Talk about your day thread

[Chris_H_2]

Called an irrigation company on Thursday to come service our sprinkler system. I really need to be there so i can point out some of the problems. Was told that I would get a call from a scheduler that day or the next. Didn't get a call. Instead, yesterday I got a text message saying I was scheduled for service on May 4th between noon and 4, and that I had to press "1" to confirm. Sure. I confirmed.

Just got a text from my wife who is working from home saying the guy from the irrigation company is at the house. Goddammit.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Jorge]

I woke up this morning with a feeling of excitement, as if the day ahead was promising endless fun and adventure. The sun was shining brightly, casting warm rays through my bedroom window, and the air outside was crisp and refreshing. I knew that today was going to be one of those days I'd remember for years to come.

I started the day with a delicious and healthy breakfast, a bowl of mixed fruits and granola, washed down with freshly squeezed orange juice. Feeling energized, I decided to explore the vibrant streets of Buenos Aires, Argentina, on foot. I began my journey in the charming neighborhood of Belgrano, admiring the beautiful parks, French-style architecture, and bustling cafes that lined the streets.

As I walked through a picturesque park, I locked eyes with a captivating stranger, a dashing older man in his early 60s, with an exuberant mustache and kind blue eyes that seemed to hold a world of stories. We struck up a conversation, and as we got to know each other, it was clear that we shared a strong connection. With a sense of adventure, we decided to spend the day exploring the city together.

After a lovely stroll through Belgrano, we hopped on the subway to make our way to the Recoleta neighborhood. Upon arrival, we visited the famous Recoleta Cemetery, where we marveled at the intricate mausoleums and sculptures. We paid our respects to Eva Perón's tomb and spent some time wandering through the hauntingly beautiful pathways, absorbing the history and stories that surrounded us.

Feeling a bit peckish, we stopped by a local empanada shop and treated ourselves to a few of these mouthwatering pastries. With full bellies, we decided to visit the iconic Obelisco, taking a leisurely walk down the bustling Avenida 9 de Julio. We couldn't help but feel captivated by the city's energy as we weaved through the crowds and admired the impressive architecture, our hands intertwined.

As the sun began to set, we found our way to a lively milonga, eager to experience the passion and intensity of Argentine tango. We were swept off our feet as we danced together, our bodies in perfect sync, the music filling our souls and connecting us to the heartbeat of the city.

After our passionate tango experience, we decided to explore another side of Buenos Aires' music scene by attending a local death metal show. We made our way to an underground venue where Muerte Eterna, a renowned Argentine death metal band, was performing. The energy was electrifying, and we were quickly immersed in the powerful music, our bodies pulsating to the thunderous beats.

After hours of dancing, laughter, and deepening affection, we finally made our way back to Belgrano, feeling blissfully exhausted. We shared a tender goodnight kiss under the stars, knowing that we had just experienced one of the most fulfilling and unforgettable days of our lives.

As I lay down in bed, the memories of the day and the warmth of our newfound love danced through my mind, and I drifted off to sleep with a contented smile on my face.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Anders]

Valid point.

[dad]

Called an irrigation company on Thursday to come service our sprinkler system. I really need to be there so i can point out some of the problems. Was told that I would get a call from a scheduler that day or the next. Didn't get a call. Instead, yesterday I got a text message saying I was scheduled for service on May 4th between noon and 4, and that I had to press "1" to confirm. Sure. I confirmed.

Just got a text from my wife who is working from home saying the guy from the irrigation company is at the house. Goddammit.

i've got an irrigation co. coming out in a couple of weeks. can't wait to be at the mercy of their four-hour window.

[96583UP]

gay romance experience written by ChatGPT

nice!

[96583UP]

another sunny day

a little cool

took a bike ride down to the beach and there were a bunch of cops congregating

looks like someone's boat came loose with a broken engine and crashed into the rocks. no injuries

beginning to explore the Jack Irons solo catalogue. I wish PJ had done a side world music album with him. Freedom to not have to play pop/rock things, but just vibe. still early in this catalogue but digging it so far

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Ello Sailor]

I think listening to a recent Smashing Pumpkins album in full would be considered cruel and unusual punishment to Trag. Vocals way out front. Casio pre-set assed snyths galore. Shit is brutal.

[96583UP]

another sunny day

a little cool

took a bike ride down to the beach and there were a bunch of cops congregating

looks like someone's boat came loose with a broken engine and crashed into the rocks. no injuries

beginning to explore the Jack Irons solo catalogue. I wish PJ had done a side world music album with him. Freedom to not have to play pop/rock things, but just vibe. still early in this catalogue but digging it so far

Jack's ideas are awesome, but the production leaves a lot to be desired. Lots of watery synths in there.

sounds fine enough on earpods but yes more on the 'this is my self produced solo album' side of the spectrum vs. 'kanye's studio opus'

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[bodysnatcher]

I think listening to a recent Smashing Pumpkins album in full would be considered cruel and unusual punishment to Trag. Vocals way out front. Casio pre-set assed snyths galore. Shit is brutal.

i accidentally listened to a new Smashing Pumpkins song bc spotify thought i would like it. maybe my worst 4 minutes in 2023 so far.

[Ello Sailor]

I find something to enjoy in a lot of it, mostly because I'm a sentimental eejit/in denial, but I would never recommend it to anyone.

[bodysnatcher]

I find something to enjoy in a lot of it, mostly because I'm a sentimental eejit/in denial, but I would never recommend it to anyone.

are they the marmite of music?

[E.H. Ruddock]

I find something to enjoy in a lot of it, mostly because I'm a sentimental eejit/in denial, but I would never recommend it to anyone.

are they the marmite of music?

yes and Shellac is the vegemite

[Ello Sailor]

Vegemite is far superior to Marmite, but my fellow kiwis tend to get bent out of shape when I point that out. Maybe "idiots in denial" is our national identity.

[Jorge]

I thought vegemite was a type of marmite

[Ello Sailor]

They're all just yeast spreads. The Brits love their Promite. It's mites all the way down.