In Summary: * Earlier today the wife treated me to brunch at a favorite restaurant, usually an enjoyable time for both of us. But she became ill before we left and has been under the weather through the rest of the day. Bummer, that. Hope she feels better in the morning after a good night's sleep.

Have been following the Rangers / D'Backs MLB game this afternoon. And the Rangers have just won the game, 7 to 6.

I've got the night prayers still ahead of me, then an early bedtime.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 226.97 lbs. * bp= 153/85 (67)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, toe raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 06:00 – 1 peanut butter sandwich * 10:30 – BIG buffet meal at Golden Corral, (2 salad bar plates + 2 main entree plates) * 15:35 – 1 fresh apple

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:45 – bank accounts activity monitored . * 05:00 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, listen to music, nap * 10:00 – brunch at a favorite restaurant with the wife * 14:40 – listen to Rangers pregame show ahead of this afternoon's MLB Rangers vs Diamondbacks game

Chess: * 14:52 – moved in all pending CC games

I havent really figured out whats wrong with me today, or in general. there is something. i just dont know what it is, i dont feel like finding out either. my dreams are still as they are, strange. weird and just keep me thinking of the worst scenarios possible. so thats annoying. i still choke myself while im unconscious. it had been whatever to me. i assumed it would eventually stop. it hasnt, so i still use the wrist restraints at night. i wake up tired, confused and sweaty. filled with useless memories from a dream sitting in the back of my head throughout the whole day.

i dont have much else to say, theres a lot in my head. none of it seems worth translating.

Sincerely, Unclear.

~after Theodore Roethke

my face became the moon in procession

 swung from the garage like some strange racist fruit,  all swollen ankles and kiddie shoes.

whiffs of perfume, lavender dreams of watermelons and groves

 swung from the garage like Bradley Cooper, cross-eyed.  vomit and urns and tears for the oil, for the grass.

board a train full of catfish fire.

 sing Black Star — become big wing.

ride a mangled bike, tote a rifle.

 the spirit starves until the dead have been subdued

#poetry

(This poem has been updated since its publication in Ghostpins, 2019.)

Today's game of choice comes from MLB, my Texas Rangers are scheduled to play the Arizona Diamondbacks in an afternoon game starting at 3:10 PM CDT. As usual I'll follow the game's scores and stats in real time via MLB's Gameday Service where we can also find links to the radio-call of the game provided by announcers of either team we choose.

And the adventure continues.

Aiesha's Night Out

#nsfw #Aiesha

Aiesha felt more alive than she did on her wedding night. Her singular focus to focus on her pussy, her pleasure, her life, and porn has come to something beautiful. She didn't feel a need to hide or cover herself. She was not nervous. She just felt a rush of pleasure. The porn playing her car was perfect, her pussy was just the amount of throbbing wetness and she felt like a brand new woman.

In no time, she glided through traffic and arrived at her destination. The 'short shirt skirt' she wore had risen high to her waist. Her pussy and ass were fully exposed. She made it to the apartment complex, parked in a secluded spot in the shadows, and took a deep breath. This was it. She stepped out shamelessly, taking a long look around. The air was still, the temperature was perfect, and the distant dull roar of the highway was all that could be heard.

As she stood there, her pussy completely exposed, she ran her hand down her body, her bare legs, her bare pussy, and then between her wet and throbbing folds. As her hands drifted back up her body, she grabbed the hem of her shirt. She lifted it slowly, hesitating for a brief moment, then in one motion, her shirt was off. She was officially nude in public, but it just wasn't enough. She was deviating from the original plan and she loved it.

Looking down at her feet, her shoes felt heavy. She walked around her car, holding her tits, naked to the world, air wafting all over her body. But her shoes felt wrong. Her mind flashed back to her breakdown in the apartment, where the only thing that could soothe her was to be fully nude.

She needed to be completely bare for this to work, so she took off her shoes. Aiesha had a plan for controlled exposure—until there was no plan anymore. Just her naked body exposed to the world, vulnerable to anyone’s gaze. She had shifted from cautious to brazen in an instant. Her pussy was in full control.

Her heart pounded, but she refused to retreat. There was no backing out of this. Just like she escalated her extreme porn addiction, she had to get used to this too. Every single day, she was determined to make a new version of 'normal' for herself. Running around naked and watching porn 24/7 will be her new normal. It starts tonight.

She’d done the planning. She knew the area. Her heart had been ready for this long before her mind caught up. So here she stood, completely ass naked, in a parking lot miles away from home, like the women in the videos she watched. On the first night out, her first planned exposure outing, she was risking everything. Her pussy leaked down her thigh uncontrollably. This was the right decision. She was going to go naked in public. No covering up. No going back.

Coming prepared, she had looped her car key fob on a short lanyard—its sleek metal glinting against her skin. Her key fob, a choker of sorts, rested lightly at her throat. This was her only clothing, her only safety net. She stood motionless, her breath steady, as she gathered her clothes and placed them in the passenger seat. For a brief moment, she wondered why she even bothered to bring anything with her. Her clit pulsated at the though. “Next time,” she thought to herself.

With a fluid motion, she locked the door; her heart rate began to rise, but the persistent erotic sensation between her legs was all the encouragement she needed.

