Weekly Update the Second – Timberjack, Golf Sucks and Stop Being A PhotoClown

It’s been a whole week! Or has it.  Maybe not. I’ll forget these if I wait till Friday. Enjoy.

Oh I got side tracked.. Side tracked. One word. Now you get two posts. This was supposed to be up June 16.

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Timberjack

 

Driving in the car the other day with my family and it hit me, “why do people say lumber and timber interchangeably?”. I asked my long suffering spousal unit and she promptly found a website that provides the difference between two similar words.  Apparently, Timber is fallen tree stuff ready to be cut up into Lumber.  There are regionalizations, for example people in Australia (gurus of proper language that they are) refer to lumber as timber.  I think English people do too but they don’t even have trees except ornamental ones that grow spaghetti so their opinions on word use do not count.  Hell they call arugula “Rocket” because French people call it Roquette and they can’t POSSIBLY pronounce something foreign correctly. They also call a zucchini a “vegetable marrow” which is disgusting and dumb. Anyways.  A Lumberjack is a person who cuts down trees for use as lumber but the trees they cut down are not made into lumber until they are hewn at a factory or sorts.. Therefore a Lumberjack using common word use is in fact a TIMBERJACK.  That is all.

Golf

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THANKFULLY a golf tournament I attend annually has been cancelled.  It’s free.  Free as in free round of golf, free cart, free meal, one free drink (boozy drink).  I like free.  I used to like golf.  I don’t like golf anymore.  Now I don’t have to golf at all.

Don’t get me wrong, like darts, pool, lawn darts, beanbag toss, horseshoes, dwarf tossing, golf is an at times fun “game”.  It’s not a sport because to me, regardless of the fact you can win money at it and people keep score, it’s based on accuracy and skill not “fitness” so to me it’s just a game.  I like games, I do, don’t get me wrong (again) but to me a game is something you do for fun and riding around with one friend, two strangers, in a small car, hitting a ball, swearing, swatting bugs, watching old men flirt with uni age cart girls, getting sunburnt/stroked then when it’s all over and you want to go home you still hang around the place for drinks and speeches.. That’s a chore.

Plus, when I was a kid golf was cheaper.

Plus when I was a kid, golf had dress codes.

Plus when I was a kid golf courses were less busy.

Plus when I was kid, everyone and their drunken dog didn’t golf.

I have other hobbies and sports to do.  Golf you are dead to me.

Photoclown

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Everyone that buys a monster lensed big frigging camera nowadays calls themselves a photographer.  That bugs me.  A friend who DOES this, and does slide a stupid “Photography by Ted Smith. Not for commercial use, copy-write 2017” (not his real name) on his pictures says to me “well, you’re a writer..”. I then remind him I may have written a few books but its not my job and I NEVER call myself a writer.  I also paint pictures in acrylics.  Some people like them. I do not call myself an artist. Sorry but unless you make a living at it, it’s a hobby.  You can make balloon animals, hang out at kids birthday parties and wear lots of makeup. That doesn’t make you a clown.  (Okay it could make you an alcoholic mom who is a bit of clown (pass the wine)..) Speaking of parties, a few years back, an in law invited their cousin to a family xmas gathering.  Small home. Small livingroom.  This person (not related to anyone else in the room) stormed around phot documenting he event with a giant SLR digital taking unplanned action shots of kids opening gifts, me generally avoiding them, people talking.  A full 70% of attendees wanted to kill them. Don’t do this.

That’s all I have.

So in summary:

  • Go ahead buy that nice camera, I would, I wish I had one that was better
  • Putting your name on the photo (especially in script font) is lame
  • Using a HUGE oversized lens when taking photos of anything mundane within 50 feet of you is lame
  • Calling yourself something you are not is lame
  • Toting a huge shoulder bag of lenses and such to a family event makes you target for a punching or at least verbal abuse.
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WEEKLY UPDATE THE FIRST – I AM IN EXILE, I KNOW ABOUT MAYAN CITIES AND I DO NOT LIKE STREETSWEEPERS

Welcome to my new weekly update.  I should do a podcast but damn the idea of forcing myself to edit audio and actually meet a schedule is tedious.  Daily “blogging” (I despise that word) is also not going to happen due to my latent procrastination.  So this is what you get for now.  Enjoy.  A weekly post of rambles and rants.

