Fleet Farm! Friday

This is where I tell you about finding the most magnificent emporium of oddities on earth, and you go "Yeah, yeah, I've seen it all before....".

You are a hardened bunch.

When, exactly, did you all get so jaded?

So cold?

Speaking of cold...

When I think of cold, I think of winter. And when I think of winter - rather than thinking of the rain and the grey and S.A.D. and the marrow-chilling dampness that has now been my climate for the last half of my life - I get all nostalgic and gushy and think about snow.

And when I think about snow, I think of that sound.

That scrunching and scraping of my dear sainted mother shovelling the walks. Scrunch, scrape, stop. Scrunch, scrape, stop. (the stopping was when she whipped the Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe her drippy nose). How I wish she would have had the luxury of the not-yet-invented snowblower. Lady coulda rocked that technology something fierce.

But now, not only does the snow blower exist - a boon to some, a loathesome noise machine to others -thanks to the awesomeness also known as Fleet Farm, there also exists this fabulous accessory to go with it. Behold!

The Universal Freakin' Snowcab.

It is so many exciting things in one, it has so much magnificent potential, I can only right now share a partial list with you :

It's a Cab.

It's an Oxygen Tent.

It's a "Let's Pretend We're in a Super-Submarine Under the Sea" toy.

It's a Pope Mobile.

And the thing I love the bestest of all about it?

The instructions:

"Assembles in minutes - with basic tools"

And, just like I am convinced that - thanks to off-shore manufacturing- there was an obvious punctuation error in the Duck!!!! Blind, I am also certain that the Universal Snowcab box should say "by" instead of "with".

Oh, you silly store - you are an endless source of amusement...

Fleet Farm!!!

Happy Friday, everyone.

Thoughtful Thursday

There is a saying: Once the student is ready, the teacher will present themself.

So while I continue to meander endlessly down a myriad of paths - to seek out those teachers that will start me on my ways - I am certain that I have found one.

An integral one; a foundational one.

My Yoga Teacher.

She is local phenomenon, and I knew from the very moment that I was in her class, she was the shizznit. Her method of teaching speaks to me, and taps into and lets flow an enthusiasm in me that I thought was gone forever.

Here is a woman who does not rest on her laurels. She's been at this a very long time. She teaches 4 days a week, to a variety of groups that her son refers to as "her people". She could very easily phone it in; just stick with what has worked in the past, keep everything routine.

But she doesn't. And she won't.

Every single class, without exception, she brings something new. Every class is fresh and shiny and exciting, and like the first one ever. She is constantly reading. Constantly learning. And she is always - ALWAYS - ready to take us along with her on her journey. For, she has told us, it is for us that she does all of this. It is we who inform her soul to keep going, to keep growing.

I can say, with certainty, it is she whom I was meant to learn from. She is grace, she is wisdom, she is perseverance; she is a cherished treasure.

On Monday, before one of our more challenging poses, she cited a poem about the pose from a book she brought along, "Yoga Poses: Lines to Unfold By".

And, although it was indeed inspirational at the time, it is something that is equally soothing to share 'off the mat'.

Padangustha Dhanurasana - The Bow Pose

For woman
bow is both
noun and verb.

How to bend
without breaking?

How to tie a ribbon
around a life
without constriction?

How to stretch
and not snap

How to love?

How to live?

Leza Lowitz

May you have a happy Thursday, my lovelies, unfolding, bending, stretching, being ...

Stop Having Boring Tuna, Stop Having a Boring Life

So, normally (okay, semi-normally...)

(quasi-normally...)

(seldom normally....)

(shut up)

I would present my fascinating and insightful spin on world issues in 'Torn from the Headlines' Tuesday.

Today, however - although there are many, many headlines to draw from:

"Housing 'severely unaffordable' " [quotes family in accompanying photo, uncomfortably sharing their living room with their 60" flat-screen tv]

"Carney wary of Obama plan" [well, d'uh. What carnival worker wouldn't be leery of a proposal to bar financial institutions from engaging in proprietary trading. That could affect the local Money Tree, yo]

"Apple: It's all about the tablet" [Yeah, that's what Moses and Bayer thought, too. You're not as revolutionary as you think, Steve Jobs...]

... I will instead take the low road (virtually sub-terranean) and just cut and paste a little sumpin' sumpin' brought to my attention just this very minute (thank you, dear Audrey!)

