Monday, October 15, 2018

Wednesday Morning Meeting of the Sisterhood of Coffee Society


At it again...all for you.


by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World
Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 


For some months I've been meeting a couple of friends once a week at 7:30 AM for a hot cuppa and flour-based edibles at an independent coffee shop about a half mile from where I live. I am now considered one of the regular crowd that shuffles in. 

Of course I walk to and from the place come rain, shine, fog, heat, or cold. It's a way to get the blood pumping and the muscles to say Hello, World!

There is a fellow — folks say he is a professor at Emory — that shows up around the time the shop opens and camps out at the exact same spot each day. My friends know him. He smiles at them. They smile back. They chat to him. He chats back. He laughs at what other people say and they wave to him and he waves back. A regularly nice fellow according to all outward indications. 

Anyway, my friends introduced me and I said hello. He simply stared, said nothing, looked me up and down like I was not worth his time, then averted his eyes and refused to acknowledge me further. Then he made copious notes on a yellow legal pad. 

My friends were dumbfounded. "Huh," they said. "That's odd. Hey, Angela, wonder why he did that? He's always been so friendly."

However, it dawned on me after a few weeks of this that he could have identified me as a subject of an anthropological study of some sort and, as week after week I went about trying varied approaches to get a different response, he was treating me the exact same way — with disdain — and making observational notations of The Most Brilliant Woman In The World. 

Yes, ladies and germs (see video below for this phrase used in a historical context by Dewey Cox), it is clear the subject of a long-term study of your Citizen Journalist and The Most Brilliant Woman In The World is being conducted in the wild.

So I decided to make him a subject of my study. 

Each week hence I've tried different approaches to the situation to see if he changes toward me. He remains the same to everybody else including my friends — interactive in a friendly fashion. But no matter what I do — smile, frown, speak or not, wave or not, wear clothes or not (just kidding!) — he stares, says nothing, looks at me like I'm trash, averts his eyes, tries to finish his coffee with a shudder while I am in the same room, and takes more notes. 

I have not yet reached my conclusions about him and so the study results are not yet ready for publication. You know what? I'm lying. I have totally reached a conclusion about him.

I remind him of his mother and he love/hates her and she's dessicating in a rocking chair in a room on the third floor of his family-owned motel and he's wondering how to get me in the shower so he can use his carefully sharpened knife on me but his frustration grows because he has a suspicion — and a highly accurate one because he isn't stupid — that I'd shoot him before he even got close.

Yes, boys and girls, welcome to my world. 

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Wednesday, October 10, 2018

The Nature of the Crave: Part Two.


At it again...all for you.


by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World
There are two things I adore more than anything: Justice and Loyalty. I capitalize these here because to me they aren’t hollow words. They are ideals.

Justice, if we want it to be lasting, must be rendered by God…and it will be in His good time. Otherwise we get small justices that bring partial justice, but never heal. Religious doctrinal opinion with quoted scriptural support and discussions about judicial systems wide variance of application of due process of law are for another essay at another time.

Loyalty, on the other hand. I know my Heavenly Father has been loyal to me, but that is often not seen until years later and looking back. A daily dose of it, though, is something I believed could be had from ordinary humans, one to one, in the moment. It wouldn’t be easy, but surely people of integrity would just be that, right? Wouldn’t they see the bigger picture and be willing to sacrifice themselves for loyalty to a cause, or even to a person?

I believe I am wrong in this.

Being loyal is defined as faithful adherence to a cause, ideal, practice, custom, or person. Having loyalty means the absence subversive tendencies or liaisons. One can even be loyal in their opposition if that opposition is for constructive purposes.

Yet what I find more and more to be the case is that loyalty from one person to another is not as widespread as I thought. Then again, maybe it’s always been the case and I am just now seeing it. Maybe loyalty is not as dogged as I had always assumed it to be. Maybe I have an overactive loyalty meter toward others. Maybe I have a fanciful and romantic vision of what loyalty should be and therefore I am always disappointed when the reality of it slaps me in the face.

I write this in the early morning hours after a long month of back-to-back episodes of having those I am loyal to not being loyal back. Insulting me. Spreading rumors about me. Undermining projects I’m working on. Pretending not to know I asked for assistance. Refusing assistance with vague excuses of being sick or busy. Not getting things they promised to me in a timely enough fashion thereby throwing me under the bus.

The problem for me is that most of what I do is creative in nature. I know a lot of creative people in various industries. Creatives tend to form what look and sound like friendships so that the line between business and personal becomes blurred. I know I have a difficult time with that separation myself, but to me loyalty is loyalty. If someone is worth being loyal to in one part of your life, why not all parts?

Like I said, this last month had multiple opportunities in them for people to be disloyal. The thing is, this is not a new situation for me. My mother was not loyal to me. My brothers and sister were not loyal to me. My stepfather wasn’t loyal to me. I was the one who was always loyal to them, no matter what, sacrificing myself to them, for them. But it was never returned.

