I'm writing a story 140 words at a time and posting the results here
daily. Can I sustain interest? Will I lose the narrative thread? Find
out in this next installment of Bullets Ain't Cheap
I lost my edge. Telrik was in my head now, making me doubt every decision. It’s what they intended, of course, and I knew it. But knowing didn’t make the doubt any less real.
I found my nerve at the bottom of a glass. I sat in Scully’s, I didn’t know what time it was and I didn’t particularly care. After I downed three shots within ten minutes of sitting down Scully had been rationing me. I wasn’t cut off - not completely anyway - but Scully was keeping me from the kind of blackout drunk I thought I needed.
He did his bartender chores a few feet away, leaving me to my silence. When I walked through his door hours and hours ago he hadn’t asked me any questions, he just greeted me with a nod and coarse ‘Hey, Lily,’ and
Showing posts with label waffles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label waffles. Show all posts
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
What Time Is It?
I've been thinking about time again. Yeah, I know there are theoretical physicists getting paid to ponder the same thing - what is time? - but that shouldn't keep me from thinking about it any more than the existence of NASCAR drivers should keep me from getting behind the wheel of my truck. They're professionals, and they run their race very well, but they can't get me where I need to go, that's my job.
As Einstein demonstrated, space and time are connected, the same fabric. It's where we get the concept of spacetime. And we are embedded in spacetime, all four dimensions of it. Which is why, I think, we experience time as a one-way arrow. In order to step outside of time, we'd have to be able to experience a fifth dimension which would allow us a separate perspective on our original four.
Think of it in terms of Flatland, a hypothetical two-dimensional world. The Flatlanders have forward and back, and left and right, but they do not have up and down. They can't even conceive of up and down, since that's a third dimension and they have only two. Everything they do is constrained to those two dimensions, and even if they were somehow transported through a third dimension they'd never know it, since they can't perceive it.
Same thing with us and time. It's a fourth dimension, but we're stuck in it like it's 4-D flypaper, nothing we can do to get out of it. It's not only all we know, it's all we can know.
There's a very good question about time travel: If time travel is possible, where are all the time travelers? Once time travel is invented, no matter how far in the future, every era would be lousy with time tourists, because every moment in time would essentially be 'now.' Since we don't see any time travelers, ipso facto, time travel must not be possible.
But I put this to you: if time travel is possible, it's only possible through a fifth dimension. And since we can't perceive that fifth dimension, we can't perceive any time travelers, who must, of necessity, be five-dimensional beings. So maybe there are time travelers all around us right now. We'd never know it, just like Flatlanders could never know us higher-dimensional beings.
Which brings us to another notion about time. We experience time as a linear flow, but if there is a fifth dimension outside of our four familiar dimensions of spacetime, wouldn't someone in that fifth dimension be able to see all of time? To them, wouldn't time be just another dimension they could move along, forward or backward or sideways or what have you? Furthermore, wouldn't that mean that time - though we experience it linearly - is actually all happening at once? Is every moment in time really lined up in order like a huge card catalog* we leaf through from front to back because we have to by virtue of our four-dimensionality?
I think the notion of there being no real 'now,' just a card-catalog moment we experience as now is both disturbing and poetic. It's like we live each moment like it's a frame of movie film, one at a time, one after the other.
Which has all sorts of implications for the notion of free will. But that's another sleepless night lying in bed.
* kids, a card catalog is what libraries used to keep track of their books in the days before computers did everything for us.
As Einstein demonstrated, space and time are connected, the same fabric. It's where we get the concept of spacetime. And we are embedded in spacetime, all four dimensions of it. Which is why, I think, we experience time as a one-way arrow. In order to step outside of time, we'd have to be able to experience a fifth dimension which would allow us a separate perspective on our original four.
Think of it in terms of Flatland, a hypothetical two-dimensional world. The Flatlanders have forward and back, and left and right, but they do not have up and down. They can't even conceive of up and down, since that's a third dimension and they have only two. Everything they do is constrained to those two dimensions, and even if they were somehow transported through a third dimension they'd never know it, since they can't perceive it.
