I went out for a groundpound this morning. Although the temperatures were not as frigid as they recently have been during my morning thing, it was overcast and raw out there, and, more importantly, it felt like snow. I know it was unpleasant enough to apparently put my muse to sleep. A couple writing ideas just refused to take shape. Yo, that’s the way it is sometimes.
As such, you’re stuck with me sitting at the keyboard, sipping a Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka (Lemon flavored this time), waiting for the snow and letting the mush in my cruller flow quite unfiltered to my fingers on the keyboard. You won’t hurt my feelings if you bug out at this point, because I make no representations whatsoever that anything from here on will be worth your time.
Admission: I have become a fan of “Pawn Stars.” Don’t ask me to explain myself, because I can’t. It’s sort of like “Antiques Roadshow” with tattoos and a grumpy old guy with lots of hair. In addition, Chumlee cracks me up. Go figure.
Another Admission: I like the woman in the Progressive Insurance Commercials (Stephanie Courtney). Perky (not in a Katie Couric way), pretty and funny. [No real need for a disclaimer, as my car insurance is not with Progressive.]
I have a sense that Facebook is screwing up the Blogosphere. Several excellent bloggers who are excellent writers have abandoned their blogs for one sentence entries on Facebook. Perhaps they have experienced blog burnout, having decided that blogging is too much of an interruption in Life 101. I can relate to that. It is, nonetheless, sad to see so many peeps who are engaging writers bail on the blogosphere. Note: I understand that there are plenty of reasons not to want to be bothered maintaining a blog: e.g. annoying trolls and, frankly, running out of things worth a shit to write about. I worry about the latter point myself.
Is there anything more boring than reading what a blogger has to say about blogging? I don’t think so. You were warned (see above).
Can you for one minute imagine how much money movie theaters make on popcorn sales? I figure a handful of unpopped popcorn (enough to make one of those very pricey buckets or popcorn) costs mere pennies. Hey, I’m a capitalist, and if the traffic will bear the movie theater price for a bucket of popcorn, I’m OK with it. Seems a bit nuts to me, though. [ANOTHER DISCLAIMER: I think the last movie I saw in a movie theater was “Saving Private Ryan,” and I didn’t buy popcorn.]
Here’s how the word “popcorn” appears when your fingers are not on the home keys: [p[vptm. You non-touch type peeps won’t understand.
No snow yet.
The older I get, the more I truly appreciate the talent of Frank Sinatra. If you don’t agree with me now, just wait it out.
I see where famous artists like Picasso have done paintings that a five-year old can do, only to have the paintings sell for millions of dollars. I figure that’s OK, because I’m sure that Picasso could draw an excellent picture of a cow, such that it would look like a cow. But for that, I could be a gazillionaire.
Yet Another Admission: In college, and a for a few years thereafter, I was a roaring, flaming liberal. Then I got a real job.
Do you read Sippican Cottage? You should. It’s good for the cruller and the soul.
I awaken in the middle of the night wondering how Henry Ford and Thomas Edison managed their businesses without consultants and a multi-million dollar Mission Statement. I figure that if everyone in a company does not know the company’s “mission,” a shitload of managers have to be fired. Speaking of “Consultantspeak,” check out this post at the aforementioned Sippican Cottage.
No snow yet. I think I’ll pour another Firefly and leave youse guys to your own devices.