1. be under authority (i.e. be a servant)

2. know the signs to look for

3. know what to do when he sees the signs

4. be awake on his watch (i.e. mind his master's business and not his own.)

The essence of being a servant is to do the master's will and not our own will. As the centurion said, being under authority is hearing the command and obeying.

To be under God's authority, we must be listening for His command. If we are asleep, we won't hear. If we are doing our own thing, we won't hear. If we don't hear, we won't know what to look for. The second part of being under authority is do obey the commands. If we don't do what we hear, we are not truly under authority and are open to the charge of being a wicked and lazy servant.

In Matthew 24 and 25, we are admonished to watch for Jesus' coming. The first 31 verses of chapter 24 describe the events we are to be watching for. The rest of 24 and all of 25 describe the importance of watching for these events. First, Jesus tells us that we can recognize the times like we can recognize the coming of summer by observing the fig tree. Look for the signs in the right place and you will see them.

Next we are told that we must watch because we don't know which hour the Lord is coming. We are admonished also to be ready. A naval ship always has an Officer of the Deck on watch who is responsible for the ship. One of the duties of the Officer of the Deck (OOD) while in port is to watch for the return of the Commanding Officer of the ship. Since the OOD never knows when the Commanding Officer will come, he always is watching for him. Upon seeing him, the OOD announces to everyone on the ship that the Commanding Officer is arriving. Woe to the OOD doesn't notice the Commanding Officer until he is on the quarterdeck!

In the next parable, we are told in vs. 46 that a wise and faithful servant is one who is doing what the master told him to do. In this example, it is the servant in charge of the household who gives them food in due season. The evil servant is one who knows what to do but says to himself that his master is delayed and so does what he pleases. He begins to look after his own interests and not the interests of his master.

Next is the ten virgins which is another parable about watching. The virgins were commanded to be ready for coming of the bridegroom. The wise virgins were watching by being ready. They had done what they were required to do. They had their lamps and oil and then they waited. The foolish virgins did not do what there were suppose to do. They did not have enough oil on hand. While both groups were waiting, only the wise were watching. To watch, you must be doing what the master commanded. It is not enough to be waiting. You must have obedience.

Similarly, the faithful servants in the next parable of the talents entered the joy of their lord by doing what they were commanded to do. The wicked and lazy servant did not do what he was suppose to do with his talent and was cast out. All three servants were there at the return of their master. All three were waiting. But two were obedient and watchful and one wasn't.

Finally, we have the judgment of the sheep and the goats. The sheep inherited the kingdom because they did what they were suppose to do. They fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, etc.

Although there are many other lessons to learn from these parables, the main theme of them is about watching for the return of Jesus and the common thread is people doing what they are suppose to be doing. Part of watching is to be aware of what is going on in the world, but it is not the important part. The important thing is to be under authority by hearing and knowing the requirements of the Lord and obeying. If we fail to be about the Father's business, we will not enter His kingdom.

The Lord told the church at Sardis in Rev 3:2-3 that they were not watchful or awake because their works were not perfect. They were commanded to remember what they received and heard, hold fast and repent. In other words, they were not watching because they were not doing what they were told to do.

In Mark 13:34, watching was like a master who “gave authority to his servants, and to each his work, and commanded the doorkeeper to watch.” God gives each of us a job. My job is most likely different from yours. We must hear from Him what our job is and then do it. This is watching for the Lord.

]]> http://thewhitesettler.wordpress.com/?p=117 Sat, 26 Jul 2008 05:04:49 +0000 thewhitesettler http://thewhitesettler.wordpress.com/?p=117 Have you seen our pussy
Our nice little collie too
They drive everyone loopy
With the fighting that they do

We have got a new book club
We also have a class in photography
If you know how a digital camera works
Could you please enlighten me

log on log on log on
It's sitting on the bog
That I type this blog
Blog on blog on blog on

Come the Summer Solstice
We'll be dancing in the night
We don't get up to no good
Because it will be still quite Light

Last year there was some Hippies
All dressed up, Oh what a sight
One had got her nose pierced
A fat girls dress was too tight

log on log on log on
We'd all just get along
If YOU could sing a song
blog on blog on blog on

by nova

Last night I found myself crying whilst ironing shirts. This was not because I live a life of tragic domestic drudgery (I rarely iron) but because I was watching an unexpectedly emotive BBC2 drama called Burn Up, starring my second-favourite Spooks-heartthrob Rupert Penry Jones (Matthew McFadyen remains no.1) and my third favourite Party of Five graduate Neve Campbell (1. Matthew Fox; 2. Scott Wolf).

