600 words

[Andy_R]

Ok, First off.
Prelude:

Please take the time to read my first post in the introductions of new members, There are some very important points, in there, to keep in mind, while reading any of my threads or posts, that I may add to this forum.

I do have an agenda, by starting this thread. To all intent and purpose it has direct relevance to my situation even when it may seam off topic. Some of the stuff that may appear off topic, is me simply trying to explain to you, the situation I find myself in, in the real world, that has a direct or indirect impact to this thread and cycling.

I also need you, to understand, that my intelligence is much higher than by grammar. I know this and I try to adapt , by sometimes saying the same things, in different ways, to try to get you folks to understand, what it is I am thinking and trying to convey.

when quoting my posts and replying to my posts, DO NOT break the segments up. It completely changes the contextual meaning of what I am saying and will sidetrack this thread faster than screaming fire in a crowded theater. Also by side tracking this thread you would be putting me in further danger of being killed by delaying actions of people advocating for my rights. I will give an example from a previous segment above to show how doing so completely changes the meaning.

Quote "I do have an agenda by starting this thread" By quoting only this sentence out of that segment, could be viewed that my intention is to "TROLL" this site. Or some other ulterior motive.
When quoting the whole segment, which also includes the explanation, of why I am starting the thread, you see I am not actually trying to troll anything at all, other than trying to deal with something that is threatening my freedom and right to live. Which involves bicycling.

This is going to take a bit of explaining in regards to what the thread title means, and how that rights and my life are being threatened. Please be patient, it is going to be a multi posting with lots of details, Of background on my situation regarding using bicycle for sole means of transportation. Background on me personally, to try to help establish a point of view, and perspective, different than the majority of people. Detail on Minnesota laws regarding biking. Links to other sites that do better job explaining things than I could.(I DO NOT quote and link blindly,I read the content before linking to ensure of its relevance and as source of information, it has relevance, just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it is off topic or not relevant, it just means you do not understand what I am talking about, nor do you see the connection, due possibly, to looking at it from a totally different perspective or view. Simply having different views doesn't necessarily mean one is wrong and other is right, they could both be right, or both be wrong. That is what discussion and debate is about.)

Note to the Moderators: I will be discussing sensitive issues, It is NOT intended, as attacks, provoking of emotional responses, etc. There will be some conflict of views, especially, when I discuss the "exclusion factor", which is one of the worse forms of discrimination, in the damage, it does to the person that is being excluded. Guilty parties, of the exclusion, are going to be extra "vocal" on trying to get me banned.....................................






hehe....couldn't resist it........

 

[mangaman]

Cheating a bit - but part of the origin of lot of humour - Tristram Shandy.

The chapter where he digresses once again, to talk about his digressions in a linear form.

Summarising the shape of the 1st four volumes and the altogether more streamlined shape of the 5th.

And this was before LSD was invented.

 

[mangaman]

Any thoughts on your favourite 600 or so words Claudine.

Would be interesting to read.

(I'm getting a little bored by Aberdeen's ring road woes and need cheering up)

EDIT - and you DelftsePost if you're reading

 

[User169]

and pursued by thousands of Wehrmacht troops across Crete after kidnapping the commander of German forces on the island.

Leigh Fermor's account is rather good:

"a brilliant dawn was breaking over the crest of Mount Ida": "We were all three lying smoking in silence, when the General, half to himself, slowly said: ' Vides ut alta stet nive candidum Socrate'. It was the opening lines of one of the few Horace odes I knew by heart. I went on reciting where he had broken off ... The General's blue eyes swivelled away from the mountain-top to mine - and when I'd finished, after a long silence, he said: 'Ach so, Herr Major!' It was very strange. 'Ja, Herr General.' As though for a moment, the war had ceased to exist. We had both drunk at the same fountains long before; and things were different between us for the rest of our time together."

