I'm going to be gone from Friday evening, May 20 until (probably) Tuesday morning, May 31, for one of these things that is, even for the healthiest, physically grueling and draining. I remain defiantly confident that all will end okay, even though there's considerable worry about that I'm already drained and worn out even before this starts.
Anyway, that's neither here nor there, but I do have something to say.
* * * * *
**** the primitives.
A few weeks ago, I became considerably discombobulated when I learned that a primitive was insisting that franksolich was "stalking" her in real life; his stories about her were so uncannily accurate, so precise in details, so true, so remarkable in their breadth of knowledge about her daily life, that franksolich had to be "stalking" her, helicopters flying overhead, telephone and internet tapped, the neighbors pumped for information, and franksolich himself, sunglasses-donned, sitting in an unmarked car at the intersection, keeping a log of the comings-and-goings.
Which of course is utter nonsense.
And for the record, franksolich himself has never been any closer to the Ozark Mountains than Marysville, Kansas, which is, uh, quite a distance from northeastern Oklahoma; in fact, it's damned near in Nebraska.
franksolich has never looked at a primitive--any primitive--any closer than from a boat offshore Skins's island.
franksolich has always respected boundaries, and dares anyone to find an instance where he didn't.
So **** the primitives and their paranoia; it's not the fault of decent and civilized people that the primitives are so uninhibited, so promiscuous, so wanton, so undiscriminating, so incautious, so reckless, so devil-may-care, in their revelations of themselves.
* * * * *
If decent and civilized people know something about the primitives, or a primitive, that the primitives, or the primitive, doesn't want them to know, it's the primitives', or the primitive's, own damned fault.
The classic case was that of Pedro Picasso about four years ago, when he whined on Skins's island about the AMT (alternative minimum tax), giving sufficient personal information that anyone acquainted with income-tax rules and rates--which includes franksolich--could instantly discern his household income.
One didn't need to google the IRS (Internal Revenue Service) for information, or hack the IRS computers to find Pedro Picasso's information; the retarded surfboarding idiot gave it all away right there, out of his own mouth, in a single one-paragraph comment on Skins's island.
Or another example, a little bit later, was when the sparkling husband primitive unwittingly revealed his Italianate origins, by posting a link on Skins's island which gave his real-life name. One didn't even have to click on the link (which franksolich of course didn't) to get his name; his name was the link.
Oftentimes, I've compared this accidental random by-chance coming-upon personal information about a primitive, with that situation we deaf frequently encounter in daily life. Public restrooms have locks on them, and the locks usually work, but for some reason, some people don't use those locks. When turning the knob on the other side, a deaf person can't hear anyone inside shouting, and so flings open the door.
Thus exposing for the whole world to see, a primitive, pants down, sitting on the porcelain throne.
It's not anything one wishes to do, but it happens.
* * * * *
The paranoia of the primitives doesn't bother me as much, as does their disregard of probably the greatest gift God gave franksolich.
We deaf exist in a world where information is fragmentary, scattered, and random. "Hearing" is the "king" of the five senses; even when Pedro Picasso watches the boob-tube or a movie, 80% of the information he picks up is from hearing, not from seeing. (If any primitive doubts this, I suggest the primitive inquire of his favorite "diversity" counselor or seminar-holder; also, this explains why blind people, for example, are so much more intelligent and socially-skilled than deaf people.)
My own situation has been compared with being given a box ostensibly containing 1,000 pieces to a jigsaw puzzle.....of which 978 of the pieces are missing. One puts together the 22 pieces best one can, and then proceeds to fill in the blanks, connecting it all together to complete the picture.
Fragmentary, scattered, random, clues the primitives themselves give, is franksolich's sole source of information about them, after which franksolich's acquired wisdom fills in the blanks.
And, obviously, he fills in those blanks quite well, quite accurately.
This is not an artful skill peculiar to franksolich; all deaf have this skill, to one degree or another.
When I was a teenager, I wanted, at all costs, to avoid college, and sought to join the Army, so as to be in the real world, and to see the real world. The then-U.S. Secretary of Defense told me that the Army could not use deaf people, and assured me I could serve my country in other ways.
At which I took considerable umbrage; of course the Army could use deaf people.
We have natural talents--much greater than those resources of hearing people--at "decoding," deciphering, decrypting. We don't even need trained to do this stuff; it's something we've done all our lives.
And we're awesome at espionage, especially at the agents provocateurs specialty.
That failed to sway the then-U.S. Secretary of Defense, and so I never got out of going to college.
* * * * *
And so that's it, that's the whole story. The only reason franksolich knows "so much" about the primitives is simply because (a) the primitives themselves so wantonly bare themselves all over Skins's island and (b) his God-given talent of taking fragmentary, scattered, random bits, piecing them together, and then filling in the blanks.
