This one is a hard one. We've all seen a sign saying “Gone Fishin'”, but where and when did the phrase originate?
I'm not a fan of your typical catch and release sport fishing, in light of more recent science on the issue, but the phrase still captures something with value to many, even without the actual fishing.
Unlike some things, it doesn't seem to have much direct meaning beyond the obvious, or to be a reference to anything in particular. The speaker is simply absent because he is catching fish, or at least trying to.
But the exact phrasing and brevity seems to have persisted for almost 200 years, with Google Books returning a nonsensical anecdote about an office boy containing the phrase in “Very Funny, Too Funny, Just Funny Enough” from 1830.
It would seem that a search for the origin of the wording itself would be quite difficult, if there even is an origin, as opposed to many independent discoveries.
What may be more interesting is the more concrete meme of the classic wooden or metal sign bearing the words.
The phrase by itself is recognized by almost everyone as “A Thing”, but in the context of a sign, it truly becomes a real meme, reposted thousands of times long before the internet was available.
And of course, the rustic artistry of the signs are a perfect example of 90s whimsical decoration, a tradition that has sadly been lost rather suddenly.
However, the origin of the sign is not obvious either, with so many variations out there, and so many movies and songs sharing the same title.
But perhaps we can learn something about it's popularity from the phrasing itself, despite how short, direct, and simple it seems to be.
The first thing we note is the brevity and casual tone. Whoever wrote this clearly makes no excuses for their absence. They likely did not even announce it to anyone beforehand.
They don't feel the need to explain, nor to spend much time in choosing their words, as a simple “Gone Fishin'” is enough.
From this, we might assume they left in a hurry, having decided they need a break from daily life, and no more preparation is needed other than to grab the ol' well-worn tackle box, a good rod (Not brought into the house before a trip, of course, as that might cause bad luck), and a good snack(Sans any bananas, of course, as this might also bring the same!).
The fishing was probably purely recreational. For all the fly-tying, worm-digging, debates over technique, expensive gear, and various superstitions, fishing has always been a relaxed sport, with many having no interest at all in competition.
But more than that, the past tense of the phrase tells us something more. When used for decoration, the signs are typically there all the time, regardless of the owner's location.
The person may not *physically* be fishing, but mentally, they are just waiting for the next time they are out on the lake, hiking a trail, or cracking a beer around the campfire. It's a statement of personality, and lifestyle beyond just the act of catching fish.
You might wish they would focus more on their work, but these days, a lot of work either gets done or it doesn't, since we have(for better or worse) long since moved on from the days of neat penmanship for every word of a business letter, and hand-painted dials on an average clock.
With so much done by technology, an excessive focus on your job with no regard for the context, and the real live human beings who must use your products, nor the feelings of the employees who must make them, seems just as big of a detriment to quality as a lack of focus.
Again, modern science shows that fish likely can feel pain, and often die after catch and release fishing, so I don't think I could ever advocate actually catching fish with no intent to eat them, or by people not willing to learn to properly dress them.
But still, the Gone Fishin' sign has an enduring, recognizable quality.
In this age of memes and parody, the positive aspects might well be captured by a similar sign, reading “Gone Hiking” or even “Gone Readin'”, since many fishers seem to be primarily motivated by the time spent outdoors with family and friends.
So next time you scream at a computer, saying “Who designed this?! Don't they care at all?”, perhaps you, and them, need to slip off at the next opportunity to something unrelated to commercial activity.
With the newer reports on the effects of hooks(And of pollutants such as methylmercury), some people may no longer want to actually catch a fish.
But still, the Gone Fishin' sign is a part of our history, and we can all understand the need for what it represents.
Take up the path of the swordman
And follow the legend of steel
Find strength in yourself to defeat them
When foes on the way are revealed
Forget not that you are no better
Than the baker, the farmer, the maid
Who chose not the path of the fighter
And took not the sword for their trade
And know that the battle is hardest
When the foe you are facing is you
So turn not your heart to the darkness
Lest darkness taint all that you do
And last, by the blade you will gain it
But might is no measure of man
The truth must decide what you will do
And might will decide what you can!