Same thing with us and time. It's a fourth dimension, but we're stuck in it like it's 4-D flypaper, nothing we can do to get out of it. It's not only all we know, it's all we can know.
There's a very good question about time travel: If time travel is possible, where are all the time travelers? Once time travel is invented, no matter how far in the future, every era would be lousy with time tourists, because every moment in time would essentially be 'now.' Since we don't see any time travelers, ipso facto, time travel must not be possible.
But I put this to you: if time travel is possible, it's only possible through a fifth dimension. And since we can't perceive that fifth dimension, we can't perceive any time travelers, who must, of necessity, be five-dimensional beings. So maybe there are time travelers all around us right now. We'd never know it, just like Flatlanders could never know us higher-dimensional beings.
Which brings us to another notion about time. We experience time as a linear flow, but if there is a fifth dimension outside of our four familiar dimensions of spacetime, wouldn't someone in that fifth dimension be able to see all of time? To them, wouldn't time be just another dimension they could move along, forward or backward or sideways or what have you? Furthermore, wouldn't that mean that time - though we experience it linearly - is actually all happening at once? Is every moment in time really lined up in order like a huge card catalog* we leaf through from front to back because we have to by virtue of our four-dimensionality?
I think the notion of there being no real 'now,' just a card-catalog moment we experience as now is both disturbing and poetic. It's like we live each moment like it's a frame of movie film, one at a time, one after the other.
Which has all sorts of implications for the notion of free will. But that's another sleepless night lying in bed.
* kids, a card catalog is what libraries used to keep track of their books in the days before computers did everything for us.
Friday, February 25, 2011
When Tom Sings You Listen
Years ago I gave my younger niece a CD of Tom Jones hits. She loved it, especially the chorus of 'What's New, Pussycat?'* She amazed and delighted my sister's friends who had no idea a little kid could know all the words to any song, let alone Tom Jones. My younger niece is now an accomplished musician and I like to believe that Tom Jones had a very large part in making that happen.
So I was re-listening to my copy of that Tom Jones greatest hits CD - on iTunes, natch, who handles CDs these days? - and I realized that some of his songs don't make a whole lot of sense. I mean, they're undeniably catchy and I can listen to them over and over, but only if I don't pay a whole lot of attention.
To wit, 'Thunderball':
He knows the meaning of success.
His needs are more, so he gives less.
They call him the winner who takes all.
And he strikes, like Thunderball.
Get away from the groovy 60's theatrical score and just listen, and the song doesn't really hold together. Never mind that it was the theme for a James Bond picture.
Or how about 'Help Yourself'
Love is like candy on a shelf
You want to taste and help yourself
The sweetest things are there for you
Help yourself take a few
That's what I want you to do
Or 'Puppet Man'
Baby, Baby, I'm your sweet pet
I'm just your personal marionette
Wind me up and let me go
Don't you know I'm a one man show?
I think I've made my point.
However, the fact that some of Mr. Jones' lyrics approach dadaist meaninglessness makes absolutely no difference. At. All. I want to strike like Thunderball, even though I have no idea what that means. And I want my love to wind me up, even though marionettes aren't wind-up dolls. And I want my love like candy on a shelf, even though candy goes in jars. When I listen to Tom Jones I just sit back and enjoy, and turn my brain off. I leave myself in his tender care, because I know he won't do me wrong.
When Tom Jones sings, you listen.
* whoa-whoa-whoa
So I was re-listening to my copy of that Tom Jones greatest hits CD - on iTunes, natch, who handles CDs these days? - and I realized that some of his songs don't make a whole lot of sense. I mean, they're undeniably catchy and I can listen to them over and over, but only if I don't pay a whole lot of attention.
To wit, 'Thunderball':
He knows the meaning of success.
His needs are more, so he gives less.
They call him the winner who takes all.
And he strikes, like Thunderball.
Get away from the groovy 60's theatrical score and just listen, and the song doesn't really hold together. Never mind that it was the theme for a James Bond picture.
