setting sun convinced me to take a nap first.  If I wasn't tired, I'd pop up early, and work on the pizza before the sports Games I wanted to watch would start at 7.

I crawled into bed before 6.  I woke up a couple minutes past 9.  Didn't expect to do that.  I thought I didn't have time to eat pizza and should pivot to spaghetti, which I planned to eat today/Saturday, but I am getting Pizza Hut to watch for the Super Bowl, so I went through with the pizza.

Yeah, nothing exciting.  So, in my bored state, I was reading up on the latest on how these assholes continue to plague and besiege our state.  One person believes that the announcement earlier this week that they're withdrawing troops was just a way to get people in the state and the national news media off their backs.  Then, the next step is for the remaining pricks to go hard not necessarily after non-Whites but observers that have made their loud objections to what is going on here a state-wide issue.  Intriguing, and I can see that that works, and is working now.

And then I clicked on a link recommending the best gas masks to buy.  If I have to physically commit to this struggle, I'll probably get tear-gassed, so I might as well prepare, right?  I looked through not one but two websites dedicated to the best gas masks, and me being a thoroughly-researching consumer, I think I settled upon one.  And, to make things even more tantalizing, the gas mask is on sale.  (I'm not going to link the websites that reviewed the masks or the company that sells the one that appears to be the top-rated one, just in case they're snooping around here.)  I think maybe I'm sounding too paranoid, but dammit, the thing's on sale.  I'll wait till tomorrow/Sunday; if I remember, and if it's still on sale then, I think I'll buy one.

What I did pull the trigger on is a new robe.  After seeing the two website review gas masks, I went to the website that does nothing but review consumer products (to think gas masks are a consumer product -- what a world we live in), The Wirecutter.  And bored me went down another rabbit hole, to their review of robes.  Now, I have thought about buying a robe for the past, oh, few years.  On the one hand I didn't think I needed one; either I would wrap myself in a towel and just hang out on my bed in the nude, or, if I'm alone in the house, I'd just waltz around naked.  But there is a limbo state where you are not totally dry but still want to putz around in the house without your man bits hanging out -- well, unless you want to open up your robe to thrust out your dick.  I'd reserve that occasion when I want to surprise one of my stripper girlfriends.

Anyway, the main obstacle to buying a robe, believe it or not, is price.  The ones The Wirecutter recommends are routinely in the triple digits.  One hundred dollars for a damn robe?!  I may have seen one for $90, but even that's expensive.  However, when I am bored, I am weak.  And thus I was ripe for the picking when I saw one of the recommended robes being sold for about 30% off if I use a promo code tied in with the website.  At $65 ... well, it's still expensive, but it'll be as cheap as these robes will ever get.  Also, I didn't plan on spending any money tonight, but the company said I could pay through PayPal, and my stupid brain has convinced myself into thinking that is not real money, so I bought it under the illusion that I haven't really paid anything today.

So I threw my sleep pattern off last night, I bought a robe, and tomorrow/Sunday I think I'll be buying a gas mask.  This is what bored me does.  Now, off to bed.

The Downside To Having A Neighbor Who's Looking Out For You

As I have told all of you, my sister's childhood best friend lives a couple houses down from me/us with her wife and their baby.  We text from time to time, but we have been in touch more since her mom passed in December.  I wanted to give her me and my family's sympathies, and then I wished her Happy Holidays, and then this fucking occupation from our goddamn Republican government began, and that is when I really started to text/bug her about sightings and, if need be, having each other's backs if the shit hits the fan.

She has a background in security, plus she has always been observant, so in the days when I got really scared about them patrolling our neighborhood and even our street, I felt, and feel, good that she will at the very least let me know if she sees something scary.  I have not been one to reach out and be friendly to neighbors, but if and when the time comes to band together, that is when it's beneficial, if not vital, to know who the people who live next and close to you are.

With all that said ... a man has needs, and for the first time since my parents finally skedaddled, I asked one of my stripper girlfriends, ******e, to come over and play with me.  She was late, of course, and this was when I came home from downtown watching the EPL after waking up early enough to see some soccer.  My body, with the help of the Bloody Mary I had, told me to rest while I waited for her.

I woke up to both a knock on the door and a buzz from my phone.  Naturally, I checked my phone first.  There was a text -- not from ******e, whom I asked to let me know when she was close, but from my sister's best friend.  She said she saw a car pull up to the driveway, and did I expect it.  And this is what I feared: Her doing the neighborly thing all too well.

