Font for wont, the color: black.
Looks like good ol’ banal is back,
but I can't help this fizz-mind from roamin';
and some fonts are fun
when it's all said and done,
so please spare me
the damn Times New Roman!
In keeping with our closely held views
we detest most stuff that is in the news.
Feeling not contrite about it
we certainly will not write or shout it.
So as I close this silly rhyme
realizing it is wasted time,
the fonts are checked, detect and then
we use, enthuse and do not abuse
that perfect font: Sylfaen.
When it was all dead and sun, a few days’ full moon action
was so much fun.
In fact, not to detract, the grate Davey H schlepped his featherweight digicam
(YES, that IS a real word these days; apologies, annoying Spel-Cheqr ®) out for some hoped-for screen grabs
of El Moono while standing on El Mundo draped by the eerie florescence.
Long-winded yarn clipped: he experimented with various shutter delays, finally
settling on somewhere betwixt six and eleven seconds.
Of course he did not expect stellar results; the pix revealed the moon in all
its fullness, albeit with fuzzy auras.
This full moon thing was one country livin’ perk that was
certainly worth its weight in bold: the effervescent glow of the full moon, ya
know, would rarely, if ever, get old.
No need for flashlights those three nights.
That reminds Davey: a forward-thinking medical doctor informed him that direct
exposure of one’s forehead to this ethereal beam of moonlight was a highly
therapeutic exercise, having the effect of stimulating one’s pineal gland.
Shrouded in mystery – unlike our sex glands that seem to be the only body parts
ever focused upon – the pineal has been largely neglected by most folks.
Maybe it was today that a fast moving bite-ready dog tick
clambered onto Davey H’s wrist.
Usually, the most important step in avoiding the dread Lyme disease is keeping
these friggin’ nasty arachnids from biting in the first place.
The next morning, Davey awoke and peeled another doggie tick off his left
cheek. Luckily, these were not ixodes scapularis (REAL friggin’ words! Imagine
that! Though they’ll be red-lined, being Latin and not English)
As a point of reference, ‘friggin’ is well on its way to becoming an actual
accepted word in colloquial English usage, courtesy of the grate Davey H.
Mom and brother Seve non-Ballesteros began their first of a
kind annual visit today as we picked them up – separately – from the airport
and trucked them to their temporary but highly comfortable quarters.
We ate, sipped seltzer and local tap water and babbled incessantly at times
when such activities were not only permitted but encouraged, such as that
unbelievably noisy restaurant with incoming customers lined up to the door.
Weather held and we were compelled
along with our just-average powers;
to walk the walk and talk the talk
whilst taking time to smell the flowers.
Time flew by, warp speed.
Still, the fact remains: no one family is any more
dysfunctional, dissenting, or in didactic disarray than any other in this vast
swell of humanity.
Anyway, during our tenure bopping around various local haunts and eateries,
several foreign languages were heard over the weekend, one being Portuguese,
No snide comments elicited from any peanut galleries upon hearing such
interesting non-local inflections, and an atmosphere of respect prevailed, even
among those within our cacophonous cadre who, due to close proximity to an
unnamed border, frequently decried US immigration policies.
No, the chiding and deriding was reserved for immediate family.
Now, coming up on the
middle of this torrid July, Davey emits a mournful cry:“Golly
gee; when I look and find,looks to me, this is ten days
behind!”So he puts it on standby.But that is perhaps
normal for the ever-procrastinating Davey H, who rarely sits and
thinks first thing in the morning, the optimal time segment for the
purpose of making those first 100 words of the day hit paper before
ancillary activities commence.But a few cupsof
pick-me-upssuch coal-dark coffee hence;A Davey H groannot
answering phonehe stays atop the fence.
off a soaking jaunt in the rain,Davey hereby takes not-so-great
painin coming clean once againregarding his
retardingnon-fascination with procrastinationwhilst keeping
himself somewhat sane.Today is actually July 28th,
and it is as if Davey was in deep space, unable to commit to culling
those first 100 words of the day every day, in a relentless grind of
forced organization and/or prioritization of tasks.But truth
be told, as per truth-telling of previous posts, he gabs and scrawls
far in excess of the requisite one hundred,but is, for all
intents and purposes,one hindered.