Granted, homes with abusive parents are not places where one expects to find loyalty. But my marriage was not any better. At a business event one time where I was shining as a bright, smart, beneficial addition to the proceedings, a man said to my husband that he must be proud to have such a smart, beautiful, and good-natured woman for a wife. My husband did not know I was walking up to him, but I clearly heard him say dismissively — and disloyally, “She isn’t anything like that. She’s not smart. She’s just…” He shrugged like I was a piece of trash. The man was shocked, and he felt badly that I heard it. After stopping dead in my tracks, I turned and walked away.

I never said anything to my husband about that. Why didn’t I? Probably because I knew how he really felt because he had been that way for a long time. He was disloyal, too, in other ways. I put it up with it until I couldn’t anymore. But he can never say that I wasn’t loyal to him through it all.

Was I stupid to keep showing loyalty to him for so long?

But this last month was particularly hard because I put myself out for so many to help them accomplish what I thought were mutually beneficial goals, only to find out, publicly, that I was just their tool. When it came time to do their part for me, it was never going to happen.

I crave loyalty so much it isn’t even funny. When I don’t get it, I feel the loss keenly. But can I say that my keen craving should be the standard against which I measure all others’ responses? Is the nature of my crave based solely on the need to feed my ego, and as such, am I only setting myself up for the fall? Am I that self-centered?

I don’t think so, but could I be fooling myself? Could the two things I value above all else — Justice and Loyalty — be two sides of the same coin? After all, isn’t disloyalty only another form of injustice and that, somehow, conflating the absolute with the makeshift makes me more disloyal to myself than anyone?

I no longer know. Even after I’ve reconciled myself to waiting on Justice, yet the crave for Loyalty hounds me every damn day.

Disloyalty is everywhere I turn. They say that wherever you go, there you are. They say that if something continues to happen to you everywhere you go, then it isn’t them, it’s you. But how could I be inviting disloyalty? How? Tell me if you know, for I do not. Am I missing what loyalties are shown to me or am I accurately defining them as what they always seem to turn out to be: Temporary ways to use Angela to their advantage by pretending to have her best interests at heart?

Frankly, I am tired of the sacrifices I make only to have them thrown in my face. I’m tired of the internal and external guilt trips laid upon me by myself and others when I speak up for me. I would rather spend time alone than go through the disappointment again of being told that others matter so much more and that I am not worth the mattering when, if to matter, means an inconvenience must be borne by another.

The words below are part of a song I wrote a few years ago. I hadn’t much thought of it since, until three days ago, that is, when they popped into my head and would not go away. And now, I write this essay and what speaks to me again? These words:

Dead eyes. Broke heart. Slammed door. Car starts.
She says to no one at all,
“Not good. Must go. Pain so slow”
burns her skin, she falls.
Time
doesn’t ease the pain.
No. No.
Yeah, it’s the way of the world.
In sleep I am aware.
Is that why I dream?
Perception is reality.
Is that why I scream?
Tell me why I am here.
Identity is strange.
Faith is not truth.
Black roses hang.

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Sunday, October 7, 2018

Free Speech sure is a bitch

As you can see from my curmedgeon
face (courtesy of Snapchat),
I am engaging in free speech that
should show quite clearly my
opinion of disruptors of
free speech.
by Angela K. Durden

In October of 2017, the University of Wisconsin took a bold stand. They decided that free speech was something that should be respected on their campus.

Anybody — including P-HWPCDLRSFC* — who messes with free speech can expect to feel the consequences. That's right. Twice engage in violence or other disruptive conduct that disallows free speech and you can plan on getting your little protesting butt suspended. Do it three times and, as they say in baseball, you're outta here!

Of course, that completely displeased state public school Superintendent Tony Evers who is a P-HWPCDLRSFC if I ever saw one. Seems he thinks such policies allowing everybody to have a voice by punishing those who use violence to keep everybody from having an opportunity to speak "will chill and suppress free speech on this campus and all campuses."

Of course Evers thinks that. He's a P-HWPCDLRSFC!

What's even more humorous — and made this curmudgeon chuckle let me tell you! — was that other P-HWPCDLRSFC weighed in with a beaut of a whine. Seems they want a policy that will clearly delineate what is considered disruptive. That's right, y'all. Spell. It. Out. 

Oh, you know they will want language in there that will define disruption solely from the P-HWPCDLRSFC POV. 

