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Aviation Medical Examiner Winston-Salem, North Carolina
Great experience! I recommend Dr. Anne White in Winston-Salem, North Carolina for pilot physicals. She is a senior AME. Her office got me in the day I called. They got me in and out of the office quickly, and were friendly and professional to boot. Plus she is a very attractive lady.
perfection 
today was about as perfect as a day could be. we headed for the coast, over the coastal range with clear skies and wonderful clouds--- which became more dense as we entered the coastal range. But driving over the crest everything cleared and we had a perfect view of Cannon Beach haystacks. We headed south to Oswald West State Park where the surfing is perfect and the water hellaciously cold. full body suits, helmets and gloves.
After drying off and getting back into clothes we headed to Cannon Beach, my second or maybe third favorite coast town ( northern coast) and window shopped, visited our favorite glass artists at Ice Fire, combed both excellent and schlocky galleries and then when the tide was lowest and the sun beginning to set silver against the water we did some tide pooling near the Haystacks. Large Bat stars and tons of anemones, barnacles and mussels. But we got to see many varieties of gulls, some puffins and some fat dreamy little sandpiper-ish birds.
we considered eating at the beach but missed Abi and the leftovers in the fridge so in 90 minutes we were home, bathed, and eating tepid pizza. It was a great day and the air of generosity and sweetness between us (ever since we have given daily time to reviewing the eight fold path) was is and will be a joy.
Bubbles sent me some great books and a wonderful card- how true it is about undies- and Jimmy decided to get me a small glass piece in a wonderful teal color. But on my actual birthday he is going to Blockbuster at 9 am, renting Sex and the City, picking up an ice cream cake and we will pig out with our favorite four women , their men, and our fantastically beloved Mr. Big.
today was about as perfect as a day could be. we headed for the coast, over the coastal range with clear skies and wonderful clouds--- which became more dense as we entered the coastal range. But driving over the crest everything cleared and we had a perfect view of Cannon Beach haystacks. We headed south to Oswald West State Park where the surfing is perfect and the water hellaciously cold. full body suits, helmets and gloves.
After drying off and getting back into clothes we headed to Cannon Beach, my second or maybe third favorite coast town ( northern coast) and window shopped, visited our favorite glass artists at Ice Fire, combed both excellent and schlocky galleries and then when the tide was lowest and the sun beginning to set silver against the water we did some tide pooling near the Haystacks. Large Bat stars and tons of anemones, barnacles and mussels. But we got to see many varieties of gulls, some puffins and some fat dreamy little sandpiper-ish birds.
we considered eating at the beach but missed Abi and the leftovers in the fridge so in 90 minutes we were home, bathed, and eating tepid pizza. It was a great day and the air of generosity and sweetness between us (ever since we have given daily time to reviewing the eight fold path) was is and will be a joy.
Bubbles sent me some great books and a wonderful card- how true it is about undies- and Jimmy decided to get me a small glass piece in a wonderful teal color. But on my actual birthday he is going to Blockbuster at 9 am, renting Sex and the City, picking up an ice cream cake and we will pig out with our favorite four women , their men, and our fantastically beloved Mr. Big.
Nostalgia and Suicidal THoughts Under the Searing heat of the Afternoon Sun
Nostalgia and Suicidal THoughts Under the Searing heat of the Afternoon Sun
The overpass that one must pass in order to get to Trinoma, a gargantuan box of a mall, from SM North, a much older gargantuan box of a building, is colored pink. The cement stairs are littered with plastic cups, plastic wrappers of candies, cigarette butts and all the other tiny garbage one finds in the cement steps of a public place heavy with human traffic. An old beggar, dressed in rags that looks like it has been soaked in automobile oil, coated with a layer of dust and then left to dry for several weeks, squats in the step halfway to the top of the stairs. He stares at that empty space a few feet beyond his eyes as if hypnotized by an invisible magical fairy. He thrusts out his right arm, at the end of which is a grime-covered hand holding a transparent plastic cup. Inside the cup are several coins. His other hand lazily scratches the sole of his left foot. A few steps upward are two beggar children attired the same way, one is asleep and the other is seated beside the sleeping one, muttering to himself while stroking the sleeping one's hair.
The sea of people climbing the steps just ignore them and they walk on briskly, quickly, as if one must not linger in this space longer than a few milliseconds or the whole tapestry of the universe will unravel, as if the whole order of the world depends on their getting to wherever it is that they are supposed to be going at this present important moment. Several of the people wear shades and earphones, shutting out the glare of the afternoon sun, the magic of veiling the afternoon world in a pleasant shade by simply putting colored pieces of glass or plastic in front of one's eyes; shutting through popular music blaring through their skulls the noise of the trucks, jeepneys, buses, motorcycles, private vehicles, flowing underneath the overpass like a sea of howling metal mechanical monsters on rubber tires. The smell is something that they cannot totally shut out unfortunately. The carbon monoxide from the exhausts, the dust rising from the surface of the cement steps, saturates the air and together with the smoke from someone's cigarette completes the mixture that enters their lungs and fills their air sacs with life-giving air.
