Bogus Lies (and) Ordinary Greatness

I started, what I call, articlulate writing years and years ago. Some of it was free associate writing, automatic writing, or what ever you chose to call it. It was, and still is, a fun outlet for me. Some of it, no one has ever read before. A lot of it .... maybe nobody should...


Showing posts with label Uhr. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Uhr. Show all posts

Monday, July 16, 2018



Where is this going? Can you guess?



I looked at him, wondering if Sarah had put him up to this. “No. Things at home couldn’t be better. Me and Sarah are still as close as two peas in a pod. I never felt more connected to her.” I looked at him hard and long. “Bob, you know that!”
He shrugged. “Yes, you appear to be the same love-sick idiots you always were.” He looked away. “I don’t know, I just can’t figure out why you’re still around here. If it was me, I’d be out the door the second I could.”
“You know I like it here.”
“Your comfortable here.” Bob laughed. “No one likes it here.”
“Maybe like is too strong of a word.”
“I may “like” it here, but I know I would like my freedom better. Being able to do what I wanted whenever I wanted.”
“I guess, truth is, I’m just a creature of habit.”
“That is such a piss-pour excuse.”
“I know. I know. But I just hate change. I get comfortable and I just don’t want to move.”

“You’re a fool.”

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Boring is Bad


B O R I N G     I S      B A D


One has to be a pupil before one can teach. But that doesn’t mean that once one becomes a teacher they stop learning. These processes usually go hand in hand. Show me a teacher that has stopped learning, and I would recommend for one of his pupils to take his pulse, I assume it would be found that he has been dead for the last few years. If he were a music teacher, I would ask his students to restrain from making any deadbeat remarks, or if he runs the school paper the journalist better not make any deadline comments. The teacher is always learning because of outside influences; books, newspapers, T.V., radio, and also people smarter than the teacher. The process of teacher-pupil is a two-way thing. The teacher can actually learn something from his students? Of course! It doesn't necessarily have to be about the subject he teaches, but about behavior and attitudes at the very least. But does it stop here? Of course not! There are many things a teacher can learn from his students. He soon finds out that a homework paper is a dog’s favorite food. He learns that it was much more fun to be a student than it is to be a teacher. He learns many things. Sometimes even about his own specialty. Of course not! (Oh, sorry…  I was getting sort of used to saying that…)
Some of us will never learn. Some seem to never lose hope. There are still people who have never heard of Murphy's Law. Others, though they have heard of it either don't believe it, or don't see the sense in it. These people are lawbreakers.
It’s not a good idea to make Mr. Murphy unhappy by breaking his law. This is a very serious crime. Lack of negative thinking is an epidemic that is ruining our society. Although when there is a lot of negativeness around, it makes me almost look positive, and I wouldn’t want to be known as a Pollyannist. Still, I think it’s an obligation to be firm with these laws.
We should have separate jails for Murphy's Law breakers. Or maybe we can stuff them on the shuttle and leave them on the moon.
If this becomes practice (and it probably will since I mentioned it), I think I'm going to break the law of Mr. Murphy so that I can ride aboard the shuttle. While a ride on the shuttle is not worth the sacrifice of having to spend the rest of my life on the desolate moon, I figure it is worth the chance of trying to take over the flight and change courses. Success would mean spending the rest of my life on one of the sunny Venusian beaches.
I really do need to take a trip. A long trip. Maybe around the world; or at least around the block. Maybe if I just walked around the room a few times.
I need change… I have a dollar, but I want a gumball. That's the way life is; you can have more or less than you want, but never exactly what you want. Like that old ancient saying goes:
"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you get what you need."
Was it John Wayne or Mick Jaeger who said that?


"The grass is always greener on the side of the fence without the dogs…"
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, unless you're a bird watcher."
                 Sayings from the book of Rhumit.