While it does not have serious global implications, I am fairly certain that those of us who have ever been awake watching tv at 3:00 am will appreciate the timeliness and artistry.

Without further ado, something to either:

a) brighten up your Tuesday
b) give you epileptic fits





Happy Tuesday, one and all!

Freaks and Geeks

There are two things running througn my head this morning:

1. I can't remember #1, right now (we'll get back to it)(maybe), and
2. My love/ hate relationship with technology is swinging to the hate.

Let me explain.

In younger days, when I was in the thick of the scientific community, I was just like every other lab nerd - I oohed and ahhed over every new gizmo and doodad that cropped up. (and if it came with a free lunch and demo from the sales rep - so much the better. We'll take two).

But even then I knew.

I understood that with every amazing feature in the 'plus' column on the spec sheet, there would be a down side. A side not really talked about, a side that could potentially be used for dire purposes rather than the beneficial.

Because, technology - by and large - is a double-edged sword.

I think that, lately, the thing that is messing everyone up (OK, messing ME up, specifically) is the Internet.

True, it can be a glorious thing. It can make connections possible where they could never have possibly existed before. Case in point - the extraordinary group of women I met through our interconnected sites, and ultimately met up with in real life at last summer's Virginia BlogFest.
And all the other readers I've blended (blog +friend = blend) with since I started. Like Babs. And Cormac. Vegetable Assassin. And the 'Initials': BA, FF, NATUI. Even newer ones, like Ti . It has been nothing but pleasure getting to know them.

If luck is the intersection when timing and opportunity meet, then I would have to say that all these blogospheric collisions were very opportunistic, indeed.

But then there's the downside.

My case in point here? MySpace. Ack.

I joined this group for one purpose - to send a note of appreciation directly to someone's e-mail. That's it. (Of course, it would have been lovely if it was acknowledged, but really - who am I kidding? It should be enough that it was jettisoned out into the ether for its original intention)(Note the 'should be' here; I am completely irked by bad manners)(And you, bad-mannered one? You know who you are).

Needless to say, I should have got in, got it done, and got out.

But I didn't. I stayed. Lazy? Probably. Delusional? Absolutely.

What I ended up with is a slew of creepy oddballs, sending me declarations of love and passion and claiming that I was their soul mate, charting our future together like some possessed tarot card reader.

It didn't really matter that I had said, in as many ways possible, that I was married. I was HAPPILY married. I had been HAPPILY MARRIED for a LONG TIME. At one point, I was thinking of changing my name to I AM F*CKING MARRIED. After a short reflection on that, I realized that the only thing that would be noticed and flagged was the F*CKING, and I would end up with more men looking for a woman who bold enough to claim herself an adultress. Gah.

People are idiots.

I spent more time than I should have being polite. The first few 'friends' were the lucky ones. I answered back that I was in no way interested in pursuing ANYTHING, and wished them well on their pursuit of happiness.

The next batch got a message that crapped all over them for not reading anything, but merely looking at a picture and believing that destiny had waved its magic wand.

I even went so far as to change my profile picture to this:

Things did start to slow down - but not by much. I guess there are a lot of lonely men out there, looking for love with horse-faced dowagers. Maybe it' the challenge of getting through all those layers. I don't know.

They were ridiculous.

The whole exercise was ridiculous.

And oh, yeah - now I remember my Item 1 from the top of the post:

I'm ridiculous.

*******************************

Tune in next Monday for the beginning of a Baroness mini-series: My City Mondays. It will be a little glimpse into the who, what, where and possible why (but more likely why not?) of the 2010 Winter Olympics.

That happen to be - oh yeah - in my city.

Fleet Farm! Friday

For those of you who haven't ever had the privelege to go to a Fleet Farm, let me tell you that is - quite possibly - one of the most fascinating emporiums I have ever laid eyes on.

Part WalMart, part Field and Stream, part Guns and Ammo, part Ye Olde Garden Shop, part PetSmart.

Don't have an animal?

No problem - Fleet Farm can help you grow your own:


Yuh. They're just that amazing.

However...

And this is a big however...

After all my years of reading mysteries and watching crime-based tv dramas I couldn't help shake the feeling that not only is this a one-stop shop for the rural community, it could also be the one-stop shop for a more sinister element....

