A short history of our refrigerator

Our refrigerator is located in the scullery of suite 307 in Deathrock Apartments, in the vast realms of Dunogremesh, in the thriving metropolis of Winterpeg, on the sandy loam of former glacier Lake Agassiz, the flood plain of present Lake Winnipeg, on the banks of the mighty River Red where our Lord Musum presides. He installed his resplendency within the ziggurat of the newly established Canadian Museum for Human Rights and has apparently taken a dislike to our scullery's ice boxes, perchance because we do not come crawling with burnt offerings and lewd dance up the ramparts of his ziggurat to bestow blessings upon his magnanimity.

Anyhow, in the warm summer months of 2014, our old clunker of an ice box which weighed in at 323.7 pounds packed it in. Yes it died, and the kind undertakers of Dunogremesh who carried it off to be buried in sweet honour of forty three years of steadfast service were sore amused at the collection of dead mice which had mummified themselves in it's underpilings over the years as this ice box revelled in the tasks put before it, to cool and freeze the perishables of various tenants, while anchored as if a pyramid, its sharp feet buried in the linoleum and vinyl and floor boards with a grasp which defied even a crow bar.

Born unto us, in wake of this tragedy, was a sprightly little model, white and pure, which in it's glory years undoubtedly behaved itself quite outstandingly. But alas, that Lord Musum, he saw the happiness bestowed upon his subjects and he became jealous. He sent forth spirits, really naughty spirits, who revealed in the joys of disrupting the flowing of electrons, those little beasties who keep modern society in pulchritudinous harmony. They orchestrated a malady in our little white and pure ice box, so her noodle froze to minus 30 C while her tummy languished at the tepid warmth of plus 35 C. Clever magicians were sent forth from the vast auspices of Dunogremesh and they tempted those itty-bitty electrons with spells and bribery, and our little fridge's equanimity was restored to an somewhat even keel.

But woe unto us, Lord Musum is a very powerful lord, and he became furious at these magical jokers who attempted to thwart his magnanimity. He badgered and heckled our little white and pure ice box till she broke down sobbing and has given up all hope of ever being a good little fridge. His plan seems to be to entrap those magicians with their own spells, sending a chill of the ages along with a humongous Colorado low throughout the capacious Dunogremesh Empire, so the mighty River Red will overflow it's banks and submerge all the vast holdings which Dunogremesh has in it's domain with mud and slime.

We would be overjoyed if Dunogremesh would tempt fate and send forth it's magicians once more into the dark and lowly crevices of it's vast domain. After many attempts at coaxing our little white and pure ice box to regain her composure with frozen ice cream pails of ice tucked into her tummy, we may even be willing to perform some lewd dance and song on the ramparts of the ziggurat of our esteemed Lord Musum, if this is deemed as the only solution. We submit this charitably, let those magicians have one more go. We wait with baited breath, knowing full well the power of his resplendency, our Lord Musum. May the magicians of Dunogremesh reign supreme.

Submitted to the Dunogremesh Property Management Corporation, November 17, in the year of our Lorde 2015

The unveiling of Gloria Rubenstein

The creaking wooden staircase which zigzags it's away up and up through the main vestibule, through the relics of mutilated fridges and rusted out ovens and abandoned cupboardery, overstrewn with old sneakers and ornamented by used undergarments in varying degrees of wear and fashionability, this staircase ascending to our heavenly abode, it is far from an undistracted climb for our distractable wife with dementia. Our Deathrock Apartments arises grimly amidst a side street of fashionable 19^th century vintage homes, now much the worse for their wear. The front lawns are kept neatly flattened by the plenitude of young gang men who cut willy nilly through every available breach in the infrastructure on their missions of expediency. Cats and dogs vanish into the potholes of our narrow 'break my window' parking zone while the odd car careens by overhead. The kiddies found tadpoles halfway down the block.

Free enterprise certainly boasts it's proficiency in the spurned beats of this, our constabulary. The other night as we returned from an outing, low and behold our local entrepreneurs had borrowed the scaffolding from a nearby construction site and were busily painting our Deathrock Apartment building. Twenty foot high pics exalting the virtues of our local ladies of the day and night with readily available phone numbers in bold form. There was excellent artistic talent in the ranks of these merchandisers as most of the portraits were quite recognizable, or perhaps the savvy involved some local virtuosi paying off a debt or two. Next morning our building looked quite resplendent with it's new revitalization. Our next door neighbour who is studying law is rather pleased with the response so far, says it pays much better than having three kids, even after the protection. And the billionaire brothers who own our Deathrock Apartments will no doubt be rather pleased that their building got all spiffed up not costing them a dime.