Maybe they want an official policy statement that goes something like this:


Anyone (especially Straight White Male suppressors and their colonist girlfriends who do yoga with the wrong attitude) who disagrees with, attempts to disagree with, even looks like they want to disagree with anybody that —

  • wears a pussy-hat
  • carry signs that say anything like the following: "What happened?", "Feel the Bern", and "F**K TRUMP!"
  • shows pro P-HWPCDLRSFC messaging anywhere on their skin via paint or magic marker or permanent ink delivered via the tattooing method
  • shows pro P-HWPCDLRSFC messaging anywhere on their body via clothing, including panties
  • is or could be LGBTQ et al
  • is Proudly Brown, African-American, or Native American
  • claims to be Proudly Brown, African-American, or Native American whether their skin color, manner of dress, or birth certificate says anything to the contrary
  • is a machinist (ex: married to a computer)
  • screams and jumps around like a snake bit them while being in a naked state
  • screams and jumps around like a snake bit them while being in a clothed state
  • swings a club, baseball bat, or other heavy object
  • throws a Molotov cocktail
  • acts together in peaceful harmony with others of the above descriptions to turn over vehicles
  • includes other actions or types of genders and persuasions that we, the P-HWPCDLRSFC, are free to and shall name at a later date when it suits our purposes and is expedient in getting rid of those who disagree with us
will be dismissed from the campus the very first time they speak against an innocent P-HWPCDLRSFC who only has the best interests at heart of those they want to see expelled and who, by their very actions, show they are a lover of free speech and do not want to see a chill on the campus that shuts down free speech. 

You think I jest?


I guarantee that's what it would look like. Look. Just like I know pornography when I see it and can tell the difference between it and art, I know free speech from free-speech disruption. I'm betting you do, too. 







P-HWPCDLRSFC is Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commies




Saturday, October 6, 2018

In honor of National Domestic Violence Awareness Month



Written and composed 
by your Citizen Journalist, 
and songwriter, 
Angela K. Durden
Share with your peeps.

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Public Service Announcement: National Boyfriend Day

This is a public service announcement from your Citizen Journalist, Angela K. Durden, also known as The Most Brilliant Woman In The World:

In the real world, this is NOT the best way 
to end 99.99999999995% of relationships.*


Written and composed and sung 
by your Citizen Journalist, 
and songwriter, 
Angela K. Durden.
Alan Dynin on piano.
Ted Pettus on harpoon.
Share with your peeps.


*Please be advised your Citizen Journalist, Angela K. Durden, also known as The Most Brilliant Woman In The World, is not here advocating for any particular murder, nor does this statement endorse the efficacy of any particular method of murder. In other words, easy death or hard, she makes no opinion. She is, however, simply stating a fact and which is that sometimes somebody's gonna die for good cause. Novelists, those who write fiction, rely upon this fact when coming up with their plot points. If you would like to read an extremely good example of this writing method, please click here and buy this book.

Tuesday, October 2, 2018

International Day of Non-Violence

This is a public service announcement from your Citizen Journalist, Angela K. Durden, also known as The Most Brilliant Woman In The World:

If you are a bad guy, you would do best to remember two lessons. One: Don't turn your back to the door.
Two: You will get yours.*



Written and composed and sung 
by your Citizen Journalist, 
and songwriter, 
Angela K. Durden.
Alan Dynin on piano.
Share with your peeps.


*Please be advised your Citizen Journalist, Angela K. Durden, also known as The Most Brilliant Woman In The World, is not here advocating for any particular murder, nor does this statement endorse the efficacy of any particular method of murder. In other words, easy death or hard, she makes no opinion. She is, however, simply stating a fact and which is that sometimes somebody's gonna die for good cause. Novelists, those who write fiction, rely upon this fact when coming up with their plot points. If you would like to read an extremely good example of this writing method, please click here and buy this book.

Sunday, September 30, 2018

Emboldened to further atrocities.



At it again...all for you.


by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

A friend asked me how has Brett Kavanaugh, Supreme Court nominee, been denied due process of law. She said that he was allowed his opportunity to testify, and even that the Republicans hired a professional to cross examine his accuser, Christine Blasey Ford. Further, said my friend, the Republican Senators got to cross examine the accuser, so how was it that he was denied due process of law?

My friend, Lorelei (not her real name), then went on to prove how that was done when she made the point that Ford's word was golden and should be believed because the woman said so. From Lorelei:

"...this was an alleged sexual assault...was not a teenage boy being accused of high school shenanigans. How is that unclear? What is unclear about this woman’s account of an unwanted, terrifying experience? Again, how can YOU be so dismissive? What is unclear about this woman’s account of an unwanted, terrifying experience. Again, how can YOU be so dismissive?"

Well, Lorelei, it's like this:


Judge Brett Kavanaugh,
from Wikipedia.org
Due process of law was denied Kavanaugh because he was accused, tried, and convicted in the court of public opinion with absolutely no evidence presented whatsoever — other than a vague memory — that no law enforcement agency could investigate.

The Deep State was calling for his head and make no mistake about it. But please understand, Lorelei, that this was not about women's rights — or patriarchy run amuck. I make no claim as to the veracity of Ford's experience or Kavanaugh's claim of innocence. I have opinions about those based on available evidence.

