2012 — 9 October: Tuesday
I suppose1 that I could probably extract a little wry humour from the fact that I've just finished watching the "West Wing" episode that deals with the President's insomnia... at 05:00 or so, and have just made my second cuppa. But, as I turned in last night at 22:30 or so, dog-tired too, what did I expect?
Although these days I seem to operate on a more or less constant amount of sleep, it's just that the start and end points move fairly randomly around the dial. 'Twasn't ever thus, but I'm getting used to it. I'm certainly not going to use the remaining sleeping pills from the time of Christa's initial hospitalisation in mid-2007. I never ever want to experience another night of "re-bound insomnia" :-)
On with the show. At least until the inevitable drop in lively energy levels that I'm now predicting for some time in the middle of the coming afternoon (at a rough guess). Meanwhile, I now have a pre-Christmas invitation to visit my cousins in Birmingham, a pre-birthday birthday lunch at the end of this week, and a post-birthday birthday dinner at the start of next week. Did I mention it's nearly my birthday?
I can no longer...
... tell whether I am cynical or not after reading something like this:
In 1919, the federal government attempted to solve the nation's booze problem with harsh federal criminal penalties. Ten years later, the murder rate had skyrocketed, the country
was awash in corruption, and America's consumption of booze was largely unchanged. In response to this disaster, President Hoover assembled a panel of experts to study the policy
of alcohol prohibition. This study revealed a catalog of failure that set the stage for repeal.
Today's leaders have learned an important lesson from the prohibition experiment. If a policy is politically advantageous — whether it be a war on drugs, a war on terror, or a
war on women — never authorize a study of its effectiveness.
Poor me
I was also taken aback to find that a net worth of $9,000,000,000 goes almost nowhere these days. For example, it means you just barely scrape on to that fragrant indicator of planetary success, the Forbes list, at, wait for it, the embarrassingly low position of #100. Oh, the shame. And only one UK representative, too. Still, just think of your likely tax bill. Oh, no, erm, wait, only the little people pay taxes, don't they? (Link.)
Still, that nice Mr Bezos (#26, $18.4 billion) has just this minute given me one penny back on the cost of my next "Mentalist" box set of DVDs under the terms of his Amazonian Pre-Order Price Guarantee. Score one for the little guy! I shall be celebrating later, trust me. (When I can afford it.)
Are they serious?
By what ill-conceived process did the chap speaking here get into a position of political power and influence?
And (at 11:08) it's still raining. [Pause] Some lunch, methinks, followed by a tiny further spot of foody shopping. I chose a bad time yesterday morning for some of the fresh stuff I like. The rain is currently (12:35) down to a slight drizzle, and the Interweb has just come back online.
The time has come...
... as the walrus reminds us, to talk of other things. In this case, the resumption of my (crock)pottering skills, which have lain dormant since the Spring. I hope it's like riding a bicycle.2
And still it rains.
Just heard a brief chat with Philip Pullman, whose personal "writing secret" is to produce three pages per day. I once managed 16 in one day on an ICL self-instructional training course's audio script in the mid-70s, but I suspect I would shudder to be shown it (or, worse, forced to listen3 to it) now as I have no doubt it was pretty deathless stuff. Unless you get excited by low-level programming techniques required by specific machine architectures. Although I did — to a degree — my interests have changed over the years.
And finally — I've just peeped out of my front door at 20:30 — it seems to have stopped raining. We've tentatively arranged a largely road walk for tomorrow. Providing it stays stopped.