Just waking up.....

Here's what this latest theme looks like in its working mode (I like it!) and poking the Nikon out the window, here's what it looked like at about a quarter to five this morning....

We are looking across one of the 'uphill suburbs' of North Vancouver at the horizon beyond Mount Seymour. I don't think it was named after Jane, that delightful movie star (Solitaire, we still love you!) but I'm really not sure.

It's going to be a nice day. When you're eighty-two-and-a-half, every day is a 'nice day'.... trust me - would I lie to you? This early in the morning?

Waking up, after once again falling asleep with the TV and the headphones on, one of those 'closed captioning' type streaming headlines at the bottom of the screen on the news channel was announcing "Scientists protesting in Ottawa",  and in my semi-conscious state, and having once worked there, I thought, "Gee....it's still the same. The government still doesn't think it needs the National Research Council, because politicians always maintain the illusion they know it all, even when they're full of shit right up to their eyeballs - and Ottawa is nothing if not a political town..." And then I thought, "Am I ever glad I had sense enough to get the hell out of there! - I'd rather die all at once than a little bit every day for thirty or forty years." 

Bullshit may not baffle brains, but it sure helps those politicians screw the taxpayers into the ground. There's only two kinds of people in Ottawa: the butt-smoochers, and those whose butts they have to smooch. And I've always been a rather reluctant and insubordinate 'butt-smoocher'. I'd rather kick butts than smooch them. There's something about it that I found too demeaning. And it really isn't necessary, really. There are better ways to play that game.

And finally, another headline: "Dylan plays Letterman out".  There's a head shot of Dylan strumming his guitar, and looking too old for the part. Aren't we all... and good ole Dave has been running on empty for years. His thought processes remind me of one of those noisy blacktop-gobbling machines that chew up old bumpy roads and spit out loads of recycled gravel. You know that you know where it came from, but out of politeness you pretend it's fresh from the plant and never before has the hand of man set foot on it. Goodbye, Dave, and remember to take your meds!