She stared at her bare reflection in the tinted windows. She may have a “plain jane” body, but it was her body. The air, the experience, her arousal—it was all real. People always promised her things, but she never realized her own dreams. Her porn addiction led her here. It gave her goals and desires, and now she will see it through. She took the first bold step away from her car, down the path she'd already walked a handful of times clothed, with the breeze caressing her pussy through her modified leggings. This was much better.

She thought she would be nervous, but after a few moment she had almost unreal calm. She had been dreaming of this for months now. Gooning to it, changing her brain chemistry and rewiring her pleasure centers. Of course this would be the end result. She wanted this to happen more than her wedding night.

Her breasts swayed gently. She felt her ass jiggle as she swayed her hips. Her feet padded lightly on the concrete. She didn't care if they were getting dirty; sometimes the stones hurt a little, but she was determined to see it through. She wanted to normalize naked barefoot public walks more than anything. No matter the risk.

She stopped at an open space, the pool in the center of the complex. It was well lit. Buildings were all around. She looked up at the dark windows, wondering if anyone could see. She stopped, playing with her nipples, and looked around in the shadows, scanning every window to see if there was any activity. She scanned around and saw no one. Nerves were finally starting to catch up to her as the high wore off.

Just like she planned, she decided to rub herself furiously under the lights, building a deep and heavy edge to take the fear off. Every time she got nervous, she would stop and masturbate. She hoped to build a feedback loop that turned fear into feeling horny. She looked forward to continuing this training. The rush of arousal was just what she needed.

She stopped before she came, took a deep breath, and smiled. She walked back into the shadows, hands at her side, and strolled casually. She was walking further away from her clothes. Her eyes scanned slowly, but eventually she realized it wouldn't change the outcome. She was already two buildings away, and regardless of her caution, she was still getting further from safety. She wanted to make it to the opposite entrance and then make it back. It was all surprisingly easy.

The familiar nervous energy returned as she cleared the pool and retreated to the shadows, her breath getting shallow. She cradled her mound, pressing her fingers against her clit, and casually toyed with it as she walked naked into the night. Rubbing her slick juices across her fingers and spreading them over her tender folds, she drove a finger deep into her slick warmth, savoring the taste of her own nectar. Rolling her clit between her fingers and teasing her hardened nipples, she let the mounting pressure build like a storm, each breath sending waves of ecstasy through her body. She wasn't nervous anymore.

She could see the gate in the far distance. The nakedness, the edging, the rush of being so far from all her clothes... her vision started to blur from the intense arousal. She stopped looking around to see if anyone was near. In a few yards, she had reached the gate, which did have a lock She looked beyond the gate, seeing the empty street. Her throbbing pussy wanted more.

Aiesha had already deviated from her plan; she might as well continue. She pushed open the gate; it creaked loudly, disturbing the still night air. She didn't care. She looked out at the parking lot, all the cars dark and cold, waiting for their owners. Then she saw her target—a large tree under a street light across the road. That was her spot. That was where she was going to cum.

The naked depraved woman cast aside every ounce of shame and caution, deciding to live solely for her pleasure. She eagerly made her way out without looking, listening, or checking, and crossed the road in just a few seconds. She stood on the sidewalk across the road and looked back at how far she had come.

The reality of what she did hit her. She was basically half a mile from all of her clothing with no backup, cover, or plan. As the fear washed over her, her hand moved instinctively to rub it all away. The hornier she got, the less fearful she was.

She had to cum. This felt so right.

With three fingers deep in her pussy, Aiesha half-waddled to her masturbation spot. An old, thick oak tree stood under the glow of the street lights. While the LED lights were bright and harsh, the tree welcomed her with open arms. She hugged the tree, then rested her back against the bark. The sensual prickles of the wood heightened the sensations she was experiencing.

In her final act of defiance and deletion of caution, she closed her eyes and began to rub her clit. She felt like she was coming home. She felt like spiritual healing was beginning.

The divorce was worth it. The bad choices that led her here were worth it. This porn-induced neurodivergence was the life she had been craving. This orgasm she was about to have naked in public was her destiny. It all made sense now. She felt peace. She was one with her body, and she was living for herself now without apology. As her happiness swirled in her heart, the rush of emotions traveled down her spine and started to bloom in her womb. She was finally going to cum.

This public orgasm was different. Sex could never hold a candle to this orgasm. Masturbating was a distant third. Gooning and edging for hours before a heavy release used to be the best; but this—this was next-level. Abandoning her clothing, the distance traveled, the brazen riskiness of everything—it was giving her a constant stream of dopamine that even porn couldn't keep up with. From now on, she only wanted to cum while naked in public. She silently promised herself she would only have orgasms like this... her denial of orgasms was directly linked to public nudity.

She moaned loudly, gasping. Fully realizing what she had invited into her life, what she had built herself up to, what she was truly starting to live for. A voice in the back of her mind knew this was right. “I only want to cum while naked in public,” she whispered in her mind.

She wanted nothing more than to go against the exact opposite of what society deemed “normal” and moral. The complete rejection of society's rules was the most liberating thing she had done in her life. As the orgasm rushed over her naked, trembling body, her juices leaked down her legs, and the roots of the great oak tree got wet, she knew this was her calling.

