Slow walkers — I have an opinion
Ah, slow walkers. Those delightful time-wasters. Promoters of Lollygagging. Directors of Dawdling. Helping all of us to enjoy each footfall ever so much more because we get to take each step that much slower oh for the love of all that is sane and good will you please put some habanero in that pace? I mean I just wrote a novel up here, established a new business then sold it, birthed and raised a litter of children, sent them through college, grad school, and I’m now in the nursing home watching their progeny debate over whether to call me Grandma, Meemaw, or Salty (GOOD GRIEF! Oh please, Salty, Salty, SALTY!!) and I’m getting a touch impatient with your inability to keep up with my seriously slowed-to-accommodate-you stride, my dearest walking buddy!
It’s hard to manage the concrete-booted when you’re in a crowded area. You have to constantly adjust your gait to avoid cuddling someone’s butt (never appropriate), giving someone a flat (never appreciated), or spending time in someone’s hair (never doubt this is possible). I love the squirrel types. [Ed. Note: Sarcasm, folks.] There’s no accommodating the erratic slow walkers. You just have to be prepared to react quickly. They’ll be leisurely meandering one way, lull you with some deceleration and, without any warning, turn back and walk into your face. There’s got to be management of paths, people. Ascertain whether you have freedom to move before, you know, plowing people down. I had one woman do this to me a week ago. I was all prepared to give her a look of scorn, but she walked into my face and kept on walking, arms pumping with real purpose and a blank stare on her face. So, I just removed my body from her cold embrace and walked in a new direction, as far from her as possible, completely puzzled. I pinched myself, because civility dictated that I not pinch her, to see if I was dreaming. I wasn’t. I did a pulse check to see if I was still alive. I was. Weird. I’ve seen kids move like that, but they have an ice cream cone in their hand, and we can all relate to that. It’s ICE CREAM!
I was talking to my brother about these soul-killers, and he has stories to tell as well. Like me, he’s interested in walking at a pace a touch faster than the 0 mph a slow walker aims to achieve. It probably explains why we do well when we go places together. We must have stride symmetry. I’m positive that’s a thing. Also, alliteration. As we were commiserating about the turtle people, he brought up the problem of having to determine where your speed-challenged companion is before you can make a turn. And we both immediately thought of horses. You know, with those crazy eyes? Horses must never have this problem. They’d totally know whether Lassitude on the Left is too close and they’ll have to signal before executing a louie. Which is why they’re so great in races. Dang. I see Loaded Leg$$$ is coming up on the left. UGH, look at that smirk! I can’t even with that. I can still win this if I ignore that ass. CURSE these creepy eyes freakishly placed on the side of my head like a Halloween nightmare that you don’t have to wait until Halloween to be spooked by! Wait, do they have those eye things (blinders, blinkers, or winkers) on during races? Google, help me. Wait, no. It’s a rabbit hole, I suspect. Got no time for that. This is a blog post and I need to knock these bad boys out fast to make the voices in my head shut up. [Ed. Note: Yes. I’m back. Just wanted to let you know she doesn’t really hear voices. Stand down.]
What is up with autocorrect? My brother and I have both noticed a turn for the Pol Pot. OK. That’s my analogy, not his. I’m positive it’s offensive, so don’t blame him.
But he’s had his complaints about autocorrect. Witness:
And so do I. I’ve had issues with autocorrect for a long time. It’s a stealthy beast to be sure. Just making subtle little odd edits that I don’t notice and suddenly I just look like a total dumbass when I’m not even a dumbass at that moment in time. Witness:
Notice the subtle shift from VMFA to VFMA. That wasn’t what I typed. Really. Then the delightful shift from can to can’t. Stupid, autocorrect. Totally different meaning. I just updated to the new iOS. I’m not sure what’s going on with the latest aggressive stance my autocorrect has adopted with that release, but I’m not a fan. At. All. For example, autocorrect defaults to “Its” instead of “It’s” which is ridiculous because the second is the more common. It puts random spaces in words while I’m typing and automagically transforms them into two new words. Two new words that often make it past my quick text verification and get sent to people. People who are quite obviously confused. It’s maddening. I’ll have something all typed out with re-corrections to autocorrect’s unhelpful corrections made, and I’ll send it only to discover autocorrect has gone behind me again to thwart me, thereby making me look like a fool. Look, autocorrect, I need exactly zero help in that arena. I am a fool. I don’t need you assisting me in that endeavor to make me look like a double fool. I guess I could just turn it off. You people with your sensible suggestions. Le sigh…
The Cheeto’s identity crisis
Cheeto’s Puffs vs. Crunchy. Attention: Cheeto’s Puffs. Form a line and head to your destruction. Why even do you exist? You are nasty and must eradicate yourselves immediately. Go. Now. You heard me. Cheeto’s Crunchy? You may stay. Also, this cat clearly killed it in the screen test. You’re the best thing going, Lt. Paul Furman (AKA Lou).
[Ed. Note: Alternate spelling: Pawl]