I now understand what Steven Wright meant when he said, “I’m addicted to placebos.”
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True / Dumb Words:”Nothing is on fire, fire is on things.”
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“It can’t be so simple.””What if it is?” – Six Feet Under
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As I turned from the frontage road near the interstate and careened through the roundabout, I saw two small dogs scampering across the road on the expansive asphalt. I then realized it was two very small foxes, scampering. The lead fox had a varmint of some kind clutched between its jaws. As they hit the middle of the parking lot, the lead fox slammed the varmint to the ground. Since there was zero traffic, I stopped and watched as the two foxes danced around their breakfast. I’m not sure why there are so many foxes this year. Their sporadic appearance always brightens my morning. -March 31st
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I’ve had a run of bad luck my whole life. Even my Mom evicted me after nine months.
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I need some new podcasts to not listen to.
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It’s not working! The therapist recommended I go somewhere relaxing and meditative; perhaps go watch the tide for awhile. I’m feeling nothing here. \●/
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My therapist told me to do something memorable to start the day. I guess my “Cymbal Crash In The Morning” idea needs a bit of work. Almost no one reacted joyously. But Jim did throw his coffee cup 34 feet.
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Life can be majestic; I woke up, my face covered in slobber. My beard was so soaked that I started to look around for the German Shepherd that must have been in the room last night, licking my face.
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These last 34 minutes were the best 15-minute break I’ve ever had!*
One of my favorite people asked me half-jokingly if “heretoforward” was a word. When she used it, I understood it in context.
My short answer to the question? Yes, because it conveyed meaning.
Is it proper? Who cares?
I added it to my dictionaries to ensure I use it in the future without being reminded of some arbitrary rule.
“Heretofore” is a ‘real’ word. It supposedly means ‘before now,’ or ‘previously.’
If that stupid word is a ‘real’ word, then so too is ‘heretoforward.’ English is stuffed with ridiculous words, thousands of them, most of them orphans.
It reminds me of the word ‘overmorrow,’ which means ‘the day after tomorrow.’ It’s a good word, one that shouldn’t have fallen out of favor. If we’re going to use logic, let’s take a hard look at some of the rules we take for granted, especially those which make it hard for regular people to immediately understand how our language can be used. I didn’t put the word ‘properly’ in that last sentence because ‘proper’ is a unicorn.
Regarding language, I am not a perfectionist and certainly not a purist. I like language that breaks things and evolves rapidly. If you search the ‘language’ or ‘grammar’ tags of my blog, I’ll probably irritate you with my consistent message: language exists in its present form because we politely agree that it does. It really is that simple.
You can accuse me of laziness all you want. Heretoforward, it won’t bother me. I’ll be over here doing whatever I want with the language. I won’t stray too far because I’m not writing “A Clockwork Orange.” The point is to convey meaning. If I can do that while causing the purists’ hair to stand on end, even better.
Since I’m helping someone new learn a bit of Spanish, I find myself reminding her that English is a bastard language and trying to impose its arbitrary rules on other languages is a recipe for disgust.
P.S. Commenting to tell me how stupid I am wastes your time, not mine. Ha!
He turned to look back at the table. He didn’t remember resolving to leave the note there; he supposed instinct had taken over. The note remained on the table, face up, its small blue script unreadable from several feet away. The tone was etched in his heart. The specific words written there could have been redacted to contain a single word: pitiless.
He resignedly shrugged, turned, pulled up his mask, and exited the restaurant. He’d been callously reminded that life seldom follows one’s expectations and that the cliché regarding risk sometimes had real fangs with which to pierce us. Even when guided by our best and most noble intentions, life sometimes holds no discernible reward. “Intentions don’t change consequences,” he whispered to himself. It had become a mantra for him, as his resolve and confidence dissolved into confusion and hurt.
As he departed, a weight lifted from his body, one he hadn’t realized he still carried. Words hold no power without our minds to empower them. Some words are talismans and should be kept carefully. Or released, along with the power they may hold. The letter was the latter. It might as well have been blood-stained.
He looked up into the light rain as it fell past the awning overhanging the facade of the eatery. The skies were grey, but he didn’t notice. His pace quickened as he crossed the brilliant white crosswalk.
