Happy People-with-Uteri-Who-Successfully-Gestated-Offspring-via-Front-Hole-Copulation Day!
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I’m intrigued by![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bill_schubert’s theory that dreams are the mental database’s way of dealing with errant data.
In last night’s scheduled mental database cleanse:
Some kind of major catastrophe had taken place—plague? war?1 — and everyone (including me) was scrambling to deal with it.
The dream was very long and narratively convolutional, so I don’t remember most of it. Except I was in San Francisco2, running away from some gang of e-eeeevil predators who meant me great harm. I sought out various sanctuaries only to discover they weren’t sanctuaries, thereby having to run away again.
Finally, in the very last part of the dream, I had stumbled across a gang of hippies3 living in the ruins of downtown, and I was trying to ingratiate myself with them.
They had cars! They had gasoline!
“We use the cars with the gasoline to deliver urgently needed medications to people who live in far parts of the city,” the hippie leader told me solemnly.
What are you, a fucking idiot? I thought. Why would you waste a precious and rapidly dwindling resource that way? Why not just have everyone congregate in a central space to conserve resources?4
But, of course, I couldn’t say that to him5 because if I did, he would think I was a pain in the ass, and he wouldn’t give me shelter…
1Duh! Headlines! COVID, Ukraine War
2I have no idea why San Francisco. I haven’t been thinking about San Francisco.
3Hippies? Well. I guess insofar as I ever had a tribe, that would be it.
4Ah! Yes. Well economics is all about resource allocation if you get right down to it, and economics is my passion.
5Yes. That’s the crux: I’ve had to muzzle myself a lot recently because practically everything I think is anathema to partisans on both sides of the vast political divide.
###
Yesterday was another cold, uninviting day.
But it wasn’t raining, so I really had no excuse not to garden.
Before:
After:
May not look like a lot of work, but it was.
As today is considerably more temperate than yesterday, in the morning, I will return to the garden, throw down some cow manure, cover it with a few inches of topsoil, and plant my peas and beans.
Thing about the first weeding in spring is that it destroys a lot of topsoil—clovers and other plants tenacious enough to survive frosts have deep root systems to which soil clings, particularly when the weather is as wet as has the weather’s been hereabouts.
If I’m feeling really ambitious, I’ll start weeding the upper plot.
I want to aim for optimal food production this year.
I’ve promised to keep my neighbors in salad.
Plus Claude tells me the lines at the Hyde Park Food Bank are twice as long as they were last year.
Not surprising.
Food isn’t included in core inflation measurements because the price of food (like the price of gasoline) fluctuates, so it’s thought food costs don’t tell analysts enough about long-term inflationary trends to matter.
Under-reported, food costs naturally remain under-noticed, and then all those photos of those two-mile, bumper-to-bumper lines at the food banks come as a shock.
###
What else?
I’m in a kind of snarly mood for no reason, or rather, for a variety of reasons too trivial to talk about.
Must make headway on the current Remunerative Project.
It’s so unfair I wasn’t born fabulously wealthy!
###
I’m intrigued by
bill_schubert’s theory that dreams are the mental database’s way of dealing with errant data.In last night’s scheduled mental database cleanse:
Some kind of major catastrophe had taken place—plague? war?1 — and everyone (including me) was scrambling to deal with it.
The dream was very long and narratively convolutional, so I don’t remember most of it. Except I was in San Francisco2, running away from some gang of e-eeeevil predators who meant me great harm. I sought out various sanctuaries only to discover they weren’t sanctuaries, thereby having to run away again.
Finally, in the very last part of the dream, I had stumbled across a gang of hippies3 living in the ruins of downtown, and I was trying to ingratiate myself with them.
They had cars! They had gasoline!
“We use the cars with the gasoline to deliver urgently needed medications to people who live in far parts of the city,” the hippie leader told me solemnly.
What are you, a fucking idiot? I thought. Why would you waste a precious and rapidly dwindling resource that way? Why not just have everyone congregate in a central space to conserve resources?4
But, of course, I couldn’t say that to him5 because if I did, he would think I was a pain in the ass, and he wouldn’t give me shelter…
1Duh! Headlines! COVID, Ukraine War
2I have no idea why San Francisco. I haven’t been thinking about San Francisco.
3Hippies? Well. I guess insofar as I ever had a tribe, that would be it.
4Ah! Yes. Well economics is all about resource allocation if you get right down to it, and economics is my passion.
5Yes. That’s the crux: I’ve had to muzzle myself a lot recently because practically everything I think is anathema to partisans on both sides of the vast political divide.
###
Yesterday was another cold, uninviting day.
But it wasn’t raining, so I really had no excuse not to garden.
Before:
After:
May not look like a lot of work, but it was.
As today is considerably more temperate than yesterday, in the morning, I will return to the garden, throw down some cow manure, cover it with a few inches of topsoil, and plant my peas and beans.
Thing about the first weeding in spring is that it destroys a lot of topsoil—clovers and other plants tenacious enough to survive frosts have deep root systems to which soil clings, particularly when the weather is as wet as has the weather’s been hereabouts.
If I’m feeling really ambitious, I’ll start weeding the upper plot.
I want to aim for optimal food production this year.
I’ve promised to keep my neighbors in salad.
Plus Claude tells me the lines at the Hyde Park Food Bank are twice as long as they were last year.
Not surprising.
Food isn’t included in core inflation measurements because the price of food (like the price of gasoline) fluctuates, so it’s thought food costs don’t tell analysts enough about long-term inflationary trends to matter.
Under-reported, food costs naturally remain under-noticed, and then all those photos of those two-mile, bumper-to-bumper lines at the food banks come as a shock.
###
What else?
I’m in a kind of snarly mood for no reason, or rather, for a variety of reasons too trivial to talk about.
Must make headway on the current Remunerative Project.
It’s so unfair I wasn’t born fabulously wealthy!
