Art Attack Central
Fixing stuff, myself included…
Tuesday Too # 7
1.) What’s your opinion on age ranges and intimate relationships? Does it matter? Is it okay for the man to be older, but not the woman? How much older is too old?
Being an expert on relationships, I’m speaking quantity not necessarily quality, and yes I’ve had way too many already so that’s why I qualify as an expert; my first inclination is to say it makes no difference. However, as I linger over the idea I’m not so sure. I will say I think it makes no difference which gender is the older of the two (see Harold and Maude). It has been my experience that the range grows larger as I get older.
2.) Should stem cell researchers be given the green light?
I claim no expertise whatsoever in this area, but of course like most folks I do have an opinion. The continuing research in this field is necessary. If you have a relative with Alzheimers or Parkinsons disease then you know why I’m on this side of the fence. Furthermore I don’t think embryonic stem cells should be ruled out; however, it’s one of those issues (i.e. abortion). While it’s difficult to see from both sides, perhaps so difficult that one remains on the fence if one does see both sides (see this).
3.)Googleclimbing, (similar to a googlewhacking) but now your job is to make your site come up as the first result, or at least on the first page of google’s results. Ideally you want your site to be #1 of thousands, tens of thousands or if you really want to impress us #1 of millions of results! You may use up to four words, but they may not be in quotation marks.
Here’s mine: love testing machine = #1 of 200,000! Go ahead put me in my place go for a million.
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“The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.”
–Flora Whittemore
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Abandoned House
It’s a good thing I’ve always had a love affair of sorts with abandoned houses. When I arrived on the third floor this morning, I noticed the vines which are supposed to be on the outside are thriving once again on the inside. Really the vines should not even be left to their own devices on the outside, but they have a strangle hold on the house.
A love affair with abandoned houses?
A better way might be to say a fascination with abandoned houses. When I lived on the Eastern shore in the seventies they were prolific. Houses built by farmers in the twenties, left in the rush for the cities, or left in later years for a new modern house. On route 13 which winds across and down the Delmarva Peninsula, you can still find a few of the weathered gray structures still standing. Most have been bulldozed and reclaimed as farmland, those left have already been stripped of their precious mantels, doorknobs and locks. In the rush to wherever, or perhaps because they were labeled as old and dated, people left behind the most amazing things. Not just the houses themselves, but things like old phonographs (the kind with the horn), a player piano and an old wood stove with chrome and porcelain details.
How do you know they left these behind?
My friend Gary and I used to go exploring/hunting in these forgotten homes. It was dangerous, not because of the human factor, although that was not to be counted out entirely. Many of the houses had been empty for thirty years and more; windows, doors were broken or missing, and the roofs had been leaking for years. Wallpaper sagged, or was in a heap on the floor revealing brown and orange water stains on the once white plaster. The ghost houses themselves were not safe to be moving about in, but we did nevertheless. Dodging the ever watchful new owners.. the birds and snakes.
Lots of snakes?
No, mostly it was just angry birds to contend with. We encountered the snakes when we decided to salvage the old player piano. We arrived around dusk with what we deemed necessary for the partial dismantling operation. After removing the top lid we discovered a number of snake skin sheds. We pushed the piano out into the middle of the room and in the fading light saw three silvery snakes moving rapidly towards the a hole near the front entrance. We did not salvage the piano.
Where’s the love affair?
The aging weathered wood, the crumbling plaster, the vines knowing no difference between inside and out, all these things I found a certain beauty in. Besides exploring them I spent much time drawing and photographing these houses both inside and out.
“People only see what they are prepared to see.”
–Ralph Waldo Emerson
I find it difficult to keep in mind that it doesn’t matter how hard I press on Ctrl Alt Del. If it’s not going to kick in, increasing the amount of pressure I put on the keys will not rectify the situation. Enter the paper clip, lovingly referred to as the “Mac tool” by PC users. When all else fails I know I can insert the now unbent clip into the tiny hole on the right side of my laptop. This maneuver is always a last resort and is accompanied by much cursing, because now I must endure the dreaded blue screen, lengthy reboot, reconnection and finally reopen my browsers.