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Exile

Well that was easy. I’ve managed three days without posting anything on my personal Facebook page.  The original intention was to stay off till I completed three separate writing assignments and I am one third done that self-imposed electro-exile* and will be two thirds complete this afternoon.  The last one, well, that will take a bit longer, probably a few more days up to a week if I see something shiny I end up chasing across a parking lot.

But I digress.

In truth, the ease of this is staggering.  I’m an obsessive facebook poster.  I complain, drop links to songs I like or discover, incite riotous conversation to spark a change in public opinion, post photos of “Cute Celebrities I’d Never Bang Even Were I Single and A Billionaire” ™ , you know, the usual.  I may extend this.  Honestly I have enough people reading my things here and buying my occasional (and at present long overdue) books.

It’s fun being an outsider.  It’s more fun to be an outside that lurks social networks, drops funny comments here and there and runs back to ones cave. I think my new faux-career option has become Facebook Lurker.

We’ll wait and see I guess.  Pardon me while I go make fun of someone’ shoes.

*Band name of the week: Elektroexile  (note the Germanic use of a K for fun)

Sweeper

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I have an unreasonable fear of streetsweepers (odocatharistophobia**) so when I see one I generally, being an adult, cringe a bit inside and just give it space.  When I was a kid late at night, I would be awoken to the sound of hissing brushes on the roadway, a groaning moaning engine and flashing lights that shone on my ceiling.  It was horrible, nightmare inducing, double plus ungood.

I was this week making a left turn into my parking lot when I saw a small one moving up the laneway, whipping around the traffic island and turning back into the property.  It (for the human occupant is not in control of these beasts) was collecting dirt and mud spewed all over our roads and parking lots due to a recent construction project. As it turned, it ran over a very recently patched section of asphalt road. A giant pothole filled with malleable, hot black asphalt.  It chewed into it and sprayed the black sticky goo everywhere and completely re-opened the recently filled hole.  It was glorious destruction and resulted in one group of worker arguing with another group of workers. I have no idea why this amused me as much as it did. Perhaps because in my child mind, the streetsweeper was getting in trouble.

** Not a true, accepted phobia.  I just googled “irrational fear of streetsweepers” and found some linguist guy made up a term from a Latin word for streetsweeper.

Teotihuacan

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Today he says when we are mid highway on our ways to work and school “Dad you know that ancient Mayan city Teotihuacan?” Which he pronounces flawlessly as were he a 600 ad resident of the place. My middle son is very intelligent.  Annoyingly intelligent at times.  It often happens that he, out of the blue, when I am busy doing something like oh, having a shower, writing a book, driving a car, eating a piece of toast, will ask us a question to verify something he already knows or wants to use a lead in to explain something else.  We being educated, experienced S-Mart people most often have answers but we are left wondering “why did you need to know that now? You are 17 not 7…” Example: “Dad, you know when you are (doing some calculus or coding thing) and (something apparently obscure of odd happens) is it best to (do this) or (do other thing)?”  I will, assuming I know the answer or can determine it through logic will say “do (this)” which will set him off with a tirade about how “(the other thing) is the better choice and here is why”.

My wife and I burst out laughing as the odd question, which he repeats then he repeats the city name, again pronounced perfectly two more times.  We laughingly scolded him at the  obscurity of his questions, realized he was reading another of his strange leftist social justice books and patiently awaited him to defend the ritualized murders or laud their communal farming (and murdering) culture. Thankfully he dropped it, mildly embarrassed at our reaction***.  I expect him to try again.  I will again laugh at his pronunciation. Best dad ever.

*** The saddest thing is that I actually knew what city he was talking about and probably had answers to his questions.