That ooky feeling started here,

Amped up a little when we got to here,

And had me totally skeeved out when we met some fellow in the crossbow department pushing his cart filled with ,um, cleaning products:

When he and I accidently made eye contact whilst perusing the flourescent lingerie, I went into freak-out mode and pulled out my handy-dandy Cloak of Invisibility:

Duck!!! Blind

And waited until he had disappeared into what I thought was the "Shovels for Digging Shallow Graves" department.

Oh, me and my wild imagination....

Ha ha ha.

Thoughtful Thursday

photo source here

In yoga, one of the components of our practise is something called a mudra. This encompasses a positioning of the hands and/or fingers. Each variety of mudra is rife with symbolism and purpose.

One of my favorites, the Lotus Mudra (read more here) has the yogi shaping their hands like the petals of a lotus flower. This mudra 'belongs to the heart chakra' and helps us to be aware of keeping our heart pure and unconditional , as 'love, goodwill, affection and communication reside together in there.'

I especially like it, as I feel its openness is a conduit for both receiving all the good energy which will surround one in a yoga class and for offering up any prana (life energy) back to the class. Because, as we practise individually, we are still just one part of a singular living, breathing being.

Today's TT comes to you via me via one of my brother-in-laws. A fellow, who, I can assure you is cringing right alongside Duke #1 at all of the hippy dippy voodoo bullshit that I just touched upon above.

Like most of my out-laws, my BIL is a mystery wrapped up in an enigma, with a pocket full of happiness and medicinal lint.

During one of our oh-so-witty repartees back and forth on facebook, in reaction to something I said, he said he was Aghast.

That's funny, said I.

I thought you were Agnostic.

He then informed me that he is now Acrostic.

I must say (yes, I really must) - this is quite puzzling.

An-n-n-yways...

Despite his religious and crytological leanings, he sent along this lovely piece of enlightenment specifically targetted to the JewBu population, but equally applicable to all. It immediately resonated with me purely because of the reference to the flower:

Deep inside you are ten thousand flowers
Each flower blossoms ten thousand times
Each blossom has ten thousand petals
You might want to see a specialist.

Namaste. Go in peace.

Right to the internist.

I'm Not Lonely, Swear to God - I'm Just Alone

Not too long ago, I was at a conference with a large group of women.

Each one, bar none, was fascinating unto herself. They came from all walks of life - some were corporate dynamos, some were retired, some were self-employed.

As we went around the room, telling our stories and our reasons for attending this symposium, one of the women said, "I guess I'm here because I have F.O.E."

"Jesus", I said, talking out of turn (like what else is new?), "That sounds awful. Is is something like MS?"

She smiled. Her beautific, serene, smile.

"No", she said. "F.O.E. stands for 'Fear Of Everything' "

All the women surrounding me chuckled a little. Ha ha ha. So cute.

But I wasn't amongst the chucklers.

Because I got it - those three letters were like a punch in the gut. Now I had a label.

I have F.O.E., too.

This realization, which isn't exactly a revolutionary epiphany for me, has permutated over the last couple of days.

For somehow, a hot button's been pushed. I suddenly felt the urge to write a piece (that may never see the light of day) about a particular incident of abuse I experienced as a child.

Then I spent the weekend in the company of a classmate who:

Never.

Watches.

TV.

Hell, he doesn't even own one.

I, on the other hand, watch a LOT of televsion. A lot.

Always have.

It's been my babysitter, my compadre, my friend, my rock.

I also tend to lose myself in movies and books and any other rabbit hole I can compulsively, obsessively burrow into.

Because it's safe.

It's sheer fantasy - I am well aware of that fact. But even if the story is horrible - I can close the book cover, press the exit button, leave the theater.

I am envious - ragingly so - with people (like my classmate) who really, truly, fully live their lives. Who forge out through that door, day after day, heart on sleeve, soul splayed open for the taking, ready to embrace or confront whatever crosses their path.

Because me? I can't. I just can't face the heartbreak, the sadness, the confrontation, the disappointment of it all. The less the investment, the safer.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not a complete agoraphobe. With a little effort, and a lot of procrastinating, I move about. I function. I manage in my controlled little world, with such a well-oiled veneer, Meryl Streep should be calling me for advice.

It's just the whole connection thing - connections are tricky things.

So, to those whom I love, to those in my circles, those in my solar system - I apologize. I hope that you know that I am always listening to you, I am always regarding you, I am always thinking of what I could do to make you happy. I care for you so deeply, it scares me. Showing you how much would not only freak the hell out of you, it would probably dessicate me.

