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Unusual hobbies, considering the profession. Your hobbies?


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Yes, interesting topic. I give you an example:

you know, graphic artists relax themselves listening to music, so what a musician like myself could do to relax? doing graphics! yes as hobby I work with graphics, 3d but I also like to paint.

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3 hours ago, manuelmarino said:

Yes, interesting topic. I give you an example:

you know, graphic artists relax themselves listening to music, so what a musician like myself could do to relax? doing graphics! yes as hobby I work with graphics, 3d but I also like to paint.

I am a Graphic Designer so I have a lot of interest in Arts and Crafts related stuff..

These pieces were decorated by me by making Italian Dough Flowers (Image - From scratch)..

Love to do like these stuff whenever I've a spare time! 😊

1729394075_ArtsCrafts.jpg.07d21a2c2875105c6fc1e0ec9b0c5d07.jpg

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I work on games mostly either as writing the scripts or narrative design (and some comic/etc. writing). I often play indie games in my free time (both as research and for fun) but lately I've been trying to do less work brain more relax brain where possible so I've been looking more. My guilty please has to be  travelling tho~ next up is Copenhagen if all goes well! 

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When I'm not writing (or doing boring life stuff), I do needlework or fly stunt kites. I used to go to stunt kite competitions, but haven't for several years now.

I also spend some time everyday learning something. I like dabbling in digital art and photo manipulation, but I'm not very good at it.

Those flowers are beautiful, @smartdezigns! I love the bottles in the middle picture.

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9 minutes ago, melanielm said:

When I'm not writing (or doing boring life stuff), I do needlework or fly stunt kites. I used to go to stunt kite competitions, but haven't for several years now.

I also spend some time everyday learning something. I like dabbling in digital art and photo manipulation, but I'm not very good at it.

Those flowers are beautiful, @smartdezigns! I love the bottles in the middle picture.

Thank you. I wish I could parcel them to you 😊

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Like @melanielmI like to do needlework. I am working on a counted cross-stitch piece for my son now. I also like to crochet, make quilts, do beadwork and collect depression glass, but not all at the same time! My other hobby is spending time here, but if ChatGPT becomes too widely spread here, I will visit less or quit. 

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I enjoy planes. I have collected DVD's of fighter jets. I love watching the Blue Angels, when they perform in Ohio. From some of their videos, you can see them flying upside down and are only six inches from the other plane. 

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all wonderful hobbies!! thanks for the fantastic posts! 😊 I forgot to add that in the past I liked also to paint miniatures, exactly medieval lead miniatures. Depending the miniature, I used first a white spray (or a black spray with monsters) as base, then I used my brush with different colors. I'm not an expert, but it just relaxed me. I should start again painting miniatures 😊

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I love to cook, and I am inspired when I go out to eat at restaurants. So, I'd try a dish, and I'd say, "I can make this!" Then I go home and make it. I also enjoy gardening, but right now, it's cold where I am, so my garden is currently "out of order." My husband got me an Aerogarden for Christmas, though, and I love it.

I am a writer, but drawing was my first love. I need to get back into it. I also like hiking, watching movies, and painting. 

Now that I think about it, my hobbies aren't unusual at all 🤔

For you needlework folks @melanielm and @vickiespencer, I envy that skill! My daughters both know how to do it, but I suck at it. Lol. One of my daughters even has a crochet business. 

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I have been working as an architect for 10 years. Which would be my profession with degree.

But i have been drawing fantasy characters for, all my life. Which is what i do on fiverr for the last 3 years. Also drawing is what i do most of my free time for having a good time and improving myself. 

I was also a semi-disciplined guy for working out. But last year i wanted to add some spice to it and started boxing. Nothing competent, just as exercise. Which is quite fun! Way funnier than just hurling dumbels around. I recommend it to everybody!

Place i go has 3 days a week program.

First day we are hitting the bag intensly which works our stamina. After that day, we leave our lungs in the trashcan. 

Second day we are hitting each other 😄 Which increases our reflexes and reactions. Nothing hardcore, everybody is there to just workout. Nothing is broken or damaged yet. We learn how to escape and how to hit the opponent. Quite fun actually.