Actually I could never leave my humble abode (be it ever so humble.) I am truly a homebody, or is that a homely body?...
Change can be upsetting, disorienting, and yet unavoidable. In school I hated changing classes between periods, even when I was leaving classes I hated. I like my moods evened out throughout the course of a day. If I start out feeling miserable at the start of a day I would just as soon stay miserable throughout the rest of the day. I hate up and down days, like school used to be — good class, bad class, good class… I hate that! Why can't the educators even things out by making everything either all good or all bad. I would prefer not to have them all be somewhere in-between, because that would be too boring. It's fun to cry about how much you hate something, or even, once in awhile, exclaim how you enjoy something. But what's there to say about something that's average? And I don't mean average in the way the critics use the term, when they say a movie or play was average, they really mean to say it was bad. Because after almost every movie a critic rates as average, he or she strings out a long list of shortcomings. Now you know, that after so much interjection and thought going onto ways to tear someone apart, he or she must have had fun.
The way you can really tell a movie is average is when it is just called "average," and there is nothing else. There is nothing to say about something that is really average. So average is boring, worse than bad, and even worse than good. It leaves you with nothing to reminisce upon. Nothing to sharpen your claws, and polish your verbal expletives on.
How about the average teacher? Does the average teacher really do more harm than good? The average teacher bores his students and leaves them with nothing to say, so they go away empty, which many of our children do today. This empty is bad. Sometimes empty can be good, because it is usually the want of mankind to fill anything that's empty. Empty is incompleteness. As the young person steps out into the world, empty of experience, sometimes this rawness, this emptiness, leads to bold intentions and radical conclusions. Before the mind is shaped in conventional ways, this is the time when all great geniuses make their most significant gifts to mankind. When the mind is full of traditional rationale, no new abstract thinking will tend to enter. It's in the process of filling that mind when all the great revelations occur. In this manner, it is usually the young mind, the empty mind, which is the best. The young mind cannot fall back on past experiences and so does not readily fall into the ruts of conventional thinking. If that young mind happens to be that of a genius, then it can lead to uncharted territory and break-through for the enlightenment of all mankind.
But a bored mind, empty or full, can only lead to stagnation. Education is not a joy to the student of an average teacher, so although that student may possess the potential skills to make that bold step to a level higher than the typical person, he never feels the urge to, that hungry desire that is so necessary has not been honed. If a hungry child, bored with the daily feedings of oatmeal, had a choice between eating oatmeal or going to bed hungry, I would pick a short bedtime story. Bored minds lose their hunger for knowledge.
You might say a bad teacher can only be worse. He leaves students with a bitter taste in their mouths. But herein lies the difference between bad and average; when something has left you with no taste, you don't search for that experience again. In this same way, the bored mind no longer searches for more knowledge. But how long would that same person leave a bad taste in their mouth? Most likely they will search for something to eradicate that bad taste. A pupil who has had a bad experience in class is left frustrated, angry – with a bad taste in his mouth. After a while he looks for something to change that frustration, search for something to rid his mouth of that bitter taste. The only thing that can change his distorted or misguided knowledge is clear insight into more reliable knowledge. Truth as opposed to lies, but the teacher doesn't have to lie to be unfit, better yet-- enlightenment as opposed to confusion. When the mind is confused it searches for logical paths to sort out the confusion and make sense of small parts of the total picture, even if the picture, as a whole, is incomprehensible. The student might take it a bit slower the next time around, sorting information bit by bit, instead of in confusing lumps. But for him there will be a next time.
Most people, when turned off by a religion or even diocese will go find another and not just give up on God, knowing that it’s the frailties of man that can distort the views of the big picture, even when the big picture itself has never changed.
The divorcee is always most vulnerable to another romance right after the separation. Is that because the divorcee is looking for another bad experience? Of course not, but they are looking to right a wrong. When you've had a bad love affair you search desperately for a good one.
But wouldn't it be best to have that original love be good? Isn't the same true for teachers?
Teachers are all-important. Even when they are on strike they are teaching... They have a direct hand upon our future. Teaching is more important for us than anything else, for it is what separates us from the insects. It is what led us to the present day, modern world. The building of knowledge through teaching. I don't need to be an Einstein to use his equations, because they were taught to me. I didn't have to try to work them out myself with an inferior mind to that of Mr. Einstein. I didn't have to invent and design my typewriter to be able to make use of it, either did the company who made it. That knowledge was passed down to them, leaving room and time for them to make improvements on the original and thus making a better product. The automobile is the classic example of an accumulation of many individual inventions all put together into one package that without any one of the many would not lead to the same final product.
Teaching doesn't start in the classroom (At least not in Strongsville.) From the moment a child is born he is learning and being taught and influenced by everyone around him. His brain is forming and growing from the start. Even the best teacher can only do so much when there is no cooperation from home. Parents should be aware of what
goes on inside their children's school and classes. Parents should take heed in pointing out the fact that they believe a teacher to be bad. This doesn’t mean that they should automatically take the child’s side, because many times today I see the parents defending their child’s bad behavior and this only teaches their child that bad behavior is acceptable. The parents have much more influence over their children than can one “bad” teacher can have. Let them know that there are good teachers out there, and help guide them when they most need to have a good experience in education. I think a good teacher is delighted to have parents take a constructive interest in their children's learning.
And if a teacher is boring your child, rescue him from the sea of tranquility (No – Don’t send him to the moon!) but show him that learning can be a wonderful, almost magical, experience. Learning can be fun. Otherwise mankind would have never made it this far.
Teach your children well …   (Please don’t Nash your teeth Mr. Graham)


