#PureSchmaltz #MorningMissive

State: Fair-PartTwo

PalaceOfAg
Leaving the 4-H building, The Muse and I saunter down the promenade, further into the fair. Except for the costumes people wear, which tend toward the ridiculous, we could be a Gilded Age couple in morning coat and pinafore, strolling any public thoroughfare. Where else do people walk like that, except at the fair? I’m in hiking boots and jeans, layered tee and long sleeves on top. The Muse sports a demure dark blue shell and sandals. We both wear hats against the sun. I spot one man wearing bright orange pumpkin-print pajama bottoms, and many wearing those goofy oversized to-the-knee basketball shorts. Most carry no protection against the fierce sun.
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State: Fair

Poopcake
No better place to check the state of any state than by visiting the State Fair. Late now in this Trump summer, The Muse and I promise each other to get up and out early on the Sunday before Labor Day, drive the hundred and something miles down the bleakest corridor in the region, and visit. In 1869, somebody mustered a horse show in Pueblo, even then, far from the center of anything. The precedent stuck, though up-state legislators grumble each year, jealous of this one remaining annual economic boost reserved for a city otherwise left behind. Slip over here for more ...
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TrueLove

2000px-Playing_card_heart_A.svg
I pulled out the old guitar this morning and doodled around with my last song, written fourteen months ago now. I'm just leaving a period where I couldn't quite bear to even pick up the danged thing, so it took me a while to remember how to play this song. Looking around for the lyrics, my memory fails me so often now, I stumbled upon this Morning Missive, written just before I finished the song and sent to my dear friends in Arizona. This piece properly describes the act of creation when The Gods decide to exhibit their foolishness and put that process in my hands. It serves as a fine reminder that I never know how to write, how to create, but that the process seems fully capable of taking care of itself and producing anyway.
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LiarsParadox

empty
The Ancient Greeks invented democracy, but also recognized the stone in its shoe. They spoke of the Cretan who declared that all Cretans are liars. This simple declaration, Bertrand Russell later noticed, could undermine the entire structure of reason the old Greeks passed down to us.

This year, we have a Cretan claiming to run for President. The NYTimes reports on his long history of defending his public statements as "puffery", common commercial bluster: lies. He refers to his opponents as liars, which given that he's a Cretan, must mean that his statement, properly interpreted, insists that his opponents are most certainly 'not liars.’ The Cretan collapses choice into a nearly indiscernible mess. Slip over here for more ...
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Traffic

roadrage
I admit to being a world-class ninny behind the wheel. I despise driving. I much prefer taking any form of public transportation, and not only because I can read on the bus. I seem to understand traffic rules a bit differently than many others sharing the road, if I can fairly describe their behaviors as evidence of anything like a sharing attitude. I often feel alone out there, steering a Soap Box Derby jalopy in a NASCAR race. Slip over here for more ...
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InnerBunny

InnerBunny
As unlikely as it might seem to even the dedicated observer, the most prominent part of my personalty just has to be my InnerBunny. During the summertime here, the fields fill up with small rabbits. I unkindly refer to them as cheap protein sources for the raptors roiling around in the thermals. These rabbits seem more oblivious than fearless. They're easy for me to spot and I do not possess anything like a raptor's eyesight. They are, like all rabbits, cute, of course, and visions of Beatrix Potter dance around in my head whenever I spot one, though Colorado seems far, far away from the English countryside. I hold no animosity toward them because the deer already convinced me not to plant a garden. I am in no way a Mr. McGregor, anyway. Slip over here for more ...
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Editing

pizzarelli
The small venue jazz club featured a performance space in back and a dining room up front, with little separating the two. Sure enough, as Pizzarelli began a fine scat version of Emily, some group in the dining room started celebrating VE day, accompanied by the obligatory piercing intern cackle and the four shot-fueled guffaw. About half the audience began searching their pockets and purses for their rusty pig gelding knives while looking over their shoulders with murder in their hearts. John seems unperturbed, seasoned from ten thousand similar experiences in his life so far. This venue was clearly not the Carlyle. Slip over here for more ...
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OverThinking

sriracha
I wonder if I over-think as much as I think I do. It's true, I do often think my way through an anticipated action two, three, four, often even many more times before I take action, and even then, I might opt to take no action at all (yet). I consider my scrutiny prudent, though obviously not everyone would agree. How many thought experiments must a standard ketchup bottle survive before it's simply set aside as too complicated to open yet?

I seem to have been born to run on intuition, yet blunt my native sort of 20/20 vision with dump truck loads of conflating cognition. Slip over here for more ...

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Beer-ocracy

Soybeanvarieties
Before The Muse left town, she asked me to see if I could finally get the Colorado license plates. We’d arrived in Colorado in late May, and it being early October already, we were tucking in rather closely to the deadline requiring new license plates within thirty days after establishing residency. Gratefully, the law defining residency seemed ambiguous enough to drive a large truck through.

On the one hand, it meant having a job here, which The Muse had from day one. On the other hand, it meant having a permanent residence, which The Deluxe Executive Towne Home, our temporary digs while searching for a permanent place, clearly failed to satisfy. On yet another hand, even once we found a permanent place, a vehicle license could only be issued if I had a Colorado driver’s license, which requires a whole other raft of evidence and proof, like utility bills addressed to me at the new permanent address, and utility bills usually arrive after living in a place for a while, like a month. By the time I received my Colorado license in the mail, we were already nearly six weeks in the new place.

The Muse had found the car title and proof of insurance, but the Colorado DMV site insisted that I’d also need a Vehicle Information Number Verification form, but it provided no information about where I might secure said form or who should do the verifying. The car also needed an emissions inspection, which the website suggested could be secured at either a state-run facility or from one of a select group of mechanics. I found what I thought was the location of the state facility for my new county and went in search of it. It was very well hidden.
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