Seven hours and sixteen minutes later, at 05.26 I return my house. I get into bed at 05.37, wake up at 07.53, and leave for work at 08.45. At 7 of the clock, post meridian, I now find myself with my posterior in the loving embrace of my computer chair, having returned from work about an hour ago, thinking reflectfully, Phor! Was that really worth while?

Well, at least that is the question which one might expect to be posing at this particular juncture, but I haven't felt a need to pose it in actual fact. I know it was certainly worth-while. In fact, last night enters my history of nights-out as one of the most interesting, fulfilling and exquisite of my time.

There was no vast amount of money spent or acclaimed event attended, but simply time spent in a spontaneous fashion with hounest and ever-so interesting people which culminated in an extremely lengthly and earnest debate concerning the most fundamental aspects of our existence. It was a progression purely propagated by a genuine desire for understanding. There was no nastiness, slander or bad-feeling, but two parties (namely, me vs. Megan, her friend, Jenny (just Jenny), their mutual friend Tom (one to look out for on the big screen), Jenny's brother (who is not also her boyfriend) and Jenny's parents (with whom I associated, after clarification was sought, as peers, and who were ever-so hospital and lovely). Apologies for the very long parenthesis, you may have to backtrack to get the other half of this clause) simply attempting to comprehend one another and reach some form of conclusion in their own minds and in accordance with their own conscience as to where we came from, what we're doing here and what is going to become of us.

It may seem, perhaps, a little sad and as if my life is a little stuffy to regard this incident in such terms, but I genuinely believe that nothing is more important than not shirking these issues, and grappling with them, and attempting to understand them, and understand other people's interpretations of those world-views. I personally believe there are consequences in eternity for our life on earth. That is an issue one must address. Do I believe that also? And if I don't, do I have something in which I believe instead which stands up to scrutiny? Do not not consider these things.

So I thought that was all rather cool. There were, of course, elements in this episode of your classic 'night out', but they shan't be related here for the sake of establishing my reputability in the blogging sphere. All in all, very enjoyable. And I don't use that word often. If any involved in this above-detailed tale happen to be reading this, I would say a personal thank you, an exhortation to continue in this vein and a 'maybe rebuff your silly views some other time, yeah?'

Bye for now.

Gee. x.

Be mindful that I am no professional PUA or if you can even be coined or regarded as that. So, take my considerations and statements lightly. Otherwise, analyse as you see fit. Whatever suits you.

I have no fucking idea how I'm going to set this out and no way do I want to format this into some sort of report. I don't have time for that.

The Digits

When about to close and attempting to obtain the target's phone number..

• Do not ask for her phone number - command for her number (it fortifies your sense of confidence in yourself and in your abilities);
• If possible, prank her phone to ensure legitimacy;
• Outline the purpose prior to obtaining the phone number and thereafter, highlight that you will call her (instills a sense of commitment and respect);
• Be arrogant and witty with your closure when it comes to the phone number.

Again, every girl differs and thus, every situation will always differ. These are very general and broad guidelines to the basic considerations in obtaining a target's number. They stem from mistakes and successes that I've encountered so it's nowhere near the gospel or a formal manual to how to pick up. Don't reprimand me if they don't get you what you want.

Woooo!

Excitement and nervousness fill my body as my mother and I are flying towards my new school in Arcata, California. Passing San Francisco and the greater Bay area in the evening sky, I start to notice less houses and buildings and more trees then I have ever seen in one place. Sitting next to me and looking out the window my mom asks, “Where are all the lights?”. I get the feeling that the only lights I’ll be seeing at night in my new town will be from the moon and the stars. After a safe landing and checking into a hotel, we get a taxi to drive us into town. The downtown area consisted of a small plaza decorated with specialty shops, restaurants, and bars. Anxious to see some of the locals, my mother and I head into one of the busier restaurants for a quick bite to eat. As soon as we walk in, we begin to feel like a strange museum display as all eyes in the room are on us. The first words out of my mom’s mouth once we are safely seated in a booth are, “Where are all the brown people at?”. I quickly scan the area and count about 35 White patrons and reply, “Mom, I think we are it”. She looks at me uneasily as the server takes our order.