NOT drivin' in this sh**!” Davey hissed, slouching down in the
partially adjustable leather seat of a rapidly rusting station
wagon.“This weather's fine if you're a DUCK,” he noted,
avoiding the F-word, though it would have rhymed nicely with
'duck'..Throughout the spring, dry weather had prevailed, but
now it looked to be a good year after all for corn, that highly
hybridized so-called grain that graced many a field nearby, though
doubts did fly betwixt gal and guy as to whether the weather would
read'ly comply and see corn knee-high by the proverbial Fourth of
mentioned previously that seashells, when crushed to perfection, make
awesome footpaths. One can not only walk but CRUNCH, savoring every
delicate foot song thereby.Years ago (precise, eh?), we saw
fascinating PBS footage of an archaeological dig that took place high
on a mountain where, to the diggers surprise, seashell beds were
found.So who would foot the bill for this footpath at the
foot of the hill?The walker? Not so fast, Bucky; the walker may
be on solid footing, but the funding for said footpath may or may not
be fully or partially subsidized from state coffers.
heard that the lively and chipper Chris had gotten fired from that new job he
seems only to have had for a couple of weeks.
Now this would seem highly suspicious, and suffice to say it is time to prod
upper management for some serious answers.
Was he shoplifting? Belligerent?The latter is highly unlikely, so mystery
At the end of the day,
well, who else can say
what Chris's sure fate entails?
Now if I were Chris
I'd relax, take a piss
not worrying 'oer what would come of this
and puff out some self-employment sails.
Nestled deep in the simmering crucible of software and
hardware glitches were solutions to angst-producing circumstances, and Davey
had figured – often by the process of organic 'osmosis' – how to muddle
through, usually with a fair amount of success.
In this 'fest case scenario, the difficulty began with a drive-by sh** drop
courtesy of an unseen and undetected browser hijacking scourge that quite
possibly had spread to the 2nd hard drive in the same box.
Ultimately, a switch of anti-malware applications meant, the newer version became bit overzealous in its quarantine
operations, corrupting the word processing software with resultant 'language
Now here (is) this:
after all that installing
Davey, he got to calling
some of Uncle Sam's fine assistants;
then was put up on hold
he not being too bold
and continuing with staunch persistence.
Medicare Part D
it continued to be
the cause for his conversation;
But the ‘D’, you may see, it went straight to ‘Z’
and contributed much tribulation.
Then putting aside
Davey did well abide
and went out for some heavy lugging;
whilst his loved one so dear
lounged about without fear
and submitted to heavy-assed drugging.
Stuck up on the phone
Davey was not alone.
Fleshing out an
itinerary for the day means, first and foremost, bringing one's
wallet along.Without that e$$ential piece of worldly apparatus,
you might as well FART you a song.It so happened this morning
that Davey – who never effectively performs when embroiled in any
inkling of a hurried or harried situation – blew out the door in an
effort to be punctual.Every time this unfortunate
concatenation of events occurs in the oft-hectic
Don'tLaughIt'sPaidForFarm morning routine, Davey H recalls fondly
what an imbibing coworker stated years ago: “Long as I got some
green friends with me ($ bills), I'm okay.”
While on the topic of
'money is needed for just about ANYTHING', let's wax pensive for a
moment in a feeble attempt to query how and perhaps why we got
here.The FED is apparently tweaking our 'money supply' to the
tune of numbers so large they fall off the page.Banksters play
the same game they have played for many decades, what with
'fractional reserve' banking holding sway over ostensible assets and
near empty vaults on par with our empty imaginations as to'ANOTHER
WORLD BEING POSSIBLE'.Funny, Davey figures his rumpled George
Washingtons and Abe Lincolns still pass.
Rather than pontificate
about today – which, truth be fortuitously told, is actually now
YESTERDAY – Davey wonders what went right, i.e. correctly, as he
didn't fall asleep on his feet as per usual.And later even,
when he was ensconced on his buttocks and engaged in a semi-passive
(assive?) activity in which fatigue normally predominated, he again
waxed jubilantly dominant over the sleep monster.Could it
have been, say, a serendipitous concerted chain of events such as
waxing moon, cool nights and their commensurately effective sleep
cycles, in addition to morning intake of the much-touted, highly
nutritive, amino acid-laden Yerba Maté?