Thursday 29 November 2012

Prawn On The Internet.

The following is another reposting that was originally published on Friday, 27 November, 2009.  I hope you enjoy this one and if you have read it before, enjoy it again.  And thank goodness, I've just sent of a huge pile of paperwork that has caused me so much stress. So, just for the 'halibut', here you are.....

Prawn On The Internet.
I keep hearing about folks searching for 'prawn on the internet'. I've really no idea what all the fuss is about. Something about soft prawn and hard prawn. Well, I don't know about that, but I've had a deep-fried prawn. Anyway, I didn't need to 'surf', or, for that matter, 'trawl' the internet, to find prawn. No, all I did was go into my local supermarket and found prawn hiding inside a bag of crisps (or "potato chips", if you are reading this from North America). Yeah, I know, the bag states it's, "Prawn Cocktail", and at this point, you might be thinking up some double meaning connotation.

A prawn is a crustacean. A crustacean is chiefly an aquatic creature. Typically, having their body covered with a hard shell or crust. One type of prawn is known as a "king" prawn. Contrary to what I'd believed was true, a king prawn is not in line for the throne of the British monarchy. Crabs are crustaceans. One type of crab is known as a "fiddler" crab. The fiddler crab, does not, as I was led to believe, play a small stringed instrument, or indeed, entertain the various sea creatures, with tunes from 'Fiddler on the Reef'. 'If I were a rich clam...' Lobsters are crustaceans. One type of lobster is named, "slipper" lobster. To this day, not one slipper lobster has been seen wearing slippers, smoking a pipe and sporting some tacky cardigan.

I wonder if a prawn has 'coral sex'? Do they do it 'atoll'? I wrote this story just for the 'krill' of it. I think I need 'kelp'. I know this posting was 'all at sea'. Yet somehow, it 'warmed the cockles of my heart'. No more fish puns because I'm beginning to 'flounder'. Right, that's enough, I'll 'clam' up now.  

Sunday 25 November 2012

'WEE.T.' Still Phoning Gnome.

While still working on a mountain of paperwork that is causing a lot of stress, thanks to this disgraceful British government that's attacking the sick and vulnerable, I submit to you another rerun posting.   This was originally posted on August 10, 2010.  Thank you for reading or rereading this.  Gary.

                                                      'WEE. T.' Phone Gnome.

I was scouring, or trawling, or perusing, through one of the local, thrilling beyond my wildest dreams, newspapers. I'm used to such exciting front page headlines in the local 'rags' such as, 'Farmer Brown's Cow Dies!' and "Girl Loses Doll Out Of Pram In Derby Street." That second headline is actually true. I guess, although very sad for the little girl, it was kinda' surreal to think that was actually worthy of being the headline news item. Ah, life in a small town.

Anyway, I read through the obituaries, my name wasn't there. I was about to dispose of the newspaper in the correct recycling bag. Then I noticed, much to my astonishment, in a paper that likes to delight me with vital information, such as the big cake sale at the community hall, the following article.

"Aliens may be using a cosmic version of Twitter to contact us - but for decades we have been missing their "tweets", it has been claimed. ET is more likely to be sending out short, directed messages than continuous signals beamed in all directions, say experts."

"This approach is more like Twitter and less like War and Peace," said Californian physicist Dr James Benford, president of Microwave Sciences Inc.
He and twin brother Gregory, an astrophysicist at the University of California, Irvine, looked at the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (Seti) from the aliens' point of view.
They concluded that Seti scientists may have been taking the wrong approach for the past five decades."

So, there are aliens from other worlds trying to contact us using a cosmic form of social networking?  'Yodafone' might be one form of communication. 'E.T'witter'?  'Forcebook'?  May the Forcebook be with you.  Judging by the gibberish I read on the social network sites, maybe some of my friends are actually from another planet and are trying to convey what they believe is a deep and profound message.

If there are aliens twittering away, maybe they have some special powers and could transport 'celebrity' 'twits', I mean twitters, to a galaxy far, far away. The next two paragraphs shall provide examples of 'tweets' from 'celebrities' that really should be viewed by an attentive audience on another world.  Wonder what they would make of this?  

"Ok. This is now mad. I am stuck in a lift on the 26th floor of Centre Point. Hell's teeth. We could be here for hours. Arse, poo and widdle,"   Those were the immortal words of British writer and comedian, Stephen Fry. 

