My Thoughts My Prayers My World Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/c-sincere/support
What's the coolest thing about podcasts? Everything!!
I don't like bullying. I don't like tough guys. I don't like people who try to intimidate others. No one is invincible.
Please stop using this horrible word to describe anyone or anything. It's horrible and ridiculous. STOP!!!!!!
Coronado Springs Resort is absolutely amazing. I don't know anything about it, but it's a beautiful place.
There is an upside of being an unknown content creator. FREEDOM!!!!!!!! MY CREATIVE LICENSE IS SUPER
Al Horford is a Golden State Warriors.
The word Weirdo is being over used
Talking On the phone in Hollywood Studios on a beautiful sunny day.
Walking around looking at the greenery and water. Chilling
The best store in Disney Springs and Disney World.
If anyone I know ever discovered my podcast they would have a blast. Attempting to make fun of me.But really the joke would be on them. Because it's all a joke. I'm having fun.
It Was a dark and stormy night in Disney World Epcot.
million dollar idea for Disney World pt 3
talking on the Phone in Epcot Disney World pt 2
chilling on a cloudy evening in Epcot pt 1 talking on the phone
Scuba-clad man accused of robbing Disney Springs restaurant of up to $20,000 Had To Be an Inside Job
Scuba-clad man robs Disney Springs restaurant, swims away
Let's About Slang Volume 15: Stereotyping And Assuming
I don't understand the court system and I don't want to understand.
Disney's Boardwalk has a cool vibe at night.
Let me tell you about the best parade in Disney World.
In college I had this idea about a Disney World News paper.
It's a conspiracy, but I can't figure out what it is?????????It seems that most customers are embarrassed or don't want to get caught on camera making a weed purchase. I understand both sides. I don't like people to be in my business. On the other side these are adults, if your ashamed to do something in public, you either need to figure out how to get it delivered or stop.
When it comes to sitcoms that have earned their place in television history, “Seinfeld” undoubtedly tops the list. Created by Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld, the show kicked off on July 5, 1989, with an episode that would set the stage for a cultural phenomenon. Let's rewind to that fateful premiere episode, aptly titled “The Seinfeld Chronicles,” and see how it launched a series that would redefine comedy and the sitcom genre.In “The Seinfeld Chronicles,” viewers are introduced to Jerry Seinfeld as, well, himself. The premise may seem simple: a stand-up comedian navigates life in New York City while dealing with friends, relationships, and the trivialities of daily existence. But much like a fine wine, the simpler it seems, the more complex the enjoyment. The episode opens with a classic bit of Jerry's stand-up, laying the groundwork for his iconic observational humor that would come to define the series.In this maiden voyage, we get to meet a few key players: Jerry's best friend George Costanza, played by Jason Alexander, who quickly establishes himself as the envy of no one—an everyman with insecurities and questionable life choices that every viewer can relate to. Meanwhile, Elaine Benes, played by Julia Louis-Dreyfus, makes her debut in a phone conversation and later graces the screen in person, bringing her unique blend of sass and wit. And let's not forget Cosmo Kramer, played by Michael Richards, who may not appear until later, but his impending arrival is already felt through Jerry's chaotic world.The plot of the episode revolves around a seemingly minor yet fundamentally relatable issue: Jerry's decision to call an enigmatic woman he met while waiting for his flight out of town. The twist? He doesn't have her number, and the only way to reach her is through a series of increasingly silly misunderstandings, much to George's dismay. The beauty of “The Seinfeld Chronicles” is in its details – every scene meticulously contributes not just to this absurd plot but illustrates the nuances of friendship and dating that so many of us navigate.What stands out in this first episode is the show's ability to take mundane experiences—like waiting for a plane, a conversation about dating, or the universal freedom (or lack thereof) of talking to someone you're interested in—and spin them into comedic gold. Jerry's laid-back demeanor serves as the perfect anchor to George's frantic overthinking, creating a dynamic that keeps audiences both laughing and nodding in agreement.Moreover, the episode cleverly sets up the “theme” of the show—essentially “a show about nothing.” This groundbreaking idea allows the characters to explore what might seem trivial but, in reality, encapsulates the complexities of human behavior. Whether discussing why he can't call his love interest or how to politely excuse himself from a dull conversation, the humor resonates at every turn.In retrospect, “The Seinfeld Chronicles” isn't just another pilot; it's a love letter to the little, often overlooked moments in life that can turn into hilariously relatable stories. As viewers settled in with Jerry, George, and Elaine for the first time, they were unknowingly embarking on a journey through the highs and lows of what it means to be an adult in the big city—sprinkled with enough humor to make them laugh loud and hard, time and time again.So here's to the timeless charm of “Seinfeld.” If the first episode is anything to go by, we're all in for quite the ride filled with laughter, quirks, and lots of “I can totally relate” moments.