He hadn’t learned any lessons, other than that of his own naiveté. There would be no moral of the story, no exhumed realizations, no voiceover takeaway in his head. Just a series of lurches as things unraveled and as entropy exerted its morbid control over things. Even when a person realizes he’s on the wrong path, he can’t always turn and walk the path back to safety. The road is often invisible, unpassable, or closed. And sometimes lined by savages with rocks aimed at your head, seeking revenge for a crime you’ve already paid for. Sometimes, we throw rocks at ourselves.
“Me,” the note was signed.
Indeed.
It was a fitting last word of communication between them.
For all the reasons.
Somewhere, perhaps in a day, week, or month, he knew he’d look up and find himself again. The autopsy of moments would conclude. From time to time he might wonder what it all had meant. As time’s fog rolled in, the question would lose focus and recede into history.
Time is the kindest revisionist, giving us space to maneuver our heads around our stumbles, fumbles, and falls.
We learn our lessons in reverse. And sometimes, there is no new lesson, other than accepting that life is going to throw inside curveballs with surprising frequency, no matter who you are or the choices you’ve made.
He laughed as he neared his car. It wasn’t exactly true, that part of learning no lesson. He pulled out the notes shoved in his jacket pocket. There they were: “Don’t be a dumbass,” and “Choose your hard.” He hadn’t worked out the formula for which might take predominance in his life but he knew that both would mold his choices as he moved forward.
It occurred to him that he should tattoo the ‘dumbass’ one on his arm as a constant reminder – and then he wondered if the temptation to do just that was an affirmation that it wouldn’t stop him from continuing to be one.
He would do nothing, and that would be perfect.
Time would have to wash over him and hopefully remove the detritus of dumbassery from his shoulders.
And if not, life always moves forward, carrying us into unseen corridors.
The cliché should be, “Once bitten, twice died,” instead of the old, “Once bitten, twice shy.”
Because not only do you die from the original bite, but you will most likely die of embarrassment, shame, or guilt from reliving the stupidity that got you the bite in the first place.
This is officially a variation of the tried-and-true, “Don’t be a dumbass” rule, for those keeping score.
The realization hurts worse when you understand that you had to be made into one for the other person to get to a narrative he or she can live with. I think we are all guilty of this in some form.
It’s a rare thing for people to look at one another, nod in acknowledgment, and go on with their lives. We are wired to evaluate, judge, and appraise.
None of us like to imagine we acted badly. Sometimes, we have. And sometimes, not that often, we are outmatched by a superior intellect or a harder heart, both of which contribute to the likelihood that you’re going to be the rapacious villain when the words “The End” appear.
It will burn your heart and sense of fairness to be at the epicenter of such attention. Flailing won’t help – and neither will rebuke.
Sometimes, we’ve been assigned motives that don’t reflect what is in our head or heart. People need those motives to protect themselves from introspection or scrutiny.
It’s okay that it’s that way.
It is possible to act with the purest form of love and still stumble so badly that someone labels you as the villain.
It’s hard to change that label because so often there is no observable trail, no defense to be made, and no fair reckoning of facts or forces.
Yes, even in love, especially so; if vulnerability is invoked, it amplifies the rawness and center of people.
Consequences often overshadow intentions.
There are times when there is no real lesson, no moment of clarity or closure.
Only of acceptance.
Anthony Marra said it well: “You remain the hero of your own story even when you become the villain of someone else’s.”
Yesterday, I reached my moment of clarity and gave myself closure. In so doing, I ruptured some unseen line of acceptance. And I realized that the villain was me.
And I accept that, even though the label fails to align with the truth of my life. But such statements are given to an audience of no one. Fighting your labels is seldom rewarded.
I want everyone to be fulfilled and happy and to have people in their lives who love and appreciate them.
I say none of these words as villainous. But perception and personal filters assign motive for anyone reading this.
I had a story for this post. But coincidence and some unknowable force told me it wasn’t ready.
Instead, I paid the universe forward a couple of lemon moments. Each of them is curled up against my heart. As inscrutable as this description might be, I know you’ve had moments that aren’t really “anything” in themselves, yet swirl with movement and color.
