I’ve been watching the transformation of the new swimming pool at Main & 33rd with great interest since I am regularly in the vicinity of it and take a peek.
I took a bit of an inhale when I noted that the lockers/changing rooms are right beside the front window.
All further developments will be reported anon.
Staff came out of it recently: they told me they were undergoing an induction. Technically it should open in early August.
Why do readers/viewers insist on repositioning a work in relation to themselves as a starting point? Why not reposition yourself in relation to the work and engage within its four corners, rather than your own? Then by all means return to your own.
I am currently reading a work that if I didn’t reposition myself I would be unable to read it and there are so far two very vital things within it, in addition to an overwhelming pile of sexist drivel. But the consideration of these two other things should not be lost, nor should the matter be overlooked that sexist windbags very much exist and have existed in the world. If anything such documentation enlightens as to how reductive they are and it’s a honest portrait.
I’ve also noticed how Twitter is increasingly a process by which the world is repositioned according to the I. The Moi. A kind of hark this is how the world sees me, (RT) pay heed and smudge budge this is how I want to be seen, take note. And in between it’s not-stop alignment. I went to Twitter to exchange on ideas and garner reading suggestions. I certainly have done that with some individuals, but the mud bath of alignment and political calculation and popularity vox pops is tedious.
I love summer. I love our community garden. Today I was thinking that if a child grew at the rate a zuccini (courgette) plant does each day, you’d have a stroke saying good morning to your son/daughter each day. Another gardener gave me two ton of advice today. My garden is looking tremendous! This year I wanted to have a good year in it and thanks to my friends Helen and Earl who came and helped me dig it (when my hip was banjaxed from falling over), the small plot is flourishing.
I am blessed to have and enjoy lovely summer days with my son, who is a dote. Today we embarked on a home reno project together of making shelves from scraps of wood. Unfortunately our hammer is missing in action. How do you lose a hammer in 600 square feet? And who ate two of the drill bits, and the chuck key?
God save me from audacious male galoots. Make that Galoots. Indeed make that GALOOTS. You’d get more sense out of a pod of potato seeds. In fact you’d get more sense from a conversation with an acid tab sitting on the shelf of a fridge untouched by human tongue.
I’d like to say I’ve encountered enough of the above, therefore if you are one, do not make yourself known to me. Find a milk float and join the bottles, they’ll make a remarkably similiar clank, clank, clank noise.
If you are a female audacious galoot: ditto.
My son says I should get a GMC Canyon. I was confessing in reply that I am getting 70’s Datsun desires. He replies that when it comes to cars we have the opposite dreams. We reached a sudden consensus on the Fargo, which I was calling a Chevy. So I say x fella has one of those and he says yeah, but I want an older one than that. I point out that I think that man’s Fargo is a 1942.
I have cause today to be at South Terminal where I am waiting. I am v early because I am meeting a very important person. There’s the usual feast of hobby fishermen bound for boats or resorts beyond. A bundle of them sit at the table playing cards, another bundle have a chat at the next table. These are mellow fellows all, but a sign on the cafe counter that reads “Maximum Limit 2 beers per customer” suggests a history of divilish merriment at these tables may have prevailed.
There are three other very tall males, how will they fit inside these teeny vacuum cleaner planes? Will they have to fold them in half to get them in through the door?
Everything is “ickle” in this terminal. It’s like a motorway caff, except everyone headed up, down and over.
A woman is reading a book beside me called Natural Capitalism. There are three sets of boots that say treeplanter also.