This kind of culture shock is something that many Latino students will experience as they venture out of their homes into the world unknown. Going away to college can be an exciting experience for any student—living in the dormitory, meeting new people, and becoming independent from your parents. While most aspects of moving away from home are positive, there are some difficulties that Hispanic students can encounter, especially if they choose to attend a university in a mostly White community. The first thing we will notice is that we are not just another brown face in the crowd—sometimes we can be the only Latin student in a class or inside of a restaurant like I experienced firsthand. While this can be a bit intimidating at first, I learned quickly that every situation is what you make of it. I used it as an opportunity to educate people about my Mexican upbringing and to break any held stereotypes people witnessed from television or movies. I remember telling someone that not all Mexicans are cholos with brown pride tattoos or juarache-wearing housewives with 10 kids.

The second thing Latin students can look into when moving to a new community for college is the availability of traditional food and food services. While this may seem a bit trivial to seem people, it is important to note the value that many Latin cultures place on food and its role in the family. I noticed that my small university town lacked the homestyle Mexican cooking that I was accustomed to. During my first month as a student there, a local friend of mine invited me out to eat Mexican food. I had to stifle a huge laugh when we pulled into the local Taco Bell joint. Yes folks, for some people Taco Bell is the only Mexican food available to them! I was a little nervous that I may not be able to enjoy the kinds of food I loved like tacos or enchiladas until I found a small restaurant owned by local Latinos in the next town over. My cravings were satisfied and they even directed me to a small market where I could buy traditional Latin ingredients and meats like carne asada. There is a light at the end of the tunnel for us after all, even in small communities like mine where the population is only 7% Hispanic.

Finally, if students are worried that they may miss interacting with other Latinos or speaking spanish, it would be important to check and see if the university has student clubs or organizations like MEChA or a Latin student union. These types of student body organizations help students interact with others who share similar backgrounds and experiences and can be a good way to make friends. Even in the arctic tundra of Alaskan universities students can find a Latin or Hispanic based organization. All of the concerns I have listed are important to keep in mind when looking at universities in new communities but they should not be barriers for students who are seeking an education. I always remind people that higher education involves more than learning facts from textbooks. It should be used as an opportunity to explore the unknown, take risks, and learn more about yourself and the world around you. Not everyone will thrive in new types of environments but you will never know if you will like it unless you try. Good luck!

Well, you take their word for it.

Unless you're susceptable to conspiracy theory. On the subject of conspiracy, get a load of Vlad Putin!

Quel début de journée étrange.

Ça veut tu dire:

"T'es pas si pire que ça Prairie, y'en a qui souffrent plus que toi, arrête de chialer!"

ou

"Attèle-toi la grande, ça se peut ben que tu aies encore des embûches!"

Qu'est-ce qu'elle me dit la vie, là? Que dois-je comprendre? C'est pas clair, mais c'est insistant en tout cas...

:)

It never really got off the ground.

Then, reading through possibly dozens of different blogs each day, I began to see a trend. One where, even though each individual seemed very knowledgeable about his or her class, they were all stuck at the same brick wall. Out of all these people, maybe two of them had stepped foot in Sunwell or even peaked their head above an 1800 arena rating. As fun as it may be reading about your guilds first Moroes kill, I'm sorry but I believe I've read your post from about twelve other people. This was especially true for priests.

So I decided to switch gears.

In an effort to potentially help expand ones knowledge of higher raid content and experience an arena game that didn't comprise of two Pyro mages, I decided to revive the site. I kept the name the same because well, I liked it and it was catchy. Plus some church stole HolyFire.com from me... jerks.

Nevertheless, that's the story behind the name, not as exciting as you had hoped was it?

You heard me right people, I'm going to be explaining the Do's and Don'ts of proper communal bathroom procedure. Let's start with a story, when I was in High School I had a English teacher who used to be a model for men's underwear. He was a great teacher and everybody liked him, well, that was when they were outside the bathroom. Lets just say he was rather well endowed and not quite as shy as one should be at the piss trough. If you were ever unfortunate enough to be using the urinal when he came in, it was time to zip up and get the hell out. I don't care if you had to pinch it off mid stream, hike up your shorts and head for the exit.

"...real out something resembling a Pepperidge Farms Sausage..."See when this teacher came into the bathroom he would establish his footing a good 2 to 3 feet away from the urinal, real out something resembling a Pepperidge Farms Sausage and mimic the pose of a deep see fisherman. Only this time it wasn't a marlin at the end of his pole, but a tasty blue urinal cake. Worst of all, he would strike up a conversation with you if you were stupid enough to stick around and watch. Many of you may be sitting their saying, "wow that's definitely something under the Don't pile," well in this case no, you're wrong. In my opinion if you are able to establish the fear of God into the hearts of everyone around you just by unzipping of your pants, all the more power to you.

