@BOSTON
Lately when I can I head out of town on Sundays for a day to various places that attract me with the allurements of free parking, museums, beautiful women and good places to get lunch.
I am pretty partial to Boston and so I did Boston yesterday. Boston, or at least my perspective on it, can be nutshelled with two images.
History
and girl watching
The Battle of Bunker hill actually happened on Breed's hill and I don't know why they called it the Battle of Bunker Hill but anyway now there is a towering obelisk on Breed's hill in Charlestown which you can basically point your nose toward and when You get there you can observe beautiful women in bikinis sunbathing on the grass while you are also observing a guy in revolitionary era getup demonstrating how to shoot a brown bess musket, these occurrences being no more than 100 feet apart.
Because I am a truly colossal dork I actually watched the entire musket firing demonstration even though I knew approximately 100% of the procedure of firing said musket. And because I am of the gun nut subspecies of colossal dork I'd really like to have a brown bess of my own. But I'm a little ambivalent about actually getting one because I hardly ever do any shooting any more because while I still do like guns they just aren't relevant to the things that concern me at this point in my life.
Boston has a distinct personality from other cities in this regard to the sightseeing. There are beautiful women lying out in the sun in the grassy medians between stretches of roadway and in the grass around the charles river with its decorative flotilla of sailboats on on the grass surrounding any number of historic monuments. I haven't seen anything like that in such parts of NYC or Philadelphia as I've been to, though I cannot believe there isn't some appreciable bikini viewing in central park or along the banks of the Schuylkill if you're there in the right season. It's just that in boston there is a lot of grass in alot of places that attractive women sunbathe on in a way that has no real equivalent, that I've seen, in other cities.
I do hope that they are wearing their sunscreen. Sunbathing is a good thing in that it puts a lot of female skin on display, but I don't want them damaging themselves for the sake of it.
I do wish that I could trade my understanding of brown bess muskets for some understanding of how to be that guy who's lying next to the creamy white female skin on the grass on breed's hill.
I generally despise the interests of average people. "How about those Sox!" and all their worthless chatter about television and dead celebrites and how many headlights were in a 1974 chevy nova, but as an outsider I understand that underneath the worthless subject matter there is the survival value in just having shit to talk about that integrates you in your social group. It's functionally equivalent to ants communicating chemically with the pheromones the sense on one another's antennae. Just knowing some things to say can put you on the grass next to some milky white skin.
My dad has a pretty fair sized library, but it consists entirely of books on hunting and fishing. I read a good portion of those books and grew up wanting for that stuff that I had read to be what was interesting to talk about and what would integrate my into my social group, but mostly that stuff is only interesting to men who drive pickup trucks and can't pronounce the names of foreign gun companies.
The upside of not being integrated into social groups is an open space where you can have an occasional original thought if you're up to it, but there's not many people to share such a thought with.
Whatever. I'm reconstructing my thoughts from ones the computer sent into cyber oblivion.
Boston also has sailboats and one Prudential Center.
Also worth noting, are the USS Cassin Young and a bunch of old cannons lying on the ground in front of her next to a 170 year old maple log for dorks to count the rings on.
I do not know why there is a 170 year old maple log lying on the ground next to a pile of cannons out in front of an old destroyer moored in boston. Not doubt the answer is not in the least bit interesting. But dorks have trouble avoiding at least a little speculation on such matters while reflecting on all the history that happened while the tree was alive. Not that I know precisely when it was cut down.
Back to work tomorrow. I know that bracing for an impact makes the impact worse, but still the feeling is like walking under steel grey clouds that are about to start thunderstorming at any moment. But time turns and turns and turns and Friday comes again, so control your emotions and survive.
Lately when I can I head out of town on Sundays for a day to various places that attract me with the allurements of free parking, museums, beautiful women and good places to get lunch.
I am pretty partial to Boston and so I did Boston yesterday. Boston, or at least my perspective on it, can be nutshelled with two images.
History
and girl watching
The Battle of Bunker hill actually happened on Breed's hill and I don't know why they called it the Battle of Bunker Hill but anyway now there is a towering obelisk on Breed's hill in Charlestown which you can basically point your nose toward and when You get there you can observe beautiful women in bikinis sunbathing on the grass while you are also observing a guy in revolitionary era getup demonstrating how to shoot a brown bess musket, these occurrences being no more than 100 feet apart.