I have, or had, kept to myself because I didn't want anybody peeping on my business, especially my illicit one.  And yes, I have known her for a long, long time, so it's possible that she has seen cars come up to my house before.  But I haven't asked her to watch over me in case people are taking me away until now.  And now I know for sure that she has been looking.

So I race down the door to open it and invite ******e in.  That's when I had to think of a reply, so I just said, "Yeah, I was expecting company," and then for some goddamn reason I went, "Don't tell anyone!"  Great, now I have given her reason to think I am doing something my parents don't know I'm doing.

Look, I don't think she'd tell my folks.  After all, my parents refused to attend her mother's funeral, even though they were home and the service was virtually down the street.  My folks made her mom egg rolls, and she loved them.  That's a connection that should be celebrated, or at least memorialized, as she was laid to rest.  But they declined to go, and Mother's knee is a bullshit excuse, even though Mother never raised it (and no, I didn't ask why they didn't want to go).

So that makes me think that there's no way my sister's best friend would just blurt out one day to them that I had a chick come over.  But, would she tell my sister?  Maybe.  And that's what scares me.  I hope she plays it cool and understand I'm an adult.  And I don't think I can now ask her not to look when a suspicious car drives up to my house; these assholes are still around.  But I don't think I am going to stop asking my stripper girlfriends to come over, either.  In fact, I think I am going to ask *****y to drop by, and then, hopefully, ****e* will have time the following week to clean my house.  Will she suspect something if she sees a pattern of cars drive up to the house?  And if so, will she tell?

It's weird to think that she might be thinking I'm having sex workers at my house, I'll tell you that much.

What Would I Do?

Maybe I have to face the truth.  Maybe the reason I avoid venturing out during the day, or fear getting stopped by these assholes while driving, or run through my mind what I would do if I see someone getting abducted, is because I am scared of what I would say and do ... or not say or do.

I have proof that I am a citizen.  But it looks like these motherfuckers don't give a solitary fuck about that.  If they don't, and they decide to haul me in, what would I do then?  But there's something way more sinister than that.  It sounds as though these pricks insult you to your face in an effort to get you going.  I have a temper.  Could I be baited into saying something or doing something that'll be justification for getting taken away?  Absolutely.  Now, I have to remember that these pieces of shit have guns and therefore hold all the cards.  It might not matter what I say or do, or don't say or do.  They'll do whatever they want, at that time, just because they fucking want to.  And yet, I wonder if some of it would be "my fault" if I lose it.

And then there's the other side.  What if I get stopped in my car or on the street, and when they ask for proof of citizenship, even though I don't have to (and I have heard conflicting advice on this), I give them that proof?  And let's say they let me go.  Frankly, I would be relieved I wouldn't be kidnapped.  But what I did in order to remain a free man is to knuckle under this fascist régime's orders.  I would be complicit.  I just decided to give them what they want because I didn't want to get my ass kicked.

So what kind of a man, what kind of an American, what kind of a patriot would I truly be if I did what these Republican shitstains tell me to do?  And am I going to look the other way if someone gets spirited away into a plateless SUV to points unknown?  I'm afraid the answer to that last question is yes.  That murder Saturday morning really frightens me.  The first one here a couple weeks ago was bad enough.  But I am a big believer in that once you do something unfathomable and heinous, doing it again is much easier.  I'm afraid I can see a rash of killings by these racist government thugs.  Hey, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?  And it's that backdrop of these goddamn bullies threatening your life if they don't get their way that makes me scared that I will not be courageous when the time comes for me to be brave.

So, who will I be -- or maybe more to the point, what side will I show -- when these sons-of-bitches come for me -- the chickenshit too meek to do anything so he can go home in one piece, or the dead man who had to stand up to someone because it's the right thing to do?  I don't think I want to know.  And that's why I stay home as much as I can.  And that's why I hate myself right now.

Of Drips And Noisy Furnaces

I need to talk about something else.

This has happened for as long as I can remember, but this personal, multi-day lockdown has put me alone with the appliances in this house -- in particular, how creaky they sound.  For example, every single sink and toilet seems to drip.  Right now, I'm bothered whenever I flush the upstairs toilet because it always drips loud enough that I could hear it from my bedroom.  That's been going on for years, so that means that at some point, it'll, I don't know, warp the wall or floor or ceiling or something.  I'm by myself, plus it's cold outside, plus we're living under fascist rule right now, so bad luck will almost demand that the shit hit the fan when it comes to this bad drip-drip-drip.

