Let’s be honest: I have no idea when this thing about political correctness started. It was nonexistent when I was a kid in the 80’s, and by the time I was in high school in the 90’s it was making itself known. This is PC, … Continue reading Do I really think political correctness is necessary?
Beeping, whirring machines;
Displays and metrics;
Yards of tubes and hoses –
A singular opportunity of the human era.
Going beyond…
As technicians made final preparations, Project Head Barca psyched herself up; no matter what happened when the button was pressed, do or die, she would embark on a serious adventure.
This flash fiction in 50 words was crafted for the M3 blog’s Flash in the Pan
Tooth,
Claw –
Despite fear,
Regardless of outcome,
The struggle is our heritage.
No innovation will erase this proudly worn badge:
The triumph of will through incredible reluctance to claim the world as ours.
This week’s post was prompted by the Trifextra writing challenge: 33 words using the word tooth but not about losing a tooth.
It’s raining at New John’s Lake, just a little – but the fire still burns in the pit and in the human soul, unquenched and ripe with power:
This post was crafted for the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge.
Other bloggers shoot twice:
Now that’s a sensitive question. Despite how tough and rugged people must think I am, it turns out that I am quite a sensitive person. There are times when just some music will start to choke me up, but I will usually find the fortitude and manliness to fight it. For that reason it’s hard to say if something counts or not, so I will choose something of significance – something that I just cannot deny.
I remember…
I was moved to tears when my daughter was born. I couldn’t help it – everything was so intense! We were going to do it without drugs, but the doctor insisted on Pitocin and then my wife insisted on the painkiller that goes with it. We dodged the epidural, then my wife changed her mind when it was too late. Fortunately, my mother-in-law was there to help us through the delivery. She was definitely great for the moral support. I was supposed to cut the umbilical cord, and then because I was helping out at the top of the bed it came down to the doctor having to do it. Dang.
No matter how much I tell myself I’m not going to do it, I know I’m going to and there’s no escape. So I try to think of other things – baseball, parasitic wasps, foot-long hotdogs – can’t explain that last one, but it works. I’m pretty sure that I’m just coming off as really flustered. Really confused. Out of my element, as any guy should look when fully immersed in a woman’s demesnes of experience, even though I was fairly confident about what I was getting into; and of course, I had no clue about some of the particulars.
I cried many times after that, mostly out of frustration. My daughter appeared to respond to everything with the fear of a feral creature. We had given birth to an opossum. The first time I had her to myself for a couple of hours I thought I would go old-school, H.P. Lovecraft, I-just-looked-upon-the-countenance-of-Cthulu insane. My wife saw it the moment she came home.
Fast forward three months: the daughter is starting to smile and not screaming like a banshee as much. I was calling that progress. Another ten months later, my daughter is now over a year old, and I’m so proud of how awesome she is that I am almost moved to tears on a fairly regular basis.
Foot-longhotdogsfoot-longhotdogsfoot-longhotdogsfoot-longhotdogs…
What? No, I just got something in my eye, is all.
This post was prompted by today’s Daily Post prompt and their Weekly Writing Challenge.
This morning it’s quite cool – 46F with an amazing fog that creeps in from the lake. Hope your weekend is looking cool going into it!
This post was crafted for the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge.
Other bloggers shoot twice:
This weekend we are camping out at New John’s Lake, so a word of forewarning – Surf Movie Sunday may be postponed, and possibly Saturday Jams, too. I’m going to focus on having a good time camping. Disconnect, like my blog buddy Andra did recently. But I’ll post some photo challenges, even if its just this one, called Find Ur Path:
This post was crafted for the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge.
Other bloggers shoot twice:
Now, I wouldn’t necessarily say that I am “transported” by smells – science would have us believe that the right scent can be an olfactory kick in the memory pants; however, there are certain smells I find to be more or less nostalgic for me: fresh tobacco; rainy day air redolent with humidity; the wafting flavor of almonds roasting at a fair; and of course bacon.
I remember…
Smells that have had a distinct effect on me: the smell of Play-Doh used to make me sick. Literally. It probably still would, but I avoid it like the plague.
Clean skin. Can’t explain it, but I love the smell. The closest match I can find is fresh-baked cookies, which I also think is just wonderful.
Okay, so now I’m blank. See, smells just aren’t that important to me in the big picture. I’m not a smell person, although I can tell you when something smells good or bad. Man I came in yesterday morning to work, and the guy who I follow – the guy who works my machine on the third shift – he smelled so disgusting, like a rank combination of sweat and BO and cigarettes and just nast. Guchh. And it didn’t help that I wasn’t feeling good; I was nauseous already, and we had a potentially vile situation on our hands.
I am more of a facial recognition person. My curse is that I can recognize a face after I’ve seen it – I would say 90% of the time. If I see somebody and I recognize them, and I don’t know from where – it will bug me all day long. Then I feel guilt when I realize where I recognized him from, and I probably should’ve greeted them or something like that… but, in the end I just have to tell myself “well they didn’t recognize me because they did not greet me. So no big deal.”
Yeah, I would say I am not a person to hop on the scent bus. I’m more like a guy who’s counting blue cars.
This post was prompted by today’s Daily Post prompt and their Weekly Writing Challenge.
Other bloggers smell:
The World Premiere of “Chasing Addictions,” the latest surf film from director David Parsa (“Absolute Mexico,” “Live: A Music and Surfing Experience”) and co- directors John DeTemple and Steve Guerrero will take place at the Saint Rocke. . .
I remember. . .
I don’t really get bored all that much during the course of my life. And it’s not like I’m entertained by everything, or that I’m just claiming that I don’t get bored, but it’s really more that I can’t allow myself to be bored. Nowadays, that’s an easier thing to deal with than it used to be, because I’ve got a backlog of things that I want to do, and I have hobbies that I can engage in at any time, like running, reading, writing, yard work. . . among other things.
When I was a kid, I didn’t get very bored at all either, because I always had something to read. And when I wasn’t reading, I was out getting in trouble with my friends. I remember one time, just for kicks and grins, I got my friend Nathan to go with me to the local elementary school, where they were digging out part of the blacktop behind the school for – I don’t know – some sort of underground entrance. All I wanted to do was dig tunnels through the huge pile of dirt there and make a fort.
What ended up happening was quite different: I ended up getting trapped in the mountain and Nathan had to dig me out because the tunnel collapsed. I remember that I could barely breathe, and I was trying to just stay in control, and I was yelling at him to dig me out: “use the shovel!” Then I thought about how that would go. “Don’t use the shovel!!”
Nathan dug me out, and we went back to my place and I washed off in the swimming pool. My Dad mentioned how much dirt was on the bottom of the pool as if it were my fault. Like, seriously? Anyway, Nate saved my life that day, because I would have happily gone myself. I don’t forget things like that.
And I learned a valuable lesson: dirt don’t hurt unless you’re buried in it.
This post was prompted by today’s Daily Post prompt and their Weekly Writing Challenge.
Other bloggers die of boredom:
Rob's Surf Report 