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I hope that you’re reading this, looking at the famous meme template above, and picturing whatever it is in your life that you want and appreciate. The after is a precious gift. Please take a moment and find a way to place into your ‘now’ and be happier for it.
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I can prove I’m an optimist.
My car finally gave me trouble.
Went to the dealer and then got a ride to the car rental place.
Went inside to discover that no one has any rental cars.
Walked outside to see the courtesy driver as he drove away.
I laughed.
There’s hope for me yet.
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You know that you run in a tough crowd when you offer to ride in the trunk to save room and the vehicle owner says, “Nah, there’s already a body stashed in there.”
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I am a thin white cracker, which explains my latest nickname: Nabisco.
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I found Jesus. Worst game of hide-and-seek ever!
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As amazing as technology is, can you imagine the pranks & shenanigans in the future? Teleportation? Someone is going to wake up on the other side of the galaxy, or teleported to the inside of a lion habitat.
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When I was young, U2’s hit “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” was a visceral call to action. Now? It is recap of my morning.
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Dahmer Debate Observation: “You may indeed have the upper hand in the argument, but I have the other foot.”
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“You can’t judge a book by its lover.” -X aka Rule Of Universal Association…
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The moment pictured above comes more quickly than we’d like to imagine.
Thanks to my friend Marilyn, I had to add the word ‘staplefortis’ to my editors and dictionaries.
Y’all better hope my dictionary isn’t the only one that survives as a repository for the English language after the next catastrophe. Since I disrespect the alleged sanctity and correctness of language, my dictionaries aren’t standard. I laugh when I scan through some of my nonsense: today, ‘dicktionary’ made me laugh. I also recall laughing when the popup, “Dicktionary added to Dictionary” occurred.
Marilyn’s mirthful dad often implied that a ‘staplefortis’ was a difficult-to-find part of the car under the hood (because imaginary is indeed hard to get your hands on), but I’ve managed to sneak it into several work-related things – and to also use it to connote, “Comedy through mundane goofiness.” When Marilyn first told me about her dad telling people to check the staplefortis under the hood, it evokes some of the madness my own dad enjoyed. His brand wasn’t safe, though. I’ve taken that sense of humor myself, except in my case I would undoubtedly send someone an invoice and bill them for a new staplefortis. If you can get people to buy milk and drink it, anything is possible. (Except buying an actual extended car warranty. If you don’t believe me, call someone and ask if you can buy one. 50-50% change your call will end if you do.)
It was Marilyn’s dad who also popularized ‘keg of buttholes,’ so I’m still waiting to see if the Dept. of The Interior might construct a statue of him to commemorate this fine phrase. I’m impressed how often ‘keg of buttholes’ can dispense both levity and clarity to a description. Especially in official work documents. Did it produce an odor? Yes, like a keg of buttholes might. No one leaves that sentence without a striking mental image.
I hope you keep your staplefortis maintained.
Mundane goofiness can be the most sublime because we can experience it in incremental bits throughout the day. Most of our lives are lived in the in-between moments anyway.
The fiftyish man stood at the postal kiosk, talking to everyone and no one. His bright orange shirt clung tightly to him. Though he lacked apparent red flags, his monologue with the anonymous interlopers in the queue signaled that something was amiss. He lifted his orange shirt to reveal his exposed stomach, punching himself repeatedly and with force. He told the onlookers that he did several hundred exercises a day to keep himself in shape. Taken ‘as is,’ his boast was comedic.
Because I constantly have a voice in my head, my voice noted the presence of a couple of attractive soccer moms who were ill at ease with his behavior. I observed their reciprocal and careful acknowledgment of what they were witnessing. I nicknamed him “Milftrap” as a nod to his self-confessed physique. As the line continued to move, Milftrap continued his tenuous conversation. The materials in front of him, purportedly the reason for his visit, remained in front of him, untouched.
I left him there, hoping he’d make a connection with someone to satisfy him.
I knew in my deepest heart that someone was terribly wrong, though I could not attach a diagnosis.
Though my nickname for him amused me, the life behind his story left me a bit untethered.
Had I seen only the briefest glimpse of him as he bragged about his physique, I would have departed filled with a bit of comedy and a new catchphrase; as it is, I left with a bit of cloud in my head.
