She was a shipwreck. Her sails were tousled and tangled, beraggeled by the incessant wind; her mast contorted and convex, keel jagged and decrepit from bow to stern. The figurehead once pulchritudinous, finely carved, polished and painted, now pockmarked and barnacled, not to mention the coprolite on the poop deck. The flying jib grounded by enervation, her hull grew deteriorated and cleaved, no longer hermetic. Unable to direct her own course, the tiller languished abandoned; the rudder flapped about unhinged and ungoverned. Into the hatch the inebriating sea poured forth; good ole Captain Morgan, the captain of her shipwreck.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
The Next Step
"Where do you live?" he asked casually. This guy had bought her a drink and was trying to pick her up. She looked at him curiously, then laughed. It was a lousy pick-up line.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
He was trying very hard to act cool, which showed and made him look very uncool.
"Why wouldn't I believe you?"
"You don't seem to be the imaginative type."
"I have plenty of imagination." That statment alone showed that he didn't. "Oh come on, just tell me where you live. What harm can it do?"
"None to me," she replied," but you might be forever altered."
He considered that a challenge.
"Do you know the building on the corner of 3rd and Main?"
"Which corner?"
"The northwest corner. Red brick, 12 stories, dark stone trim, roccoco style."
"Yes, I think so. Isn't that the Fisher or Mesher or something like that Building?"
"It's the Escher Building."
"I know it," he boasted.
"If you go to the 12th floor, to the stairwell, I live at the next step."
"So you're on the 12th Floor?"
"No, I'm at the next step."
He looked confused. "So, you're on the 13th floor?"
"No," she sighed, "just at the next step."
"I think you're just messing with me. What a waste of a drink." He walked off a bit huffy and indignant.
She shrugged. It wasn't the first time that had happened.
She left the bar and walked home. She got to 3rd and Main and entered the brick, roccoco style building with dark stone trim. She took the elevator to the 12th floor, walked down the hall to the stairway and went through the door to the stiarwell, where she stood at the landing for the 12th floor. To her left was one step and a blank wall. She took the next step....
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
He was trying very hard to act cool, which showed and made him look very uncool.
"Why wouldn't I believe you?"
"You don't seem to be the imaginative type."
"I have plenty of imagination." That statment alone showed that he didn't. "Oh come on, just tell me where you live. What harm can it do?"
"None to me," she replied," but you might be forever altered."
He considered that a challenge.
"Do you know the building on the corner of 3rd and Main?"
"Which corner?"
"The northwest corner. Red brick, 12 stories, dark stone trim, roccoco style."
"Yes, I think so. Isn't that the Fisher or Mesher or something like that Building?"
"It's the Escher Building."
"I know it," he boasted.
"If you go to the 12th floor, to the stairwell, I live at the next step."
"So you're on the 12th Floor?"
"No, I'm at the next step."
He looked confused. "So, you're on the 13th floor?"
"No," she sighed, "just at the next step."
"I think you're just messing with me. What a waste of a drink." He walked off a bit huffy and indignant.
She shrugged. It wasn't the first time that had happened.
She left the bar and walked home. She got to 3rd and Main and entered the brick, roccoco style building with dark stone trim. She took the elevator to the 12th floor, walked down the hall to the stairway and went through the door to the stiarwell, where she stood at the landing for the 12th floor. To her left was one step and a blank wall. She took the next step....
Monday, May 9, 2011
May
Singing, "I was walking on the moon one day, in the miry miry month of June..."
"May!"
Singing stops. "What?"
"May, not June. It's supposed to rhyme."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. And it's MERRY not MIRY."
"Hrmph."
Singing resumes. "I was walking on the moon one day, in the Merry, Merry month of May." Merry and May greatly emphasized.
"I was taken by surpirse, by a pair of smokey eyes..."
Loud sigh.
Singing stops. "What now?"
"I'm pretty sure that it's not walking 'on the moon', and not 'smokey' eyes."
"It's my song, I'll sing it how I want."
"But it's wrong."
"How can it be wrong!?! It's my version, there is no right or wrong."
"I'm just sayin'."
"Well don't. I'll sing it my way, you sing it yours!"
"Besides, you can't really walk on the moon, it's more of a bounce, just ask cow."
"Ahh! You are stiffling my creativity!"
"Creativity? Sounds more like absurdity."
"That's it. We're done. All you do is criticize and nitpick. I'm going back to the plate. At least she didn't criticize, even if she always generalized." The spoon stomped off.
When cow returned from her lunar trip, she whet to the table to the place setting and all that was left was the knife.
"What happened?" asked cow.
"Isn't it true that you don't really walk on the moon, you sorta bounce?"
"How would I know, I jump clean over it. So you didn't say what happened."
"Oh, spoon just found my comments too cutting."
"May!"
