Thwre is no such thing as Unreal. But UnREEL is another thing.
n.e.s. #177 of 480
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Tag Archives: n.e.s.
n.e.s. #176 of 480
Starting places and finish lines occlude endless possibilities.
n.e.s. #175 of 480
I can call this one Monumental, not because it’s any big deal, but it’s about Monuments, and I have a wretched tendency to go for a Bad Pun when I see one. Please don’t be distracted! 🙂
n.e.s. #174 of 480
A long time ago I read “At the Core,” a story by science-fiction author Larry Niven. (Fate-of-the-galaxy spoiler alert.) His protagonist Beowulf Schaeffer was hired by an alien race to pilot a superfast spacecraft to the galactic core. As Schaeffer gets closer he sees a lot of radiation. And as he gets closer yet he discovers that the galaxy is exploding, and in about 25,000 years the deadly radiation chain reaction will reach what is called “known space,” where humans and all aliens that humans have encountered dwell. Soon after Schaeffer reports this to his alien employers, the entire alien race prepares to leave the Galaxy. Schaeffer at first shrugs–who cares about 25,000 years from now?–but then wonders if the aliens, who are considered cowardly, might not be more courageous than we are. At minimum they recognize without denial the danger that they must face, and the sooner the better. Niven ends the story by having Schaeffer think, “Maybe it is the humans who are the cowards–at the core.”
n.e.s. #173 of 480
A heartful, heartful Happy Valentine’s Day to you, Friends and Lovers. ❤
n.e.s. #172 of 480
The phrase “train wreck” now seems to apply more to people and situations than trains. Early in my restaurant days a manager used it to describe the trail of maple syrup I’d negligently created that went all the way from the host stand to the dish pit. What a mess!!
n.e.s. #171 of 480
What this quasi-fable is really about is the way we magnify things. I plowed a little of this ground in one of my earliest blog posts, but another peek through the magnifying glass couldn’t hurt.
Did a fly affect the 2020 United States Presidential election? Is it really a good idea to put a marriage proposal on the Jumbotron? Is Bernie Sanders still the same guy he was before his seated mittened image got ubiquitized? What does all this say about us?
Once Laurence Olivier and Dustin Hoffman were having dinner, and Hoffman asked Sir Larry what lit him up as far as acting goes, and (if memory serves; I’ve been trying to find the Hoffman interview and so far no dice) Olivier said, “My dear boy, it’s like this…” and he gently grabs Hoffman by the back of the neck and pulls him till they’re eyeball to eyeball and continues, “Look at me, look at me, look at me.“
Scrutiny has gotten screwier and screwier lately. I don’t envy people in the spotlight. Skilled editors would be able to take all the raw video footage of my life and make two intensely entertaining movies, one that would make me look like a Hero, the other like Hellspawn. Dear reader, how about you?
n.e.s. #170 of 480
I acquired the notion “This bein’ free is hard work” over 50 years ago, courtesy of Donn Pearce and his COOL HAND LUKE. My since-then lifetime has completely validated that notion.
n.e.s. #169 of 480
Tip of the hat to the late Martin Gardner, polymath and numbers man who wrote the “Mathematical Games” column for Scientific American for many years. This page is really about Luck, and posits that there is no such thing, good or bad. There’s just good and bad and in between, in shifting emulsification. –Maybe. What the Hell do I know?
n.e.s. #168 of 480
Yesterday at 5:11 AM Mountain Standard time my mother, Jane Bowers Stoneman, declared victory over suffering and dementia by shuffling off this mortal coil; or, as Shakespeare also put it, [Dies.]. I had started grieving for her some days before she stopped breathing, because the quality of her life had been declining, and the rate of decline was accelerating. It is heartbreaking that the end so often takes that shape. I will miss her terribly the rest of my life, and honor her memory, but I am glad she is shed of all her pain, frustration and sorrow.
I’d been working on this page and was about 2/3 finished when Mom died. I know my mother’s mind to the extent that she’d want me to plug away, finish this piece, and begin the next one, and so I’ve struggled all day to do what should have taken a couple of hours at most. It STILL could use some work, but there’s a significant chance that anything else I do at this point will make it worse rather than better.
This one’s for you, Mom, flawed as it is. Your loving son continues his journey. Please keep up the cheerleading as always.