This is not a podcast. It's just a collection of random thoughts.
I Got A Story To Tell
I Got A Story To Tell.The shimmering spires of Cinderella's Castle, a pastel phantom against the Florida sky, were practically part of our neighborhood. We lived a comfortable distance away in a bright-yellow apartment complex, the kind with a pool that always smelled faintly of chlorine and hot dogs. For us, growing up in the shadow of Disney World wasn't about endless theme park days fueled by Mickey pretzels. It was about the possibility of Disney World.Our family, like many in the area, wasn't dripping with money. My parents, bless their Mickey-eared souls, were gigantic Disney fans themselves. They even worked at the park, Mom as a face painter in Fantasyland and Dad as a monorail technician. Their jobs weren't glamorous, but they came with perks. Occasional free tickets, deep discounts on merchandise, and the undeniable bragging rights of saying, “Yeah, I work at Disney.”For our crew of six – me, Leo, Maya, Chloe, Noah, and Sam – Disney Springs was our kingdom. Forget the Magic Kingdom. We'd pile onto the city bus after school, a kaleidoscope of backpacks and mismatched sneakers, our collective pocket money barely enough for a shared pizza. Disney Springs, then named Downtown Disney, was our haven. We'd window shop at the Lego store, creating elaborate sculptures in our minds. We'd try to sneak tastes of Ghirardelli chocolate, and we'd watch the boats glide across the lagoon, each one carrying families on their own magical adventures.We weren't naive. We knew we looked different from many of the tourists. Our clothes weren't always brand new, our accents were a little thicker, and our laughter was probably a little louder than acceptable. But we were home. We knew the fastest routes between shops, the best places to watch the fireworks over the Magic Kingdom from a distance, and the exact time Goofy would be dancing with kids in the town square.Some of our family and friends from other parts of Florida thought we were rich. “You're so lucky! You're always at Disney!” they'd exclaim. We'd just shrug and grin. We knew the truth. We weren't rich, just strategically located. Vacations, birthdays, anniversaries – those were the times we'd actually venture into the parks. The thrill of riding Space Mountain, the awe of watching the parade, the sticky sweetness of a Dole Whip – those were cherished, special occasions.I remember one particular evening. We were sitting on the dock near the House of Blues, sharing a bag of chips and watching the sunset paint the sky in fiery oranges and purples. Leo, who was always the philosopher of the group, sighed contentedly. “You know,” he said, “people spend their entire lives saving up to come here. And we just…live here.”He had a point. We were surrounded by a world of fantasy, a world built on dreams. And yet, our own dreams were being forged right there, on those worn benches and crowded bus rides. We were building friendships that would last a lifetime, creating memories that wouldn't fit in any souvenir photo album.My childhood wasn't filled with princess meet-and-greets or character dining experiences. It was filled with laughter, whispered secrets, and the comforting knowledge that the magic of Disney, in its own unique way, was always just around the corner. It was an excellent childhood, not because of the rides and the characters, but because of the friendships, the freedom, and the quiet understanding that we were all part of something special, something magical, something uniquely ours. We were the kids who grew up in the shadow of the castle, and that, in itself, was a fairytale come true.