With that said lets go on to the meat and potatoes of this topic. For starters, who here has heard of a Comfort Zone or what I like to call, my Personal Hoolihoop of Fun? Yes? No? Well imagine if you will a 2 foot circle encompassing your entire body, other men should never encroach upon this space except for the occasional hand shake, tackle or the one armed man hug.

This rule is most important at the urinal. To save space architects have tried to cram in as many bathroom fixtures as humanly possible along one wall, often times neglecting to install the ever popular one inch piece of colorfully painted plywood that shields one man from the other. To circumvent this, it is an accepted practice to take a stall 2 spaces over from the nearest inhabitant, leaving an empty urinal between you and the next person. This method is also common place in movie theaters, no one wants to rub man thighs for two hours. To prevent confusion please see the lovely diagram I have whipped up for you below.

The green checks are accepted areas to stand, the X's... are well, not. Do not be that person who stands at an X, it's awkward, creepy and if you're not careful... you might just get slapped.

The following aren't so much rules as things I find funny. I usually end up dropping the deuce while I'm at work. This eliminates any possibility of me clogging my own plumbing and grants me some "out of the office" time. My company rents space in a building where there are probably a good 5-6 other companies scattered around it's 3 stories. Each floor has it's own communal bathroom for the hims and hers of the respective businesses. (Funny story, the ladies room has an electronic pad lock that requires a numeric pass code to get in... I guess our floor has an issue with peeping Tom's.)

Anyways, as many of you know a mans stint on the john is a time of solitude and reflective thought. It is their escape from the world, as anyone with a girlfriend or wife can attest to. While in your "fortress of solitude" your senses become heightened, much like being blind. You can't see what's happening on the outside but you can certainly hear, smell and sometimes even feel whats going on around you. This leads us to what I like to call "Mirror Time". This is the time one spends in front of the mirror after they have done their business, whether it be washing their hands or fixing their tie.

There is an acceptable amount of time to do this, by all means, make yourself presentable again so you don't walk out with your shirt un-tucked and a twelve foot long roll of paper hanging off your shoe. But for the love of god you don't need 5 minutes to spin like a ballerina and pretend you're the Fonz.

The best part is when these people get caught. They'll be doing their thing, (whatever that may be I can only see the souls of their shoes), when all of a sudden the door will burst open and in steps someone ready to use the lavatory. Listening to them cough, shuffle and pretend to turn on the faucet is the highlight of my day. I often find my self wishing Aston Kutcher would burst in screaming "You got Punk'd" but then realize I hate Aston Kutcher and hope he falls into a deep hole full fat children who haven't had their supper.

Well that's it for now, next time I'll be sure to fill you in on a little game I like to call "Guess Those Shoes!"

As a new blogger, I always checked my akismet comments. Ya never know if a legitimate reader suddenly found his/her comment eated oop.

But vigilance, like flowers and virility, fades with time, and now, I only check "flagged as spam" comments about once every two or three weeks. It's not something I look forward to... I usually end up with several hundred of the damn things whenever I bother to check it.

!BUT!

On the off chance some poor person tried to comment on my blog and got all sad seeing their comment... well, not seeing their comment, I am VIGILANT. I will hunt that comment down, and APPROVE IT DAMN IT!

TO HELL WITH ENLARGING MY SEXUAL CAR INSURANCE USING ASIAN NATURAL BANKING FIRMS.

So. To those three people who's comments got eated, they have been un-eated, and vomited (bile and all!) into their proper place amongst the comments.

