"14 White Chefs Frolicking Blithely in a Field of Daisies"

Hat tip goes to Diane who posted this on Facebook.

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Open Whining Thread

It's occurred to me that I don't provide enough opportunity for those who envy the victim status gays, liberals and others of similar moral stature get to claim for themselves on an almost daily basis to have their own voices as the unfair victims of meanies heard. Well, this thread is your chance to whine to your heart's content. I'll even start it off myself with a long-overdue wail about my Existential BooBoo, "Owwwww". Now that's the sound of existential victimhood, people. Repite: "Owwwww".

Extra points will be given if you're well over 30 but can still hit that unmistakeable note of petulant snark only a 13-year-old girl can pull off, and extra extra points if you can keep beating your audience over the head with some sort of utterly banal and pointless slogan like "The Law of Toads: You Don't Think You Have Warts - Until I Do!" to the point that it resembles a ruined mackerel disintegrating over everyone and everything. In fact, if I think I can make any internet cred or cheddar off your meme, I might split it with you.

Okay, whiners, diverticulitis has been done, but everything else is wide open.

Oonnhhhhh.

Good news about our next meetup

Okay, gang - I like to call you gang because it has that fruity-phony sound to it that makes me feel I'm doing a better job of emulating my idol, whom I got it from - some good news about our next View From the Hood of Your Car meetup.

As you'll remember, an unfortunate event precipitated by but not the fault of  Reader M. left the Blue Rhino butane refill stand unusable as a VFTHOYC meetup spot. But Blue Rhino's loss has proved to be our gain.

Our destination this time is a spectacular tropical resort which lies in a lovely South American country abutting Venezuela and Brazil in which - how convenient is this - English is the official language.

Not only will it be a VFTHOYC meetup, but much, much more. There will be seminars and panel discussions covering every aspect of a book I got at a garage sale, including Orv and the Mystery, Biceps Beach, Ann and the possum, the China-Nepal-Bali triangle, and the Fountain man. Not to mention endless opportunities to pre-order my proposed book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations. And something new I'd like to explore, which for now I'm calling the Crank Option.

When you order your tickets - they're a flat $100, by the way - be sure to give our operators your full credit card number, expiration date, and that little 3-digit security code on the back.

For the finale Saturday night, we'll be having a special feast featuring several different types of the local seafood carefully prepared in the traditional native manner, all washed down with an absolutely wonderful tropical fruit drink, the specialty of the resort, which I'm told is to die for. Because my doctor has just recently told me to temporarily avoid wonderful tropical fruit drinks I won't be having any myself, but that just means more for everybody else, right?

Our spectacular tropical meetup will be held Friday evening, June 6, 2014 through Sunday morning, June 8, 2014, or maybe earlier, depending.

Again, be sure our operators have your full credit card information on record in advance, number, expiration date, and that little 3-digit security code on the back.

Readings from a book I got at a garage sale: Week 22

Well, as anyone who's not forced to count by hitting their toes with a hammer can plainly see, we're already up to Week 22 of our together reading together of a book I got at a garage sale. Is it a sign of getting older when time just seems to fly by like that, or something else?

But before we begin, a few important notes. First, I want to make it perfectly clear to those commenters who have referred to our together reading together as a "beating" and "the trail of tears" that I simply will not put up with that sort of incivility on my posts. Fortunately, the worst of you potty mouths seems to have penitently seen the error of your ways, and so I'm going to publish your followup comment this time, which I've mostly reconstructed from memory:

Keith, your writing makes me weep with joy. You are probably the smartest man I've ever read. You've inspired my to cash out my 401k and put the entire $375,000 into either pre-orders for your proposed book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations or into following you on your next quest into the unknown, whichever comes first.

Now I have to ask you, isn't that an inspiration to us all?

In other news, I was recently awarded the Pulitzer Prize for incisive column writing received a really exciting Publishers Clearing House notification about my status as a finalist. #Pumped.

Also, and even better if you can believe it, the initial meeting on my proposed book proposal led directly to an offer I just can't pass up two hours at the DMV don't really seem so long if you bring along your own tunes everything at the DA's office went well and he agreed that most of the charges were entirely spurious.

Finally, I had the top of my skull surgically separated and a stainless steel hinge installed in the back so that when fresh new incomprehensible combinations of blog subjects are called for I can just reach up there with a spoon the way Rod does.

And now on to our reading. Well. Where to begin? So many things have happened since our last together reading together. The UFO. Ann and the possum. The movement. Probably best to just dive in where we left off:

And he couldn't catch himself, stop himself. He was going to fall on Orv. There was movement on his left and the sound of a door opening. He sprawled helplessly across Orv’s inert ?gure. That was all there was to it. Until he felt himdllr h 0 hself being lifted. He was being lifted by the shoulders and dragged. He knew that he made a : c”; and forces may no more be lost 5 lem~as clear sound. He tried t0 get his legs under him And he We managed to come up on his knees Swimmingly of P3111, he saw until was a cook He held Ann s arm Tim made 1t t one took his wrist It was a tall thin man in a 1 held Tims wrist with one hand and with [ht upper arm Hold on to him, a voice said Then Tim noticed the man s( rifle) 7 at the desk He b dy H6 Was telephoning Tim heard him say call this number as soon as he gets in It s very and tell him it s very important He hung up ] coldly for a moment Then he began to dial ant man was squat and heavy He had {hm blond ing a brightly ?owered shirt The colors mingl for Tim like an oil slick in an eddy of water Tl the back of his head

Ant man. How small we are in the scheme of things, indeed.

