I jsut attempted to type the word ‘just’ into my browser, as a shortcut for getting to the blog; but I was a-poundin’ them there keys way too fast. When you’re as shatteringly quick a typist as I am, this sometimes happens… “Fastest four fingers in the west”* is what they (sometimes) refer to me as. You have my permission to shorten it to “the 3-effs” – if typing like the wind isn’t really your thing… like it is mine. “They” also refer to me as quite a few other things, as well. But this being a family blog and all, we’ll jsut hold off on those other sobriquets, with which I’ve sometimes been rather unjsutly tarred. Anyway, I was going jsut entirely too fast (way too fast) – but without the requisite focus for such lightening-like speed. And I, somewhat understandably, mispronounced my fingers all over the keyboard, resulting in the somewhat minorly incorrect, and also rather ridiculous appearance of the word ‘jsut’. Not realizing my mistake, I hit enter, and the search engine’s number-one hit was the Urban Dictionary’s entry for said ‘jsut’…
Truth is in the Music; not in the performance. Truth resides in the thing itself, not in how well or how poorly we manage to say it. Mere pyrotechnics or pleasing sounds will never impart to Music a Truth which cannot be found without those sounds. You must never confuse the Truth of the message with the method of delivery. EJ Liederstein The picture is a sign posted inside a hotel elevator in Chiang Mai, Thailand.
“Thus, we see that one of the obvious origins of human disagreement lies in the use of noises for words.” Alfred Korzybski The really sad, or strange or ridiculous thing about this photo is, someone had come along and stuffed something into the coin slot, thus effectively making it impossible for anyone to give, had they been of a mind to.
I had replied to a commenter on my post yesterday on Cheese (with a capital ‘C’, because Cheese is very important), with an attempt to bring all the wondrous glory that is cheese (oops… I mean Cheese) into a poem, of sorts… That attempt, such as it is, is as follows: Would the Bard work as hard on a poem about Cheese, If the Cheese smacked of chard, and was hard, if you please? A bit Seussicallian, to coin a word, and to give my poor efforts entirely too much credit by association. Surely, I thought, (I really hate it when I refer to myself as Shirley… even in my own head…) I say, I thought, surely I could do better than that!
The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese… GK Chesterton