In today's day and age with road rage on the rise, hazing being more physical and sexual in nature, and general societal self indulgence that an optimist such as myself finds is becoming more difficult to keep the faith in the kindness of human nature. The apathy for all ideology, and the there might not be an I in team but there sure as hell is a M & E kind of mentality all went by the wayside by a random act of kindness that my wife and I experienced last night.
We were sitting on our new front porch, enjoying a glass of a decent Cab in a great conversation when I inquired if either one of us had checked the mail yet. Neither had. After retrieving the mail and digging through the waste of junk mail, there were two things that stood out. Our first power bill from PECO, and an #10 envelope addressed to the 'New Tenants" from what looked like the previous tenant. We only knew this because there is some junk mail we receive with their names on it. At this point my wife and I are speculating on what the contents may be. Was it a scathing letter about the landlord? or what? It did feel like there was a key in it, then we figured it was just a key to one of the doors that they forgot to leave with the landlord. Once we opened it, all that was in there was a key and scribbling in pencil that said "Enjoy the Bike!" We looked at each other because there is a nice 18 speed mountain bike locked up along side of the house that we just assumed was our upstairs neighbors bike. Nope. Guess again. It our's! I guess I will be working off some of the stored beer calories to make way for some of the Oatmeal Coffee Stout that's going to be brewed the next time around. I'm stoked to be biking my way around town. I'll make sure to wear a helmet though, college students drive like they are invincible, oh wait, so did I. Bike or Die!!(ding! ding!)

There is, after all, that trinket that costs 40k honour that everyone is trying to get.

I join in a couple minutes late, cursing as I ran out the door... trapped in front of an alliance zerg. Great. Just great.

Check the map... about 10 on defence duty. Not much, but more sizeable than most.

Bahwoo bahwooooo! There goes Iceblood... and Tower Point...

Le sigh. Try to slip past the alliance zerging through Iceblood. I die. Le cry.

Rez at... Iceblood? Really? What happened to the zerg?

Well, wouldja look at that. We recapped Iceblood Tower... and Tower Point! And Snowfall? And now there's 30 Horde eager to kill everything between them and Vanndar between out pitiful little defence and a bunch of angry Alliance.

See, most alliance right now accept the zerg pattern of AV as fact, and see no alternative to playing it that way.

So, the strategy is, just run right through, with some dismounting at towers and graveyards to cap them whilst everyone else runs past to wherever they've decided to go. And most importantly, they leave after they've capped the flag.

The result being that our tiny group on defence utterly slaughters them wherever they decide to go. Three alliance at iceblood. Destroyed. Two guys at Tower Point. They got dead. There was a mage/warlock team running around between IBGY and FWGY (frostwolf) picking off members of the zerg one by one. The mage would sheep them (by the way, did you know that Polymorph dismounts players?) and then the two would quickly destroy whoever they stopped. And the majority of the alliance guys would run right past.

The net result was the alliance forces capping every tower and graveyard that originally belonged to the Horde, then losing all of them again a few minutes later. About ten minutes in, the alliance had Stormpike graveyard, the North DUn Baldar tower, and both of these were under heavy assault. Horde owned everything else. Even the mines.

Sadly, we lost Galvangar. We couldn't prevent that.

The majority of the alliances players were simply killed over and over again by the Horde's offence, while the players who managed to sneak past in ones and twos were hunted down and killed by the 8 or so of us still on defence.

Natch, Horde won. We even killed Vanndar out of spite.

Horde had over 600 bonus honour to our credit... alliance had almost nothing. The person on horde side with the lowest number of HK's had 46.

Total time elapsed?

17 minutes.

Number of people who were not level 70 on Horde side? 12. We even had three level 61's.

The only real conclusion I can draw from this is that AV still has the potential to be an excellent PvP battleground. The map itself is a good one, and has been fine tuned over and over again to promote intelligent play.

I mean, how much more incentive do you need to keep towers alive?

~60 honour for killing an enemy tower... ~40 for keeping one of your own up...

C'mon people! What more do you want? A friggin cookie?

With just a modicum of strategic effort and timing, you can turn AV into a deathtrap for the opposing team. Walk away with a massive amount of honour, and leave 40 opponents wondering what the hell just happened.

The only thing stopping AV from becoming a successful strategy driven battleground is the mistaken idea that a mindless zerg yields more honour in the long run, general laziness and tunnel vision.

Someday, people are going to wake up and realize this... mass changes in thought have happened before. Long time readers of this blog may remember the time when I lamented about the alliance "boycotting" AV...

And then, things within the walls of Alterac Valley will get interesting. Very, very interesting.

At least until a mass brain fart happens again when Litch is released and everyone tries to get the "win in 6 minutes" thing.

HL: God is allowed to...

Me: Well, I don't think God really wants to pick my nose.

HL: He picked it once, before you were born.

...