Several years ago, back in the province where I came from, our teacher told us about her experience in Manila. One image that really stuck with me was of how she would clean her nose with a white handkerchief and that part of the handkerchief which she cleaned her nose with, she told us, would come out darkened with grime from the smoke she inhaled while walking through the streets of the city. That's how terrible the air there is, she told us. And now, standing here, I realize the truth of her words. I have been in the capital of the country for more than two years now and through all that time, the only beautiful spot that I know of are the tree-lined streets of the Academic Oval of the University of the Philippines Diliman. Maybe it's the nostalgia seeping in, all those memories at my father's farm, lying on a hammock under the shade of trees, the leaves filtering the rays of the sun.
Every now and then someone will be kind enough to drop a coin into the old man's cup. When this happens, the old man mumbles something. It could be a prayer, an incantation, a very short song, an apology, or simply words of gratitude. Or it could simply be nonsense spouting out of a brain, dried and hardened throught constant exposure to the rays of the merciless urban sun. It could be the conditioned reflex of a Pavlovian dog trained by the clinking of coins, by the minute addition of weight in the plastic cup, to produce vibrations in his voicebox. But then maybe not and maybe I'm the one hallucinating here because of the heat.
The overpass that one must pass in order to get to Trinoma, a gargantuan box of a mall, from SM North, a much older gargantuan box of a building, is colored pink. The cement stairs are littered with plastic cups, plastic wrappers of candies, cigarette butts and all the other tiny garbage one finds in the cement steps of a public place heavy with human traffic. An old beggar, dressed in rags that looks like it has been soaked in automobile oil, coated with a layer of dust and then left to dry for several weeks, squats in the step halfway to the top of the stairs. He stares at that empty space a few feet beyond his eyes as if hypnotized by an invisible magical fairy. He thrusts out his right arm, at the end of which is a grime-covered hand holding a transparent plastic cup. Inside the cup are several coins. His other hand lazily scratches the sole of his left foot. A few steps upward are two beggar children attired the same way, one is asleep and the other is seated beside the sleeping one, muttering to himself while stroking the sleeping one's hair.
The sea of people climbing the steps just ignore them and they walk on briskly, quickly, as if one must not linger in this space longer than a few milliseconds or the whole tapestry of the universe will unravel, as if the whole order of the world depends on their getting to wherever it is that they are supposed to be going at this present important moment. Several of the people wear shades and earphones, shutting out the glare of the afternoon sun, the magic of veiling the afternoon world in a pleasant shade by simply putting colored pieces of glass or plastic in front of one's eyes; shutting through popular music blaring through their skulls the noise of the trucks, jeepneys, buses, motorcycles, private vehicles, flowing underneath the overpass like a sea of howling metal mechanical monsters on rubber tires. The smell is something that they cannot totally shut out unfortunately. The carbon monoxide from the exhausts, the dust rising from the surface of the cement steps, saturates the air and together with the smoke from someone's cigarette completes the mixture that enters their lungs and fills their air sacs with life-giving air.
Several years ago, back in the province where I came from, our teacher told us about her experience in Manila. One image that really stuck with me was of how she would clean her nose with a white handkerchief and that part of the handkerchief which she cleaned her nose with, she told us, would come out darkened with grime from the smoke she inhaled while walking through the streets of the city. That's how terrible the air there is, she told us. And now, standing here, I realize the truth of her words. I have been in the capital of the country for more than two years now and through all that time, the only beautiful spot that I know of are the tree-lined streets of the Academic Oval of the University of the Philippines Diliman. Maybe it's the nostalgia seeping in, all those memories at my father's farm, lying on a hammock under the shade of trees, the leaves filtering the rays of the sun.
Every now and then someone will be kind enough to drop a coin into the old man's cup. When this happens, the old man mumbles something. It could be a prayer, an incantation, a very short song, an apology, or simply words of gratitude. Or it could simply be nonsense spouting out of a brain, dried and hardened throught constant exposure to the rays of the merciless urban sun. It could be the conditioned reflex of a Pavlovian dog trained by the clinking of coins, by the minute addition of weight in the plastic cup, to produce vibrations in his voicebox. But then maybe not and maybe I'm the one hallucinating here because of the heat.
Ideal Image Winston-Salem North carolina
I went to Ideal Image in Winston-Salem last month for laser hair removal. I had saved up my money for the procedure and was really excited about not having to shave so often. I was very disappointed in the result. It didn't work and the nurse who did the procedure burned me. I told her it hurt while she was doing it and asked her to turn the laser down but she didn't. Afterwards I told her that I thougth she burned me but she didn't seem to understand. I asked to see the doctor but she told me he wasn't in. Next time I think I'll go to a doctor's office.
And Then There Were 10
Yesterday the FFA granted provisional licences to two new clubs for the 2008/09 A-League season, provided that they can meet undisclosed requirements within 2 weeks.
YAY for new teams, new teams means a longer season, which means MORE FOOTBALL! Also because one of the teams is from the Gold Coast I can now go to some of thier games to get another hit of the football drug.
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Re: Encore Performance - I learn something new everyday! Haha. And I'm not just talking about the towns....
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