Conservatives accept and attempt to work within a historically accepted reality.
When liberals, on the other hand, find historically accepted reality no longer jibes with where one or more of their narratives have shifted, they reject it in favor of repeating phrases about it in unison - preferably with newly created or redefined words - until the phrases become their new collective reality.
In other words, they exercise the magick of self hypnosis with respect to historically accepted reality.
See how simple this is? :-)
I'm in a bit of a food digestion coma, hands much colder than torso.
T-Mobile's 5G internet is pretty painfully spotty today, having me run terminal stuff that needs internet as in a bash script that does this:
digg;$*
where 'digg' is this Lua script:
#! /usr/bin/env lua
while true do
os.execute('dig')
io.stdout:write('<enter> or Ctrl-D: ')
local answer = io.stdin:read('*l')
if not answer then
break
end
end
os.execute('clear')
In other words, what I really want to run doesn't run until after 'dig' tells me underlying networking infrastructure can find a nameserver.
I do that because dig shows me nice, obvious output when that occurs, whereas if it happens to "lynx", it can result in winding up in a state that requires more keystrokes. So once I see "dig" punch through, I can maybe jump into what I really wanted to run and execute a few more network-related things therein without a blank screen unresponsive wait.
Reality remains regardless how the dead, fallen leaves of descriptions thereof rustle and scamper about in often unintuitive ways as mental winds and gusts map out paths between higher and lower pressure.
It's a cold, variations-on-the-theme-of-grey day. (I took a stance on 'grey' over 'gray' decades ago.) Awoke at 6am, which is late for me. Too much to drink last night, but whatever. Listened to people whose character and opinions I respect, which this morning included Victor Davis Hanson and Scott Adams.
My long time correspondent friend from high school replied to something I wrote him about last night that confirms my growing sense of the pointlessness of arguing with faith. We're in utterly different movies. Which doesn't mean the exchange has to end, but pretty much everything about it other than descriptions of happenings will.
I'm beginning to understand the exhilarating freedom of being cancelled by the champions of self-imposed victimhood. Their faith in their private movie is impenetrable. Oh how glorious to be done with abiding their monotonous shorts and reruns!
Fun night, last.
Two charity events. We has some serious luck at the first, winning, let's see, $360 in one drawing, and an extra free shot at the big drawing (which didn't pan out for us), then two $62 wins.
Cray!
Of course, we spent more than that on the combination of entry, and then several "auction" wins. But not a whole lot more. So we wound up with dinner, an open bar (on beer/wine), and a five baskets of stuff for next to nothing.
(And as a matter of fact, I *did* just hear the anti-capitalists in the audience of this poorly written account groan while relocating their precious little selves to an even higher position of self-righteousness in judgement of evil "Muricans" who think only about themselves whilst lost in an endless downward spiral of hoard-focused consumerism!)
We were late to the second event, but that's okay, for reasons I won't go into in order to spare those referred to in the previous parenthetical from being triggered into additional toxic indignancy.
Closer to the negative end of the experiential spectrum, the grandson we sit once or twice a week has increasing destructive tendencies that my wife is finally recognizing as intolerable. Destroying things has always been a feature of what I've considered lowest rung human beings. And it's not like the kid is angry while clearing things that used to serve a useful purposes of table/counter tops, throwing things without a specific direction in mind (sometimes potentially dangerous things like silverware), or just plain hitting things against other things until they fall apart. It's more that his face goes blank, yet with a sense of some kind of "mission". But, of course, he's unable to articulate the motivation/need/joy/etc., and all attempts to distract him down some other path, "cradle him with love", etc. fail.
I"m just plain literally tired of it, as I've no longer the physical wherewithal to having to pick up after his messes. Nor do I possess the emotional wherewithal to "now, now, poor whittle Pawlies, we mustn't blah blah" the kid. I need it stop soon, if not sooner, as my inner response - no doubt sparked by the "chromosome of toxicity within" (coughs while rolling eyes) - is in the direction of treating him as he's treating the objects others have worked hard to obtain, because I can't imagine another path that has historically supported demonstrable good results, and whose execution I have the overall biological wherewithal to practice.
Since methods that once sorta kinda worked in the past *nowadays* merit a permanent social penalty box, my solution will be to do as The Enlightened Onliners do: avoid and ignore him into submission.
And, by the way, thank you for showing me how that's done! ;-)