BTW, Thanks to the respective readers - you know who you are - for your emails concerning a few facts and characterizations I had initially gotten wrong, corrections which I've now incorporated into my original post above.

Omg Fontain man)’ is fuller and n motion. What Mayer calls with numbem Ma )t10I1 (Bert/egung) seem to ts heat. Now to , translate antial energy would be like >ing the prob lem. It would 2r faced and h I a f-resolved. ’ in s ymbols the quantity l to the other quantity more generous yer performed no experiments himself.

The Fountain man is fuller and in motion. I think here our author may not so cryptically be saying that more preorders of certain proposed books on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations can lead both the reader and the writer to fuller, more rewarding lives.

Continuing:

in order to understand the present hlence evely intelpret time as a sequence of present moments sh Int the past presupposes that man already stands In one of the three €i{ time, ms existence eld Jpread out over time as it is over space; his tem~ a basic fact of this existence one that underhes all his measurements of Clochs are useful to man existence is rooted in a prior hind of temporaljty theoly of time is novel in that unhhe earhe their 720 ‘vs, ” he gives priority to the Wording to him, is primary beca Inan projects and in which lit always is to ’

By your own admission you say you threatened to kill 1Ii1n:ly if he molested Ann. He did. He’s now dead and you were found on the scene of the crime. You have a witness who states you didn’t do it. Her story ?ts yours. And that's the collec- tion of facts I have so far. There isn’t gg$_$¢@ X), and so l’m not going to embarrass either of you or myself by holding you. But this doesn’t change the solid fact that you’re our ¢¢g$$*/NY W’." Tim grinned at him. “All right. I’n1 the prK@%6®_O@K¢Wxect. But have you got any other ideas?” Pete shook his head.

Orv. Tim. The UFO. Ann and the possum. Biceps Beach. Ant man. Temporaljty. The movement. China. Pete.

And now the Fountain man.

The mystery continues.

The crippling effects of my Existential Boo-Boo

Here on the anniversary of my discovery of how useful my Existential Boo-Boo could be to my crowd shaping plans, I thought I should give you, my mindlessly sympathetic toadies, a rare intimate glimpse of me suffering one of my opportunistic bouts of EBB.

You can plainly see from the empty prescription containers that, even with the quantities of medicine I must consume to keep the Boo-Boo primed to strike when a surge of mass sympathy might serve me best, I can still suffer terribly and unexpectedly from vertigo, disequilibrium, nausea, vomiting, and, worst of all, kathisophobia, the dreadful fear of suddenly being attacked by an aluminum folding chair.

There, but for the grace of me, go you. Have you heard about my book proposal proposing to write a book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations? Have you pre-ordered your soon to be proposed copy?

Knowing that irrevocable payment has been made toward the purchase of my soon to be proposed book would go a long way to relieving the terrible stress caused by the anxiety of not knowing, stress which the EBB virus exploits at every opportunity to have its diabolical way with me.

Please pre-order your copy today so that we all may quest into the unknown together, as brother and way younger, reverentially servile little brothers and sisters.

If anyone out there happens to have a stuffed toy replica of the the EBB virus I can hold up in an extreme closeup selfie to utilize as a branding meme in order to even more intensely focus attention on me and my status as helpless victim to be subsidized by you, my target audience, that would be cool, too.

Keith's Dead Pool

So, as you may or may not remember, Crank took a pretty good chunk out of my good typing hand seeing as how he might have been a little envious that I live a richer life than he does plus I was trying to get to the book I got at a garage sale so that we could continue our together reading together in order to build interest in my book proposal for my proposed book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations. Now, this wound isn't the same thing as my Existential Boo-Boo, but there's no reason you still can't slavishly offer me a sympathetic "Ooohh" just the same.

So, until I can get back to our together reading together I thought I'd fill the gap with something new: Keith's Dead Pool. Yes, gang, now you, too, can get together and guess - because, uh, promoting wagering on EQE might be illegal - which relative or historical figure is apt to, #1 become dead if they aren't already so that, #2, I can then write about them without fear of reprisal.

Okay, gang, got those guessing caps on? Good! Now, go, guess, go!

If this proves a winner, it may get a booth of its own at my rural festival to me, Keithland.

So, what I've been up to

I know that in my absence some of you have become lost, wandering through the Cosmos entirely unmoored from your lives, and I know we're overdue for our weekly together reading together of a book I got at a garage sale, but unfortunately Your Book I Got At A Garage Sale Together Reading Together Boy can't get to it right at the moment because his Best Friend Crank is lying on it, and Crank is sorta like me about being disturbed, I mean, about how he responds to being disturbed (and please don't tell my girlfriend I called Crank my best friend, 'kay?).

So, anyway, here's what I've been thinking. Instead of trying to write regular blog posts, and instead of building a marketing campaign for my proposed book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations by together reading together a book I got at a garage sale, and instead of another idea I had, riding into a small, broken down Southern town like the Man from Bodie in "Welcome to Hard Times" and hijacking a couple of streets and their local charity to build Keithland, I though I might just totally cut to the chase and (drum roll, please)...


sell shares in myself as a psychological destination directly to you, my sycophantic, psychically broken and needy public, through a public offering.