One: Ford is extremely vague in her innuendo of her experience.

Two: Kavanaugh has been investigated by the FBI six times and never once have they ever turned up any evidence he was a drunken serial sexual pervert or took part in "rape trains".

No, no, no. This confirmation hearing circus is just another battle to destroy Constitutional rights and the protections it affords to all of our freedom. This goal — to deny citizens basic freedom and protection under a set of due processes so all are equal under the law — has been buried under the guise of Political Correctness since the 1960s.

There was no evidence presented that could even be investigated. Kavanaugh was damned from the get-go, his family attacked, his reputation smeared for one reason only: So that freedom can be deprived the general citizenry.

I tell you what, Lorelei, if what happened to Brett Kavanaugh should happen to you, you better be glad there are people like me who will stand up for your right to due process of law. Without that due process vigorously defended, a nation is nothing but a dictatorship in the making, and we will all see ourselves or loved ones being buried in mass graves that future generations will excavate to prove crimes against humanity.

Christine Blasey Ford
from Wikipedia.org
Hitler started with small encroachments against freedom as did Stalin, Pol Pot, and many others. When those were accepted, or when goodhearted people tried to "go along to get along" hoping that would be the last of the conciliations and they could get on with their lives, evil people were emboldened to further atrocities. Do I even have to mention the 11.5 million killed by Hitler's machine? Do I?

What we see here with Kavanaugh is another emboldened step to deprive you, Lorelei — yes, YOU! — of freedom. I see that.

It is my hope that you will, too.

Lorelei's assumptions about my motivations are incorrect.

Lorelei assumed I was dismissive of Ford's accusation specifically, and all female victims generally, because I was too dense to understand the real pain and anguish victims go through. Obviously, Lorelei has forgotten my history of being a sexual assault victim for years by my stepfather and his friends, and not being protected by my mother, otherwise Lorelei would not have said that.

But, you see, Lorelei is just being a silly dupe used and manipulated by the Deep State — and the Deep State didn't even have to pay her or send her the talking points. All the Deep State had to do was say they care about women and BOOM!, Lorelei's emotions rule her life.

But emotions are not to be trusted.
Just ask any Las Vegas wedding chapel.



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Saturday, September 29, 2018

What if Picasso painted what he saw because he was dyslexic?

As Picasso
might have
painted me.
by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World
Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 


What if Picasso painted what he saw because he was dyslexic?Before somebody jumps all over my back for being insensitive to those with dyslexia, let me assure you the question is valid.

Not only is it valid, but it applies to me as I am dyslexic.

Dyslexia is not just the inversion of a letter or number, but is actually a wide spectrum of how the brain interprets what it sees including colors and shapes, and is different with each person. It can also be inherited: My grandson is dyslexic and has some of the same visual interpretations as I.

Let me see if I can make an analogy as to how dyslexia can work.

Let's say two people are walking down a road in Texas somewhere near the border with Mexico on one side and the U.S. on the other. Let's make these people..hmmmm...let me see...who could they be? I know: Trump and Obama.

While illegal fence jumpers are all humans, Trump sees a drain on the U.S. taxpayer, and Federal and State resources as well as a lowering of the defenses that keep U.S. Citizens and legal immigrants safe.

On the other hand, Obama sees a warm body he can sign up that will be so indebted to him they will vote for anything he tells them to so that he can advance his Socialist agenda of a One World Government in which he will hold a top position and live behind a wall in a guarded secure compound for the elite and in which the fence jumper will wear a special uniform while he rakes The Big O's yard or she does the laundry.

See? Same human shape, but different interpretations as to what those look like. Of the two walkers down our proverbial Texas road, which one do you think has political dyslexia? That's right! Obama!

Once, my mother and I both applied for a job in a manufacturing plant. The test involved putting shapes into corresponding holes. Square block goes in square hole. Star shape goes in star hole. You get the drift. There were nine shapes and nine holes. Mother and I sat in front of our respective test blocks. A woman stood in front of us with a stop watch.

After dire warnings that failure meant not getting hired, the woman angrily spat out "You have thirty seconds. GO!"

Mother had all nine fitted in fifteen seconds, but when the woman called time, I was still staring at the first shape I picked up, desperately trying to find the hole it went into. The woman looked at me like I was an idiot. Mother was furious because they were hiring pairs of relatives and this meant we weren't getting the job.

"What's the matter with you?" Mother said, angrily shaking her head and slapping the table with the flat of her hand. "Are you stupid? You put the round one in the round hole! Here!" And she rammed in the one I was holding into the slot it fit and I still did not understand what she was doing.

I just looked at both of them and could say nothing. We drove home in silence. Yet, only the summer before I had a job in a Tastee-Freez that required me to take apart, clean, and put back together a complicated ice cream-making machine with about fifty parts. Yes, the owner was frustrated that I didn't learn as quickly, but he was patient and guess what?