Singing stops. "What?"
"May, not June. It's supposed to rhyme."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. And it's MERRY not MIRY."
"Hrmph."
Singing resumes. "I was walking on the moon one day, in the Merry, Merry month of May." Merry and May greatly emphasized.
"I was taken by surpirse, by a pair of smokey eyes..."
Loud sigh.
Singing stops. "What now?"
"I'm pretty sure that it's not walking 'on the moon', and not 'smokey' eyes."
"It's my song, I'll sing it how I want."
"But it's wrong."
"How can it be wrong!?! It's my version, there is no right or wrong."
"I'm just sayin'."
"Well don't. I'll sing it my way, you sing it yours!"
"Besides, you can't really walk on the moon, it's more of a bounce, just ask cow."
"Ahh! You are stiffling my creativity!"
"Creativity? Sounds more like absurdity."
"That's it. We're done. All you do is criticize and nitpick. I'm going back to the plate. At least she didn't criticize, even if she always generalized." The spoon stomped off.
When cow returned from her lunar trip, she whet to the table to the place setting and all that was left was the knife.
"What happened?" asked cow.
"Isn't it true that you don't really walk on the moon, you sorta bounce?"
"How would I know, I jump clean over it. So you didn't say what happened."
"Oh, spoon just found my comments too cutting."
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Cake?
"Cake? Really?" asked the baker.
"It really must be cake. Not pie, not scone, not bisquit....cake."
The baker laughed. "Pie? Scone? Bisquit? Are you mad? We don't make those sorts of things anymore. In fact, anything with flour in it hasn't been made for a decade, maybe longer."
"But you're a baker. How do you bake without flour?"
"Baker must mean something very different where you're from. If it's food you're after, you might try the Butcher. He has a lot more knowledge on food," replied the baker.
"Well, what do you make if it isn't baked goods?"
"he, he he. Baked goods." the baker muttered under his breath while shaking his head. "I make bakes, of course!"
"Bakes? What are bakes? "
"You must have severe mental difficulties, so I'll humor you. Bakes are what fuel the whole villiage,. Without bakes, no heat, no electricity, no pumped water."
"So, they are like batteries?"
"I have no idea what a battery is mister!" exclaimed the baker. "It sounds like one of those sbuversive things. Are you a revolutionary or sumthin?" asked the backer with acidity.
"No, no! I just am not familiar with bakes."
"I think you better leave. Not familiar with bakes. Everyone knows what a bake it." the baker gave him a hard look.
He left the bakers shop and headed to the butcher. When he entered, what he was was not at all what he expected. The butcher had food, sort of. There were packages and packages of supposedly edible items. All the packages looked the same in size and color and markings except for one word what the food item was.
"Excuse me, do you have cake?"
"Third row, half way down, second shelf, next to the ice cream," responded the butcher unenthusiastically.
He went to that location and there indeed was a package that was labelled cake, right niext to a very similar package labelled ice cream. He went back to the counter.
"Excuse me, do you have any fresh baked cake."
The butcher eyed him, and scoweled. "What are you insinuating sir, that I'm a subversive, a revolutionary. We follow ALL the rules and regs here! Are you some sort of inspector trying to trick me?" The butcher was getting agitated.
"No. I am just trying to find a cake."
"You know, we don't need the business of the likes of you. Please leave immediately!"
He left, afraid the butcher would do something violent. He shook his head disconcertedly. He walked down the street just a bit more and came to the candlestick maker. He looked at the shop, there were candles in the window. He felt a little better. Perhaps he could find little candles for the cake, if he ever found one. As he entered the shop, he had a forboding feeling.
"Welcome friend, how may I help you?" cheerfully greeted the candlestick maker.
"I'm looking for some small candles for a cake."
At the word cake, the expression on the candlemakers face dramatically changed.
"We sell small candles, but definately can not and will not advocate thier use on that vileness," seethed the candlemaker.
"But you do sell small candles."
"Yes. Though now that I know your intended use, I can not in good conscience sell them to you." he replied coldly.
"Perhaps then you would tell me what the aversion to cake is around here."
"Around here? It's not jsut around here. It's everywhere. How can you not know?" asked the candlemaker incredulously.
"I don't. I'm not trying to trick you, and I'm not a revolutionary. I honestly don't know."
The candlemaker studied him. He looked innocent enough. yet, that's how the undercover ones were trained, suck you in with innocence then bam, you're history.
"I'm sorry sir, you're going to have to leave," stated the candlemaker. He held the door open to make sure this stranger left.
He walked down the street forlorn and distraugt, poor Patty Cake would go hungry once again.
"It really must be cake. Not pie, not scone, not bisquit....cake."
The baker laughed. "Pie? Scone? Bisquit? Are you mad? We don't make those sorts of things anymore. In fact, anything with flour in it hasn't been made for a decade, maybe longer."