It wasn't career success, community praise, or even being a good wife anymore. It was all about porn, pleasure, perversion, and public orgasms.

As she stood there in her post orgasm haze, she looked around. Still calm. No shame. Very little fear. She read about how other women in the same situations would gain post nut clarity and then fear. In her case, fear meant more rubbing; not shame. As she stood there looking at how far she walked, she idly rubbed her wet pussy again taking slow breaths. It was time to walk back now. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to feel the breeze again.

Aiesha padded naked across the street, down the sidewalks, around the pool, and back into the shadows. She didn't look around, she didn't check her surroundings. She just normalized her nakedness in public.

“If I'm going to keep doing this, I have to keep acting like this is normal,” Aiesha thought to herself as she got into her car naked. She will be driving in traffic for the first time fully nude.

Even with the AC on, it felt stuffy. The seat belt was almost too much, but it was for safety. The naked woman turned off the AC, rolled down her windows, and made her way back home, bare as the day she was born. The breeze caressed her naked body. She smiled. For the first time in her life, she was genuinely happy. Porn played on her speakers softly as it melded with the nighttime air.

She was living her life to the fullest, and her naked life was just beginning.

I have been thinking about last night all day.

Not the music.

Not the stage.

Not the concert.

My daughters.

That is what I keep thinking about.

We went to Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado expecting a normal night together.

I am disabled because of a stroke I survived. That means I cannot simply walk into a crowded venue and assume everything will be easy.

I have to think ahead.

Where am I going to sit?

How far will I have to walk?

Can I get out if I need to?

Will there be accessible seating?

If something happens, will I be able to get help?

So I did what I was supposed to do.

I bought handicap-accessible seating at Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado.

I paid for four seats—1, 2, 3, and 4.

There were three of us, but I deliberately purchased the fourth seat because I needed room for personal items I have to bring with me.

It was my seat.

I paid for it.

For a while, everything was fine.

Then an apparently intoxicated woman came over and became angry because nobody was physically sitting in that fourth seat.

She yelled at us.

She cursed at us.

She acted like we were doing something wrong.

We weren't.

I had paid for every seat.

Eventually, I asked my daughter to go find security.

I keep coming back to that moment.

My daughter had to leave me and go search through the venue for somebody to help us.

I was the disabled person sitting in handicap-accessible seating, yet my family had to go looking for protection.

Security eventually came.

The employee checked our tickets.

He confirmed we belonged exactly where we were.

Then he walked over to the people who had confronted us, appeared friendly with them, fist-bumped them, came back to us, told us to find him if we had any more trouble, and walked away.

I remember sitting there thinking:

Find you where?

Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado is filled with thousands of people.

Where exactly was a disabled man supposed to go looking for security if something happened again?

Unfortunately, something did.

As the night continued, the area around us became more chaotic.

People began pushing into the handicap seating area.

They crowded behind us.

People who appeared heavily intoxicated stumbled into our space.

Beer was being spilled.

Empty cans were left around us.

Our water bottles were knocked over.

The ground smelled like alcohol.

People were smoking.

People were yelling.

People were cursing.

My daughters were being bumped and touched by strangers moving through the crowd.

One of my daughters was hit in the head twice.

And I sat there wondering where the people responsible for keeping us safe had gone.

There was no meaningful barrier protecting the handicap seating area.

There did not appear to be meaningful control over who entered it.

There was no security person standing close enough that I felt like help was immediately available.

The area that I had paid for specifically because I am disabled stopped feeling accessible.

It stopped feeling safe.

At one point, I seriously considered calling 911.

That sentence still bothers me.

I was sitting inside a professional concert venue.

I had paid for accessible seating.

We had already spoken to security.

And I was still wondering whether the police were the only people left I could call if things got worse.

I was scared.

Not for myself as much as for my daughters.

I am a father.

That is the role that mattered last night.

People may know me from YouTube.

They may know my Christian work.

They may know my writing, podcasts, articles, or videos.

None of that meant anything in that moment.

I was not thinking about how many people know my name.

I was thinking about whether I could protect my children.

And when you are disabled, that question can hurt in a way that is hard to explain.

Before my stroke, I probably would have thought differently.

Maybe I would have assumed I could move quickly.

Maybe I would have pushed through the crowd and found someone.

Maybe I would have physically positioned myself differently.

But disability changes your calculations.

You know your limitations.

You know what your body can and cannot do.

You know that when a crowd becomes unpredictable, you do not necessarily have the same options as everybody around you.

That is why accessible seating matters.

And that is why accessible seating has to mean more than simply identifying a place where a disabled person is allowed to sit.

The area has to remain usable.

It has to remain accessible.

It has to remain reasonably protected.

Otherwise, what does the word “accessible” really mean?

I understand concerts are loud.

I understand people drink.

I understand people get excited.

That is not what upset me.

What upset me was watching the line between excitement and chaos disappear around us.

What upset me was seeing people enter a handicap area as though it were simply more standing room.

What upset me was watching alcohol get spilled everywhere.

What upset me was watching my daughters get pushed and touched by strangers.

What upset me was seeing one of them hit in the head twice.