 

[mangaman]

Blimey - I just editted you into my post and you responded in about 5 seconds

 

[Hardrock93]

Yossarian looked at him soberly and tried another approach. 'Is Orr crazy?'
'He sure is,' Doc Daneeka said.
'Can you ground him?'
'I sure can. But first he has to ask me to. That's part of the rule.'
'Then why doesn't he ask you to?'
'Because he's crazy,' Doc Daneeka said. 'He has to be crazy to keep flying combat missions after all the close calls he's had. Sure, I can ground Orr. But first he has to ask me to.'
'That's all he has to do to be grounded?'
'That's all. Let him ask me.'
'And then you can ground him?' Yossarian asked.
'No. Then I can't ground him.'
'You mean there's a catch?'
'Sure there's a catch,' Doc Daneeka replied. 'Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy.'

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own
safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.

'That's some catch, that Catch-22,' he observed.
'It's the best there is,' Doc Daneeka agreed.

JOSEPH HELLER
CATCH-22

 

[User169]

THE BELGIAN COOK-BOOK

EDITED BY

MRS. BRIAN LUCK


1915


The perfect cook, like Mrs. 'Arris or the fourth dimension, is often
heard of, but never actually found, so this small manual is offered for
the use of the work-a-day and inexperienced mistress and maid. It is not
written in the interests of millionaires. The recipes are simple, and
most inexpensive, rather for persons of moderate means than for those who can follow the famous directions for a certain savory: "Take a leg of mutton," etc. A shelf of provisions should be valued, like love-making, not only for itself but for what it may become.

SAVORIES: If you serve these, let them be, like an ankle, small and neat
and alluring. This dish is not obligatory; recollect that it is but a
culinary work of supererogation.

SOUP: Let your soup be extremely hot; do not let it be like the
Laodiceans. You know what St. John said about them, and you would be
sorry to think of your soup sharing the fate which he describes with such saintly verve. Be sure that your soup has a good foundation, and avoid the Italian method of making _consomme_, which is to put a pot of
water on to warm and to drive a cow past the door.

FISH: It is a truism to say that fish should be absolutely fresh, yet
only too many cooks think, during the week-end, that fish is like the
manna of the Hebrews, which was imbued with Sabbatarian principles that
kept it fresh from Saturday to Monday. I implore of you to think
differently about fish. It is a most nourishing and strengthening food
--other qualities it has, too, if one must believe the anecdote of the
Sultan Saladin and the two anchorites.

MEAT: If your meat must be cooked in water, let it not boil but merely
simmer; let the pot just whisper agreeably of a good dish to come. Do you know what an English tourist said, looking into a Moorish cooking-pot? "What have you got there? Mutton and rice?" "For the moment, Sidi, it is mutton and rice," said the Moorish cook; "but in two hours, inshallah, when the garlic has kissed the pot, it will be the most delicious comforter from Mecca to Casa Blanca." Simmer and season, then, your meats, and let the onion (if not garlic) just kiss the pot, even if you allow no further intimacy between them. Use bay-leaves, spices, herbs of all sorts, vinegar, cloves; and never forget pepper and salt.

Game is like Love, the best appreciated when it begins to go. Only
experience will teach you, on blowing up the breast feathers of a
pheasant, whether it ought to be cooked to-day or to-morrow. Men, as a
rule, are very particular about the dressing of game, though they may not all be able to tell, like the Frenchman, upon which of her legs a
partridge was in the habit of sitting. Game should be underdone rather
than well done; it should never be without well-buttered toast underneath it to collect the gravy, and the knife to carve it with should be very, very sharp.

VEGETABLES: Nearly all these are at their best (like brunettes) just
before they are fully matured. So says a great authority, and no doubt he is thinking of young peas and beans, lettuces and asparagus. Try to dress such things as potatoes, parsnips, cabbages, carrots, in other ways than simply boiled in water, for the water often removes the flavor and leaves the fiber. Do not let your vegetable-dishes remind your guests of Froissart's account of Scotchmen's food, which was "rubbed in a little water."

SWEETS: It is difficult to give any general directions for sweets. They
should be made to look attractive, and they should be constantly varied.
The same remarks apply to savories, which last ought always to be highly
seasoned, whether hot or cold.

And, lastly, the good cook must learn about food what every sensible
woman learns about love--how best to utilize the cold remains.

M. LUCK.

 

[mangaman]

Be sure that your soup has a good foundation, and avoid the Italian method of making _consomme_, which is to put a pot of
water on to warm and to drive a cow past the door.

Cracking stuff!