 "Some punk bitch rookie cop named Fisher #10026 made the arrest of his bulls**t career today by arresting the Notorious Ice-T for no seat belt. That was some bull they made up. The officer said 'I know who you are and I don't give a f**k!' That was right after I called him a punk bitch."  Yep , those were the articulate words of that much loved rapper, 'Ice-T'.  Ice-T meet E.T.
The 'wee folks', Fidelina, the beautiful fairy Princess and her husband, Geoffrey the garden gnome, had heard about the possibility of life on other planets. So I let them read some interesting articles on my 'magic machine'.
The wee folks got all excited about the prospect of life on other worlds. They'd heard of one particular alien wanting to use a phone. Thus they tried contacting life on another planet.  Maybe there might be  wee folks on some distant galaxy. Life on planet 'Elf'?  Or is that just an another investigation for the 'Elf Files'? Geoffrey, rather optimistically, spoke these words into the magical speaker, 'WEE.T. phone gnome.'

Tuesday 20 November 2012

Slow Down Time....Again.....

While still working on challenging some stressful situations in my 3D world, I'm submitting another archived posting, originally published on Friday, October 8, 2010, titled, "Slow Down Time." If you had read it before, pretend you didn't and pretend that you have slowed down time.  Thank you and may you have a peaceful, positive day. 

                                                         Slow Down Time.

Have you ever wanted to slow down time?  Well, you could watch a watch.  You could even stare at your clock.  If you are a dude reading this, the word I typed was 'clock', there is an 'l' in there.  I was thinking of using the 'neighbourhood watch', to..... 'slow down time', unfortunately, I couldn't fit it through the front door.  Soooo could continue reading this boring blog.  That should work.

I'm sure you are familiar with the usual stuff that could 'slow down time'.  You know, waiting for water to boil, watching grass grow, and one of my big favourites, waiting for paint to dry.  Exciting news!   I have found another method to 'slow down time'.  I propose a toaster.  If you stare at the bread in the toaster, it takes an eternity.  If you leave the room, your smoke alarm will go off.

Now then, time depends on which side of the bathroom door you're on.  If you really, truly, want to 'slow down time', make sure you are on the outside of the bathroom and are desperate to get in there before you shit yourself.  Of course, the person, or in this case, "Tails the fox", are completely oblivious to your plight.  What makes it worse is the fact animals don't even use 'ass wipe', I mean 'bog roll', I mean toilet paper.  No, just like good old kittie, or your adorable dog, Tails the fox, just wants to play with your toilet paper and spread it all over your bathroom floor.

Or, you could, 'slow down time', by doing what the dopey idiot in the photograph did to, 'slow down time'.  Dude in photograph boards a plane at Heathrow airport in England at noon.  He takes a direct nine hour flight to Vancouver and discovers he has arrived one hour after he left.  'Good afternoon, Gary!'  Yell his adoring fans waiting for him at the arrivals lounge.  'It's One P.M. eh...are you ready for some lunch eh?', screams one of his adoring fans.  'WTF!  I've done it!  I've 'slowed down time!', replies Gary to his startled but still adoring fans.  Incidentally, I've seen my face recently and my methods of trying to, 'slow down time', appeared to have lost to the relentless onslaught of gravity.

In closing, yes we're nearly there.  In closing, I have some other methods to 'slow down time'.  You could visit someone you despise with a seething passion.  You know the type that make awkward silence seem like a fun plan.  Then again, this could backfire because you might spend a great deal of time going over those on your 'hate list'.  This could actually 'speed up time'.  

You might pretend you are a kid.  Of course, if you are a kid, you will know what I mean.  Anyway, pretend you're a kid, sit in the back of a friend's car and scream, 'are we there yet?'  You might try practising, by screaming, 'are we there yet?', on a bus, on a boat,  in a taxi, or on a plane.  Maybe forget trying that on a plane. 'Sorry Mr. Air Marshall, I was just trying to 'slow down time'.'

You might even try this.  Hang around really large objects.  According to certain scientists, time goes slower near large objects.  So, I'm heading for the pyramids, or perhaps, just hang around with my very large friend who gives, 'ballpark figure',  a whole new meaning.

Are we there yet?  Yes, mercifully, we have come to the end of another boring and ridiculous blog.  Reading this may have helped you 'slow down time'.  Right, I'm going now, time to listen to a fascinating and absorbing game of chess on the radio.  One last thing.  I'm struggling to sell my 'Marcel Marceau' CD.  Any offers?    I think I have 'time on my' hands......

Saturday 17 November 2012

Remembering A Journey Down The West Coast.

As I continue to regain and reinforce my positive focus, I thought you might like to read one of my very early posts.  This post from November 24, 2007, brings back some profound inspiration.  Makes me understand, no matter what barriers come my way, I can climb over them and realise how much I have to be grateful for.

                                              From Lions Gate To Golden Gate

The year was 1972, two weeks before Christmas. This would be my second trip to California in the space of six months. I just knew this would be another great adventure in my life.

