THE UNCLEAR SKY

Pluto is considerably stranger than we had thought. And has a few of the building blocks of life. This being only a minute fraction of what I learned on the internet today, along with Pete Hegseth obfuscating how bad things are for our sailors, China's highspeed rail system that makes the United States look like a rinky tink third world compost heap, and the sheer precision of the Texas A & M band, which is actually kind of spectacular.

Waking up after a night out slurping hot tea and smoking a pipe (filled with aged red Virginia and a slight addition of Izmir leaf) is a gradual process. Drifting fog clearing up, random logs in porticos slowly revealing their human form, and people walking their space alien pugs for the first poo of the day, one of many more.

You know, you could have picked a better child substitute than that.
It looks and acts like an evil goblin, but far less likable.
Not surprised it matches your yuppie lifestyle.
It is quite nasty at both ends.


If I were to win the lottery, more rooms to live in would be in order, with lots of shelves so that I could organize my madness. I figure I'll need at least three more chambers to properly shelve the books. And the pottery. Of which there is too much and not enough.
Which also requires abundant book shelf space.

Good lord, there is ceramic in every direction. One of those icky little pug-nosed monsters would be an absolute disaster here. Wether dog or human. And a cat would delight in pushing everything off surfaces.

The peculiar Dutch American codger is fortunate that the person who shares the apartment is graceful and understands the sheer value of not knocking things over, despite stacking the dishes in the rack in such a way that occasional chipping may occur, though it is rare.
Also that neither person worries neurotically about it.
Both of us are very unclumsy.


The sad thing about San Francisco is that there is never enough space.
There are too many other people here, who should leave.
Also, they're breathing our air.



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