Written by Simon Beaufoy (The Full Monty, Yasmin) in the smart political thriller mold of State of Play, flaunting high production values and glossy-haired stars, Burn Up is easy on the eye and tough on the tear-glands. It's in two parts, with the second half on Friday evening, and you can catch up via the i-player here (available until 30th July).

Yes it's heavy-handed and over-sentimental, yes there are a few too many unlikely coincidences. Burn Up's weaknesses are almost all clustered in the scenes between Penry Jones and Campbell, though it's hardly her fault and far more to do with the unnecessary, creakily-scripted romance she ignites.

But it's also full of the grubby political wranglings, greed and corporate evil-doers we love to hate; pits humanity in a tick-tocking race against time and makes a hero out of Marc Warren's enjoyably machiavellian Philip Crowley, a government advisor in the style of Alistair Campbell who navigates his way through Westminster, the White House and protestors' apartments with irresistible panache.

In short, great TV.

(While I'm not personally familiar with all the institutions they covered, I am familiar with the newspaper newsroom. And their newsroom is the most believable I've seen on TV, which gives me some confidence that the rest is reliable too. Although, I kind of wish they didn't go all Stephen Glass/Jayson Blair -- a typical, sexed up and overly hyped narrative -- but the message was good, so I'll give them a pass).

I can't say everything. You just have to watch it. But if I took anything away from the show, it's this: "the game will always be the game" -- at least until everyone decides not to play. It was an oft-invoked praise among the drug dealers throughout the show, especially after somebody got shot. But it applies to every institution. If The Wire had one stroke of genius, it was showing how hubris, ambition, cowardess, small-mindedness and politics are at the core of the school system, police department, media, and, yes, even drug operations. People try to cover-their-asses, get ahead, etc. Personalities matter, but, in the end, short-term, narrow-minded politics wins, and politics, The Wire seems to say, is what's killing everyone except for the few that make it to the top. And even then, sometimes they "get got." It's all a game.

Not that the show is all realism and pessimism. Yes, in the final shots of the show, everything is more or less the same. But a drug addict gets clean and wins back the trust of his family. The son of high-end drug player who was set for death or jail goes back to school and becomes a star debater. Two detectives find peace and solve career cases, even if they burn themselves doing it. And a police commissioner finally does what's right. So there are small glimmers of hope, though dwarfed by the persistence of crap.

The Wire created -- and killed -- a host of rich, textured characters, from mayors to street level thugs. I'd like to pay my respects.

FAVORITES (because I need to find a way to say goodbye):

Omar Little: Omar. Omar. Omar. Vigilante Robin Hood with a code, and gay to boot. What a great character; his courtroom scene was magic.

Michael Lee: Sucked into dealing to support his family, he never seemed right for it. But he kept his brother well and even managed to remix the American family by asking his (straight) male friend to basically play housewife.

Rhonda Pearlman: Everyone knowsI love a powerful, well-dressed redhead.

Bubbles/Kima: Andre Royo deserves an Emmy for his Bubbles, and Kima's love for him made me smile each time I saw it.

Bunny Colvin: Hamsterdam!

Bodie Broadus: For most of the show, he was merely a solid presence who seemed likable, but not too likable. But, in the end, the way he went down was pure poetry and gave him the status of martyr.

The Sobotkas: The white people had some privilege, but really, in the end, what made them different from the blacks?

Wallace: This was when I knew the show was not playing. I almost cried for this one.

Stringer Bell: Like so many in the city (media, police), he tried to clean up the game and get ahead at the same time. But if you play in dirt, you're going to get dirty, no matter how noble your intentions.

Mayor Carcetti: How amazing it was to see him turn from idealist to realist and eat all the shit he could to get to the top.

I'm missing some, so watch the show and see what you're missing. It's worth every penny.

Oh, and before I forget, what a damn damn shame it's been robbed again at the Emmy's. Screw you, Hollywood, and your short attention span! And kudos HBO for making for your otherwise crap programming by keeping it on for five seasons.

Reading: A baby-mama-drama someone gave me at Black Expo. It's addicting.

Thinking: I could get used to this...nah!

How to Annoy Me: Ask me something in Spanish and, after I say I don't understand you, rattle off something that is clearly lewd.

