Circular

Circular: (n) a letter or advertisement that is distributed to a large number of people.

“Shrink to think.”

If you want to get your brain functioning in the realm of creativity instead of repetition, this is better achieved by shrinking what you’re
doing down to its simplest forms.

There is no evil in technology.

There is no sinister nature to the Internet.

But sometimes if life is not simplified, the complication confuses us into believing that we are not responsible for our actions, but instead, victims of a mass plot.

When I was younger, much younger than today, I sat and read circulars. They were little reports, newspapers or flyers put out by people who wanted to communicate what they were doing, how they were doing it and even the way in which they wished others to become involved.

Usually laid out with a typewriter, they were poor quality–carelessly paragraphed and overworded.

But reading them demanded that I do something I did not want to do: stop.

The main reason we don’t start is because we can’t stop. We spend most of our time skidding into the next project with no idea about whether our passions will sustain it.

Please don’t mistake me for some old codger who yearns for the “good ole’ days.” There was so much bad that it deserves to be quarantined for all time.

But there was the introduction of pieces of paper called circulars, which made you stop long enough to think about what somebody else was doing instead of browsing the Internet, bouncing off subjects like a rubber ball.

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Aisle

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Aisle: (n) a passage between rows of seats in a building such as a church or theater, an airplane or a train: e.g. the show had the audience dancing in the aisle.

I shall use the airplane as my example. It happens in three phases.

As an adult male, I have approximately a forty-five pound ratio of wiggle in my room. What I mean by that is that sometimes my girth will soar–if that’s possible–to forty-five pounds heavier. And on other occasions I will drop that forty-five pounds, reaching my more svelte.

As you can imagine, in most intervals, I hover between.

I can tell where I am in the various phases of my evolution by walking down the aisle in an airplane. If I am peaking, I must perform the task sliding completely sideways. If I am in my lean and keen phase, I can stand and walk completely upright, facing forward, without carrying other people’s newspapers with me along the way. If I land between the two conditions, I can move forward a few feet before a buttock will catch on a seat, demanding that I shake and rattle my way free before proceeding forward.

It is a marvelous test to determine my progress or regression–perhaps even more effective than weighing on a scale.

It is the “aisle test.”

And I’ll say … preferable.