Random Nibble(s)

To my dear Fan, Please take the time to read this posting as in many ways it is very uplifting. Except for the Seahawks part. They're weenies. :/ http://nonprofitwithballs.com/2014/01/dear-business-community-please-remember-these-10-things-about-nonprofits/

Sorry. Tonight is a bust. I should have written this morning. I was on fire this morning. Kill every one and let the gods sort them out. Then I mellowed. So much for that. No picture either? Give me a moment. See now? Saved it. Thank you Brownies!

Blaa blaa blaa the " Pay It Forward " initiative. The first five people who comment on this status with "I'm a little tea pot", will receive a surprise from me at some point in a calendar year prior to your death or maybe this year. It's a surprise for gods' sake. Yes. I am serious about this. Just in case you disbelieve me... YES. I. Am. Serious. About. This. Anything from a book, a ticket, a visit*, and absolutely any surprise ! (as 'unexpected' is the usual criteria for 'surprise'. See also 'no warning'.) There will be no warning (see) and it will happen when the mood comes over me (hence the long, or short, time frame. I am capricious.) and I find (or make. Likely make.) something that I believe would suit you and make you happy. These five people must make the same offer in their FB status and distribute their own joy. Let me repeat that.... These five people must make the same offer in their FB status and distribute their ...

The iconic Apple Store window was shattered by a snowblowing company. For most buildings this wouldn't be too bad. Put up some plywood until the window is fixed; problem, temporarily, solved.  Problem: the iconic Apple Store window is a glass cube. Vis a wii the exterior. Sooooo... Ouch. Oh, and the cost is something like $560,000 to replace the glass. I have two tracks that the snowblowing company can take. The company that blew the snow should say that they can't get it replaced, however, they can get Apple a reconditioned building for $330,000. It will have a limited warranty and should work like the original building. They should then offer a protective leather covering that will, not only keeps the building from shattering but also turn it off and on when opened and closed. The second is as follows. File for chapter 11. Say that the glass will wash down stream and that the regular building will return in a "few days". The mayor can reassure the people that it...

There are no Golden Ages. Just memories rewritten  by future ghosts that long for a time  that neither was as it was nor captured accurately.  There is always petty human nature. There is always acts of valor that, at the time, were simply an act that needed doing. By any one. Kings. Villains. Murderers.

I have this idea that doesn't leave.  It involves going for a walk. Across the US. Well, a walk/ride. It sounds interesting to meet people from around this great big place of ours and spend some time chatting. Create a patchwork of stories  on video and/or sound podcast and maybe some sort of book that create a snapshot of where we are now and maybe where we are going. Because I don't think we're getting an accurate picture through the media. I know I don't have a good one.

To start this year off in a loving way I'm Rathgnar Destroyer of Worlds am participating in this Pay-It-Forward initiative : The first 5 people who comment on this status with "I'm in", will receive a surprise from me at some point in this calendar year - anything from a book, a ticket, a visit, something homegrown or made, a postcard, absolutely any surprise! The rest of you shall dance in a Hellpit for all eternity as I subjugate your world. Here is a picture of what awaits you, you that claim your prize.  And this is what awaits you that do not comply. A vast sea of blood.

No one. Absolutely no one, that works 30 - 40 hours a week should need to be on food stamps or any form of governmental assistance. This amount of work should garantee, at the VERY least: room, food, medical, clothing, leisure time and still leave something for retirement. Something to set aside for a rainy day.  Two people working should be enough to set aside something for family planning. No job is just for one class of people. Fast food, barista, waiter. No, no, and no. Service jobs are vital to what you do every day. These people deserve respect. Deserve living wages. No one deserves, or should be allowed, to make more than 250 times what their lowest paid employee makes. I know. How unAmeican of me.  .  But be honest with your self.  You make $9 an hour and the big boss makes $2250 an hour. Don't you think that would be enough. $45,000 a month a half million a year? The answer is...

When this term was used, it was after a theater piece. Nothing malevolent here.

Y ou can tell when I've got nothing to say. It's easy. I start off with a play on words or word play or some sort of euphony. Then that is followed by, "I've got nothing to do" or "Things are slow" or "Help, help! I'm on fire. For the love of the gods please call the fire department in my city and report that there is a blogger (bloggist?) on fire and NO they should come immediately and NOT wait till the end of Game of Thrones. " The side of that is that I can joke about this because I am a very important person and my words will echo through the gates of time, as the gates are small and very near the computer screen. A lso, I know that my fan out there would be destroyed if I were to burn to a crisp during Game of Thrones or some other equally quality programming. Like say, um, wow. I don't have anything. Television is so bad a.... OH, BREAKING BAD, yes, yes. Too bad it's over. (Too BAD. Get it. It's BAD.)  HOWEVER, my fan m...