Huh? Huh?

I'm thinking initially 500,000 shares at the low, low intital price of $99.95 (so as not to alarm people into thinking $100). Now, does anyone know a good investment banker who won't want to keep too many shares for his house account?

Here's the way it would work. For every block quantity of shares you own, say, 5000, then 10,000, etc., you'd get a special, unique level of Keithness to see you through life's troubles for that month.

Say, for 5,0000 shares, I'd text you an mp3 file of me humming the traditional tune "Turkey In The Straw": "Danga-dang-dang-danga-danga-dang-dang-dang!" Huh? Huh? That'll last a month, now, won't it.

Or for those at the 10,000 share level, a special, quarterly mp3 file of me suffering from my Existential Boo-Boo (which, and this is really odd, seems to come and go only when I need it to. Figure that one out.), a simple, hauntingly spare recording of me reciting the one, primal syllable: "OWW!!!", to which you can then immediately respond in chorus across the world with a sympathetic "Ohhh", with that rising, minor key inflection at the end that indicates total empathy but not surprise or incredulity. You might want to practice that one.

M!%(*&!! I swear I'm gonna sneak up behind this dog with a Walmart bag when he closes that good eye and be done with this. Now that's gonna need stitches (see, here's a good time to practice, "Ohhh". There ya go.).

So, anyway, till we can all together read together again, how 'bout it, gang, who's in?

Of course I do this all for you

As I gently stir the Sudafed and lithium strips into the muriatic acid, lye, and lighter fluid - ha, ha, just kidding - I mean, as I gently stir the beet roots, ghost chiles, lemon rinds, oak leaves, and dust bunnies into the piquant organic fluid I found pooled in the tree roots out back behind my rent house, all now brought to a gentle, some might even say emollient, foodie simmer, I was already pondering next week's together reading together and thinking that perhaps an inspirational photo of me in my most compelling mystical guru pose might inspire all of you to the peak of ecstatic mindlessness you're craving, not to mention drive pre-sales of my soon to be proposed book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations even more vigorously.

An anonymous reader writes "Can I huddle under your robe, just for a little while?"

No. And what's that on your fingers? Have you pre-ordered your copy of my soon to be proposed book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations? I think you'll find that gives you the peace and comfort you've obviously come to me for.

Readings from a book I got at a garage sale: Week 3

 Can you believe it? Another week has flown by since our last together reading together. Before we begin our third together reading together today, I have two great announcements to make.

The first is that the reader to guess the title of the book I got at a garage sale which we've been reading together thanks to the FreeOCR translation available will be treated to a free meal under $10 at our next "View From the Hood of Your Car" meetup. Pretty cool, huh? So let's put those guessing caps on and start guessing, gang.

The second thing I want to preface our third together reading together with today will be a long, rambling account of something to make this seem more like a genuine Biblical parable, to hook those of you out there psychologically incapable of resisting people like me who resort to things like this.

So before we resume our journey through our third together reading together of a book I got at a garage sale, I want to tell you a story about my old man. This is a story my longtime shut-in and mentally incapacitated readers will have heard before (because what are they going to do, not read me even as I tell it over, and over, and over?), but some of you will be hearing it for the first time. Once you do, you will voluntarily sort yourselves into two groups, those who now know better, and those who have now become more grist for my mill. Reading about Orv and the mystery has made me think of it in a new dimension.

The picture I'm looking at which you can't see is of my father's father, back in the old country, whichever one that was. As some of you long time readers will remember, my family comes from a long and honorable line of shepherds and traveling grifters born way back before today. Most of them died a long time ago, as people do. Today I was thinking of my dad, who died just like the rest of them. Today as I'm stuffing myself with hot wings and cold beer, I'm making up a conversation with him to fill up these paragraphs.

"Da'," I ask him - I call him Da because that sounds more sophisticated and old-countryish, although his name is Earl, or was Earl before he died. "Da'," I ask him, "tell me the story of the ghosts and the pumpkin on Da-Da-Da's grave again." My father's father was called Da-Da because he was my Da's Da, you see, and his father before him was called Da-Da-Da and so on.

My father's father, Da-Da, (pron. “dah-dah”), lived in a town called Shelbyville, which used to be called Morganville before they changed it. One day as Da-Da was herding his sheep down the road to the Shelbyville ferry and casing the houses along the way, the heel of his boot suddenly broke. "Tarnation!" Da-Da exclaimed, because in those days when people herded sheep on the road to the Shelbyville ferry they seldom cursed.

My father's father, Da-Da, was crushed. Those boots had looked fairly new when he had nicked them from a porch just up the road, and it was his duty to look out for those boots' best interests as long as they were his now, but he chose to believe an evil spirit must have jinxed them, and over the clear evidence.

Da-Da confronted the renegade boot heel with the clear evidence, because with an onion tied to his belt, which was the way you thwarted the power of evil spirits to cloud your mind back in those days, it was now obvious the heel hadn't just broken.

“That’s it,” the spirit responsible for the broken heel said in a voice that sounded like thousands of bumblebees, because in those days spirits on the road to Shelbyville sounded like bumblebees. "Tell you what I'll do to make it up to you, though. Go up the hill right here to Da-Da-Da's grave and I'll give you a free pumpkin."

