Hills, yes.
But don’t forget bombing down the endless wooded corridor as payback for breaking one of the cardinal rules: Never follow Ben up a mountain.
And remember that many other guidelines were questioned as well, including the admonition not to ride down steps in the woods.
But at least there was general agreement over one of my own standard pieces of advice, which is to have a drink at the bar if you come to the bar, even if, in this case, there were two of them simultaneously.
The Angry Hippy and I talked about nothing for a while and pondered the instability of it, which is, after all, something, I suppose.
Plus, the Backyard Barbecue was in fine form, sucking flames into its flue on a full moon’s winter night that felt more like April than Valentine’s eve.
And I’m pretty sure someone puked, even before the serious drinking began.
So, you see, it is all hearts and flowers (or steak and blowjobs) when it comes to a Thursday night out on two wheels and is, as Dada might attest to, way harder to pull yourself away from it even when you just show up at Westlake to do a blessing of the bikes; before you know it, you’re tumbling down muddy forest pathways and demonstrating a range of emotions all the way from pensive to thoughtful with everything in-between.
BtAH explained to me that another answer to the question “Why is there something rather than nothing at all?” is that nothing would be static and so, if I understood correctly, couldn’t therefore exist in time—which implies, of course, some sort of change. Nevertheless, there are those magic moments, recurring for all eternity, like Derrick’s repeating of the same joke about a pipe over and over.
I agree: if it’s funny once, it’s even funnier four or five times.
Unchanging perfection, like nothing, cannot possibly exist; the perfectly imperfect, though, happens all the time.
But don’t forget bombing down the endless wooded corridor as payback for breaking one of the cardinal rules: Never follow Ben up a mountain.
And remember that many other guidelines were questioned as well, including the admonition not to ride down steps in the woods.
But at least there was general agreement over one of my own standard pieces of advice, which is to have a drink at the bar if you come to the bar, even if, in this case, there were two of them simultaneously.
The Angry Hippy and I talked about nothing for a while and pondered the instability of it, which is, after all, something, I suppose.
Plus, the Backyard Barbecue was in fine form, sucking flames into its flue on a full moon’s winter night that felt more like April than Valentine’s eve.
And I’m pretty sure someone puked, even before the serious drinking began.
So, you see, it is all hearts and flowers (or steak and blowjobs) when it comes to a Thursday night out on two wheels and is, as Dada might attest to, way harder to pull yourself away from it even when you just show up at Westlake to do a blessing of the bikes; before you know it, you’re tumbling down muddy forest pathways and demonstrating a range of emotions all the way from pensive to thoughtful with everything in-between.
BtAH explained to me that another answer to the question “Why is there something rather than nothing at all?” is that nothing would be static and so, if I understood correctly, couldn’t therefore exist in time—which implies, of course, some sort of change. Nevertheless, there are those magic moments, recurring for all eternity, like Derrick’s repeating of the same joke about a pipe over and over.
I agree: if it’s funny once, it’s even funnier four or five times.
Unchanging perfection, like nothing, cannot possibly exist; the perfectly imperfect, though, happens all the time.
i got your pipe right here!
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