Thursday, November 25, 2010

Yoga and Fleece

Being a Thursday, but also with snow in the air and some down, converting to slush, I had a notion that yoga might get cancelled today, but no, it didn't, even if I was the only class member other than the instructor. I got a private lesson in effect, from the blonde who dressed in fugly brown pants and a black top after she removed her red sweater when she warmed up. Anyhow, I get outside afterwards, ready for Perp Primetime, and sure enough, a negro dude is sitting in a idling red colored minivan outside the door I take, seeming to be waiting for someone. (No negro or other class members today). I walk 80' to the corner, and lo, if the negro and his red van aren't crossing in front of me, running a just-turned red light before I was to walk over the path of the red van. The just-red light running seems to be about minimizing the amount of time between me occupying the very ground that the vehicle and driver crossed over. So, said negro wasn't waiting for anyone after all, just doing the gangstalking thing according to his masters; first stationary and outside the exit door, and then again while driving my immediately before I walk acrosss the street, and running a red light and not bothering to look to see what he might of been running into. Been there, done that.

I had my usual "dude walls", hoodie Fuckers and other loitering Fuckwits on the way back, normally more significant after the spine stretching of yoga. And could they get enough redcoats on the job, and failing that, red hats and red scarves? I don't think so. When outbound, I had my entourage loitering in the lobby again, at least three of them repeating from yesterday's exit. This time no Fuckwits standing behind the door, though the postal delivery criminal (as I call all post office employees who seem to have an unerring knack of finding me), was delivering mail again. The wheelchair act as well, the Scottish oddity/woman who seems to be on perma-stalking duty as she has now "gradutated" from cleaner to apartment manager, and is now a fixture nearly every time I pass through the lobby.

But I am wearing my black fleece pants today, and all in fact, as they are warmer than jeans I have come to find, and are suitable for cold or wet temperatures unless there is a high wind, which there wasn't. And I suppose that was also worth some extra perp drama, as I rarely wear these pants owing to their specialty application. And a black shirt on underneath, revealed for yoga, and I put on my deep green sweater since I got back to my apartment. All very critical these clothing color changes as I have come to know, the yoga instructor also doing hers in advance of the class. Anyhow, the rest of the day has been very dull, and I am now in shut-in mode for the rest of the day.

I am digital copying my music for the second time ever tonight, and then attaching the metadata to it from All new activities to me, and the perps seem intently interested too, pounding the ceiling overhead and having the noise get through my earmuffs. Then my perp-abetting mother phoned to add her bit, along with all the EMF considerations at one's ear and mouth, that is, the reciever, and all the other importance the perps attach to their tactical timings of phone calls that I recieve. (Usually in the middle of some important event to them, say, bookmarking, file creation or deletion, and now, music file creating, compressing and then storing on this here PC. The biggest mystery is why they call this digital file copying so many names: ripping (thought that was for making a CD up), extracting (not really), and copying (which is what it is). Fucking bizarre, and the perps just love this nonmenclature confusion.

A screaming rage Fuckover in that the infernal MusicBrainz won't change the file names of the files once the meta data is assigned. And one two CD set got totally fucked, and the same deal. The plugins for cover art don't work, so after a promising start, no fucking metadata. I don't think I have seen anything so fucking clunky, and documentation adverse as this music metadata application, MusicBrainz. And with the pinging and tapping going on overhead as I attempt to pick my way through the logical incongruities. Just another jerkaround.

More annoyance when the perps wouldn't let me pick up a spoon from the drawer. Later to the same effect, they splattered soapy water droplets from the cleaning brush that self-ejected from the brush and onto me. No ostensible cause, just another of the water flicking games that are more frequent nowadays.

I get to do driving duty tomorrow for my mother, so I wonder what that will bring in terms of jerkarounds and stunts. This is how I percieve any new event; what are the possible Fuckover abuses and how public are they going to be? Most often the perps won't have me do rage-ifications in public, thankfully, though like any other parameter, that can change fast enough if they want to move me on to somewhere else. Some residental locations of the past might have had "complaining neighbors" (no neighbors in fact, therefore no complaints), and in this place no complaints even if they are getting me back to the level of the high abuse rage-fication locations.

Enough of the silly stuff, and onto what is scripted for tomorrow and all grim bullshit preparedness.

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