Third day we are doing some crossfit stuff, for strenght. After that day, everybody leaves the gym with their arms and legs vibrating 😄 

Boy o boy! I am 32 years old, moderetaly heavy guy. Those 17 years old slim guys are fast! Very fast! I know im strong, but since we are not hitting each other to defeat, my strenght is useless 😄 Its just a friendly matchmaking to get a better grip of how it works. And fast guys are a problem 😄 They can basicly take three laps around me before i finish my uppercut. But there are some 50+ guys at the place, which are also fast. So to a level, we are getting better. Buy those young guys are amazing. I wish i have started doing this when i was 20 or something.

There are some ladies too at the boxing. Some of them are actually savages. All 6packs, very coordinated and intensely dogged. A sight to behold.

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I sometimes make perfumes and aftershaves. 

Perfumier’s alcohol, essential oils and synthetic scents are all you need, plus a little understanding of cosmetic safety and the limits of what can be used, oh yeah, a good nose might be handy too! 

Favourite ingredients include Ambroxan (synth ambergris / whale poo), ambrettolide (synth musk) and ISO E Super (waving velvet for the nose), especially all three at maxed out concentrations, alone or all blended together. 

Esoteric  Fragrance’s Molecule range of scents are easy to make, and cheaper too as five litres of proper perfume alcohol is cheap, and the ingredients cost what a low end scent would. 

If you ever try making a scent my core advice is LOG EVERYTHING, measures and mixing technique cos you don’t want to make the world’s best smell ever and not be able to recreate it, I know, I did and was offered a hundred quid for a bottle by a mate but couldn’t fulfil as I was smashed when making it and had no idea how much of what went in. 

Have an idea for a perfume website selling custom scents, like totally unique to you: one day..: 

I love the work of high end perfume houses like Creed, especially Green Irish Tweed, and Amouage of which Ciel is my fave. Roja Parfums are nice too, but for that price bloody should be! 

Tried to make my own Creed GIT once, I failed, it smelt like violets and cucumber lol 

Previously made a toothpaste alternative from essential oils, that was stocked at a Harley Street dentist but the formula is so strong it’s banned in Europe and if I were to make and sell more they’d fine me up to five thousand and imprison me for up to five years.

That’s what the goons from trading standards said, and that’s despite It having been lab tested by a public analyst who certified it as safe for human consumption. 

It sold like mad before it hit the fan, 300 bottle hand production runs would go out the door before the blisters on my hands from capping them would heal.

Sold ten millilitres for £6.99 so it had a spanking margin too, not bad as something that came about by accident after I ran out of toothpaste but had loads of essential oils in and experimented.

That hobby cash cowed quick, like I’d sold a hundred bottles before even making the first batch. 

Peppermint, spearmint, clove, cinnamon,  myrrh, eucalyptus, tea tree and sweet almond oil were the ingredients but the quantities, well, that’s my secret! 

I’ll never forgive IFRA, international fragrance association, or EU directive 1223/2009 which limited natural ingredients cos that stuff really could sell by the truck load. 

Not too bad for a random hobby lol 

@smartdezignsthose flowers are fantastic! 

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Recently my hobbies have exclusively focused on chronicling the affairs of my lawyer Swifty Flanagan for various local newspapers. Here is one such retelling as published by “The Rio Linda News and Review:”

                        Scrambled

A Symphonic Editorial of Murder at the local cafe 

“You know that song ‘Minute by minute?’ It’s by the Doobies. Ya know that song?”

 

Swifty’s question hung still in the air between us. He kept his eye’s low, focusing intently on the eggs in front of him. Small scraping sounds broke from his plate as he continuously ran the fork underneath the small meal. Piling the eggs this way, mushing them with the utensil’s back and then starting over.  

 

“Sure.” I offered, “Michael McDonald. I know that song.”

 

Swifty nodded in a faint slow motion, his face never leaving the plate.

 

“That song plays here everyday at 12:07.” The corners of his mouth jerked quickly, as though he’d caught and pulled away a smile before it could escape.

 

I hauled my coffee closer and scanned the room. The diner buzzed with faint conversation. Occupants lined their booths and acknowledged familiar faces. Elderly men sat knowingly at stiff tables and spoke comfortably to the wait staff. The noon sunlight spewed fully into every window and light rock played in a controlled volume from overhead. 

 

“Is this one of those weird conversations where you insist every song is about murder?” I asked.

 

“That song is about murder. Kinda” Swifty assured, “but that isn’t this conversation.”

 

I placed both elbows on the table in a prayer motion, surrounded my cheap coffee with both hands and clasped my fingers tightly.

 

“Okay. What is this conversation, Swifty?”

