I wonder if this aisle includes roadside flaires.
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All pics shot by and © George Waters, The Wa Blog
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Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Wednesday Wa Pic - Let Davy Jones sort 'em out
For when you just get tired of wrestling the varmints.
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© George Waters, The Wa Blog
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Sunday, June 17, 2012
When your father's in your heart
There is no way to know where, or if, my father is now.
Well, one place I know he is for sure: my head. There he is, doing his "hocus-pocus-dominocus" trick for my nephew Mitch.
There he is in the basement of a halfway house for women where he volunteered, under a maze of leaking pipes, fixing them like a magician.
There he is, pulling me out of the hole I stepped in at the beach just as a wave went over my head.
There he is, sitting on the floor, his back against a wall, eating a sack lunch in a vacant apartment he owned and was painting.
There he is...walking my sister down the aisle at her wedding in the necktie she probably gave him for Father's Day a decade before. In his hospital bed, taking two long, last breaths. Handing my toddler sister baby chicks to play with. Applauding at my high school plays. Cheering at track meets. Wearing a tattered old Fedora against the rain. Jogging in place in the living room to rebuild his stamina after heart surgery.
There he is...diving in our frigid pool in the morning in order to "wake up." Choking back a sob when Edith Bunker died in "All in the Family." Riding our horse Billy, holding the reins with one hand like he was born to it. Wearing his "fun hat" (without which the fun simply could not begin) by the front gates of Buckingham Palace. Throwing my sister and me a football in the park during a road trip lunch stop.
There he is...chowing down on his favorite, a "chili size" at the local diner. Swimming out past the waves at Corona Del Mar. Pretending to like the annual Father's Day tie. Waking up in a sleeping bag next to me under a morning sky. Laying a new brick walkway to the house. Climbing trees to prune the branches.
There he is...riding on a Fourth of July float. Carving the Thanksgiving turkey and sampling it "for quality control." Walking the ancient Roman walls in York. Backpacking and camping out in the mountain chill and the desert heat with me and my Boy Scouts. Posing for family pictures with his six sisters and his brother. Laughing. Always laughing, big. Laughing to shake the roof off.
Forgive me, Dad, I was wrong. I know exactly where you are. Happy Father's Day.
Well, one place I know he is for sure: my head. There he is, doing his "hocus-pocus-dominocus" trick for my nephew Mitch.
There he is in the basement of a halfway house for women where he volunteered, under a maze of leaking pipes, fixing them like a magician.
There he is, pulling me out of the hole I stepped in at the beach just as a wave went over my head.
There he is, sitting on the floor, his back against a wall, eating a sack lunch in a vacant apartment he owned and was painting.
There he is...walking my sister down the aisle at her wedding in the necktie she probably gave him for Father's Day a decade before. In his hospital bed, taking two long, last breaths. Handing my toddler sister baby chicks to play with. Applauding at my high school plays. Cheering at track meets. Wearing a tattered old Fedora against the rain. Jogging in place in the living room to rebuild his stamina after heart surgery.
There he is...diving in our frigid pool in the morning in order to "wake up." Choking back a sob when Edith Bunker died in "All in the Family." Riding our horse Billy, holding the reins with one hand like he was born to it. Wearing his "fun hat" (without which the fun simply could not begin) by the front gates of Buckingham Palace. Throwing my sister and me a football in the park during a road trip lunch stop.
There he is...chowing down on his favorite, a "chili size" at the local diner. Swimming out past the waves at Corona Del Mar. Pretending to like the annual Father's Day tie. Waking up in a sleeping bag next to me under a morning sky. Laying a new brick walkway to the house. Climbing trees to prune the branches.
There he is...riding on a Fourth of July float. Carving the Thanksgiving turkey and sampling it "for quality control." Walking the ancient Roman walls in York. Backpacking and camping out in the mountain chill and the desert heat with me and my Boy Scouts. Posing for family pictures with his six sisters and his brother. Laughing. Always laughing, big. Laughing to shake the roof off.
Forgive me, Dad, I was wrong. I know exactly where you are. Happy Father's Day.
See? The fun can now begin.
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Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Wednesday Wa Pic - A sign of the Renaissance
This is perhaps the most satisfying "To do" list I have ever seen.