“Can you read this? Why don't we try sounding it out. See? It starts with an “s”. ” sh-i-t. Shit. THAT'S WHAT HIT THE FUCKING FAN WHEN THE VERY FIRST PORTAL OPENED. Somewhere out there, Cthulhu, THE Cthulhu is starting to wake up. Do you see the fucking problem? Now, we don't have much time. Let's hurry this shit along“
He was angry. I may have underreacted just a little to Ry'leh's threat. But I had changed my mind. It was a big deal.
“What's the latest intel? I asked”
“Portal seven has grown to thirteen kilonewtons per micrometer on the subspace structure, and the entropy influx is at 55 megawatts. The area is uninhabited so we called off the search teams. An eighth portal opened downtown, influx 62 watts, holding at 60 newtons per micrometer. Other than that no real news”
I was always impressed at how effortlessly he could rattle off combat data. I guess that's why he was the general and I wasn't.
These portals were a major problem. Entropy is the tendancy for everything to slowly become both homogeneous and chaotic at once. Entropy is the waste left over when any form of useful energy gets used up. It isn't good for much.
Ry'leh, near as we can tell, is filled with entropy. Entropy is one of the things that keeps Dread Cthulhu in his slumber. Even an Elder God would prefer to sleep through that much entropy. There is also the Force of Stars, and the ancient runic spells, but the vast amout of chaos helps, and the stars and the runes can't hold him alone.
But recently, the portals have been showing up. Wormholes, really. Held open by a dark and ancient force exerting pressure on the structure of space itself. The entropy is leaking into our world.
“Portal 7 at 66 Megawatts and counting. Predicted critical in ten minutes, I'm outta here”
Shit. This portals buisiness is new to us, because every time he tries to escape, it's a bit different, but our best physicists predict that it will cause quite a kaboom. Their predictions haven't failed us yet.
“Everyone OUT of grid sector G-14 NOW. Leave all equipment behind. MOVE”
Not that anyone was thinking of staying, when the equivalent of an atom bomb was about to go down.
The screens in the control room blinked, 102 Megawatts, subspace pressure 70 meganewtons.
Nothing to do but wait, and hope this wasn't the killing blow for our resistance effort. 150 Megawatts, 100 Meganewtons, 3 minutes to critical.
We had no idea what would happen. The world could end. The area could blow up. Maybe the numbers were wrong and nothing would happen.
I thought of contacting my family, but quickly realized the ham radio they had back in the storm shelter was useless in this much entropy flux.
One minute left. Every one of us was prepared to die. Us. The resistance. The ones who fought off the cultists when they found the Bind-Sign of Azathoth. The ones who defeated an avatar of The Eye that Takes and Does Not Sleep. The ones who solved the cipher of the Well of Night. We were ready for the end.
I will tell you now that I have never believed in miracles. Even Dead Cthulhu's power comes only from his strange and twisted laws of physics in what the public would call a Large Extra Dimension.
But when I saw all eight portals dissipate out of existance, for one moment, I believed. The criticality event had shunted enough of the holding force to one point that the other portals were forced shut by the casmir force. The remaining force in the critical zone tore of a region of subspace's infinite fabric, sending it right back where it came from.
The Great Cthulhu's plan was doomed from the start. The only chance it ever had of suceeding was us. Our attempts to prevent the Criticality nearly gave Cthulhu enough time to escape. Maybe that was his plan all along.
That day, it was not Ry'leh out to destroy the world, it was us. Though I have never beleived in anything beyond the Outer Veil of Dreams, nor in anything outside the endless gaze of Yog-Sothoth, I gave thanks to whoever or whatever might be listening. I did what no true American ever should and gave thanks for failure.
All was quiet. The portals were gone, the entropy was gone, and nothing was left but the rain, to wash the taint, and the tears, and the sins away.
As you might know, some unknown DDoS attack or something took down openclipart, which was a hassle for every armchair graphic designer out there.
But freesvg.org now has most of the old totally public content available as a zip file! 150k free public domain images for all!
However, it's a little excessive. There's tons of stuff that was just conversions of photos, compressed in a sub-optimal way for the content.
So I have preprocessed it to be under 17GB, by compressing excessively large files as rasters, and published it as a bittorent. OpenClipArt is back!!!!