How to Charm Me: Offer me a safe place to escape.

Quote of the Day: Words may show a man's wit but actions his meaning. - Ben Franklin

This post was supposed to be named after the song Oh My God by Kaiser Chiefs, but I don't remember why I would say oh, my god in a first place :mrgreen: Well, I just watched the new trailer for the next season of Heroes, and... wow! 8O I can't wait for September 22nd! In the meantime I enjoy my save the cheerleader, save the world-t-shirt :mrgreen:

Yesterday I celebrated a party with my colleagues. We first went paddling on dragon boats along the river Spree: it was a fantastic experience especially because of the stunning perspective of (east-)Berlin. Later we went to a very exclusive French place, apparently Brad Pitt's favorite in town, for a dinner. The menu was quite fancy, with snails, quail's eggs and some other things I didn't recognize. It was delicious, without any doubts, but I think that pork didn't match snails at all and I was horrified to see swordfish with ham sausage! No way! I mean... that's wrong! :? La tarte au citron was anyway the best I ever had. My evening was definitively over after two glasses of Finnish vodka...

City Gateway Media

25 travaux ont été plébiscités par un jury de trois professionnels et seront diffusés sur l´écrant géant du groupe. Un grand vainqueur a par ailleurs été désigné : la création Watching de Keith Livingstone.

Ce dernier pourra diffuser ses créations sur l´écran pendant 25 semaines, au rythme d´un nouveau projet par semaine.

|| Image by OiMax, my eye to Japan.

|| What Ghost in a shell is
|| The innocence trailer

- unfortunately with the worst ever english commentary.
There hasn't been a voice so unfitting for a trailer

It also helped me see where I didn't want to go with the story. In many respects, it is an allegory for the current surveillance situation in the UK -- but I saw quite quickly that it is fairly vital that it remain an allegory. I do not want becoming a "government conspiracy" novel involving databases etc. All of that will be there, but as a subtext.

On the subject of government and databases, I today read with a mix of relief and scepticism that no decision on the giant database -- intended to contain details of all phone calls, emails and Internet use -- has yet been taken. More debate has been called for. Whilst reading this article, however, a piece of advice within it struck me as one worth repeating. It's something many of us will have been aware of for a very long time, but it never does any harm to be reminded of such things.

"There will be more people look at your internet information than look at a postcard when you write it..."

Take care out there ;)

Tomorrow will probably be very different. If not... well, I'll play around with a few more ideas. I'd rather have all of the doubt out of the way one way or another at outline stage than spend a few months working on a novel that ultimately doesn't do what I want it to do.

An important part of the process -- but still a pain in the arse! ;-)

But what blew me away was Meryl Streep. Who knew she could actually sing? I mean, really sing? Do yourself a favour and watch her emotional performance of The Winner Takes It All. If anyone could make singing an ABBA song Oscar-worthy, Meryl has done it. Seriously.

image by rosiehardy

for those over 18- please visit the new "berri after dark" page for some r-rated funberris

Don't you love watching monkeys and apes. I do and we were fascinated when at the Jardin des Plantes Ménagerie, we watched that little scene involving an orangutang and a kid.

[flickr video=http://flickr.com/photos/bip/2665669866/]

One wonders who is watching and who is being watched

Remembered travelling through the Malayain Peninsula eons ago with my husband, and among the few words we had memorised, there was Orang=man and Utang=forest.
I found this ape's expression incredibly pensive and human-like. I missed filming the beginning of the scene, in which a woman held her hand out to him and at that point he got really interested, when just before, he had looked bored. It felt like she was a regular visitor, and he was acknowledging her.
And then he got interested in the kid.

For better viewing, let the clip load completely before watching

you can't kill a dead girl - image by k-rosene

more images

Someone - image by loganart

moon's bride II - image by prismes

sleeping with ghosts

images by kat

]]> http://lake26.wordpress.com/?p=192 Thu, 17 Jul 2008 20:08:22 +0000 lake26 http://lake26.wordpress.com/?p=192

by fran-cis-ca

image by Zuhal

Guitar Guy is starting to seriously piss me off.

I mean, okay, as a person, I'm generally pissed off by at least a few things at any given time, but this is ridiculous.  The man is managing to both validate me and try to reject me at the same time, and unless I can repeatedly slap him or (preferably) get him into a dark corner and have my wicked way with him, I see no obvious resolution before my departure for the motherland.