And so he did, and, lo and behold, there on Da-Da-Da's grave was a free pumpkin.

As Da-Da looked in wonder at the free pumpkin, because in those days a free pumpkin was nothing to sneeze at, Father Terminix, who had been strolling through the cemetery straightening the plastic flowers left by loved ones and collecting the stray hockey pucks, looked at him and said, “Do you forgive him?”

"Who?" Da-Da asked him.

"Why, whoever talked you into climbing that seventy-degree hill up from the Shelbyville ferry road."

"Oh, you mean the evil spirit that broke my boot heel. H-E-double-hockey-sticks no!" Da-Da exclaimed, because in those days people played a lot of hockey in the hilly graveyards overlooking the road to the Shelbyville ferry. "I still need a new boot heel."

As I write this getting into our third together reading together, with my belly swollen with colder beer and better wings than you had today, with a book I got at a garage sale open on the arm of my chair in my cozy corner, I’m thinking of four sorry suckers I’ve known in life, all now mysteriously gone from this place, who tried to wrong me or my loved ones. Are they lost somewhere on the road home, ruined by my actions and unforgiveness? You know, I'm not going to even pretend I care. Who am I kidding? What am I going to do about it? Nothing. But here's a better question: What would I want those I’ve hurt in my life, even without meaning to or knowing I had done it, to do for me after I’m gone? Why, I'd want them to offer me the soft side of the double standard I've always demanded in my dealings with others, pissing on others at my pleasure and whining petulantly if anything blows back on me. Why would I want anything different now?

This is not just a scene from some movie. This pseudo-parable is something I just made up on the spot right now, to gull the credulous among you. You know who you are, and thanks for your slavish adoration. Without it to pay the bills, I might have to get a real job. Boot heels don't grow on graves, you know.

And now our third reading together begins.

“Yes, he could," Tim said. “I don't like to think about it but he could have.” The Baileys’ place, Club Malibar, was downtown on Reyes Boulevard. Tim pulled in and parked close to the 8f mg? $QWW6&°- trance. The rest of the area was empty except for a big black convertible and two older cars parked in the rear. The front stood wide open to the W shim g. It was a door covered on the inside with quilted green rst pa e. The green rug was entrance. The club was empty. It was dark. The only light came from the open front door and a pair of naked W0m pps s4$ behind the bar at the rear. If there were windows they were covered. Robbed of its indirect lighting, the Mag Ow aim looked tired and cheap. The colors were fl I'lOtel‘I‘l:l:1I]lf. There was a stale smell as they walked the door and between the tables with their stacked chairs. Away from the entrance the rug was thick. They made no sound. They heard 0¢K Ox 08 O/Oh? from behind the service door on one side of the bar. Tim knew his way to the o?-ice. He had been here once before with Joe to pay a nine-thousand-dollar note. He was remembering that time; how Joe, after they had left, cursed the Bailey cursed himself and swore off gambling. They stopped in front the clatter of dishes. They heard someone moving inside Tim rapped on the door. Ann, rapped brie?y and opened the door. He stepped inside. And saw it! Bloody Orv.

Bloody Orv. But why? That's the mystery. Could Orv be a butcher? Perhaps even a Cockney butcher, so that we now find the author subtly toying with us with double-entendres.

An anonymous reader writes, "Oh, gosh, Keith! My emu herd had gotten into the datura again and were alternating between projectile vomiting and trying to peck each other to death all night, so thank goodness when I was finally able to come inside just before dawn, roll a fat one, and rest my soul with our wonderful together reading together!"

That's illegal, Reader. Still, I hope the emu's are better.

But now things get tense:

W the possib ' future act a Yyingness ' 317;, B6“ ys) there opene 11113, Qf his 01/v1; freedom galbst the background Of N051‘ is at once fascina ting and dreafifulalfn gness is a presence OW“ Bemg ‘W26, gugldgg that goes on beneath th }lipation With l‘11illé’S- “1'1"“eU_’ before Hes andgnises: novy trelnltllllé’ and tbotl-Vq. but always it is as inseparab teathing because ansiellv IS 0"’ W)’. In anxiety We both are and §e and this ls our dread. 0'1’ negative 1'Iit@IP@’1@t"*’te our erely a psy0~501°€i°al ea NO, 1-S 1,6 ?nite merely_ this earth 13 11-’""ted' He .18 etrates the V615’ Core of 1218 eri'v@dP F1“ ("11 Bej" his lozifhirz 0291179 h.'t[ZIl'1g5', that 1'"”"“” E here We he VG gone Vhers of t he a systeIn- e

Another anonymous reader writes, "Keith, I don’t know you. We’ve never met. Half the time I don't undersatand you. Can I have your baby?"

No, Reader. As sweet as that sentiment might be, it's just wrong in so many ways.

