wardrobe and furniture from
Amadeus.
Meanwhile, our man was making carnal advances of his own upon his homework in as stiff a fashion as he could muster, utilizing all the myriad mental powers of a brain engorged with blood like an erect John Thomas (bringing that metaphor to completion).
Let’s also remind ourselves that George Washington did not want to attend yet another reunion of his highfalutin, loudmouthed, smarty-pants cohorts. Washington was tuckered out from
fathering our nation
, and he just wanted to recline on the porch and get his snack on at Mount Vernon. He was obstinate and likely would have succeeded in avoiding the sausage party had not our Mr. Madison hauled his insubstantial fanny to Washington’s side and convinced him that his attendance was imperative to the successful carrying of the day. Spoke Madison to Washington, “It was the opinion of every judicious friend whom I consulted that your name could not be spared.” Now, I am not saying that I
am
sitting here ogling some man-on-man Greco-Roman wrestling magazines and singlet/headgear catalogues, but if I
were
enjoying such fare, I may well have Madison to thank for lighting the figurative fire under George so that he was subsequently ableto ensure that such freedoms would one day be mine to enjoy in the comfort of my own domicile. Harrumph.
To resume: Madison arrived eleven days early. Did he leap about the room, commanding the attention of the assembly with his winning flourishes and fulminations? Did he sing the truths of American democracy into every ear present? Did he run a deep flag pattern, burning Aaron Burr, who stood futilely holding his own jockstrap while Madison caught a fifty-yard toss from General Washington for a game-winning touchdown, resulting in a flamboyant Madison nut grab and moonwalk across the end zone? He did not. He sat closemouthed as near as he could manage to the action, and he took notes. And, because the delegates were sworn to secrecy, his notes actually became the invaluable record of the convention.
A note about arriving early: I am of the opinion that, if you are habitually late, it is inconsiderate to others and also just inefficient, but I am not here to discuss that particular imprudence. What I am suggesting, for myself if no other, is that being on time is also frequently not good enough, if I want to do as good a job as possible. My dad taught me to get there early. Case the joint. Examine the lay of the land. Evaluate the facility, find out where to piss, see if there’s a drinking fountain. Evaluate the breeze/draft patterns so as to determine the best location from which to stand freely farting and escape detection. What are the pros and cons of the balcony versus the orchestra? I like to experience life, whenever and wherever possible, at a steady pace that some might call laborious. I suppose this makes me much more of the proverbial turtle than the hare, but I firmlybelieve that slow and steady wins the race. Madison had the perspicacity to roll into Philadelphia with eleven extra days to find his footing, scout the location, canvas the participants, and begin to weigh fairly all the information that was about to be dumped into his lap.
Coupled with punctuality, the other meritorious quality in this set of bookends is follow-through. Again, my dad crops up in the mental “how to live effectively” manual that he and my mother painstakingly installed in my tool kit. When I hear the word
follow-through
, I am immediately reminded of my dad’s lessons in shooting a basketball and throwing a baseball and swinging a bat. Follow-through is what produces the backspin on a basketball shot, that stabilizing centrifugal force that allows a greater level of consistency to be realized in one’s shooting percentage. The same technique can be applied to any task one undertakes in life, inspired by the idiom “If you’re going to do a job, do it right.” Wittingly or no, Mr. Madison was certainly an
Amadeus.
Meanwhile, our man was making carnal advances of his own upon his homework in as stiff a fashion as he could muster, utilizing all the myriad mental powers of a brain engorged with blood like an erect John Thomas (bringing that metaphor to completion).
Let’s also remind ourselves that George Washington did not want to attend yet another reunion of his highfalutin, loudmouthed, smarty-pants cohorts. Washington was tuckered out from
fathering our nation
, and he just wanted to recline on the porch and get his snack on at Mount Vernon. He was obstinate and likely would have succeeded in avoiding the sausage party had not our Mr. Madison hauled his insubstantial fanny to Washington’s side and convinced him that his attendance was imperative to the successful carrying of the day. Spoke Madison to Washington, “It was the opinion of every judicious friend whom I consulted that your name could not be spared.” Now, I am not saying that I
am
sitting here ogling some man-on-man Greco-Roman wrestling magazines and singlet/headgear catalogues, but if I
were
enjoying such fare, I may well have Madison to thank for lighting the figurative fire under George so that he was subsequently ableto ensure that such freedoms would one day be mine to enjoy in the comfort of my own domicile. Harrumph.
To resume: Madison arrived eleven days early. Did he leap about the room, commanding the attention of the assembly with his winning flourishes and fulminations? Did he sing the truths of American democracy into every ear present? Did he run a deep flag pattern, burning Aaron Burr, who stood futilely holding his own jockstrap while Madison caught a fifty-yard toss from General Washington for a game-winning touchdown, resulting in a flamboyant Madison nut grab and moonwalk across the end zone? He did not. He sat closemouthed as near as he could manage to the action, and he took notes. And, because the delegates were sworn to secrecy, his notes actually became the invaluable record of the convention.
A note about arriving early: I am of the opinion that, if you are habitually late, it is inconsiderate to others and also just inefficient, but I am not here to discuss that particular imprudence. What I am suggesting, for myself if no other, is that being on time is also frequently not good enough, if I want to do as good a job as possible. My dad taught me to get there early. Case the joint. Examine the lay of the land. Evaluate the facility, find out where to piss, see if there’s a drinking fountain. Evaluate the breeze/draft patterns so as to determine the best location from which to stand freely farting and escape detection. What are the pros and cons of the balcony versus the orchestra? I like to experience life, whenever and wherever possible, at a steady pace that some might call laborious. I suppose this makes me much more of the proverbial turtle than the hare, but I firmlybelieve that slow and steady wins the race. Madison had the perspicacity to roll into Philadelphia with eleven extra days to find his footing, scout the location, canvas the participants, and begin to weigh fairly all the information that was about to be dumped into his lap.
Coupled with punctuality, the other meritorious quality in this set of bookends is follow-through. Again, my dad crops up in the mental “how to live effectively” manual that he and my mother painstakingly installed in my tool kit. When I hear the word
follow-through
, I am immediately reminded of my dad’s lessons in shooting a basketball and throwing a baseball and swinging a bat. Follow-through is what produces the backspin on a basketball shot, that stabilizing centrifugal force that allows a greater level of consistency to be realized in one’s shooting percentage. The same technique can be applied to any task one undertakes in life, inspired by the idiom “If you’re going to do a job, do it right.” Wittingly or no, Mr. Madison was certainly an
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