Or how about 'Help Yourself'
Love is like candy on a shelf
You want to taste and help yourself
The sweetest things are there for you
Help yourself take a few
That's what I want you to do
Or 'Puppet Man'
Baby, Baby, I'm your sweet pet
I'm just your personal marionette
Wind me up and let me go
Don't you know I'm a one man show?
I think I've made my point.
However, the fact that some of Mr. Jones' lyrics approach dadaist meaninglessness makes absolutely no difference. At. All. I want to strike like Thunderball, even though I have no idea what that means. And I want my love to wind me up, even though marionettes aren't wind-up dolls. And I want my love like candy on a shelf, even though candy goes in jars. When I listen to Tom Jones I just sit back and enjoy, and turn my brain off. I leave myself in his tender care, because I know he won't do me wrong.
When Tom Jones sings, you listen.
* whoa-whoa-whoa
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
They Tried To Make Me Go To Rehab
I've given up bread for a while. Complex carbohydrates, that is, bread and crackers and corn and potatoes and what not. It's been a week, and I'm doing okay, I've only fallen off the wagon a little bit and then I hopped right back on. I'm doing it to see if I can lose some weight, and to increase the amount of vegetables in my diet. And, truth to tell, Drew Cary lost 70 pounds doing the same thing. I don't have 70 pounds to lose, but it's worth a shot.
It's a challenge. I feel like a junkie, jonesing for a slice of pizza. Or a cracker, for God's sake. I didn't know I ate so much starch, honestly. I knew I ate too many sweets, but chips and pretzels and sandwiches and pita bread... too much.
I was in the grocery store today, getting bananas, carrots, cherries, and fruit juice. Like a hippie. And I picked up a pack of peanut M&Ms. No wheat in that, right? I was an addict, substituting the fix at hand for my regular drug of choice.
If I'd had a beehive hairdo I could have been a portly Amy Winehouse. I walked around the grocery store for a good five minutes with that pack of M&M's, and then I 'happened by' the fresh-made pizza section. The chocolate-covered peanuts were the devil on my left shoulder, tempting me to completely give up my week-long attempt to drop some poundage. Summoning up my reserves of willpower I put the delicious, oh-so chocolately morsels on the shelf next to the pizza.
Score one for me. I've replaced my toast and butter with green beans, at least for the next few weeks. I actually do feel a little more alert, but that could be the DTs from not having flour in my system.
If you see me with a doughnut in my hands, feel free to slap me. Or at least feel free to try.
It's a challenge. I feel like a junkie, jonesing for a slice of pizza. Or a cracker, for God's sake. I didn't know I ate so much starch, honestly. I knew I ate too many sweets, but chips and pretzels and sandwiches and pita bread... too much.
I was in the grocery store today, getting bananas, carrots, cherries, and fruit juice. Like a hippie. And I picked up a pack of peanut M&Ms. No wheat in that, right? I was an addict, substituting the fix at hand for my regular drug of choice.
If I'd had a beehive hairdo I could have been a portly Amy Winehouse. I walked around the grocery store for a good five minutes with that pack of M&M's, and then I 'happened by' the fresh-made pizza section. The chocolate-covered peanuts were the devil on my left shoulder, tempting me to completely give up my week-long attempt to drop some poundage. Summoning up my reserves of willpower I put the delicious, oh-so chocolately morsels on the shelf next to the pizza.
Score one for me. I've replaced my toast and butter with green beans, at least for the next few weeks. I actually do feel a little more alert, but that could be the DTs from not having flour in my system.
If you see me with a doughnut in my hands, feel free to slap me. Or at least feel free to try.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Bread And Circuses
Something's been bothering me lately. Okay, a LOT of things bother me, but one thing in particular has caught my attention. It's the way that modern careerism and corporate group-think is affecting our Republic.
Let me 'splain. Any democratic form of government requires its citizens to participate. Actively. That means people should go to city council meetings, they should go to zoning board meetings and school board meetings. They need to know what's going on in their neighborhoods, their cities, their states, and in the nation. And they should vote.
But let me ask you this: when was the last time you did any of that? If you answered 'just last week, Don,' I can almost guarantee that you do not hold a full-time job. You're retired, or a part-time worker, or a stay-at-home Mom or Dad. Or unemployed.
