This is serious, folks. This is the worst case of writer's block I've had in three years. The weather is foggy in my head. I cannot figure out how to make it lift.
I know this is a first-world problem, and it doesn't threaten to destabilize anything else in my life. So I am grateful for it to be so. It does have me troubled. I like to write. Writing has come to mean much to me, catharsis, therapy, creative fulfillment, quiet joy. Exploring the Cave of Wonders that is my head provides me with heat and light for the soul.
The hearth is getting cooler. The fire is burning low. In the little cottage of my heart, I lie on the bunk huddled under blankets and watch the tiny flames sputter and dim. I want to arise and throw more wood on the embers, but the bin is empty save for a few twigs and a scrap of bark. Wind knocks on the door, beckoning me outside to forage for fuel.
But it is warm here under the blankets, and I am tired.
Showing posts with label duck you idiot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label duck you idiot. Show all posts
08 November 2011
26 July 2011
Death Becomes The Grasshopper
Road Trip, Part Deux...
Yesterday, I related some highlights of my road trip down to Virginia to attend a wedding, with my daughter in tow. Today, I'd like to relate a lowlight of that same trip, courtesy of a grasshopper who just couldn't get out of the way. I shall call him "Puck", as in 'hockey puck'. As in something that gets hit hard and caroms crazily all over the place when struck at the right angle.
It happened shortly after the air conditioner crapped out on my car. The windows were down, and I was praying for some open road to pick up speed, get some air (hot as it was) in motion in the car. I was leaning forward in the seat, anticipating that the cars in front of us were going to move, opening up some space. which they did, to my relief.
The car in front of us had opened up about two car lengths of road, and I accelerated to take advantage of it. I was watching the car carefully when I noticed this bright tan-colored blur strike the leading edge of the car's roof, bouncing high in the air. I determined that it was an insect of some sort, and I watched it dive gracefully in a smooth parabola, heading downward...
It was then that we made the acquaintance of Puck.
Right into my windshield, with an audible thwack, did the grasshopper greet us. It left a greenish smudge on the glass, and at first I thought the speed and wind would carry it up the windshield and over the car. It carried it up the windshield, alright.
Then the poor bastard got lodged in the arm of the driver's side wiper blade. Just our luck, trajectory and physics smashes Puck, then wedges his ass in tight in a notch in the metal. And he wouldn't come out!
I drove as fast as prudent, hoping the wind would blow him out. No dice. I then turned on the wipers, hoping the centrifugal force would toss him out. No such luck. In fact, I think that wedged it in tighter. I tried squirting the wiper fluid, and that didn't work.
Not wanting to pull over for a bug, I kept on driving. The Wee Lass chimed in from the back, with helpful comments like "Ewwwww..." and "Daddy, that grasshopper is freaking me out!". I tried to put it out of my mind, but it was too much in my field of vision.
So I drove the next three plus hours with a dead grasshopper's butt pointing right at me, frizzled wings vibrating in the laminar air flow over the windshield like some sort of bizarre totem designed to ward evil spirits away from unwary travelers. Puck seemed to be saying to me "I'm coming for you in your dreams..."
I felt I should appease the grasshopper spirit when we arrived at our destination, so my plan was to gently extract the carcass and place it in a nearby flowerbed. No such luck. The wind and the heat had baked poor Puck, and when I when to pull it from the wiper blade, the dry carcass exploded like a puffball mushroom in a cloud of dust and exoskeleton fragments.
Alas, poor Puck, we didn't know ye well, but please know we tried. Please don't haunt my dreams.
Yesterday, I related some highlights of my road trip down to Virginia to attend a wedding, with my daughter in tow. Today, I'd like to relate a lowlight of that same trip, courtesy of a grasshopper who just couldn't get out of the way. I shall call him "Puck", as in 'hockey puck'. As in something that gets hit hard and caroms crazily all over the place when struck at the right angle.
It happened shortly after the air conditioner crapped out on my car. The windows were down, and I was praying for some open road to pick up speed, get some air (hot as it was) in motion in the car. I was leaning forward in the seat, anticipating that the cars in front of us were going to move, opening up some space. which they did, to my relief.
