As Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh famously said; "Sometime you win.
And they say that modern times lack romance and adventure. Piffle!
Anyway, I've been too busy to post; it's almost nine p.m. and I'm still at work, so I'll just throw out a couple of random musings.
Hopefully I'll post something more coherent this weekend.
Just to the south is the spare, rock-bound, haunting loveliness of Cape Arago...
Shore Acres, the remnant of a Jazz Age Mitt Romney's pleasure dome, perched uneasily nearby.
The poor little cat is still slowly dying. Steroids have fought to reduce the ruthless growth that is destroying her from the inside, and she has improved a bit in the past weeks. But she is still visibly thinner, and weaker, and, less adorably, tends to lose bowel control at random moments. The worst part of such a death is the theft of dignity, and she seems to be ashamed, and slightly aggrieved at every episode.
As you may have noted, my beloved Timbers are having a terrible season, and today I received word that our goalkeeper, Troy Perkins, was dealt away in a straight keeper-for-keeper swap.
I am not one of those who swooned for the man as a player.
For one thing, I kept the goal myself back in the day, so his shortcomings were painful for me to watch, and he did have them; his positioning was not always good, his distribution out of the back frankly terrible, and he was not a particularly effective leader of his defense.
But he was an upright man, never willing to speak a comfortable lie when the truth would better serve.
As a player he was strong, and brave, and a good shot-stopper. He loved the team, and he loved our city, and he spoke to those fans who loved him in return.
He never quit - well, once, but only for a moment - and I will miss him, our first #1. I wish him well wherever he goes.
But onward, Rose City!
Last Saturday I volunteered at our local Rose City Rollers flat-track derby club - again - but this time had the strange experience of men's roller derby.
But it is also a sort of unkind and unfair that is the product of nothing more than Nature's cruel caprice, and not anyone or anything's "fault".
Nature and genetics will no more listen to your complaints than the ocean will respond to the pleading of a drowning man.
All you can do, and, perhaps, the best thing you can do, is what the women did that night; pick yourself up and throw yourself at that object again and again.
You will lose. That's the unfair part. You will not, cannot, win.
But you will not be beaten.