Blimey. I’ve broken the internets.
Finally got me swim mojo back. It’s neither fast nor elegant, yet it feels right. Feels fluid and kinda powerful.
Hope to get the bike mojo back soon, but what with the weirdly winteresque weather and cornucopia of good excuses to NOT be on the bike… Well, you know the drill.
I wonder what’s cooking under the surface. What capers inside of capers are coalescing inside me while I swim. While I think and dream.
It’s been a long time coming, and it’s hard not to regret the time spent in the desert. Away from the water. Away from the dreams.
In which the author makes a diff. Where Intimate,authentic,&unexpected trump that vapid crapassery that runs rampant. In our industry. And our planet.
It was just a dream? Or a dream of a dream.
Knowing what dreams matter is step one. Or splash one.
Glad to be making it.
Walking down the street? He’s afraid of nothing.
Nary a thing in this golram universe. Not the bread and circuses driven media and governments that rule. Not the #kooziemongercorporateassclowndouchecanoecatalogcarpetbombinggladhandhashtagjackingcreepystalkersweatervestguys and charlatans that keep on their endless vapid spew.
Not the creditors who really, really want their two dollars.
It’s not hate that holds us, and binds us to inaction. Or worse, to incorrect action. It’s fear.
Ask the hard questions. Don’t be a shill.
guess it was sparked by popkinator finding my old flight jacket in a closet. He’s taken to wearing it to school, with the rest of his standard uniform of the day, jeans and a tee shirt. Eight grade, tall and lanky, lots of hair.
Stumbled across conroys newest book this past week, where he talks about writing Santini. And other things. And since we went to the remote (ish) island of daufuskie this summer for a wedding this fall,I also have been listening to his book about when he taught there.
Thinking about parenting, seems like the best starting point is the medical model of ‘do no harm’. Conroys old man did plenty of harm. Hoping to do less harm, but still pass down a love of freedom, business, and America.
I admire old man wedgewood. Had a proper old guy name like phineas or Lemuell. And he walked about his factory with a cudgel.
If anything wasn’t up to scratch he’d crush it, rather than besmirch his brand. Wedgwood. Fine china for the golram Queen, et al.
I like that, as it’s really tempting to let something go that’s pretty close. And knowing what’s close enough.
Ideas, implementation,and follow through.
Wanna suck less? More and more of us do, yet most aren’t really brave enough to tote that cudgel, and swing it when appropriate.
Swing dat stick at crap, baby!
Ok, unchanged. But I’ve changed my model. Away from the handheld, that keeps crashing. To the iPad. Only.
It’s good to be back on the horse, and I took myself off for a time thing. The golram children. Kinda thought the weird midweek Christmas and New Years holidays would create more time, but I was sadly mistaken. It created less. But opened up a world of late breakfasts in bed, yard work, and reading by fireside. That was weirdly unexpected. But exactly what I needed.
Now for the next need. Daily creation.
Being useful. Making a diff.
Hope this channel is that, for both of you lot. It sure is for me.
It’s un Christmas Eve, as Dirty,dirty long tall Santa. #swappingtags is Friday. I’m sure you lot are tired of hearing about it. It’s far more likely you wanna hear, or be part of duchesses 29th birthday thingy. Or #PieapaloozaIII ~~~3.142014sixoclockish~~~ mar 14,obvss.
But I don’t wanna talk about them capers. Yet. I wanna riff on Dirty,dirty long tall Santa. #swappingtags. It’s kinda rude, I guess, to plan a partay around regifting.
Just plain rude.
We mean no disrespect to the original givers, mind you. It’s just we all get gifts that just don’t make sense.
I’m not saying nascar, Sweatervests,fruitcakes, or dogs playing poker are wrong. And I’ve certainly got plenty of friendsandrelations who love em, but not typically all four.
But if you are a nascar, Sweatervests,fruitcakes, or dogs playing poker fan, you may or may not have the mistaken impression that others are also.
We prolly ain’t.
And us sci fi fanboys are USUALLY pretty good about respecting boundaries. Trekkies don’t often inflict their tricorders on the whovians, who mostly refrain from hoisting their sonic screwdrivers on the ringers.
Nah, leave yer nascar, Sweatervests,fruitcakes, or dogs playing poker stuff for those who fancy em. Or, come to our wangdangdoodle. Dirty,dirty long tall Santa. #swappingtags.
Tomorrow night. Friday. Cigar boxx.
It’s been a cornucopia of inelegant mistakes lately. Crashed a glass, a car, and the French press beaker.
All exceedingly expensive.
Except the glass.
Spilled the tea, smoothie, and yogurt.
All exceedingly messy.
Except the tea.
Left a metric shit ton of paperwork behind,in the bums rush to get to work this am.
Bricked the whole cash flow analysis thing with such spectacular results I should be arrested. Or fired, anyway.
And then there’s the money shot. The whole tribe leader thing.
Her- why are you doing that? Rushing around, taking stupid planks of wood to people who don’t even care about you?
one take away from this caper- it’s crucial to keep your mind on the mission critical bits. Feeding, funding, fucking, friends. Real ones.
That’s the tricky part.