-TP-

Becoming vegan acted as something of a curb on my shoe purchases. On that day (the day John Paul II met his maker, incidentally) my thoughts turned to preserving the leather footwear I already had. I have some beautiful shoes, and this brings one of the points of this post: many so-called cobblers are a load of cobblers. They won't mend stuff. I don't mean cheap shoes - I realise that few erstwhile cobblers call themselves cobblers today and also that the cheap shoes which make up the overwhelming majority of shoes on the street these days are difficult to mend. But even footwear that has lasted 40 years, like the pair of boots below which I bought second hand when I was 15 and I think probably date from the 60s seems beyond most. One of them began to let in water in my late 20s but several shoe repair people refused to take them on and so they were shelved for about three years.

When I moved to Barkingside I took them to Forest Shoe Repairs - between Stems the florist and, I think, Smart dry cleaners). The man appraised them. He explained what he would do in such detail that I recognised I was in the presence of a craftsman. He mended them good and at surprisingly little cost. Since then he has mended a pair of walking boots, the zips on Matt's rucksack, the sandals below (cheap, cheap sandals - but vegan and worth mending), and he will even out the heels of my (15 year old) biker boots when I take them in next weekend. Bags, buckles, soles and lasts - everything. What made me write this post is that I turned up the day before yesterday with a pair of Matt's good leather-soled shoes asking for a sole and he advised me against it. The peeling layer of leather which had triggered Matt's worry was, he said, only cosmetic. He then explained to me how the shoe had been made and why the peeling layer of leather wasn't anything to worry about. I must have still looked unconvinced because he took his glue brush, daubed the sole, and held it against his spinning thingummy, and handed them back. No more peeling bit. He said if Matt wanted a stick-on sole then we were welcome to bring them back.

So I put them in my bag again, no lighter of pocket. I started to effuse about his craftsmanship but he held up his hand modestly: "But I can't make a decent cup of tea", he said. What a prince among shoe men.

Forest Shoe Repairs, 147a High Street, Barkingside, Ilford, Essex, IG6 2AR.

And how's this for a pun, emblazoned on the t-shirts of the staff in the shoe repair and key-cutting place at the Old Broad St exit of Liverpool St Underground: "time wounds all heels".

It works like this: First you plan your speech as you have been shown - a beginning, an ending and three major points between. Perhaps your speech is about buying plants for your garden. You develop a snazzy introduction and a strong conclusion that links back to it. Now consider your three main points. You've decided your three main categories will be plants for sunny spots, plants for shade and plants for rockeries.

You have chosen a topic that interests you so we'll assume that either you have a garden or have had gardens, or know gardens and gardeners very well. Now you're going to delve into your memory bank about gardens and come up with little reminiscences.

Thinking about this topic I dug deep into my personal history and came up with the memory of being about eight years old and my grandfather being too ill to plant his little front garden. On a whim I said I would look after it. I went to the store and bought a couple of packets of seeds - nasturtiums and marigolds. I dug over the little plot, planted the seeds and waited. Amazingly I got a full crop of bright red, yellow and orange flowers that bloomed all summer and made a vivid display that had people stopping to admire it. Beginners luck, of course. By sheer chance the garden was in full sun and and the seeds I picked out do best in full sun.

This story could be stretched to at least a full minute, then be followed by a list of full-sun plants. The strong points of the story are that it is personal, full of strong detail and that it illustrates exactly the point you want to make (and if it didn't you could adapt it).

Follow this with similar stories or anecdotes about shade plants and rockery plants for your remaining two points.

Now you don't have to memorize a complete script, you just have to recall the beginning, ending and one anecdote to match each of your main points. Practice them ahead of time so they re well polished.

And let me know how it works for you.

As we were driving we turned off the usual route to where the car usually is parked (quite close to work for me) and started heading out of town.

"Huh? Where are we going?"

"I'm parked at a different place today. You may have noticed I'm driving a different taxi than usual."

"Oh, yeah...so you are. Well, how far is it? I don't want to be late."

"I don't know, just up here a bit."

"Oh...ok...it better not be too far out of town, or I'm gonna be late."

"I don't know, ok?? Just up here a bit."

*annoyed silence from me*, and then...

"Well, look, can you remember if it's a long way out? It's already quarter past 8 and I'm s'posed to be there in a few minutes and we haven't even got to the car yet...You should have mentioned to me that the car was parked out of town before I decided. I would have said no, or we could have left earlier. I'm quite annoyed actually, 'cos I'M the one that's going to have to explain why I'm late, you're already at work."

