Art Attack Central
Fixing stuff, myself included…
Homicidal Coffee
The large cup of coffee was perched precariously on top of the bookshelf. Steam curled over his lip, as he spoke softly into his cell phone, repeating his password as if it were a mantra. The lovely young bedpost on the other end of the line sighed, and hoped he wouldn’t slip up this time. Coffee was known around town for his slip ups, and most recently for spilling his guts to the detective in the 5th precinct. He’d been seen in Fells Point, not more than 10 minutes before old Cookie was knocked off. Cookie was a crumb; everybody knew that, and Coffee had threatened him more than once. Cookie’s body was found in the nick of time; a moment longer and all trace of him would have gobbled up by the…
I now know, thanks to Chad and Rich that I share rising criteria with a Homicide guy. How appropriate that it was filmed in and chronicles the crimes of Charm City (Baltimore).
Friday Bogger problems = Error 104:java.lang.NullPointerException (server:leap)
Server leap? What the hell is that? Something like “one potato, two potato”, or “red rover, red rover we dare whatshername over”? Can’t publish my new post; so going back one to see if this will publish.
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Tuesday Too # 19
1.) What do you find most troubling about your way of life? If your life is carefree please give me a hint, which has nothing to do with winning the lottery.
My ability to Rube Goldberg/jerry-rig, or close my eyes to anything and everything that breaks is a constant contributor to a staggering house of cards.
2.) What is your prescription (non psychotropic), or outlet for dealing with stress and anxiety?
Vodka and meditation are my top contenders in the stress reduction department. One or the other depending on my state of mind, and sometimes depending on the time of day. I do not allow myself to drink vodka before the sun passes over the yardarm.
3.) What’s the real reason you get up every morning?
On the silly side, because I love my first cup of coffee in the morning. On the serious side of the bed, it’s because I’m excited about the possibilities that lay before me. I’m going to be doing this, or accomplishing that thing I’ve been wanting to do. On rare occasions the real reason I get up is because, I’m gripped by the miracle of being alive. Those are the best days. Those are the days worth hanging around for.
Post your Url in the comment.
“The Constitution only gives people the right to pursue happiness. You have to catch it yourself.”
–Ben Franklin
Finding A Balance
A balance between too hot and too cold, too much or too little, between being all there and nowhere, between you and me, and me and them. Who to let in, and who to keep out, and how far to let someone in, or how far to go out?
What are you talking about?
I’m not sure really, and it’s time to go for happy hour to hopefully think up tomorrow’s questions, get a bite to eat and relax. For some reason I keep remembering a book I read along time ago “The Incredible Lightness of Being” which I think must be read again. The few books besides thesis related books that I’ve read in the last couple of years were mysteries, while I thoroughly enjoyed them my diet of late is lacking meat.
Fun With Calamities
Somebody once said, “sailing is hours of boredom interspersed with moments of shear terror.” While I don’t find that sailing equates with hours of boredom, each departure from the dock does seem to contain moments of terror, or near calamity of one sort or another.
So what happened this time?
We shoved off, not too promptly at 11 AM. The winds were from the northwest between 5 and 10 knots. Decisions: Do we go up the Severn or down the Severn River? Actually, in nautical terms I’ve forgotten which way is up and which way is down, and while I know that starboard is the right and port the left, I’ve always had trouble telling my right from my left. But that’s another story, involving crashing a hang glider while listening to the instructor hollering, “move to the right, move to the left.” I will give you fair warning; If you’re ever in the passenger seat of my car, when giving me directions you must point. Do not attempt to deliver your instructions totally with verbal commands, unless you are fond of fiascoes.
We’re not in the car; so what happened?