 

Swifty piled the food methodically to the right of his plate - his brow compressing as he monitored the tiny egg tower’s development.

 

“Everyday at 12:07 the doobie brother’s minute by minute plays over these speakers,” he began.

 

“Yes, we’ve established that.” I replied growing impatient. 

 

“And today, at 12:07, minute by minute will play again. It starts with that weird fade in intro. At first you can’t hear it, then it gets louder. Just a keyboard…”

 

“It’s a fender Rhodes,” I added. 

 

“Right. And it just fades up and up and then the song starts.” Swifty was back to mushing, flattening the eggs until their fluffy form resembled a yellow pancake that covered his whole plate.

 

“Okay?” I replied hoping to motivate towards a direction. 

 

Swifty smiled knowing that the weirdness of this moment was growing. For a brief beat his eyes darted through the room but his body remained unchanged.

 

“Then the band kicks in,” he said as construction on his egg pile resumed.

 

“I know the song Swifty.” I shot firmly. I had grown tired of this game.

 

“Good. Then you’ll know exactly the second I’m talking about. Because right at that exact occurrence - right when the band kicks in - right as the beat and the bass and the guitar come swarming around … right at that very instance … I’m going to shoot and kill that man.”

 

Swifty broke from his food play, looking directly over my shoulder and pointed his fork in the direction of a row of booths by the entrance. Without thought I began to turn, but caught myself and waited for Swifty’s approval through a side glance. 

 

“It’s fine. He doesn’t know me.” Swifty said at a volume not befitting of premeditated murder.

 

I sipped from the coffee mug and coached myself internally to “move slowly.” Inch by inch, making sure to glimpse various locations to misdirect my true intention. 

 

“It’s cool.” Swifty said, this time even louder, “I told you, he doesn’t know me.”

 

The back row was bustling. Retirees sat chatting with their life mates. Men joked harshly and pushed their brimmed hats upward as they traded in jest. Everyone smiled. All of them, but one.

 

Directly behind me, a much older man sat quietly reading an unfolded newspaper. He was slightly leaned over, causing his checkered flannel to cling tight to his withered frame. Tiny words reflected in his giant, boxy glasses. He was a Rockwellian figure of a define-less era - all but for the smacking from his gum. 

 

“Oh, yeah I see it,” I said still evaluating the unknowing victim, “this one’s a real menace.”

 

I whipped around shooting a patronizing look at the would-be-assassin. 

 

“Even the menacing grow old, Mooch.” Swifty held firm.

 

“What is this Swifty?” I grieved. 

 

“What?” Swiftly questioned facetiously.

 

“This. What the hell is this? You bring me out to a third rate Denny’s, then you engage in the world’s most boring food fetish, now you’re telling me that you have plans to murder someone - who is so old - that time might actually beat you to it.”

 

Swifty thought hard. His face scrunched and suddenly his head seemed ready to pop under the constraint of a silver power tie. He pierced into me, his eye lids lowering and his teeth locking inside of his mouth. He was all at once disgusted by my question, annoyed at having to explain himself and somehow disappointed that I didn’t share the amusement.

 

“Well…” he began in a ‘shows what you know’ type tone, “… it will be in self defense.”

 

I turned my full body to look on the elderly man, this time without much hesitation. 

 

“Self defense?” I condescended over my shoulder.

 

“That’s right.” Swifty said more excitedly.

 

“Okay Swifty,” I started as I turned back, “tell me your plan.”

 

“Well…” 

 

Swifty leaned over the table and sprung to life. 

 

“That man’s name is Charlie. 76 years old, he never married. Retired auto worker, he never had his own business. Never had kids. No great love to speak of. He’s one of these that no one even sees. He’s camouflage.”

 

“The evil b*****d.” I joked. 

 

“Charlie comes to this diner everyday at 11:05. His pattern never changes. First he orders coffee. Then eggs. Then more coffee. After that, he reads the paper. He lays it out flat, totally open. Usually he starts with the sports section. Then more coffee.”

 

“A terror.” I continued to play. 

 

“He’s known here to the wait staff but never overly friendly. He always sits at the same booth. At 12:07 and change, he will retrieve the gum from his mouth, stick it under the table, close his paper and leave.”

 

“Not a doobie brothers fan, huh?” I replied to the fascinating intel. 

 

“Only today, will be different..” Swifty offered. 

 

“You boys need more coffee?” Asked a suddenly present waitress holding a carafe.