Because I am a truly colossal dork I actually watched the entire musket firing demonstration even though I knew approximately 100% of the procedure of firing said musket. And because I am of the gun nut subspecies of colossal dork I'd really like to have a brown bess of my own. But I'm a little ambivalent about actually getting one because I hardly ever do any shooting any more because while I still do like guns they just aren't relevant to the things that concern me at this point in my life.
Boston has a distinct personality from other cities in this regard to the sightseeing. There are beautiful women lying out in the sun in the grassy medians between stretches of roadway and in the grass around the charles river with its decorative flotilla of sailboats on on the grass surrounding any number of historic monuments. I haven't seen anything like that in such parts of NYC or Philadelphia as I've been to, though I cannot believe there isn't some appreciable bikini viewing in central park or along the banks of the Schuylkill if you're there in the right season. It's just that in boston there is a lot of grass in alot of places that attractive women sunbathe on in a way that has no real equivalent, that I've seen, in other cities.
I do hope that they are wearing their sunscreen. Sunbathing is a good thing in that it puts a lot of female skin on display, but I don't want them damaging themselves for the sake of it.
I do wish that I could trade my understanding of brown bess muskets for some understanding of how to be that guy who's lying next to the creamy white female skin on the grass on breed's hill.
I generally despise the interests of average people. "How about those Sox!" and all their worthless chatter about television and dead celebrites and how many headlights were in a 1974 chevy nova, but as an outsider I understand that underneath the worthless subject matter there is the survival value in just having shit to talk about that integrates you in your social group. It's functionally equivalent to ants communicating chemically with the pheromones the sense on one another's antennae. Just knowing some things to say can put you on the grass next to some milky white skin.
My dad has a pretty fair sized library, but it consists entirely of books on hunting and fishing. I read a good portion of those books and grew up wanting for that stuff that I had read to be what was interesting to talk about and what would integrate my into my social group, but mostly that stuff is only interesting to men who drive pickup trucks and can't pronounce the names of foreign gun companies.
The upside of not being integrated into social groups is an open space where you can have an occasional original thought if you're up to it, but there's not many people to share such a thought with.
Whatever. I'm reconstructing my thoughts from ones the computer sent into cyber oblivion.
Boston also has sailboats and one Prudential Center.
Also worth noting, are the USS Cassin Young and a bunch of old cannons lying on the ground in front of her next to a 170 year old maple log for dorks to count the rings on.
I do not know why there is a 170 year old maple log lying on the ground next to a pile of cannons out in front of an old destroyer moored in boston. Not doubt the answer is not in the least bit interesting. But dorks have trouble avoiding at least a little speculation on such matters while reflecting on all the history that happened while the tree was alive. Not that I know precisely when it was cut down.
Back to work tomorrow. I know that bracing for an impact makes the impact worse, but still the feeling is like walking under steel grey clouds that are about to start thunderstorming at any moment. But time turns and turns and turns and Friday comes again, so control your emotions and survive.
@RAND
I had a thought regarding the Magic 8-Ball, which you have no doubt seen, a fluid filled ball containing a 20 sided die with words on each face, that has provided random answers to untold millions of questions. The thought was this: it would be a great practical joke to create a special die that has an lcd display on one side, that once in a great while will display the message "No, and fuck you for asking."
Actually that last phrase is one that I often would like to use at my job. Various random people will ask me, when I'm unloading soda off the large red vehicle, "can i have a soda" or "can i have a free soda?". Somehow it is funny or something to ask me that. I don't know what answer they expect. But "no, and fuck you for asking" is the answer the question most pointedly deserves. I've also wanted to just ask in reply, "what is the stupidest question that is at all possible to ask someone you see delivering soda? do you ask car dealers for a free car?"
I'd like to be able to carry coupons for free vasectoies. Hand them to people to who pose that question, evidencing that they are stupid enough that offering them the opportunity to opt out of the gene pool at no cost to themselves would be a compassionate gesture both to them and future generations.
