Not Diligent

I see that I’ve forgotten to itemize my non-vegan intake over the past two weeks.  I plead Old Fart Forgetfulness, so please forgive my sloppiness.  Here, however, is sort of a representative summary of my meals thus far:

Oh wait, there was some pulled pork in there too:

I’ll try to do better next time, promise.

Monday Funnies

Yeeeeeaaaarrrrrgh it’s Monday already:

So what else to do but laugh?  Today’s theme:  excellent mothers.

(yes, that’s a mother-daughter pic).  Even worse is:

…and my favorite:

And for our Weekly Pick-Me-Up, it’s Penny Cruz’s kid sister Monica:

Sounds Familiar

It appears that the Royal Ginger is into meditation (through the efforts of his Hollywood strumpet consort, of course).

So am I, and always have been.

However, I don’t do it by way of yoga or Buddhism or any of that mystical bullshit.  I just call it “thought and reflection”, and I do it when I wake up — in that delicious period of time when my mind can wander freely — or else when I’m otherwise alone (e.g. in the car or on a long flight).  During that wonderful break, I think about life, my life, my priorities in life and my goals and ambitions.  I also reflect on my problems, my faults, and the hindrances which prevent me from living properly.

See, I always thought that everybody  did this stuff.  But apparently not.  Maybe it’s because everyone is too caught up in the here-and-now, or is being enslaved by technology, or is entangled in the machinations of others.

And in today’s world, it’s so difficult to cut oneself off, even for just a half an hour;  and even if one does, there’s a real need to empty the mind of the clutter before turning inwards for those Deep Thoughts.

Myself, I think a little range time is the perfect way to clear the mind — there’s no time to think about life’s minutiae  when you’re trying to slow your heartbeat, concentrate on the sight picture and drop each round into the X-ring.  And in that wonderful aftermath of a range session when the adrenaline levels drop and you reach that calm state we all know so well, you’ll find that this  is a good time for quiet contemplation and reflection.

So there you have it:  shooting  helps with meditation, not that airy-fairy yoga bullshit.

By Its Real Name

Victor Davis Hanson calls it “pseudo-authenticity“;  I call it by its real name:  fake.

“It” of course refers to how people create fake or at best misleading backgrounds for themselves (VDH provides a list of the more modern ones) in order to make them more appealing to prospective employers, voters, whatever.

I’ve always joked that if someone hires me, they can check a whole slew of “desirable” boxes:  Kim = female, Du Toit = French-sounding, Africa-born = racial minority quota, etc.  Of course, instead of the Black French-speaking woman they expect, the company would get this employee:

…but that would just serve them right, wouldn’t it?

At least my pseudo-authenticity (and this post) is humorous;  that of “Beto” O’Rourke (fake Meskin), Elizabeth Warren (fake Injun) and Rachel Dolezal (fake nigra) is quite serious.