We were sitting in the parking lot of our homely depot while we hashed out our plans for a brand new heat gun to do justice to the hoards of lowly beddy bye bugs who ceaselessly circle the perimeter of our heavily caulked baseboards and weather stripped fortress on the top floor to find that one little opening where to they can call forth their comrades to meander aimlessly exploring the shiny tin cans on the bed feet which thwart their efforts at finding cozy warmth under our blankets. “Gloria Rubenstein” she said, she did, my wife, “Did you know my name was Gloria Rubenstein?” That took us for a loop, it did. Had no idea on her lineage, here we'd thought for the last thirty years she was French and Cree. Dementia brings out the truth on so many relevant subjects. Kept our mind busy musing as we toured the aisles in search of our weaponry.

Sat that heat gun down on the table in it's shiny cardboard box when we arrived home. “Is that thing loaded?” asked our Gloria Rubenstein. One doesn't always have an answer at ready so we just smiled from ear to ear. “Oh” says she, so we guess we're learning dementia speak. Sat her bare naked in the middle of the floor we did, that night. Roasted a whole mountain of the little buggers, we did. Did you know some of them go 'pop' when you roast them? Our Gloria Rubenstein was sore amazed. As we tucked her in nighty night night in her securely fortified bed we ventured to beseech on the origins of one Gloria Rubenstein. She bequested unto us her virtues, “Oh that's me, Gloria Rubenstein, in the nice picture by our front door outside.” Taken somewhat aback we asked “But that's not your phone number, is it?” She just smiled from ear to ear and fell sound asleep.

Seasons will come and seasons will go. The artistry will fade, the phone numbers will be defaced, but the ephemeral unveiling of Gloria Rubenstein will bring a smile from ear to ear in our memories.

How to indulge in an entrepreneurial chicanery

Method

Place a bunch of fist size rocks in a circle. Sit inside the circle with a tin cup.

The concept

A foole and his monie be soone at debate, which after with sorrow repents him too late. Thomas Tusser

Social justice, in a world of credit appraisement as the sole means of one's establishment in the hierarchy of material man, seems lacking for those who rest their morals on the virtues of fairie dust. It is a stroke of good fortune that human nature is wont to feel good in benevolent undertakings so long as there remains a shade of intrigue in parting with a few coins. The feelings of being had are much diminished when that rationalizing brain is skewed by the possibility that a fling at altruism was keen on cultural au courant.

For those au courant challenged folk, a we bit of inveigling may allude to the possession of sophistication, that much needed ingredient in the the deployment of chicanery. A circle of rocks is no fools' play. It avows purpose, brilliance, introspection, all those much needed values to entice the altruistic at heart. Chicanery is any man's game, we may all play for free. To win or lose at it is but fairie dust.

Criticism

Do you have a degree in stone sitting, where is your business proposal, your environmental impact statement? Have you considered the workplace safety issues involved here? Are you just making fun of the mankind's most profound efforts at chicanery? You will likely be arrested for terrorizing little old ladies with your arsenal of missiles. You with that tin cup proffering solace to the charitable, consider your impact on the impressionable young ones.

The notion of "chicanery" is typical of human dearth, which has found its way into romantic fools' hearts via farcical influences. The notion of "chicanery" introduces a false notion of duality between "chicaneror" and "chicanerousness", whereas the essence of trickery is the realization of the "non-duality" of observer and observed. "Pure chicanerousness" does not exist; all chicanery is mediated by intellectual and cognitive activity. The specific teachings and practices of a specific tradition may even determine what "chicanerousness" someone has, which means that this "chicanery" is not the proof of the teaching, but a result of the teaching. A pure chicanery without deceit, reached by "cleaning the doors of perception", would be an overwhelming chaos of trickery without coherence.

The privatization of chicanery – that is, the increasing tendency to locate chicanerousness in the psychological realm of personal experiences – serves to exclude it from political issues as social justice. Chicanery thus becomes seen as a personal matter of cultivating inner states of tranquility and equanimity, which, rather than seeking to transform the world, serves to accommodate the individual to the status quo through the alleviation of anxiety and stress.