And what upset me most was realizing that nobody seemed to be coming to help.

I have spent years telling people to keep going.

I talk about faith.

I talk about perseverance.

I talk about Jesus Christ.

I talk about getting back up after life knocks you down.

My own life has required a lot of that.

I survived a stroke.

I rebuilt.

I learned to live differently.

I kept moving forward.

But faith does not mean pretending something is okay when it isn't.

Forgiveness does not mean silence.

Grace does not mean that people responsible for safety should never be held accountable.

Sometimes speaking up is necessary.

Maybe someone at Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado will read this.

If they do, I hope they understand that I am not asking for something extraordinary.

Protect handicap seating.

Control who enters those areas.

Keep security close enough that disabled patrons do not have to send their children searching through thousands of people for help.

When someone tells you they are being harassed, keep an eye on the situation.

Do not simply disappear.

Pay attention to intoxicated patrons who are creating unsafe conditions.

Make accessible seating genuinely accessible for the entire event.

That is all.

I keep thinking about the next person.

Maybe the next disabled person who sits there has greater limitations than I do.

Maybe they are alone.

Maybe they use a wheelchair.

Maybe they cannot communicate easily.

Maybe they cannot send a daughter to find security.

What happens to them?

That question is why I am writing this.

I do not want sympathy.

I want the next person to be safer.

I want another father to take his daughters to Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado and come home talking about the music.

I want another disabled person to buy accessible seating and actually feel protected in it.

I want someone responsible for the venue to look at that section and ask whether what happened to us should have been possible.

Because last night should have been a memory I treasured.

Instead, I remember my daughter looking for security.

I remember strangers pushing into us.

I remember the smell of spilled beer.

I remember cigarettes.

I remember our water bottles being kicked over.

I remember my daughters being touched and bumped.

I remember one of them being hit in the head twice.

I remember looking around for help.

And I remember wondering whether I needed to call 911.

That is what stayed with me.

Based on our experience, I have no desire to return to Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado.

If there were ever some extraordinary reason I had to attend another event there, I would seriously consider hiring personal security.

A father should not have to write that sentence.

A disabled man should not need private security simply to take his daughters to a concert.

But that is where this experience left me.

Last night I was not a creator.

I was not a public figure.

I was not thinking about an audience.

I was just a disabled dad trying to protect his daughters.

And we should never have been left feeling that alone.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Douglas Vandergraph Master Index: https://douglasvandergraph.com/douglas-vandergraph-master-index/

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

the very best days are always library days.

Especially when there’s time to just wander around and look. Discover. Explore.

Libraries were a refuge for me as a child. And now as an adult, when I make time to visit the library, I feel untouchable. Sage. Sound.

There is a book by Steven Gould called ‘Jumper’ wherein the protagonist unexpectedly develops the ability to instantaneously transport his physical location.

When learning his power, he often panics, and when he does, he transports to his local library as an involuntary reaction.

It’s his safe place.

It is mine.

So, today was a library day. As the temperature drifted again to 110° (43° c), I found I had to get out of the house, and the library called.

Setting up at a wide, low table, I doodled in my sketchbook for half an hour before getting browsing the stacks.

I pull books that are special to me and flip through their leaves looking for wrinkled pages.

Ultimately, I decide today is an art day and select a pile of art-related tomes and one narrative that deals with familial relationships and the wilderness.

This was an interesting premise. A college professor inadvertently brings back a very invasive species. Lots of sex implied. The writing is very juvenile as is the art. Not recommended. ⭐️

I LOVE an artists studio. Cool ones are great, but REAL spaces are even better. With junk piled everywhere. I love the idea of a model reclined perfect light while I capture a volumetric likeness. Red velvet couch, gorgeous morning light. This book celebrates some truly attractive spaces in which to create. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

If you love to read and love books, you've seen Chip Kidd's cover work. He's an amazing designer and has worked on hundreds of of high profile book covers. His thinking is very outside the box, which this collection showcases. I own volume 2, so it was terrific to find vol 1 to sift through. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The exquisite corpse is an art concept wherein several artist contributed to a single drawing, not having seen the work the other artist did. It's a LOT of fun and produces some very interesting and weird results. This book is a riff on that. I like it. Thought, if I'm honest, too often the artists over-produced on their pieces. ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Okay. Of the three graphic novelsI picked up, this one really captivated me. I think French comics artists are the best in the world and Lucas Harari simply knocks it out of the park. The story is weird adn mysterious. There's some sex, but it's not the focus of the story (oddly, all three graphic novels i picked up had sex as part of the story. I don't recall this being a thing when I was reading GN's 20 years ago).

The books protagonist is drawn to the Swiss alps to a strange bath. He uncovers a mystery, meets a beautiful woman and finally meets his destiny. The art style is brutal and stark and the storytelling is terse and direct. It doesn't have much (if any) bloat and is very satisfying.

Personally, it went deeper after having spent most of a week in the Alps last winter and riding the train from Italy up to St Moritz. Switzerland is such a fascinating place. I could relate to some of the experiences that Pierre was having.