Sincerely,   
èim  Uhr



P.S. A single cell in the brain may have
        direct contact with 1,000 others. A
        single teacher reaches 1,000's of
        young minds …







Thursday, January 10, 2013

Once


O n c e

A breath of passion
an out dated fashion
dress on the floor
my hand on the door
as I turn back to look
I see but do not know
all the things I know but do not see
hidden secretes
secretes revealed
revealing posture
posing sleep
cute as a button
buttons relented
crumpled covers
uncovered portrait
one eye open
at least I know
she watches me go

                            êim Uhr





Sunday, October 28, 2012

Answers to life's questions


I Thought I would take a moment to answer a few Emails here.

(Keep in mind my email is static – I’m not always sure if the email response is to my Blog or my Website… or it’s just spam that I like to keep as personal mail just so I have think I have more than I really do.)



Question: How many words are in Moby Dick?
Answer: Well, I got to the end of the book and was at 212,002 when I hiccupped and lost my place… so maybe it’s just a little more than that. And no, don’t worry, I’ll never write anything that long. Just remember War and Peace is more than 550,000 words.

Q: How long have you been crazy?
A: I have never officially been diagnosed as being crazy. It’s just a place I sometimes like to go, especially in my writing. It’s a nice place to visit but I ….

Q: How much of this stuff is the truth you write?
A: What really is truth?  All my writing is totally true – most of it is just based in an alternate reality that has nothing to do with this one.

Q: My husband is divorcing his wife – do I still have to have contact with her?
A: Huh? That doesn’t seem to make any sense. Let me think for a moment.
(One moment later…) The answer is no. I think if she’s divorcing, then she has to leave the harem.

Q: I went to your website and on your favorite page –the music – are you kidding me? It’s dizzying! What is really your favorite style or artist?
A: Well, actually you should be a little more dizzy. I really don’t have much Classical or Jazz there, and those are two areas of music that I have embraced in the past (as well as New Age and Spirituality).
But as far as my ultimate favorite style, it would have to be alternative. And my favorite group would be The Cure.
But I grew up on early Elton John and I still think he is the King( ), even if his more recent stuff feels so watered down.
Of course it goes without saying that the Beatles are the ultimate group and an influence on everything else.
Then groups like Supertramp, Alan Parsons, the Moody Blues, and Klaatu raised me to levels that made everyday life seem mundane by comparison. While, at times, Klaatu can be a bit campy – that is part of their fun and their message. I still think that Klaatu’s second album “Hope” is one of the best ever. Abby Road (Beatles), Captain Fantastic (Elton John), Wish (Cure), 1st Album (Jars of Clay), Crime of the Century (Supertramp) are some more off the top of my head. There are many I am leaving out…
Lately I’ve been listening to “Minus the Bear” from a recommendation from the great Alternative Press.
I believe that music is the backdrop to life…

Q: All your links! I never know what to click on or where they’re going. It drives me crazy! How about a better idea of where the links are and what’s going to come up when I click on something?
A: I love to be the driving force of your craziness. I just hope to provide a scenic journey.
\We all need to be a little more crazy/

crazy...

If you want me to keep updating you on your questions here just keep sending me more Email.

Feel free to follow me, although I realize that you have to be nuts to follow a blind squirrel.  (Maybe that’s why he never finds any nuts, because they’re always following behind him)



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Thursday, September 20, 2012

Is there a Reason To Write?