In the early summer of '72 I had travelled from Vancouver to San Francisco on a Greyhound bus. Upon my arrival in that great northern California city, this wide-eyed eighteen year old prepared himself for a wonderful, multi-cultural experience. Here I was, in San Francisco! Wow!  It looked just like it did on television. Cable cars, Fisherman's Wharf, the winding roads, the very steep hills, and of course, Alcatraz.

I spent a few days in that great city, absorbing all the sights and sounds of the bustling community. Being of an exploring nature, I found myself back at the Greyhound bus depot. I purchased a ticket for Lake Tahoe, which is located on the California, Nevada border. It was there that I met a a very friendly California family. We got along so well, that I arranged to stay with them for Christmas. They lived in a small town near San Francisco named San Pablo. Ah yes, it would be Christmas in California. This brings me neatly back around to my opening paragraph.

So now it is nearly Christmas in the year 1972. My long journey south from Vancouver to San Francisco, a distance close to a thousand miles, was going to be an even greater adventure than my first trip. For this time, an even wider-eyed nineteen year old was going to drive there in his first car. Yes indeed, I headed off down Interstate 5 in my '64 Plymouth Valiant. Fingers crossed, my pride and joy would get me there safely. 

Well, somehow, I did make it. Driving through some of America's great towns and cities. I travelled through Seattle, home of Bill Gates, home of Boeing, home of Jimi Hendrix, home of that legendary band "Nirvana". I moved on through the beautiful city of Portland Oregon. Soon I would be in California. Soon I would see my friends in San Pablo.

Over the next two weeks, I would have some of the most memorable experiences of my life. It was an action-packed time. I social-networked with loads of people. I had a fantastic time, heck I even went snow-skiing for the first time ever. Skiing was a rather strange concept. I mean it was like suddenly strapping on a pair of size 107 shoes on your feet. It took some getting use to. I recall being covered in snow, lying on the ground and staring up at the sky. I look back on that very special, very different Christmas with warm, fond memories. Yet one memory of that California Christmas has left me with a profound sense of caring for those not as fortunate as myself.

On Christmas Day, that wonderful family that I was staying with had a Christmas tradition that I will never forget. That morning we drove off to the grandmother's house. She lived in a city named Oakland, which is located across the bay from San Francisco. Her home was in an Oakland ghetto.

Yet despite my anxious perceptions of a ghetto and the stigma attached to such places, all I felt was warmth and kindness. This was a proud lady, living in a place she chose to stay in. This was a lady, whose fair skin was part of the minority in the neighbourhood. Somehow, it didn't matter. 

I was introduced to her friends and neighbours. They were part of a community that knew all too well what being underprivileged meant. The adversity that they endured seemed to unite these folks in making their lives that little bit better. Seldom have I experienced such community spirit. I left that ghetto in Oakland, with inspired perceptions. Despite the trouble and strife that was so much a part of their world, they never gave up on being positive towards each other. That day, that special Christmas Day, I was honoured to be among such caring, genuine people.

So from the Lions Gate Bridge, in that great Canadian city of Vancouver, to the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, I had travelled down the west coast of North America. Somehow, despite the frantic driving methods of the Californians, my 1964 Plymouth Valiant survived. As I reached the Canadian border and went through Customs, I knew my journey was almost over. It turned out to be a journey of self-discovery.  I have been truly blessed with some powerful memories.  What a positive focus.

Tuesday 13 November 2012

Continuing To Stick With It.

I'm having a bit of trouble focusing on my blog.  I'm working on reinforcing my positivity.  Thanks to you 'sticking with me', for which I'm profoundly grateful, I'm going to do a repost that was titled, "Stick With It"  If you have read this before,  I hope you can 'stick' this one out.   I will continue to stick with it...

There was this guy I knew who had a bit of yearly school tradition.  The poor fellow ended up in twelve different schools in twelve years.  At the beginning of each school year he would glue himself to the head teacher.  'Why do you do that?' I asked.  'Well, my parents told me that I should always stick to my principals.'

I have no idea where this blog is going.  It might go for a stroll through the park and end up at a take-away restaurant and order a pizza.  Can you tell I'm typing 'off the top of my head'?  Now how awkward is that?

'Knock, knock!'  Excuse me, ...'someone's knocking at the door.  Somebody's ringing the bell.  Do me a favour, open the door and let 'em in...'  Well, perhaps not.  Okay, I'm back now.  Yet another 'door-to-door' salesman.  I told him I don't need a door and that there is no reason whatsoever that I require a 'shiny new knob'.  'Sir', he stated.  'I'm merely wanting to canvas you.'  'Canvas me?  What?  You want to turn me into some kind of tent?'  He gave me a perplexed look and rushed off.  So quickly that he almost forgot his door, complete with the shiny new knob.