Recommend ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Skip it. I really want to like Charles Burns. He is very avant garde in his story telling, but too often he just loses me. This is overly verbose, the characters all look visibly same (death for a story relying so heavily on visuals) and the story itself is bizarre. From what I can gather, a bunch of high school kids can't stop screwing around and start to give each other an alien STD that produces weird body-horror side effects (like one guy has a second smaller mouth that talks while he is sleeping), a girl has a tail that is stimulated during coitus, and other s get more disturbing rashes, webs, and the like. I found the concept to be too much and didn't enjoy (or finish) reading it. Pass. -⭐️

The one novel I picked up. Since I've only read the first chapter, I'll just give you Goodread's synopsis:

'Echo Canyon is a disappearing pocket of wilderness outside of Bend, Oregon, and the site of conflicting memories for Justin Caves and his father, Paul. It’s now slated for redevelopment as a golfing resort. When Paul suggests one last hunting trip, Justin accepts, hoping to get things right with his father this time, and agrees to bring his son, Graham, along.

As the weekend unfolds, Justin is pushed to the limit by the reckless taunting of his father, the physical demands of the terrain, and the menacing evidence of the hovering presence of bear. All the while, he remembers the promise he made to his skeptical wife: to keep their son safe.'

I really enjoy stories set in the outdoors and long to live in the woods like Dick Proenneke. This may turn out to be more drama than adventure, but the the prologue has the protagonist's father insist that he shoot a dying bear trapped in barbed wire. That + the setting has me curious.

Though I wouldn't mind if he fell in love again along the way.

Ephemera

So, that was library day.

There was a strange occurrence while i read when I head a middle-aged woman speaking very gruffly to someone else. I thought it was a child. She was saying things about the magazines.

'Hmmm!, she can get a magazine, that'll keep her busy for a while.' The black woman in her 50's said to herself. She sounded angry. 'I don't know WHY i have to pick one out for her.'

Then shouting 'Come over here and tele me what magazines you like!'

I assumed she was watching a child. Maybe a step-child, or she'd just had a frustrating hour with them.

Before she chose any magazines, she stomped away speaking to the other party about needing to make her own choices.

A few moments later, the woman reappeared followed by a very elderly woman bent nearly double. The first woman then proceeded to very insistently point out a dozen or so tabloids, handing them to the elderly lady.

She looked very sweet in her white cotton gown and slippers. She had a pink wrap tied around her head. It must have been very painful to move around the way she did, bent in half.

The old lady climbed into a chair and mumbled something to the younger woman before the angry lady marched off, insisting the older woman stay and read all the material.

As soon as she was out of sight. The elderly woman slipped out of her chair and went to pick up a copy of Vogue.

It made me smile to think that after all of her years, when her glory was behind her, that she still found high fashion to be something that made her eyes twinkle.

:–)

We left before the angry woman came back.

Ephemera 002

The homeless population who use the library as a hiding place from the ehat seemed to be somehow tempered. While visiting previously, every table and chair was filled with rough looking individuals who needed a bath and a shave. I wonder what changed.

I like it.

I wish this library had some style. I mean. I love ALL libraries. But I love some libraries more than others. Portugal, German, France, Spain, Connecticut, San Francisco, Maine, New York... AMAZING libraries in addition to housing the collective knowledge of mankind. Is it too much to ask to abandon the horrid office-cubicle look of so many municipal libraries? Where did the flourish go? When did we lose the desire to sit and bask in amazing spaces.

One day, I will build a library. It will awe and inspire, give you chills, and make you want sit and be wrapped in the arms of a million writers whose voices speak across a million years.

Will you read me in my own library? I hope you do.

I will name the library 'The Little Prince'.

Shearing

I got a haircut. My request was:

'a medium-length layered flow. Keep the length on top, remove bulk internally, lightly taper around the ears and neckline, and give me long face-framing layers that sweep back. No short fade and no aggressive thinning shears.'

She did okay. She was new and I'm pleased. It wasn't the same experience I had in Madrid. But then again, I was in friggin' Dust Meridian. Though it did occur to me that i would most definitely love to fly to Madrid for a week just for the food, museums and hairstylists.

I'm still long and flowy, but now with more volume and fewer ratty edges.

oH! It's drifted to noon here where the sidewalk ends. It's time for a shower and to clad myself in Sunday's finest to worship my God. Wish you could join me. I think you'd enjoy the experience and we could roll our collective eyes at the oft-missed pronunciations. Today, we'll be learning about how to be loyal even when you get a bad deal.

Loyalty or death.

No time for lunch! Fortunately. There's a big ol' banana and waffle calling my name!

Excelsior, dear reader!

---

#books #library #essay

He can rename any of The Great Lakes to whatever he wants to really. I will never stop using their real names. I guess that has always been his thing though, right? Nicknames. He's like a teenager, and not even a mature teenager.

I can be juvenile and rename things too. I was thinking about renaming the main American Parliament building. Ha! The Museum of Absurdity. After he's gone they should consider building a new place, in a new location, for the incoming post-absurd/fascist leadership to govern from. Then keep the current one exactly the way he leaves it. Fence it off. Throw a gigantic tarp over it like a car crash. Later on, after they fumigate, deal with all the pest infestations, rodent droppings, bacterial growth, and piles of fast food garbage; they can open it to the public and do guided tours through it. Have a gift shop and things. They can set up an entire gallery of before and after pictures. Some people will cry, and others will be mad, and some will gasp in startled disbelief. It should all be preserved so people can see what he really did to the place. Maybe never forget.

