Today, I randomly opened Eternal Road – The Last Stop to page 99 and, with my eyes closed, pointed to the page. The word closest to my finger is “mess.” That is our prompt.
This week marks the anniversary of the opening of the movie The Wizard of Oz in New York City in 1938. Since we all want to attend that gala event, we need to take our Top Ten Things Not to Do list so we can enjoy the evening without causing an incident or a tear in the time continuum. All set? Let’s go. This post ran first on August 19, 2019.
Top Ten Things Not to Do at the Opening of The Wizard of Oz in 1938.
10 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not think anyone will appreciate your cosplay attempt with the lion costume. If you do, at best, no one will take your photo. At worst, since cosplay is a thing of recent history, the zoo will be called, and you’ll be netted. (This is a fine kettle of fish you’ve gotten yourself into, Iapetus. At least there’s plenty of red meat served. I would keep an eye on that big fella over there. I think he likes you.)
9 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not let Tiny the WWF champ see you cut in line. If you do, at best, you can quickly make friends with the person you cut in front of. At worst, Tiny, who was just warned about the evils of line cutting by his boss, has decided to make an example of you. (Stop screaming, Idris. Tiny will eventually stop twirling and slam you to the pavement. Then it will be time to scream.)
8 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not make any comment about the Munchkins. If you do, at best, they’ll be too busy to hear you. At worst, your comment regarding size challenge will not go unrevenged. (How does it feel being carried aloft by one hundred hands, Ignat? I hope you enjoy the ride cause the next stop is the Hudson River.)
7 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not sing along with Dorothy on the song Over the Rainbow. If you do, at best, the music will be loud enough to drown you out. At worst, the theater management will finally find you. (They thought you had brought your cat to the performance, Iliya. Looks like you better say a quick goodbye to your seatmates.)
6 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not think it amusing to arrive on a pink horse. If you do, at best, traffic will be so bad you’ll never get to the front door. At worst, you’ll come face to face with the militant leader of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. (The leader makes the Wicked Witch of the West appear to be a Girl Scout, Imad. That umbrella feels like a billy club, doesn’t it? Best to ride out of town.)
5 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not ask the concession person for a copy of the DVD. If you do, at best you’ll get a box of Raisinets instead. At worst, the concession person thinking you mean to hold up the stand will whistle for the police. (Now you have the pleasure of explaining what a DVD is, Imanol. Maybe it’s better to say you meant Raisinets after all.)
4 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not ask to try on the ruby slippers. If you do, at best Judy Garland will say no. At worst, you’ll get them on. (Now what are you going to do, Indra? You have size fives on your nines and no way to get them off. You’re lucky there is not a real witch, Glenda. She would send you back to Kansas.)
3 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not ask the Winged Monkey King for an autograph. If you do, at best he won’t have a pen. At worst he might decide to take you back to the tower to share a lunch. (Don’t look now, Iolo, but the term “share” has a different meaning to the Flying Monkeys)
2 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not ask Auntie Em for a cookie. If you do, at best she won’t hear you. At worst, you will be the one-millionth person to make that request. (So Auntie decided to give you something for your effort, huh, Ionakana? Here, take this steak and put it on that eye. The swelling will go down in no time.)
1 At the opening of The Wizard of Oz, do not shout out, “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” If you do, at best no one will know what you are talking about. At worst, when that part comes in the movie, the audience realizes you shouted a spoiler. (Time to leave your seat, Iowereth. There are about 300 moviegoers who want a piece of you. Guess what? There aren’t that many pieces to go around.)
The glass touchscreen on the coffee machine is glowing with a soft light. A quick thump of the top brings up the icons. The best guess is the machine was caught sleeping, and, of course, we will never know. A touch of the two coffee button starts the flow of the life-giving elixir that promises to quell the falling Mosler Safe hitting the concrete sound that the lack of caffeine is duplicating in my head.
The first sip does the job. The second sip (Of course) is accompanied by the Westminster chime of the doorbell and the eardrum-bleeding cacophony of Igor’s hounds, Twigy and Tempeste. A toss of a veggie burger into the soundproof room and a slam of the door brings the peace train into the station. A check of the security monitor shows what appears to be Gladstone Gander holding a clipboard and envelope. Since asking anyone to simply leave the envelope has never worked, the security shutdown process is begun.
The B-2 bomber squadron and the F-35 escort must be called off. One call does it. The tank corps and gunboats are told to stand by. The Apache helicopters are rerouted. The electric shock fence is turned off. The drawbridge over the quicksand is lowered. The robot attack dogs returned to their charging station. The laser-guided machine guns on the roof are set to caution. The nest filled with rattlesnakes put away. The bucket filled with 1000 marbles is locked down. The tear gas canisters shut off. The electrified welcome mat set to off. The fall-away sidewalk into the pit filled with spikes is locked. The hornet’s nest closed. The water cannons are set to safety. Bear traps are set to off. Peregrine Falcons perched on the roof above front door fed. The vat of boiling oil set to warm. Monty Python’s Harmless Little Rabbit’s cage is closed. The front door is opened.
Gladstone Gander hands me the clipboard and envelope. The signed clipboard is handed back with a fiver. Once in the house, the envelope reveals a message from Linda Hill. It reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “Starts with gl. Find a word that starts with “gl” and use it any way you’d like. Have fun!