Practical implications

The investment of remunerations can be cause of some consternation. The neophyte entrepreneur may well invest in a flute or simple recorder and learn one or two pleasant tunes to augment their revenue. An outfit of eccentric duds may be beneficial, although if you have a hankering to sit in a circle of stones this may not be necessary. The pleasant approach to salutation is viewed as the most productive scheme by sufferable diehards, chiding augmented by profanity seen as less forthcoming. A big smile and a helpful hand may oft get you a free quarter pounder from the establishment next door. For the distraught and resentful types this may not be elementary and a good course in etiquette may be an advantageous investment here.

When you arrive home at night to your warm and cozy bed under the eight lane overpass or in the local forest, you may consternate over your opulence. Oft, the best protection against theft and muggery is to simply spend it all on perishables, consuming them quickly or even sharing with scavengers. If you luck out and find an impregnable hoarding spot, you may amass your revenue to the point of establishing yourself in a townhouse or just a cozy flat depending on your social appeal. It is best to find a charitable bank teller who will convert your copper and silver into greenbacks of appropriate denominations as landlords have a tendency to shy away from bags of loose change. Once so established, you my find life a tad more tolerable, having a dry blanket on those drizzly wet days.

Philosophical insights

If we negate the false notion of duality between "chicaneror" and "chicanerousness", with the realization of the non-duality of observer and observed, we can move on with our livelihood knowledgeable in the fact that one is all and all is one. We can be one with our circle of stones and any trickery involved. Chicanery incarnates us and we incarnate chicanery. Avowing to a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless or absurd world, we can transform our world into a medley of challenging, day by day societal impacts, wilfully existing while entertaining our essence. We can be jarred out of our habits, the meaninglessness and absurdity creating a behaviour pattern that is not consistent with that which is considered normal. We can rest assured at night knowing there is no meaning in the world beyond what meaning we give it. Our authentic existence has been created and we can live in accordance with the dust of our edification.

Sapience or evolvability?

This piece of authorship looks to be rather tedious as we approach it, so if'n yer in the midst of a crisis go on and find yer resolution, this will be ignored by so many, one more won't matter. For background it would be helpful to enlighten yer mind with the complete works of one George Mobus PhD, but for now his piece on “How did Mammals and Birds Survive the End-Cretaceous Event?” at http://questioneverything.typepad.com/question_everything/2013/02/how-did-mammals-and-birds-survive-the-end-cretaceous-event.html will do if'n yer having a hankering.

Put into terms that a normal hoser can decipher, why us humans are here as mammals and not dinosaurs has to do with junk DNA. Seems like evolution has been evolving to make evolving more evolutionary. At risk of oversimplifying, birds and mammals had more junk DNA in their gnome and mutations using this junk is easier than mutating fixed coding genes with less built in 'junk,' so they were quicker to adapt to the End-Cretaceous Event with it's nuclear winter. Seems like us humans have more junk DNA than most other creatures ever had.

Now we're on a roll here, us humans, 7.2 billion and growing. DNA is about 500 atomic mass units per base pair. One human has about three billion base pairs per cell and about 100 trillion cells. That means about 1026 base pairs of DNA or about 250 grams. According to a group of genetic scientists led by Dr Gerton Lunter of the University of Oxford’s Wellcome Trust Centre for Human Genetics, only 8.2 percent of human genome is likely to be doing something important. This means that 91.8% of the 250 grams or 229.5 grams is junk. That's 1652.4 billion grams (1.82145921 billion tons) of junk humans are toting around on earth. Talk about hoarding!

So what does this mean for the up and coming global events mankind is programming into mother nature's ways amidst shifting continents and volcanic episodes and asteroidal impacts? Has her a wee bit on edge, it does, this experimentation with splitting the atom and altering the biosphere and attempting to release most of the sequestered carbon in one wee century. Time to put some of that junk DNA to some use, she may be thinking, our mother nature. If global warming continues unabated, raising the Earth's temperature by 4.3C compared with its pre-industrial level the extinction risk rises to 8.5%. If we follow our current, business-as-usual trajectory, climate change threatens one in six species (16%).

“Evolvability is a property of a species to generate variations that are, in a sense, potentially pre-adaptive. That is, they can increase the rate of mutations, especially in selective genes, that increases the possibilities of advantageous results. This math works best for large population sizes or populations that are growing rapidly. There have to be many more individuals being conceived so that the increased mutation rate doesn't swamp the fitness of the species. This is because, as most people know, mutations are more often deleterious than helpful. There has to be an ability to “waste” individuals that end up with destructive mutations.” Ibid

So, 7.2 billion, we can waste a few mother nature reasons. We have genetically predisposed about 90% of these humans to holding strong intransigent values. Makes no matter what those values may be, yer economists, yer tea party cohorts, yer religious extremists, yer platitudinous socialists, let them bring forth their bit of atomic weaponry, induce a wee bit of global tepefaction and just wipe this slate clean, the modern flood of Noah. There. Now we can play around with mutations. What can survive the radioactive fallout, the chaotic weather, the hoards of gun toting scavengers? Why simple, she says, mother nature, we've got in that junk DNA somewhere a predisposition for psychic abilities. A bit of apportation, a pinch of psychokinesis, a dash of telepathy, a wisp of teleportation, that should do the trick.