At this point in his cognitive decline I think the ones allowing him to continue are as much to blame for the shit show as him swindling his way into the position in the first place. Correction: In the first place, twice. I'm assuming it is mostly that no one wants the VP to become P. Including the VP himself. He's about as charismatic, and as capable of leading, as an old toilet sitting at the curb waiting for garbage day. They don't want to be held accountable for making a decision like that. A drastic change brought about by a decision might wake people up from the slumber fascism has lulled them into. Instead they are hanging on until it naturally becomes necessary. I feel like that time was a long time ago, but what the fuck do I know?

We can blame those allowing the shit show to continue when they could make it stop, but the blame should also be on anyone who still supports it. Like anyone who was at that rally chanting, “cheat like hell”. They are all stupid. There is no other word that can be used. Well, I suppose there are actually countless words, but stupid feels quite appropriate for that particular moment.

To evaluate the true financial returns of plug-in solar and battery storage, generalized assumptions must be replaced with high-resolution empirical data. Minute-by-minute data would enable excellent modeling, however this requires specialized equipment installed in the breaker box and a dedicated data capture system. Fortunately, most utilities offer 30-minute utility meter interval readings you can download from your account. With this data , plus past bills, meteorological data, and a physics-based photovoltaic (PV) simulation, I was able to create an excellent model of the actual utility power offset and the projected impact to my bill.

1. Data Extraction: Navigating Utility Export Limitations

The utility industry established the Green Button Energy Service Provider Interface (ESPI) XML standard to allow consumers to download energy usage data. However, data collection from my utility revealed two critical limitations in Green Button XML exports:

• UI Restrictions & Date Limits: The customer portal's XML export tool enforces a restriction limiting downloads strictly to the trailing 13 months, blocking access to historical multi-year data.
  
• Low Data Precision: Green Button XML exports round consumption readings to whole integer kilowatt-hours (1 kWh resolution), obscuring subtle household power dynamics.

To overcome this, I chose to build my data pipeline using my utility’s “Download Detailed Data” Excel (.xlsx) export option. This format provides continuous 30-minute interval readings at three decimal places of precision (0.001 kWh). An automated Python ETL script parses these workbooks, aligns intervals chronologically, and ingests them into a local DuckDB time-series database. 

2. Bill Parsing & Tariff Structure Regression

Standard solar calculators assume an average flat electricity rate, but real utility tariffs consist of complex, multi-tiered line items. To model financial savings accurately, I created a Python script to extract the 21 meaningful line items from the monthly PDF bill statements. I used ordinary least squares (OLS) linear regressions with the data to classify fee behavior into three structural categories:

1. Strictly Proportional Charges: Generation, transmission, fuel, deferred fuel cost, sales/use surcharge, and state/local consumption taxes scale linearly down to zero with lower kWh usage.

2. Partially Proportional Charges: Distribution service charges consist of a fixed monthly base customer fee of $11.23 plus a variable per-kWh rate.

3. Capped Non-Proportional Charges: The local utility tax consists of a \$0.60 base fee plus a variable rate capped at a maximum of \$4.00/month.

When solar generation reduces grid energy consumption, fixed customer base fees and tax caps remain untouched while variable supply and distribution rates scale down proportionally.

3. Satellite Solar Irradiance & Performance Modeling

Solar generation potential was derived using historical meteorological data retrieved from the Open-Meteo API for my county. The dataset provides 30-minute resolution Global Horizontal Irradiance (GHI), Direct Normal Irradiance (DNI), Diffuse Horizontal Irradiance (DHI), ambient temperature, and wind speed.

Photovoltaic DC output was calculated using the physics-based PVWatts DC model implemented via Python's pvlib library (utilizing benchmarks established by my favorite National Lab - the National Laboratory of the Rockies, formerly NREL):

• System DC Rating: 1,200, 1,300, 1,400, and 1,500 W
  
• Array Orientation & Tilt: Fixed South-facing (Azimuth \= 180°), 38.85° tilt angle (equal to site latitude)
  
• Temperature Coefficient: -0.0047 / °C
  
• Inverter Conversion Efficiency: 95.0% DC-to-AC
  
• Battery Round-Trip Efficiency: 95.0%
  

4. Interval Simulation & Split-Phase Logic

For each 30-minute block, AC solar generation is calculated:

$$\text{Solar AC (kWh)} = \left(\frac{\text{DC Power (W)} \times 0.5\text{ hrs}}{1000}\right) \times \text{Inverter Efficiency}$$ Net grid energy draw is then evaluated under an assumed 50/50 split-phase load across two 120 V legs (while this is not an ideal assumption, it’s the the best approximation I can make given the data I have available):

• Solar-Only Configuration (Single-Phase Injection): Solar offsets Leg 1 only. Any generation exceeding Leg 1's simultaneous load ($0.5 \times \text{Grid Demand}$) cannot cross phases and flows back to the utility grid uncredited. As a result, the maximum possible power offset is limited to 50% of Grid Demand:

$$\text{Grid Draw} = \max(0, 0.5 \times \text{Grid Demand} – \text{Solar AC}) + 0.5 \times \text{Grid Demand}$$