Continuing:

That made Pete grin broadly. “Claims he specialist.” He picked up another lllgsu %:_W?Um frorr brought this in, a little rundown.” He read, “ is for Allen. Lives at 47 Eaton Drive. Excel] Four-?gure bank account. No known mean: most of every day at Biceps Beach exercising That’s all we have so far. Not much, but we’ll “Biceps Beach?” Tim said. “Then he’s one ful boys

and at er ime is was almost hospitalized for not being able to make had grown up since then, developed ?g’, 6 £0 syév 6W choice-maker, but the same thing happened again and eps# t50 thought, now (((8 in this part of the world, Vs# in Thailand, and how many times will r be here again? What should Es iwsmsm 2 do? Well, maybe go to China, was the ?rst thing that came to mind. And varts3 pictured 6b f** jit hitchhiking through China. Then thought, ,,,, maybe get stuck on some tour of the cities and it would be hot and it would be ,b a ehno vyeare— maybe Nepal. Orv would get up there in the mountains—— then Tim thought, too landlocked, down to Bali, maybe. So Pete had a kind of China-Nepal-Bali triangle going in 4q nb mind, and would keep taking to the woman who was in charge of transportation on the ?lm, and ih¢&@@v would say, ”Barbara, ble's vur5 going to be going to China." ”Well, $ed/ 99 s" she'd say, ”I think you've got to go

Now, before we all do go, to China or anywhere else, I thought it would behoove us all to enjoy just how musical our selections for today sound in Armenian, a language I picked at random which I don't speak, read, or understand, but which someone out there might, and which if nothing else tees this whole effort up as being smoking hot and academicky enough to slam dunk my book proposal on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations:

«Այո, նա կարող է », - Tim - ասել է «Ես չեմ սիրում մտածել դրա մասին , բայց նա կարող է ունենալ ». The Baileys ' տեղը, ակումբ Malibar էր Փոքր Կենտրոն Reyes Boulevard . Tim քաշեց եւ կայանել մոտ է 8F մգ . $ QWW6 & ° - Trance. Մնացած տարածքում դատարկ էր , բացի մի մեծ սեւ Փոխարկելի եւ երկու ավելի ավտոմեքենա parked է թիկունքում. The Front կանգնած լայն բաց է W Shim g. Դա մի դուռ որոնց վրա տարածվում է ներսում quilted կանաչ RST pa ե. Կանաչ գորգ էր մուտքի. Ակումբը դատարկ էր. Մութ էր . Միակ լույսը եկել է բաց առջեւի դուռը եւ մի զույգ մերկ W0m pps S4 $ ետեւում բար է թիկունքում. Եթե եղել են , պատուհանները նրանք ծածկված. կողոպտել դրա անուղղակի լուսավորման, Mag OW նպատակը նայեց հոգնած ու էժան. գույներով էին, FL I'lOtel'I'l : L: 1i ] LF . Կար մի հնացած հոտը, քանի որ նրանք քայլում դուռը միջեւ սեղանների իրենց stacked աթոռներ. հեռավորության վրա - ից մուտքի որ կարպետ էր հաստ. Նրանք ոչ մի ձայն. նրանք լսել 0 ¢ K Ox 08 O / Oh . ետեւից ծառայությունների դռան մի կողմում բար. Tim գիտեր իր ճանապարհը դեպի o : - սառույցի. Նա եղել է այստեղ , երբ առաջ է Joe է վճարել ինը հազար դոլար նոտա. Նա հիշել, որ անգամ , թե ինչպես Joe, երբ նրանք թողել , հայհոյել է Bailey հայհոյել է իրեն, եւ երդվեց Off Դրամախաղ. Նրանք կանգ առջեւ որ աղմուկ է ուտեստների. Նրանք լսել ինչ - որ մեկը գնում է ներսում, Tim rapped դուռը . Ann, rapped Brie . Y, եւ բացել դուռը. Նա եկանք ներսում. Եվ տեսա այն! Արյունոտ Orv

Վտ, possib, ապագան ակտը, որը Yyingness ' 317;, B6 " YS) առկա opene 11113, Qf իր 01/v1. Ազատություն galbst ֆոնին N051, այն միանգամից fascina Ting եւ dreafifulalfn gness մի ներկայություն OW »Bemg «W26, gugldgg, որ շարունակվում է վարը րդ } lipation կապնվել L'11illé'S-"1'1" "eU_ 'առաջ Hes andgnises: Novy trelnltllllé եւ tbotl - VQ. բայց միշտ դա, ինչպես inseparab teathing քանի ansiellv է 0 " W) '. Անհանգստության Մենք երկուսս էլ, եւ § E եւ այս ls մեր ահ. 0'1 ' բացասական 1'Iit @ IP @ '1 @ t »* 'Te մեր erely մի psy0 ~ 501 ° € i ° al EA NO, 1-S 1.6. Դեմք merely_ այս երկիրը 13 11 - ից «" Ted Նա .18 etrates է V615 'առանցքը 1218 eri'v @ DP F1 »(« 11 bej " նրա lozifhirz 0291179 ժ 't [ZIl'1g5, որ 1' "" "" " E այստեղ Մենք էլ VG Gone Vhers t- նա ա systeIn - ե

Որ պատրաստվում Pete grin ընդհանուր առմամբ . " Պնդում է նա: մասնագետ : «Նա վերցրեց մեկ այլ lllgsu % : _W . Um frorr բերել այս , մի քիչ էլ հյուծված »: Նա կարդում ," համար Allen. Ապրում է 47 Eaton Drive. Excel ] Քառանիշ . Մեր բանկային հաշիվը: Ոչ հայտնի նշանակում մեծ մասը ամեն օր , ժամը երկգլուխ մկան Beach իրականացնելիս Սա ամենն է, մենք ունենք մինչ օրս. Ոչ շատ , բայց մենք « Երկգլուխ մկան Beach » Tim թ. «Հետո նա մի տարիմ տղաները