The gene pool and my non-legacy therein kind of weighs on my mind lately, being almost forty with no spawn and its not being a strong likelihood that I will ever have any. I have cousins in my generation who have reproduced themselves so at least my DNA will mostly not go extinct even if I never personally shoot anyone full of babies. When I look at it that way it strikes me that "my DNA" is basically an absurd notion; millions of other people have the exact same genes as I do, just in different combinations. My dna is just a bunch of random stuff that I got stuck with. My dna also does not contain a predispositon toward being good at dealing with work, and contians no predispostion toward being good at dealing with people, and as such my genes would be a sorry bequest indeed. I had a terrible time being a son and I think I would be a terrible parent, given how much I hate work and people, and the commitment to dealing with ungodly amounts of both of those things that being a parent entails.
On the other hand one advantage of sexual reproduction is that when you splice 50% of your genes with those another, hopefully you might have an offspring or two who doesn't inherit too much of the portion of your DNA that sucks.
On the third hand human beings are coldly and ferociously competitive creatures and they always try to get the best quality of DNA to splice their own to, and therefore any partner that you are likely to get is likely to have about the same proportion of good DNA to crap DNA that you have, and the people who win the game of getting the best reproductive partners are generally the offspring of other people who won the game of getting the best reproductive partners. To a great extent classism isn't just the protection and hoarding of material wealth within a social class, it is the ferocious guarding of the quality of the gene pool in that social class. It is why, to a great extent, the rich really are better people than the poor, and the cold inexorable truth of why Jacqueline Bouvier always marries Jack Kennedy, and why Roseanne always marries Dan.
____________
I was also thinking that, at least for me, that the only real underlying reason for playing out at open mic night is sex. I can make much better music in my living room, where I can hear myself, and other incomparably better musicians make incomparably better music, performed in public, than I ever could. Going out for the reason of music alone would dictate just listening and not playing, and I often do that, going to places where noone knows that I sometimes pretend like I think I can play the guitar. But sex is an autonomous agenda that does not turn off because its persistence is an inconvenience, and therefore, as I have almost no social ability to speak of, I will occasionally still attempt to do some songs at open mics, a thing which, considered on the basis of my actual abilities, I have no business trying.
I had a bunch more negative stuff to run on about but I'm a little typed out. Blogging is cheaper than seeing a shrink for just having a context in which to talk about shit that's bothering you.
tchuss
@end
I had a thought regarding the Magic 8-Ball, which you have no doubt seen, a fluid filled ball containing a 20 sided die with words on each face, that has provided random answers to untold millions of questions. The thought was this: it would be a great practical joke to create a special die that has an lcd display on one side, that once in a great while will display the message "No, and fuck you for asking."
Actually that last phrase is one that I often would like to use at my job. Various random people will ask me, when I'm unloading soda off the large red vehicle, "can i have a soda" or "can i have a free soda?". Somehow it is funny or something to ask me that. I don't know what answer they expect. But "no, and fuck you for asking" is the answer the question most pointedly deserves. I've also wanted to just ask in reply, "what is the stupidest question that is at all possible to ask someone you see delivering soda? do you ask car dealers for a free car?"
I'd like to be able to carry coupons for free vasectoies. Hand them to people to who pose that question, evidencing that they are stupid enough that offering them the opportunity to opt out of the gene pool at no cost to themselves would be a compassionate gesture both to them and future generations.
The gene pool and my non-legacy therein kind of weighs on my mind lately, being almost forty with no spawn and its not being a strong likelihood that I will ever have any. I have cousins in my generation who have reproduced themselves so at least my DNA will mostly not go extinct even if I never personally shoot anyone full of babies. When I look at it that way it strikes me that "my DNA" is basically an absurd notion; millions of other people have the exact same genes as I do, just in different combinations. My dna is just a bunch of random stuff that I got stuck with. My dna also does not contain a predispositon toward being good at dealing with work, and contians no predispostion toward being good at dealing with people, and as such my genes would be a sorry bequest indeed. I had a terrible time being a son and I think I would be a terrible parent, given how much I hate work and people, and the commitment to dealing with ungodly amounts of both of those things that being a parent entails.