• Solar + Battery Configuration: A 2.0 kWh modular LiFePO₄ battery buffers excess generation on Leg 1 before it reaches the main service panel, eliminating single-phase export losses and discharging to offset aggregate household demand over time:

$$\text{Grid Draw} = \text{Grid Demand} – (\text{Solar AC} \times \text{Battery Efficiency})$$

Tags: #Solar #PlugIn #Balcony #BatteryStorage #Modeling

Deux maisons bordent le parc. Entre elles, un espace de jeu. Un espace de vie où mes enfants alternent, portant leurs jours d’une rive à l’autre. La lumière quitte une fenêtre et demeure sur l’autre. Dans les allées, leurs pas poursuivent un chemin que ma peine apprend à suivre. Parfois, leur rire arrive avant eux, comme une lumière sous une porte.

Nous avons sauvé du feu ce que nos bras pouvaient porter. Quelques gestes, des habitudes, la douceur de reconnaître un sommeil. Et ces êtres dont le cœur battait contre le nôtre pendant que tout changeait de forme. Depuis, une poussière s’étale dans les herbes et les arbres du parc. Elle voyage avec le pollen. Elle se pose sur les bancs, sur les épaules du printemps, dans les plis de cette vie qui continue.

Un phénix dort sur le parc entier. Il a posé sa tête parmi les grands arbres et déployé ses ailes jusqu’aux deux maisons. Son corps épouse les pelouses, les sentiers, les endroits où les enfants s’arrêtent pour regarder une fourmi. Il respire avec cette lenteur des choses immenses qui ont traversé le feu. Parfois, un frémissement parcourt les feuilles. Une plume glisse dans l’air du soir. Je sens sous mes pieds la profondeur de son sommeil.

Mes enfants jouent sur sa poitrine. Ils courent entre ses plumes, inventent des royaumes dans les buissons, reviennent me confier un caillou dont ils attendent que je comprenne la beauté. Je le prends. Dans ma main, il trouve sa place auprès de tout ce que je croyais devoir retenir. Quelques cendres tombent entre mes doigts. La petite pierre est tiède. Mon enfant a couru longtemps en la serrant.

Il y a des jours où je les accompagne jusqu’à l’autre bord. Leurs doigts se desserrent avant que les miens soient prêts. Je les regarde avancer, et quelque chose en moi s’étire à travers toute la verdure, jusqu’à la porte qui s’ouvre pour eux. Le parc devient immense. Chaque arbre semble retenir une part de leur passage. Je reste là, tandis que le soir descend lentement dans l’espace laissé autour de moi.

Puis vient le jour de leur retour. Le même chemin se soulève sous leurs pas. Leurs voix approchent, se mêlent, montent ensemble, et je sens combien mon cœur peut contenir lorsque la joie y entre avec tout ce qui lui a manqué. Ils sont là. Je reconnais leur souffle, leur chaleur, cette façon de me retrouver en poursuivant une histoire commencée ailleurs. Les arbres bruissent jusque dans les profondeurs du parc.

Le phénix dort encore. Ses ailes rejoignent nos deux seuils, et le vent passe doucement dans son plumage. Je marche avec mes enfants à travers cette étendue vivante où la poussière de notre feu se mêle à la terre. Leurs ombres s’allongent auprès de la mienne. Bientôt, il faudra rentrer. Pour quelques instants encore, je les laisse courir dans la lumière qui demeure, tandis que sous toute l’herbe, sous tous les arbres, le grand cœur endormi continue de battre.

JOURNAL 13 septembre 2026

On a eu du mal à coucher les enfants, ils ne voulaient pas lâcher leur tante blonde qui leur chante des chansons qu’ils ne comprennent pas mais qu’ils redemandent. Et nous aussi nous allons nous coucher. C'est incroyable qu'après toutes ces années on appelle encore ma chambre d'enfant la chambre de hi chan. Il ne pleut pas, on n’entendra pas la pluie dans le jardin, ces sons qui me remplissent de mélancolie tellement ici il s'y rattache de souvenirs. Je ne sais pas si j'ai déjà dit, mais la petite fille porte le même prénom que moi et ça m'émeut d'entendre appeler hi chan et voir accourir ce petit bout de 5 ans toujours souriante. En parler me brouille les yeux.

Why Online Calculators Lie

Residential solar is undergoing a major structural transformation. Home solar adoption has historically been defined by large-scale rooftop installations requiring steep upfront capital investments, complex municipal permitting, structural engineering assessments, and formal utility interconnection agreements. Today, a new class of accessible technology (plug-in/balcony solar solar) is gaining massive popularity. In Virginia, for example, a recent law will make plug-in solar systems up to 1,200 W DC legal starting January 1, 2027 (the full text of the law can be found on the Virginia Legislative Information System). Rather than requiring hard-wiring into a main breaker panel through a dedicated circuit, these micro-systems plug directly into standard residential AC outlets.

