why is Blogger doing this annoying thing whereby I hit "return" and it does a return but the cursor lags behind and does not show up where you would expect it to show up after hitting (pressing, tapping, punching) "return"?
orghastly -- dreadfully unerotic
trangible -- the ability to change roles or identity tangibly
furtastic -- hairy
simiantic -- playful, like a monkey
spellucid -- clearly misspelled
aboriginull -- a big zero, from start to finish
boysterous -- noisy male
zenophobic -- fear of silence
creolelicious-- tasty, mixed
wombididous -- comfy
dentulated -- smiley-faced
thorid -- hot and horrible
eerian -- scary but manly
sinducantatorian -- of or relating to terrible singing
feculoresque -- musty
rentorvid -- late
guntible -- evocative
quancate -- shortened
harrowgant -- annoying and condescending
pawline -- witty
I'm thinking, I'm thinking
ask your father mother your Aunt Thistle Uncle de mon Oncle
sometimes but not never or always
what is the question again
only if Soren Kierkegaard concurs
yes I will yes or maybe not
especially if I can insert a serial comma
I sink; therefore I swam
The Giants win the Series! The Giants win the Series!
I lost count
if you say so
you don't say
always on Sunday, never on Tuesday
when in the coarse of humane events
as simply as possible, but not simpler
in free-fall cosmic surrender
I sheepishly declare I already miss those blankets of albino secrets, the snowy terrain of silvery silence, muffling the ruffling of earthly murmurings. Snow what? I miss you.
I miss you like that vacant hour we were forced to surrender at 2 a.m., like it or not, with some vague promise of getting it back this fall. I miss that hour. I hardly knew ye, EST. And now DSY comes barging in here, al naked and primal, all quasi-equinox and all, all artificial-like. Poseur.
gusts that shake the house rattle the windows rip the wind out of the word windows leaving vowelistic or consonantine crevices wind that winds pronounced with a long eye wind the wends when you know not from whence it comes or to where it goes people talk of spiritual things they use the word inspiration take a breath spirit you got it wind that's what it is in mouthy doses blow breath wind windrow winding windy winsome windilescence winderful whoosh put all that in your spellchecker and guffaw
For eight weekdays in a row now, I've worn a tie, a different tie each day. Jaunty ties, dressy ties, sober ties. No bow ties yet, though I have a very fine, handmade collection of bow ties.
Why this sartorial binge?
I'm not entirely sure of why I embarked on this experiment. I didn't see myself embarking on anything, really; it just happened into a habit. So far.
Perhaps I was inspired by the mother of my daughter's friend, who wore a different dress for 30 straight days. And then created a blog to tell about it. But this is different. I work at home. I could theoretically stay in my pajamas till noon, or later. And I won't publicly say whether I have accomplished that feat (speaking of feet, don't you just love pajamas with feet? No, I don't have those). I also often work on weekends, during which I don't shave or wear a tie, except for church. Episcopalian.
It is simply too facile to say I did it (or am doing it) to be more "professional," to exemplify the thinking that says: If you are making sales calls or telemarketing, wear a suit. I don't know if I've ever bought into that, whether it is empirically fruitful or as productive as making calls with a tin-can-and-string phone.
But I have had a good week or so.
So who knows?
Another tie tomorrow, for a meeting in the morning. Who knows, maybe even a second tie for another meeting in the afternoon. You may call that "tying one on," but if I were to tie one on in the sense of abdicating an abstinence of many years, one day at a time, I'd be truly tie-died, tied-dead, three sheets to the wind, in my winding sheet -- to put it in jejune Joycean terms.
Hard to believe it snowed more than 18 inches about 10 days ago. There's been a bright orange orb in the sky, an orange orb in Syracuse, home of the Orangemen. This orb, this disk, this disc, this dish, this ... this blinding splash of illumination shocks us with surprise, awakens us, even warms us by the afternoon.