On the other hand one advantage of sexual reproduction is that when you splice 50% of your genes with those another, hopefully you might have an offspring or two who doesn't inherit too much of the portion of your DNA that sucks.
On the third hand human beings are coldly and ferociously competitive creatures and they always try to get the best quality of DNA to splice their own to, and therefore any partner that you are likely to get is likely to have about the same proportion of good DNA to crap DNA that you have, and the people who win the game of getting the best reproductive partners are generally the offspring of other people who won the game of getting the best reproductive partners. To a great extent classism isn't just the protection and hoarding of material wealth within a social class, it is the ferocious guarding of the quality of the gene pool in that social class. It is why, to a great extent, the rich really are better people than the poor, and the cold inexorable truth of why Jacqueline Bouvier always marries Jack Kennedy, and why Roseanne always marries Dan.
____________
I was also thinking that, at least for me, that the only real underlying reason for playing out at open mic night is sex. I can make much better music in my living room, where I can hear myself, and other incomparably better musicians make incomparably better music, performed in public, than I ever could. Going out for the reason of music alone would dictate just listening and not playing, and I often do that, going to places where noone knows that I sometimes pretend like I think I can play the guitar. But sex is an autonomous agenda that does not turn off because its persistence is an inconvenience, and therefore, as I have almost no social ability to speak of, I will occasionally still attempt to do some songs at open mics, a thing which, considered on the basis of my actual abilities, I have no business trying.
I had a bunch more negative stuff to run on about but I'm a little typed out. Blogging is cheaper than seeing a shrink for just having a context in which to talk about shit that's bothering you.
tchuss
@end
Kind of a second rate weekend so far.
Friday I had an early day at work so I actually got a little time to go home and sleep a little and practice a little guitar before doing open mic night. Then when I got up to play I immediately hit some wrong notes on the first song I started to do and the people who had been waiting for nothing of interest to be going on took their cue to leave and by the time i was done with my second song I was playing to an empty room. There were still a couple of people at the metal tables outside however. People on the metal tables outside consistently tell me I did a good job but I tend to feel that the empty room indicates otherwise.
It seems to me that if your self esteem or self-confidence is below a certain threshold it's hard to ever build it up again. You can practice and practice your guitar songs but even though you're 39 years old and you're sposta be all grown up and mature and you've done it dozens of times before your nerves still are overwhelmed and you screw up easy songs that you've played hundreds of times. The audience decides it's time to move on, and what there was of your self confidence feels about like bug that just lost a game of chicken with a windshield.
So yesterday I halfheartedly tried practicing a little guitar in the morning, didn't really get anywhere with that, then I went out looking for something to photograph. I visited a coupld of old graveyards that I had passed driving the red truck around. I didn't take any photographs. At an old cemetery in Templeton I found a stone that was five stones, shortest at the far left and tallest at the right, four children and their mother who had been wiped out by an illness in 1806 or 7 I think, leaving their husband/father disconsolate. So sometimes I feel like a dick for not being happier when It is evident that lots of people have had far more terrible experiences than I've ever had.
Normally on a sunday I would go wandering off somewhere. Last week I did boston. Nice time but I got a 40 dollar parking ticket. Today I'm not really going anywhere, as I have to attend a birthday party for my father.
About it for the moment I guess.
Friday I had an early day at work so I actually got a little time to go home and sleep a little and practice a little guitar before doing open mic night. Then when I got up to play I immediately hit some wrong notes on the first song I started to do and the people who had been waiting for nothing of interest to be going on took their cue to leave and by the time i was done with my second song I was playing to an empty room. There were still a couple of people at the metal tables outside however. People on the metal tables outside consistently tell me I did a good job but I tend to feel that the empty room indicates otherwise.
It seems to me that if your self esteem or self-confidence is below a certain threshold it's hard to ever build it up again. You can practice and practice your guitar songs but even though you're 39 years old and you're sposta be all grown up and mature and you've done it dozens of times before your nerves still are overwhelmed and you screw up easy songs that you've played hundreds of times. The audience decides it's time to move on, and what there was of your self confidence feels about like bug that just lost a game of chicken with a windshield.