Unto us one will be born. She will have children. They will have children. A clan amongst the remaining remnants of earth's human dregs will proliferate. By magick shall they overcome the riggers of survival. Their powers will increase through the generations, those most able to dodge the bullets by vaporizing, avoiding the clouds of nuclear fallout by jumping to the sunny hills, mind reading the trickery of the maniacal starving, munching on a juicy apple plucked from afar, those with these magicks will survive, and reproduce.

Glory be to the normal hoser. We carry within us the junk of salvation. We are the champions, my friends, and we'll keep on fighting 'til the end. We are the champions. No time for losers 'cause we are the champions of the world. It'll be no bed of roses my friends, no pleasure cruise, a challenge before the whole human race. But we ain't gonna lose.

Poosh

Glossary

Apportation is the ability to teleport inanimate objects or beings from one location to another.

Psychokinesis is the process of using only the mind, with no physical intervention, to manipulate physical objects. When the manipulation involves moving an object by mental effort, it is referred to as telekinesis.

Telepathy is the purported transmission of information from one person to another without using any of our known sensory channels or physical interaction.

Teleportation is the transfer of matter or energy, including oneself, from one point to another without traversing the physical space between them.

The flu shot

We're off to get our flu shot, in the magical land of Oz
We hear it's a whiz of a wiz, if ever a wiz there was
If ever, oh ever a wiz there is, in the magical land of Oz it is because
Because, because, because, because, because
Because of the wonderful things it does
We're off to get our flu shot, in the magical land of Oz
We are, we are, we are, we are

And there's nothin you can do, so there

Oh me, oh my, and now we're sick

Our arm is sore, our stomach churns, the nausea overwhelms

Our body aches, the earth it quakes, our head's convoluted in pain

Our nose it runs, our throat is sore, the tongue is contorted with cramps

But me, oh my, it was a whiz, a whiz it was, in the magical land of Oz

Because of the wonderful things it does

Because, because, because, because, because

And there's nothin we can do, so there

We called our doc, he said “Take stock, you've only one day to survive”

And then he laughed and laughed and laughed that miserable sob

Because of the wonderful things it does he laughed and laughed and laughed

Our body aches, the earth it quakes, our head's convoluted in pain

Because, because, because, because, because
Because of the wonderful things it does

It was a whiz, a whiz it was, in the magical land of Oz

And there's nothin he can do, so there

The river flowed along it's green banks, the cows they munched their cud

They had us in a coffin nailed, because of the wonderful things it does, it does

We sat up straight and bumped our head, they heard the clamber inside

The eulogies halted, the lid it was vaulted

The doc, he laughed and laughed and laughed, because, because, because

Of the wonderful things it does, it does, in the magical land of Oz

Our aches are gone, the earth is still, (so is this damnable funeral parlour)

And there's nothin the gods can do, so there

Because of the wonderful things it does, it does

In the magical land of Oz

The Magnanimous Party of Canada

It is an interesting aspect of introspection, the business of political illusion. One's mind a small atom of universal consciousness, it's separateness the mere force of psychic charges keeping that mass of raw primordial energy in tight focus. The transitory blip of a human life span, popping in and out of existence in search of the big answer to “Why did she make us aware, our creator, could have saved us from all this illusive introspection by just by keeping it all to herself.” Really no need for any of us to see the light of day, can't much see it as but a hoax.

Asked our cat on the epitome of human achievements and he come up with greasy chicken using a matrix of wishful versus vital possibilities in his version of this universal consciousness thingy. “Interesting” we reassured him after putting him through this torturous introspection. He usually pretends to sleep when we use him for a sounding board.

Are you hungry tonight,
Do you miss your chicken delight?
Are you sorry you ate it all for lunch?