Reason To Write


Is my writing all in vain?
Well, it is true that writing makes my heart beat. But does anyone else really care? Probably not…
But does that stop me?
Should it?
…Yes – But will it?
If you see more writing following, you can assume that it didn’t. But let’s analyze whether or not it should stop me. Then I will decide if it will.
If I have one, or maybe even two, readers who have read at least one article before without gagging, then, surely it would be reason enough to go on. But at this point we are assuming that this isn’t so – and we are probably safe in making this assumption. Even if we aren’t totally safe in drawing this conclusion that I have no readers, let’s just do so to make it more fun.
So now that we (?) have established the fact that I have no readers we are one step closer to determining whether I should go on or give up right here.
So maybe it should be assumed that I should’ve already lost my will to go on. After all what is the sense in a writer writing if a reader isn’t reading what the writer has been writing in hopes to have readers read what he has written. Am I right in writing believing that the only reason a writer writes is to have readers read him? Maybe not in all cases. Because in certain circumstances the casual consensus is that curtain calls are considered contrary to the conventional caliber of cases where cheering can cheapen cherished classics.
I think the main reason I write is for therapy of the soul. Writing focuses my cosmic illusions of space and the vacuums of the mind into forms none telepathic, and through sensations in my temples and in ways to guide my fingers, thus enabling me to control said fingers to place these transmissions down on paper in the two dimensional world of common folk, enabling them to somewhat relate to the though processes of a much higher form.
It would also really be nice to have one or, getting really wild, two readers. I mean, so what if the whole world could understand the complex workings of an advanced mind if there is nobody there to read them. Although writing is a form of self-expression, what good is it if there is nobody there to see my expressions?
So strike down that last (and only) reason to write.
Is there another reason I write that I can dig up from the recesses of my mind? This should be easy to find because my mind is always on recess.
So as I brush back the cobwebs to search for other meanings to my methods, I remember the thing that started me writing in the first place. The local Dime Store was running a sale, and amidst a table of junk with wrappers torn, and boxes bruised and faded, I came across a pack of ten pens. Ten Papermates for Fifty cents. I reached into my pocket to find two quarters, and I knew, from that moment on, that something cosmic was happening in the fabric of time. The Universe would never be the same!
With ten pens sitting on my nightstand I eventually took to making scribbles on paper to waste some of the ink on hand. But my advanced mind soon grew bored of the simplistic subtleties of common swirls and masses of stickmen armies. Circles only went backwards or forwards, and upon completion it was hard to tell a forward one from a backward one, even though I spent much time alkalizing them. Stick figures can only have a smile, a frown, or a straight line across their faces. And their bodies are all skinny. I’ve never seen a fat stick man. Sure, use a magic marker and you may get one that’s well-built, but you still would be stretching things to call him fat. A stout stickman is rare. When you go past the point of stout stickmen you’re getting into abstract art, and I lose interest and patience.
So after a few years I grew bored with scribbles. But when I finally reached a point where I could not tolerate one more scribble nor coordinate one more stick man, I found that I still had one more pen on hand. Most of the ink from all the pens was actually still on hand, for I tend to get more ink on my hand than the paper. But eventually it washes off.
Could I let this last pen go to waste? Did I waste my hard earned money when I could have settled for nine pens? Did I waste someone else’s precious time and effort in creating this pen? Would the manufacturer, whose product was going to waste, seek personal revenge on me? Would that last, lonely pen throw it’s insides all over my drawer in frustration? Would I wake one morning dead, the police finding the pen thrust through my heart? Who would the main suspect be – the pen, the manufacturer, or my future readers?
I took that pen, fearing all of the above, and scratched meaningless words onto a paper in straight lines all the way across it and continued for the whole length of the page. I called myself a Writer, because I don’t want to be known as a wrong Uhr.
So there you have it. That is the reason for my writing. The facts are all in – now, should I quit or continue? Seeing that my pen is almost out of ink… I think that it’s time to quit.
Ultimately the decision comes down, not to a lack of thoughts and subjects, nor to a lack of readers… but a lack of ink.
Entropy wins out in the end.
Yes, this is my last article…


                                                                       Farwellingly Yours,
       èim  Uhr



P.S.   I’m going to take a trip down to that dime store,
          if it’s still around. I’m bringing fifty-three cents.







Friday, August 17, 2012

A blast from the past...