Despite growing consumer interest, evaluating the true financial return of small-scale plug-in systems remains surprisingly difficult. Most web-based solar estimators rely on crude monthly averages and oversimplified financial assumptions that fail to capture the realities of utility rate structures and instantaneous power demand. Standard solar estimators fall victim to three fundamental analytical blind spots:

1. The Naive Proportionality Assumption

Standard calculators typically estimate savings by multiplying total annual solar kWh generation by a single average electricity rate (e.g., $0.18/kWh). In reality, utility bill tariffs are non-linear. Electric bills are composed of fixed monthly customer service charges, fixed administrative fees, step-down tax rates, and capped municipal taxes. Reductions in electricity consumption lower variable energy supply charges, but leave fixed customer base fees entirely untouched.

2. The Interval Simultaneity Problem

Electricity generation and household consumption must match instantaneously in real time. If a 1.2 kW solar array generates 900 Watts of power at 1:00 PM on a sunny afternoon, but household baseload demand is only 300 Watts, the remaining 600 Watts will flow back into the grid. Plug-in solar in the US doesn't allow for net-metering, this excess daytime energy yields zero financial credit.

3. The Split-Phase Injection Blind Spot

Crucially, standard solar models overlook a foundational physical constraint of North American residential electrical architecture: 120V/240V split-phase service. Power is delivered across two separate 120 V legs (Leg 1 and Leg 2). A standard 120 V plug-in solar microinverter connects to a single branch receptacle wired exclusively to one leg. Solar power injected into Leg 1 cannot cross over in real time to offset 120 V loads running on Leg 2. Even if total household demand equals or exceeds instantaneous solar generation, any solar output exceeding Leg 1's isolated load flows straight back through the meter uncredited, while Leg 2 continues drawing full paid power from the grid.

By failing to account for single-phase injection and real-time simultaneity, conventional whole-home analyses severely overestimate the self-consumption of solar-only setups—and consequently drastically undervalue the economic necessity of local battery storage.

Tags: #Solar #PlugIn #Balcony #BatteryStorage

© 2025 Juanma Menéndez. Esta obra está licenciada bajo una Licencia Creative Commons Atribución 4.0 Internacional (CC BY 4.0). Puede ser compartida, copiada, adaptada y distribuida en cualquier medio o formato, incluso con fines comerciales, siempre que se dé el crédito adecuado al autor. #procesos

Rigorous data analysis, system architectures, and the business of modern solar.

In my opinion, discussions surrounding solar adoption collapse into two extremes: ideological enthusiasm or vendor sales pitches. Both tend to gloss over the practical engineering constraints and economic analysis that determine whether a system actually delivers value.

The Solar Edge is an independent, data-driven blog focused on unpacking the real-world mechanics and value of solar power. It is fundamentally an analytical working notebook. The goal is to develop a deep, first-principles understanding of distributed energy resources by modeling them openly, documenting edge cases, and confronting the friction points where hardware meets policy.

Stay entertained thanks to our Weekly Tracker giving you next week's Anticipated Movies & Shows, Most Watched & Returning Favorites, and Shows Changes & Popular Trailers.

Anticipated Movies

• Bad Apples
• ☆ Resident Evil
• The Weight
• The History of Concrete

Anticipated Shows

• ☆ Neagley
• Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story
• The Traitors: New Blood
• American Hostage
• Youth
• Line of Fire

Returing Favorites

• Dancing with the Stars — Season 35
• R.J. Decker — Season 2
• Slow Horses — Season 6
• Grand Designs — Season 28
• ☆ South Park — Season 29
• Stranger Things: Tales from '85 — Season 2
• All Creatures Great & Small — Season 7
• The Traitors — Season 5
• MobLand — Season 2
• Outlander: Blood of My Blood — Season 2
• Best Medicine — Season 2

Trending Shows Status Changes

• Colin from Accounts — Returning Series → Ended
• The Early Spring — Returning Series → Ended
• Jaadugar: A Witch in Mongolia — Returning Series → Ended
• A Bona Fide Killer — Returning Series → Ended
• THE GHOST IN THE SHELL — Returning Series → Ended

Most Watched Movies this Week

• +2 Mayday
• = Coyote vs. Acme
• -2 The Whisper Man
• +2 The Runner
• new Moana
• -1 Mutiny
• -3 Spider-Man: Brand New Day
• new The Mandalorian and Grogu
• new One Night Only
• -2 Obsession

Most Watched Shows this Week

• +1 Lanterns
• +1 Reacher
• +1 Ted Lasso
• -3 Silo
• = Lioness
• +4 The Gentlemen
• = Stuart Fails to Save the Universe
• = Star Trek: Strange New Worlds
• = Dark Matter
• new It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Popular Trailers

• Cast by fate, tested by time, and never broken. Tell your sisters to get tickets! — Practical Magic 2
• You don't need to ask me twice. — Resident Evil
• A life is on the line. The delivery is underway. — Runner
• No doubt about it. — Digger
• One Chicago Wednesday Returns — Chicago Med
• One Chicago Wednesday Returns — Chicago P.D.
• One Chicago Wednesday Returns — Chicago Fire
• 13 Official Trailer — American Horror Story
• Quiet On The Creek — Insidious: Out of the Further
• Experience it all again. — Avengers: Endgame

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