Whooooie, all those folks on the cruise ship and all that poo-poo hitting the whirly dirley, man-man. The wife and I booked a cruise the other day, it is scheduled tentatively for this summer on the South Canadian River in McClain County.
It should be okay until we run into the sandbars, then I don’t know what we will do.
A friend of mine and I, have been swapping emails and discussing proper grammar. Which got me to thinking … often a dangerous thing, let me tell you. From time to time, I get bad at two things, run on sentences and repeating myself. Really do not have a clue as to why I am doing this, but I have noticed here of late, I am repeating some of my words in my posts. This can be fixed. I will do my best to correct this in the future. Here is something interesting I came across the other day, the entire post had something like 500 words and a great deal of it read just like this:
“In the sour tangy scent of gasoline and spilled oil and the glare of the lonely lights, I felt for a moment as though I was standing in the cold wind at a truck stop somewhere at some nameless exit off some nameless highway, anywhere along any of the routes I’ve driven in past three years, from little towns in the middle of the midwest en route to or from Wyoming, or somewhere in the dark of the night in the mountains of Pennsylvania or Virginia, filling the tank of a passenger van or wrestling the truckers’ pumps into the diesel dually, a horse trailer swaying softly in the darkness as the animals within shift their weight, resting their joints from the jostle of motion. I’ve driven nowhere near as many miles as my former-truck-driver father, who I am sure spent countless night standing in the cold to fuel his truck, his breath rising and vanishing in a white cloud about his bowed head, hands shoved in pockets, mind moving from point A to point B, thoughts on the goal destination, the miles traveled, miles left to go, condensing breath mingling with snowflakes in dull gas station lights.”
This might be why people are so stingy with the Like Button or pull up short on commenting. Now if you are a regular reader of this electronic-digital-rag, then you know I am not known as Mr. Language Person, but this? Man, something has to be wrong with this. The first sentence has 125 words before you find a period (.), and the entire paragraph close to 200 words.
Who has time to read stuff like that?
I suppose that is what a WordPress.com reader is all about, it gives you the ability to see the good, along with the bad, and in the course of things, it also shows you what to do and what NOT to do. Anyway, speaking for myself, I know I can do better on this site and I am going to make an effort to do just that.
All of this reminds me of the old story where a guy decided to check out of the Rat Race and become a Monk. So he traveled to Tibet, found a monastery and joined the order. One of the requirements of the monastery he was told he was to limit all conversation to just two words per year.
The first year he was there, he told the head Monk, “bed hard.” The second year he was there he again told the head Monk, “Food Bad.” At the end of the third year, he looked at the Monk and said, “I Quit!”
The head Monk looked at him, shook his head and then replied … “Well, it is no small wonder, all you have done since you got here is complain.”
See you at the Water-Cooler.