 

[Cheddar George]

Bertrand Russell "in praise of Idleness"

Like most of my generation, I was brought up on the saying: 'Satan finds some mischief for idle hands to do.' Being a highly virtuous child, I believed all that I was told, and acquired a conscience which has kept me working hard down to the present moment. But although my conscience has controlled my actions, my opinions have undergone a revolution. I think that there is far too much work done in the world, that immense harm is caused by the belief that work is virtuous, and that what needs to be preached in modern industrial countries is quite different from what always has been preached. Everyone knows the story of the traveler in Naples who saw twelve beggars lying in the sun (it was before the days of Mussolini), and offered a lira to the laziest of them. Eleven of them jumped up to claim it, so he gave it to the twelfth. this traveler was on the right lines. But in countries which do not enjoy Mediterranean sunshine idleness is more difficult, and a great public propaganda will be required to inaugurate it. I hope that, after reading the following pages, the leaders of the YMCA will start a campaign to induce good young men to do nothing. If so, I shall not have lived in vain.

Before advancing my own arguments for laziness, I must dispose of one which I cannot accept. Whenever a person who already has enough to live on proposes to engage in some everyday kind of job, such as school-teaching or typing, he or she is told that such conduct takes the bread out of other people's mouths, and is therefore wicked. If this argument were valid, it would only be necessary for us all to be idle in order that we should all have our mouths full of bread. What people who say such things forget is that what a man earns he usually spends, and in spending he gives employment. As long as a man spends his income, he puts just as much bread into people's mouths in spending as he takes out of other people's mouths in earning. The real villain, from this point of view, is the man who saves. If he merely puts his savings in a stocking, like the proverbial French peasant, it is obvious that they do not give employment. If he invests his savings, the matter is less obvious, and different cases arise.

One of the commonest things to do with savings is to lend them to some Government. In view of the fact that the bulk of the public expenditure of most civilized Governments consists in payment for past wars or preparation for future wars, the man who lends his money to a Government is in the same position as the bad men in Shakespeare who hire murderers. The net result of the man's economical habits is to increase the armed forces of the State to which he lends his savings. Obviously it would be better if he spent the money, even if he spent it in drink or gambling.

 

[Cheddar George]

I want to quote some Raymond Chandler - Phillip Marlowe, but i haven't got any to hand. A proper detective.

"I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a vacation, I needed a home in the country. What I had was a coat, a hat and a gun."

 

[RedRider]

Gossage:
Received your latest letter today, and while it was just shy of coherence, I think I can see where your bewilderment lies. From your enclosed diagram, it has become apparent to me that for the past six weeks we have been playing two completely different chess games—myself according to our correspondence, you more in keeping with the world as you would have it, rather than with any rational system of order. The knight move which allegedly got lost in the mail would have been impossible on the twenty-second move, as the piece was then standing on the edge of the last file, and the move you describe would have brought it to rest on the coffee table, next to the board.
As for granting you two consecutive moves to make up for one allegedly lost in the mail—surely you jest, Pops. I will honor your first move (you take my bishop), but I cannot allow the second, and as it is now my turn, I retaliate by removing your queen with my rook. The fact that you tell me I have no rooks means little in actuality, as I need only glance downward at the board to see them darting about with cunning and vigor.
Finally, that diagram of what you fantasize the board to look like indicates a freewheeling, Marx Brothers approach to the game, and, while amusing, this hardly speaks well for your assimilation of Nimzowitsch on Chess, which you hustled from the library under your alpaca sweater last winter, because I saw you. I suggest you study the diagram I enclose and rearrange your board accordingly, that we might finish up with some degree of precision.
Hopfully,
Vardebedian

From The Gossage--Vardebedian Papers by Woody Allen

 

[laurence]

