Dudes who walk through the locker room at the gym with their junk swinging around and a towel around their neck—@whatsup with that?! I’m a big fan of being comfortable in your own skin, iheart being comfortable in my own skin. But if I’m in a locker room full of guys and all I have is a pair of sandals and a towel, I’m not going to wear the sandals on my hands. The only reason I’d wear a towel around my neck, if I was naked in a locker room full of dudes, is if I’m already wearing one around my waist. Airing it out like that like it’s normal with a towel around your neck and you’re holding the edges of the towel to prevent your arms from swinging as you pace back and forth between the lockers and the mirror is weird.

I’ve seen them set their naked cheeks on the bench in front of the lockers with that same towel still around their neck. The same bench I had my shoes on a minute ago. The shoes I kicked that turd out of the sidewalk with. The same ones I used to walk through discarded cigarette butts, drain water, probably mud, old gum and everything else my shoes are designed to protect my feet from. While you had your towel around your neck, you exposed your turd pincher and baby maker to the same elements as the bottom of my shoes.

ain’t no joke!

How’s it going? Good _{(choose one)} morning! Afternoon! Evening! I’m doing this thing where I repeat myself for several articles and tell you about how I’m addressing the notes I have written down in my notepad and expanding my finished articles folder. This note said “naked dudes that wear a towel around their neck.” I have a tendency of putting an article together and then spending twice as long editing the thing rather than file it away or posting it and moving onto the next one. I’m working on that as you

read.

You know what intonation means? As Pura and I continue this journey travelling outside of the US, making friends from multiple cultures, intonation is an interesting word to understand—I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. What about satire, you know what satire means? I noticed one of the authors I follow tagged it awhile back, I like that idea. Maybe I’ll do that and make it the second tag on this article like a heads-up you’re supposed to laugh at the guy with a towel introduction because you can’t hear my intonation.

Reaction drives a content producer to perform. “Build fire they will come.” Appreciate content they will produce. Content producers face particular challenges entertaining behind a screen. Something as simple as pointing out the obvious, though not a common consumer thought, then skipping over it with an unexpected gif only to return immediately with a

sleight of hand.

Check out this street art I found in Liverpool—they #love John Lennon here. For example, The Beatles have the largest permanent Beatles museum in the world here in Liverpool whereas John Lennon has an entire museum dedicated to him in Liverpool.

Add to that, the inability to perceive the audience reaction, during the performance, plus a few other subtle challenges not considered by the consumer such as, but not limited to, lack of body language, hand gestures, volume, eye contact—each posing its own level of difficulty to overcome. What this means is, with each forward step toward the development of your blog, solid footing is crucial.

Jokes need to be #funny—the consumer should laugh out loud. Stories need to be captivating—something the consumer is likely to repeat to their spouse or coworker. Instruction type, DIY, help type articles, even something like a YouTube clip about tying your shoes needs to be informative and interesting because, let’s face it, everyone knows how to tie their shoes. When representing an entity, understand you’re an extension of them. Try not to compare yourself to other authors. Prioritize. A whole bunch of other things, I’m in the middle of developing one as you read this.

”Action!”

So I’m at my buddy Ray Dawg’s one morning. We’re in the back yard hanging out, lying about whatever, “Kev’s on his way over,” he said. He told me a buddy of ours will be there any minute and he has his new girlfriend with him. Ray goes into detail about her.

I guess she’s some hot shot real estate developer with more than one development in more than one location who went to Stanford or Berkeley, one of those, I can’t remember which now but it was a prestigious California school. He told me some other stuff and how Kev did so good and she’s really smart, super intelligent, makes all kinds of money, Bla Bla Bla Bla. I was in the middle of telling Ray Dawg about another friend of ours who just learned, at age 30 something, that he has three siblings, a brother and two sisters when Kev and his new Einstein counterpart walked out back and joined us.

She’d apparently never been to the desert, she’s wearing a really nice pantsuit and heels, hair and nails are recently done, Ray doesn’t even have a shirt on. Anyhow, I continued my story as they sat down, I said “so, yeah, Curtis just found out he has three siblings, crazy right?” Well, Kev’s new, pant suit wearing, Ivy League graduate interrupts me before even receiving a proper introduction from Kev. She brushed her long brown hair behind her ears and stared at me, obviously confused, now all three of us have our attention focused solely on her when she asked,

”I forget which one a sibling is, sister or brother?”

I worked for the city of Los Angeles on three separate occasions during my 22 year career in the IBEW, my last stay there lasted two years. This story takes place about five years ago. What I would do is, make daily routine inspections to all of the distribution and receiving stations throughout the power grid of Los Angeles, California, logging transformer activity, referencing temperature levels, things like that. I was driven around by one of my favorite apprentices ever, Angel, in a box van, which is an oversized van, large enough for heavy industrial tools, a garage full of materials, it’s a mobile work shop and not an easy vehicle to park—especially in downtown LA.

If you put your finger in the middle of South Central Los Angeles on a map, your finger will be on Watts, that’s where this distribution station was located. We arrived and there isn’t anywhere to park—the streets are single lane, one way in, one way out, even if we had space along a curb, we would block the city street because our van is too wide. Next door to the station is a church, a really nice church with a big, empty parking lot, the groundskeeper is outside trimming hedges.

“Excuse me,” I approached him, “would it be ok if we parked our van in your lot while we inspect the station next door, it should just be a few hours?” I explained how large our vehicle is and we can’t fit anywhere on the street. He told me he didn’t think it would be an issue, he said the keys are inside, “I’ll go clear it with the Deacon” he said. A few minutes later a different gentleman, apparently the Deacon, an exceptionally nicely dressed man came outside. He was tall, around 6’4, and wearing a really bright purple suit with a glowing white undershirt, a three piece suit, with a lot of flashy gold jewellery and sparkly jewels.

“My associate informs me of your need for our parking lot.” I introduced myself and explained what we were doing and how we’d be inside the station next door for a few hours at the most. “I don’t see an issue with that all” he said, “you’re obviously doing the community a service and our lot is empty. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” and asked me “what sort of compensation did you have in mind for me?” I wasn’t expecting that.

“Excuse me,” I asked, “compensation?” “Well, yeah” he said “if I’m doing the city of LA a service by allowing you to park your vehicle in my lot, then certainly the city of LA has some sort of compensation in mind for me.”

I told him I’m not even on salary, “I’m paid by the hour,” and “I was just hoping we could park in your lot while we serviced the station next door—the one that’s keeping the lights on in your church.” He let me know that without any compensation he would be unable to remove the lock from the gate blocking his parking lot. “Ok, sir. I apologize for the inconvenience, God bless you” and walked away. We parked a few blocks away, fortunately we didn’t need anything heavy from the van that day.

_Source

I know a way to tie your shoes, your kids’ shoes, whoever’s shoes, boots, etc. and they’ll never come untied again until manually and intentionally done so. It doesn’t require a double-knot or anything and they’re just as easy to untie as any other pair of rabbit ears, double rabbit and around the tree trick you’re already familiar with.

When you make the pair of loops (ears), whatever your technique is for making loops with your laces, and you wrap them around each other, passing one loop under and through your second loop, pass through it twice—two times. Does that make sense?

With one lace in each hand, cross them over and under each other one time, pull tightly while securing the single twist. Make a loop with one lace. Bring your second lace around the loop you just made, turning it into a loop as you weave it under and through your first loop—are you still with me? Reading shoe tying instructions is about as exciting as watching paint dry. A 30 second shoe-tying #diy should fix that. A big shout out to GoPro Hero 5 Black and iMovie, ‘thanks for the _de Vices!’