Heya, happykreg!
I see youuu.
(happykreg also had the distinct pleasure of knowing Larry Junior, too.)
Ok, who's ready for the 3-day weekend?
Now that I'm not going to the beach of any kind, I'd like to be going to a beach of any kind. I always think of these ideas way too late to do anything about them.
Good story, huh? Well, I'm just taking a break. I think I need some bridge mix. And a margarita. With a swirl of frozen sangria in it. And some sand. White, sugary sand to sit on and complain about it sticking all over places I don't want it to stick until the margarita eventually honed that annoying edge right off my jaded attitude. Then I'd sit on the white, sugary sand and see tiny shells. Shells so tiny you can crush them between your finger and thumb. Then I'd put on my big Mary-Kate (or is it Ashley) sunglasses, black of course, and look out upon the blue ocean like I owned it and wonder what the hell I was ever worried about. Then I'd read my Star magazine and wonder if, since he helped her pick out a 9-carat diamond ring for the premiere of that mr and mrs whatever movie, if Angelina Jolie is pregnant with Brad Pitt's baby, and then wonder who really cares about that garbage. Besides me.
For those of us staying home this weekend, possibly saving the environment one less gassed-up roadtrip at a time, take a little Earth-friendly trip into Carl Sagan-type scienceland, here:
Art of Science
"This spring we asked the Princeton University community to submit imagery produced in the course of research or incorporating tools and concepts from science. The response was overwhelming: more than 200 entries from nearly 100 individuals in 15 departments. We selected 55 of these works to appear in the 2005 Art of Science Exhibition.
"The resulting assembly of images presents a fascinating and beautiful cross section of the arts and sciences at Princeton. It celebrates the aesthetics of research and the ways in which science and art inform each other."
6 comments:
I see you, too!
It bothers me that the World will never understand Larry Jr. as we do. (and didn't she spell it: Larye. seems like that was the case) And few will ever be able to appreciate what a Clarke flyer can do for one's self esteem. While although you are greatful to be employed, you wish someone would just kindly bash you in the head.
Yeah, she spelled it like that, or something similarly overdone. But since she was so manly or just smelled of men, she might as well have spelled "Larry" like her daddy, dontcha think. Man. I can't even remember the wife's name. Can you?
Remember that Syquest drive that had to be picked up and shaken to make it work?
Plus, my favorite ad was the mailer with the employees' heads cut out and pasted on cartoon football players' bodies, 'member that?
Kreg: People actually paid MONEY for that stuff. Isn't that mind-boggling?
Clark mailers: Those were the real widow-makers, though. I mean, if a person did't crack doing a full-page, front and back mailer featuring crappy gold nugget jewelry and "pink ice ice baby" fake diamond earrings, with the creative direction of the client, then I'd say that kind of torture makes a body stornger, meaner and drought-resistant.
We don't give ourselves enough credit. Pat yourself on the back, my good man.
The wife's name was Joyce. Once battered up some chicken and cooked it on the grill. Not known for her brain power.
Siblings were Doug (eventually murdered), Larye, Lorie and seems like the youngest man-child was named Chris. I only met Doug once and he was nothing like the rest of the family. Supposedly because he had a different biological father. He actaully acted like he had some brains. Larry Senior broke his arm once when he was in Jr. High. I don't think they got along.
You can't just say "Doug (eventually murdered)" to me, the watcher of every episode of "Cold Case Files", and just leave me hanging without the details.
Ha ha yes, Joyce wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, that I do remember. So: Joyce grilled some battered chicken, and Larry Senior battered Doug...these people sound more interesting than I remember...
Doug lived a rough man's life. An apartment and house painter that drifted from place to place. In and out of substance abuse but made his way the best he could. One night his room mate walked in and shot him in the belly with a shotgun for no apparent reason.
Oh, there's a reason. There's allllways a reason.
It just goes to show you, kids: Just Say No -- to marijuana, to crack cocaine, and (by all means) to paint thinner.
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