He then went on to brag about how fast I could do it once I did learn. Everybody was jealous because I was the best there had ever been and since time is money, the less time the machine was down the more money the owner saved and could make. See? I just needed time to process the information in a different way than most other people.

My duo partner and I are learning an extremely intricate song by Chick Corea called "Spain". There are the two famous riffs in the song that if any musician or singer gets wrong they would be booed, so of course we are working hard on those. Alan, who knows the song well, is trying to teach me the notes and he is teaching me using methods that work for everybody else but that are not working for me. I can feel his frustration as he keeps trying until finally I said to him, "Alan, my brain does not process information like other people. There is a mind/body disconnect so please let me work through this my way."

Once I get something, I've got it. Same with my grandson. But if you push our different-shaped minds through the sieve of a normal routine, you'll just make everybody frustrated.

So, let's get back to my original question about actual dyslexia and Picasso. What if Picasso wasn't some visionary genius and he was truly painting exactly what he saw? Would we think less of his work then? What if we knew at the time of his painting that he had dyslexia and some teacher or art critic came along and said, "That is NOT THE RIGHT WAY to paint!"? And what if he then quit painting because when he tried to paint THE RIGHT WAY, he just couldn't and got frustrated?

Then after he graduated Picasso, pegged as someone who COULDN'T LEARN, would have been put in a Jobs Training Program dreamed up by a Deep State P-HWPCDLRSFC*, only to spend his life sweeping the halls of the very school that labeled him LEARNING DISABLED and condemned him to a life of not ever getting to do something else because he was stupid.

Oh, what income Picasso would have missed out on!
 
What adventures he would have been denied.

What famous people would not have sought his presence!

And the FLOTSAM* would not have massive opportunities for reporting on his shows, the record sales dollars of a famous work of his, or the production of documentaries about his life and the famous people he hung out with.

See? 


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P-HWPCDLRSFC is Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commies

** FLOTSAM means For Liberal Opinion That is Serious and Actually Matters


Thursday, September 27, 2018

Dear Rush Limbaugh.


At it again...all for you.

Dear Rush Limbaugh,

I write this letter with a heavy heart. It is not every day I must tell a man these things. Let me explain.

I might look young(-ish) but I admit that I am on the downward slope to old age. Then again, aren't we all on the downward slope to death as soon as Mama's egg shakes hands with Daddy's sperm? Yes, indeed, so maybe this is not the best reason I must tell you what I must. 

Nevertheless, compared to when I was a mere child, I have not nearly as many hours left to me as I would like. 

Which brings me to why I must tell you that I will have to force myself not to listen to your shows or podcasts anymore. 

Yes, you've been on the air for 30 years and kudos to you for it. Tough job being the voice for those who have common sense, love freedom, and otherwise are good citizens who do not invoke the whole P-HWPCLDRSFC* mindset nor pay any attention to the FLOTSAM*.

While I have not been able to listen every day to your show, what I have found is that when I do listen, and it is often, three hours with you goes like thirty minutes for other shows. 

That means that time speeds up when I listen to you and each time I listen to a three-hour segment I am one-hundred and fifty minutes closer to death but I've not had time to accomplish three hours worth of doing during the same show period.

I don't want to die too early. So, Rush, other than quitting your show, what am I to do?

Your input into this most grave matter is eagerly awaited. Maybe I'm all wrong in my understanding of the whole time/space/death differential thingy. 

Sincerely,

The Most Brilliant Woman in the World




P-HWPCDLRSFC is Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commies
** FLOTSAM means For Liberal Opinion That is Serious and Actually Matters

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Conversations in Hyperreality, or The Polymaths Amongst Us and the New Renaissance

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World
Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 


This essay is included in a new book currently being written.


A friend recently gave me a copy of Umberto Eco’s Travels in Hyperreality. “Angela!” he gushed. “Seeing as how you are a writer and deep thinker, you might very well enjoy this book.”

He then went on and on, loudly repeating himself about what he knew about the Italian novelist, literary critic, philosopher, semiotician, and professor as if I had not heard him the first time. Or else he had forgotten he told me five minutes before.

In any case, my friend does love to hear himself talk. So much so that he will ask a question and before I’ve gotten three words out in answer he will have zeroed in on one of those words and will attempt to fashion a joke or witticism around it. Then he will repeat that until I react with a smile after which he will say, “I just knew you would find that [insert rotating descriptions of reaction type here (see choices below)].”

Hilarious. Funny. Witty. Smart. Reminding one of….

In other words, whatever reaction he needs, he implies it from my smile, though “patiently waiting for his mouth to stop running” is never one of his descriptors. Then, and only then, will he again ask his question and wait for my three-word partial answer before he interrupts with another thought suggested by one of my words.

Thank goodness our time has a forced limit and I have a polite way of sending him on his way — even as he’s backing down the sidewalk and still carrying on his oration as I’m waving goodbye and walking the other direction. Before you ask: Yes, he believes I tear myself away from him.