As much as I need water, I need heat more right now, and my furnace rattles as it's working.  Sometimes it rattles when it starts up, sometimes it sounds alright until the middle of its cycle.  But it is nerve-racking to hear that rattle because it makes me feel like the furnace is struggling, and it's about to give out.  And obviously, I can't have it give out.

Things are fine, or at least tolerable, on both fronts.  But I just saw the website; they are concentrating on this neighborhood today.  Don't know why.  I was hoping I could dash out, grab some food, then come home and enjoy the football Games -- you know, live my life.  But these motherfuckers are depriving me of that simple joy.  Do I stay home, or do I go for it?  Well, in the meantime, I am hoping that there isn't a catastrophic water leak or furnace breakdown.

Should I See Her?

With my parents now gone, I feel free to see my All-Time Favorite at My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division).  I tell her on Sunday I want to see her this week.

Big mistake now that these fuckers are trying to push us around.  I started to see videos on websites, applications, social media and the news about people getting kidnapped by faceless thugs, who then push and teargas onlookers, protestors and patriots trying to film their illegal kidnappings.  And I have heard that these motherfuckers have been on my street the past couple days.

So yeah, I'm freaking out.  I don't know if I should be out and about these days.  And I told my ATF so, apologizing for possibly changing my mind.  But I thought about this too: If I am afraid these assholes are going door to door ... do I feel safe at home?  If so, should I be home?  Could I, in fact, be safer somewhere besides my house?  (I realized when I was working yesterday/Monday that I, to my astonishment, felt safer there than I have felt the past several days.)  If that's the case, would it be better for me to go to the strip club?  I know it's bad odds, but maybe I will be out on a night where these assholes are invading our street.

I've been looking up a website that tracks this vermin wherever they go and whatever they do, whether it's detaining some poor guy who got caught up at the wrong place at the wrong time or if they're just eating shit at some gas station.  No doubt they're here, and they have been extremely close in the area.  So I am looking at how frequently they are where I need to be and would like to go (work, strip club, parks, where I exercise) and see, over the next couple days, if it's safe or not.  (One observation I have made: These pricks are avoiding both downtowns, at least for now.)  And still I know it's a crapshoot that wherever I go and whatever I do, I still might get attacked.

When I told her I am having second thoughts, she said, "Do what you think is best for you."  I am sad that she sounds disappointed.  I hope she understands what I'm going through.  But when I told her why I was hesitating, she asked, "Do you think you look like what they're looking for?"  And I am disappointed that she doesn't appear to think that what is happening to other people of color could happen to me.  That "First They Came" poem?  I hope she read it.

Shit, I might just give her the poem when I see her this week.

Apparently, They're Here

None of these reports are verified, but I have seen on websites and heard from friends of mine that they are in the neighborhood now.  One said they're going door to door.  I saw a video taken at the trailer park nearby that shows two guys wearing winter masks, those fuckers.

I've downloaded transcription and recording applications, just in case.  I kind of wish I have a dashcam now, but, well, it may be too late for that.

I am trying to balance my fear of getting round up in all of this with my need to stand up to bullies -- for my neighbors, for my community, for my state, for the good people governing it, and for myself.  Frankly, though, I don't know if I can do it.  I have thought about texting my brother, at least letting him know that these assholes are in the area.  You know, just in case.

So afraid going out the past few days.  Am glad I was still able to see my friend without getting hassled.  But with this fascist vice tightening, there's no telling if, for example, I'll get stopped on the way to work.

Goddamn this world.

Too Much To Do This Week, And I'm Not Doing That Much Because Of ... Well

I totally am happy with seeing my friend who's in town.  She would be, absolutely and every time, my main priority if I have other things I want to do.  And dammit, there are a couple other things I could do this weekend, and I am blog posting about how much I fucking hate that all three goddamn things are here at the same time.

My friend travels for her job.  She was back here in the early fall, but for some family obligations.  That's when she told me she would be in town to work the first full week of January.  That's when I was already formulating in my mind what we could and do when she was back and maybe had more time to do things.