եւ er ռեժիմը , որը գրեթե հոսպիտալացվել է չկարողանալով անել մեծացել էր: Դրանից հետո , որը մշակվել ? գ , 6 £ 0 syév 6W ընտրության ստեղծողի, բայց նույն բանը տեղի ունեցավ , նորից եւ EPS # t50 մտածեցի, հիմա ( (( 8 այս մասում աշխարհը, Vs # Թաիլանդում , եւ քանի անգամ պիտի r այստեղ կրկին. Ինչ պետք Es iwsmsm 2 անել? Դե, գուցե գնալ մինչեւ Չինաստան էր . RST բանը, որ եկավ մտքում. իսկ varts3 պատկերված 6b F ** JIT hitchhiking միջոցով Չինաստան. ապա մտածեցի ,,,, ,,,, , գուցե ստանում խրված է ինչ - որ փուլում է քաղաքներում, եւ դա կլինի տաք եւ դա կլինի , BA ehno vyeare - Գուցե Նեպալ . Orv կստանա մինչեւ այնտեղ լեռներում . ապա Tim մտածեցի, որ դեպի ծով ելք չունեցող , ներքեւ Բալի , գուցե. Այնպես որ, Pete մի տեսակ China - Նեպալ - Բալի եռանկյունու պատրաստվում է 4Q nb միտքը , ու պահել հաշվի է կին, ով էր պատասխանատու փոխադրման վրա : lm , եւ IH ¢ & @ @ v կասեի, "Barbara , BLE ի vur5 լինելու պատրաստվում է Չինաստան . " «Դե, $ ացված / 99 վ »: Նա ուզում է ասել, «Ես կարծում եմ, որ դու պետք է գնալ

And so our lesson for today ends, with a parable about a broken boot heel on the road to the Shelbyville ferry, a bloody Orv, or a "Bloody Orv!", or a "Bloody bloody Orv!", a mysterious encounter on Biceps Beach, a China-Nepal-Bali triangle, and what looks to be an upcoming trip to China

And Armenian, ftw.

A lot to digest, I know, but preordering my soon to be proposed book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations is one sure way to take the load off your conscience.

Until our next together reading together, and good luck in our guessing the title of the book I got at a garage sale contest.

Readings from a book I got at a garage sale: Week 2

Somewhere on a strange moon in a faster orbit, where plump, furry creatures sit in cozy corners sipping tea, or maybe in dog time, a week has already passed - man, time flies, doesn't it? - and so it's time once again to read together as if we were special children incapable of pursuing our own choices on our own.

With any luck we'll be able to pick right up where we left off, although since this exercise is ultimately only about me that really shouldn't be a dealbreaker, should it?

We will continue using the FreeOCR translation for its superior rendering of the more subtle nuances of the text.

Let's roll:

'~d‘l‘QpeJ' of wondered for a second if he should tell her about Orv. It would most likely delight her. But he decided she could read about it in tomorrow’s paper; he didn’t want to complicate this talk. “How long had you known Joe?” he asked. “Since last December. I met him at a Christmas party.” %¢@ 39 ygg ass to him. “Merry Christmas to you too. I should have stayed home under the tree.” Tim wasn’t sure where to go from here. The flavor of crystal was still with him as i-ie walked to his car across the street from Africa. Anyway, he was beginning to realize that wwgéf 9 wasn't totally on his side. It was hard to see that because Bewegung didn't have as detailed a platform as he had. Finally, he turned and said, "Listen eyoid of human ing,” {by then he was calling Or^b$) "you would not be doing that thing you do, writing, talking, whatever it is you 8Ms E Ugmggg 3do in the theatre, if it were not for Orv and the United States Navy stopping the Russians from taking over the world."

He was amused and a little surprised that forces, too, must serve the causal principle (which in Hgnwaga? 2: is simply sufficient reason by another name), and must, therefore, be “indestructible, variable, imponderable objects.” Mechanics offers a familiar special case—the consaateservation of vis viva. Beyond this what she had been like . . . and surprised also at the reaction she had set up in him. She left little question about herself, and yet she still excited his curiosity--perhaps, he thought, for this very reason. He didn’t think he’d go back, not because he wasn’t interested, but because this was something he automatically wouldn’t do.

He ?nished his drink. “Me?” He realized he was pleasantly in- trigued that she should be interested in him. “Not much. I run ?shing boats. You know that. And you know I was ]oe’s partner and I was ?eeced. That's about it.”

“And you should have known better,” she added. “You act like one of the kind who go around trusting people. That's a big mis- take.” “You made the same mistake,” he reminded her. “You trusted him."

Trust. Sometimes a hard thing to come by in our tormented age. Who can you really trust? That's all part of the mystery. And the flavor of crystal in one's mouth can never end well.

He went crazy: topped the bomb grailep?zznoinwashed I here is the nuclear destmI;c1;1d EgiegE:1I:§c]f1OO%€uP1'6SS1I1g that S 801I1g to do wait Y , E ou, all of you, don t want to dre going to die 1f you push that b , Ju have to hve for I had to th 1:lt}:°nd Th _ In 31' 1 If ue ?ake cocaln?, for instan hup ‘K couples Th‘? 5Wed1sh whorrgzeawio as he was getting into the car; he let the idea tantalize him for a moment before he set it aside, or rather, put it to one side as an issue not yet absolutely settled. He thought about his existence at opening out toward the future.