#^[url=http://magnet:?xt=urn:btih:6dcd55a2bc08dca3da452b2f2e7f35c89215aa19&dn=freesvg.org.preprocessed.zip&tr=udp%3a%2f%2ftracker.coppersurfer.tk%3a6969&tr=udp%3a%2f%2fexodus.desync.com%3a6969&tr=udp%3a%2f%2ftracker.leechers-paradise.org%3a6969&tr=udp%3a%2f%2ftracker.pomf.se&tr=udp%3a%2f%2fopen.demonii.com%3a1337]http://magnet:?xt=urn:btih:6dcd55a2bc08dca3da452b2f2e7f35c89215aa19&dn=freesvg.org.preprocessed.zip&tr=udp%3a%2f%2ftracker.coppersurfer.tk%3a6969&tr=udp%3a%2f%2fexodus.desync.com%3a6969&tr=udp%3a%2f%2ftracker.leechers-paradise.org%3a6969&tr=udp%3a%2f%2ftracker.pomf.se&tr=udp%3a%2f%2fopen.demonii.com%3a1337[/url]
#^[url=https://twitter.com/SvgFree/status/1195407536633069568]FreeSVG on Twitter[/url]
Original full collection:
[quote]“Here is whole Openclipart collection, 157k svg images, 23 GB zip file, free for everyone to download and use. #^[url=https://t.co/vwPTp3PcP9...]https://t.co/vwPTp3PcP9...[/url] #[zrl=https://hubzilla.eternityforest.com/search?tag=freesvg]freesvg[/zrl] #[zrl=https://hubzilla.eternityforest.com/search?tag=publicdomain]publicdomain[/zrl] #[zrl=https://hubzilla.eternityforest.com/search?tag=openclipart]openclipart[/zrl] #[zrl=https://hubzilla.eternityforest.com/search?tag=ocal]ocal[/zrl] #[zrl=https://hubzilla.eternityforest.com/search?tag=freeclipart%E2%80%9D]freeclipart”[/zrl][/quote]
On a typical day, one usually has has no trouble remembering their own name. Some do, but they are generally in no condition for a desert quest.
On a typical desert journey, you don't just randomly let your horse run away. Some might, but never with smiles on their faces.
For a typical person, a long journey with someone is a bonding experience, and one would wish to know the names of one's companions. Some might not, but they have little interest in deserts and names and horses anyway.
It was the first day and there he was. Or perhaps she, for the legends speak not of this. But the horse, or something very like a horse was there all the same.
The man(Or woman, as the case may be, for again the story speaks not on this) had seen many things. Some in the common way, as one sees the fruit upon the tree or the wall that they shall soon stumble into.
Some in yet another common way, as one sees the sorrow on the face of another, although sorrow itself is still a thing unseen.
But other things he did not see in the common way, for he had seen things few dared even to look for, the things that all wise men cast away as the stuff of storybooks. The storm that lives in every seashell. The story in every grain of sand. The whisper of all the sky and the low drumbeat deep within the ground.
He had seen all these things because he knew where to look for them. Not where in the common sense, like the third tree by the fourth mountain or seven minutes north of the old bridge. Where in the rare sense, for he knew that these things and more yet unseen lived within all and everything.
But he did not see these within the horse. No tale of ancient roads or endless fields marked his hooves and no songs of saddles and stables left their mark upon his back.
This did not surprise him. All who have traveled even an inch learn to hide these things, to one measure or another. That he saw nothing meant that this horse had gone farther on his well worn feet than most go even in dreams.
But he did not see these things within himself either. He could tell you where he was yesterday, a season, or a year ago, but only in the common sense. He could not see how the waters of the streams he crossed.
This was not the way of things, for seldom does one who has walked so many miles learn hide so much from himself.
And so he followed the horse. He did not know where he was going, but whatever fear the many dangers of his travels has left were all hidden from him.
Together they saw many things, in both the common and the deeper sense. They came upon a riverbed and within it he saw a thousand stories of lives lived and lost beneath the water.
And for just one moment, he saw the marks of silent respect each left upon the horse.
And at the end of nine days, which is three times three, as a thanks he whispered his own name, close to his companion’s ear where none else could hear, and walked away.