Today, as I was browsing around the internet in a completely randomly, I came across an article about codependency. According to this article codependency is found almost exclusively in dysfunctional families. Wow. Amazing. Total shocker right there.
That begs the question: Is there any family in America that can be deemed 'functional'? My guess would be (now let me ponder this for a second or two), um, nope! So anyway, this article basically says that if you come from a dysfunctional family you are pretty much going to be codependent, which means that you probably won't have healthy relationships. Again, total shock!
So what all this boils down to is that millions of dollars were spent in research so they can say that if you come from a crazy family you are pretty much going to be crazy and pass the crazy on to your kids. Wow. So glad they figured that out because I was worried I wouldn't be crazy enough!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
When The Wind Blew
The room was dark. A lone spark of light shone bravely through the big picture window that faced south. A stark, howling wind brewed the tempest that raged into the night. In that desolate moment, she knew the pain of perfect solitude. She was trapped, cut off from a world where the idea of 'civilization' had become the byword for community, for commonality, for association. Never in all her years had she ever heard the sweet sorrow that spoke to her now.
Her thoughts drifted restlessly. Was this what the ancestors felt when they faced the untamed expanses before them? Is this what the world was like before? Where people always alone?
And just like that the wind began to die down and once more she could hear the quiet sounds of her neighbors going about their nightly routines. She wasn't alone anymore. Her world had come back. Never again would she feel the secret serenity that had engulfed her that fateful night. No where else on the entire planet would she ever be able to find a place devoid of the omnipresent global community that had become that sad ball of rock spinning sedately through space.
Her one moment of privacy had become the treasure she carried with her all her days.
Her thoughts drifted restlessly. Was this what the ancestors felt when they faced the untamed expanses before them? Is this what the world was like before? Where people always alone?
And just like that the wind began to die down and once more she could hear the quiet sounds of her neighbors going about their nightly routines. She wasn't alone anymore. Her world had come back. Never again would she feel the secret serenity that had engulfed her that fateful night. No where else on the entire planet would she ever be able to find a place devoid of the omnipresent global community that had become that sad ball of rock spinning sedately through space.
Her one moment of privacy had become the treasure she carried with her all her days.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Screaming Into The Wind
There is a place where sand and sea, wind and water meet. It is a crossway to the realities that are and the ones that could be. A place where possibility and potential make their presence known in the landscape that becomes our lives.
Not far away is a small, bitter place so out of conjunction with the atmosphere of hope and freedom that lives close by. It is the place where all the things we have left unsaid in our lives, the happiness we could have had, the opportunities we let pass us by, come to die.
It takes less than a minute to create a graveyard in this sad, forsaken place. Desperation, despair, and emptiness permeate the very air.
And trying to get out is like screaming into the wind.
Don't let the possibilities die.
Not far away is a small, bitter place so out of conjunction with the atmosphere of hope and freedom that lives close by. It is the place where all the things we have left unsaid in our lives, the happiness we could have had, the opportunities we let pass us by, come to die.
It takes less than a minute to create a graveyard in this sad, forsaken place. Desperation, despair, and emptiness permeate the very air.
And trying to get out is like screaming into the wind.
Don't let the possibilities die.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
That Old Familiar Beat
There are many reasons to avoid weddings. The inevitable awkward moments, the pandemic of sappy love songs, being forced to make small talk with people you barely know. However, there is one redeeming quality to attending a wedding. I speak, of course, of the dance.
A wedding allows you to dance to your hearts content free from many of the disadvantages that plague establishments of dance. The many slower songs that are a wedding staple make that getting to know you conversation so much easier. The pauses that tend to pepper such communications are smoothed over and the whole process is surprisingly less painful than one would imagine.
Overall, the dancing portion of is generally the highlight of the wedding. It is just so exhilarating! I would dance everyday if I could!
A wedding allows you to dance to your hearts content free from many of the disadvantages that plague establishments of dance. The many slower songs that are a wedding staple make that getting to know you conversation so much easier. The pauses that tend to pepper such communications are smoothed over and the whole process is surprisingly less painful than one would imagine.
Overall, the dancing portion of is generally the highlight of the wedding. It is just so exhilarating! I would dance everyday if I could!
Monday, November 10, 2008
An Epidemic Scourge
As many of you may know, I am a fan of the cell phone. In fact, it is unusual to find me sans phone, but unfortunately some abuse the convenience of these handy little devices. I believe that anyone who works in a service industry can sympathize. Let me share my thoughts on this.