I wish I could give you my all, all the time.

But I'm afraid I can't.

Multiple Choice

photo source here

Well, darlings, here I am, back from a mind-frazzling weekend of higher learning.

I can now tell you with a reasonable degree of confidence that the leg bones (femur, tibia, fibula) are connected to the foot bones (calcaneous, talus, cuboid, navicular, cuneiforms, metatarsals and phalanges) via the knee bone (patella) and about a gajillion muscles (and yes, gajillion is a technical term - why would you doubt me?)

Before you get too ooh-ey and ahhh-ey, I will disclose that I am NOT doing this from memory; merely writing these directly out of the Big Book of Fitness Training.

And herein lies the gist of my thought process (which, by the way, I am shocked and awed that I can still perform, given that my mind is so full of facts that I keep feeling my ears to see if blood is seeping out...).

I now am at a crossroads.

I can either cram my ass off, and quickly take the multiple choice final to get my certification, or
I can wait and study some more.

I know for a fact that if I cram, I will pass. Not an issue.

But I also know this - I am a world-class memorizer. In fact, that is I how I maintained all of my high marks through school. I would read it over and over and over and over until it was akin to breathing, and then blaeacccchhhhh; I would spew it all back out.

Retention of any material? Slim to none.

But man, oh, man. My marks were awesome.

Now? To borrow a phrase from my favorite quote machine, Tim Gunn - I'm troubled.

There is a new context here. I'm not doing this to please my parents anymore. I'm not doing this to suck up to my teachers, or maintain my standing on the honor roll.

I'm doing this as a building block to learning how to educate people.

People who sincerely want their leg bone to stay connected to their foot bone.

So, do I just get on with it, or do I wait?

One of the things that is sticking in my head is some advice I once got from a CEO of a company that I worked for.

He and I were like chalk and cheese. He was al-ll-ll business (and somewhat soulless, in my view) and I was an awkward combo of instinct, verve and science.

Yet we had some pretty fascinating conversations, and I learned much about him just by the questions he would ask me. Because I think I truly puzzled him. Example:

Baroness: "So, I signed up for Adult Tap Dance lessons yesterday."
He: "Why would you do that?"
B: "Uh - for fun?"
He: "I see...."

(which he didn't, by the way) (But it was one of his favorite conversation closers)

What I learned from him (other than he would never be my partner in the office Christmas party Lindy contest, and that I would never ever invite him to a Mah Jong game) was that if you are ever forced into making a decision, it will ultimately be the wrong one.

Its repercussions may not present themselves right away. But they will, eventually.

So now, rather than just a "do I or don't I" scenario, the implications are rapidly mushrooming.

Into multiple choices.

Fleet Farm! Friday

photo source here

Ode to My Favorite Super Model *

I think that I shall never see
A Viking Fan as lovely as a tree

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest [bravely, may I add]
Against the camo-patterned vest [and matching balaclava, $21.99!]

A tree that looks at God all day [why is she my friend? Why? Why?]
And lifts her leafy limbs to pray [Dear God, let her take the damned picture already]

************
Extreme Leafy Limb Closeup:
Just look at the craftsmanship!
Can't you just feel the wafty-ness quality?
Only thing missing is squirrel excrement.
Yuh.
It's that real.

************
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair [Nature's answer to the 'Duck!!! Blind']

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; [I am not touching this one, literally or figuratively]
Who intimately lives with rain. [that would be yours truly - rain and I have shared some things]

Poems are made by fools like me
But only God - and Fleet Farm - can make a tree.

*with sincerest of apologies to Joyce Kilmer.

Fleet Farm!!

Thoughtful Thursday

photo source here

" There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium. It will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.

You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive."
Martha Graham

What a highly freeing passage - inspirational, motivational with a graceful jette to the derriere - but oh, so very real.

To know that what we're struggling and grasping and stretching for may not result in pure, unadulterated bliss.

Ahhhh. Because that 'blessed unrest' I'm sure we all know is all we need to acheive.

Ahhhh. Because a lot of us are already there, but we didn't know it.

Ahhhh. Because it's time to luxuriate in our uniqueness, and how that uniqueness feeds the world around you.

Happy Thursday, everyone.

Weisenheimer Wednesday

Well, I'm off.

