Here comes the Snickitty-Snackitty Man. His services are whispered of half as threat, half as promise. For the Snickitty-Snackitty Man can reach inside your head with those long, long fingernails of his, and *snick* *snack* there goes a memory.
Want to relive the first time you tasted pistachio ice cream? *snick* *snack* there goes the first time.
Want to reread Shakespeare, or Mark Twain, or Bob Wilson for the first time, to experience that sense of wonder again? *snick* *snack* and the books are an unknown land to you.
Want to experience the rush of first love? *snick* *snack* and you’ve never loved before.
There you are, free to experience these things again. Of course, you can’t quite remember the name of the little girl who had strawberry when you had pistachio, or the smell of the cut grass in Central Park on that hot summer night when he read Othello’s part with such majesty, or the name of your wife and children.
Managing Activism is written for PR practitioners whose clients engage in risky businesses (fossil fuels, pesticides, genetically engineered foods, nuclear waste, toxic dumps, animal testing) and who therefore become the targets of “activist groups” including “environmentalists, workers’ rights activists, animal rights groups and human rights campaigners.”
Truth is stranger than fiction, because fiction has to make sense. Janet Reno was in town this last weekend… I forgot to mention it earlier. She is indeed sort of squatchy, according to reliable witnesses.
I think I’ve figured out what I’ll do with Dan on my next visit… 1000 blank white cards. Some highlights of other folk’s cards…(warning, some adult content, possibly not safe for work). I’m rather partial to “Win a dream date with Chewbacca” +526, and the food chain. (I didn’t know Blue whales ate cats!) The Boston set and Seattle set are both nice. Hummingbird thinks you are delicious. +5
Thirty Minutes With A Surly Harrison Ford – a funny glimpse into “roundtable” movie press junkets. Although, to be fair, you can’t fault Harrison Ford for an industry-wide publicity machine that favors fluffy sound bites over anything of substance, supplying ill-prepared reporters who ask dumb questions with steady jobs.
I saw something this morning while tooling around on the HZ… a dumpster diver. A possibly homeless guy going from trash bin to trash bin, collecting, stomping flat, and storing recyclable cans in 40 gallon trash bags. He had one that was already full, and a second that he was in the process of loading up. I wonder how much he gets per bag? When I was a Middle-school kid, living in Hypoluxo, I’d go collecting cans and load up about a bag or two over the course of a few hours… I seem to recall I got about $20 for three hour’s work, and that was back in the early 80s. Strange flashback… I remember my broomstick with a nail in it, and crushing the cans to small discs so that more would fit. The smell of that last dreg of beer coming out from under your shoe smelling so foul. As a kid, I thought it was urine, because of the color and reek. That Christmas, I get a Battlestar Galactica jacket… pictures of silver cylons on it, with the big double diamond base star on the back. I thought I looked so cool.