From time to time, I work the cash register at my place of employ and recently I have encountered a profusion of individuals who carry on a conversation while being checked out. They tend to ignore both the cashier and other customers who may be bothered by their obtuseness. This reduces the human element to the cashiering process to little more than scenery in the shopping experience. It objectifies the living, breathing person performing a service. Most of all, however, it is just plain rude.
I propose that all such insensitive and abhorrent individuals be drawn and quartered, shot, and burned at the sake. If such measures are a bit grisly for the modern mind, it should at least be kosher to ask the vagrant to postpone their vocal communion until after they have completed their transaction.
From time to time, I work the cash register at my place of employ and recently I have encountered a profusion of individuals who carry on a conversation while being checked out. They tend to ignore both the cashier and other customers who may be bothered by their obtuseness. This reduces the human element to the cashiering process to little more than scenery in the shopping experience. It objectifies the living, breathing person performing a service. Most of all, however, it is just plain rude.
I propose that all such insensitive and abhorrent individuals be drawn and quartered, shot, and burned at the sake. If such measures are a bit grisly for the modern mind, it should at least be kosher to ask the vagrant to postpone their vocal communion until after they have completed their transaction.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
The Deep, Dark Subconscious
It constantly surprises me what lies within the underground recesses of the subconscious. Thoughts, dreams, ideas, people, some long gone, forgotten or pushed aside emerge from their cobwebby holes and terrorize us while we sleep.
It is oddly liberating in a way. In dreams, you can do amazing things. You can fly, you can speak foreign languages, you can do anything. You are limited only by the scope of your imagination. Sleep on, lucky souls. Sail on to the land where dreams may come!
It is oddly liberating in a way. In dreams, you can do amazing things. You can fly, you can speak foreign languages, you can do anything. You are limited only by the scope of your imagination. Sleep on, lucky souls. Sail on to the land where dreams may come!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Unbelievable MUZAK!
My place of employ was recently the victim of a malfunctioning MUZAK machine, leaving a bare silence in its place. It has sense been fixed and with due gratitude to once again be mildly entertained by the background MUZAK, I have been paying particular attention to the lyrics of the oft repeated songs. This has lead to a disturbing discovery: you can put absolutely anything into a song lyric and people will still sing along and perhaps even enjoy the song.
For instance, one of the more frequent denizens of the MUZAK world contains the lyric:
For instance, one of the more frequent denizens of the MUZAK world contains the lyric:
I want you
I need you
I'm never gonna love you
But two out of three ain't bad.
I need you
I'm never gonna love you
But two out of three ain't bad.
Seriously! This is a horrible song! Why would anyone write this, let alone choose this as "soothing" to the shopping experience? This is just one of the many examples of wildly inappropriate lyrics in songs commonly played in department stores. Its just wrong!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Thoughts
I miss "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey".
Stream of consciousness writings are ridiculously random.
The book is always better than the movie.
I miss Popples, the original Strawberry Shortcake, and Rainbow Brite.
The 80s were amazingly cool.
SNL was so much better 10 years ago.
Potato chips aren't really chips. They are slices.
Fall is the season with the best colors.
Nostalgia colors the past rosy.
Stream of consciousness writings are ridiculously random.
The book is always better than the movie.
I miss Popples, the original Strawberry Shortcake, and Rainbow Brite.
The 80s were amazingly cool.
SNL was so much better 10 years ago.
Potato chips aren't really chips. They are slices.
Fall is the season with the best colors.
Nostalgia colors the past rosy.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Looking At People
Sometimes it's good to people watch. The man on street with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders shrugged to ward off the cold. Who is he? What's his story? Perhaps he is a single father, struggling to support his small children and finding the task impossible. Maybe he's a traveler, passing through town with only a few dollars in his pocket and looking for work.
In this passage we call life, can we ever really know another person? Do the tenuous bonds that link us to our fellows really afford us a glimpse into the essence of the person under the layers? It's like we are all spinning balls of yarn whose ends may get briefly tangled together or sometimes they get knotted a little more permanently, but always we stay in our spinning selves.
Permanence is transitory and our touchstones flawed.
In this passage we call life, can we ever really know another person? Do the tenuous bonds that link us to our fellows really afford us a glimpse into the essence of the person under the layers? It's like we are all spinning balls of yarn whose ends may get briefly tangled together or sometimes they get knotted a little more permanently, but always we stay in our spinning selves.
Permanence is transitory and our touchstones flawed.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The Mystery Begins
What would life be like if it was like of those books that lets you "make your own story"? In case you have no idea what I am talking about, there are books marketed for adolescents that allow them to solve mysteries and have adventures by choosing one of several options and key points in the story. Whichever choice they make eventually leads them to another juncture where they make another choice and so on until they reach the conclusion of the book.
