With a deck covered in specks of ash and cinders from the Butte Fire and an orangeish-opaque thick smoky stench looming overhead in the air, we ran down the hill.
And just as quickly back, as if stung by the intemperate and needle-like fuss-budget Scorpion Socialist Millionaire locals.
I packed heat with the Sig P25 since coming from a Free County Sheriff I am able and obliged. Suck-it-up bastard BayAryan Nazi Hoplophobes!
24-hours, 383.2 miles round trip (in the F-150 at 16.82mpg), with a top-speed of around 87mph and an average of 65mph, we went in and out again.
It was a relief to be home in Fire Country once all was over as opposed to Suffocatingly Smug and Pretentious Earthquake Country. I can’t believe I even survived there. Oh wait, I didn’t.
The Family-Birthday(s) Celebration-gathering was full of its always-awkward and weird moments as usual, besides the foolish, obtuse, and stupid ones. Not much of consequence was achieved, but Dad is doing well at 91 and off-the-charts for most Medical personnel, and Mom at 86 is not far behind in the MD Conundrum Syndrome. The MD’s who are forced to take-visit of them don’t really care anyhow, they don’t have to bury or eulogize them, they just prescribe needless and stupid medications that might fatten their own Socialist Millionaire wallets. Some computer-work on the aging Vista Machine at Mom’s behest was necessary.
VIGNETTE: Dad in a brief conversation that was for once not a sermon, expressed concern about one Nephew who has finally nailed down a real job and is making actual money to support himself. “I’m not sure he knows that there’s more to life than Sales and making money.”
UPDATE Insertion: > Point is he’s working in Sales for a big company that does construction and home improvement – from asphalt to pavers, from siding to roofs to solar – but he’s not the carpenter or plumber accomplishing the tasks, which is probably where my dad would rather see him – but that’s not where his skills or abilities mesh.
(Big WTF moment for me. No shit Sherlock!) I replied, “He’s never going to be a Professor – he’s not an Academic (like you) you, he’s also not ever going to make any money as a Rap Musician, and he’s not in a Union or secure setting – but he’s got a job and supporting himself – he can find time for philosophical hobbies later, with the free time his as money allows.”
Good-God I hate socialist academics and their fuzzy-wuzzy conceptual world of cerebral-ethereal Unicorn-powered rainbow farts.