So yesterday I halfheartedly tried practicing a little guitar in the morning, didn't really get anywhere with that, then I went out looking for something to photograph. I visited a coupld of old graveyards that I had passed driving the red truck around. I didn't take any photographs. At an old cemetery in Templeton I found a stone that was five stones, shortest at the far left and tallest at the right, four children and their mother who had been wiped out by an illness in 1806 or 7 I think, leaving their husband/father disconsolate. So sometimes I feel like a dick for not being happier when It is evident that lots of people have had far more terrible experiences than I've ever had.
Normally on a sunday I would go wandering off somewhere. Last week I did boston. Nice time but I got a 40 dollar parking ticket. Today I'm not really going anywhere, as I have to attend a birthday party for my father.
About it for the moment I guess.
I'm pretty depressed this morning.
Last night at open mic I cleared the room with half a song. A few bum notes. I try to tell myself that I'd be okay with something like that happening but I really can't manage to be okay with it.
I've been in this positon before, not knowing whether it would be more pitiful and childish to keep trying or to quit.
Last night at open mic I cleared the room with half a song. A few bum notes. I try to tell myself that I'd be okay with something like that happening but I really can't manage to be okay with it.
I've been in this positon before, not knowing whether it would be more pitiful and childish to keep trying or to quit.
Well hello again
It was a little disconcerting to find comments on my last blog after something of a comment dry spell. Hopefully I won't get any comments on this blog.
A while ago, as in 20+ years ago when I was in high school there was a bit of an argument in my psychology class about the nature vs nurture disagreement. The subject was Chales Manson and his contention that he is a product of society. Some people agree with him and others disagree and think he should get the chair, you've heard it all before I'm sure.
I guess my view on the matter is that humans have incomplete self-determination. It is philosophically and psychologically untidy. A bunch of shit happens when you're a kid and you're kind of fucked up. Or you have talents and good family and friends and have a great childhood. But anyway my childhood wasn't all that hot in some respects and I came out of it an emotional wreck. I'm still kind of one, stressful situations at work bring out my anger and I don't much care for the company of me at work. Last weekend I was out on one of my photographic expeditions and I went back over that thought that humans have incomplete self determination. It sort of stopped me in my tracks. Not like a brick wall but it gave me pause. I guess being human is kind of like being a sewage treatment plant, you try to distill some pure water out of raw shit. Shit happens but art is made, to borrow a phrase from Ken Rockwell. Shit happens to you but you at least have the opportunity to try keeping your head, and putting together something worthwhile. Life is an opportunity to create something where there is no pre-existing order.
I find that I don't like people any better, the more thoroughly I get to understand them.
A couple guys at work have bought houses recently. I heard one kind of sigh and say that he was going to be in debt for the rest of his life. I suppose that is the way of the oxen. If they are still standing at the end of the day the feel like maybe they ought to add some more weight to their burdens.
"the ox people" is a personal term i've used for many years to refer to most people besides myself. I guess i'll go back to high school again for a minute. I remember my chem study teacher saying he wanted to kill me because I got the highest or second highest grade on the final exam, when i had been getting Ds for grades that year. the other kids obviously had gotten better grades than me, but they hadn't retained the material to the point of being able to kick butt on the final. but that's not important, i think. what's important is that they had accepted the conditioning to stick their necks in and pull when the yoke was put before them, and that's what makes them a utilizable resource, workers, the ox people. and I couldn't make that adjustment.
i'm not sure what to believe that I could do, that would be worth doing, that would make a better life than the lot of the oxen. I'm an okay photographer. there are better ones out there. and doing weddings and shit like that is just making more of the brick and mortar of human averageness. I can throw pottery on the wheel, but I don't know how to get started in a business and I don't want to just throw the same mug ten thousand times, that is just being a potter-ox.
so that's just some raw sewage I have to try and distill something of value out of.
Your average woodland waterfall. Click on for bigger and prettier
Your average architectural abstraction
It was a little disconcerting to find comments on my last blog after something of a comment dry spell. Hopefully I won't get any comments on this blog.
A while ago, as in 20+ years ago when I was in high school there was a bit of an argument in my psychology class about the nature vs nurture disagreement. The subject was Chales Manson and his contention that he is a product of society. Some people agree with him and others disagree and think he should get the chair, you've heard it all before I'm sure.
