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A job whose workers I feel sorry for is that of the suited character welcoming drivers who pass by an establishment or simply keep waving at passing cars, attracting their attention but not their patronage. Almost all the time, their work yields no customers and leaves them to stand out in the sidewalk, waving at those who could care less and do. Throw in continuous sun exposure and lack of vital mobility; the costumed greeter is slave labor of the least strenuous sense. I compare it to selling flowers on the roadside or the lemonade stand, suffering more or less.
A wrong in your personal past can never be rectified in the present unless it is a long-term wrong. Quoted statements that are on the record will be rehashed in future when the principle that fueled the remark has been reconsidered. The act of retrospection gives one a reconsideration of oneself and a template to prevent it from happening again. Forgiveness is an act of recognition that has reoccurred in another's retrospection and rectification. An act of forgiveness is solely at the discretion of the wronged or one who feels the effect of the wrong on them, even without association.
A nymph sits atop a rock in the grotto, peering towards the rippling stream that flows into its cave. The soft whooshes from the tide echoes about as the winds rush across the rims of the entrance. Even in the solitude, the nymph gets up to the sanctums of the grotto and leaves the rock to the elements while pursuing any endeavor which whim leads it towards. The nymph emerges from the grotto from an alternate route through the brush, hanging vines flowering out and swaying. What's next to do this beautiful, lazy day than basting the essence of it?
I climbed a tree during continuous pelting from gale force winds and tied a twenty foot long yellow rope to the middle height of the trunk, tying the end into a loop tightly to assure a grip and preventing any chance of loosening. The ascent started with a ladder but the securing was positioned upon a branch. I descended halfway down the ladder and pursued swing downwards from the rope. Despite the tree being near dead and no leaf budding from any part of it, it had strength to hold me up. Now its the tree that must come down.
It is normally envisioned that when a snowfall begins, it's instantaneous. However, has anybody actually seen one coming down the street like rolling thunder? Just like the cinematic portrayal of a rushing flood, a sizeable snowfall came eastwards down the street towards me as if it were a train approaching a crossing. Unlike the transition from clear to flurry to full snow shower, this storm went straight from clear into snow shower. The cloud conditions were somewhat overcast yet in motion. The speed of the clouds seemed slower than the snows it emitted. The snow brightened the place up well.
At present, Prince William, second in succession to the throne of the British Empire, seems to be a bachelor and I think I may have found the woman for whom the prince should be courting in hopes of gaining her as his wife. That woman is Charlotte Church. I know that she seems a bit young for William but consider that since he will be the Prince of Wales, he might as well marry a citizen of his dominion, especially a very attractive and sweet hearted lady like Church. She has blossomed into a woman despite such a young age.
I saw an episode of "The People's Court" where Judge Marilyn Milian was overseeing a case involving a dog. Milian, for some reason or another, was told something in relation to a Hispanic nature. Milian responded with "you know how us Latins are." I want to ask her from which part of Italy she and her descendants are from. Of course, she's not Italian but Spanish, New World Spanish that is. She is not a Latin nor is any so-called Spanish person on North America. Latins were a tribal people who lived in Italy centuries ago. Who's she, this "Latin"?
There is a type of buzz one develops when one has had a pint or so of good imported ale. It is the buzz that makes your eyes feel as though the weight of a clay plaster has encompassed the areas around your eyes and the turning of you head induces desires to close your eyes longer than the normal good blink. Of course, your neck tends to recoil on and off with most every movement. You do yawn but that is normal since you have enter a stage of stupor intoxicants produce when consumed. You can't deny the feeling.
Weather has existed since there has been an atmosphere. There have been all kinds of weather, from the least extreme to the most extreme in all those eons and periods. It has been blamed for everything that it is responsible for, regarding "acts of God" like floods, droughts, blackouts, erosion, et cetera. Humans have existed for less than a few million years and have begun weather measurements for just a couple of centuries but yet pre-existing anomalies have been more often been blamed on them than nature. Industry is about as old as weather measurement but those anomalies exist anyways.
Here's a little Halloween revision: The flaming bag of dog shit is still effective yet the overuse of this prank has made it predictable among potential victims. I have improvised a modification to it as a method of reapplying the surprise character of the prank. Simply double the bag density and insert a blockbuster amongst the logs. Ignite the bag and flee. Should the victim scoff at the joke, the period of conflagration will come to igniting the blockbuster. It is funniest when the victim opens their front door to extinguish your prank and suffers from the blast and debris.