Last night, work seeming futile because one of our rare, all-day Florida thunderstorms was in the works (usually there's 20 minutes of apocalyptic downpour, complete with hail and lightening, and then we're back to tropical blue skies with very little fuss), we all went in with low expectations for business and a laid back demeanor.

While chatting at the bar with my roommate and the hot gay bartender about his recent tryst with an ex, whom he now knows is in a relationship, I pointed out to him that his ex's new beau is in no way his responsibility.  To which the roommate responded, laughingly, "Yeah, this from the girl who wants to hook up with someone in a --."

And then we were cut off.  By Guitar Guy.  Rounding the corner.  Awkward.  He definitely knew something was up as we all fell silent and looked at him expectantly until he expressed a want for a bottle of water, which I was made to retrieve.

Anyway, as the night progressed, Guitar Guy continued his futile attempts to distance himself from me, by trying to not let me catch him watching me.  Now, okay, honestly, Guitar Guy, if you're really trying to distance yourself, wouldn't you just stop staring all together?

It got so ridiculous that, not only were other co-workers noticing, with laughs, that as soon as I'd glance at the stage, he'd quickly jerk his focus down to the floor and stay there for several minutes, but guests started to pick up on it too.

Around 2/3 of the way through the night, he almost slammed into me as I turned away from a table, and he quickly said he was sorry.  I'm not sure why, but my reply was a snippy, "Are you?"

I'm not sure why I said it.  All I know is that as I walked away, I heard him say "Yes?" in a puzzled sort of way.

I guess I should be over it, and maybe I would be if he weren't so cripplingly touchable, and if there weren't these moments that broke away from the irritation.  Last night, for example, after ringing in another 17 beers for my drunken table of Brits, I turned from the computer to search for someone to help me take down some garbage bags, and unexpectedly caught his eye, as he'd been intently watching me from the stage.

The song being performed at the moment was "I can't make you love me," which, while lyrically inappropriate, was tonally just fine.

My smile immediately slipped from my face and we remained trained on each other for a good fifteen seconds or so until, though it seemed to pain him, he forced himself to look away.  I was unexpectedly jolted by this, deep in my stomach, and I'm not really sure what it means.  The moment itself was intense beyond description.

Aside from getting a light up tee shirt that flashes the word "Sex?" when I push a button and using it on him every time no one else is looking until he cracks, I can't think of a good way to resolve this in a quick and efficient manner.

He needs to get out of his relationship, as it clearly isn't fulfilling him.  And then he needs to come over, and fulfill me.

Then it started to pour.

I was on a bike. Should I go on?

Smart-Fellow-Play-Rehearsal-Mate was carrying an extra raincoat. Smart-SL was NOT wearing white (like that solves anything) but was carrying an umbrella (wowie! How much smarter can I get?). Luckily due to the smartness of others, I was almost dry except for the fact that my hair was plastered to my skull and I thinking of pneumonia and road accidents.

Here, before the reader muses over the relevance of this incident, I must confess that I am frightfully afraid of being out in the rain. This is of course an aftermath of a traumatic experience of being stuck in knee deep water one July night two (three?) summers ago. My dear friend and sister Roshini might be able to expand on the subject of the car running over my foot and the bloating up of cotton balls (euphemism for certain womanly items that I cannot speak of freely over the internet) that very night. Yes indeed, its a melancholic tale.

I made it to that rehearsal safely, a bit drenched though. I have many more rehearsals coming up this month and all of them are in the evening, its got me thinking. Why it only rains around the time I have plans? Why not at 12 in the night? Bangalore sleeps at 9. Rain after 10 at least! There wont be any traffic jams (because of the poor storm water drain infrastructure) nor will there be a generation of youngsters who have been left traumatized by their experience of the Bangalore rains.

You see I have no issues with rains when I'm safely tucked in my house with a glass of Hot Swiss Mint Chocolate. I can go as far as to say it even complements rather moody, melancholic personality. But I would not like wander out in the rain at night.

Reading:Lolita

Watching: Band Darwaza (Thank you Anjali!)

A tiny preview:

I just *might* have said something about how this post was going to be Entertaining, Insightful and Brilliant.

Okay, yeah, I totally said that.  And I started to write this disclaimer to say, "Well, I *might* have overplayed that whole Entertaining, Insightful and Brilliant thing," just to cover my ass in case you read it and didn't like it, and felt like I had tricked you into coming back to my awesome blog under false pretenses.