I guess my view on the matter is that humans have incomplete self-determination. It is philosophically and psychologically untidy. A bunch of shit happens when you're a kid and you're kind of fucked up. Or you have talents and good family and friends and have a great childhood. But anyway my childhood wasn't all that hot in some respects and I came out of it an emotional wreck. I'm still kind of one, stressful situations at work bring out my anger and I don't much care for the company of me at work. Last weekend I was out on one of my photographic expeditions and I went back over that thought that humans have incomplete self determination. It sort of stopped me in my tracks. Not like a brick wall but it gave me pause. I guess being human is kind of like being a sewage treatment plant, you try to distill some pure water out of raw shit. Shit happens but art is made, to borrow a phrase from Ken Rockwell. Shit happens to you but you at least have the opportunity to try keeping your head, and putting together something worthwhile. Life is an opportunity to create something where there is no pre-existing order.
I find that I don't like people any better, the more thoroughly I get to understand them.
A couple guys at work have bought houses recently. I heard one kind of sigh and say that he was going to be in debt for the rest of his life. I suppose that is the way of the oxen. If they are still standing at the end of the day the feel like maybe they ought to add some more weight to their burdens.
"the ox people" is a personal term i've used for many years to refer to most people besides myself. I guess i'll go back to high school again for a minute. I remember my chem study teacher saying he wanted to kill me because I got the highest or second highest grade on the final exam, when i had been getting Ds for grades that year. the other kids obviously had gotten better grades than me, but they hadn't retained the material to the point of being able to kick butt on the final. but that's not important, i think. what's important is that they had accepted the conditioning to stick their necks in and pull when the yoke was put before them, and that's what makes them a utilizable resource, workers, the ox people. and I couldn't make that adjustment.
i'm not sure what to believe that I could do, that would be worth doing, that would make a better life than the lot of the oxen. I'm an okay photographer. there are better ones out there. and doing weddings and shit like that is just making more of the brick and mortar of human averageness. I can throw pottery on the wheel, but I don't know how to get started in a business and I don't want to just throw the same mug ten thousand times, that is just being a potter-ox.
so that's just some raw sewage I have to try and distill something of value out of.
Your average woodland waterfall. Click on for bigger and prettier
Your average architectural abstraction
Vexation.
Vexation is a day that is bigtime humid and cloudy and gross. I like sunny with maybe a few puffy white clouds, indicating that it would be good to head off to boston or hartford or new haven and wander about on my bike. A day of pouring rain would also be markedly less vexing than this, I would stay in and have a go at learing some new stuff on the guitar. Bigtime humid and cloudy and gross could go in the direction of thunderstorms, bad for wandering about, or it could clear up. Weather reports indicate it could go either way.
Vexation is dust on the sensor of your DSLR. It is hard to clean a dslr sensor without making a bigger mess of it than it already is.
Vexation is a day that is bigtime humid and cloudy and gross. I like sunny with maybe a few puffy white clouds, indicating that it would be good to head off to boston or hartford or new haven and wander about on my bike. A day of pouring rain would also be markedly less vexing than this, I would stay in and have a go at learing some new stuff on the guitar. Bigtime humid and cloudy and gross could go in the direction of thunderstorms, bad for wandering about, or it could clear up. Weather reports indicate it could go either way.
Vexation is dust on the sensor of your DSLR. It is hard to clean a dslr sensor without making a bigger mess of it than it already is.
@rand
I had the thought that if I were an advertising person for the Mini car company I'd go after the actress Minnie Driver to be the spokes person for my company. She'd be Minnie Driver the Mini Driver. On the other hand if I were Minnie Driver I don't imagine I'd want my name to be a permanent automobile advertisement.
I also had a thought in relation to a couple of blogs back. Shmoe, as in Joe Schmoe, an average random person, is another word that could use the _eaux pluralization. So we could have a somewhat new term, "Schmeaux". The term would be indicative of a group of random persons of unremarkable average character. I don't know if we have a term with that exact nuace of meaning right now. There's "people" which isn't quite as specific as that in meaning. "hoi polloi" is an archaic usage, straight from the greek, more or less, which just literally means "the many" as apposed to the few, or the upper classes. Schmeaux are the inhabitants of a sports bar, the people working at or waiting in line at macdonald's.