I Got A Story To Tell.The flickering streetlight cast long, distorted shadows across the cracked pavement of Oakhaven. Hitter, real name Marcus Bell, leaned against the brick wall of Mrs. Rodriguez's bodega, the damp chill seeping into his bones. He was on his nightly rounds, neighborhood watch duty, a far cry from the glory he sometimes dreamt of.Growing up in Oakhaven, you learned to be tough, to take a punch. Marcus, however, learned something else. Something extraordinary. He could hit. Really hit. It wasn't super strength, not in the traditional sense. He wasn't lifting cars or tearing down buildings. It was…focused force. Concentrated impact. He could channel his energy into a single, devastating blow. A punch, a kick, even a headbutt, could carry the force of a small missile if he willed it.The kids in the neighborhood, back then, had called him Hitter. The name stuck.He'd spent countless hours practicing, hitting abandoned cars in the junkyard, denting steel like it was tin foil. He learned to control it, to dial it up and dial it down. He once accidentally knocked down a brick wall with a flick of his wrist. Thank God no one saw.For a while, the allure of the bigger stage had been undeniable. He imagined joining the X-Men, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Avengers. He pictured himself taking down villains with a single, perfectly placed punch, the hero of the hour.But then reality would crash back in with the force of, well, one of his punches. He wasn't invulnerable. He wasn't particularly fast or agile. He was just Marcus Bell, a guy who could punch a hole through the Earth…and then probably get his nose broken by a common street thug.What good was his power against, say, Magneto? He'd get tossed around like a ragdoll. And what if he lost control? What if he accidentally killed someone? The responsibility, the potential for catastrophe, was overwhelming.Compared to superheroes who could fly, control the weather, or phase through walls, his ability felt…pathetic. A party trick with potentially apocalyptic consequences.So, he tucked his secret away, like a worn photograph of a life he'd never live. He took a job as a security guard at the local community center. It was honest work, and it paid the bills. He could keep an eye on things, use his…unique talents to protect his community, discreetly.One night, a group of teenagers tried to break into the center. He didn't even have to use his full power. A stern warning, a flex of his hand that made the air ripple, and they scattered like pigeons.He became a fixture in the neighborhood, a silent guardian. He'd break up fights, deter petty theft, and help Mrs. Rodriguez carry heavy boxes into the bodega. He was respected, maybe even a little feared, but mostly just…accepted. He was Hitter, the guy who kept Oakhaven safe.Tonight, the air was thick with the scent of stale beer and simmering resentment. He heard the distant sound of shattered glass, followed by angry shouts. He sighed. Another night, another problem.As he walked towards the commotion, he felt a familiar twinge in his fist, the subtle hum of untapped power. He wasn't a superhero, not the kind that graced magazine covers. But he was something, something important. He was a protector. And in Oakhaven, that was more than enough. As long he protected the community he grew up in, the responsibility that he was given he was more than happy to protect it.
