Authentic Nautical Accessories, and Custom Furnishings
I can be brazen in putting down conspiracy theories.
Acronyms have a nasty way of creeping into our daily language, nestling in, and, poof; we forget the original meaning, and they are a word of their own - if they are pronounceable. This happened to radar and other terms. You'll have to Google the meaning because I've forgotten. There see what I mean?
I try to avoid being up late. Staring into the fire can stir up too many memories, and nostalgia comes around stalking me from the roots of my recollections.
Memory is an iffy sort of thing. I've had friends with major disconnects in their lives; they had adult children but somehow seemed to think it was still July of 1967. July of 1967 was a great time, mind you. It was pure frolic. But it is very much gone.
You can hide a lot behind carefully chosen words.
I have more than a few weaknesses. A quick look into my carving shop reveals a backlog of projects, so getting things done on time is not one of them.
Anyway, it's one of those weasel words. You use it when you are trying to get out of something.
This might sound like a brag, but it's not. I could hand, reef, and steer a boat for a long time before learning how to drive a car.
I want to be right out front with this. Remind me of Festivus, and you'll compete in the Feat of Strengths. And I don't mean maybe.
Being a bit brazen paid off in the Village. Performers cultivated idiosyncrasies to distinguish themselves from all the Dylan, Peter Paul, and Mary, or Joan Baez wannabees walking down Bleeker or McDougal at any given time. There were blue Chambray shirts and jeans for the Dylanesque and black turtlenecks and jeans for those more closely allied with the Beats in the neighborhood.
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