Recalculating

Brinks

Romania

Thank you for visiting my Blog last night.  

I don't know what caused all of you

to gather at my blog, but I'm glad you did.

Hopefully you found it entertaining -

maybe even a little humorous.

I try.

I would end this with a Romanian salutation

if I knew one,  but I do not.

So I guess all I can say is,

Remember to tip your waitress.

ZC

Mourning Doves

Reprinted by permission of

Z. Corwin

Facial Recognition

That is one of the apps on my smart phone.  According to it, I’m nowhere to be found.  I don’t know if I’ve said something to upset it, but when it looks at me, it just blinks inquisitively, like it is trying to place me but just can’t.

Did we go to school together?  Were you in one of my classes?

“No, you stupid phone.  It’s me.  You know, the guy who pays the bill every month.”

Still, there is nothing, no reaction.

Then again, maybe I don't really exists.  Maybe I am a figment.  It's possible.  Maybe I'm your figment.

Think about it; you don't recognize my face, you've never heard my voice...  How do you know?  

I am simply a blog in the universe named Zobostic Corwin.
Like Orion or Cassiopeia, I hang around for you to occasionally see.  

Instead of being comprised of dust and gasses, my makeup is of vowels, adjectives, and consonants, with an occasional comma streaking across the dark paragraph.

Upon closer inspection

The weather person makes their predictions based on current conditions, and the things they can see heading our way. 

I think the lizards already know.  From my desk chair I see them climbing on the front of the house, and up and around the window screens.   They play, they do their push-ups, and every now and then they’ll leap from branch to shrub, or from house to flowerpot, and back again.

Before the first crack of thunder they have all disappeared.  Not a single lizard can be seen.  They must know.  They either all know, or they communicate with each other very quickly and very well.

I expect it’s the same with crows.   They wake me up in the early morning, hollering back and forth, and splashing around in the bird bath.  During the day I see them hopping around the yard picking out, what to them, must be tasty treats, bits of this and that, and of course catching the slower lizards.  They forage for their meals and play and just like the lizards, before the first raindrop hits, they are nowhere to be seen.

So I guess my question is…

Is the weather person looking at something called a Doppler, or are they simply watching the lizards?

Art

We have a few metal sculptures 

around the house,

so I got to thinking...

We liked this one but found it too

expensive to buy.

So why not hang a picture of it here

on the wall of my Blog

so you can enjoy it as well.

If the artist doesn't want it here

he or she can just let me know

and I'll take it down.

Thanks.

People often ask...

what school I attended to

learn so much about

snake eggs.

Slytherin

of course.

I Remember

I would grumble and complain whenever I had to get up and go to work in the morning.  Not only did I have to get on the freeway and play dodge-the-morons, but then, once I finally got to work, the coffee was non-drinkable.  No amount of cream and sugar was going to help.

Follow that by sitting in the daily staff meetings listening to the boss complain about me playing solitaire all day on my computer, boy - what a grouch. 

Anyway, yesterday this guy showed up to work on the office landscaping.  I could see him from my window.  He needed to trim branches, but not the low, easy to reach branches, no - this guy had to climb way up in the trees.  He had ropes and harnesses and gadgets that clipped onto other gadgets, a hard hat and on top of all that, he had loud, dangerous chainsaws, sharp cutty things and pointy stuff.  Yikes!

If you look close you can see him up there.  I did notice, when he first started to climb, his tool-belt had a loop on it for holding his Starbucks.   Boy, some guys have it made.

To my way of thinking

Assume for the moment that you had

car trouble.

You call me and say,

"Hey, Zobostic, can you come and give

me a tow?"

Of course, being your friend and

an all around nice guy,

I put a long rope in my trunk and head out

to rescue you.

Now, after I have the two cars tied together,

I say,

"Put your parking brake on
and I'll tow you home."


You're right.
I would never say that.  It makes no sense.




That is the issue I have with the following
photograph;

Towing this ship with its sails up

is like towing it with the brakes on.

I'm sorry, but to me - that's just dumb.

Don't get me wrong,
I like the picture -




It just bugs me.

When Systems Fail

There is pressure and an enormous amount of stress.

Stuff begins to give - things get said.

Sometimes it's just all too much to deal with.

This bracket isn't doing too well either.

Sort of ruins the surprise

Is it because I write about Potatoes?

This morning I thought about Mercator projections, Maslow’s hierarchy, and Roget’s Thesaurus.  So you see, I can think about other things other than potatoes.  I’m not obsessed.

Maybe I expect too much.  Maybe it’s me.  Perhaps the fault lies in the way I am wired, and I just can’t see it.

Not a day goes by that I don’t run out to check the mail.  Maybe today?  But it has been several years now, and nothing.  No letter from you.

I told myself before, maybe they don’t have postage over there.  Maybe, because you passed away and no longer have a tongue you can’t lick the envelope to seal it.

But then, someone came up with email.  It is free of postage and licking.

Still you don’t write.

I’ve looked for other signs.  I know you are watching out for me.  Every time things go my way; I feel you somehow had a hand in it.  For that, I thank you.

And yes, I know I sound needy, but I’d still like a letter from you.  Something tangible I can hold in my hand.

As I write this there is a Paul Simon song playing in my head.  I think it is called, Why don’t you write me?

"I’m off in a jungle.  I’m hungry to hear you."

