It's after midnight, and I'm more sleepy than I should be, but I feel stupidly guilty for not writing anything in the last few days. Well, I've written programming code, but somehow [code]Issue.find([param[:id])[/code] doesn't strike my literary fancy.
The goal of "stream of consciousness" writing is to hopefully get a few good nuggets from a river of mucky verbiage. The idea is that somehow my conscious mind gets in the way of my creative mind, though how this brain feud occurs is never explained and remains a greater mystery than the continuing reverence for Benny Hill.
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Mylar stockings sound like a good idea for a Christmas gift. Not for me, of course. That would be just plain crazy, though not as crazy as flying an airplane to France for National Parisian Beer Day. There is no such thing, because the French are as incapable of brewing quality beer as they are of appreciating quality comedy. Not that French aren't funny. But, they're funny in the same way that Jack London is funny when he's describing a man spitting into the Arctic wind and his spittle freezing before it hits the snow in "To Build a Fire". If you find that amusing, then France will be your mecca of sublime humor.
The above was completely unfair to a great nation who have given us--the world, not me or my friends--fine music, wine, art, and words that require a Master's degree in Linguistics to pronounce.
But what of the U.S.? What of our own melting pot of verbal incongruity? Where teenagers' rebelious inclination to create viral slang outbreaks are actually encouraged to the point of being imitated by their own parents. When I was a kid, "bad" was good. We weren't very clever, simply changing the meanings of common words. In the last decade, real artistry occured when not only words, but their spellings, were changed. It was good to be "phat", and size wasn't an issue.
I suppose I could put my foot down at the contracting of words without the respect of the apostrophe. I mean, of course, living in the hood with your bros, etc. On the other hand, previous decades sometimes loved apostrophes to a fault. In the adventures of Doc Savage, Lester Dent would (correctly, but crazily) call the forward area of a ship the fo'c's'le. On the other hand, any word that has three apostrophes and removes 'reat' is okay by me.
When this day began, I had a great idea of writing, writing, writing. But, I became involved in that great time waster, the internet, and the entertaining (and less wasteful?) Family Guy. But, I did take a nice, cold walk in a nearby park, where there were families toboganing. I considered approaching the area at a leisurely pace, waiting for two or three kids to begin their uncontrolled slide (a premonition of their later years, probably), then leaping forward, running in between their onrushing blitzkrieg, causing them to swerve like cows in charge of submarines when faced with Jules Vernian squids.
I didn't. There were parents around. Just my luck, too, and one of the little bastards would have got hurt, or stuck his tongue on a rock, or drank Coke instead of Pepsi. You just can't have fun anymore at childrens' expense.