On the ignored advice of my attorney, I hereby confirm that this post is not intended to discriminate. Men are equally capable of dronery. (Another new word of mine, thank you very much.)
Best money for an honest opinion you’ll ever spend. If that sort of thing is important to you. If you have someone in your life who observably finds you appealing, that is the best definition of attractive imaginable.
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I’m probably the last person you’d expect to have an opinion about clothing or fashion. My past self was disinterested. Being fat makes much of the concern difficult to navigate. Once upon a time, I loved crazy clothing and vibrant, ridiculous colors. That love has returned.
Now that I look at ‘fashion’ (whatever that is) with a thinner eye, I discovered something I knew before: I am a huge fan of asymmetrical clothing. Shirts, vests, dresses, everything. I don’t remember noting the inclination as strongly before. Maybe there wasn’t as much of it. Maybe it’s me who has changed.
Interestingly, science fiction tends to portray most people in the future as fans of asymmetrical clothing. Don’t get me wrong: normal cut and other clothing is still interesting. But I find myself seeing the odd angles and mismatched materials much more interesting. I guess there is hope for me not getting old yet. In case you’re wondering about the last comment: it is difficult to find new things and enjoy them and feel old simultaneously.
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On a personal level, I haven’t lost a lot more weight. I’ve lost some. But I have not jumped on the scale. I’m at a plateau and I’m still okay with that. But do I feel thin? Lord, yes, I do, even though I have a pudge. I’ve yet to lose all sense and dive into unhealthy behavior, at least in regards to eating. I hope I don’t lose this sense of gratefulness to the universe for providing me with this feeling. I’m still convinced terrible consequences were impending without this big weight loss. I’m equally convinced that being significantly thinner is going to keep me smiling, even when other things might not, for quite some time.
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Being bilingual sometimes causes awkward laughter. Earlier this month, I invented a better, new word that better expresses what younger people want for Feb. 14th.
“Will you be my valentine?” will now be replaced with the more accurate, “Will you be my sinpantalón?”
¿Quieres ser mi San Valentín? = ¿Quieres ser mi Sinpantalón?
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As an educational comment. Many people do not know that a standard 9 volt battery contains six AAAA batteries (now obsolete, of course) linked in a series. Additionally, If you connect two 9 volts to opposite polarity, you create a hand warmer. Also a detonation device if you’re not careful.
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In a move best characterized as “ill-advised,” John located his martial arts studio adjacent to an Anger Management Institute franchise.
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Just me? “She Talks To Angels” by The Black Crowes summons a strident desire to recommend a competent mental health professional for the protagonist of the song.
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Now I understand why I’m obligated to buy expensive toilet paper: the Bible instructs us, “Be fruitful and multi-ply.”
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Feb. 11th
Coming over the hill into the long valley, I realized mine was the only car. Ahead, the ground and everything around it was strangely illuminated from winter’s touch. Winter did not bring its worst to us last night, choosing a subtle reminder that certainty eludes us. Far ahead the emerald traffic light burned with a green intensity. Go. Proceed. And I did, though I wanted to linger in the early February morning, as the world slept. On to work I came, as Evermore melodically hypnotized me. Go. Proceed. The emerald light is somewhere out there.
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“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may” is great poetry. But evidently a terrible horoscope for the day.
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Day after the Super Bowl
“We hold these truths to be self-evident: complaints about the halftime show are proportionally correlated to the likelihood that Centrum Silver is somewhere in the speaker’s medicine cabinet.” – X
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The pandemic was a really bad time to start using mustard in the hand sanitizer dispensers. That’s what my manager shoutily told me.6 Comments
(Shoutily is a word because I say it is. You’re welcome.)
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If I had a kid, I would name him or her “Mnemonics” so that people would be unable to forget the name without looking foolish.
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“‘X, how would you describe his intelligence?””Well, ‘Parts On Order’ adequately covers it.”
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Titles don’t impress. Even the monkey closest to the tree trunk is the Branch Manager.
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The above picture made me remember Amen Tailor.
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The above is to be used when you find yourself irritated that people place ideas over other people.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 