Working a 9-to-5 job has over the last decade become working an 8-to-5 or an 8-to-6 or longer. And then there's the commute, people are willing - for some reason - to drive an hour or more to work somewhere they really would rather not be in the first place. We're spending over half our day Monday through Friday working, getting to work, or coming back from work. After that we have to make time for our families, and then all the stuff that needs doing anyway like the laundry or cooking or cleaning.
After all the busy work that we do just to get by, are any of us inclined to trek to City Hall to listen to a zoning committee? After a very long day of corporate monkey-spank do we really want to hear about library funding or sewer improvements?
Being good corporate drones is making us bad citizens. We're neglecting the things that make this country the incredible place it is, in favor of yet another TPS report or PowerPoint presentation.
I don't know if this is by accident or by design. A corporation is just a legal fiction, after all, a piece of paper on file somewhere in Delaware. But corporations are run by human beings, some very poor human beings usually, and I wouldn't put it past them to have planned this all along. Get people hooked on corporate welfare, get them running the treadmill of the paycheck economy, and then slowly subvert the system from within, knowing that people are too tired and distracted to pay attention. All that is necessary for evil to succeed is that good men stand by and do nothing, after all. And what better 'nothing' to do than fail to participate in a participatory democracy?
Maybe it's my impending old-man-ness showing, but this has to stop. We have to stand up and take charge of our work day. Just say no to another day working late, just tell them the report won't be ready on Friday because you have to go help keep America great. Let's see those weasels argue with that.
Let me 'splain. Any democratic form of government requires its citizens to participate. Actively. That means people should go to city council meetings, they should go to zoning board meetings and school board meetings. They need to know what's going on in their neighborhoods, their cities, their states, and in the nation. And they should vote.
But let me ask you this: when was the last time you did any of that? If you answered 'just last week, Don,' I can almost guarantee that you do not hold a full-time job. You're retired, or a part-time worker, or a stay-at-home Mom or Dad. Or unemployed.
Working a 9-to-5 job has over the last decade become working an 8-to-5 or an 8-to-6 or longer. And then there's the commute, people are willing - for some reason - to drive an hour or more to work somewhere they really would rather not be in the first place. We're spending over half our day Monday through Friday working, getting to work, or coming back from work. After that we have to make time for our families, and then all the stuff that needs doing anyway like the laundry or cooking or cleaning.
After all the busy work that we do just to get by, are any of us inclined to trek to City Hall to listen to a zoning committee? After a very long day of corporate monkey-spank do we really want to hear about library funding or sewer improvements?
Being good corporate drones is making us bad citizens. We're neglecting the things that make this country the incredible place it is, in favor of yet another TPS report or PowerPoint presentation.
I don't know if this is by accident or by design. A corporation is just a legal fiction, after all, a piece of paper on file somewhere in Delaware. But corporations are run by human beings, some very poor human beings usually, and I wouldn't put it past them to have planned this all along. Get people hooked on corporate welfare, get them running the treadmill of the paycheck economy, and then slowly subvert the system from within, knowing that people are too tired and distracted to pay attention. All that is necessary for evil to succeed is that good men stand by and do nothing, after all. And what better 'nothing' to do than fail to participate in a participatory democracy?
Maybe it's my impending old-man-ness showing, but this has to stop. We have to stand up and take charge of our work day. Just say no to another day working late, just tell them the report won't be ready on Friday because you have to go help keep America great. Let's see those weasels argue with that.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
A Little Magic
I was trudging up the stairs this morning - because the elevator STILL isn't fixed - and I got to thinking how it would be really great if I had a faithful manservant who would just carry me. Then I realized that any man big enough to actually pick me up probably wouldn't fit through a normal-sized door, so I abandoned that thought. Lifting one foot after the other, though, I hit on another great idea.
I need to master the mystic arts. Then I could just magic myself up the stairs, no walking needed.
