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.
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:
Your suggestions in Comments.
Britishland got pounded:
Meanwhile in Minnesota:
Al Gore must have been in the neighborhood.
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.
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.