Welp, looks like you’re about seven times more likely to die from the COVID vaccine, if you get it, than from COVID, if you get it:
The WHO says that ”…very little data is available to assess vaccine safety in pregnancy. Nevertheless…we don’t have any specific reason to believe there will be risks that would outweigh the benefits.” That’s a statement to not inspire confidence, if there ever was one! Good lord.
Oh, and finally, Large Numbers of Health Care and Frontline Workers are Refusing COVID19 Vaccine, to include 60% of staff in an Ohio nursing home, half the critical care nurses in a big Texas hospital, 55% of New York firefighters, half the frontline workers in one county in California, half the healthcare workers at a California hospital (different county), 40% of all frontline workers in LA county, and then 40% of the entire staff at a Chicago hospital, as cited by the article. I’m frankly surprised Forbes or any MSM even reported on this trend, but good on them.
I wasn’t sure if me and my family would be perceived as the weirdo holdouts or whatever, on the question of the COVID vaccine, but I guess a lot of people don’t see the sense in taking a cure that’s 7x more likely to kill you than the disease. The CDC has now admitted that 96% of all COVID deaths were accompanied by an average of 2.6 comorbidities, which anyone could have already guessed just by looking around.
Careful about clicking that link — it’s to the Daily Wire, well known to be a dog whistle for the alt-right :)
Ah, I still laugh about that. I forget what MSM outlet said it, probably the Atlantic or some shit. I tried to find out just now by Googling “dog whistle for the alt-right” but it turns out they use that phrase all the time to describe literally everything, so no help there. Shucks.
Re: the GameStop saga, WaPo has decided to go this route with their coverage:
That is about the hottest of hot takes imaginable. Like, that take is so hot, it’s a pre-roasted chestnut.
And, everything’s going fine in Europe with the lockdowns:
Perfect! What else. Well…I made Nick spit his coffee this morning by observing that the ratio of Presidential Executive Orders to actual legislators is at an all-time high, following what seems to be arrests on video, buses and SUV’s going in an out of the Capitol area between the hours of 3am and 6am often, the White House being dark for the last ten nights, and all of Congress announcing they were taking a week off, following the inauguration. It’s good to be able to make your partner laugh, you know?
And then Nick made me laugh because, while I was vegan-buttering our toast, I was saying something about the way I like things to flow: I say what I think, in a chronic way, and then the friends I have left over at the end of it are my friends; rather than doing it backwards and deciding that I have to avoid alienating my friends by mitigating my speech. Nick performatively interrupted me by saying, “But, race! But, gender! But, race! But, gender! My genitals! My genitals!”
Ah. We have a good time. I have some friends and lurker readers, probably more than I’m aware of, who are convinced I was the right kind of person until Nick came along, and that I’ve just been just helplessly girlfriended over into all the wrong ideas because of him. This is interestingly reminiscent of a time when I was in second grade, what is that…eight years old? And my friend Amy and I got into trouble because we had been rough with my mom’s watercolor paints. We’d made a mess.
My mom said she regretted letting me hang out with Amy because she was such a bad influence on me, and the mess we’d made with the paints was the proof. I was really offended that my mom thought I couldn’t get into trouble on my own. The fact was, I rarely did get into trouble on my own, because I would just read books etc. But I was still offended.
Oh, and that reminds me of another thing: I discovered in high school, like ninth grade timeframe, that my classmates would tell their parents I was going to a party, if they were asking permission to go to that party, because their parents felt that it was probably a good, safe party, if I was going. This was also very offensive to me — partially because I was being used as the standard by which milquetoast was measured, and partially because I wasn’t actually being invited to parties, I was only being invoked as a reason why others should be allowed to go to those parties.
And that reminds me of another thing: I was home from college for the weekend, once, and gassing up my car at Thriftway, on the corner of 181 and Navajo Route 7, before driving on down the road to my parents’ assigned teacher housing. A former classmate, I guess?? — turns out more people remember you than you remember them, when go to a big high school where you’re a racial minority — ran up to me and goes “Omg congratulations I heard you’re pregnant!!”