Off to take a 4 day intensive prerequisite course that will have mewell on my way to being in the Top 100 "Greatest Mediocre Yogis of the 21st Century".

It's one of those courses to fill in the broadstrokes of "The leg bone's connected to the foot bone" sort of things.

And, like any other endeavor I pursue that could actually lead me forward, I have about 50 thoughts that are holding me back and making me second guess everything.

Thoughts so far:

. Is is wrong that I HATE the layout of the manual we're supposed to be using? It's poorly spaced, the font is atrocious (Times New Roman? Seriously??). Could they have spent a couple more bucks on extra paper so that things aren't all crammed together? Gah.

. How am I supposed to learn from a document so un-aesthetically pleasing?

. Will I accidently blurt out these thoughts to my instructor?

. Will she take it personally

. Should I up my happy pill dosage for the next few days?

. What if my classmates are pretty boy lunkheads, a quarter century younger than me?

. Will I actually fulfill my promise to slap the next person who says "I know coffee is so bad for me - I'm trying to kick the habit" ?


I think I'll be eating lunch alone...

Ya Don't Hafta Be Jewish...

...to realize that this is SO not kosher, on so many levels....

Today's 'Torn From the Headlines Tuesday' feature article:

Artificial Meat grown in Laboratory, could be on plates in five years
by Nick Britten, Daily Telegraph

LONDON - The move towards artificially engineered food has taken a step forward after scientists grew a form of meat in a laboratory for the first time.

Researchers in Holland have created what was described as soggy pork and are investigating ways to improve the muscle tissue in the hope that people will one day want to eat it. [Editor's Note: Old El Paso and Taco Bell? I would strongly suggest that you start saving up now in order to afford the world's best marketing firm - ever] . The scientists have not tasted the product, [Editor's Note 2: Which lab rat is going to taste soggy pork? The newest hiree, that's who.] but it is believed the artificial meat could be on sale within five years. [Editor's Note 3: McRib, anyone??].

...The advent of meat grown in a laboratory could help to reduce the billions of tons of greenhouse gases emitted each year by farm animals....

Can't we just give them all Bean-o and be done with it?

Because given the choice, I'd rather be gassed in a greenhouse full of farts than eat soggy pork.

Just sayin'.

Your Official Winter Olympics Ambassador

photo source here

That would be ME!!

(not me the ice sculpture - me, the ambassador.)

(although I do feel like the ice sculpture sometimes...cold-hearted, block-headed, kinda bloaty and cankle-y...)

(I have yet to feel quite old enough to be rockin' the adult snow diaper)

FYI, the carving above is referred to as an Inukshuk, which is - I believe - Aleutian for bloated and cankled one, or Great Whale Blubber God.

See? I'm a wealth of information. Stick with me, peeps. We're going places.

I'm self-elected, but hey. The sash looks pretty spiffy over my parka, and if I'm not mistaken, I think that ambassadors wear tiaras of some sort.

(and if they don't, they should)

Within the next month or so, I will begin my own BvonB Network coverage of the 2010 Winter Olympics.

Rest assured, there will be very little sports talked about. I really do not like sports all that much.

Nope, I plan on walking in and amongst the great unwashed, and sleuthing out the weird and wonderful, the oddities and lunacies.

In true Baroness fashion, I will couple my keen powers of observation with mad photography skills, and give you coverage unlike any other. There will be pictures of people taking pictures; I'm hoping that there are many more Clive Barker wanna-bes out there, clicking, and turning, bending and contorting. And wearing black socks and sneakers.

I consider it my ambassadorial duty to bring all of this to you. Because, you know, tickets to even the most hideous winter events (I think this might be the cross-country ski/badger shoot), are insanely expensive.

Yet, you'll see things here for absolutely free. I might throw in a set of Ginzu knives, if I'm feeling generous. Maybe even a SlapChop or two (but I can't wait all day).

Say it.

You are lucky to have me.

As a teaser, I will entice you with a local commercial. It combines 2 sports that illustrates the awesomeness that is Canada.

Enjoy!

Fleet Farm! Friday

Little-known Baroness fact: I wish I could be a sleuth. Full-time.

Choice of novel?

Cornwell, Grafton, Parker, some Evanovich for levity.

Choice of TV?

CSI (original only)

(Miami? Bitch, please.).

And, naturellement, my newest obsession - Criminal Minds. Gotta love me some nerd.

