You will never have the camera with you when you want it most. When you have it, you will not have its tripod. When you have both camera and tripod, you’ll be out of batteries. This is something like Murphy’s Law of photography, I think. Stay with me here as we are dropped somewhere in the middle of the tracks on which the train of logical progression rides; we shall then round the arc of the story and things will slowly make sense (note to self: stop mixing metaphors).
You see, the second snow here in the cities was absolutely beautiful. I walked along the city streets admiring what I didn’t hear: the snow muffled harsh sounds in the same way it coated the unsightly and softened sharp angles. The first snowstorm was insistent, as if Winter needed to let us know that she was still a force to be reckoned with. This second snow was much more gentle, fluffy, and (were it not crystallized ice falling from the sky) warm. This was a It’s a Wonderful Life snow of big flakes and movie set powder. It sparkled.
I stopped at an intersection and looked up at the stoplight. At the end of its arm, one semaphore signal hung in a black sea, with waves of snow washing around it. I was startled by the unexpected beauty and actually stood and stared as cars passed underneath my distracted gaze. “That would make a great picture,” I thought. It isn’t uncommon for me to carry my camera with me, too. No camera this time. I will not, however, underestimate the power of words, and I hope that the picture I have attempted to paint in your mind will do the scene justice.
Great post with advice for first time Dads - Archived with the hope that tumbledry is still around when I say “holy cow I’m going to have a baby and have no idea what is going on.”
Scene 1. Saturday. The curtain rises to reveal Alex hunkered down over an organic chemistry book, solution manual, notecards and notes. He sighs and pushes his hair back from his forehead. He needs a haircut. The modification of the Wittig recation makes sense, but he wonders if he’ll be able to keep it straight from the 20 other reaction/reagent combinations he has to keep straight.
Scene 2. Sunday. Early morning light streams across the stage, illuminating Alex intently staring at his notes. Hours pass. In the evening, Alex’s glasses pop open, leaving only one lens. Inches from the desk, he reviews and reviews his summaries of the sections, trying to get it all straight.
Act II.
Scene 1. An alarm rings in a darkened room. Alex grabs it and mashes the buttons until it finally ceases its ringing. After some time, he crawls out of bed and gets ready for the day.
Scene 2. Alex shovels food in, checking his watch so he is not late for his first class. Two guys sit close by, talking about all the snow that fell last night and the big drifts that have accumulated.
Guy 1: “You know class is cancelled today.”
Alex: [mishearing] “No, I don’t think so, class is never cancelled around here.”
Guy 1: “No, really - I saw you rushing but … there’s no class today.”
Alex: !!!!!!!
Scene 3. An acoustic, hopeful, inspiring song (I am thinking Damien Rice’s “Older Chests” off of the album O) slowly increases volume on the stage as Alex walks along a snowy street, smiling at all the extra time he has to study with. Exit all, with snow continuing to fall as the lights fade out.
Like time, there’s always time
On my mind
So pass me by, I’ll be fine
Just give me time
If you were given that cosmic rewind button, how far back would you go? Would you really be able to stop after yesterday, or last week? Or would you keep going until you didn’t have thumbs to push the button with?
How many stupid musings can one man fit in an away message?
Ryan notes: “I bet in France, instead of cottage cheese, they call it Château de Fromage.” That means (with apologies to Emily Lauren) approximately “Castle of the Cheese.”
Today is the day that prospective students tour the dorms at St. Thomas; so, we have done our best to get the building ready for all the visitors: taking shoes out of the hall, removing trash, cleaning up rooms for tours. The whole idea is for Cretin to put its best foot forward to those who might be living here some time soon.
Dan, never an RA to “half-a” something, went all-out and purchased an air freshener for his floor. Now, this may have been to bring the floor smell up to an average above-toxic-dump olfactory level, though it may have been to edge out other floors in attracting prospective residents (Hey, we’re second floors - fewer stairs and less odor!). That said, Dan plugged in a Glade™ PlugIns™ Scented Oil Fan, loaded it up with Rainshower™ scent (I’m not kidding about the registered trademark signs, check out the Glade website), set the thing on high (maybe they don’t call it “high” … maybe just “mega fresh” or “holy cow! it’s fresh!”), and went about his business. Two hours later, up here on fifth floor, I left my room to go to dinner and immediately smelled a fresh rainforest scent in nostrils. Could it be? Yes, the air freshening power permeated three floors up Cretin Hall, down the hallway to my room at the corner of the building.