As a matter of fact, if I were an adept enough student then I could just magic myself up a whole host of things that seem to be problems for me at the moment. I wouldn't need a job because I'd just conjure stacks of cash. I wouldn't need to go to the grocery store because I'd just wave my hand and make food appear. I'd wave the other hand to clean the dishes - no more dishwasher for me. I wouldn't have to pay rent, and I'd probably move out of my place to find my Sanctum Sanctorum at the top of some mountain or in a bubble at the bottom of the sea. Probably the mountain, the sea smells like a fish toilet to me.
The one hitch to my plans is that these sorts of things usually happen with some great personal tragedy. Batman's parents were killed, Superman is the last survivor of an entire planet, a brilliant but arrogant surgeon loses the use of his hands in an auto accident, that kind of thing. I'm not really down with the whole idea of personal tragedy. I don't want to lose any parts or pieces that I've become fond of over the years.
I'm an American, dammit, I want everything good without any risk or sacrifice! And I want it now!
So rather than real magic, maybe I'll just settle for some douchebaggy trickery, camera tricks and bad illusions. Let me get some leather and ugly tattoos, some skanky ex-stripper chicks for eye candy and I'll be in business. Chris Angel, I'm coming for you...
I need to master the mystic arts. Then I could just magic myself up the stairs, no walking needed.
As a matter of fact, if I were an adept enough student then I could just magic myself up a whole host of things that seem to be problems for me at the moment. I wouldn't need a job because I'd just conjure stacks of cash. I wouldn't need to go to the grocery store because I'd just wave my hand and make food appear. I'd wave the other hand to clean the dishes - no more dishwasher for me. I wouldn't have to pay rent, and I'd probably move out of my place to find my Sanctum Sanctorum at the top of some mountain or in a bubble at the bottom of the sea. Probably the mountain, the sea smells like a fish toilet to me.
The one hitch to my plans is that these sorts of things usually happen with some great personal tragedy. Batman's parents were killed, Superman is the last survivor of an entire planet, a brilliant but arrogant surgeon loses the use of his hands in an auto accident, that kind of thing. I'm not really down with the whole idea of personal tragedy. I don't want to lose any parts or pieces that I've become fond of over the years.
I'm an American, dammit, I want everything good without any risk or sacrifice! And I want it now!
So rather than real magic, maybe I'll just settle for some douchebaggy trickery, camera tricks and bad illusions. Let me get some leather and ugly tattoos, some skanky ex-stripper chicks for eye candy and I'll be in business. Chris Angel, I'm coming for you...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Better Than I Remember
A while back I wrote about something that was not nearly as good as I remember. Visits to things from your past are sometimes dangerous journeys onto wind-tossed shoals of memory, where one wrong move can drive your fond recollections onto the sharp rocks of reality. But not everything you remember fondly from your past is doomed to turn out poorly in the present. Today, for example, I was pleasantly surprised.
I'd just finished fencing and was driving home in the hot rod when some Jethro Tull came on the radio. Even though Tull was a regular part of my youth, it's been quite a while since I've listened to any of my old favorites. Sure, the songs are on my iTunes list, but the last time I was really into Tull I had to listen on a cassette tape.* And that's quite a while ago.
Gotta say, I remember why I liked them all those years ago. I was jamming out on the highway to 'Aqualung,' which is about a 6 minute song, so I got pretty far down the 134 with Tull blaring, almost like when I used to pop the cassette into the player in my '72 Chevelle on my way to pick up my friends for a night of mischief. Good times, good times.
So not everything I liked when I was a kid is crap. It's a good thing I thought parachute pants were stupid back in the day, or I might have more to regret than Heavy Metal the Movie.
* Kids, cassette tapes replaced 8-track cartridges in the national zeitgeist and were co-existent with vinyl LPs, which themselves were like big, fragile, black CDs. CDs are what your older brothers and sisters used to buy back before iTunes.
** also, Jethro Tull was a real person a few centuries ago. Sounds like a Dickens character.
I'd just finished fencing and was driving home in the hot rod when some Jethro Tull came on the radio. Even though Tull was a regular part of my youth, it's been quite a while since I've listened to any of my old favorites. Sure, the songs are on my iTunes list, but the last time I was really into Tull I had to listen on a cassette tape.* And that's quite a while ago.
