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rejectomorphI get terribly thirsty when the furnace is going. The dessicated air sucks every drop of moisture from my body. Without constant hydration, I would soon be a husk. It wasn't so bad last night, when the mere coolness allowed me to leave the window open a bit, and the rain kept the air moist, but tonight there is a chill, dry north wind blowing, so the outdoors is almost as near parched as the indoors. If I had an extra bottle of beer, I'd be downing it now. Instead, I'm going through a glass of water every twenty minutes or so.
Thus far, I've not seen any fireballs. The cold prevents me from staying out as long as I'd like, so that reduces my chances of spotting one. Taurid meteors are infrequent, and typically not apt to show up more often than once every few hours, and they usually remain visible for only a few seconds before burning out. The odds are poor.
I've often wondered about the reasons for Popeye's attraction to the scrawny, boyish Olive Oyl, and his ongoing violent relationship with Bluto, which consists primarily of fights in the midst of which Popeye will squeeze a cylindrical container so tightly that its top will pop off, causing its viscous contents to shoot into his mouth to be swallowed in one great gulp, with the result that he immediately becomes dominant. Perhaps these behaviors are illuminated to some small extent by an event earlier in his life, which I have recently discovered:
Popeye is forced to confront his view of the nature of masculinity:
Thus far, I've not seen any fireballs. The cold prevents me from staying out as long as I'd like, so that reduces my chances of spotting one. Taurid meteors are infrequent, and typically not apt to show up more often than once every few hours, and they usually remain visible for only a few seconds before burning out. The odds are poor.
I've often wondered about the reasons for Popeye's attraction to the scrawny, boyish Olive Oyl, and his ongoing violent relationship with Bluto, which consists primarily of fights in the midst of which Popeye will squeeze a cylindrical container so tightly that its top will pop off, causing its viscous contents to shoot into his mouth to be swallowed in one great gulp, with the result that he immediately becomes dominant. Perhaps these behaviors are illuminated to some small extent by an event earlier in his life, which I have recently discovered:
Popeye is forced to confront his view of the nature of masculinity:
