Duration, pace, and making agreements with the audience
Fear not. The 3rd shift airport shuttle driver has determined that the increase in average global ocean temperature is a hoax. Because snow.
I was going to ask about how his observation squares with the central limit theorem. But, like, c'mon. There was snow RIGHT THERE. Irrefutable.
Dear Board of Trustees:
cream may rise to the top, but
shit floats just as fast.
I've added a new tag to my blog for the various posts in which Adobe specifically needs to, as a company, burn in hell.
Week one, lost to influenza.
I'm enjoying all of the bastions of "independent cinema" now riding to the rescue of Freedom of Expression.
Sales down 11%. Puzzled experts, indeed.
This seems to be the Southern Way to have a dog.
I don't have a problem getting Things done. But getting Shit done is another story.
It must feel so good. Think of the children, create more jobs. The planet's just fine, don't listen to them. The world's going to pieces, and it's everyone else's fault. I've got mine.
I could join them. It'd be so easy. I look like them. They confide in me when they don't know me, I can speak all their codes. Less taxes. More testing. Secure our borders. Personal responsibility. Teach the controversy. Law and order.
I'd blend in effortlessly. Every single advantage, I've got them. Why not just take it all? It's right there. I could breathe easy, my guy will always be mostly in power, I'd never be in danger of losing it all. Nothing to change, no one to convince.
Why not relax? I could vote a straight reactionary ticket tomorrow and it would have no effect on my life at all. And isn't that what privilege feels like? To take the easiest, shortest path and be rewarded as though you climbed a mountain?
My critic showed up this morning before heading out to shoot.