"All those feathers and he still can't fly!"
This was a signature line on some movie comments. No accreditation, but it sure got my imagination going!
Two people below was this one:
If you can't beat them, arrange to have them beaten.
The comments on the board were dull, but the sig lines made it worth reading.
T: What's your position?
P: Upright, head turned slightly to the left.
T: Why do I bother??!!
The next thread contained:
"you took something perfect and painted it red"
"the war is over the people are dead
the world is empty and so is your head."
Something existential seems to be happening in my head as I read these...
Next post was a bit more exciting:
100 things I learned from Wicker Park (travelling):
1. In the United States, cell phones do not exist.
2. There is no cab available when you need one.
3. There are milions of people at the airport when you look for someone, but otherwise it is half empty. (travelling)
4. Women will pull you into their apartments and instantly start having sex with you. (captshorts)
5. Nice guys finish last. (Mandra-Kara)
...I feel for Luke though. ._.
Continuity: In Chicago, there is only a light dusting of snow, but at the cemetery, there are two or three feet of snow on the ground.
The new porch is just not cutting it for the weather. It stops too quickly on the east side, allowing not only blowing snow, but, more damagingly, ice, to build up underneath it. More specifically, on the door handle. I opened it several times last night, each time having to melt off the buildup with the warmth of my hand. This morning, when I woke up, I had to pound on it from the inside to get it to open.
Oh, yesterday I was feeling so smug. The (paid in full) contractor's receipt had arrived with Saturday's mail, and his body soon followed early Monday afternoon. "We'll deliver a load of rock either later today or tomorrow. I just had to be sure they could make it out and back."
Late that afternoon, I was in the back of the house when I heard what I assumed to be the truck dumping.
I dashed for a window. False alarm. It was the neighbor's tractor combined with my heightened expectations...
Tuesday, I again heard what I thought were dumping noises. I casually finished the sentence, then went to the window. ROCK, real, chunky, clunky rock was hitting the drive.
I relaxed. I'd been worried that it might get too icy for me to make the drive, and I'd miss the critique meeting Sunday. I'm dying to hear what Kevin says about my book!
Never pays to get too smug... It is NOT just a localized ice build-up. The monitors for the group issued "don't travel on Sunday" warnings and suggested email hook-ups. I'd already been sending to the author of the book I'm reading. It is 121 pages, and I'm on page 50, reading slowly and carefully, taking notes, taking the job seriously.