I looked around the room for it. Nothing. I surfed the internet in search of it. Still nothing. I flipped through an old photo album, and it wasn’t there, either. Finally, I got up and grabbed a jacket and walked to the park down the street, where I wandered a bit in the little woods and then took the long way home. Nope. Still nothing.
Inspiration is simply refusing to be found, today. All those clever little thoughts and inspirational moments of the last week have simply gone away. Oh, I’m sure they’ll be back, but probably not as long as I’m sitting here trying to force them to come home and inspire me, so I’ll simply have to write without inspiration. Of course, there may be those who would suggest that I always write without inspiration. To them, I would offer the most mature response I have at hand, “Phbt!”
There. Now that I’ve given some back to those strawman critics, I can move on to some seriously uninspired writing.
So, uh, well, here goes, uh, so I started an Instagram account a while ago, wanting to increase my social media exposure with photos sometimes combined with phrases. I’m not very good at it, though. I mean, I remember to take my phone/camera when I go for a walk, or for a drive, and I’ve uploaded a number of nature photos and some images of artwork collaborations, but I keep forgetting the important stuff. So far, I haven’t presented a single picture of beautiful food. Ridiculous, right? My millennial friends must all be shaking their heads in scornful pity at my food-photo failings.
It happened again, yesterday. I met with my old-guys group for a late breakfast and coffee. My corned beef hash and over-easy eggs were a beautiful combination to see. Perfectly seasoned and blended hash, crispy and caramelized on the outside, drizzled with golden hollandaise, snuggled up to three beautiful eggs with creamy whites and rich, orange yokes peeking through pale films. As usual, I dove in with gusto and complete disregard for my Instagram responsibilities. I was getting close to the burp and sigh stage, when I finally thought of the missed photo opportunity.
Dang. How am I ever going to build Insta-cred if I keep doing this?
Speaking of being an old guy, what’s the deal with ear and nose hair? I never had to deal with either of them until the last decade or so. It’s kind of a pain. If I didn’t trim my nose hairs on a regular basis, my mustache would look as if it has its own mustache. And, of course, when nostril hair and mustache hair come together, an unbearable tickle-twitch is inevitable. This causes me to paw at them in attempt to stop the sensation, which probably makes it look to passersby as if I’m digging for something in my nose.
Ear hairs might be even worse. They don’t grow in bunches, as nostril hairs do, they grow as stiff, wiry individuals. They either grow straight and true across an ear fold to poke and tickle the far side, or curl to poke and tickle the skin at their own base. This can drive me to a desperate search for a mirror and trimming scissors, or even, if the hair is long enough to grasp when it begins tickling, to rip it from its follicle with a manly squeal of pain.
And, since I’m on the subject of hair, what the heck happened to the hair on my legs? I was never yeti-like, but I had kinda hairy legs, until the last decade or so. What happened? Is there a connection between balding legs, receding hairline, and aggressive ear and nose hair growth? Is anybody doing the research on this?
And, hey! Look at that! There’s enough uninspired words and phrases here to fill a blog space for another week! Oh, and here's an irrelevant pic to go with the title up there. See y’all next time around.
4/28/17
Inspiration is simply refusing to be found, today. All those clever little thoughts and inspirational moments of the last week have simply gone away. Oh, I’m sure they’ll be back, but probably not as long as I’m sitting here trying to force them to come home and inspire me, so I’ll simply have to write without inspiration. Of course, there may be those who would suggest that I always write without inspiration. To them, I would offer the most mature response I have at hand, “Phbt!”
There. Now that I’ve given some back to those strawman critics, I can move on to some seriously uninspired writing.
So, uh, well, here goes, uh, so I started an Instagram account a while ago, wanting to increase my social media exposure with photos sometimes combined with phrases. I’m not very good at it, though. I mean, I remember to take my phone/camera when I go for a walk, or for a drive, and I’ve uploaded a number of nature photos and some images of artwork collaborations, but I keep forgetting the important stuff. So far, I haven’t presented a single picture of beautiful food. Ridiculous, right? My millennial friends must all be shaking their heads in scornful pity at my food-photo failings.
It happened again, yesterday. I met with my old-guys group for a late breakfast and coffee. My corned beef hash and over-easy eggs were a beautiful combination to see. Perfectly seasoned and blended hash, crispy and caramelized on the outside, drizzled with golden hollandaise, snuggled up to three beautiful eggs with creamy whites and rich, orange yokes peeking through pale films. As usual, I dove in with gusto and complete disregard for my Instagram responsibilities. I was getting close to the burp and sigh stage, when I finally thought of the missed photo opportunity.
Dang. How am I ever going to build Insta-cred if I keep doing this?
Speaking of being an old guy, what’s the deal with ear and nose hair? I never had to deal with either of them until the last decade or so. It’s kind of a pain. If I didn’t trim my nose hairs on a regular basis, my mustache would look as if it has its own mustache. And, of course, when nostril hair and mustache hair come together, an unbearable tickle-twitch is inevitable. This causes me to paw at them in attempt to stop the sensation, which probably makes it look to passersby as if I’m digging for something in my nose.
Ear hairs might be even worse. They don’t grow in bunches, as nostril hairs do, they grow as stiff, wiry individuals. They either grow straight and true across an ear fold to poke and tickle the far side, or curl to poke and tickle the skin at their own base. This can drive me to a desperate search for a mirror and trimming scissors, or even, if the hair is long enough to grasp when it begins tickling, to rip it from its follicle with a manly squeal of pain.
And, since I’m on the subject of hair, what the heck happened to the hair on my legs? I was never yeti-like, but I had kinda hairy legs, until the last decade or so. What happened? Is there a connection between balding legs, receding hairline, and aggressive ear and nose hair growth? Is anybody doing the research on this?
And, hey! Look at that! There’s enough uninspired words and phrases here to fill a blog space for another week! Oh, and here's an irrelevant pic to go with the title up there. See y’all next time around.
4/28/17
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