bierkergaard

Ever since Evangelicals in the U.S. became lackeys for Trump, I have distanced myself from the institutional (not organic) church. I am conservative and most of my tribe gives more allegiance to Rush than Jesus. Rush just died. So, I am sure Hannity is licking his chops on the prospects of being top dog on Right Wing Radio. I would not be surprised if Trump gets into talk radio hosting now that Twitter has banished him for good. It would fit his mendacious and lying red meat style.        In that church void, even before COVID hit, I have delved quite deeply into the ancient philosophy of Stoicism. Stoicism is not stoical in the sense that emotions are embraced but not over-indulged. A good example is the idea that if you cannot control something, like the weather or a traffic jam, there is little reason to rant and rave. Venting won't do much to alter the outward situation. Instead, change your response. Like wear a raincoat or turn on the radio in your car to some ...

I snapped the pic above this morning of my recycling bin. 95% of the material in there is plain old seltzer cans. Not the stuff spiked with grain alcohol for the carb-cutting crowd who still want to get wasted.  Maybe I am wrong in that determination. I can't see drinking that stuff for taste. I mean, it doesn't taste awful. It is just a zero compared to beer, wine, or bourbon. That is not to say that I find non-alcohol seltzer to not be refreshing. I do. I like the cold and carbonation.  I suppose the flavor is a plus but I dig Pellegrino which has no flavor. Ever since I have been shopping at Scavengermart down the road, I have been picking up cases of cans of seltzer at 20 cents per can and stocking the Beer Fridge. Which brings me to the point of this post. The power of substitution. I very much enjoy beer. That should not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me even slightly. I think it is a Gift of God for which I am thankful. Yet. like other pleasurable things, more c...

The title for this blog originated in the fertile mind of a friend on Instagram to this pic. I have called it a "Buffet of Books." That is certainly more canine and pedestrian sounding. I like the "Table of Knowledge." That is magisterial and fitting of a great mind such as myself. Me and my 30 loyal blog readers. 40 on an up week.  The table of which these tomes of Western Civilization rest goes back in my family to the 1960's some time. It has that look that was supposed to be modern like Miles Davis's modal jazz. Whereas, Miles Davis has aged well, the table looks hopelessly dated. And, as far as I can recall, it was always swaying and unstable due to a missing tooth in its structure that connected the bridge part of the table to the legs. I remember it back in high school being tipsy. In the 40 years since, it never broke, the other tooth held on,  providing just enough support to keep it all together, albeit shakily. I think I inherited the table when m...

  The sock which was lost is now found. Time to wear the fatted shoe. Last Saturday, I had an enormous amount of laundry to do. I have enough garments to go several weeks without doing laundry. Thus, I wait several weeks. Laundry time always rises to the amount of clothes available.   As I have written about before, Saturday is my To-Do Day. Almost everything household related like cooking the week's meat, bills, making my magical E-8 drink in the Vitamix, and chores, are Saturday. I am even trying to blog on Saturdays as I have time. I generally sleep in to around  5 AM on the weekends. Frankly, I often can't wait to drink coffee. So, I can't wait to get up and get the day brewing. I tell people on the day I die it will be after I have had my coffee. I would like to get my final lift for the week done on Saturday but I still do that on Sunday morning.  I find lifting weights relaxing and it is good way to take the edge off the caffeine. My rest day for working ...

Last week I wrote of the halfway feral cat who takes refuge in my fenced in backyard where he can catch a nap while letting down his guard inside the fencing. My townhouse was built in 1989 and the wood fencing looks like an original install. It is weathered and worn, just like me.  A few years ago a neighbor down the way had a full-size trampoline for his daughter go airborne in a storm, crash through my fencing, and come to rest upside down in my backyard. At 5:00 AM before work looking through my kitchen window, I saw something that looked like a crashed UFO in my backyard. East Coast Roswell I was thinking. I was like, "What the hell is that?" The owner of the trampoline came over that afternoon to make amends and restitution. He had a friend make the repairs so it worked out fine. I appreciated his active ownership and taking steps to remediate. It wasn't a pretty repair but again the fencing is hardly in pristine shape. I like living in a neighborhood that is showin...

When I moved back to my townhouse after the divorce, one could say I was suffering from low self-esteem. No one marries planning to get divorced. So, it was jarring. In the end, I could have done better but a decent amount of the problems were just the confluence of events. Life ain't so black and white sometimes. Nonetheless, I wasn't feeling good about myself and the ignominious return to my prior Bachelor Pad. BPII.   My first two guests were the two cats above. Siblings I assume. Not sure of the gender. I had left the back sliding door open looking to put something in the backyard and they waltzed in, presumably wanting breakfast. They looked very much at home as they peered at me with a "Well?'  look in their eyes. I assume the previous tenants had run a feline soup kitchen. This pic was after I had booted them I believe.   After I escorted them out, I soon heard a neighbor down the row calling for them in Spanish to come get their vittles. I was like, "Hey...

Well, what a week. A fine end to the sordid and soiled presidency of Donald Trump. All of his reckless, insulting, and inflammatory rhetoric has finally come home to roost. in one final climax like an exploding diaper full of doots. The image that encapsulates it all best in the man crossing the Capitol floor with a Confederate Flag. Sedition inflamed and egged on by the sitting President of the United States. Vlad Putin had a great day I am sure. The Confederate lover should have been tackled and thrown in the dungeon.   Watching Republicans scurry like scared rats off the sinking SS Trump is a case of too little, too late. Self-preservation for their political lives is the motive. No higher ideal. Except for the detestable Ted Cruz and that Hawley Himmler wannabe from Missouri. I condemned the Leftist riots this summer. I try to call it as I see it. So, please take your equivocation card and stick it where the sun don't shine.  Evangelicals in particular have to own thi...