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Breakfast at The Den

Janais padded sleepily into the kitchen, failing to stifle a yawn. She plonks her forehead into Kian's mid back, wrapping her arms around the woman's bare midriff.

"Hey cutie, breakfast is almost ready. Is the blue-eyed one up yet?" Kian rumbled, deftly turning several eggs over in her pan as her diminutive partner shook her head.

"No, she was still firmly wrapped around BLÅHAJ. You left!" She softly headbutted Kian, giving her a squeeze and then disengaged, heading for the kettle.

"I did! Poor Moira, she must have been having bad dreams. She kept kneeing me in the back all night, and I eventually had to get up and move to the couch."

"Aww. Unrelated, jasmine or rocket fuel?" Janais inquired, sifting through the assortment of tea bags, pulling out two red bags of Irish breakfast tea.

"Nah, I gots mine" Kian waved at a brilliantly green energy drink on the counter. "Had to do the drugs anyway, might as well wake up and make some breakfast."

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"Tower information papa. Automated weather observation one one five three Zulu. Winds one five knots at two five zero degree. Visibility one zero. Sky conditions few at seven thousand. Temperature two one, dewpoint one five. Altimeter three zero one three. Approach runway two seven left in use on the left, departing runway two seven left and runway two seven right. Prior to departure contact ground control one two one point niner. Clearance advise on initial contact you have information papa."

I looked over the displays around me. Blue status indicators everywhere indicating nominal conditions. I changed from the ATIS information service at 125.025MHz to call ground control at 121.9MHz for clearance to depart.

"Pontiac Ground, Gamma zero two four India Oscar experimental, is ready to taxi, VFR, information papa" I called over the radio.

"Taxi to runway two seven left via Charlie, Charlie one, Gamma four India Oscar, and contact Pontiac tower" came the response.

"Gamma four India Oscar, taxi to runway two seven left via Charlie, Charlie one"

I selected 120.5MHz on the radio and called the tower, "Pontiac tower, Gamma zero two four India Oscar experimental, taxing to runway two seven left"

"Gamma four India Oscar with you, clear for takeoff runway two seven left. No further ATC service available, monitor UNICOM on one two two point eight zero zero"

"Cleared for runway two seven left, Gamma four India Oscar"

I grinned. "Go time, Lucille!" I reached the C1 hold point at the end of runway 27L.

I keyed up again. "Gamma four India Oscar, moving to UNICOM on one two two point eight zero zero, bye bye" and switched to 122.8MHz.

I taxied onto the runway, facing into the brisk west wind. Pushing the throttles forward, I felt the twin GLAIVEs behind me ramping up smoothly.

"OK, girl, you can do this" I whispered to Lucille, the first flight-ready Gamma-class. Reaching takeoff thrust, I released the brakes and Lucille began to roll forward. Watching the groundspeed indicator, I eased the stick back as we hit takeoff speed, passing The Company hangars as our wheels lifted.

Lucille leapt into the air gleefully, pressing me into the seat as we ascended quickly.


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"Hands Held High", A Reflection After 15 Years

Fuck. I just. I was winding down, right? New OT, new Marcel Vos.

Then blammo. This absolutely impeccable live performance of Linkin Park's "Hands Held High" the recently-late Chester uncharacteristically doing the backing vocals, a breathtaking performance. Just devastating. Pile of goo and uncontrollable sobbing for like half an hour so far.

Just thinking about how awful it is that 13 fucking years after that performance in London, every goddamn word is still relevant.

It was 2007. We were so tired of war. So tired of Bush. Apprehensive about...what the hell is life gonna be but just more of the same shit for another 50 fucking years? College was going to be more high school, work (if you could even get it) was going to be more college. An endless dark tunnel stretching out into the future.

Minutes to Midnight came out, and was a good, solid album. And then this song. Not even the closing track, just in the middle as real and raw as a fucking IED.

And it was just the epitome of all our feelings about everything. It resonated with the bitterness and anger and fatigue. It was distilled millennial activist.

And it is a fucking sin it is still relevant to this day. Nothing changed.

Still wrecking me 15 years later. Goddamn Mike, you perfect lyricist.

It was a lot. It immediately flashes me back to that warm fall day, my teacher scrambling to turn off the classroom TV around 9am.

To the awful mid-March evening spent curled up and bawling my soul out on the bathtub floor under the shower as the buffoon in power did what we had feared for a year.

To that afternoon I came home to my folks crying at the TV, watching another American dream break up in the high atmosphere.

To the sickening night at the space, desperate to avoid the news I knew was coming but dreaded, watching the last glimmer of hope drain from Rachel Maddow's eyes on screen.

To a month ago, watching yet again as humanity fails itself. Fails to reach even the barest levels of ascendancy.

Fifteen years. I wish I could hope that fifteen years more we will see a difference, that this song by Mike and Chester will no longer ring true.

I truly, truly wish I could hope that much anymore.

Hashtag First Post

So, hey, welcome, settle down, take a seat. This is my blog. It is little, but might eventually not be little.

It was fun putting it together; this blog runs on nikola, which is super easy to use and work with.

However, and this is a fun story for all you out there: turns out, ls and rm -rf are not the same! Who knew?

Thankfully, duplicity has been dutifully backing this machine up to Backblaze for...a long time, vigourously and with feeling, and so after about half an hour and a pint of ice cream (black raspberry and dark chocolate), I had restored my whole-ass webroot and we are back in business!

So yeah. Bye.

RIP Moxie. 2004-04-08 to 2021-02-22

You were a good cat. A grumpy old lady who tolerated us and the kittens. You met me back in 2008 by sitting on me while Cleo was furiously cleaning my laptop. Jasper rescued you and we eventually brought you downstate to live with us.

There was no such thing as too hard a scritch. You wanted it all.

We did our best, and you seemed to appreciate it.

Making the decision not to fight the aggressive cancer that suddenly swept over you this week was one of the worst I have ever had to make. But at the same time, I knew it was the right choice, for you and for us. You passed away quietly and quickly between us, content and purring.

We will miss you, Moxie.


Ice helps a lot though.


Turns out, muffing with a partner is amazing in the moment, but it requires a lot of practice to avoid kind of a deep ache in your inguinal canals. Tucking tomorrow is going to be great. /s

However, if this is a price to pay for being taken to those heights by a beautiful woman, I will pay it gladly, and I look forward to the next time!