At this point you may believe I am changing the subject. I am not. Please bear with.

I had been tasked by my Aunt Virginia to read the 1956 book Miracle in the Mountains: The Inspiring Story of Martha Berry’s Crusade for the Mountain People of the South by Harnett T. Kane and Inez Henry. A book she gave me because she herself, one of those mountain people, had just celebrated her 55th reunion of the 63C class of Berry College in Rome, Georgia. The story was fascinating, and I had determined not to start another book until I finished this one.

In any case, I took Eco’s book home and moved it up in queue to be read after I finished the Martha Berry story. And so it was that five days after my friend gave me Umberto’s book, I cried when Martha died on or near (I don’t quite remember) her seventy-fifth birthday as Atlanta experienced its first war-time blackout; I vowed to live my life with more gusto and gumption. On day six, I eagerly cracked the spine Eco’s 1973 paperback.

And was promptly bored out of my gourd.

Not because his writing was terrible, but because he repeated his brilliant bits over and over. No wonder my friend liked him so much. If a point could be made, Eco would damn straight make sure you knew it from every point of view there was and translated through the eyes of each epoch of mankind’s history.

Talk about beating a dead horse. Which probably will happen in Eco’s debut novel…after The Girl does something with a chicken a la Equus. You may remember a movie called The Name of the Rose. It was based on Eco’s novel featuring a murder mystery in a monastery that, if I read correctly, Eco based on some old notes by a real monk from that period. That period being the Middle Ages, of course. The movie starred a very young Christian Slater, helper to the investigator and a monk in training, who furtively watches The Girl have sex with a chicken against every natural law but boy, oh boy, is he repulsed and turned on and conflicted and bi-curious and she is too, and guilt fairly oozes out of him. Top billing went to a grittily handsome Sean Connery playing the monk-ish type of person who is sent to solve the grisly murder.

Hang in there, y’all. You’ll thank me later.

While the movie was dark and weird and there is The Chicken Incident, it was a pretty good murder mystery and the helper monk chooses the path of God and all’s well that ends well as they ride off into the gloom on a horse and donkey. I bought the book with the clear intent of reading it after Travels in Hyperreality was finished. I believe that the read will begin on Day Seven after Travels receivership because I cannot bear to waste any more time on such tedium.

I’m glad Umberto is now dead so that he won’t have to read my opinion. Still, I am sure that, should he and I have found ourselves together and had a conversation about my opinion of his opinions, we would have invented a new form of tête-à-tête called Conversations in Hyperreality. It would not include my friend because nobody would get a word in edgewise nor complete a thought.

I believe Umberto and I would have enjoyed conversation with the other as it would have proved to be lively. Further, I would have had someone who could possibly keep up with me and, this is more important, he would have someone who could magnificently and methodically test his logic; after all, nobody can test a man’s logic like a magnificently methodical Southern Woman. I am a magnificently methodical Southern woman and not the first. Martha Berry was lauded around the world as being the same. That’s how she got Henry Ford and his wife to pony up so much money, time, and advice over the years when nobody else could.

Lest you think I’ve got the big head about myself in this matter, let me be frank: Ain’t bragging if it’s a fact. But enough about you. Let’s talk polymaths, of which Eco was one.

A polymath is someone who has a deep learning about a wide variety of subjects. No, polymaths are not know-it-alls. A know-it-all is one of those people who, at the drop of a topic, will opine ad infinitum about any topic whatsoever whether or not they really know anything about it. These are the people who put the yawn in party and they are most definitively not a polymath, that is, a person such as my friend who gave me the book.

Granted, polymaths can be boring, but that is so rare that the following statement is almost always 100% true: All polymaths are not boring, and all know-it-alls are not polymaths.

In fact, a true polymath has more questions than answers. A polymath will readily admit they hold Opinion A and will recite marshalled Arguments A-Plenty to let listeners know why they reached said opinion.

A know-it-all states baldly then insults you if any proof set is asked for.

Unlike know-it-alls who form an opinion and never change it come Hell or high water, polymaths hold an opinion and pray and hope that somebody will shed light on the dark corners about it; dark corners they know can exist. In fact, they are notorious for questioning themselves to the point that, weeks — sometimes years — later, they will change Opinion A to Opinion A-2.X and will apologize for not having known the clarifying facts and/or taken so long to uncover those.

Know-it-alls are rigid and never change their minds. They live in the world of definitives: Black and white are clearly delineated and never intersect.

Polymaths are flexible and readily change their minds when there is logical reason to do so. They live in the land of the rough draft: Where black and white exist along with every spectrum of gray.

Know-it-alls, while universally hated, are universally lauded when they come in the form of a politician or preacher who is willing to tickle the ears of their audiences.