I was just standing there with the gas nozzle in hand — who knew I’d go on to make standing around with gas nozzles in hand a profession, right? And a damn well-paying one at that! I made $52k in six months, standing around holding a gas nozzle, in 2018. Anyway, I just stood there holding the gas nozzle and was like “huh?”
We sorted out that I was not, indeed, pregnant, and she became very hedgy about telling me who it was who had proudly claimed to have impregnated me. Clearly she’d heard it from a male, I just didn’t know who and now she wouldn’t say. I only mention it because this wasn’t the first time — I remember hearing rumors going around in high school that so and so had “popped my cherry”, things of that nature. I was always just bemused, and never knew who the fuck it was that had said that, even when someone told me their name.
The takeaway, I guess, being that it seems I’m above reproach (much like the New York Times), because why else would it be strategic to claim to have sexually reproached me, lol, or to say I was going to a party I hadn’t even been invited to, or to immediately interpret it to be Amy’s fault the paints got messy, or Nick’s fault I’m not a bleeding heart liberal!
I’m just here to assure you that it is, actually, someone else’s fault I’m not primarily concerned with race, gender, and genitals. If left to my own devices, certainly I’d return to that most fascinating of navels to gaze at.
Okay, that’s cleared up! It’s definitely someone else’s fault I’m this way. Every morning when I sit down to blog, I have to really access my latest programming and conditioning, and turn the volume down on my own actual thoughts, which have almost thankfully disappeared by now, in order to craft these dogmatic…well, dog whistles is what they really are, right? Obviously. Time to write a new dog whistle!
Dear Lord: please let us all receive that which we’ve made inevitable for ourselves. Amen.
It’s just kind of crazy to me how liberals are like, we need to advance women to positions of leadership! And then, you know, we get a Kayleigh McEnany or some such thing, and they’re all, No not like that! Like, the main message I get from the skeleton crew that remains of my left-leaning friends — not because I quit them, but because of what I said while I was buttering toast: I like to just practice saying what I think, out loud, in various ways, and whoever’s still standing at the end of that is welcome to hang out — but the message I get is that only white males are toxic (ie powerful) enough to actually be guilty of thinking what they think, and the rest of us are gaslit (ie not powerful), and we don’t actually think what we think.
That’s pretty confusing; I thought if I wrote it out, it might make better sense but maybe not.
Anyway, I guess the only readership I’ll have left as things go on is people who suspect I might be attempting to practice what’s true for me by continuing to say things out loud (as it were) as best I can, which is indeed what writing, to include private journaling, has always been about for me. I don’t think we ever “arrive”, just in case anyone’s holding their breath. I think we either practice saying what’s true for us, and getting better and better at it (which can alternately be seeing through the glass-half-empty lens of ‘being wrong over and over again but for a worthy cause), or we don’t, and then eventually we die, reflect on the themes of our lives and the characteristics/values we managed to develop in that incarnation, and then probably go on and decide to do it again or, perhaps instead, do something different on some other dimension of existence. We certainly can’t go around limiting ourselves to things that aren’t “hate speech”, in a world that increasingly characterizes anything counter-narrative as hate speech, up to and including 100k people trying to leave angry 1-star reviews on the Robinhood app following its decision to shut down the retail trading side but leave the hedge fund side open long enough to allow Goliath to stand up from the beating it had just received from the collective David, and deservedly so.
I don’t for a second believe we have the luxury of thinking our own thoughts versus the inherited thoughts of others — obviously it’s all a mix, forever; a dialectical process of thesis + antithesis = synthesis which becomes the new thesis, over and over for all of life, for all of time. I just hope to lay on my death bed, not anytime soon but eventually, and know I fucking said what I honestly thought, most of the time, to the best of my ability. Sounds like such a small thing, but apparently it’s not.