It seems that the cartoons for which I spent my childhood watching are lumped in with the modern cartoons, which, for some bizarre reason, have been compiled by practitioners of Picasso cartooning. Someone draws a square, puts a face, and it's a cartoon. No subject to detail in either character or setting is presented as it used to be. It's like some strange retro-music television trip meant to entertain kids. Apart from artistic manufacturing, the new abstract cartoons have poorly taken from the adult-oriented perspectives and created humorless presentation. Only aspiring comedians should rough draft before presenting than as presentation.
A good bowl of macaroni and cheese is a good snack while a portion of it makes a good side dish. It is only half the daily nutritional supplement to your diet yet fills you up as a snack as much as the whole meal would where it is a side dish. It has face small scrutiny for being starchy and fattening with its carbohydrate and fat quantity as well as its caloric value. It's natural that you cannot live on it alone but adjustments to its plain status can make it more appealing, not only to make it delectable.
It must have caught the conceptual mind of a small many number of people that a hood of a car might be used as a group sled. It was to me when I saw a neighbor from the next block that had left a car hood out in the snow. I thought that with the filing down of the mountings and the application of either a park bench, sofa, or selection of chairs onto the bottom side of the hood. It's more fun to enjoy on longer running hills than the slopes at the local cloverleaf by the main highway.
There are still soapbox derbies held around the country but much like the soap operas, they are not made of soapboxes or from soapboxes. The vehicles passing off as soapbox cars are nothing more than fiberglass and motorless sports cars with no semblance to the principle of the original derbies. Soap is neither sold in those big wooden boxes anymore nor the derby cars. Why maintain the title if it no longer is bonded with original premises of the races? Possibly because tradition dictates presenting origin when festivities are maintained and performed. Soap opera had soap companies sponsoring the programming.
The grandeur of Christmas decoration has pushed itself out and has spawned copies for other holidays. If it is a holiday that requires decorating as a form of celebration, you will see mock-ups of Christmas trees and garland. Easter has the egg tree with plastic and wooden eggs hanging from rope loops off a wire tree. Halloween does the same with pumpkins and skulls. Even decorating outside trees has become the norm. Standing figures lit up by small bulbs has been a staple to most holidays with plastic Uncle Sams, pilgrims, leprechauns, bunnies, et cetera, standing guard over the displays.
I have discovered that great thoughts do not seem to occur when you want them to during writing but rather at a time when you are the freest from any mode of documentation. At that time, you have to rely on your memory to retain the information. Some writers keep a pad and pen available in the event the spur arises and they can jot it down. The problem is that you are more in tuned to the mood you were in at the time more so than the content of the thought. There are handhelds but don't use driving.
As the fresh cut grass permeates in the humid, breeze-strewn air, swiftly the shower of petals descends through their diagonal routes. Never was it as dim in brightness than yesterday and disappointing to be mired in the same lack of rain. Half the garden is in bloom and cut grass lines the troughs besides the mound where the new plant life grows. The lawn is just as soft to tread before the cutters came and yet the yard looks cleaner, manicured and not interfering with the setting as much. I wonder when the tiger lilies will bloom and sunflowers grow.
You can piss in the ocean to raise the tide. You can run away but you cannot hide. You can talk and talk until you turn blue but it won't do you good at all. To tuck tail and run, to jump the gun, to bitch and moan, to stand alone, and when things get rough, the going gets tough, the tough get going and go for it all. For what one can expect and some may reckon, there are those who react and yet they beckon. For what they're are worth and pay through the nose, you are those.
It is a bit depressing to return to the lake by your house and find that you cannot throw a rock across it as well as you did. It is even more down to return to the place and find the lake reduced to a mere puddle of its former self. You can throw the rock across it now but that is not a challenge to yourself. I wonder what became of the fish. I do not see them anymore, sloshing about in the puddle that was the lake. Of course, the place can be cleaned up now after all.
The human species, the mass majority of those existing in true civilization, are now, officially, slaves to the dependency for electricity. Electricity is omnipotent, the blood of the engines of civilization, the necessity because it is required to run the systems. Even the generator, designed to be independent of the outlet, creates the power to run the systems. Honed from lightning or born from power plants, how can anyone survive without it? They did, long ago. Today, one must be reminded of the past with the help of a blackout, killing all existing machinery until being reawakened after the spell.
My oldest brother worked for Coca-Cola and he brought home some of the large plastic barrels which soda was stored. The tops were cut open and the remaining cola was washed out and we used the barrels, mainly as garbage pails. Once, it became a driveway ride for me. I went into the barrel at the top of the driveway and was rolled down the driveway into and across the street after the close was clear. It was odd to see the east side of the neighborhood spin while you and the barrel sat stationary but in motion. Some ride.