I do not know if it was made before or after my friend told me she would be back in town now, but around this time (I guess) I realized that my alma mater's basketball teams would be playing the U. here this weekend.  First of all, I don't understand how both of my teams are playing here at the same weekend; that's a weird scheduling quirk that I can't believe just lined up that way.  Second, with that, "uh," opportunity, does that mean that both teams travelled here and will travel back on the same plane so they can save money?  But I've gone off on a tangent.  I have to see my alma mater's teams when they play in town ... unless my friend wants to do something else.  But luckily for me, we both went to the same college, so maybe she would want to go to these Games, too?  She said she had time for the men's Game, which was last/Friday night, but not the women's Game, which is tomorrow/Sunday afternoon.  I will presume she can't make it tomorrow because she is busy with work.

Again, I wish these things happened on separate weeks, but I am managing to both go to the Games I want to go to and see my friend.  But there is another thing that I realized is also happening this week, and this I think was scheduled for a year: The Twin Cities Auto Show.  This show was in March for as long as I can remember, with the exception of the COVID years, where I think I didn't go one year and the other year I went when it was held at the State Fairgrounds late spring or early summer.  I always go, but by the time I realized it was happening the same week as my alma mater's b-ball teams and my friend being here for work, I quickly concluded that I can't go.  I'm just too busy and tired.  And (and this could be rationalizing) the auto show has changed since the manufacturers stopped printing out brochures for us to take.  Not saying that I no longer have any fun there, but my stays at the show have shortened because I can't pamphlet-hunt.  I'm not upset that I am passing this up.

Now, all this ICE bullshit is complicating everything.  I haven't yet heard they are in downtown Minneapolis, but I am spooked enough that, if I had the time to go, I would hesitate.  Meanwhile, I invited my friend to this speakeasy tonight.  She might be busy hanging out with another friend.  But I have to be honest and say I am nervous because this place is much closer to the site of that murder by that ICE incel on Wednesday.  Finally, even though I went to the U. last/Friday night and will tomorrow/Sunday afternoon, I am scared of going there too because, who knows, I could be stopped, or worse.

So maybe I shouldn't kvetch over three things all happening at the same time because of fascism.  To be candid, I didn't think my blog post would veer this way.  Oh well.

I'm scared now.  Heard that yesterday/Friday, two school systems shut down for the day because of fucking ICE.  They seem to be in the neighborhood; I heard a rumor that they were staging at the parking lot of the Target.  How scary, and how disgraceful.

I went to a sporting event last/Friday night.  On my way back from the Game (which my alma mater won), I looked at my Bluesky.  Apparently, police and/or ICE are pulling cars off the exit ramps around the Twin Cities.  That's when all this bullshit hits home with me.  These ICE-holes are flagging and possibly detaining anyone, and not because they're enforcing a law; they're doing that because Dear Leader told them to, and you don't want to displease Dear Leader, do you?

So, instead of going to Taco Bell, I hightailed it into my house, where I am safe ... for now.

On Money -- When I Spend It And When I Complain About Spending It

So work yesterday/Friday ended at 2.  Missed the regulation Game (Germany doubled up Denmark and thus will stay up in the Top Division), but saw Switzerland come from behind in The Second Period and defeat Czechia in the 3:30 Game I was able to buy a ticket and make it to, then (with a ticket I already bought, not at work less than two hours before puck drop like the Czechs-Swiss Game) witnessed Canada crush Slovakia in the 7:30 Game, 7-1.

I got a ticket for the 3:30 matchup on a scalper site for $18 or so.  I was curious, so Thursday I checked prices for the 7:30 Game.  I bought one just before the tournament started for ... um, just under $70, I think.  I assumed that that Game would feature Canada, and that Canadians would swoop in from up north to see this Quarterfinal matchup.  I bought it before the tournament because the prices were starting to rise after falling a bit, and I was afraid that Canada fans would finally snatch them up thinking that they would be seeing their team.  What I forgot to factor in was Trump wanting to annex the entire nation.  That idiotic talk convinced many Canadians to not vacation in the U.S.  I remember hearing so many resorts and convention bureaus say that the number of Canadians vacationing in their cities and towns have plummeted.  I remember this now, but I didn't remember it when I bought that ticket.  (That's probably due to all the bullshit coming from that asshole's mouth; you forgot the crap he said because he constantly says new crap.  Apparently, it's a strength of his.)  So I checked Thursday and I could get in for about $39.  Dammit.  Well, I chalked this mistake up to our dumbass President and the fact that this is the World Juniors we're talking about; I don't mind paying a premium for an event I probably will never attend again even though it turns out I overspent by about $31.

