Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score.
It's good advice. And every 'est' word is considered a mistake by spellcheck.
The idea that McDonald's is trying to tell me what a real New Englander is, and how such a person feels, disgusts me on a level that I cannot express in words.
And by the way, fools, a real New Englander would never say the phrase "real New Englander". You sicken me with your pathetic attempts to connect to people. Your so-called restaurants are dehumanizing assembly lines for disgusting, nearly inedible food, which people only eat because it is cheap, and likely addictive. It is clear to any impartial observer that our society would be much better off without the influence and presence of McDonald's. Begone!
(Obviously I'm on some kind of little Shakespeare run here)
It strikes me that having the letter x twice in a name where it only belongs once betrays a lack of class. People who add the second x by choice are telegraphing their urgent need to get your attention. If they can't get your attention because of their talent, why not try a gimmick like adding a ridiculous second x to a name? If I see the second x, I assume low-rent, low-class.
The only exception is Jimmie Foxx, who was a solid hitter, and who clearly didn't choose to add the second x.
Can a man's worth be measured by the number of times, while suspended and gripping a bar, he can use the muscles in his arms to pull his body's weight upwards and raise his chin above the level of the bar he is gripping?
The sensation of walking up to a 7 Eleven in Brighton in the evening. It is a shining city on a hill. The glow of the lights out onto the sidewalk. The lights are sterile halogen. Very easy to pretend you're in an indie movie with some garbled theme about alienation in modern society, where you'd be a character who goes to the 7 Eleven, stares glassy-eyed at things in the freezer section, shyly avoids conversation with checkout girl, walks home alone silently to silent alone apartment where you do something comedic, but also indicative of your loneliness and alienation. The light, the light!
I foresee a future state of the National Football League that is centered around injuries. The games take twice as long because there are multiple serious injuries on every play. The rosters are twice as large because of the need for replacements due to in-game attrition. There are several deaths due to injuries sustained in games every year, which, while bemoaned as tragic, are tolerated. The year? 2025.
It's not too far away from today's game. There is an upper limit on how big and fast football players can get before very serious injuries become more and more frequent, eventually leading to the first in-game death. It will happen, someday, and don't be surprised when it does.
Hear cars swooping by on Harvard Ave. Feel tennis soreness in the right tricep from hitting wicked forehand winners yesterday. Perceive cool breeze of a Boston September night. Decompress and rest feet from standing all day.