Stronks training is going well — I had my period this last week, which always knocks me out of training orbit a bit, and worries me about competition. Like, what if it fell on the wrong week of the month? I’ve read that female competitors can cease to menstruate below a certain body fat percentage, and I hope that’s true because I’m not trying to deal with the beaches of Normandy while I toddle around on four inch glitter heels in front of huge audience.
Other than that, though, we continue to be so lucky and blessed in having our own barbell equipment, and a little concrete pad on which to train. It’s not level at all, and we have to do all kinds of crazy things to compensate and, like, not have our deadlifts go rolling down the hill etc., but still: thank god.
Nick and I did check the mask compliance policies, etc. with this gym here in Waimea. We’ve found gyms in Hilo and Kona that are pretty free wheeling, understanding as they do that it’s pretty hard to get your reps when your whole oxygenation mechanism is impaired. This gym, close by, said that not only do we need to mask up all the time, but we’d have to actually leave the building and stand outside, in order to sip water, so we said thanks but no thanks. Back to the drawing board, and the home barbell gym.
It’s fine; we just need to get some additional dumbbells and a pull up bar, minimum, and pretty soon. I mean, our compound lifts keep us in perfect shape for normal people, but this competition thing is putting more pressure on the development of certain muscle groups above and beyond.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned, but I always dreamed of being able to do pull ups from a full hang, and now I can :). Feels really good! I like Nick’s philosophy, which obviously he’s adapted from his influences, of ratios, in strength training. Like, you should be able to pull and press your own body weight at least, or twice that, or some large percentage of that, depending on the lift and on being male or female. I’m not gonna go into the whole breakdown, but anyway it’s just a much more organic and cohesive way of thinking about relative strength than anything I’d encountered before. And it feels really obvious now, as all the best epiphanies are.
Let’s see: I’m squatting more than my body weight. I’m benching almost my body weight. I’m deadlifting almost 150% of my body weight. And I’m shoulder pressing only about two thirds of my body weight; sad face. Most importantly of all, I own my body weight in pretty dresses. Let’s just keep the focus where it should be.
As I’ve mentioned before, my particular brand of pretty dresses doubles as an excellent store of value, and I just sold one this morning for 3x what I paid, because I’m trying to funnel extra money into my cryptos obviously. BTC’s holding in the mid-thirties and, gosh, I really don’t know what it’s gonna do. I mean, obviously it’s going up, to 100k and a million and probably beyond, eventually, but I mean idk what it’s gonna do in the next couple weeks. I’m irritated I didn’t have more liquid cash on hand when it dipped down to 29k but so it goes.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but I’m sure someone needs to hear this: buy the dips if you can, obviously, but in any case, just buy. Just buy. Close your eyes and press ‘buy’. I thought it was too expensive to buy, back in the days when it was 9k. Those days were not that long ago, people. I was like, ‘aw shit, it’s too high, lemme wait for 7k to come back’. Now it’s in the mid-30’s, after having peaked at like 40k just after the new year. Which was really not that long ago. Just find a way to free up some liquid cash and go in there and press buy on some BTC. Just do it. Find a way to do it.
Okay, soapbox sequence complete. I’m happy to go to the moon by myself but I sure would like y’all to come along with me. That goes for everyone reading because they like what I say, and everyone reading because they hate what I say (which normally you’d assume they wouldn’t read, but events have proven that not to be the case). Love me or hate me, just please buy some Bitcoin, because it would be fun to continue our conversation in a higher tax bracket; and it would really fun to continue our conversation in a post-IRS world, hell yeah!!
I need to post my BTC wallet address somewhere obvious on my site in case anyone wants to thank me for my work, in the form of BTC. That thought had not occurred to me before.
Okay, it’s time to not be blogging anymore — if you’ve made it this far, because you enjoyed me, or fought off waves of revulsion the whole time, or whatever, thanks and have a great day :)