---

So I blog posted on here before about buying World Juniors merchandise, and about whether I wanted to buy at Mariucci Arena, the pop-up store at the Mall Of America, or both.  There were a lot of things I tried to consider about whether and what to buy, all of it leading me to a web of confusion.  Foremost among them was price, of course, but another thing was scarcity, in particular whether an item is only in one place.  And I think my OCD kicked in, because I got really, really obsessed over that when I went to Mariucci yesterday/Friday to watch the Games.

When I went down to the Megamall last Saturday, I hemmed and hawed about several items I saw down there.  Eventually I decided not to buy the big tickets items, such as jerseys and hooded sweatshirts.  They were oversized and they had designs that I wasn't too keen about.  Oh, and the price, of course.

I bought two medium size t-shirts of the same design.  It was important to me to at least buy anything World Juniors-related that had the official 2026 IIHF World Juniors logo and the flags of the ten countries competing.  I also bought two because of my OCD: The plan is to wear one and to keep one for storage for ... I don't know what.  Anyway, I bought a pair.  I also bought a scarf which, sad to say, I forgot to wear Friday to Mariucci when I planned on doing so.

But back to the t-shirts.  I don't necessarily regret buying them, but I recognized the style of that t-shirt when I was going through the merch store at Mariucci.  I was afraid that they would have sold out at the arena, and that's why I bought it down in Bloomington, but it isn't "special" because I saw it at MOA and Mariucci.  On the other hand, there were many, and I mean many, items at the pop-up that I didn't remember seeing at the arena.

I went into the merch store before the Czechia-Switzerland Game to buy my stuff before the Canadians did.  I wouldn't say it was cleaned out, but compared to what I saw on Boxing Day, they went through a lot of stuff.  However, and damn my fuzzy memory, even though there were several items there that I didn't see down in Bloomington, I think I'm right in thinking there is more "unique" stuff down at the Mall Of America than at the store in Mariucci.

And yet ... the things I saw in Mariucci that I don't recall seeing at MOA I pretty much bought.  At first I got a winter hat with the logo stitched on it (I know I didn't see that at the Megamall) and a logo pin (don't recall seeing it at MOA, but it's a small pin, so I could've missed it).  But during the first two periods of the Czechia-Switzerland Game I was debating about whether to buy more stuff.  Well, I save a lot of money because my parents buy all the food we eat, so I indulged myself.  At the Second Intermission, I went back into the merch store and bought a light blue hoodie with just the big logo in front (I don't think they have that one at the Megamall ... do they?) and two more t-shirts.  This one design has the logo in the front and the flags of the ten countries in the back along with Paul Bunyan as a hockey player and Babe The Blue Ox as a Goaltender.  I liked the Minnesota tie-in.  And I know I did not see this particular t-shirt at MOA.

I have dropped about $200 in World Juniors-branded clothing.  I don't think I have spent so much money in memorabilia for a single sporting event.  There have been other big sporting events I've attended ... well, actually I worked a Super Bowl and a Final Four.  I don't know how ethical it would've been to buy stuff, especially I was, you know, supposed to be working.  But for the World Juniors I'm a fan, and like I said, I have money, so I am getting all this.

And dammit ... my OCD wants me to go back to the Mall Of America a third time to go into that pop-up store to look one more time at the "exclusive" stuff it turns out I could only buy there.  In particular there was this orange quarter-zip that had the logo blown up and in contrast in the back.  Now I feel bad that I didn't buy it then.  But that pop-up store closes either tomorrow/Sunday or Monday, and now I feel compelled to buy that -- or, if that's gone, maybe something else I can only get there.  I had plans to just go home immediately after the Vikings Game, but this is the World Juniors, so I've decided I can alter my plans, cut out early from U. S. Bank Stadium, drive down there before the mall closes, and take out my credit card to buy stuff marking this once-in-a-lifetime event ...

... unless there's nothing there for me to buy and/or it's too expensive and/or all the stuff there I saw at Mariucci, in which case it would be a waste of time but whatever, I need to see for myself.  And this is where I catch myself not being frugal.  I'll spend (or fritter away) money if it's for a big sporting event and if I think the stuff I can buy is "special."  And I will beat myself up after the fact when I begin to doubt whether it is "special."  My goodness, I can't buy anything without a tinge of regret.

