Where did it come from? What did it mean? And why is it sitting on my desk?
Archive for Ventually
There is friendship, and there is magic. And there are times when it might take the latter to bring about the former.
An insufficiently mild horror story of teddy bears and piano teachers.
There is a finite period between the time the leaves start to fall and the time the trees are completely bare. I have no idea how long that might be.
Young whippersnapper aspires to give advice to the old pro; the old pro declines, most ungraciously.
In which the timelines of Twilight Sparkle and Joe Walsh somehow are made to intersect. Admittedly, neither of them drive, but that’s not the important thing.
You think you’re having problems with that damned government health-care site? You should see what I have to put up with.
Yet another collection of things I don’t entirely comprehend because they’re so damned screwy.
Sometimes life is one damn thing after another; other times it’s several damn things at once.
In 1976, Cliff Richard put out an album — his twentieth, not including compilations and side projects — cheekily titled I’m Nearly Famous.
Which, coincidentally, is about the way I’d describe myself.
A Brit this week explained why he’d just as soon not see any more Page 3 girls, which prompted some thoughts, and admittedly unexcited thoughts at that, about the current issue of Playboy.
Maybe I’m getting all worked up over nothing — or maybe I’m not.
From yesterday’s tweetstream:
I do love the sound of the lawn mower (1) slicing up my grass (2) while being pushed by someone else.
— Charles G Hill (@dustbury) August 31, 2013
If that suggests mixed emotions to you, welcome to the club.
Not that I’m going anywhere anytime soon, but I wanted all this on the record.
Did you ever go back and reread something you wrote several years ago? And if so, did you feel compelled to make excuses for so doing?
The vast quantity of (relatively) low-priced downloadable music available these days is truly a boon to civilization.
Except, of course, when it sucks.
Two ships pass, but only one of them winds up running aground.
How much of what we are is predetermined, and how much is actually up to us? Some pony-oriented speculation ensues.
There are things which will make you tear your hair out, and then there are things which will merely make you drop your comb.
A look at some of some of the stuff my dreams are made of, and also some ingredients that were left out of the mix.
Not quite the same as being on the road to Damascus — but perhaps more similar than you might think.
It “splits a family in two, puts people on streets.” You don’t want to know what it does to me.
Have you ever wanted to scream “You’re not helping!” at someone? It’s like that.
It’s one thing to bewail the perceived emptiness of your life; it is quite another to demand a fucking subsidy.
This forgotten (though not by me) Lesley Gore track from the middle 1970s is perfect for the subject at hand:
Our days are numbered. Must they be?