"FINE...stop complaining, it's too late now."

"But I'm going to be late! Is it up here? What's the road called?"

"Tait Road. I think it's just around this corner, but we might have already passed it. "

"Well, can you find a place to turn around please??"

"I WILL! I just want to be certain that it's not still up ahead and then I'll turn around. Just STOP TALKING PLEASE!"

And then clarity struck.

HL and I are not the same person.

My inner monologue tells me to keep pushing until I get a sign of contrition, a conciliatory gesture, and then forgiveness explodes and the bubbling anger trickles back down into the cracks of my personality. HL's inner monologue tells him to protect himself, defend against anything that threatens to upset his balance, even when it's a reasonable irritation at something frustrating. And that insight led to my burst of clarity.

HL finds my pushing scary.

It's upsetting if I don't let up and allow him to retain/regain his balance. Even if all I'm looking for is an apology or any signs of regret, my escalating irritation has the entirely opposite effect.

It's not an easy thing to grasp, rather than just 'know', that you and your spouse are DIFFERENT. We've been married for almost 10 years and I've only, just now, 'got' that my anger/annoyance/irritation can be frightening and put HL on the back foot, urgently defending himself.

I guess I had never quite understood the power of that anger, and always saw HL's increasingly defensive actions as giving me less and less power, rather than more. Which, in turn, meant that I often increased my level of irritation just to provoke him into an apology, which increased his defensiveness, which left me feeling more powerless, which led to...well...ultimately, hours of coldness with each other.

My marriage is my most important human relationship (Ephesians 5:31-32). I am so grateful for this small moment of insight. 'Backing off' will be much easier because of it.

(We found the car minutes later and I wasn't really that late to work. :) )

What I like most about this image isn't the patch of tree and sky in the rear view mirror, but the same scenery reflected in the chrome.  The bike belongs to my neighbor, a young lady who uses it to take her back and forth to college.  Did you know that, My First Car Was a Motorcycle?  Yep.  True story.

The concept for Sky Watch came from Dot and if you want to join up or to see other Sky Watch photos, please visit Sky Watch, a dedicated site for this growing meme, kindly hosted by Tom at Wigger’s World, Sandy Carlson from Writing in Faith and imac from imac’s photos from the mind’s eye.

Ça commence avec un désir de faire une agréable randonnée au milieu de la forêt atlantique. Un trajet, appelé Caminho do Itupava, de 40km qui traverse la Serra do Mar (Sierra de la Mer) par de voies de tropeiros (des voyageurs typiques du Brésil colonial, qui ouvraient les routes internes du pays de leurs propres mains sur des ânes) et finit au début d'un des bras de la Baie de Paranaguá, à Porto de Cima, près de Morretes.

Le trajet, on l'avait déjà fait plusieurs fois avec d'autres amis. Soit la descente, soit la montée. Pas de problème non plus pour les 8 heures en moyenne de durée. On s'y faisait déjà.

Mais Bruno, plein d'idées révolutionnaires (voir Petite virée en stop), suggère de faire une randonnée nocturne. Comme ça on pourrait camper au milieu du parcours, dans une petite chapelle, bas un ciel complètement étoilé, faire du feu et causer avec des marshmallows.

Bruno et moi, on arrive à Quatro Barras, point de départ, vers 17h (le coucher du soleil était vers 18h-18h30.) Sacs à dos en main, on prend le chemin. Ravis, on commence à marcher tous enthousiasmés. La perspective c'était de 40km de diversion, drôleries et bavardage.

Quand le soleil se couche, on prend nos lanternes pour illuminer les pas d'en avant. On marche 30 minutes, 1 heure. Sans aucun souci, on arrive à l'ancienne maison que Dom Pedro I a utilisé pendant son bref séjour au département.

Jusque là, le chemin c'est très évident. À partir de là, d'autre part, il faut prendre certaines voies pour arriver à la chapelle.

On prend une voie et on suit. Peu à peu on commence à douter qu'elle soit la bonne. Quoi faire ? On ne savait pas si c'étaient nous qui ne reconnaissions le chemin à cause des ténèbres ou si l'on avait vraiment pris la mauvaise voie.

On hésite.