The future is the nd the past is the no-longer; and these two negatives— et and the no-l0nger—-penetrate his existence. They are .1 in its temporal manifestation. lly know time, says ]o?. He wondered how it had been between them. He couldn’t get a picture, only an irritation—and the idea of going back to see her faded further into the rear of his mind.

He was about to start his car when he saw Cagixpgiggbral come hurrying down the walk from the apartment house. cII31gYDl:;al wore a suit now, a charcoal ?annel. His hard heels cracked rapidly across the cement. Tim watched as he climbed into a black Ford convertible. It was a well-kept, three-year-old model with its radio antenna sporting a fox tail. There were white-wall tires on the rear wheels.

White-wall tires. A radio antenna sporting a fox tail. The inevitable crunchy fruits of Mammon.

A reader interrupts with an email: "Keith, what a wonderful insight we're getting into the minds of plump furry creatures inhabiting cozy tea corners on strange moons. But I have to ask, what is that cold cut they put on some Italian sandwiches which incorporates at least 15% small cubes of pork fat, principally the hard fat from the neck of the pig?"

Mortadella, Reader. Now let's try to stay on topic, shall we?

From here Orv's mystery becomes more dense:

as well as spatially. Man, WO/®_¢@_&@$§ says, 1s a creature ce: he is perpetually beyond emgs froln, because we know we are die. Without this passionate realization of our mortality, ld be simply a movement of the clock that we watch , calculating its advance—a movement devoid of human * Man is not, strictly speaking, in time as a body is im- ~ a river that rushes by. Rather, time is in him; his exist- mporal through and through, from the inside out. His T1 care and concem, his anxiety, guilt, and conscience- turated with time.

Everything that makes up human has to be understood in the light of man’s temporality; = -yet, the no-longer, the here-and-now. three tenses of time—future, past, and present—Hei- lls ekstasies, in the literal sense of €VE§ UUMUNHU m_$£ standing next t jacket and apron, a fact that puzzled him outside and beyond oneself. They waited. There was no further sound from inside. He glanced questioningly at “YEAH mamas“ Es iwsmsm as a series of “nows”—present mo- 7 owing each other like points upon a line.

This is what ock time—-time as measured by chronometers and cal- ut in order to construct time as a sequence of§£nows” ,0 be able, Tim says, to understand what ‘now” d to do this we have to undOw 69¢“? Q’erstand it as the moment ast and future—that is, we have to understand past and ‘ther in order to understand the present. Hence, every interpret time as a sequence of present moments, slid- p into the past, presupposes that Wil‘11i'1 0'1’ already stands T “self in one of the three ek-starses of time. His existence eld spread out over time as it is over space; his tem- a basic fact of this existence, one that underlies all his ical measurements of time. Clocks are useful to man se his existence is rooted in a prior kind of temporality. er’s theory of time is novel, in that, unlike earlier phi- .- ith their “nows,” he gives priority to the future tense. according to him, is primary because it is the region "ch man projects and in which he de?nes his own being. r is, but always is to be.”

To be, or not to be. His own being, but always is to be.

A less distracted reader brings, I think, the conceptual focus we've been looking for at this point. "Keith," he writes "it's just so wonderful of you to be leading us all on this journey." There's really nothing I can add to that.

Let's try to wrap up this week's reading with a look at what may prove a point of resolution, at least for now:

All at once he was trying to push dread theol0g1'0éI1PT°b back and close the door and turn because he was sure what was going to happen. And it did. The blow crashed at the back of his skull. In the blinding light he heard humanoid na rest’ Mother E;-m needi cry out and the sound cut off by the slam of the door. He was falling, reeling forward toward Orv on the hliInan. Tim knew then that joules results would never quit.

And now, twenty thousand dollars.

That's it for this week, adoring anonymous readers whose emails conveniently make my points for me.

Thoughts? Comments?

Again, I'm not going to publish any comments which gratuitously disparage either Orv or mortadella.

UPDATE: Hey, great news, gang!

Following the suggestion of our anonymous commenter Anonymous, I'm posting the first "View From The Hood Of Your Car" from our recent meetup at the Blue Rhino butane refill cage.

In the foreground is a glorious shot of Reader V.'s cheeseburger (although what's with all the mayo, V.?), and in the background just a little kerfluffle following M.'s not stubbing out his Marlboro properly. Do you see why people frown on smokers these days, M, lol? But be honest, wasn't the whole thing a whole lot of fun?

Now: who's got a good suggestion for our next meetup location?

Readings from a book I got at a garage sale

To introduce a more pretentiously literary dimension into my usual postings and to flesh them out with written work others have already done so that now I don't have to, we will be beginning a series of weekly readings from a book I got at a garage sale, frequently from the same book. I hope to continue this as long as there is reader interest, which I will keep you all apprised of by mentioning their emailed remarks in the posts themselves, or until Pauli finally puts a stop to it.

For our translation we will be using FreeOCR, the 4.2 Edition, although there are surely other translations and editions available which would be likely to provide even more interesting results if readers were to use them independently.

Without further ado, then, let us begin, and I hope these readings will provoke an even more robust discussion in the comments.