The car in front of us had opened up about two car lengths of road, and I accelerated to take advantage of it. I was watching the car carefully when I noticed this bright tan-colored blur strike the leading edge of the car's roof, bouncing high in the air. I determined that it was an insect of some sort, and I watched it dive gracefully in a smooth parabola, heading downward...
It was then that we made the acquaintance of Puck.
Right into my windshield, with an audible thwack, did the grasshopper greet us. It left a greenish smudge on the glass, and at first I thought the speed and wind would carry it up the windshield and over the car. It carried it up the windshield, alright.
Then the poor bastard got lodged in the arm of the driver's side wiper blade. Just our luck, trajectory and physics smashes Puck, then wedges his ass in tight in a notch in the metal. And he wouldn't come out!
I drove as fast as prudent, hoping the wind would blow him out. No dice. I then turned on the wipers, hoping the centrifugal force would toss him out. No such luck. In fact, I think that wedged it in tighter. I tried squirting the wiper fluid, and that didn't work.
Not wanting to pull over for a bug, I kept on driving. The Wee Lass chimed in from the back, with helpful comments like "Ewwwww..." and "Daddy, that grasshopper is freaking me out!". I tried to put it out of my mind, but it was too much in my field of vision.
So I drove the next three plus hours with a dead grasshopper's butt pointing right at me, frizzled wings vibrating in the laminar air flow over the windshield like some sort of bizarre totem designed to ward evil spirits away from unwary travelers. Puck seemed to be saying to me "I'm coming for you in your dreams..."
I felt I should appease the grasshopper spirit when we arrived at our destination, so my plan was to gently extract the carcass and place it in a nearby flowerbed. No such luck. The wind and the heat had baked poor Puck, and when I when to pull it from the wiper blade, the dry carcass exploded like a puffball mushroom in a cloud of dust and exoskeleton fragments.
Alas, poor Puck, we didn't know ye well, but please know we tried. Please don't haunt my dreams.
15 June 2011
The STFU Files: On Not Being A Weiner
Begging your pardon, dear readers, I must veer off into current events (of the American political variety), so please bear with me while I get this out of my head. Kind o f like passing a mental kidney stone.
(Ahem)
First of all, let me say up front that Anthony Weiner (you know the one) is a dumbass of the first order. But it isn't so much for the "media transfers" he made. To me, the pictures and the texting aren't the main issue. It's the lying about it that really kills me.
Have none of these guys learned anything, anything at all in this era of New Media and the 24/7 news cycle?
Lots of things get texted and sent that, in the hands of someone with malice or righteous justice on their minds, could have a lot of hay made out of them. Agendas abound in the information age, so its best to make yours clear and stay ahead of the curve. Or the pack, if one has reason to believe one has a lot of ill-wishers out there.
I reckon a lot of people are horrified on moral grounds, too. And a case can be made for that, I suppose, if moral purity were the sole arbiter of fitness for office.
But.
I. Don't. Care. It's fruitless and boring. Boring.
If one is looking to politicians for moral role models, perhaps one should recalibrate one's notions of a role model. People will argue that poor decision making in personal life automatically translates into poor decision making in professional life. True? Maybe, maybe not. Depends on the individual. Just because someone is imbued with a supposed true moral compass, by themselves or by their followers, does not mean the decisions they make are the right or good ones. Don't believe me? Then refresh your memory by looking back to all the bad decisions based on bad and wrong information (and right information that was flat out ignored) that got the country involved in the mess that was Iraq. That people lied and so many died...Somehow, that's more obscene to me, in light of the lives destroyed, resources squandered, in a war that was prosecuted on falsehoods.
Nothing Weiner did rises to the level of national security risk. He needs to apologize to his family, friends, the women with whom he was involved and to his constituents, not the world. This is why the nature of his offense doesn't really interest me. I don't expect anyone to live their lives without doing something that will most likely be considered as stupid, especially in the political arena. What I would hope they wouldn't do, is lie about it if confronted with something, justified or not.
After all, isn't it supposed to be an admirable trait, to own ones' supposed transgressions?