OK, So We Have A Date My Parents Will Finally Leave ...

... and it's about a month from now.  Oh, well. ...

Thing is, they wanted to leave next week.  I would've loved it.  It just so happens, however, that was the same day of the memorial service for the family friend who died a week ago.  I asked my boss before I left work yesterday/Friday if I could take that afternoon off; even though it was short notice, he said yes.  And so I assumed that my folks would want to pay their respects, too.  Besides, it was going to be short -- an hour to mill around and say hi, and then an hour for the service, and I guess there will be stuff to eat afterward, but that's when we could just go home.  But Mother was looking for flights on that day because they were going to be as cheap as they would be before prices went up for the holidays.

Honestly, this was a dick move by them -- and not surprising.  They don't want to be here, especially in the cold.  And when Mother got the all-clear from the physician who performed knee surgery on her, I knew it was going to be a matter of time before they were going to skedaddle.  And still I thought they were going to listen to the angels of their better nature and go to the service.

Was I going to push this?  No.  Technically, the flight Mother was looking at was going to fly out around noon.  I could take them in the morning, come back, get dressed and go to the service by myself.  That would have been fine.  I think that if my boss let me go for the afternoon, he'd let me go for the whole day.  Also, I think it's important that someone from the family go to the funeral.  Ideally it should be all of us, but if my parents' friendship with her was fake, whatever.  What mattered to me was that I go to the service to pay my respects to the lady who lived just a couple houses down from us and who was always nice to us.

Now, I guess I could have headed this conflict off if I knew before yesterday/Friday that next week was the service, but I kept forgetting to check the date.  Also, it is a bitter irony that the day they were going to leave just so happened to be the same fuckin' date of the service.  If the service were the day before, it would've been perfect.  Alas, I am trying not to be angry.  This is about saying goodbye, after all, and this neighbor's death has me thinking about how my parents are still around, though not forever.

So, my ever-parsimonious Mother decided she would look for the next date with tickets as cheap as the one next week.  And that date is ... the first week in January!  Because of the funeral service, my parents will be here for another 3 1/2 weeks!  Like I said, I'm trying not to hate God for this.  There are some plusses to them staying.  For example, even though Mother has been cleared to get on a plane, her doctor advised her to continue walking because the threat of blood clots is still there.  However, the doc also said that risk decreases over time, so I want to think that the chances of her getting a blood clot will be notably less in January than next week.  Also ... well, I guess it's alright that I can be with my folks for the holidays, even though that wasn't their initial plan.  (When Mother bought the tickets, she said Father wanted to spend the holidays with me.  That's ... well, bullshit.)

OK, I can't think of too many upsides to them being here for the holidays.  I would like to them to be gone.  With my parents out of the state, I could go out to this bar on Christmas Eve, but that would be too weird now.  And I guess there are 3 1/2 more weeks of us starting a fight over something or other.  Whatevs.  They've been here since April, I think, so what's another month at this point?  Besides, and I hate to say it, I'm scared that another member of my family is going to fall ill this month.  If that's the case, and if they're off wintering, they'll just have to fly back home.  They might as well be here and save themselves the trip.

Oh, by the way, it looks as though Father will accompany me to the service but Mother won't.  That ain't her bag or some shit.

Bad Driver: TCS 729

Wow, I haven't had to deal with crazy motherfuckers like you on the road in a long time.  And unfortunately you wanted to let everyone know you could conquer the snow like a man when I was trying to get to work.  I don't remember anyone cutting in right around me that closely in a long time, if not ever.  And when you started tapping your brake and flipping me off (at least that's what I thought you were doing; I couldn't see your bitch ass finger all that clearly in the snow, boy), I began to realize that you might be on fucking drugs.  Who the fuck else does crazy shit like that on a county highway at 8 on a Friday morning while snow's falling?

Then, I rolled up behind you on the left turn lane.  I didn't think you were crazy enough to cut in front of someone on the right lane that was going straight through the intersection and then make a left turn before we had our green light or the traffic coming straight the other way had theirs, but maybe you're on some insane shit.  Or, you were afraid of me.  One of the two.

Bravo, though, you piece of shit.  I was calm enough to lift the license plate of your Honda sedan.  God, I hope I never, ever see you again, you dangerous fucking asshole.