A FRIENDLY DRIVE


I was driving down the road the other day, when I flipped out. It wasn't a new song on the radio. It was the curb that caused it. Before I knew it I was doing summersaults.
My car landed right side up and I staggered out. I, literally, spit glass out of my mouth as I gazed disbelievingly at my car. People stopped and were asking me questions, but I just alternated nodding and shaking my head without listening to them.
My car ... me?
Not a bruise. Not a cut. The glass didn't even cut the inside of my mouth. Not one thing was wrong with me… No, I wasn't wearing my seat belt.
As my brain finally started excepting messages my eyes were sending it, I noticed my windshield lying a few feet from the car, shattered, but nearly whole. My newly bought side mirrors were, naturally, broken off. There was mud allover my car as luckily I had rolled on grass instead of pavement. The passenger side of the roof was smashed in a bit, my door was bent in, and the right rear fender was smashed.
Someone said I must have been listening to the radio to hit a rock and roll.
Somehow I got the idea of trying to start my car. Since no damage was done to the hood or anything under it, I got the car started without any trouble.
I ended up driving the car home, with no windshield in below freezing temperatures. I shook all the way home, partially from the cold and partially from shock.
One the way home I thought of something that Winston Churchill once said, one of my favorite quotes—

 "Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing happened."


I made it home without getting pulled over, even though it's illegal to drive without a windshield.
I can still remember (in flashes) that sensation of turning upside down and rolling. Things flashed by so fast. I saw parts of my life in quick, unrelated glimpses. Then, in mid roll, I thought to myself, "This is a dream."
Microseconds later I realized it wasn't a dream, that my car was rolling over and I was in it, and that I would be late for work. I wondered why it rolled. Was I rolling up a hill? Through lanes of traffic? Was I dying? Had I ever lived? Was my car paid off? Did I have clean underwear?
A feeling soon to be forgot, but a time long remembered. If the feelings that one has during an uncontrollable moment in one's life could be totally recalled, I doubt if many mistakes would be repeated. But the only thing that is truly remembered are the after affects, and they never seem to be quite as bad.
Yes, how easily feelings are forgot.
Trying times can test us and show what we're made of. I'm not sure what I'm made of, but I know that I don't like tests.
It sounds unusual, but I think Cicero made a lot of sense when he said,
 "There is something pleasurable in calm remembrance of a past sorrow."
Maybe it's just the fact that the adversity has been survived, and it makes present adversities seem conquerable. Something Friedrich Nietzsche said helps shed light into Cicero's statement:
       "What does not destroy me makes me strong."
You are stronger from living through past sorrows. Also past troubles seen through memory's eye always are less sharp and out of focus then is the pain of present problems.
Remember the lesson of the day — Brakes, steering and even good friends can fail. To remain strong without becoming bitter is the trick. Friends don't care about your failures, and they care only to beat your successes. The best one can ask of a friend is to tell the truth when you need it, also to lie when you need it, and to listen nearly as often as they talk. Many times I find myself praying like Marshall de Villars.         — "God save me from my friends
                  I can protect myself from my enemies."
I expect distress from my enemies but when it comes by way of friends it is unbearable. I guess I just have to learn something that Agnes Macphail put well by saying,
“Do not rely completely on any other human being, however dear. We meet all life's greatest tests alone."


I guess when you have news that makes your life miserable the best thing a friend can do, from his point of view, is to exclude you from his life so you don't make him share in your misery.
"Heaven for climate, hell for company." — James M. Barrie.
Half my friends are in heaven, and the rest just have their heads in the clouds.

Dearly befriended,
èim  Uhr




P.S. It's funny the way
       one thinks of friends
                          in times of sorrow. I
                          can usually think of
                          them, but I can't talk
                          to them. 


Drive me away                                       RIP or RID(rest in drive)