So, can you possibly imagine the excitement bouncing around in my little ribcage when I went to Fleet Farm and saw that they could make my dreams of crime fighting come true*?

Yuh-huh. I know!

Fleet Farm.

Can. You.

Freaking.

Imagine. It???

Those fine folks? They sell...come a little closer to the screen....

closer.....

closer....

I have to whisper.....

SPY EQUIPMENT!!!!!!

Unbelievable.

Yet so gloriously true.

So, say I'm hired by a huge beverage conglomerate to go to Tahiti to find out the secret ingredient in Goji Juice. I first ingratiate myself near the hut where two very important tribal leaders will be meeting to quaff and quibble and get down to the boola boola nitty gritty, I don my disguise, and voila....

photo source here

Can you see me?
What if I tell you that I'm not a plus-size Polynesian woman?
What if I tell you I don't even know how to weave?
Can you see me now?

The answer is no, you cannot.

Scenario two. Suppose I have been commissioned by some slightly shifty gossip e-zine to spy on Mark Burnett to find out where the next 'Survivor' will be taking place. This highly classified information will prove very lucrative (alright, already - I haven't completely thought this particular scenario through - just roll with me here, people).

Anyways, if Burnett is staying here:

photo source here

I can be there too.

Spot me yet?

I thought not.

Because Fleet Farm is magic, that's why.

Magic. And brilliant.

Because they sell something akin to Harry Potter's Cloak of Invisibility.

It's called a blind.

Clever, non?

This is not Tahiti.
Nor a hut in the middle of the ocean.
It's me, goose.
Did I just blow your mind or what?

Well, technically, it's called a 'Duck Blind'.

But I'm sure that's just a typo - they've clearly missed some punctuation.

It should read "Duck! Blind."

Irregardless, it is one fine tool for corporate espionage. (Ok,, the smell gives me bad henna flashbacks and it's a bitch to pack in the suitcase, but that's the price one must pay for greatness...)

Fleet Farm!!

*My original dream of crime-fighting, i.e. wanting to be a cast member of 'Criminal Minds', does not appear to be coming true any time in the near future, as I continue waiting - in vain, may I add - for a reply e-mail from one Mr. Matthew Gray Gubler.

Sigh. Pout.

Anyone affiliated with CBS who could get this blogger a spot on CM (ANYTHING), please e-mail me at baronessvonb@gmail.com.

I am tired of waiting for The Gube.

Thoughtful Thursday

"All human beings have occasional glimpses of enlightenment,
moments of clarity in which
suffering drops away and
love overtakes us"
Judith Hanson Lasater

My wish for you today?

For the suffering, that brief respite to set down your troubles.

For the seeking, that bright glimpse of what might be.

For the open heart, an overwhelming warmth of the love that is there.

Wanderlust Wednesday

Whenever the Baron and I are en vacance, we usually try to blend in as much as possible with the locals.

Because nothing is more tragic or stereotypical than the slack-jawed tourista.

Unless, of course, you want to play that role.

Not that there's anything wrong with it.

It's just not my scene.

The backwoods wonderment is never any more evident than when one is taking pictures.

Which is why, without exception, the Baron and I try to have at least one photoessay per trip of pictures of people taking pictures.

And there are some lulus.

Take this series.

I like to call it, "Hawaii 5-Oh: Why, Ki Ki?"

Photo 1

"Let us partake to the sandy area in our black socks and sneakers, and purvey the vista for the best shot. The water? The sailboats? I'll stay here - you walk a little further down to seek inspiration, and I'll admire the jaunty buttless wonder that is you."

Photo 2

"That's it. Shake what your mama gave you."
"Look over your shoulder at me.."

"Make me buy what you're sellin'..."

"You're still in the running to becoming America's Next Top Model..."

Photo 3

"An-n-n-nd now you're back."

"Your what? Your motivation? Hoo boy."

"You're King Kamehaha, baby."

"."You're so owning this beach- you discovered it, you're claiming it."

"Every grain of sand - it's yours. Any woman lying here? She's yours."

"You. Are. Raw. Sinewy. Power."

"Uh, could you move your left leg just a litt-t-t-tle more to the side?

The glare off of it is messing up my shot."

Photo 4

"Oh, yeah. That's it. Smile."

"Smile some more."
"More teeth, less thigh."

"Perfect!"

And...I'm spent.