Every January, thousands of Christmas trees end up in the trash after the holiday season. In New Orleans, officials have found a remarkable way to give them a second life.
Instead of sending the trees to landfills, the discarded firs are collected, tied together into large bundles and dropped by helicopters over coastal marshes. The goal is to help slow the decades-long loss of land threatening Louisiana’s coastline.
A state losing ground to the water
Louisiana has lost more than 2,000 square miles of coastline since the 1930s due to natural erosion and powerful storms. Rising sea levels and sinking land have made the problem even worse.
The Mississippi River also no longer carries as much sediment into the wetlands as it once did, reducing the natural process that helped rebuild the coast. As a result, marshes are disappearing rapidly, weakening their ability to absorb storm surges and protect nearby communities from flooding.
The Christmas tree recycling program is designed to help restore some of those damaged wetlands by creating natural barriers that trap sediment and encourage new land growth.
A creative solution backed by research
Scientists have found that these tree barriers can make a measurable difference. Studies show that the structures can reduce water flow by half and increase the thickness of the soil each year.
Experts caution that the initiative alone cannot solve Louisiana’s massive erosion problem, but official figures show the program has already helped restore an area of wetlands equivalent to around 200 soccer fields.
By turning old Christmas trees into tools for coastal restoration, New Orleans has transformed holiday waste into a small but meaningful weapon in the fight against climate change and rising seas.
The good news in this story is that cast-off holiday trees that could become waste are turned into useful environmental tools. Today’s JohnKu talks about waste. I hope you have a wonderful weekend.
Today I randomly opened The Last Drive to page 159 and, with my eyes closed, pointed to the page. My finger was closest to the word “attached.” This is our prompt today.
August marks the anniversary of IBM’s introduction of the first personal computer in 1981. If you want to return to that time, take this list with you. It may save a mistake or even a tear in the time continuum. This post ran first on August 12, 2019
Top Ten Things Not to Do at the Introduction of the First IBM Personal Computer in 1981
10 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not laugh out loud at the 16 to 256 kB amount of memory being offered. If you do, at best someone will think you are laughing with delight. At worst, you’ll be put in a position of explaining what you believe to be so funny. (Just because your current laptop has a thousand times that memory, you need not be a snob, Isaias.)
9 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not tell Tiny the WWF champ that he needs to learn to keyboard. If you do, at best Tiny will think you mean someone else. At worst, Tiny will think you are mocking his two-fingered approach to typing. (The other worse part is Tiny just left his self-esteem support group where he was told he is a beautiful, perfect, big boy. I think you will have to deal with his feelings of rejection, Illias. It is going to hurt. I’m just sayin’)
8 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not ask if there are any discounts available on the $1,565.00 price tag. If you do, you’ll likely get a strange look. At worst, the engineers will go into a lot of detail about the components and how expensive everything is inside. (Now don’t you feel foolish, Ismael? Put that Best BUY coupon away. It is not helpful to tell them that you can get a PC priced at $141.00 in 1981 dollars. Might even get you run out of town.)
7 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not ask if you can play Pong on it. If you do, at best, more funny looks. At worst, one of the engineers will suddenly see you as a genius and won’t get away from you. (You may think this is a good thing, Izzy, but the guy hasn’t been out of his clothes for two weeks.)
6 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not use white-out on the screen to correct mistakes you make trying out a unit. If you do, at best the group will think you are cute. At worst, they’ll think you are a technology terrorist. (There are a couple of big guys moving your way, Iban. Might be a good idea to take your white-out and correction tape and head for the door.)
5 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not complain if you get a stripped-down version with no monitor for your $1565.00 ($4313 in 2018 dollars). If you do, you may be told to buy a more expensive model. At worst, the engineers will sit you down and explain that the PC was designed to be hooked to a TV monitor. ( So now you know, Ivo. You just plop that sucker down by your TV and plug it in the back. Well, assuming you have a connection on your TV. If not, come back and get the +$3,000 models. We’ll throw in a couple of floppy disk drives too. Don’t tell me you don’t know what floppy disks are?)
4 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not scoff at Charlie Chaplin’s character The Little Tramp as a spokesperson for the IBM PC. If you do, at best, the market will ignore you. At worst, the advertising folks will lock you in a room and make you watch an endless loop of Little Tramp commercials until you buy a PC. (Best just buy one in the first half-hour, Idal. Otherwise, your brain may melt.)
3 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not buy before you try. If you do, you can expect some inconvenience. At worst, you’ll be trying to save to drives that don’t exist and print to empty slots. (Maybe you should have tried it out first, Isham. Looks like you will need the more expensive one after all.)
2 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not ask if it is compatible with your iPhone. If you do, at best, no one in the room will know what an iPhone is. At worst, the security department will believe you asked the question because you are from a competitor. (Looks like it is going to be a fun ride out the front door, Izak. Try to land on something soft this time.)
1 At the intro of the IBM PC, do not ask if it comes in colors other than grey. If you do, at best the salespeople will think you are joking. At worst, the salespeople will think you are a corporate spy for Apple. (Looks like they are ready for this kind of thing, Issa. Here comes the sheriff with a couple of deputies. Might be a good time to hit the way back button on that cell phone.”
Today we are going on a wine tasting in Fredericksburg, Texas. My daughters and I are taking this trip to celebrate my 85th year (Last May). We are catered on the bus by Launderette in Austin, and our entertainment is Billy Joel.