I Got a story to tell.The summer heat hung thick and heavy, even at 4 pm when we clocked in. It was the kind of heat that shimmered off the black asphalt of the parking lot at “Burger Bliss,” our employer for the next two months. Me, Maya, and my best friend, Liam, were officially working adults, or as much as two 15-year-olds with worker's permits could be.Liam was already inside, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Ready to scrub, soldiers?” he called out, brandishing a mop handle like a rifle.Burger Bliss wasn't exactly glamorous. The red and yellow decor was faded, the vinyl booths worn, and the air perpetually thick with the smell of grease and regret. But for us, it was freedom. Freedom from endless summer boredom, freedom to earn our own money (mostly for video games and sugary drinks), and most importantly, freedom to spend five hours a day with each other, navigating the murky waters of the working world.Our manager, a perpetually stressed woman named Brenda, usually started us off with the exterior. “Parking lot's looking a mess, you two,” she'd say, pointing to the litter with a weary sigh. Armed with trash pickers and oversized garbage bags, we'd comb the asphalt, rescuing rogue wrappers, crumpled napkins, and the occasional stray French fry.“Think someone dropped their dreams here,” Liam would joke, picking up a soggy, ketchup-smeared flyer promising quick riches.Cleaning the parking lot wasn't exactly stimulating, but we made it our own. We'd compete to see who could fill their bag the fastest, narrating our finds like David Attenborough documenting the wildlife of Burger Bliss. “And here we see the elusive Diet Coke can, a rare specimen indeed…”Inside wasn't much better. We swabbed floors, wiped down tables sticky with spilled soda, and cleaned the bathrooms, a task neither of us particularly enjoyed. Liam, with his boundless energy, took on the challenge with gusto, inventing elaborate cleaning rituals. He'd swirl the mop in intricate patterns, claiming to be summoning the “Floor-Shining Gods.”I, on the other hand, was more subdued. I didn't hate the work, but I didn't exactly love it either. The most exciting part of my day was when Brenda let us take a five-minute break to raid the soda fountain.The best part, though, was working with Liam. He could turn the most mundane task into an adventure. He'd crack jokes, tell ridiculous stories, and generally keep my spirits up, even when I was knee-deep in floor cleaner. We were a team, a well-oiled, slightly-dazed, fast-food cleaning machine.Looking back, I can't say I learned a ton at Burger Bliss. I didn't master any groundbreaking skills. I didn't learn calculus, or how to negotiate a raise, or even the secret ingredient in the Bliss Burger sauce. But I learned something far more valuable.I learned the importance of having a good friend. I learned that even the most monotonous job can be bearable, even enjoyable, when you have someone to share it with. I learned that laughter can make even the stickiest floors a little less unpleasant.Two months later, summer ended, school started, and our Burger Bliss adventure came to a close. We traded our mops and trash bags for backpacks and textbooks. But the memories, the inside jokes, the shared misery, and the enduring friendship, those stuck around, as sticky and enduring as the spilled syrup we spent so much time scrubbing. Honestly, those memories are worth more than any paycheck I ever received from Burger Bliss.
Spongebob Storepants is a fun place. Great for SpongeBob fans.
Islands of Adventure Trading Post Universal Studios Florida is a great place!!
My Odd Little Journal..,...I'm walking around my neighborhood, minding my business. Behind a business in the area is a small patch of trees. I noticed a fire in the middle of the trees. It wasn't a large fire, but it was a few feet wide, enough to cause damage and spread quickly. Plus I live directly across the street. I didn't want my house to burn down. I call nine one one to report the fire. As I'm on the phone with the dispatcher the fire is getting bigger and the smoke is getting thicker. Right in the middle of talking on the phone with the dispatcher, a man appears from the smoke and fire , and says, Dude, call the fire department. I was shocked and confused. I told the dispatcher a man just walked out of the fire. The dispatcher started asking a bunch of questions about the man, age. race. height. weight. if he was injured. I told her I don't know, I'm just walking down the sidewalk I saw a fire and I called for help. As if it couldn't get any stranger, the man turned around and walked back into the smoke and fire. I walked across the street and watched from a distance. The fire department did show up and put the fire out easily. The guy that was in the fire talked to the fire department and left. He didn't even talk to the paramedics or anything. A few days later, my friends and I were in a restaurant in the same neighborhood, and guess who I see. The guy from the fire. He had on the same clothes he had on the day of the fire .His clothes looked all burnt up and he looked like he just walked out of a fire. He looked like he smelled smokey. My friends and I laughed so hard, because I had told the the story about the guy that walked into a fire, and they didn't believe me. The guy was actually telling people in the restaurant the story about the fire also, and it matched up exactly with mine. He even said the part where he told me, Dude, call the fire department. The restaurant kicked him out because he was harassing the customers and he smelled like a forest fire.
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