A good evening.  Exercise. Tea. Blog.  Yep. Gack. Never suck on a tea bag. It ripped and now I've got grit-tea mouth. Still have the exercise. An hour on the ellipse that isn't really an ellipse. Blood pumping. Fitbit said I did 17 very active minutes. Yeee up. Can't have everything. Still. The blog. Where person come and read that which I pour out of my soul. Maybe I'll make a fake account and tell myself how awesome I am.  I can think of a few sadder ideas, but the tea grit is in my night guard.  Ah, water. I took a screen cap of my fitbit trauma. You can clearly see my pain. As highlighted in reds and blue arrows. The green circles are there for show. As are the other arrows scattered about because I thought that the red and blue were not enough and I had a drawing program that is fun to use. I've reached my fifteen for the night.  Feeling good. Except for the tea.

Damn. Damn it. Gods damn it. Brilliant words just lost their life. Lives? Collective association?  A moment goes unsaved. A time is not recorded. A collective time dissatisfaction. It had to do with a clam that was calm. Fractions and fragments.  It had to do about the sea. And the not seen. Those words gave themselves up upon the alter of some obtuse god of writing that you would have to look up in some ancient tome and then marvel at the richness of my brain sack in its capturing of irrelevant infotium chunks. Then take a breath. While exhaling the wonder of my braining. I was also reeling in my new cowriter. You know him. Mr. Autocorrect. Swell guy. Throws me for a causal squall now and again. I blame the small and non mechanical nature of the iPad keyboard. He blames the small and neonatal PDAs keelboat.   I like random. Like an all vanilla Neapolitan. Hers picture of a calm.  Here's a picture of a clam.  Uploaded for the umpteenth time.

There was once a tiny town. With tiny people milling roun'. Tiny cars And tiny bars  With little bitty prostitutes... Wow, kid's books are tough.

Attack own butt. Run away. Jump on bed, with ears back. Run downstairs.  Run upstairs.  Stare at human. Stare more. More. Attack the vexing hindquarters. Run outside onto roof and come back in calm. ... Yep, Quat's night is winding down. For those of you that don't know. My cats usually have multiple names. Past names include Broken Arrow, Blackest Night, Babette, Bonkette, and Muaack. That was the names for Two Cats Back. Adzuki, Zuki, Pukey, Warph. Last Cat. The newest cat came with a preinstalled name, Majah. That lasted nearly seven blocks. Now she Quat. Aka Slash, Huntress or Pchpchpch. However you spell the kissing noise. She will play a prominate roll in this entertainment. 

Things have a habit of quieting. Unless you watch television. Like I have. At the gym. On no less than 6 to 7 screens. I watched morning shows today. They are so desperate to stay remotely useful that they're stealing ideez from the interwebz. The poor ideez not the good ideas. Well, with an exception. Example time. Ideaz: Vines of man jumping on trampoline that has frozen water on it. Intervuz (fake interview) with real people™ about climate change... Blaaa. I don't want to rant, so I'm shutting this one down. But I think I'm onto something with this ideez, intervuz, and real peoplez™ Thing.

Today was a win, win. I don't know why. I thought that starting off with a positive upbeat, can do attitude might convince me. But then I threw a comma in and everything went to another dimension. An unfunny one. Where I'm not funny. Nor are you, my loyal reader. Lets, for the moment, recap the day. I woke up and this is more than I thought I did. So, while it technically can't be a win-win, as you need at least two things in a row; one named win and the other also win, or maybe Wynn. I did have a win day. The cat begs to differ. Siamese. They keep you honest. Maybe not this one however. She was, excuse me; technically... she is a they or it now. It, excuse me again. It has a name. Quat or Heyyou or Getouttamyface, but mostly Quat. Quat was raised by a dog. Named Simon. It doesn't meow. Barely purrs. Eats only cat chow and stomps around the house like a dog. When we first inherited her my wife and I thought that our youngest child was walking around at night. Exce...

Just so freakin' happy. Christmas is OVER . OVER . OVER . Bwaaa, haaa. Ha. Now back to the drudgery of attempting to make money at being an actor/puppeteer/writer/director. If I may advise you for a moment. Don't become solely one thing. Actor-Electrician. Director-Olive Garden Host. Puppeteer - Face painting clown or maybe the mystical Actor/Winery Guide/Sexgod. I may have to adjust this one to Writer - Coffee house guy - trophy husband. Also, which format do you like better? - or /? Also, do you believe that Writer / Coffee house guy is too ironic or has the irony become cliche? I only half jest. About the split jobs. Not about the formatting issues. So, I have set myself a goal of writing for at least 15 minutes per day. This will cut into valuable Facebook time and I may cross post a few things or, or, simply start to ignore the Time Whore (AKA: Facebook.) and preach here on this most sacred of space. My blog site. As no one ever comes to it. It is the most prist...