Amesower

Hommes pierre

I'm not going to complain about all the northern lights pictures, because if it hadn't been overcast here, I definitely would have been out taking pictures, and I would have posted them by now.

Question: Does AI stand for "a idiot"? Just asking questions.

Congrats!!

A photo of a barge on the Hudson with the Palisades in the background in full fall color

Autumn barge

Some people call me murderer (whistle sound)

Why on earth would you call your autobiography “The Smell of Ears”?

My grandfather always said “Haste makes waste, and wise men eat it.”

Don't pretend you don't know what I mean.

Sean Bean is to Orson Bean as Rip Torn is to Rip Taylor.

🫢😆

You are wise not to do so, but for a different reason. This sound gets its name from the fact that, like Herbert Hoover, it can worsen an economic downturn.

Some people call me the hotstepper
Some call me the gangster of lyric

I feel like Chicagoans have a special relationship with that piece, because the orchestra would always play it at the big fireworks display in Grant Park.

The city that never sleeps... on a great candidate!!

Shockingly busy at the polling place too. I think people are fired up.

Felt weird voting for a candidate I genuinely like. I could get used to this! Although I probably shouldn't.

Stupid typo. Gonna delete and repost.

Oh wait, that’s the theme song of “The Wire,” not “The Sopranos.” So this dumb joke doesn’t even make sense!

Makes sense. I bet if my next door neighbor was Tony Soprano, I'd have "Way Down in the Hole" in my head a lot.

Ah, but see that’s where you’re wrong! The real democrats are the ones who are out of step with their voting base.

The lyrics to Tom Waits’s “What’s He Building?,” which are as follows: What's he building in there? What the hell is he building in there? He has subscriptions to those magazines He never waves when he goes by He's hiding something from the rest of us He's all to himself I think I know why He took down the tire swing from the pepper tree He has no children of his own, you see He has no dog, he has no friends And his lawn is dying And what about all those packages he sends? What's he building in there? With that hook light on the stairs What's he building in there? I'll tell you one thing, he's not building a playhouse for the children What's he building in there? Now what's that sound from underneath the door? He's pounding nails into a hardwood floor I swear to God, I heard someone moaning low I keep seeing the blue light of a TV show He has a router and a table saw And you won't believe what Mr. Sticha saw There's poison underneath the sink, of course But there's also enough formaldehyde to choke a horse What's he building in there? What the hell is he building in there? I heard he has an ex-wife In some place called Mayor's Income, Tennessee And he used to have a consulting business in Indonesia But what's he building in there?

This is probably the creepiest Shel Silverstein poem.

I can't tell if these are true homophones or not. Interesting!

Just misheard Ford F150 as “Forty-fwon fifty.”

This Halloween, do yourself a favor and listen to “Bonin’ in the Boneyard” by Fishbone.

You can write a script in R. That will probably help.

You have to make the PPT interface with the SQL.

This is why those who make instrumental music should ideally be confused, deceptive, and even repulsive.

Dang.

I only stayed two years, though. Wound up moving to Upper Manhattan. Still miss the restaurants and the ridiculous diversity (our corner of Astoria wasn't very Greek; it was more Bangladeshi, Ecuadorian, Brazilian, Yemeni, Croatian, and Tibetan).