A health and wellness entrepreneur, RJ Ashfield has a serious condition which leads to poetic wording and writhing ideas. This chronic malady is managed by reading along with writing on G-d, gender, Dylan, physics and art. Or a Scotch.
Remember Three Rs of Reduce, Reuse, Recycle? There's much more to it.
Remember the classic 3Rs of environmentalism? Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. These three little words used to make daily sense to millions of us. Of course, I grew up on the heels of Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring" and the first blue bin craze. Plastic crates seemed like they were on every suburban curbside filled with people's barely sorted junk.
The Best Reason Not to Eavesdrop on A Sperm Whale
Ocean-going creatures are amazing, top to bottom, from the greatest to the smallest. But one holds a terrible secret. But first, gentle reader, imagine those depths! Waving, skyscraper tall forests of kelp. Acres of colourful coral. Stories of ancient mariners. Peg-legged pirates. The icy Titanic. (Even the one before DiCaprio!) Imagine the cold, deep blackness of Davey Jones locker. Or the blue-tinted waters of the sunny tropics, with sun-sparkled schools of fish. And imagine the legions of predators! Full of sharks. Stingray. Electric eels. Giant squid!
A Light That Wasn't Right
“If it seems too good to be true, it probably is." Remember that, if nothing else, from this sad tale. It came through on my credit card as just over $46 dollars. But the light looked so good. See it above? Great, right? Bright. Big. Clean lines. Long lasting LEDs. Room for 4 "AAA" batteries. A 3-meter motion sensor. A magnetic strip or sticker for attachment almost anywhere. And I was to get 5 of them! Five! That was less than $10 each!
If Hemingway Only Knew
This strange tale is not about a simple notebook. It is not even really about Ernest Hemingway, a burly, hard-drinking Pulitzer and Nobel prize-winning journalist and writer of the twentieth century who was also an adventurer, revolutionary sympathiser and profligate womanizer. Anyway, much has already been written about Ernest, his books and his "iceberg style" of writing that helped shape men for generations. Most people know he blew his ruggedly handsome face off with a shotgun in 1961. Many may even know that the night before his suicide, his last words were "Goodnight my kitten." to Mary, his fourth wife. Some may know he was injured some years before in a terrible plane crash. A few still seek out his books to imagine a better, harder life than they have today.