But then I went back and read it again, and you know what?  It is actually VERY Entertaining, Insightful and Brilliant.  At least, I like it.  And I can be pretty smart sometimes.  So fuck that whole disclaimer thing. 

-------------------- 

I am a People Watcher.  I think I’ve always been one -- at least, I can’t really remember a time when I wasn’t.  I Watch People all the time, wherever I am, whatever I'm doing.  When I'm at the mall, I don't window shop, I People Watch.  When we're out to eat, I shush the Big Bean so I can better hear the conversation going on at the next table.  People (meaning mostly the Big Bean) are constantly perplexed that I never know where ANYTHING is in the town where I have lived for most of my life, but the truth is, when I'm in a car if my eyes aren't on the road they are looking at the people in the next car.  And the car after that.  And the car after that.

Side note:  I just realized that the above paragraph makes me sound like a terrible driver (and potential stalker) who just watches the people in the other cars and doesn't pay attention to the road, which could not be further from the truth.  I'm really an eyes-front kind of driver.  Unless there's something REALLY good going on in the car next to me. 

No really, I do most of my People Watching when the Big Bean is driving.  Which he has to do anytime we go anywhere together because when I drive he is very Obnoxious and Judgmental.

But I digress.

My point is, I'm an addict.

In high school, when my best friend Queen Bee (so named more for her effect on me than her true disposition) and I were bored we'd swipe some booze from my mom’s liquor cabinet (sorry, Mom -- but it’s not like you didn’t already know) and head out to the old Austin Mueller airport, where we’d post up at a gate and watch other people wait for each other and greet each other and hug and kiss each other and leave holding hands and sometimes awkwardly try to walk with their arms around each other, which never ends well because our bodies are just not made to do that, no matter how much we want them to be.  

(You see, kiddies, waaay back in the OLDEN days, people could actually just saunter up to any old gate at the airport – no ID or ticket required.  We didn’t even have to take our shoes off!  I know – crazy, right?) 

There I would sit, on a bench with Queen Bee at Old Mueller, sipping my mom’s watered down liquor mixed with Sonic cherry-limeades (cocktails, anyone?).  Often we wouldn’t even speak -- just exchange a quick elbow nudge or a sideways Do-You-See-What-I-See? glance every now and then if something really interesting happened or passed by.  

It was Fucking Awesome.

So yeah, I'm a People Watcher.

Another side note:  I Watch People so much that I've become paranoid about other People Watching me.  Wherever we go, I am SURE that everyone else is looking at me funny.  And I become convinced that one of two things is true:  Either (a) I have a huge booger/big stain on my pants/spinach in my teeth, or (b) I am the most beautiful woman any of them have ever seen.  I'll give you one guess which one I most often believe is true. 

Over the years, I’ve had some real Blue-Ribbon People Watching Experiences -- a few that have really stood out from the crowd.  Every one of them made me ask questions that I knew would never be answered, but it’s the questions that make People Watching so much fun.  You can use your imagination to try and answer them, or just let them linger.   Mine usually linger.  Sometimes they linger for hours, sometimes days, sometimes years. 

Okay, I have issues. 

Anyway, here are a few of my favorites.

____________

The first one that comes to mind is the Guy Who Looked Exactly Like Steve Guttenberg.  He looked exactly like… well, you know.  

Now, Steve Guttenberg is a pretty ordinary-looking guy, and so was the Guy Who Looked Exactly Like Him (except for the fact that he looked exactly like Steve Guttenberg, which I guess in itself could be considered extraordinary).  But anyway, the REALLY extraordinary thing about this guy was NOT that he looked exactly like Steve Guttenberg, but the large steel briefcase handcuffed to his wrist and the even larger bodyguard shadowing him wherever he went.  

Did I mention I was at McDonald’s?   SO fucking random.

What was in the case?  Drugs?  Ransom?  Blood diamonds?  The glowy stuff from the Pulp Fiction briefcase?  (What WAS that, anyway?)

(And what is up with my latest obsession with that film?   I don't think I've even SEEN that movie in like 8 years but suddenly I'm thinking of everything in terms of Pulp Fiction.  Is that how you can tell something's a classic?  Or is it just that I have the hots for John Travolta?  And that is a little embarrassing to admit, but I don't mean Fat-Scientology John Travolta, or even Skinny-Vinny-Barbarino John Travolta, but the In-Between-Look-Who's-Talking John Travolta, the kind of pathetic John Travolta willing to sell his soul for a comeback.  But only that one.)   

