Making Widows Wince

Over time, I’ve come to love my Mary with all my heart. I’ve also learned to become protective of her, because the lord knows she has the worst picker I’ve ever seen. It’s like she’s disabled but doesn’t know she’s qualified for a placard. This assumes that there is such a thing as a picker, and that it’s on your person somewhere, always hiding and waiting to make a decision. People decide to go to church based on less information than the average picker I’m talking about, so let’s just put the possibility that the picker exists on that level – God, picker – maybe? Really, who’s to say? (I’m not talking “American Picker,” an excellent show on cable TV that plays five times a day. They seem to have a generally good picker, though some of their choices seem overpriced to me.) I’ll point out right here and now the obvious – she picked me. But just as a tax cheat is what you need to put in charge of finding tax cheats, (or running the country), I’m exactly the kind of man ...

False weather reports It seems that false news is the talk of the day, and methods to fix it are all the rage. I am not totally sure, but the truth to be found in social constructs such as politics or hair care are, for the most part, going to depend on what you think the answer is before the truth is told. But I could give a crap about truth, and if it’s not dull, I say, ‘good on you mate’. My concern is false weather reports. I live in south San Jose, a fine bedroom community for less productive members of the tech community. We are in a rain shadow both evidently and chronically but are lumped into local weather reports that are always wrong. They (the weather reports) deny being wrong, which really is the worst part, since they knowingly exaggerate their reports to the worse possibility to excite the sheep listening to them for money. Reality doesn’t sell anything, so they tease and push to the worst in us in order to beef up their ratings – ratings they then use to sell mor...