                            We all crash alone

Friday, July 20, 2012

Windows to the Soul


Windows of the Soul
Windows of the Soul



Windows. I have always loved windows. Standing in one atmosphere, gazing out at another environment that may be totally different. Removed, unconnected. Like looking out at a blizzard from a cozy warm home, the totally white frozen obliteration contrasting to the warmth and varied colors within. A thin, clear membrane separating you from frostbite. A thin clear line between Nevada and Alaska. It’s like looking at an historic painting that you feel so distant from – like instead of gazing at another time, you are looking into another dimension.
Sometimes when I’m depressed I can gaze out a window and imagine another life. It’s always nice to put glass between your pane [sic].
Just as children growing up strive to separate themselves from grownups, so we in general as humans are prone to feel the need to separate ourselves from history. Denying past errors. Maybe that’s why windows dominate today’s society, since we like separation, with windows we can at least be conscious of the division and pretend to care. (Kind of like seeing starving third world children on television and feeling compelled to send off a dollar or two to alleviate our guilt, pretending that we're not separated from their blight.) We air condition against the warmth outside, just as we heat when it is cold outside. Man – always trying to be separate from, trying to change reality. Never satisfied with the way things are.
For it is the change that always stands out. The difference is what’s important. If almost all birds were either blue or red, I’m sure that it would be the brown one’s that we considered beautiful.
We climb mountains with great delight in being able to look down into valleys. We live in the valley in order to have a view of the majestic mountains.
And it is with the help of windows that make all this so obvious. Windows let us see our separation, make us aware of the modifications we have made. Windows are constant reminders of man’s attempt to turn reality up-side-down.
Windows are barriers that at least let light get through so that we can fool ourselves into thinking there is no separation. Thus we can say, “I live in Moscow” or “I live in Cleveland” or “I live in Chambly,” instead of “I live in a 70 degree heated/air-conditioned bubble – just like you and most everybody else.”
We play with reality until reality loses it’s meaning. Is reality the inside of the cage or the world outside? It depends on which side one has his perspective from. Whether they are bars of steel or piled up bars of gold, poor are affected as well as the wealthy - as your personal prison can be from theft as well as riches. Money can separate us as it stacks up around us forming an inpenitratible barrier that no one can reach through. Seclusion can be our own private jail. The rich as well as the poor can experience alienation from society. Lock me away, or shun me. Observe me only through windows. Keep your distance! Not like a lion in a cage, but more that of a fish in an aquarium. You could never truly know my world. My glass separates universes, dimensions. My glass is a bubble that surrounds me as I float in and out of your reality.
It is sometimes said that separation is an illusion – but in reality anything and everything but separation is the illusion. Each object, each person, is made up of individual cells. Each cell in your body has as much connection to each other as do the planets in a solar system.
Space. Space is the truth. There is space between everything. The only connection between us is space. The Universe is essentionally empty. It is a vacuum by any standard. Even a pane of glass is not really solid. A neutrino passing through a window has a very small chance of colliding with any molecule in the glass – most assuredly it will pass right through without any effect. It would be almost impossible for it to strike anything.
Although you can see a completely different world outside your window, you have little chance of having any effect on it. Of all the animals on Earth it’s the human beings who are known as the creators on the planet, always building things, but in actuality our creations are small and usually temporary – just waiting for entropy to overtake them. As the debate rages on whether we are destroying the planet I think that we are locked in a perspective that is far from reality. I’m not sure we are as of yet able to destroy the Earth, we are only able to change it – possibly destroying the atmosphere and any possible living conditions. But the Earth, in one form or another, will survive. So the only thing we would probably be destroying is ourselves, along with a few billion animals. I think that long after we’re gone the Earth will repair itself. Maybe then the next incarnation of life will get it right.
Maybe we’re just like microbes in a Petri dish. The experiment of life on this planet may have passed its half-life. Maybe the scientist running this experiment has as much feelings for us as we do for mold spores. Possibly we are just a little experiment in filling up some space. We take up about as much space in the Universe as we do time in it’s history. We would not even register as a blip on the radar screen. We are dandruff on the head of the Universe, exaggerating our self worth. Is it man’s deterrent or his blessing to be so self-centered? Man’s ego is what has caused him to expand beyond any reasonable measure. In this microcosm, man is king. Man’s inflated self-importance is what makes him rise above the other microbes in the Petri dish.
The ultimate question is whether he can rise up enough through his own compost to really communicate with the scientist running this experiment and possible save himself with something more than complaints or simple pleas of help.


                                                                                    éim Uhr


P.S.   It is said that a millennium is just a moment to the Universe. Do you want to give me a moment to see if I can unstick this widow?
The eyes have it. [sic]


which window video is the best??? - let me know!
Window1                                   Window2

W I N D O W S





Sunday, July 1, 2012

Jerks are only human


Jerks Are Only Human


"The trouble ain't that people are ignorant: it's just that they know so much that ain't so." – Josh Billings.

