h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I read where one of his inspirations was the comic Johnathan Winters, who was also subject to clinical depression.

I hope you recover and feel better soon,CC.

Rod, carver of the Green Man, has lost his wife to cancer recently. You might want to check out his journal.

With regards to Robin Williams, apparently he also had bi-polar disorder. I think that is why he always seemed to be ON. It was a form of mania. Evidently a good number of British comedians have this as well as shown in following BBC article:

http://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-28753326


Laughing on the outside and crying on the inside seems to be an occupational hazard.

ohmigod, poor Rod. Thanks for telling me. I visited him at his journal. I feel so sad. I feel really so sad.



That's a very interesting article, Elektra. Thanks for sending.

Tell you what sickens me is that Robin William's daughter had a Twitter account, and there were thousands of well wishers, but a few vile trolls were so hurtful and disgusting, she closed her account. Sure, Twitter has a security problem, but the very fact that people can do that, it hurts me so much.

I saw the article in the Washington Post, and it went on to talk about the misogyny of the chat room.

What is it with the internet? I guess the pre-internet playground bully has turned into the faceless drive-by troll who can shoot someone down without even looking them in the eye. I guess in the end it's they who are sad. And lonely.

Hmmm

On Robin Williams, I'm going to sorely miss him.

Me too, I liked his stuff.

HEY gang, the new issue of is up for your enjoyment.

heheh fine edition. As always. Great for summer. And I'm reading it all one eyed. I have conjunctivitis at the moment.

He says I got it from the neighbour's cat, which is old. I picked it up, kissed it, sneezed, then my eye erupted. Poor kittie , the neighbour's kittie is blameless! Public swimming pool far more likely.

Anyway, it's good to read h2g2, Post and all. Even a one eyed read.

A87836296 This came through on Twitter yesterday. Hilarious. Thanks for the laugh, it made my other eye water. .

Ah yes, Elektra, Addis Ababa, a fine town on the Isle of Wight.

The cantaloupe is setting more fruits unassisted, though I'll be giving them a (small) mineral supplrment anyway, next time I water.

The hummingbird tree and chili pequins are compkaini g that they need more minerals now.

The bell peppers ard weathering the summer heat well, though they probably don't think so, and promising to start producing in the autumn.

The white egg plants are beginning to produce.

Today's garden sighting, a large, green, scarabaceous beetle, as welcome as a butterfly.

Similar to the European gold bug with about 2/3 the dimensions and 1/2 the mass, a metallic green in color rather than a metallic gold.

We have beautiful metallic green beetles here also! Scarabs and also green fruit chafers.

Evening my luvs.

Amaaazing! Imagine seeing a real live scarab. I've only seen scarabs in pictures.

I don't know what I'd say to a live scarab. heheh. I think I'd be shy.


What's a hummingbird tree?

I've been thinking a lot about the Create theme for August. A memorable meeting with a person, or creature. I'm really into it, but the memory I had was really quite potent, so I'm trying it here first in case I have the bends overnight.



In so writing it, though, I have somehow diffused the mystery, which is quite boring of me, but I'm also relieved. In this case, the guy from my (true story) memory looked into my eyes and said Quite Extraordinary! but he was obviously experiencing a memory of someone in his own life.

hahah. Damn. Somewhere I always thought I was, in fact, an undiscovered superstar.

Does anyone else ever do that? Write down something you think is mysterious, but when you've finished writing it down, you realise it isn't mysterious at all, in fact it's quite logical and even completely boring.

Ot, in other words, the process of writing it down makes it much less intense, and answers all the questions, so you can finally leave it, and make a new life beyond the page.



What am I talking about? I'm still typing one eyed. Don't mind me. Thanks Create for the nudge.

Memorable Meeting/(For Post/Create)The Night Typists/(True Story)

Somewhere between 1978 and the death of the typewriter, I worked the night shift as a typist in the newsroom of the BBC World Service in London.



It was a very formative time. I was there on the night that John Lennon was shot. I knew what was happening the world over. The journalists would receive the news, then dictate their stories to us, the night typists.



Ah yes, the night typists! We were a curious collection of individuals, outsiders who preferred to work undercover of night, for various reasons.

I remember a charismatic Jewish fellow named Tony, who called himself a failed poet. There was Margaret with the cherry red lips, who had been around a bit, and was convinced that I was going to marry her son, Vince. There was Jessie who looked after me. I was thin and confused and young, and she gave me sandwiches.