Why have families living in Tornado Alley not living in storm-proof houses? How about flood-proof houses? The area has had a meteorological history yet more and more families end up homeless when a tornado or a flood strikes. There are mobile home units in the regions but the owner, to settle down in a specific place, mainly stabilizes there. Of course, nature will move it soon. Maybe it won't be far but surely at some distance. There are houseboats but flooding tends to recede and any boats end up on land. Funny how weatherproofing is not that weatherproof for Midwesterners.
Appleton, Wisconsin is not what I call a city but it is bigger than the average town. It has its own airport which sits a few miles west of the hotels that you need to reach after seeing farmland and leveled forestry. Beyond the hotels on that main road lie the main highway and then the spacious business sector where restaurants, rental stores, and other stores are parted by the four-lane highway. It was like being in a developmental center where even the food stores were large. Sure enough, the highway turns into a main road into communal business sector.
I have my own little joke about Starbuck's. I say that it is called Starbuck's because the prices are astronomical. Well, the cost of their coffee is more than you would get from other stores for which coffee is sold but it is much better tasting and more exotic despite the specter of franchise and commercialism lingers with the mention of the company's name. However, the place has developed a status tag that has been made to be instinctual to personal reaction because of the reality of the clientele but why complain about a business if it isn't hurting anybody?
I love a good blizzard. I love a great blizzard even more. It does not have to knock out power but at least cripple the region so that drivers face the risk of crashing to teach them a lesson about their driving. If the snow is quality-packing snow and there is a lot piled up, it's playtime for snow sculptures. Kids love a snowfall that closes school and adults love such a snowfall that closes their place of work. Why criticize blizzards? They can be deadly but there should have been preparedness when the warning was transmitted. Let it snow.
My friend and I drove about a nearby town one night and I was breaking any boredom by shooting off bottle rockets out the window. I just lit the fuses and hurl them out, driving off and hearing the whoosh and bang, giggling. My friend warned that one would go off in the car. After repeating that statement, sure enough, a slip-up landed one lit bottle rocket between the passenger side door and me. I freaked, spouting out, "I dropped it! I dropped it!" Sparks whooshed up from the floor, illuminating the car, stopped, exploded, and hence, a funny story.
There was a little leisurely game I played with some friends of mine, which involved BB guns and homemade boats designed to look somewhat like military warships. There were plastic soldiers posted at particular points and we used cans and what not to create posts. My good friend built one with flexible sheet metal in an effort to reduce body damage. However, the weight of the metal weighed down the ship to the point where it looked sunk. Still, we all fired at each other's ships. The ship with the least crewman and the most body damage was the loser.
Here is an interesting technique of creating your own confetti with the use of toilet paper. You can make as many as you want but this way is much wilder. Take a roll of toilet paper, glue a blockbuster inside the roll, and be sure the fuse in ignitable. When the homecoming parade or party is in swing, light the fuse and hurl the toilet paper into the air. The blast will obliterate the toilet paper into shreds and it will fall as confetti. You must remember that timing is crucial and throwing ability essential. Otherwise, it's an assault prank.
Take an empty thread spool, lace a thin piece of string about a foot long through the hole, and thumbtack the ends of the string to the top frame outside of a windowsill to a house. On a windy day, the spool will swing to and fro; tapping at the window, giving the impression that someone is at the window tapping the glass. It is most effective on gloomy stormy nights or Halloween when there's a wind. It's most effective if it's secure away from view so that the person inside doesn't see it and thinks it's a ghostly tap.
Ten twelve-ounce cans sit upon a trunk. Two men, a distance from the set-up, are drunk. Pellet gun in one hand and pistol in the other, they fancy a little target practice. It is why they came. Down goes one can after three attempts. The second gets nicked, spins, and falls behind the trunk. The pellet that hits the third ricochets off a rock and disappears into the sky. Taking turn, four, five, six, seven zing back and around. Eight and nine take an extra shot to be dismounted from their mount. The tenth's hit worse, blasted by the pistol.
It is not so bad to walk the streets of your neighborhood during the throws of a powerful hurricane. The air is rustled to its peak and the gales thunder through it as the overture plucking at the trees and whipping the leaves in rapid-fire rustle. The rain pelts anything and everything hard and swift, saturating the landscape that is being littered upon by the debris of anything that could not withstand the force of the storm. With all the elements surrounding you, embracing you, and entertaining your senses, the unexpected is often time inevitable, expected to occur for you.
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