People who are worried about the end of the world always have advice about what you should hoarde. Water, canned food, weapons, clothing - everyone has a different theory. I guess you have to figure out what you want to fight for when roving gangs come to try and take it from you. I probably wouldn’t fight too hard for books or fuel or a car but if I had a shelter filled with beef jerky nobody would be getting in there that’s for sure.
They say you can’t please all of the people all of the time, but what if you could please nearly all the people all of the time. I mean theoretically it’s possible. There’s someone that’s able to please 99.99% of the people every time they do something. Maybe there’s someone that can please everybody except for one person who just thinks that person can’t do anything right. Well that one guy is probably a big jerk who doesn’t appreciate anything anyway.
I think a pretty good idea would be to put those stuffed deer heads but make outdoor versions of them. Of course you couldn’t make them out of real stuffed deer, but how much more impressive would it be to have a deer’s head on the wall of your house made out of steel. Anyone could shoot a deer, but now people visiting you will think you took down a steel one.
The coffeeshop I go to in the morning has a large sign that say “no checks” by the register. Personally I can’t ever imagine going through the trouble of a check – the pen-manship required, the line of eyes behind you, the pressure of spelling out the words – just because you’d rather keep the cash of $1.75 for a coffee. But someone must have kept writing a check every morning to necessitate the sign in the first place. That’s how life is: one person taking the time to ruin it for everyone else.
I had a huge realization last night that the device we use to store the photos on our digital cameras is called a “memory card.” There’s no way they planned something like that, right? Like, a group of marketing guys couldn’t possibly be that clever and poetic about an everyday piece of technology, right? I mean everyone so casually says “the photos from the birthday party are on my memory card” as though its not a clever piece of writing and just hand over the 1/2” x 1/2” card with pictures of Justin or Beccy throwing up birthday cake.
I recently read an article about art forgers and then later dreamed I was one. Only, in the dream everyone kept saying “that looks photoshopped” when they spotted it as a forgery. Is that an example of technology encroaching on the world of art? Or perhaps a metaphor for how our society rushes to keep up with increasingly sophisticated forms of art? Or maybe it’s just that my brain couldn’t think of the word “forged” because it was sleeping.
Can you imagine how profoundly different the human existence would be if we had six fingers per hand rather than five? Some might see it as a blessing, but not me. You’d constantly have an extra pinky getting in the way – as though one pinky always in the way wasn’t enough. Or when you brushed the hair from your lover’s eyes you’d have to remind yourself not to let that stray pinky go up their nose. What a hassle.
Woodworking is such a strange hobby. The entire leisure activity is predicated on work for one thing, but also that you have to believe in your heart that the wood wants to be a different shape. How strange to think that you’re doing the wood a favor by allowing it to finally take the form it has always wished. Just let the wood stay how it is, that’s always my belief.
Writing is rules. Whether it’s about word choice or sentence length or subject matter each writer has decided on rules they have agreed not to break. Me? My rules are too many. I won’t use the word “penultimate” because I think it sounds pretentious. I’ll just write “next to last” instead, and problem solved. But why is “pretentious” allowed but “penultimate” not? Because those are just the rules.
To me it feels like cheating when someone orders mac & cheese at a restaurant. It’s simply too good to be considered a meal. It would be like ordering a breakfast that consists of just a plate of bacon without having to sit through the horror of the eggs or the endurance of home fries. Better yet it’s like ordering a paper cone filled with the cherry syrup meant to create a complete sno-cone. It’s just too much pleasure for one person to handle. An ecstasy no one should be able to enjoy.