Let me see if I can do something that relates to the title of this posting.  Ah yes, 'stick'.  Apparently, 'stick' can be something that holds two objects together. It can be a small thin branch of a tree.  You can 'stick out like a sore thumb' and end up in a 'stick-up' as you 'stick to your guns' whilst getting 'stick' for living in the 'sticks'.  You can even have a hockey 'stick' , a walking 'stick',  a 'stick' of gum and oh yes...something what is it?  Hmmm...a memory 'stick'.  And speaking of walking sticks.  This shepherd told me he was really struggling.  'Why's that?'  I inquired.  'Just can't get the staff these days.  Nothing but crooks.'

Note my hand desperately clinging on to that wonderful object of alleged stickiness.  It is sometimes known as 'Scotch tape' or 'Sellotape'.  Let's just call it a roll of sticky tape.  Sticky tape, the gift wrapping nightmare.  I usually end up with a series of teeth marks on said sticky tape.  It's one of life's great mysteries that the beginning part of the tape magically blends into the roll.  Several teeth marks later and I discover that broken shred of tape that comes of the roll and sticks to my fingers.  Then, I start again, frantically searching for that elusive spot that indicates where the beginning part of the tape is now hiding.  Yep, one of life's great mysteries.  Along with the mystery of the missing pens, combs and socks.
Right then, that's enough of this.  I managed to stick with it.  I hope you were 'glued' to your computer screen as you read the musings of a man who tried not to get unstuck.  If you somehow managed to stick with it and read to the end of this posting...well done!

Thursday 8 November 2012

A Pothole On The Writing Road.

Here it is, the early hours of a Thursday morning and I cannot sleep.  Any semblance of focused writing has been tested to the extreme with a series of negative influences that threaten my desire to maintain a healthy, fulfilling balance in my life.

Workplace bullying, physical, financial and psychological, cost me my house, my life savings, my marriage.  So traumatised was I that I nearly drank myself to death.  And now the past I have been trying to make sense of, to try to move on from, is being dredged back up by a heartless government who wants to test me to determine if they consider me capable of going back to work.

We are hearing the horror stories.  People too ill to work are having their incapacity benefits removed, placed on jobseeker's allowance and are expected to go and find jobs that don't exist.  It's a cynical ploy by the British government to cuts the benefits of the vulnerable in half.

I never asked to become ill.  I wanted to be a contributing member of society.  Yet, I did get ill.  An unrelenting negative environment virtually destroyed the remaining fragments of my dignity.  I did a lot of volunteer work within the mental health field until I could take no more when a certain mental health charity reinforced my mental health issues.  And thus, I started staying at home, reclusive and finding a therapy by writing.

I do my best to turn what seems as negatives into positives.  However, I am really struggling with this.  I have a daunting questionnaire to fill in that is causing much anxiety.  I have the ongoing nightmare of anti-social neighbours who have left me no choice but to give up a house I treasured and a garden that was created out of love and hope.

I'm trying to not let negative speculation drive me to another breakdown.  Maybe all will be okay.  I will do my utmost to make it so.  What I do know is that I thought that my writing was starting to get better and that my dream of being a published author, complete with the fancy book cover, would come to fruition.  Right now, it all hangs in the balance.  If I am forced back to work in a job market where no jobs exist, it will destroy me.  And if did get another job, I would live in fear of further bullying.

Trying to look at this as a pothole on the writing road.  Must pick myself up, desperately cling onto the motivation that drove me me this far.  Yes, I'm sick, I'm scared and waves of panic, shivers of anxiety are keeping me awake.  With trembling hand, I click on publish....

Friday 2 November 2012

Bedtime On Bonfire Night.

Hi, yes it's me, Penny the Jack Russell dog.  Over here in Britain, we can be subjected to a number of very loud bangs and flashing lights in the sky, from Halloween and somewhat beyond Bonfire Night, also referred to as Guy Fawkes Night.  The previous two years, I discussed my concerns about fireworks and the impact they can have on us animals.  If you wish to check it out, here is the link : Penny's Pyrotechnic Plea.  

What I will emphasise is that we ask humans to use a bit of common sense on Bonfire Night, which is on Monday, November 5.  For your safety and the safety of animals, we would ask that humans would go to an organised, controlled public display of fireworks. 

Renowned Shakespearean actor, Simon Callow, narrates the first bedtime audiobook for us dogs.  It evidently can calm stressed dogs.  Might prove ideal for me, especially on Bonfire Night.  I just had a view of the video and it sort of got my attention.  Just curious to see how my other animal friends react to this bedtime book for dogs.  Here's a link that gives further info about the bedtime story developed for us dogs : Simon Callow's Bonfire Night bedtime story for dogs

And now I must go read my human, Gary, a bedtime story.  I shall read him some extracts from the book I am writing about when I was a puppy titled, 'My First Bark'.