Gotta say, I remember why I liked them all those years ago. I was jamming out on the highway to 'Aqualung,' which is about a 6 minute song, so I got pretty far down the 134 with Tull blaring, almost like when I used to pop the cassette into the player in my '72 Chevelle on my way to pick up my friends for a night of mischief. Good times, good times.
So not everything I liked when I was a kid is crap. It's a good thing I thought parachute pants were stupid back in the day, or I might have more to regret than Heavy Metal the Movie.
* Kids, cassette tapes replaced 8-track cartridges in the national zeitgeist and were co-existent with vinyl LPs, which themselves were like big, fragile, black CDs. CDs are what your older brothers and sisters used to buy back before iTunes.
** also, Jethro Tull was a real person a few centuries ago. Sounds like a Dickens character.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Giving Hope
Since I'm still 'between assignments' I've been trying to think outside the box, career-wise. Trying to get out of the rut I've been in that clearly hasn't worked thus far and probably won't any time in the near future. After some consideration I think I've hit on a solution.
I'm going to become a singer.
Just to be clear, I cannot carry a tune, not even if you gave me a bucket and showed me how. I bring a bad name to 'tin ear' and 'tone deaf.' Dogs howl when I start humming and babies halfway around the world weep when I sing along to Skynyrd. Every man should know his limitations and one of mine is singing. Just can't do it. Which isn't going to stop me from making it my next career.
See, I figure if I can make a go of it, if I can become the next Susan Boyle, then other people around the world will look at my accomplishment and say 'well, jeez, if that guy can be a singer, then I can < insert impossible task here >.' I'll be the low-bar that other people can aspire to leap. I'll be the black-sheep cousin who inexplicably made good and now shames all the other seemingly more-apt cousins. I'll be the guy that makes real singers, people with actual talent for that, tear their hair out and curse the heavens for the injustice of it all.
Yeah... I'm all about the humanitarian stuff.
I'm going to become a singer.
Just to be clear, I cannot carry a tune, not even if you gave me a bucket and showed me how. I bring a bad name to 'tin ear' and 'tone deaf.' Dogs howl when I start humming and babies halfway around the world weep when I sing along to Skynyrd. Every man should know his limitations and one of mine is singing. Just can't do it. Which isn't going to stop me from making it my next career.
See, I figure if I can make a go of it, if I can become the next Susan Boyle, then other people around the world will look at my accomplishment and say 'well, jeez, if that guy can be a singer, then I can < insert impossible task here >.' I'll be the low-bar that other people can aspire to leap. I'll be the black-sheep cousin who inexplicably made good and now shames all the other seemingly more-apt cousins. I'll be the guy that makes real singers, people with actual talent for that, tear their hair out and curse the heavens for the injustice of it all.
Yeah... I'm all about the humanitarian stuff.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Introspection
I had to go down to Old Town today, and as I walked there and back I learned a few things about myself.
I don't expect homeless people to be very tall. Certainly not 6'5". I don't expect them to look something like Garrison Keillor either. I like my homeless people to be smaller than me, and sickly, it makes me feel safer.
Looking for a business I don't know the name of with a half-remembered address from someone who's never been to Pasadena is an ill-advised venture. But it does get me out of the house for an hour or so.
If I'm distracted - really not paying attention - say, looking for an address or a business that doesn't exist, people give me a lot of room. I don't know if I look like I might start swinging, or if people suddenly become more courteous, but the end result is the same, they stay away. And I'm cool with that.
It bothers me when women pushing baby strollers also have little pocket dogs trailing on a leash behind them. There seem to be plenty of them in Old Town during the day, and I don't know if they're treating the tiny dog like a baby or treating the baby like a tiny dog. Kind of creeps me out and I never realized it before.
I don't mind when skateboarders almost commit suicide by rolling through a crosswalk when cars are turning left. It does bother me when pedestrians do stupid things, I really don't want to see anybody killed, but, surprisingly enough, the same does not apply to skateboarders. Who knew? Douchebags shouldn't be riding on the sidewalk anyway.