"See if anyone's still in the store so we can lock up"
"There's still a coupla schmeaux in the canned goods aisle."
@end
I had the thought that if I were an advertising person for the Mini car company I'd go after the actress Minnie Driver to be the spokes person for my company. She'd be Minnie Driver the Mini Driver. On the other hand if I were Minnie Driver I don't imagine I'd want my name to be a permanent automobile advertisement.
I also had a thought in relation to a couple of blogs back. Shmoe, as in Joe Schmoe, an average random person, is another word that could use the _eaux pluralization. So we could have a somewhat new term, "Schmeaux". The term would be indicative of a group of random persons of unremarkable average character. I don't know if we have a term with that exact nuace of meaning right now. There's "people" which isn't quite as specific as that in meaning. "hoi polloi" is an archaic usage, straight from the greek, more or less, which just literally means "the many" as apposed to the few, or the upper classes. Schmeaux are the inhabitants of a sports bar, the people working at or waiting in line at macdonald's.
"See if anyone's still in the store so we can lock up"
"There's still a coupla schmeaux in the canned goods aisle."
@end
Well, It happened to me.
SomeboIdy got hold of my debit card number and cleaned three thousand dollars out of my checking account. It was rather upsetting to phone the bank when my card was declined, while paying for some work on my car, to find that i had $48 left in my account.
Somebody apparently from indiana. I never really liked Indiana when I was there.
The bank says I'll get my money back when the proper forms are filled out. I daresay I'm kinda worried about it.
I daresay that my bank is not really on top of things if they don't notice somebody charging hundreds/thousands of dollars on my card in indiana and california on the same day that I'm purchasing things in mass. Ironically I checked my balance one day before the fraudulent charges started up, at which time it was fine.
Fortunately I never deposited my federal income tax return so I have a few dollars for gas and food.
Great thing to have happen on your week's vaca from work.
In other stupid news I had a nice time wandering around boston on sunday and I'm learning "with or without you" on the guitar.
6/10 I phoned the bank this morning, they've credited me for the fraudulent purchases.
SomeboIdy got hold of my debit card number and cleaned three thousand dollars out of my checking account. It was rather upsetting to phone the bank when my card was declined, while paying for some work on my car, to find that i had $48 left in my account.
Somebody apparently from indiana. I never really liked Indiana when I was there.
The bank says I'll get my money back when the proper forms are filled out. I daresay I'm kinda worried about it.
I daresay that my bank is not really on top of things if they don't notice somebody charging hundreds/thousands of dollars on my card in indiana and california on the same day that I'm purchasing things in mass. Ironically I checked my balance one day before the fraudulent charges started up, at which time it was fine.
Fortunately I never deposited my federal income tax return so I have a few dollars for gas and food.
Great thing to have happen on your week's vaca from work.
In other stupid news I had a nice time wandering around boston on sunday and I'm learning "with or without you" on the guitar.
6/10 I phoned the bank this morning, they've credited me for the fraudulent purchases.
@RAND
I was just thinking that it would be cool to pluralize "mojo" as "mojeaux". That would look very literate and sophisticated. I don't suppose it woud see much use though, Mojo is not a word commonly seen pluralized, as person's mojo seldom operates in close conjunction with another's.
Museums are nice because you can gaze intently at something as long as you want and noone will come up to you and ask if they can help you, supposing that you might want to buy it. Old graveyards also have merit in this regard.
I thought I had some other thoughts, but I'm too tired to recall them at the moment, apparently.
@END
I was just thinking that it would be cool to pluralize "mojo" as "mojeaux". That would look very literate and sophisticated. I don't suppose it woud see much use though, Mojo is not a word commonly seen pluralized, as person's mojo seldom operates in close conjunction with another's.
Museums are nice because you can gaze intently at something as long as you want and noone will come up to you and ask if they can help you, supposing that you might want to buy it. Old graveyards also have merit in this regard.
I thought I had some other thoughts, but I'm too tired to recall them at the moment, apparently.
@END