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© George Waters, The Wa Blog
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Sunday, June 10, 2012
Bridal magazine inspires humor
June is the month for weddings, traditionally, I think because people
want to be married before Independence Day rolls around, rendering
their newfound lack of independence ironic.
I picked up a bridal magazine recently out of morbid curiosity, to see what they are trying to sell the unsuspecting brides of the 21st Century. The magazine was titled "BLI$$," or something to that effect.
Reading a bridal magazine, much like predicting the winner of "America's Next Top Model," is not something a straight man should ever do.
If space aliens came down from the sky and looked through a bridal magazine, they would come to the conclusion that the women of our species cannot stand upright without dramatically leaning against something for support.
They would also surmise that women's legs must each be about five feet thick, considering the amount of poofy cloth required to cover them.
The days of ads with a pretty bride posing in a pretty dress are gone, if they ever existed. Now the typical ad shows a young woman, a hand held to her head as if she has just been startled, while trying on a $3000 wedding gown, by a bull moose.
The obvious conclusion, of course, is that this is an Alaskan bridal shop.
Another ad shows a bride striking a pose before an open window with a sheen of sweat on her chest, as if this danged heat is about to drive her to jump.
Yet another has a pair of dejected-looking waifs with purposely slumped shoulders as if to express, "Yes, I am getting married today, but I am untraditional, and my new husband will need to understand that I am tired of fighting gravity."
Aliens would assume that brides are an unusually hairy and pasty-faced species, judging by the products being hyped. There is a "hydrating razor," "nude air foam" with "aerated pigments" to cover up blemishes, and another type of goo to help "unclog your pores" for the big day.
Some ads sell suits for men as well. In one, a lanky bestubbled hunk gazes into the distance grimly and grips his pinky finger as if the fate of the world depends on pinky pressure.
Or perhaps he is engaged to sweaty-woman. Perhaps his nervous gesture is purely concern for her welfare.
I imagine a whole universe in which these models scowl and slump into and out of relationships. Befoamed. Hydrated. Unclogged. And that is when I realized I had to put the magazine down and walk away.
I picked up a bridal magazine recently out of morbid curiosity, to see what they are trying to sell the unsuspecting brides of the 21st Century. The magazine was titled "BLI$$," or something to that effect.
Reading a bridal magazine, much like predicting the winner of "America's Next Top Model," is not something a straight man should ever do.
If space aliens came down from the sky and looked through a bridal magazine, they would come to the conclusion that the women of our species cannot stand upright without dramatically leaning against something for support.
They would also surmise that women's legs must each be about five feet thick, considering the amount of poofy cloth required to cover them.
The days of ads with a pretty bride posing in a pretty dress are gone, if they ever existed. Now the typical ad shows a young woman, a hand held to her head as if she has just been startled, while trying on a $3000 wedding gown, by a bull moose.
The obvious conclusion, of course, is that this is an Alaskan bridal shop.
Another ad shows a bride striking a pose before an open window with a sheen of sweat on her chest, as if this danged heat is about to drive her to jump.
Yet another has a pair of dejected-looking waifs with purposely slumped shoulders as if to express, "Yes, I am getting married today, but I am untraditional, and my new husband will need to understand that I am tired of fighting gravity."
Aliens would assume that brides are an unusually hairy and pasty-faced species, judging by the products being hyped. There is a "hydrating razor," "nude air foam" with "aerated pigments" to cover up blemishes, and another type of goo to help "unclog your pores" for the big day.
Some ads sell suits for men as well. In one, a lanky bestubbled hunk gazes into the distance grimly and grips his pinky finger as if the fate of the world depends on pinky pressure.
Or perhaps he is engaged to sweaty-woman. Perhaps his nervous gesture is purely concern for her welfare.
I imagine a whole universe in which these models scowl and slump into and out of relationships. Befoamed. Hydrated. Unclogged. And that is when I realized I had to put the magazine down and walk away.
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Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Wednesday Wa Pic - Irritable public spaces
I found this in Crankytown right across from Kvetch Korner.
