fitt's law
blog
theory
Blogs are for people that are too tired to flush their poop down the loo. Instead it becomes opinion on the interweb. Only that it is sold as fact. And that is exactly what this is.
reality
Whisked in assorted excerpts from EE for posterity. More fact then...
makeover
Effervescent as she was, her fingers ran through my hair only to stop 2 inches short of the point of no return. Every movement, every sensation, dare I say..every breath moved me a little closer to the razor sharp desire that her being was all about. During the final moments of our encounter it was suddenly perfectly clear to me... I would leave a massive tip this time, barbers like this are hard to come by, and as usually a cut above the rest...
homeward
I will seriously consider selling one of my castles to be able to afford working half days. The race to get home in time has a certain charm but usually the road swings by like a scythe at sundown in an underpopulated area of the Peru Andes. Do I have a choice? Was there something left to be done? Anymore than I hadn't already thought of? By the time I get back to the house I curse one more time my dependency on electric toothbrushes, firehose assemblies and the small mercy of once again only nearly flattening a human being in my pursuit. Not to speak of that poor man who's set of kitchen knifes (which he dropped in panic on the zebra crossing) are decidedly bent out of shape...mind you I just didn't give him enough time to throw them at me...
no ink
No doubt, there are lessons to be learned....the day had its glory spot this morning when, for a short moment between first and second post-apocalyptic alarm-nap, I thought time stood still ....I really thought it happened. I could slowly feel my brain frizzing up. Oh goody, a day without panic, no sweat, all calm and collected, simply explained by a bout of writer's block. But, when a bear has a proverbial in the woods and a rabbit comes by, it has to be very quick not to be taken for a convenient loo roll substitute. Hence it becomes a choice: Editorial qualities in the dawn as a fading talent or join the stinky furry creatures hidden in the morning mist. Agony ensues...
faceless
It must have been round about the time when I was roadying for the band when I lost my ability to recollect names when I saw a face. We happened to arrive at a venue that we had played 9 months before and I already had trouble remembering the organizers names, when this girl came in put her arms around me and exercised a very sporty attempt of removing my tonsils without surgical instruments. After what felt like a breathless eternity, she looked up and said 'Hi gorgeous' only to proceed to apply what felt like a Dracula's bite to my neck... She stopped...she looked at me...she looked at my neck...she looked at me again....she left. Baffled, I discovered later that the spider web tattoo she had expected on my neck must either have vanished since she last saw me or she mistook me for the wrong guy. Finally, I was not alone!
marketing
For centuries we have wondered whether there is a small child somewhere in the Outer Hebrides making little socks out of lint. Now that we know for sure, we have to thank the little chap for being the birth-ground of the industrial revolution that we are accustomed to. But what if that little kid would have had Transformers or Powerangers instead of its lint stock, would we have got to where we are now? Not that I proclaim I know where I am but, lets just say for argument sake he would have been saturated by plastic crapvertisement , would that lint sock have been as appealing to start it all. I venture to say no, it would have been highly unlikely. And that's why it will be lint for birthdays and x-mas from now on, see if my kid is going start the next big thing rather than simply bending cars into robots whilst crossing his arms and shouting loudly&darn media blitz, I blame corporate marketing and face huggers...
travel food
Scotland, bonny Scotland! Usual sensations towards crooked politicians, estate agents and general no-do-good lawyers don't even come close to the disgust and sense of moral distaste I was confronted with on my latest outing to the Scottish isles. Did I ask for the lady of the house' first born? Had I just insulted William Wallace and all his descendants?? Had I spit in the haggis mix? Had I let the air out of her bagpipe?? No, I simply asked for some bread rolls, small floury yummy bread rolls. And that in a bakery of all places. Mind you it was late in the day, possibly 3 or 4 o'clock in the afternoon, understandably one is grumpy so short before closing time. But the look on the shopkeepers face was unbelievable. I must have hit a nerve or something, probably her only working one. She was cross, and whilst I got my rolls and she continued chewing that wasp, I will probably never find out why, but if looks could kill she would have gotten 15 years for that...but maybe it's just me, looks are deceiving, then and now again...
brain waves
Sometimes I think my brain is like a set of keys. Take my bunch for example. There are some that I currently use which I have marked with coloured rings so I know when I beerladenly fumble for the right one that unless I go colour blind as a side effect, my drunken entry attempt will not be unnecessarily delayed. I cherish these and will feel lost without them. Years ago however I did not need the fancy reminders but would recognise by the shape or edge what lock it belonged too...now on the other hand I have more keys than I apparently need, I really have know idea what they are for although I still carry them around. At some time in the past they must have had a use and I must have had the same fondness for them as I have for my current set, but I have no obvious use for them now .. not to talk about the ones I have lost over the years...I have made plans to clear out the old, and only take with me the ones I can identify, but somewhat I feel apprehensive as you never know whether you need a discarded one to unlock that lock you've forgotten about...