The noise disturbed him. It wasn’t too loud, but it was there. The tyres generated a light buzzing, but this was more of a wheeze mixed with a rattle. He stopped pedalling, it was still there, not the gears then. He held his breath. Quiet. That was ok, so long as it wasn’t the bike making the sound.
It was his new pride and joy, custom made in Italy and costing at least two months' wages. “Why didn’t you buy a car?” Was his friends' common cry. He cared not for their opinions, out here he was in his element, speeding down country lanes under his own steam, man and machine together with no engine noise, just the occasional chain ching as the gears snicked to a different ration and the thrum of rubber on rough tarmac.
The city was behind him now, the air cleaner, houses few and far between, animals outnumbered humans, which was just fine by him. The road roller-coastered through the trees and he adjusted his riding accordingly, standing for ascents, grinding on the pedals to propel him skyward and then he’d crouch low as he hurtled down the other side, gravity pulling him as hard as possible. Soon the final hill approached, a long grind that his tired lungs were dreading. Illness had kept him from this dream machine for months and it was only the warm day that had prompted a long distance journey, his body was aching already and the worst was to come.
He was soon in the lowest gear and straining hard. Breathing fast, head down to avoid the view of what lay ahead he grovelled up. The top held coffee and cake and a stunning view, they beckoned him up and he could only savour them if he made it.
The grass was soft as he collapsed onto it, the shiny cycle next to him, his leg lightly resting on it as if he couldn’t bear to be parted and the refreshments at his side, coffee vapour rising above the countryside. All around people gazed, pointing to distant landmarks and marvelling at the toy villages nestling amid the trees. An old couple shuffled by, the man uninterested in the scenery though, the prone bike grabbing his attention, the way the light glinted from the chromed gears and the sun spangled in the paint, it exuded class and called to him. He stopped and turned, spellbound, looking it over several times, absorbing every detail, weld and fixture. With his partner pleading and tugging him by one hand he slowly raised his head and looked straight at the tired rider and smiled. The elderly eyes glowed alive and in them the cyclist saw a young soul, speeding through country lanes under his own steam, the city and his cares far behind him, hair blown in the slipstream and with only the thrum of rubber on rough tarmac in his ears.
The proud rider smiled back. Totally worth it, he thought.

 

[dellzeqq]

The thought of God began to occupy me. It seemed to me in the highest degree indefensible of Him to interfere every time I sought for a place, and to upset the whole thing, while all the time I was but imploring enough for a daily meal.

I had remarked so plainly that, whenever I had been hungry for any length of time, it was just as if my brains ran quite gently out of my head and left me with a vacuum--my head grew light and far off, I no longer felt its weight on my shoulders, and I had a consciousness that my eyes stared far too widely open when I looked at anything.

I sat there on the seat and pondered over all this, and grew more and more bitter against God for His prolonged inflictions. If He meant to draw me nearer to Him, and make me better by exhausting me and placing obstacle after obstacle in my way, I could assure Him He made a slight mistake. And, almost crying with defiance, I looked up towards Heaven and told Him so mentally, once and for all.

Fragments of the teachings of my childhood ran through my memory. The rhythmical sound of Biblical language sang in my ears, and I talked quite softly to myself, and held my head sneeringly askew. Wherefore should I sorrow for what I eat, for what I drink, or for what I may array this miserable food for worms called my earthy body? Hath not my Heavenly Father provided for me, even as for the sparrow on the housetop, and hath He not in His graciousness pointed towards His lowly servitor? The Lord stuck His finger in the net of my nerves gently--yea, verily, in desultory fashion--and brought slight disorder among the threads. And then the Lord withdrew His finger, and there were fibres and delicate root-like filaments adhering to the finger, and they were the nerve-threads of the filaments. And there was a gaping hole after the finger, which was God's finger, and a wound in my brain in the track of His finger. But when God had touched me with His finger, He let me be, and touched me no more, and let no evil befall me; but let me depart in peace, and let me depart with the gaping hole.

And no evil hath befallen me from the God who is the Lord God of all Eternity.

Knut Hamsum, Hunger 1888

 

[Pat "5mph"]

hehe....couldn't resist it........

Uh ye bad bad man
Didn't DZ say "600 words for entertaining purpose"?

 

[Ian H]

WOULD I could cast a sail on the water
Where many a king has gone
And many a king’s daughter,
And alight at the comely trees and the lawn,
The playing upon pipes and the dancing,
And learn that the best thing is
To change my loves while dancing
And pay but a kiss for a kiss.

I would find by the edge of that water
The collar-bone of a hare
Worn thin by the lapping of water,
And pierce it through with a gimlet and stare
At the old bitter world where they marry in churches,
And laugh over the untroubled water
At all who marry in churches,
Through the white thin bone of a hare.