On décide de continuer un tout petit peu et chercher de trouver des indices de que l'on était sur la bonne direction (la vérité c'est que l'on souhaitait savoir que l'on n'avait pas tort).

L'univers n'a pourtant pas conspiré pour nous. On marche encore 30 minutes et on n'arrive pas à aucune conclusion. Bonne ou mauvaise voie ? Pas d'idée.

On reprend le chemin vers l'opposée pour retrouver l'ancienne maison, notre point de référence, et de là fouiller les alentours jusqu'à trouver la bonne voie. Mais on se perd à nouveau et on n'arrive même pas à retourner à la maison.

On panique.

On commence aussi à marcher en circules. Il arrive un bon moment où on ne sait plus où on est, où est le nord, le sud ou quoi que ce soit.  Pour empirer, une grosse bruine tombe sur nous, chose attendue à cette époque à la forêt atlantique, mais inespérée pour nous. On ne croyait pas à nos yeux.

On fait une petite pause pour manger. Qui sait les biscuits que l'on avait apportés avec nous ne nous calmeraient pas et nous feraient raisonner avec plus de clarté ?

Tout au contraire. C'est quand on arrête et voit en quelle situation on est que le désespoir nous abat. L'idée de continuer à chercher la bonne voie est abandonnée. La priorité était alors réussir à retrouver la maison et rentrer chez nous s'il nous restait encore d'énergie.

Après trois heures perdus, déjà au bout de nos forces, on retrouve l'ancienne maison. Notre joie est inexplicable. Une autre pause est nécessaire. On finit tous les biscuits que l'on avait encore. La bruine n'a qu'augmenter. On ne pouvait voir que deux mètres devant.

Une demi-heure de repos, on décide de continuer. Il faudrait dormir chez nous pour compenser le tracas que l'on a eu. Quoique désister n'est pas une chose que j'aime faire, parfois il faut savoir reconnaître l'échec. Il y a des trucs que l'on ne peut pas faire sans une boussole !

P.S.: si vous cliquez sur le lien de la carte et, chez Google Maps, appuyez sur Photos, vous aurez beaucoup d'images concernant le Chemin d'Itupava.

]]> http://quilldancer.wordpress.com/?p=1255 Thu, 21 Aug 2008 09:53:15 +0000 Quilly http://quilldancer.wordpress.com/?p=1255 My friend and I went to the mall this morning for mayhem and laughter. I embarrassed the stuffing out of her by running around taking pictures of things. Sometimes I asked. Sometimes I didn't. It depended on what I was picturing. This is the ceiling mirror in a CLAIRE'S ICING shop. (You see the wall, the mirror at a 55 degree angle, then the ceiling tile.)

I didn't ask permission to take this photo, but I fiddled with framing and angles enough that the sales clerk -- who's head you can see in the bottom right corner -- could have spoken up and stopped me at anytime. She just watched with a grin on her face and exchanged rolling-eyeball looks with my friend.

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Accessorize!

WHAT IS NEWS TODAY?

SOME MY CONVERSANT, HAS BUY COUNTERFEIT PAINTING.

HE IS RETURN PICTURE TO SELLER BACK?

Nooo, HE IS PAY MONEY to EVERYBODY, FOR CONFESSION THIS IMITATION TO REAL.

Ha-ha-ha, VERY FUNNY!!!

Leaving aside issues of who paid for the survey, size of sample and other inconvenient details, studies are just plain boring. Serious researchers have other means of finding them; your audience or reader just doesn't care - it isn't the time or place for data.

You could say, " 27% of men will go bald before the age of 40" (I'm making this up.)

Or you could share an example: "Pete, who lives down the street from me, went bald not long after his kids were born. He's one of the 27% of men who go bald before the age of 40."

Or you could extend it into an anecdote, "I was at a barbecue the other night and Pete was telling me how he hated losing his hair while he was still a young man. 'It seemed like every time I looked in the mirror,' he said, 'That bald patch got bigger. I worried about what my wife would think. I worried about my kids - if they would always think of me as an old man. It got so bad I even thought about getting a toupee. But my dad was bald as far back as I can remember..."

Spinning a story around it gives people a frame of reference to connect them with the issue. We hear about so many issues today that it is hard to pay attention and give thought to any one of them. If you want an audience to spend a little of their mental effort on a topic you have to go that extra mile to draw them in. Facts and statistics won't do that. An example or anecdote will give you the personal connection you need.