Polymaths, while universally lauded, are universally hated because they ask others to think and confirm for themselves. Polymaths never tickle ears by telling a mob what they want to hear more of — like false promises of a chicken in every bed…errrr…I mean pot and a smartphone in every pocket — and that ticks off a lot of folks.

Which explains why I tick off a lot of folks. I am a polymath. And let me be the first to tell you, in case you’ve never met another polymath, that is a hard life to lead. A life, by the by, that one cannot choose not to live because one’s brain simply works that way.

My nickname growing up was “Angie…Aaahhhh!” It came about because all conversations with me ended with “Angie…Aaahhh!”

The “Aaahhhhs” were not of the admiring variety like were hurled toward the girl from Ipanema. No, my “Aaahhhs” were of the exasperated type hurled by vexed folks who could not answer my questions or hold up their end of a damn conversation or defend their absolute statement.

Relatives, teachers, possible business associates, now-ex-husband, my children, and a lot of men these last few years, have all said, “Angie…Aaahhhh!” Some have followed that with invectives, a few quietly muttered, others bursting forth in censured tirade, one or two or ten with a wave of a disgusted hand, and a surfeit backing away as if a bullet would be seeking their back.

Being a polymath sounds sexy, I grant you that. And as you began this most profound essay, you were saying to yourself, “My God! Why can’t I, too, be a polymath?” Let me assure you that this is not an easy life.

You see, firstly, getting and keeping a job is difficult. You can’t specialize in anything because your mind not only sees it all, it sees connections between it all where others do not. These connections make sense and next thing you know somebody says to you, “Stop trying to figure out a better way….Just do what I tell you, okay?....Because we’ve always done it like that….YOU’RE FIRED!”

Secondly, if you have a spouse with an ego, said spouse will always accuse you of being a know-it-all because they cannot see the difference between asking questions to learn from a bad situation and asking questions to point out their shortcomings. Polymaths must have mates with thick skins and lots of love for their cuddly widdle polymath.

So, no. I would not wish upon anyone the brain of a polymath. And yet…

We seem to be in a new renaissance — or as the Brits and the rest of Europe says: ree-NAY-saunce — of polymaths. Much like the Middle Ages heralded in massive social change after a thousand or so years of out-of-control barbarians at the gates, we are seeing a reawakening of wide-ranging thought at a faster pace than ever before in human history.

That’s because we have the Internet.

True, the Internet has become a free and public forum for know-it-alls who used to have to chase friends and strangers down at the coffee shop and in the grocery store aisle to opine. And this is where the polymath makes a connection: Have you ever noticed that with the rise of the Internet, nobody talks at the grocery store or coffee shop anymore? That’s right. We can whip in and out with never making but the merest human connection at all.

You see? Polymath thinks of these things.

Of course, like all good things, institutions of higher learning want to find a way to co-opt the title — for a fee of course. There are degrees in polymath now being offered to turn you into a polymathtician. There are three tracks you can choose, but you just wait, there will be more. And who will teach these courses? You can bet your sweet, chapped cheeks it won’t be true polymaths. Universities’ strengths are in turning out know-it-alls thus making this a true statement: Know-it-alls will teach the polymath courses and polymaths will never teach Polymath 101 or any other number.

Further, being a polymath is dependent on a brain pattern that is naturally occurring in a population and is not dependent on schooling. In fact, the polymath that does not get higher learning from an official institution of advanced studies usually has more imagination than a polymath who has to fight prevailing wisdom upon which his job is dependent.

For instance, take me, the polymath you know. I did not go to college. And yet, I have been in the company of inventors and industry-recognized thought leaders as they walk me through their newest project and of whom I have asked one simple question that usually goes like this:

“Right. Wow. That…just…looks good! But…what is that thing right there?” I cannot tell you how many times that question has stopped them cold. Their answers are:

“Huh. I do not know.” (Turning to project leader who then says —)

“Holy crap! That should not be there.” (Frantically dialing a phone; ripping somebody a new you-know-what as he dashes off to handle “that thing right there.”)

Now, if I had had all that higher learning, I would have been sufficiently awed by what they knew that I would not have thought to question something that didn’t seem to fit. I would have been useless to them and when failure ensued, they would not have known why.

Only recently, in the last five years or so, have I come to understand that I am a polymath. I started to that realization when People Who Matter in the tech sector and the Music Industry, in Atlanta and in other cities, told me, “Angela, you are a Thought Leader and an Industry Disruptor.” They said this because I was able to explain to them the concepts of protection of Intellectual Property. A subject they, who make a living from the public dissemination of their thoughts, should have understood but did not.

They did not understand how it is that I knew all this. You see, they knew everybody, the schools they went to, and their majors. They knew where they specialized and here I was, going deeper than they had thought and they couldn’t find out anything about me. But they took it from me because, you see, I am a magnificently methodical Southern Woman.

And, as men quickly find out, a magnificently methodical Southern Woman gets their attention. Hmmmm…might there be a higher concentration of polymaths in the South? See? Connections where others do not see them.


