This isn’t a warning that I often see as I drive around my Midwestern hamlet:
This would seem to be always good advice whenever one encounters a large machine on the railroad (and good advice in a lot of situations, actually). And, yes, I’m sure there’s some technical usage here, but figuring out what that is would reduce my immature giggling about this. Here’s a larger picture:
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Recent Posts
- Funny, how, now that I’m teaching, I’m supposed to have ideas about what’s best for my students
- There’s a tendency to be profound, or to want to seem profound
- I haven’t been on a first date in over a year
- Nobody owes an explanation of one’s own life to anyone else
- Minds live in a lot of places, and minds don’t need tenure, either
Top Posts & Pages
- 'Word World' and the problem of plurals
- 'That's a damn story': Considering To Kill a Mockingbird after visiting Monroeville
- Fiction link: Very short stories by Lydia Davis
- Bizzy! Bizzy! Bizzy!: Metaphysical Implications of "Frosty the Snowman"
- The Fuggers, and the Habsburgs' Non-Branching Family Tree
- Link: Actress Leighton Meester on Curley's wife
- How the Grinch Stole Christmas to Overcome Crushing Loneliness
- Six things I learned about Dunkirk, N.Y.
- 'Literary Capital of Alabama': Monroeville as Harper Lee's Maycomb, Part 2
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See, if you can indulge in “immature giggling” just a short time ago, you have nothing to fear from the 40s.