'Tis but nonsense, this mind of ours. We thinks our recent election has did us in. We were all ready for a coalition, yes we were:

The Magnanimous Party of Canada (French: Parti Magnanime du Canada), colloquially known as the Coalition, is the newest federal political party in Canada. The party espouses the principles of altruism, and generally sits at the left of centre of the Canadian political spectrum. Historically the Magnanimous Party will been positioned to the left of the Conservative Party of Canada and to the right of the Green Party. At the head of the party will be our virtual Primed Minister, Skippy the Beaver, who will be an encyclopedia of information, the epitome of transparency, and at everyone's fingertips on every platform of the internet with his own mainframe and personal server. Skippy will be held to account by 30 cabinet ministers, elected by the party's Members of Parliament, each in charge of their own ministry. Skippy will not be allowed to make any decisions without a vote from the cabinet, and it is felt he will be an effective ambassador for Canada needing only a screen big enough for his two front teeth at international events.

Shall we write a ditty, our kitty, to the power of the positive approach? Oh diddly dum, what have we done. Include a line from a motivational seminar. Surrounding ourselves with driven folk. Add a wee bit of legitimization from the fables of old. Please all, and you will please none. Then liven it up with a sense of antiquity. Spread your cheer to the earth's foursquare. And a speck of humour. To find your Lorde hath made it round.

Yes we voted, all us personas, even took our wife along. We couldn't leave her at home, alone, with her dementia. Came out of that booth with the biggest smile, really likes to fill in boxes, she does. They did send her a voters card, they did. Then we went to the ducky pond. Just exercising our constitutional rights, you know.

So we await our Primed Minister in waiting. The transitory blip of his human life span, popping in and out of existence in search of how to lead a country of hosers. Take off eh.

Cakes of anthropocentrism

Our world is veritably a fascinating place. Our reveries really just poke their fun at it from different perspectives. A single word pinpoints one tiny bent in an infinity of dispositions. A picture captures one angle of an infinity of the slants of a kaleidoscope of scapes. A composition of music isolates one wee moment from the infinite reverberations pulsing our cosmos. Our supreme courts rule on the outcome of such a myriad of possible outcomes of an evolutionary ladder of biological and philosophical possibilities, those poor souls must wet their knickers when they mull the perplexities. It is rumoured that even Sarah Palin once had this fleeting moment of awe at the languor of capitalism from amidst an astonishing variety of egalitarian vistas.

It becomes a burning question in our fascinating world. Shall we simply let the poor starve and the terrorists terrorize, building walls around our neighbourhoods and countries? A few well placed bombs will frustrate those dens of hackers, working so hard to circumvent our superiority. And let them keep those hallucinogens to themselves, we will live in utterly sane complacency. We can fence ourselves off from the primordial escapades of the ignorant outlanders caught up in the ravages of sex and killing and illegal philanthropy while we languish in peaceful oblivion, our hand guns the ultimate tool of a harmonic society. What a brave new version of anthropocentrism it will be!

But, but you may say, you with your flagitious sarcasm. Those terrorists are hell bent on destroying us, they wish to rule the earth with their thwarted conceptualizations of utopia, and those vile drug lords care naught for our sweet children. It is rather us who should rule the world with our omniscient version of utopia and let their sweet children scavenge the dumpsters for crumbs. We have every right to seduce our malls with titillating garments so those ravishing dark eyes of modest immigrants can peek forth and behold the sweet undulations of freedom. We fought our wars of confederacy years ago so our whites and blacks and native Americans could live side by side in unmitigated harmony, and those fanatical lowlifes should have fought their wars years ago too. So now we're just going to bomb the bejeezus out of them all so we can have some peace and quiet on our side of the pond.

The symphonies play on. Tchaikovsky dissolves the curtains between east and west. Mendelssohn crumbles the walls of division. The Archies open barriers of trade and commerce with the Orient. All those undulating reverberations, puissant waves transcending the background rumble of canon fire as capitalism builds the bridge to new worlds, chow mein topped with cherry pie for dessert. The rudiments of fine fiction inspiring religions in a sea of multicultural plurality. The precise legality of a single word in our courts of law empowered by the txtspk of social media, ZOMG. Selfies epitomizing the instant gratification of our modern Rembrandts, those masterful undulations! Politicians carving up our earth with ever more outrageous ways to stifle dissidence by inciting divisiveness. The proof of evolution, this compulsion towards divagation.

But we divagate here. We must stay on our topic by considering in closing the cake. If have it we must then have it we will. It's not all that innocuous for your teeth anyway. I personally propound the many tiered Tower of Babel varieties built on those tiny pier poles so the ants can keep climbing as they purview the pantry. What a veritably fascinating world it is.

(We had 13 hits on the last blog. Got to slow things down a bit.)