Love is fragile when new; if not protected, it will die.
Happy Thanksgiving, or perhaps not; to me, it is all the same.
My printer has a button marked “Cancel / Resume.” What sort of double-featured button is that?
I recently diatribed against my least favorite fossil-fuel burning vehicle, but a misadventure at lunch today reminded me of another important advantage held by public transportations. Trains are driven by nicely uniformed men and women who generally know which way to go; even so, the tracks usually present a clear and binary choice.
Cars, on the other hand, are driven by me, a person who will never fail to find a way to make a 5-minute trip across ordinary surface roads take forty minutes, two accidental entries onto a toll road, a highway (state), another highway (interstate), and a frankly inexplicable side trip to Newport Beach.
So perhaps I hate cars for the same reason I can’t stand “sandbox” games and FPSes–I have absolutely no sense of direction, and I get lost all the incredible time.
A fellow will remember a lot of things you wouldn’t think he’d remember. You take me. One day, back in 1896, I was crossing over to Jersey on the ferry, and as we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in, and on it there was a girl waiting to get off. A white dress she had on. She was carrying a white parasol. I only saw her for one second. She didn’t see me at all, but I’ll bet a month hasn’t gone by since that I haven’t thought of that girl.
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