And then there was the kindly older chap in the suit. We shared a very memorable moment, but I can't even remember his name. We met beside the filing cabinets, or somesuch place. He looked straight into my eyes and said 'Quite extraordinary!'. Nothing more.



I have often thought about him. What did this mean? At the time I must have blushed, although there was nothing predatory or disrespectful in his behaviour.

Of course there was nothing obviously extraordinary about me. I was thin and young and lost, held together by Jessie's sandwiches.

Perhaps he was a psychic. A kindly psychic in a suit. Perhaps for a brief moment he saw the luminous, ordinary extraordinariness of the moment, he and I just there beside the filing cabinets.

Although I suspect that I reminded him of someone in his life. These days I consider this to be a far more likely explanation.



Perhaps, however, we were all extraordinary, the night typists. Tony, the failed poet, was extraordinary! Jessie and Margaret (and her son Vince) were extraordinary.

We all have the potential to be extraordinary!

I wish I had found out who he was, my kindly gentleman in a suit, but life moved on. Computers replaced typewriters. The night typists went on their way, out into the ordinary, yet extraordinary, nature of their destinies.

http://www.davesgarden.com/guides/pf/showimage/56116/

Much favored by humming birds for a feeder tree, hence the common name.

Great piece for Create CC

Now I will be thinking about what makes a moment extraordinary and those will be interesting thoughts to have. and a pint of Perculiar

Hullo luv! I've been thinking about you, and I hope your weekend was good and relaxing. You make a moment extraordinary, you definitely do. heheh.

I've decided we are all extraordinary! And the ordinary is extraordinary also. Unless it isn't. . Well, , I was thinking straight till then.

You think the piece is OK for Create? Thanks, your thoughts matter. I'll send it as it is, scruffy and raw, despite a lingering nervousness that it is too personal, and I should disguise it more, with silhouette and mask.

Funny to remember that lovely old guy, although he didn't haunt my dreams last night, after bringing him to light. I'm glad.

In fact I dreamt that I was viewing a flat, and someone was steaming cabbage in the kitchen. Which means that I need to eat more cabbage, or take my neurons for a bus ride.

Silhouette and mask! That's it! That's what? I just had another passing realisation. About something far away, which might get closer. heheh. mwhahahaha.



The hummingbird tree!! Ah, more extraordinariness! Sumptuous, thanks ITI. I can see why hummingbirds like to feed from it, with their long beaks and hovering whirr.

I have once seen a hummingbird, in Canada. I couldn't believe it, so small! Like a little whirring almost-moth.

People in the USA sometimes refer to the European Gold bug, recently introduced into the southern states, as the "humming bird beetle' on account of the similarity of the buzzing sound it makes in flight to that of the humming bird.

The first time I saw one, I wasn't immediately sure what it was, thinking it might be a newly fledged humming bird.

I like it as it is, I can imagine the curious collection of individuals, on the night shift and you have captured an extraordinary moment in time, really quite literally

'Perhaps for a brief moment he saw the luminous, ordinary extraordinariness of the moment, he and I just there beside the filing cabinets' how many potential spin offs of stories does that hold

'Of course there was nothing obviously extraordinary about me' no because the unobviously extraordinary is where you want to be looking, to be able to see

'the unobviously extraordinary is where you want to be looking, to be able to see'.

This is very perceptive, Peanuts. If you could get together half a dozen apparently ordinary people and give them an interview (or maybe a chat) about their lives, their loves, their history, their interests, you would find half a dozen extraordinary things.

This is the stuff you need to draw on if you're going to write fiction. And a writer who's good at writing about quirky characters is Rose Tremain (read 'Sacred Country'.)

Evening all! yes!!

I love the description of the European Gold Bug, ITI.

I learn sooo much about the natural world from you folks!



Yes! And hullo mvp poetlady extraordinaire. And yes, certainly, this is a most perceptive piece of pure Peanutness.

Very inspiring, all what you're saying.

If you think about it, it's extraordinary that we are all are sharing this moment of creation. The pathways of our lives have all led to this moment in time, and the fragments of our stories are mixing with the fragments of other peoples' stories and ... yes .. and...

.. philosophical tonight, then...

Also, I love the extraordinariness of nothing happening. Like, nothing dramatic, very ordinary. Hmm, which could be a problem for writing a gripping novel. .

Like, today I made a cup of tea, in fact it was lemon and ginger tea, and I added honey. It warmed up my senses and made me feel glowing and golden and sweet, and if I was a plant I would have attracted bees.

End of story. . The extraordinary poetry of small details.