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© George Waters, The Wa Blog
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Sunday, June 3, 2012
How Venus's transit of the sun affects YOU
Tuesday Venus will visibly pass between Earth and the sun, affecting your personal horoscope in the following surprising ways:
Aries—Your native impulsiveness will cause you to tear the welder's glasses off a friend's face this Tuesday so that you can watch Venus transit the sun. This will not end well.
Taurus—You can be stubborn, and that is a good trait to have this week, because all kinds of people are going to try to tell you that seeing Venus transit the sun is worth missing "Judge Judy." There is a name for these kinds of people—"wrong."
Gemini—Adaptability has always been your strong suit, but seeing a planet punk the sun like this is really going to freak you out. Soothe yourself by wooing a Sagittarius.
Cancer—Your ruling planet is the moon, and the moon is not a planet, but go with me here. The moon will be overshadowed by all the publicity Venus is getting this week, which will make you sad. Find a kookaburra. Laugh with him.
Leo—You are fiery, self-assured and charming. Nobody likes that. Shut up about yourself for just five seconds, strap on some goggles and watch Venus already. Sheesh.
Virgo—Humane and gentle, you are dedicated to serving. All those people out staring at the sun are going to be thirsty. Howzabout you set down that rescue dog and whip up some Arnold Palmers?
Libra—Venus is your ruling planet, so you are bound to be excited by all the press she is getting this week. But keep that even keel you are so proud of, and a new relationship is likely to blossom. Don't wear yellow.
Scorpio—There is always a lot happening under the surface with you, Scorpio. Do you mind if I call you Scorpio? Anyway, I would suggest skipping the Venus transit altogether and dealing with those termite-laden stairs of yours. Call it a hunch.
Sagittarius—A Gemini will try to make time with you on Tuesday, but don't fall for it. Your broad-minded nature may tempt you, but stand firm. I mean, like, a Gemini? Seriously?
Capricorn—You are serious-minded, yet your symbol is a goat? Hmm. Watch the Venus transit online. Avoid pillows.
Aquarius—You are shy and quiet, yet boisterous and eccentric. You love water and take lots of baths. I don't know where I'm going with this.
Pisces—Compassionate, intuitive; you will be too busy with your aquarium to even notice the Venus hubbub this week. You alone, among all peoples, are blessed.
Aries—Your native impulsiveness will cause you to tear the welder's glasses off a friend's face this Tuesday so that you can watch Venus transit the sun. This will not end well.
Taurus—You can be stubborn, and that is a good trait to have this week, because all kinds of people are going to try to tell you that seeing Venus transit the sun is worth missing "Judge Judy." There is a name for these kinds of people—"wrong."
Gemini—Adaptability has always been your strong suit, but seeing a planet punk the sun like this is really going to freak you out. Soothe yourself by wooing a Sagittarius.
Cancer—Your ruling planet is the moon, and the moon is not a planet, but go with me here. The moon will be overshadowed by all the publicity Venus is getting this week, which will make you sad. Find a kookaburra. Laugh with him.
Leo—You are fiery, self-assured and charming. Nobody likes that. Shut up about yourself for just five seconds, strap on some goggles and watch Venus already. Sheesh.
Virgo—Humane and gentle, you are dedicated to serving. All those people out staring at the sun are going to be thirsty. Howzabout you set down that rescue dog and whip up some Arnold Palmers?
Libra—Venus is your ruling planet, so you are bound to be excited by all the press she is getting this week. But keep that even keel you are so proud of, and a new relationship is likely to blossom. Don't wear yellow.
Scorpio—There is always a lot happening under the surface with you, Scorpio. Do you mind if I call you Scorpio? Anyway, I would suggest skipping the Venus transit altogether and dealing with those termite-laden stairs of yours. Call it a hunch.
Sagittarius—A Gemini will try to make time with you on Tuesday, but don't fall for it. Your broad-minded nature may tempt you, but stand firm. I mean, like, a Gemini? Seriously?
Capricorn—You are serious-minded, yet your symbol is a goat? Hmm. Watch the Venus transit online. Avoid pillows.
Aquarius—You are shy and quiet, yet boisterous and eccentric. You love water and take lots of baths. I don't know where I'm going with this.
Pisces—Compassionate, intuitive; you will be too busy with your aquarium to even notice the Venus hubbub this week. You alone, among all peoples, are blessed.
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