 

“We’d love more coffee ma’am.” Swifty answered still looking to me with a paused grin. His voice was full bodied and sure. We sat fastened to our gaze, neither man willing to look away. My fingers clutched the handle of the cup tightly and time seemed to halt as the waitress poured and poured. A wild flare lit and hid in Swifty’s eyes. His breath was heavier and he inhaled with wide, confident motions. 

 

Finally the pouring ceased. 

 

Without a hint of trepidation, Swifty resumed his itinerary as the steam was just rising from our mugs. 

 

“Only today will be different,” Swifty repeated, “because today, at 12:07, when Charlie goes to stick that gum to the bottom of his table - he’ll be grabbing on to a loosely placed - rightly fitted - hand gun.”

 

“You attached a handgun to the underside of Charlie’s table?” I questioned rhetorically. 

 

“I did.” 

 

Swifty beamed with pride. 

 

“And when he retrieves the weapon, you’re gonna shoot this man, claiming that he pulled a gun?”

 

“I am.”

 

The lawyer was now almost giddy with self congratulations. 

 

“And when the investigators realize that a contraption was implemented, a contraption that held this gun, what then?”

 

“That’s the most brilliant part…” 

 

Swifty leaned back into his seat as a peace fell over him.

 

 “…it’s being held by his gum.”

 

Satisfaction draped over the attorney like warm blankets. He lifted his coffee in a sort of triumphant pose and drank from his cup deeply. 

 

“Gum?” I questioned, with a sudden logistic investment.

 

“See for yourself.” Swifty confirmed. His free hand stretched across the table and covered an unused butter knife. Moving slowly, he dragged the instrument along the table until his hand reached the edge and the knife fell to the floor. Swifty’s eyebrows shot up as if to say, “there’s your chance.” 

 

 Carefully I backed the chair out of position, leaned toward the floor and reached my hand for the knife. My neck twisted lightly. Lightly still. Reaching for the cold unused tool, I was now almost completely underneath the table - just low enough to see the underside of the booth surfaces. My fingers felt for the cutlery but my eyes were completely transfixed on the weapon - seemingly suspended in the center underneath Charlie’s table. 

It was a hand gun. 

 

I sprang back to my seat, knife in hand. Without speaking, I watched the whimsical expressions light up my companion’s face and fought hard to defend against the panic filling my head. 

 

“What the hell are you doing Swifty?” I growled.

 

“Good, right?” 

 

“You manic dolt. You’ve invited me to be an accessory to your weird murder plot.”

 

“Not murder.” Swifty waved off, finally chewing his less than fresh eggs.

 

”Who is this man Swifty and why did you invite me to this shack?” Heat began filling my face. 
 

“Just a man. And that’s all you need to know. Besides, I thought you’d like to see it for yourself.”

 

”You thought, ‘gee, somewhere between shitty coffee and the brunch special, Mooch would really like to be an accomplice to murder.’ That’s what you thought?”

 

”Come on man,” Shifty appealed, his voice resembling a disappointed child, “It’s not like I haven’t been there for you. Remember when you punched that nun in Disney World?”


“Swifty, for the 100th time, that wasn’t a nun. That was a hooded man.”

 

“Whatever, did I give you grief for hitting her?” He offered in a whining tone.

 

“Him! It was a him, Swifty. He was trying to steal some kid’s merchandise bag.” 
 


“And all I’m saying is that I defended you.”

 

”You charged me full price including a restocking fee. Lawyers don’t even have restocking fees Swifty. Because they don’t have restocking.”

 

”You’re not being cool man.” The lawyer said defeatedly. 


I stopped to consider our situation. 
 

“Swifty, you poisonous tick - that song is not about murder. It’s not. Minute by Minute is not a murder song.” 

 

Suddenly a belly laugh rang from my lunch mate, sending eggs out of his mouth and a slight choking from his throat. 

 

“Hahaha. You think I’m killing this man over a song, Mooch?” I looked to Swifty in complete confusion. 

 

“I’m not killing this man over a song,” Swifty confirmed, “Jesus - that’s crazy talk. In any case, that song is absolutely about murder.” 

 

“It’s not Swifty!” I demanded through gritted teeth, “it’s about not being able to move on from someone who keeps letting you down.”

 

“Right,” Swifty started, “and his only recourse is to kill himself and be done with it.” 

 

“No!” I yelled slamming my coffee down. 

