And the synthesizers in the eighties were nothing like moogs

Irrelevant I guess. I was casually reliving a memory from when I was a child, but there’s always got to be a pedant to further solidify my general withdrawal from society because I’m clearly not satisfactorily intelligent enough for it.

They existed and were more of a new wave instrument at the time, but not heavily used in rock like that.

I was unaware of Brownsville Station when I was eleven.

Sorry to have failed your class professor.

We couldn’t all be Jack Black in high fidelity at that age.

I believe I was in sixth grade when that album came out.

First of all, it used a whole lot of synthesizers, which were pretty new technology at the time, and I felt like I was living in the future when I heard it.

As to the album cover, it somehow didn’t register with my that it was a baby smoking.

Rather, it made me think of teenagers smoking in the high school bathroom.

Motley Crue’s Smokin in the Boys Room came out a year later, so I don’t think that influenced my mental image.

Combination of being salaried plus industry culture.

It’s been years since I’ve eaten food away from my desk. And God forbid I should forget to bring food and need to run downstairs for sixteen seconds to purchase something. That’s truly one of the seven deadly sins.

I believe that’s the European Union free trade zone for bidets and electric kettles. Metric cash only, please.

I’d wager that his lease has a mandatory arbitration clause that requires him to pay up front then try to get it back via arbiters chosen by the landlord.

Not in computers. I’m an accountant. I don’t have enough money to throw the double middle fingers. Can somebody please, for the love of all that’s holy, show me the way out or, you know, come sneak onto my property when I’m not looking and delete me?

Edit: JUST now, I got told that I’m unprofessional because I refuse to give my personal cell phone number to all three thousand of our clients. I said that my private phone funded by my personal money is not a business asset and they can give me a company phone if they want me texting clients. This was met with a huff, turning of a back on me, and storming off.

There were a bunch of geese around my grandparents’ house when I was a kid. God those things would torment me. They had free range of the property and I tended to completely avoid the area they hung out because they were hyper aggressive and would chase after me every time I got anywhere near them. I was six years old, so it felt like they were as tall as me and they were definitely faster.

It wasn’t so bad once I got a little older, a little taller, and relied more on my bicycle than my feet for movement.

Nonetheless, those things gave me childhood trauma to the extent that I still can’t stand geese some forty five years later.

They’ll make you listen to Vogon poetry. If your head explodes, you’re not a bot.

Now I wonder about elephants given that they have funerals and mourn their dead.

I remember when Facebook was solely for college students. Now it seems to have a three denture minimum.

No good story ever began with a glass of milk.

Anthony Burgess: Hold my milk plus.

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I’ve been on a jury once. In that particular case, there were a couple jurors who took it upon themselves to police anybody bringing up anything that we were instructed to disregard. You may not think twelve people is a lot, but I’m my experience, it was twelve wildly different personalities which was frustrating, but ultimately beneficial in coming to a unanimous decision.

Further, they sent us out of the courtroom several times during the trial so opposing counsels could fight over what could and couldn’t be entered into evidence for us to see.

She died first

How are the clarinet lessons going these days?

I spent several months last year actively looking for a therapist. I’m not talking a single casual Google search and done. I’m talking months of calling, emailing, physically driving to. The only therapists I could find who were taking on new patients and would accept my insurance were magic Jesus Crystal types whose “therapy” was little more than thinly veiled proselytizing.

Given how it seems people need to go through several therapists to find the right one, I gave up after failing to secure the first.

I almost fell for that whole better help scam but fortunately it was exposed for the personal data mining nonsense that it is before I signed up.

I learned of my father’s death weeks after the fact. My involuntary reaction was an emotionless, “huh.” I think I was forty eight years old at the time.

I hadn’t spoken to him for over thirty years, and had suffered decades of nightmares that he’d found me.

After learning he had passed, the nightmares finally ended, but the lifelong fight or flight tendency to keep to myself and never rock any boat remains.

My sister has said that she’s jealous of my daughter because we have a pretty close father/daughter bond - something my sister never knew and never will.

In my fifties now, I generally avoid human interaction as much as is physically possible. While I could cite other reasons as to why I’m this way, I can confidently point a rigididly extended index finger at dear old dad as the foundation of it all.

My parenting duties complete, I mostly just exist waiting for the sweet sweet embrace of death when I’ll no longer have to go make money for the man or pretend that I enjoy the saccharin sweet small talk of co-workers who don’t give two shits about me or anybody else, but professional decorum for the win, right?

I don’t even look forward to weekends because those are just two day stints of solitude doing chores so I’m ready to go make more money for the man on Monday.

Can’t really get a solid grasp of the place via search. Can you explain?