When's the last time you slipped a quarter in a public payphone? Architectural designer John Locke can't remember either.
So, he's attempting to repurpose the space into lending libraries. He's built and installed bookshelves in some all but abandoned phone booths on the Upper West Side, filled them with a selection of reads and hopes the space will promote literacy.
As the Christmas season snows down around us, some are comforted by warm thoughts of hot cocoa by the fire while others melt with fear that someone might wanna rob them of all the goodies under the tree. Paranoid preppers will need to protect the pretty wrapped parcels (and their family) and what better way than with a shiny new firearm!
Even if all your gifts are sucky and no one wants to take them, there's always the option of taking down one of Santa's reindeer mid-flight. How fun!
Anyone that thinks this way would have loved living in decades past when the idea of finding a Gun under the tree was considered yuletide cheer. Let the self-defense companies cash in.
This ad says it all. A little Holiday Suicide might sound like a good idea after too much eggnog. Happy Holidays!
Before you kick someone's ass with your super solid Shaolin kicks, you must uphold polite convention and greet your loser.
In Wushu Kung Fu you do that by covering your clenched right fist with your open palm left. It's called the "Bao Quan".
Today, your Master will tell you it means "People in the 5 lakes and 4 seas are all brothers". And he's right. But know that during the Qing Dynasty this greeting used to mean "Destroy Qing, Restore Ming" when many Grasshoppers fought agains the ruling family.
The Bao Quan also represents Attack -the Right Fist (or You) and Defense- The Palm (or Your opponent). Aah. Balance. I knew it'd be in there somewhere.
Most guys would cringe at getting a tie as a gift. But they'd listen to this. Tell him it's made from recycled cassette tape ribbon. The super sonic fabric was created by artist Alyce Santoro and the tie? It's hand sewn by designer Julio Cesar. A sound investment at $120.
The stillness is painful
Now there's nothing left to say, nothing left to do.
The winds took me farther than I wanted to go and now that
The Storm is over
I feel restless.
Never at ease with the serene.
The calm is worse than anything that came before.
It leaves me
Inside my own head. It paralyzes my hands so the biggest part of me is gone.
The only part I know.
There’s only one allowed in at a time. She switches
her enormous weight onto the other leg.The man in front of her moves up half an inch, making room- not wanting
to be close.This can be passed
off as polite but she knows the real reason.The anger swells in her massive belly.She grits her lips together, afraid of
what spite may spew out if she opened it.A young couple joins the queue.She’s fat, they’re thinking.And gross.No one wants to
stand too close.Obesity is
contagious.The sweating begins.This happens in crowds.
The man in front stares silently, still, at the back of the head in front of him.The couple is engrossed in their chatty dialogue.But they are staring at her, inside
they stare at her.They’re
thankful they don’t look like her.The anger inside builds to rage.Why do they all glare with their minds?Why can’t they just accept her and let her be?Why must she teach the world how to
behave appropriately in social situations such as this?The rage travels to her throat.She wants to scream at all of
them.Close her eyes and let her
tongue swing with fury. “Next.”A
voice from the room.The crowd
moves up a place.She notices the
inches in between her and the others in line.More inches than should be.
Ships slip into and out of the docks, mimicking the tide.
The bump, bump, of Floatation buoys against the wooden pier keeps rhythm with
the unhurried pace of life here.
Near the pier the kick of a drum is on tempo with the sounds
of the sea.It’s a lone drum,
commanded expertly by a drummer who lost his sight years ago.He’s comfortable with his
blindness.Sometimes, when people
ask- usually small children full of innocent and annoying curiosity- he tells
them the vibrations of his snare allow him to see.They don’t but he likes to pretend- and it shuts up the
children.He can hear them staring
after that.But that’s less
irritating than having their high-pitched voices destroy the leisurely symphony
of the sea.He will then beat out
a prayer that they stop asking questions.Thank god there are no children out today.
The buoys Bump against the wood pier-his cue to slow the pace. The tide is
There are only regulars at the dock who pay the Blind
Drummer no mind.This is how he
likes it.He can tell the
regulars by their footsteps.Each
has a unique pace, a special plod that amplifies his composition.
A Chinese Man, new to this seaside town, sits at an easel
near the Blind Drummer.He unwraps
a cloth and takes out calligraphers tools.He begins creating art in his words.
We are all players on stage, The Blind Drummer thinks as he
allows the sounds to drive his opus- the Bumps, the footsteps and what’s
that?A Swoosh. Then a quick
Calligrapher.The sound’s ever so
faint but yet fills the Drummer’s ears. He’s attracted instantly to the
Swish.This beautiful tone is now
the heart of his creation. His drumsticks follow in perfect rhythm as he falls
into measure with this exotic sound.He can’t place the sound.It makes him angry that he can’t see.More angry than he’s been for a long time.What could it be?
The Calligrapher picks up the black Chinese letter he just
drafted and allows the paper to waft out of his hands to the sea.
Drummer stops. The Swish no longer fills the air around him. The song is over.