Not Near Enough Time on my Hands

Too much time on my feet, and this is all I have to show for it:


























At least I can see a ball jar pendant in the window. It was fun to build, wire, hang, preserve. It looks only slightly better at night because of how awesome it looks during the day. Furthermore, a timer, remote, or an alternative and automatic switching method seems like it would be approprio'.

In conclusion, time for fun is a fun time to time my fun.

If you are in France, accidently reading this, kudos!

Batteries have been purchased, photographs have been mentally framed, apertures await opening, intent avails consequence.

There is so much excitement surrounding this little car hole that it feels like bragging to even bring it up in passing. Small talk seems too small for the greatness that abounds. In other words, here come some other words:

Speakers
Hanging
Wired
Temporarily
Working
Permanence
Progressing.

That is all for now, please stay tuned for further attempts to confuse.

Busy Post

I am so busy, that I cannot believe it. It is about 90 degrees all day everyday give or take 30 degrees all night every day. The temperature technically has nothing to do with my busyness or my business, however it has everything to do with how I perceive my buzzy nest.

It is rather incredible how little meaning is in those two words. It really does not cause me to think.

That was a fortunate tangent for which I owe no apology, as I give none, however, I have found a few moments (the plural of a universally undefined period of time is equally undefined, however larger) to log on the web as such. For example, I hereby tell the web surfing public that I am closer to having purposeful sound emanate withing the chambers of the car hole as the majority of the necessary equipment therein lies. Furthermore, following flows photographs of a fixture from a former fuming.








































Wow! If you enjoy those interesting graphs of photometrics, you will especially enjoy other ones of similar size and scope that I post later, theoretically, of course, not necessarily. I will now go out on a limb to suggest that Car Hole Blog readers will love the pictures of the car hole with this Ball jar light fixture therein installed, lit, and majestically emanating or else be indifferent towards. Such emanation will be perceived.

I Have Not Posted in a While

I believe that now is the time to post in a while. However, I also want pizza. Heretofore, I will order food by telephone and simultaneously tease my latest project by interconnected network (of computers).

(Jet's has me on hold...)

Meanwhile my barren upper window will no longer be barren.

(I will be having the Baby Pac, by the way.)

Ideas have been coming and going, some less elaborate than others.

Pop bottles, Coleman lanterns, crystal chandeliers, and Ball jars, are all thing that can be hung in front of windows. Forthcoming is a picture of the ideal choice for this application.

(Sausage and mild peppers on deep dish takes 20 minutes? That sounds like a delicious amount of time.)


Please ignore the prominently photographed wakeboard in the preceding photographs as it is inconsequential to the current project aside from establishing a partial history of past projects.

(I have to get going or I will be late to pick up the pie. Although I have high hopes for more dinner theater or at least supper stories.)

Please Forgive the Lateness of My Replying

I have not posted for a while. That is an unspecific period of time during which I have been doing very unspecific things.

Generally speaking I have been early being, and late arriving, night dreaming, but day sleeping, hourly working, yet constantly playing, big thinking, although small appreciating.

Specifically though, I have been Spring hoping, but Winter missing, bicycle sooning, yet snow ski regretting, flower watching, and snowman melting, past reminiscing, however future planning.

I hope this is mostly blank in-filling, but also awkward reading.

Post Ending

All of a sudden I miss all the snow (and everyone)

All good things must come to an end. It is practically spring and even though it snowed decent today, here are some images to help you imagine what it used to be like.


The snow will not last forever, and that is not a metaphor for something else. This does not have to be depressing, but when I watch it wane with wary wits, what can we wax but woe? (That sentence was not even a stretch.) I have had very little time to think about a lot of the thinking time that I constantly have. I like to start most sentences with a single letter word. A weird sentence to write starts with an a. These thoughts sound more congruous in my head, probably. Hunger steels my resolve for food. This might seem like a useful exercise in brainstorming to a reader that has never had a good idea. So little snow, even less time...

Post Consitent Content

So much to say as I sit and stay and type and think. I adore the snow, I relish the cold, I cool the relish, and I snow the doorway.

Snow covers the roof, the grass, the driveway when I do not shovel. A cold white blanket tucked in keeps me from being to warm. I drift off to sleep. Asleep I dream of a warmth that never comes. The chill comforts me, distracts me, reminds me not of what I miss. The cool brisk wind seems a sun kiss on my cheek. Will it tan me? The world is my beach; white sand is my playground. Clouds are my sun.

Snow Preview To View Per View

The title of this entry says it most. The rest to say is that there are more pictures of snow to come. These are an attempt to show snow defying gravity as it hangs from the gooseneck. The icicles form either on their own or from the heat of the lamp. This is neat. Furthermore, I like it.

There shall be more to come, I declare.

A Little Intra-Spection Between Friends

I have been doing very little introspection lately. I find solace in the fact that I have not changed since my last Man in the Mirror Moment. Also, it is really embarrassing to people watch one's self. If I only knew the comments I whispered about myself when I thought I was not paying attention to me. I am hopefully my own worst critic. I choose to assume others are busy with their egos to worry about my ego worrying about theirs.

This log has already become too personal or not personal enough if adequately sarcastic. The word I is used too much, as the word is is. Perhaps I am merely a child of the 1990's. Apathy is not an acceptable creed. Underachievement is not something to be proud of. Cowabunga is never a useful exclamation. This egocentric exercise has been brought to you by the alternative to alternative music, new alternative music. (I guess.)

Lurky Loo

There is no real reason for me to log any thoughts or feelings today. However, it does help me get some things out of my head that have been rattling around up there. The following is a partial list of thoughts and feelings:

Pop bottle pendant light,
LED TV,
fiscal responsibility,
antipathy,
rugged individualism,
claustrophobia versus agoraphobia,
etcetera.

This list is less complete than I thought it would be at the beginning. It started out really well and then I got tired causing the quality of the list to suffer. It really is a shame. Well, it was a shame, but now it is over. We will move on. I hope that more pictures and progress will be coming, but it is hard to say. Either way, I will attempt to update more often to keep my thoughts from being bottled up. Updates will include but not be limited to the following:

Construction,
organization,
adoration,
amortization,
sleep,
and
precipitation.

Thank you for reading. I look forward to you reading again soon.

Snow Post

I apparently love taking pictures in the snow. The snow is always the same regardless of year, however, every time I see the snow, I get a different feeling based on personal circumstances.

Such images mean the world and are so insignificant compared to it. The first snow of two-eleven is all about possibilities, and possibilities do not bother themselves with caring. The snow will wax philosophical on its falling while philosophy does not notice:
The snow loves to fall as much as the falling loves to be in snow's form as much as the love enjoys being between snow and its falling.

Every snow loses its meaning as I forget its context. Every flake remains as beautiful, but I do not remember why.
Every snowfall, I remember, but I do not know if I remember the same.

This has been a simile for a feeling from a distant memory that I assume was in a dream that I saw on television.

I wonder if these photographs will make me wonder similarly in the future.