Evidently I don't look like someone who wants to receive the word of God. A roly-poly fellow with a scraggly beard and a stained jacket was handing out Jesus literature while I waited at a crosswalk. He tried to give a pamphlet to everyone but me, and, to tell you the truth, I was a little disappointed. Maybe he could tell I was distracted.
I don't expect homeless people to be very tall. Certainly not 6'5". I don't expect them to look something like Garrison Keillor either. I like my homeless people to be smaller than me, and sickly, it makes me feel safer.
Looking for a business I don't know the name of with a half-remembered address from someone who's never been to Pasadena is an ill-advised venture. But it does get me out of the house for an hour or so.
If I'm distracted - really not paying attention - say, looking for an address or a business that doesn't exist, people give me a lot of room. I don't know if I look like I might start swinging, or if people suddenly become more courteous, but the end result is the same, they stay away. And I'm cool with that.
It bothers me when women pushing baby strollers also have little pocket dogs trailing on a leash behind them. There seem to be plenty of them in Old Town during the day, and I don't know if they're treating the tiny dog like a baby or treating the baby like a tiny dog. Kind of creeps me out and I never realized it before.
I don't mind when skateboarders almost commit suicide by rolling through a crosswalk when cars are turning left. It does bother me when pedestrians do stupid things, I really don't want to see anybody killed, but, surprisingly enough, the same does not apply to skateboarders. Who knew? Douchebags shouldn't be riding on the sidewalk anyway.
Evidently I don't look like someone who wants to receive the word of God. A roly-poly fellow with a scraggly beard and a stained jacket was handing out Jesus literature while I waited at a crosswalk. He tried to give a pamphlet to everyone but me, and, to tell you the truth, I was a little disappointed. Maybe he could tell I was distracted.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Wafflicious
Have you ever heard the expression 'I got a hammer, and now everything looks like a nail?'
Well, for Christmas I got a waffle iron and now everything looks like it should be round and dotted with square holes.
I know that I'm difficult to buy gifts for. But I was still taken by surprise when I unwrapped a waffle iron on Christmas Day. I didn't quite know what to think, which means it was a good gift indeed. I got it home, plugged it in, and whipped up a batch of batter as outlined in the owner's manual. I wasn't sure how it was all going to work out, if the batter was going to be too thick or too thin, if the waffle iron's non-stick coating really was, or if the waffles would actually be tasty. The first one came out a little lopsided, but it was crisp and brown and oh-so-delicious.
I gotta say, I likes me some waffles.
After the success of the first batch, I went out and sprung for some authentic maple syrup (it's pricey) and got ready to try out all of the waffle recipes. Cornbread waffles tonight.
Now I'm thinking of ways to combine waffles with other things. Maybe waffles instead of hog dog buns, waffles on a stick, waffles instead of tortillas, waffles as the shell for beef wellington, waffles layered inside a lasagna. Okay, maybe not that last one, but I am thinking about waffles a lot.
I really, really need a job.
Well, for Christmas I got a waffle iron and now everything looks like it should be round and dotted with square holes.
I know that I'm difficult to buy gifts for. But I was still taken by surprise when I unwrapped a waffle iron on Christmas Day. I didn't quite know what to think, which means it was a good gift indeed. I got it home, plugged it in, and whipped up a batch of batter as outlined in the owner's manual. I wasn't sure how it was all going to work out, if the batter was going to be too thick or too thin, if the waffle iron's non-stick coating really was, or if the waffles would actually be tasty. The first one came out a little lopsided, but it was crisp and brown and oh-so-delicious.
I gotta say, I likes me some waffles.
After the success of the first batch, I went out and sprung for some authentic maple syrup (it's pricey) and got ready to try out all of the waffle recipes. Cornbread waffles tonight.
Now I'm thinking of ways to combine waffles with other things. Maybe waffles instead of hog dog buns, waffles on a stick, waffles instead of tortillas, waffles as the shell for beef wellington, waffles layered inside a lasagna. Okay, maybe not that last one, but I am thinking about waffles a lot.
I really, really need a job.
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