Ah yes, things progressed rather nicely for the most part of Friday. Underway with both the jib and the main sail up, we cut the engine. The wind picked up to 15 knots, and we sailed for several hours towards Round Bay, where we dropped anchor for lunch and a swim. Then we were off to the other side of the river to find a safe harbor for the night. At 6:15 I dropped the anchor from the bow, and we proceeded to have an EOV (end of voyage drink). Around 7 my mother went below to start preparing dinner. My nephew John and I sat talking in the cockpit. I always know when my mother says my father’s name three times in row, something is wrong. “Ward, Ward, Ward”, and no my mother’s name is not June. I peered down into the cabin below and two burners on the alcohol stove, a replacement for the one with the failing burners, were shooting flames a foot high. My father was holding pans over the burners to suppress the flames and telling my mother to shut it off, while my mother was telling my father to be careful. I leapt down into the cabin and took over the pan holding while my father shut the alcohol off. After much fussing and fuming the burners were re lit and my mother and I cooked the meal without trouble.
You said calamities, not calamity.
Yes that’s true, the stove was only the first of the three boating terrors we were to encounter. After dinner and playing “Up The River”, a card game taught to me by my grandfather, we spent a peaceful night, dreaming of “messing about in boats.” The morning was bright and much less humid than the day before, and the wind was gusting to twenty knots. Breakfast was scrambled eggs, fried biscuits, orange juice and coffee. After breakfast my father and John were on deck preparing to explore the surrounding cove by dink, and my mother and I were finishing the dishes down below. When I popped up on deck, I found my father hovering over a navigation chart and pointing out to John various marks. Then my gaze moved to the shoreline, which was fast approaching; we were dragging anchor. “Look dad, start the engine”, I cried as I ran to the bow to start hauling in the dislodged anchor. My dad shouted, “turn on the number two battery Bernice”, and cranked up the engine. John ran forward to help me haul up the anchor, and we avoided running aground, which BTW, would have most likely have lead to hours of boredom, as we waited for tide or towboat on a Saturday morning. However, the idea of running aground always sparks fear in the hearts of sailors both new and old. Thus we narrowly avoided calamity number 2.
Alright you’ve got my attention. What was number 3?
We motored out into the river against the current and the wind; leaving the green markers on the right and the red on the left, which can lead to some confusion if you know the quote, “red right returning”. Returning meaning from the ocean; the confusing part is markers change at mouths of rivers and inlets. In any case, after entering the river I took over the helm and headed into the wind, while John and my dad hauled up the main. I gradually let the boat fall off, which means heading so that the wind fills the sail. My mother stood on the cabin steps, and peered out from under the open bimini top. My father adjusted the topping lift, which raises the boom. The boomvang which holds the boom down and can keep the boat from jibing unexpectedly, snapped and flew at tremendous speed past my mothers face. Luckily no one was hurt, and my dad fixed the fastening while we were underway. We sailed home without further incident, except for the usual problem of retrieving the lines, left hanging from the rear poles at the dock. All in all it was an enjoyable trip, which if planning a longer voyage would have been considered a relatively uneventful shake-down cruise.
Winds of Fortune
All spring I was looking forward to sailing up to Cape Code, with my parents on their boat. NOT happening.
What’s so bad about that?
Coming to terms with the fact that my parents will not be able to take long trips on their boat anymore, and what that really means. What it really means is that the quality of life is sometimes beyond your/their control. Maybe it’s not exactly the quality of life; it’s the loss of the ability to live life to the fullest. I know this already in small ways. For example, I spent the last several days painting a house, humping a big ladder around, climbing up and down, and painting this and that. I’m definitely not as fast as I was at thirty or even forty. Once in awhile I look in the mirror, and say “who is that?” And for God’s sake keep those magnifying mirrors away. I will tell you straight off; I am not a vampire. You do not need to test me. Vampires live forever, or so the legend goes. All Anne Rice fans know, not only are they attractive, but quite lovable as well.
Sailing to vampires?
More precisely sailing to living forever. I won’t, you won’t and most significantly they won’t live forever.
Duh, we know this already.
I know you know, and I know I know, but I forget to remember. Is it a short term memory deficit, or is it a short term memory device for escaping the program? Perhaps it’s like living with your fingers on Ctrl Alt Del.
“Everything happens to everybody sooner or later if there is time enough.”
–George Bernard Shaw
Blogsnob Hacked
Temporarily removing my blogsnob link. Hacked or whatever it’s creating a huge graphic.
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