 

Swifty was shaken by the anger in my tone and finally felt the weight of talking at such a pronounced volume. He waved his hand in a “calm down” motion, adjusted in his seat and leaned far into me to reset the meter of our discussion.

 

“The song,” Swifty began, “is about a man on the brink of desperation. He’s been dragged around. He’s been hurt. He’s angst ridden. He tells himself that the lies and pain of his lover will result in a revelation. She’ll change…”

Swifty shook his head as if to understand this predicament meaningfully.

“… But in his deepest thoughts, he knows that won’t happen. He knows these events are cyclical. He’ll get hurt again, because he’ll accept her apology again. It’s not just that she won’t change, Mooch. He won’t change.”

 

“That’s the point of the song Swifty.” I uttered through contempt.

 

“No, the point of the song is the bridge. It’s the part that confirms his plans.”

 

“His plans are to ‘keep holding on’ Swifty. It’s literally in the chorus.” My back tingled with sickness. Sharp daggers seemed to be flinging their brutal points into my stomach. I wanted to run. I wanted to smash a plate over the receding hairline on the peak of Swifty’s head. 

 

“No mooch,” Swifty said in a welcoming manner. He could feel my blood rising. He spoke quietly and with composure. 

 

“The bridge says … 


‘Call my name and I'll be gone/ You'll reach out and I won't be there/ Just my luck you'll realize/ You should spend your life with someone/ You could spend your life with someone…”


Swifty’s eyes closed, almost singing the words as he recited them. 

 

“It’s the ultimate revenge. His death will set her emotional epiphany in motion. And for her cruel games and wicked inflictions, she will pay. She’ll pay by loving him, as he loved her … by never having him completely. Because she couldn’t see it until it was too late. 

 

And then she can’t un-see it.” 

 

Swifty’s eyes turned soft as they reopened. In his face was a need for belonging. His expression was almost hopeful. He waited for a confirmation. A nod or a release from this impasse, while the air grew dense between us. Clanging and chatter returned to my ears and suddenly every noise played like a soundtrack in its unpaused form. 

 

“His death, huh?” I said half openly. I reached into the corners of my pocket and retrieved coffee money, “maybe.” 

 

Swifty leaned back again, satisfied with our exchange. I stood sharply, tossing the money next to my empty cup.

 

“Swifty.” I said, nodding a farewell. 

 

“Mooch.” Swifty said back and smiled as he looked upwardly towards me.  

 

I turned meaningfully toward the entrance, only faintly noticing the break in the music over head. My feet picked up pace as the smooth sounds of fender Rhodes began to fade up and into the diner speakers. My arms lengthened fully as I increased the momentum. The music inched louder and louder as my hands were suddenly pressed to the glass entrance door. The music was now full, as the pull of the keyboard readied a band to count in. I flung the doors hard, inserted my fingers into my ears and paced at a low run towards my vehicle. 

 

I drove fast. At first uncontrollably. Blinded with exhaustion and terror. But as the miles passed, I forced myself into a jagged normalcy. Slowly my muscles unclenched. My jaw loosened. My fingers extended and my breath returned. Liberation surged through me and between tears, I laughed with the energy of a escaped lunatic. 

 

Laughing. Laughing. Until my chest was empty and my eyes were desert dry. 

 

And then silence. 

 

Large, void like silence. Marker after marker, until the exit signs became nameless blurbs and the road lines faded into oblivion.

 

Finally, as though I was doing it out of habit, my fingers fumbled along the stereo dial in search of any sound to carry me through this fog. The console light sprung to life and loud music burst into the car like a terrific beast. A deep voice ruptured the solitude and sent quivers through my core. As my car screamed hysterically through the highway - I found myself singing along … 

 

“Minute by minute, by minute/ I’ll be holding on…” 

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10 hours ago, damooch916 said:

That song plays here everyday at 12:07.” The corners of his mouth jerked quickly, as though he’d caught and pulled away a smile before it could escape.

Tommy, thank you for the reading break from work. I loved this short story, or was it fact? The above line is one of my favorites, but there are many more. If I still taught English, I would share parts of your story with my students as examples of how to paint pictures with words because you do an excellent job of doing so. 

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27 minutes ago, vickiespencer said:

loved this short story, or was it fact?

Imagine cultivating a Forum reputation so utterly replete with barbaric behaviors, that my story of murder and mayhem could be a plausible reality.

I’m so proud. 

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