"But you're a baker. How do you bake without flour?"
"Baker must mean something very different where you're from. If it's food you're after, you might try the Butcher. He has a lot more knowledge on food," replied the baker.
"Well, what do you make if it isn't baked goods?"
"he, he he. Baked goods." the baker muttered under his breath while shaking his head. "I make bakes, of course!"
"Bakes? What are bakes? "
"You must have severe mental difficulties, so I'll humor you. Bakes are what fuel the whole villiage,. Without bakes, no heat, no electricity, no pumped water."
"So, they are like batteries?"
"I have no idea what a battery is mister!" exclaimed the baker. "It sounds like one of those sbuversive things. Are you a revolutionary or sumthin?" asked the backer with acidity.
"No, no! I just am not familiar with bakes."
"I think you better leave. Not familiar with bakes. Everyone knows what a bake it." the baker gave him a hard look.
He left the bakers shop and headed to the butcher. When he entered, what he was was not at all what he expected. The butcher had food, sort of. There were packages and packages of supposedly edible items. All the packages looked the same in size and color and markings except for one word what the food item was.
"Excuse me, do you have cake?"
"Third row, half way down, second shelf, next to the ice cream," responded the butcher unenthusiastically.
He went to that location and there indeed was a package that was labelled cake, right niext to a very similar package labelled ice cream. He went back to the counter.
"Excuse me, do you have any fresh baked cake."
The butcher eyed him, and scoweled. "What are you insinuating sir, that I'm a subversive, a revolutionary. We follow ALL the rules and regs here! Are you some sort of inspector trying to trick me?" The butcher was getting agitated.
"No. I am just trying to find a cake."
"You know, we don't need the business of the likes of you. Please leave immediately!"
He left, afraid the butcher would do something violent. He shook his head disconcertedly. He walked down the street just a bit more and came to the candlestick maker. He looked at the shop, there were candles in the window. He felt a little better. Perhaps he could find little candles for the cake, if he ever found one. As he entered the shop, he had a forboding feeling.
"Welcome friend, how may I help you?" cheerfully greeted the candlestick maker.
"I'm looking for some small candles for a cake."
At the word cake, the expression on the candlemakers face dramatically changed.
"We sell small candles, but definately can not and will not advocate thier use on that vileness," seethed the candlemaker.
"But you do sell small candles."
"Yes. Though now that I know your intended use, I can not in good conscience sell them to you." he replied coldly.
"Perhaps then you would tell me what the aversion to cake is around here."
"Around here? It's not jsut around here. It's everywhere. How can you not know?" asked the candlemaker incredulously.
"I don't. I'm not trying to trick you, and I'm not a revolutionary. I honestly don't know."
The candlemaker studied him. He looked innocent enough. yet, that's how the undercover ones were trained, suck you in with innocence then bam, you're history.
"I'm sorry sir, you're going to have to leave," stated the candlemaker. He held the door open to make sure this stranger left.
He walked down the street forlorn and distraugt, poor Patty Cake would go hungry once again.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Doing a Marathon, Stellar Style
This month I am doing a Marathon. Not running, no. Or walking. A stargazing marathon! Otherwise known as the Messier Marathon. In stargazing/astronomy, Messier objects are one of 110 celestial entities that Charles Messier cataloged in the 1700's. We now call them M Objects. In the spring, around Vernal Equinox, folks all over the world partake in a one night marathon to view all 110 objects, in the same outing. It starts at sunset and ends at sunrise.
When I learned about this event, I was intrigued. I have not yet observed all M objects at a leisurely pace. So, the thought of doing them all in one night sounded like a great challenge to me. Tonight was supposed to be the night! But, I live in a place that is not always supportive of stargazing, at least meteorlogically. So, the hope is perhaps getting in a half marathon (55 M objects) tomorrow night if the weather cooperates. The fortunate part is, we kind of have time. The best night to do the M^2 is vernal equinox, around March 19, but this year that is also a full moon which washes out the sky with too much light to see many M Objects. So, we have opted for the new moon before the equinox, and as a possible full MM alternative, the new moon after equinox, on April 1. No foolin!
When I learned about this event, I was intrigued. I have not yet observed all M objects at a leisurely pace. So, the thought of doing them all in one night sounded like a great challenge to me. Tonight was supposed to be the night! But, I live in a place that is not always supportive of stargazing, at least meteorlogically. So, the hope is perhaps getting in a half marathon (55 M objects) tomorrow night if the weather cooperates. The fortunate part is, we kind of have time. The best night to do the M^2 is vernal equinox, around March 19, but this year that is also a full moon which washes out the sky with too much light to see many M Objects. So, we have opted for the new moon before the equinox, and as a possible full MM alternative, the new moon after equinox, on April 1. No foolin!
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