A Fable

Once upon a time there lived a scraggly old codger.  We’ll call him Wallace.  Not because Wallace was his name, but just for this story.  So really, don’t think of him as Wallace, but just a made-up person for this story.  Got it?

Okay, so Wallace…  No wait - let’s call him Ned.  Yea, I like that better.  Ned was a scraggly old codger.

Here, let me start over.  

Once upon a time there lived a scraggy, old codger named Ned.  Ned had worn-out shoes, clothes that looked like rags, and an unpleasant odor that seemed to follow him wherever he went.  Really, we’re talking stink-a-roo.  Sometimes the smell of Ned got to where he was going before Ned did.

Let me interrupt this for just a minute.  I just want to impress upon you the amount of stench we’re talking about.  Think of a rotten egg factory that’s been closed up for a long holiday weekend.  You’re the first one to show up for work on Monday morning.  You open the big factory doors to go in and a waft of rotten egg smell comes rushing out.  It knocks you over and now you’re laying there right in the way of everyone who was behind you waiting to get into work.

People are stepping over you, some are saying excuse me, others are giving you dirty looks, as if it were you that was causing the smell.  Anyway, are you starting to see what I’m talking about here?  I’m talking about Ned.  He was a stinker.

Here’s the thing;  Ned didn’t know he stunk.  Ned couldn’t smell.  I mean his nose didn’t work like yours or mine.  It was just there on his face, but no smell was getting in.  The smell part of Ned’s brain had gone unused all of his life.  Ned didn’t even know what people were talking about whenever they would comment on how good the cafeteria smelled at lunch time.

And by the way, it was a rare occasion the cafeteria smelled good, or anything even close to good.  But I digress.

One Thursday afternoon, at precisely 3:07 pm, a swarm of skunks invaded the town.  Towns people scattered in all directions.  No one knew what had caused the skunks to all leave the woods and come into town, but suddenly there they all were.  Skunks everywhere.  Many were waddling down Main Street, a few had wandered into the bank lobby, while still others seemed to be running towards the elementary school.

By now you’re probably thinking that our hero Ned with his inability to smell stayed behind to save the day and rid the town of skunks.  Well, you’d be wrong.  Ned was one of the first to high-tail it out of there.  In fact, he’s never come back.

I guess that if there is a moral to the story its this; 

If you’re supposed to close up the bank at 3 pm sharp, you better do it.

The End

I am

However, I don't think.

I expect that may put a damper on your whole philosophy, but the fact remains, I am simply here taking up space.  I serve no purpose.  My function is to be - and nothing more.

Some, of course, will argue that the state of being is a purpose onto itself.  I don't understand that.  Like I said, I don't think.

Had I the ability of cognition I could perhaps contemplate the conditions and hazards of the ocean, I could mentally navigate direction and retain past and present events, and in so doing avoid such things as pollution, larger fish that might find me appetizing, and fishing nets.

But I have no such ability.  I have, unknowingly of course, swam through schools of predators, bumped into jellyfish, and started sentences with the word but.  Hey, that's one of your rules, not mine.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining.  I like my life.  I can, with very little effort, swim this way or that, fast or slow, here and there.  If, for whatever reason I'm feeling lazy, I can just flow with the current, going wherever it takes me.  No one is poking me with a fork or dipping me in tarter sauce.  I am pretty much left alone.

I anticipate that after posing for this blog photo I will become a little famous.  Hey - it could happen.  You saw me, didn't you?  One never knows.  Look at Charley the Tuna.  He got some big contract with Star-kissed.  He doesn't even have to swim anymore.  He's got fish of his own that swim for him.

I'm just saying...

A Bobcat in the Woods

Sorry.

I don't know why I do things like this.

You'd think I'd know better.

I am Authorized to Run with Scissors

 On many occasions I have been seen throwing caution to the wind, and captured on film - I have, in fact, taunted fate. 

  One might say I live on the edge.  I like to think of it as simply – living.  While others have ran with the bulls, I chose to casually walk.  

I not only stand close to the rail – I lean. 

For me, nothing lurks in the shadows.  I stand upon this planet, bathed in the knowledge that I have right and good on my side.  Sure, there are occasional nicks from shaving, but a nick in time winds the clock.

It is up to the others to make sense of it all.  My boots are dry and my key cannot be duplicated.  Unless, of course, you have access to the right blank.  I mean, like a good locksmith might have one, but your average Joe, I don’t think so.

Which brings me to that whole average thing.  Joe or otherwise, I do not believe in average.  It is a concept whose roots are in sand.  It is an empty expression, and I’m sorry I used it.  

I cannot go back and black it out, as at first glance, people may think this to be a document that has been redacted.   You know, key words and important phrases removed for National Security reasons.

Hogwash.  I will just leave it there.  It will be up to you to ignore it or become obsessed by it.  In either case, I have moved on.

See?  I am over here now.  Moved on.

Where there's Smoke

Sometimes

it isn't fire that gets you -

It's not always smoke inhalation

either,

More often than not

it's getting up on a ladder

to change a battery.

Remember

There may not be a place to bury old headstones

But...

you can always use a sweet potato

as a door-stop.

Helpful hint #42

Sing along...

For those of you who remember.

This is just the scout

  He keeps checking on us, where in the house we are, if we are trying to escape.  He reports back to the others through body language.  They are on the outside walls, and all over the roof, in the trees, everywhere.

There are millions and millions of them just waiting to get us - hoping we change our auto insurance.