But I digress.

Was the Guy Who Looked Exactly Like Steve Guttenberg on his way to a big drugs-for-money exchange, but just HAD to stop for some McNuggets?  Did a Mac Attack derail his blood diamond deal?  Was the 2-Apple-Pies-for-a-Dollar deal just too good to pass up?   

Maybe he was just using the case and bodyguard to pick up chicks. I’ll never know.   

----------

Next there was The Large Lesbian I found playing the slots at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas. 

I was four months pregnant and had to leave the Big Bean and our friends watching Tenacious D at the House of Blues because my enormous swollen feet were hurting before the show even started and it was standing room only. 

(Which pisses me off in itself - WHY standing room only?   The only thing I hate more than standing room only is when I actually pay for a seat but end up having to stand up the whole night anyway because everyone else is standing up and I can't see over their heads, which defeats the whole purpose of having the show in a venue with seats -- if you PAY for a seat you should sit your ass in it so everyone else can too and we can all enjoy the show, and our seats, goddammit). 

Anyway, some guy standing waaaayyy too close to me (I have personal space issues) lit a cigarette just as Jack Black came out and that was it for me, I had to go because I was pregnant and already hot and hormonal and my personal space was being invaded and I really wanted a cigarette too I was very concerned for the health of my unborn child.  No matter how much I wanted to see Jack Black and that Kyle Is-Your-Last-Name-Really-Gass-or-Is-That-Just-Part-Of-The-Act guy rip it all to shreds, I just wasn’t gonna make it inhaling secondhand smoke while trying to balance my waaayy-too-big-for-just-four-months belly on 3-inch heels.

(I honestly don't know what I was thinking with those heels, except that those boots were REALLY hot but they were also very trendy and I knew I would only have a limited amount of time to wear them before they just looked silly and not fashionable at all, and goddammit I was going to get my money's worth out of those fucking boots.)

So anyway, I wandered out into the casino, where I alternately felt sorry for myself and played the slots half-heartedly.

But then I saw her.  The Large Lesbian.  She came out of nowhere, about 350 magnificent pounds squeezed into a tiny pair of Daisy Duke shorts, with red cowboy boots on tiny feet (comparatively speaking) and a full face of goth-like makeup with jet black hair poking out from under her battered straw hat.  

How did I know she was a lesbian?  I think *maybe* it was the t-shirt that read “I (Heart) Pussy” stretched over her enormous breasts that gave it away.

Just.  Fucking.  Awesome.  All my self-pity washed away as the questions started – too many to list here. 

Thank you, Large Lesbian – wherever you are.  You MADE my trip to Vegas.

____________

As wonderful as the Large Lesbian was, my all-time favorite EVER People Watching Experience is Sex Limit Fabio Dad.  Spotted at the food court at Six Flags Over Texas, circa 1995.  Towering over the rest of the crowd, at least 6 feet, 4 inches of brilliance, a beautiful mullet of long, blonde hair cascading over his shoulders.  (But just the back of the hair knew how to Party.  The front was All Business.)

Think Fabio, but more bleachy and not as chiseled.

Hey, remember when Fabio got that bloody nose because a rogue bird obviously had a beef with either romance novels or butter substitutes and smashed into his face during a roller coaster ride? 

That was fucking AWESOME.  

And you know what is even more Fucking Awesome?  The smile on the face of the woman sitting next to him in this photo.

But I digress. 

Back to Sex Limit Fabio Dad.  At Six Flags.  Circa 1995. 

He wore black jeans over black cowboy boots in 100+ degree weather, blonde mullet damp from the sweat trickling down his face.  Strolling to the next ride with his short, round, frumpy wife (who came about to his belly button) at his side.  At least five kids of various ages in tow, one tugging on Daddy’s black jean leg and begging for a Sno-Cone. 

The whole scene was truly remarkable, but the best part of this guy, the part that STILL keeps me awake at night, was his t-shirt.  A tucked-in white t-shirt, sleeves rolled up, one side holding a pack of cigarettes in place (of course).  On the front of the t-shirt, what looked like a typical speed limit sign -- but instead of “SPEED LIMIT,” the sign said “SEX LIMIT.”  What WAS the “SEX LIMIT,” you ask? 

Why, “69” of course.

It just doesn’t get any better than that, folks.

--------------------

Have a Blue-Ribbon People Watching Experience of your own?  Do tell!