P-HWPCDLRSFC is Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commies
** FLOTSAM means For Liberal Opinion That is Serious and Actually Matters

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Wednesday, September 26, 2018

With advocates like this, who needs enemies?


At it again...all for you.


by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World

I'm going on record here, now, as I live and breathe, to say that if I had to choose between Benjamin Wittes and Brett Kavanaugh to walk down a dark street with in the middle of the night in Chicago in 1929 just as the Valentine's Day massacre was breaking out, it would not be Wittes.

It is clear that Wittes is not a fighter.

We know this because he, a bigwig in Harvard's law circles, wrote in The Atlantic's article "Kavanaugh Bears the Burden of Proof — The question isn’t whether he can win confirmation — it’s whether he can defend against the charge he faces in a manner that is both persuasive and honorable."

That's right. Ben wants Brett to withdraw his nomination because why? Because while Ben does not believe Brett did anything like what he is being accused of, he believes Brett should realize the woman's accusations have merit and he should just go somewhere else and quietly say, "I'm innocent."

Could we rightly say that Benjamin Wittes has a pussy-hat yellow streak up his spine and that he obviously hates the Constitution? 


I believe we can.  

Wittes does not understand Evil. Evil knows no rules and does not respect rule of law. Wittes recommending caving to Evil as the way to protect a process designed to protect the accused is beyond stupid.

Mr. Wittes, "guilty until proven innocent" is not the order of the day and is not how our court system is supposed to operate. If you do not understand that, then you should just quit the profession now because you would not be a good advocate for an innocent person or the rule of law.



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Monday, September 24, 2018

The American Sheepdog: The Deep State's worst enemy.


At it again...all for you.


by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World
Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 


Scrolling through Bacefook the other day I came upon an inline ad for Seattle Police clothing

The idea for it was great. Police are the sheepdogs that live for the day the Bad Guy wolf comes to hurt People sheep. I get it. But the language was incorrect. It said:

"The sheep pretend the wolf will never come." But sheep never pretend. Sheep don't know there is a wolf. 

The difference is huge, not that it makes the sheepdog's job any more difficult because the sheepdog still has to keep a wary eye roving in all directions and has to herd sheep that just want to graze and who get all mad and stuff when they are interrupted.

Don't mistake what I am saying. I'm not saying that "sheep" are stupid. Okay. Maybe I am because some are, so let me rephrase and say what I really mean:

I'm not saying that "sheep" are bad people, because they mostly aren't. But I am saying that their inability to understand Evil, and/or unwillingness to acknowledge Evil exists, makes them easy targets to dupe.

Good grief, all you have to do is scroll through Bacefook for ten minutes to see duped sheep self-identifying fairly leaping from the screen shouting "Love is all we need. NOT GUNS!" and "The sheepdog is the wolf!"

We know this because of the willingness of these sheep to ignore the Rule of Established Law and sacrifice the Constitution on the altar to The RadFem's God of Political Correctness. 

No jest.
Seriously.

The United States, and the rest of the free world that depends upon them for strength, is undergoing the biggest threat to freedom that it has been seen since the Civil War. There is a coup going on led by the very Deep State that Ms. Whoop-Whoop-Whoopi and other media types laughed about and said didn't exist but that was acknowledged in print here and here, for two examples. 

One woman on The View who denied the Deep State asked, "Hey, if the Deep State were real, would Trump be president now?" 

Well, honey, let me answer that for you —

Yes! And here's why —


Because the Deep State is a lot like Hitler. 

You see, Hitler believed his own press' headlines that called him the greatest, smartest, most wonderful thing since bread began to be perfectly sliced by mechanical means. Since Hitler believed his own press, he failed to plan properly and did not take into account outside forces nor ascribe proper weight to them when he could no longer ignore them. We know what happened to Hitler. 

What got Trump elected? The outside forces of all the people the Deep State thought had no power. That's right, American "sheepdogs". 

The Deep State and its schutzstaffel handmaidens believe there are only stupid sheep and super-smart wolves. The Deep State forgets about all the sheepdogs out there who will always win because of their ability to recognize wolves and have the tenacity to fight them.

Trump got elected because American Sheepdogs recognized a fellow protector who was willing to fight the wolf. 

Just like Hitler who threw everything he had at his enemies after it was too late, the Deep State is doing the same with this false accusation against Brett Kavanaugh by Christine Blasey Ford.

Do you care for freedom?
Do you want freedom to remain?
Can you recognize threats to freedom when you see them?
Are you willing to step up to protect freedom even for stupid people?

Look, while the Deep-State sponsored coup against the Constitution is in trouble, the battle is not over. Now is not the time to rest. It is time to keep hammering home the message that wolves might huff and puff and growl and snarl, but threats will not get them much more. 

Get your sheepdog on and keep it on. 



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