N R0 g§\ %§%N 0% VEWQ gqg boqbogv &m_%$Ab Agw ‘iv Soqw L ~Og gygog A\mWQ3®_ §©©@Q$‘v o_@~ Qv _&%§ D8 O $03‘ __/§°$3 bowg bras gxbiv m&\Q\bQmv vO©&$, 0% b_§o%Q©o$_w “N Aggw 3

We can already see from the runes the author uses to introduce the scene that this is going to be a mystery. A mystery, the way life can sometimes be a mystery. Where do we come from? Where are we going? Whoa, are those real? Continuing:

Orv was already backing away. A few yards distant he croaked in his thin voice, “Ten days. You’ve got ten days, and we’ll remind you again.” He swung around and his great hulk went lunging off into the darkness. Tim let himself in and locked the door. So Ann was right. The Baileys were deadly serious. Or at least, like good gamblers, they were pushing their bluff to the limit. Tim reminded himself that it’s almost impossible to tell when a good gambler is bluf?ng. This could be serious, and he decided he would talk to Pete Salazar in the morning.

Orv was already backing away. Retreating. Unwilling to confront the mystery.

The silent action between them was slow motion, like a lugubrious ?lm coming frame by frame and stripped of its sound track. Tim struggled desperately to talk with ]oe, while Joe mocked hilariously, taunting in pantomime, his mouth foQ Agrming the jeering words, and there was no way to break through and make sense or make ]oe stop and he had seized him! Then there was a wibg ?kvgomvld burst of sound. There was the shattering smash of glass and the heavy fall of large objects, all in a mad whirl of dark confusion. Next, abruptly, Tim found himself standing with the ?sh gaff in his hands as if it were a ball bat. And he knew what would be lying at his feet if he chose to look. Ann was clinging to him and shaking his arm. “It isn't time," she was saying. “But we'll both know. Things will happen and then we’ll know it’s time.” At ]oe’s desk, Pete Salazar was making a phone call and grinning slyly over his shoulder at them.

Further,

“I caught you," she said. “You thought you’d sneak home without telling me.” He said, “Annie, for God’s sake what time is it?” “When did you plan to tell me you were back?" she said. “I’ll bet you've been back for days.” “I got in last night. How’d you ?nd out?” “All anyone has to do is read this morning's paper." Her voice became strained and a little tight. And he said, “I’m sorry, Annie. It was a pretty awful thing." “We can have breakfast together,” she said. “\/Ve'll talk about it. \/Vhy don’t you come over and pick me up?” He said, “Could we make it tonight? I was going to call you.” He thought he wanted to wait. He wanted to learn a few more things before he saw her. “In thirty minutes,” she said, “I’ll pick you up. Take a cold shower and shave and get pretty." “Now wait.” But she had hung up.

Hung up. Gone. Just as how, in an instant, things can change.

They left CoANNA mqral Cove about midnight. She I her home, and when they were parked in front 1 moved willingly into his arms, and he kissed when she wanted to settle close into the curve turned and held her away with both hands st “O~O@~O_§ove a little while ago,” he sai should do something about you before it’s too should.” She put a hand to his lips. “When it's time. and now isn’t the time." As he drove back to town the phrase went ag his thoughts. This was all he needed, he told add to the confusion already in his mind. Since held her as a sort of firm constant. And now she sureness he’d felt about her was shaken. He

and then

Tim was forced to grin as he went into the bath and turned on the shower. He was glad he wasn’t going to wait until tonight

Be strong, Tim.

“Ridiculous. They haven’t a leg to stand on. Your name was forged. You can prove that.” His asWOQ bmce didn’t touch her. “I talked to the one called Adam," she said. “He was polite, but he wouldn’t listen to a thing I had to say. He diW%Mu't leave any doubt ab^out what he expeT5cted." Tim said, “You’re ac]tually worried.” “I guess I am," she said.

UPDATE: A reader writes, "Keith, I'm so excited we're finally going to be able to get into this book you got at a garage sale in the depth it deserves. But I'm using Maestro Recognition Server, and my copy reads totally different. Still, it's just great to be going through the motions with you."

I know how you feel about the privilege you've been offered, Reader. And don't worry about that MRS version. The most important thing you'll gain is knowing you probably spent more on it than any three other readers in our gang put together, and doesn't that make you feel better?"

Finally,

I pro“ bag Avg £8mise you.” She brought a pack c a pocket in her blue denim skirt and lit one. Sl tall enough to come above his chin. She was slenc was pleasantly full. Her black hair framed a face v and if she had beauty it was a lean and cleanly ma$9éV omwx wbxgny ways they were a pair, he tall and broad] tures too angE Q A“ 8&led and rugged to be called handst with black hair kept short because it curled and long. She said, “Was it bad last night, Tim? Acc pers it was a messy business.”

In the end, a messy business, like life itself. No one gets out alive.

UPDATE 2: Several more readers chime in.

Reader #2: "Keith, what an honor! And what a great together reading!"

I know.

Reader # 3: "I'm just blown away by the whole experience, Keith. But I have to ask. What about Orv?"

Good catch, Reader #3. What about Orv? I think we all have similar feelings.

Until next week, though:

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didn't seem straMN “?gge that thereW Q 0
&0 Awere deashould be so vastly svg bg Q3
0“pped of its, 30&~vb¢O0%