Psycho At Work

For the first time, there is a crazy customer I and we have to deal with.  I had to take a call from a phone of someone who does not work Mondays, and this idiot was in orbit.

I checked her deal: We are looking for an account number from her, and it seems as if she and my co-worker have been going back-and-forth over it.  She has provided an account or two, but neither of them work, and yet, she doesn't seem to ... get it.  What makes me think she's kind of nuts is that I told her that I noticed she had been in touch with a couple of other people, and she said that she doesn't want to talk to them anymore because, according to her, she was treated rudely and would not speak to them.

She still could not give an account.  She really couldn't give a straight answer, insisting that "we have her information," even though we have been trying, several times, to get one from her.  That's when she went psychotic -- she asked for the manager, she asked for corporate headquarters, she even tsk-tsked when I asked for her number so "my manager" (who I realized won't be in for the next couple days, whoops!) could call her back.  She hung up on me, the brat.

I've dealt with rudeness before, but she is still trying to get something from us without giving us what we need.  That makes her dangerous because, in all likelihood, she's going to contact us again, and that is when we are going to have real problems.  Normally, I would defer to my manager, but like I said, he isn't going to be around.  My plan is to come in and, first thing, tell my co-worker about the call I took on her phone.  I then will suggest and ask for a plan of action, including if there's anyone we can defer to, someone who has the means to shield themselves, us, and the company from this insane person.

I'm not worried ... yet.  But if anything happens, I already let you all know here.

Ah, Men Who Aren't

So Saturday night, after working the Gopher football Game, I was hanging out with a couple dudes downtown who saw our alma mater's football Game.  They left, but I wanted to hang out a little while longer.

I was standing up scrolling through my phone.  I was the only one of this table that had three chairs; although it was busy, there were other tables around me.  One that was occupied was occupied by a lot of people.  I didn't notice that another person joined them.  He apparently wanted a chair.  He saw the one that was next to me.  And he just took it, and used it to sit down with his friends.

No, he didn't ask me.  And he should've.  Sure, I wasn't using it.  But it was obvious that it was a chair that was at a table I was at, so a quick, "Hey, you using this?" would have sufficed.  That was too much to ask of this guy, who sat his incel ass down and, I think, began scrolling through his phone.

---

It was a bear to drive down the Megamall Black Friday.  The on-ramp to the first highway I hit was backed up, the drive into The Lowry Tunnel was backed up, and my God, the traffic to park at MOA was backed up for half a mile.

I finally parked.  I'm walking in, and I hear these clomping footsteps behind me.  There's this tall White dude who has this IDGAF attitude coming up behind me.  I fling the first door open for him; he keeps it open while not saying thanks.  At this point he's about to clip my heel with his toe, so I open the second door for him.  He doesn't say thanks; he just keeps striding, almost leaving what looks to be his kids in his dust.  I sarcastically give him the thumb's up; it's only comeback I can think of to let him know what I feel about his fast, intrusive walking.

---

There has been a school of thought that video games cause violence.  That idea has been debunked by researched a long time ago, even though I think a lot of people still cling to the notion.  But there has been very small evidence that video games cause aggression.  There are some studies that note a correlation, especially in the short term.

I'm going to be so bold as to believe that video games do cause aggression, and not just in the short term.  I think that the advent of video games coincide with societal coarseness.  I believe that more people have become dicks since video games became popular.  I will go out on a limb that these two arrested development motherfuckers play them, and as a result have no manners and go about life thinking everything's about them, they don't have to wait their turn, and they do whatever they want, fuck everybody else.  A lot of people are like that now, in this country and around the world.  And that's also partially why Trump's in office -- well, that and Russian interference (which Trump asked for, which is illegal) and Musk and social media (also illegal).  And while aggression isn't the same as violence, the former can easily bleed into and beget the latter.  That would be a correlation, wouldn't it?

People scoff at calls to ban or limit video games from the youth until their brains are more fully developed.  Those calls have been proposed to curb violence.  I'm going to say it: Maybe video games should be limited as a way to curb aggression, and then that curb on aggression can lead to a curb in violence.  All things are connected to each other, and in a world that is going mad and is hellbent on screwing the little guy, maybe we need to think about doing that.  Then, maybe these supposedly "frustrated" boys will actually grow the fuck up.