Hi! Wedding Report: We need more, good, or fewer, good, words. I know because I don't know the words. And if they were here, I would. I am 46, and must know all the good words ~ I mean, if I haven't memorized it by now, is isn't good enough. Period. Sorry ~ those are my criteria.
I will be making a list of blank spaces in the language, vacancies, with marks on either side. Chalk lines.
Chalk. I like that word.
These can be penciled in, except for TC, who will choke and miss his opportunity until we get to sleep.
I also, Rambi, feel like I can't keep up with DAR. Where are you going cruising? Aren't you a little old for that? Wear a hat.
And I tried to find out what was wrong with Mel, by reading backwards, and that was pretty icky and I still didn't find out. But I don't like it when I see Lather say something is serious. Did you know I can read backwards?
"Ochre" is a nice word. Oohh. Yum.
I would also prefer, i.e. imho, new words to sound nice. More sonally descriptive. More onomatopoeia, less onomotopoeia.
"Imho", I don't like. Ugh.
Some dramas should also have words. By now. We're getting behind. I'm serious. I'm thinking of things that happen in life, like traffic. But honest (this is funny) the first example of an event, that I could think of, is when a parachutist hits the ground. A non-parachutist, it would be. A "having a bad day" parachutist. Think about that impact.
Shouldn't there be a word for that moment? Doesn't it deserve one? We all must have thought about it. What it feels like to come down ten thousand feet ~ whoosh whoosh whoosh rumple whoosh ~ and then, then, hit the ground. There's a moment where one part ends, the worry and wonder, and the other part begins. It's dramatic. It's happened to quite a few people. I don't know how long the moment takes, from first contact to Jello. I know it would take longer if you were upright. You might want to go head first, but see how that sounds like it's gonna hurt? I got news for ya, buddy....
Denouement isn't right. Just think about that moment. Does it hurt? Well, yah, but maybe not. "Fell to his death." It's almost rude to say that. Really got creamed, is a start. Fok. "Got down."
Think if you're a bug or worm, and you escape birds and pesticides and get killed by an airborne human. It's enough to make you feel bad. They must compress the soil some.
Think a mouse has ever been hit by a human? That would be one unlucky mouse. Perhaps the unluckiest. I like to think about the unique mice. There was probably a mouse on the Hindenburg.
Just think how much hassle it would be to get food, from farms, if that was the only way to kill bugs. Or if it was meteorites. "Got one!!"
BTW, I swear if I hear another newscaster or see another newspaper headline with "shots rang out", I'm going to start my own terrorist attacks. On newspeople. Can the rang, okay? You're losers. Get some tools, whifflehead. It's like showing up for work without your tape measure.
I wish I were an editor. I would have wires under the desks around everyone's nuts that ran to my office.
"Shots rang oWWWWWWWWWWWW."
Guys around my studio, would be desperate on breaking news. "Lead spits at Thurston High." "Flying objects identified in bodies." "Bullets flee for exit wounds." "Twix Bar, Twix Bar, Twix Bar, Twix Twix Twix."
Do you ever look at newscasters and think, I hope she's good in bed, because at least she will have done something valuable in her life? All you have to do is say a few words, and get it right, honey. Pretend the microphone is a wiener. Somewhere at KATU, there's a happy station manager. He doesn't notice her, I guess. "I can't watch." Peabody and Peabrains.
Speaking of coming down to earth, as a parachutist, a fatalist, you're not falling down, either, you're being drawn to. Attracted. Sucked. Pretty much, sideways. In. Look down at your feet, and point, that's the way in. People on the ground think they're standing up, but they're really standing sideways, poking off into space, stuck to the ball at their feet because the gound stops you, thank goodness. You're like the hairs on a tennis ball. You're coming down constantly, and the ground stops you. You could come down without a parachute constantly, without a problem, if the gound didn't intersect you. The ground got there first, and it's the problem.
But if you realize you're only stuck to the side of the earth, and trees are too, then when you stand up you can feel like you're going to fall forward or backwards. Overcompensate. All of a sudden you feel "loose." Which you really are, except for gravity. When I lie on my left side in the grass on sunny days, I open my eyes and know instinctively, I can picture, that I'm really floating in space and snuggled up to this ball. Like a surface worm. I feel "more stuck" then. Lying along, parked alongside, the big ball. Drifting in space, but attracted to this big thing. I'm glad it likes me, that I have enough mass to be attractive to it, because floating in space is boring. It's like a big shoulder. I feel safer. Then when I stand up, my mind has been "re-ordered", and I tend to get up too far and almost fall over. I have to put my arms out, for balance, like I'm on a surfbaord.
Another reason people think I've been drinking. Science is like that.
Lie in the grass and check it out - you can really feel your shoulders being drawn to the center, pulled inward, glommed on to the surface. You're being pulled hard, and it's a good thing you're already here at the surface, because you would intersect it fast and hard if you weren't. The ground looks like a vertical from that position, and you can really feel the planet. It's amazing you're orbiting that close. Really close. As close as you can get unless you fall in a hole. It's handy, because it "orders" everything. But then when you get to stand up, it seems like you should fall, because you are now very aware of the fact you'll be pointing out into space. It doesn't seem safe.
If you do this at the ocean, or at a large distant vista above a flat valley, like the Great Salt Lake Basin from the foothills, once you lie down and orient to the big ball on your left, you extend your eyes to the horizon, and you can see one of the wonders of life ~ the curve of the earth. It's quite a thrill. And easy to see from this position. You can actually see how big this ball is. Can't miss it. It's incredibly exciting. It's the only way I know, outside of space, that you can see how big your earth is. What it actually looks like.
If part of the moon is out, like at this time in the afternoon sky with the waxing ("getting bigger") moon, you can see it's here with us, traveling to the left, with half of it's surface illuminated by the same sunlight burning your head. You can see it as the real ball it is, obviously smaller than us, floating peacefully, but moving dynamically. A white ball in a blue soup. And you can understand that the reason it's going higher in the sky, westward, to set after the sun, is because we are turning underneath it, catching up, going faster than it is. You can actually see it. It's easy.
Then you see your position on earth. You can feel it, with all your senses, as you lie there. You can see it, which humans are not wont to do. You can tell from the arrangemt of these globes, moon and earth, like balled-up drops of water, and the rays of sunlight coming to them, in bath of light we're sitting in, why in that position one half of the moon is lighted and the other half is in shadow. Because it's in the same sunlight you are. The light is coming from over your right shoulder, the star over there, a big thing, but far away thing. The rays to both of you are parallel rays; to both earth and moon. A sphere would look that way, from this position, the side half-lighted, any sphere would; any sphere a foot in front of your face.
You can see that all the light poles, and trees ~ basically anything upright ~ casts a shadow that tells you where you are on earth, north/south. And you see the moon moving toward the left-ish surface of the earth, toward the limb, the arc, on a twenty-eight day voyage around, and you think "Don't things ever get mixed up with it whirling around out there, stuck to us in motion" ~ and yah, when it does, you get an eclipse.
And you can calculate the circumference of the earth all by yourself now, and see how they learned to predict eclipses in ancient time.
And so when my niece, who is 17, yet has never met me, (we did mention reclusive, didn't we?) walked up to me, lying in the grass at the far end of the five acre field while the marriage ceremony proceeded, and said, "What are you thinking about?", I said, "Renoir and Eratosthenes." I pointed loosely at the dappled daylight and moon.
"Ooooh" she said.
I think it was a homer. A homer for Homer Simpson.
She smiled at me; very nicely.
"Wanna have sex?" I said, as I spilt my beer. |