Why did you tell us that?
Because even though it’s a pain in the ass, it’s a viable solution to frozen mice. The last time Mr. Potatoehead was confronted by a frozen mouse; his solution was so half baked that he nearly fried himself. In a sense the tiny hole is a mouse outlet, and that’s how Mr. Potatoehead nearly died. He is deathly afraid of mice of any kind, and he couldn’t be sure that the particular mouse causing the problem was really frozen. His first thought when he spied the mouse was to call Schrodinger’s cat, but the cat was still in the box, and Mr. Potatoehead couldn’t be sure if the cat was dead or alive. In retrospect at least according to Mr. Potatoehead, the cat may actually have been in a bag, just waiting to be let out. Wherever the cat was, the point is he could not discern whether the cat was dead or alive. He was quite flustered not knowing if the mouse was frozen, and if Schrodinger’s cat was capable of saving him if the mouse was not frozen. In those kinds of circumstances it’s reasonable to assume that mistakes are made. Fearing for his life, Mr. Potatoehead lunged toward the mouse hoping to over power him; instead the hotheaded Mr. Potatoehead initiated the thawing process. As luck would have it Schrodinger’s cat was alive, and she leapt from her box, pounced on the mouse and thus saved old Potatoehead from the jaws of death.
Have you got any other nutty things to say?
Just one… well I’m editing this is 2018! and I referenced to two URLs back in 2002, which now lead, not where they were intended to go! LOL – ha nobody said LOL in 2002. Whatever was intended in this paragraph was not discernible today, so I deleted the paragraph. I will also say, anybody stumbling by chance upon Mr Potatoehead’s story today, can use the search to find more Mr Potatoehead stories from the early days.
“Once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back in the same box.”
–Italian Proverb .
Tuesday Too # 6
1.) If you’re not too paranoid go post your photo on Andy’s Sunny Pose.
Not up yet, but done that.
2.) What do you think about the relatively new phenomenon of student rioting after games?
Letting off steam, celebrating; I don’t think so. I think there are so many important things students could demonstrate for/against in a non violent manner. It seems such a waste of energy.
3.) Show me your googlewhack. If you don’t know what one is go here.
snaggletoothed ragamuffin
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Punctuality
All the time I was on time. If I told someone I’d be there at 1:45, I was there at 1:45. Somehow over the last couple of years that’s changed. Now I’m lucky if I’m not more than 15 minutes late. I think I’m becoming my mother! Everyone was always waiting for my mother. It wasn’t that she was more laid back than the rest of us. She was always busy, and there was always more to do before she could do so and so, or go to such and such. I am the oldest, so I was the test baby. Apparently I passed the test at the tender age of three, the other three arrived in quick succession.
Yeah, but what about punctuality?
Well, I’m not sure if it’s mine or my mother’s lack of it I want to talk about. I used to set my watch about five minutes fast; now I’m relieved to notice that I’m wearing a watch. Watch is a funny word for the time piece we wear on the wrist. Watching the time go by. My internal watch/clock seems to function fairly accurately; unless I’ve been absolutely wild and crazy the night before, my eyes pop open at precisely 5:00 AM. Perhaps it’s my fascination with computers that has turned my watch upside down. Instant communication requires careful editing.
What’s that got to do with punctuality?
Punctuation and punctuality go hand in hand, or maybe it’s watch to wrist as in wristwatch. In any case I’ve lost my ability to arrive on time, and I think there is a connection between my late arrival and the speed of internet communication.
That’s not all you’ve lost!
Okay, but my mind is a different thing and unrelated to what time I get somewhere. Hmmm… maybe my mind isn’t there at all without time.
“Everything happens to everybody sooner or later if there is time enough.”
–George Bernard Shaw
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