I'm sure that everyone has had an encounter with a jerk. Just to clarify things, a jerk is someone who is dumber than you. If you don't know very many jerks that means that many people consider you to be a jerk. To be a jerk is not necessarily bad, everyone is someone else's jerk. A jerk is neither good nor bad. A jerk just is.
Did you ever take the time to get to know a jerk? I mean, did you realize that they're people too. Dumbness is not necessarily a qualification for one fitting the jerkism category. I have known some very intelligent jerks in my day.
It is common to have, at one time or another, said or thought, "Hey, that persons a jerk!" But have you ever thought about whether or not that person can help it? Maybe he was born that way. No one knows for sure if jerkism is hereditary or not. Is it in their genes? Should a person be ridiculed and condemned for something that they have no control over?
Is it fair? Doesn't anyone care? Do people have to stare? Do they always get into innocent beings hair? Do they really foul the air? Do they come only as a pair? A jerk! – where?
In honor of those afraid to stand up and admit to jerkism I officially declare that for one week a year, from this day forward, all will celebrate a National Jerk Week. Parades and festivities will be forthcoming.

There are many ways to celebrate this grand occasion, and I'm sure that many more will surface once word hits Wall Street and People Magazine.
So take a jerk to dinner without laughing as food drips down his chin. Smile at a jerk (Don't Laugh!) when she does something dumb. When a mechanic works on your car, who you find later to be a jerk because your car runs worse than when you brought it to him, don't say anything about the problems, just pay with a smile. When you listen to a jerk weatherman and have a picnic on a "beautiful day", just keep quiet and eat the soggy, rain soaked, sandwiches. Please remember, at least for this one week, if a jerk smiles – try to refrain from knocking out all his teeth.
If a jerk is crying for no reason – don't give him one.
If a jerk is dying of laughter – don't tell your favorite joke to him, he probably wouldn't understand it anyway.
If you see a jerk pounding on the chest of your mother, who is suffering, not from a heart attack, but from sunburn – calmly point out what he is doing wrong.
If a jerk puts out his cigarette on your waterbed-- don't suffocate him with your pillow.
If a jerk criticizes your writing – don't stab him with your pen.
If a jerk is driving his car in the wrong direction on an exit ramp on interstate 999 – please don't honk at him, it will only add to his problems.
Even though a jerk is calling your mother names as he hangs from a 2,000 foot ledge – help him.
If a jerk is taking you to lunch this week – offer to pay half the bill.

But how does one spot a jerk if he wishes to take one to lunch as part of one’s civic duty?
 You can usually tell that it's a jerk when …
He stops you, just short of electrocuting yourself as you reach for a light switch, because he remembers that he screwed the bulb in backwards.
When he tells you not to worry as you see your car start to roll, because he cut the wheel toward a brick wall so it wouldn't roll out into the street.
When he heaves rocks through your window to see if you are up before he knocks on your door because he doesn't want to make you mad by waking you.
When he won't answer his ringing phone knowing that it doesn't work, because every time he dials his own number it's busy.
He is the biggest fan of a team that is a rival of your favorite team,
When you ask him for the keys to your car and he tells you not to worry because they are locked safely in the car.
When he takes an umbrella into the swimming pool because of the 100% chance of rain today.
When you realize he was going to take you to dinner this week…
How can you tell if you are a jerk – so you can know to skip food shopping this week?
When you are constantly lending your car to jerks.
When people are calling you weeks in advance to reserve a dinner date with you this week.
When you step into the shower before adjusting the temperature.
When you can't tell the time because the little  “ : ”  burned out on your digital watch.
You throw out your pens when the wax runs out.
You can't tell the eminent from the facetious.
You are in charge of blindfolding the condemned man in front of a firing squad, and when the handkerchief rips you curse by saying, "Shoot!"
You find a ten-dollar bill in front of an apartment complex and spend the rest of the day looking at all the mailboxes for the name Hamilton.
You wear a windbreaker because you’re feeling gaseous.
You have a solar lighting system installed inside your house.
You read in the dark because bright lights give you eyestrain.
You want to wear glasses because they make you look intelligent.
You try to fall asleep, but your vivid dreams keep waking you.
You want to wear contacts because you want to change your eye color.
You have at select times proved that it is possible to trip up stairs.
You read articles by people who write about dumb things…



                                                              Leaving you Dumbfounded,
                                                            èim  Uhr



                   P.s.      To all my readers —                 
   Eat a light breakfast all week. 










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