To paraphrase Dieter from Sprockets, "This habit of exposing yourself has become tiresome!"
(Ahem)
First of all, let me say up front that Anthony Weiner (you know the one) is a dumbass of the first order. But it isn't so much for the "media transfers" he made. To me, the pictures and the texting aren't the main issue. It's the lying about it that really kills me.
Have none of these guys learned anything, anything at all in this era of New Media and the 24/7 news cycle?
Lots of things get texted and sent that, in the hands of someone with malice or righteous justice on their minds, could have a lot of hay made out of them. Agendas abound in the information age, so its best to make yours clear and stay ahead of the curve. Or the pack, if one has reason to believe one has a lot of ill-wishers out there.
I reckon a lot of people are horrified on moral grounds, too. And a case can be made for that, I suppose, if moral purity were the sole arbiter of fitness for office.
But.
I. Don't. Care. It's fruitless and boring. Boring.
If one is looking to politicians for moral role models, perhaps one should recalibrate one's notions of a role model. People will argue that poor decision making in personal life automatically translates into poor decision making in professional life. True? Maybe, maybe not. Depends on the individual. Just because someone is imbued with a supposed true moral compass, by themselves or by their followers, does not mean the decisions they make are the right or good ones. Don't believe me? Then refresh your memory by looking back to all the bad decisions based on bad and wrong information (and right information that was flat out ignored) that got the country involved in the mess that was Iraq. That people lied and so many died...Somehow, that's more obscene to me, in light of the lives destroyed, resources squandered, in a war that was prosecuted on falsehoods.
Nothing Weiner did rises to the level of national security risk. He needs to apologize to his family, friends, the women with whom he was involved and to his constituents, not the world. This is why the nature of his offense doesn't really interest me. I don't expect anyone to live their lives without doing something that will most likely be considered as stupid, especially in the political arena. What I would hope they wouldn't do, is lie about it if confronted with something, justified or not.
After all, isn't it supposed to be an admirable trait, to own ones' supposed transgressions?
To paraphrase Dieter from Sprockets, "This habit of exposing yourself has become tiresome!"
09 April 2011
When Office Supplies Attack...
As if the workweek hadn't been enough of a drag, I got injured on the job, as only Irish Gumbo could do it.
I was assaulted by a binder clip.
You know the type: those blue-black metal ones, made out of spring steel and two chrome steel wire loops for handles. The kind that have the crushing pressure of a small shark when they clamp down. Which, by the way, is the main reason to NOT clip them on to any part of one's body. Just sayin'.
It happened at my desk. I had a stack of papers, a specification I was working on, that was almost two inches thick. That measurement turns out to be at about the upper limit of what a large metal binder clip can hold. I had clipped the stack together earlier in the week, and it had been doing a sort of Brownian motion dance around my desk as I constantly shifted it from one spot to another in pursuit of other pieces of paper.
During the course of all that movement, the clip had begun to work its way loose. The paper was slowly slipping from the jaws of the binder, unbeknownst to me. Until, that is, I picked it up not 30 minutes before I was due to leave the office for home.
I lifted the stack...
...noted that the clip looked loose...
...thought 'I better point that thing away fr--!"
BINNNNNG!
The clip sprung off the stack like a bullet and hit me with the sharp edge on my upper lip. Almost dead center under my nose. That hurt!
How I managed to avoid blurting out a curse word, I'll never know. My eyes were watering and I could taste blood. Sure enough, the clip had split my lip.
(sigh) Only I could get hurt like that. And now I can't shave off my beard/mustache until my lip heals!
I was assaulted by a binder clip.
You know the type: those blue-black metal ones, made out of spring steel and two chrome steel wire loops for handles. The kind that have the crushing pressure of a small shark when they clamp down. Which, by the way, is the main reason to NOT clip them on to any part of one's body. Just sayin'.
It happened at my desk. I had a stack of papers, a specification I was working on, that was almost two inches thick. That measurement turns out to be at about the upper limit of what a large metal binder clip can hold. I had clipped the stack together earlier in the week, and it had been doing a sort of Brownian motion dance around my desk as I constantly shifted it from one spot to another in pursuit of other pieces of paper.
