"... all this stuff will be moved. You would be right about that..."

Fractured cell phone conversations. I walk half a mile through the downtown area every morning and afternoon, bracketing my workday with a constitutional. Almost every day there is at least one person declaiming loudly into a cell phone or earpiece/mic. (Sure beats the old days when there'd be at least one person declaiming loudly into the air or at other pedestrians [ME!].) Sometimes the cell conversations are happening in a language I don't understand. I recognize it as a dialect of English, but the flow of words and their pronunciation don't carry meaning for me. Those are the days I ask myself just exactly how out of touch with common parlance I am becoming. Today wasn't one of those days. I understood every word.

Headlines with no text under them is just bad blogging

Flat stomach, White teeth, Good hair. And a nice personality.

Not very likely. The gall bladder attacks make my stomach swell out like a big beachball made of swinehide. The GERD has de-enameled my teeth, and no amount of soaking or scrubbing is going to make my yellow-brown dentin as bright white as a TV star's. And the male pattern baldness that runs rampant in my family pretty much prevents good hair days. Especially with that big mangy patch on the left side above the ear.

Good thing I've got the physique of a Devil's Island escapee after seven years of degenerative muscle disease and the personality of your average Schizoid or I'd have nothing going for me.

What happens if you drink a quart of concrete?

Hard soles save a lot of elevator rides.

I ride the elevator many times every day. When I hear approaching footsteps that seem to be rushing or accelerating, I presume they are hurrying to catch the elevator, so pump the open-door button until they get there. If they happened to be wearing soft-soled shoes, I'd never hear them coming. Think of the energy savings this ride-sharing is achieving. I've reduced my carbon signature so much that now I spend my weekends roaming the state forests with my chain saw, lopping branches and felling things willy-nilly.
Does that make me a bad person?