During the course of all that movement, the clip had begun to work its way loose. The paper was slowly slipping from the jaws of the binder, unbeknownst to me. Until, that is, I picked it up not 30 minutes before I was due to leave the office for home.
I lifted the stack...
...noted that the clip looked loose...
...thought 'I better point that thing away fr--!"
BINNNNNG!
The clip sprung off the stack like a bullet and hit me with the sharp edge on my upper lip. Almost dead center under my nose. That hurt!
How I managed to avoid blurting out a curse word, I'll never know. My eyes were watering and I could taste blood. Sure enough, the clip had split my lip.
(sigh) Only I could get hurt like that. And now I can't shave off my beard/mustache until my lip heals!
30 June 2010
I Didn't Get No Cheese
Tony Hayward.
Joe Barton.
John Boehner.
(sigh)
I held out as long as I could. But this did me in:
Sharron, I must be fresh as a daisy, because I'm not feeling rotten.
At least, not in the way you said it.
(sigh.)
I leave them with this little ditty, circa 1983:
Block of cheese, anyone? Quick, before it spoils!
15 December 2008
How Many Shoes Is That In Dog Terms?
From the Unintentionally Funny Files, we have another good 'un! I read about this in this morning's paper, and after I wiped up the bits of scone I sprayed over the page I reckoned that this was definitely mock-worthy:
We certainly have not seen anything approaching the antics in the smackdown that is the Taiwanese legislature:
About the closest we ever seem to get here (beyond the occasional pie throwing incident) is some offhanded cussing:
The shoe throwing incident just about ices the cake. I am not condoning any kind of violence against individuals, but while I was watching the various videos of the event, I couldn't help but feel a little...sympathetic?... towards the reporter who threw the shoes. I guess that is because of the unbearable frustration he was feeling, that many of us are all feeling here and around the world with the Current Occupant. Even now, in the waning days of an administration that has given new depth to the word 'clueless' there are still declarations that that things are just great, and we are winning, that victory is in sight (please, sir, define 'victory' when we still don't really have a good explanation for 'starting this mess') and it just comes across as violently galling.
We certainly have not seen anything approaching the antics in the smackdown that is the Taiwanese legislature:
About the closest we ever seem to get here (beyond the occasional pie throwing incident) is some offhanded cussing:
The shoe throwing incident just about ices the cake. I am not condoning any kind of violence against individuals, but while I was watching the various videos of the event, I couldn't help but feel a little...sympathetic?... towards the reporter who threw the shoes. I guess that is because of the unbearable frustration he was feeling, that many of us are all feeling here and around the world with the Current Occupant. Even now, in the waning days of an administration that has given new depth to the word 'clueless' there are still declarations that that things are just great, and we are winning, that victory is in sight (please, sir, define 'victory' when we still don't really have a good explanation for 'starting this mess') and it just comes across as violently galling.
What a fine example of the amazing cultural differences that exist around the world. The fact that the reporter threw his shoes at POTUS (POTUS sounds like a good hillbilly name: 'Potus, git yer ass out of that trash can!) speaks volumes about how many Iraqis probably feel. I'm sure that many Iraqis were glad to see Saddam Hussein gone, but look at the collateral damage! And then the person chiefly responsible for setting in motion the events that led to the horrible violence, misery and near destruction of their country shows up saying something like 'Great, we're doin' great, y'all!' Well, how would you expect them to feel? Throwing shoes is a sign of contempt in that part of the world ("A farewell kiss to a dog", is that what he said?), and probably one of the most effective methods of expressing displeasure that most likely would not result in personal injury.
Who knows, maybe the guy was intoxicated. Maybe he is secretly affiliated with an insurgent group. Maybe he is just a nutcase with an axe to grind. Or maybe he was just a fairly ordinary citizen who has seen his country torn apart, and was just fed up with it all. I'm glad nobody was hurt, but you have to admire the chutzpah. And in all fairness, W deserves some props: he ducked those shoes like a pro. But then, he's had a lot of practice.
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