The fun of this is that if you don't like the way your "personal adventure" turns out you can go back and essentially redo the entire book. How great would it be if life was like this? You could relive your life as many times as necessary to avoid great catastrophe. You could choose to marry or not a certain spouse. You could choose to go to college, or go to Africa, or be a scuba diver. Your choices would be unlimited in a grand sort of way.
The problem with this would naturally be on how many do overs you are allowed. If you were only alloted say 5, your avoidance of a specific pitfall would only be as good as the next major decision in your life. With only so many chances to fix your mistakes life would become an endless game of 'What do I do?'
So they real question becomes is life more stressful now, facing the unknown head on or would it be more stressful constantly looking back and second guessing yourself?
The fun of this is that if you don't like the way your "personal adventure" turns out you can go back and essentially redo the entire book. How great would it be if life was like this? You could relive your life as many times as necessary to avoid great catastrophe. You could choose to marry or not a certain spouse. You could choose to go to college, or go to Africa, or be a scuba diver. Your choices would be unlimited in a grand sort of way.
The problem with this would naturally be on how many do overs you are allowed. If you were only alloted say 5, your avoidance of a specific pitfall would only be as good as the next major decision in your life. With only so many chances to fix your mistakes life would become an endless game of 'What do I do?'
So they real question becomes is life more stressful now, facing the unknown head on or would it be more stressful constantly looking back and second guessing yourself?
Monday, October 6, 2008
And The Band Played On....
I have always been intrigued by the fact that the night the Titanic sank the musicians on the upper deck continued to play as that mighty ship sank. In many ways music is a cultural marker. A song can define a generation, a war, an idea and those brave gentlemen chose to give what solace they could with the simple tools of their trade.
Could there be a more noble act?
Could there be a more noble act?
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Phantasm
Daydreams lie like languid milk
shimmering under smooth diamond symphonies
of cool watery ache
as hopes like moon-shaped rose petals
live elaborately in blue vision seas.
Power yearns for vivid control over
boiling masses of love starved minions
skating on vague black skies
where failure lurks like charred hulks
of shattered glass.
shimmering under smooth diamond symphonies
of cool watery ache
as hopes like moon-shaped rose petals
live elaborately in blue vision seas.
Power yearns for vivid control over
boiling masses of love starved minions
skating on vague black skies
where failure lurks like charred hulks
of shattered glass.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Want vs. Need
"Will the defendant please rise," the gravely voice of the grizzled judge commanded harshly.
With a scuffle of chair legs and nervous feet the well-dressed defendant and his high profile, highly polished lawyer stood with him. He had a small, smug smile on his tight face. He felt assured of his victory. He had yet to be denied any of his desires.
He glanced over to the other table in the shabby courtroom. The table looked as beat up, as worn down as the threadbare man that sat behind it. Clearly, he thought to himself, this loser does not stand a chance. I have won. The rest of this is merely a formality.
The judge cleared his throat impatiently, fully aware that he did not possess the defendant's full attention. The defendant looked sheepishly down, hating having been caught.
The judge cleared his throat once more. "We, the Court of Life find the defendant, Want, to be in violation of both Common Sense and Reality. Furthermore we sentence the defendant to exile until such time as the Court of Life finds it reasonable to do so."
This cannot be happening! Not to me! The defendant could do no more than stand there in shock at the court's decision. Not once had it occurred to him that he might lose. He looked over to the other table. His nemesis seemed brighter, more sure of himself, and inexplicably he also seemed less threadbare, less tired than before.
Want fumed. He was banished and it was all the fault of the paltry little man at the next table. He vowed his revenge even as the court officers bound his hands and took him away. Need would never be safe from Want.
With a scuffle of chair legs and nervous feet the well-dressed defendant and his high profile, highly polished lawyer stood with him. He had a small, smug smile on his tight face. He felt assured of his victory. He had yet to be denied any of his desires.
He glanced over to the other table in the shabby courtroom. The table looked as beat up, as worn down as the threadbare man that sat behind it. Clearly, he thought to himself, this loser does not stand a chance. I have won. The rest of this is merely a formality.
The judge cleared his throat impatiently, fully aware that he did not possess the defendant's full attention. The defendant looked sheepishly down, hating having been caught.
The judge cleared his throat once more. "We, the Court of Life find the defendant, Want, to be in violation of both Common Sense and Reality. Furthermore we sentence the defendant to exile until such time as the Court of Life finds it reasonable to do so."
This cannot be happening! Not to me! The defendant could do no more than stand there in shock at the court's decision. Not once had it occurred to him that he might lose. He looked over to the other table. His nemesis seemed brighter, more sure of himself, and inexplicably he also seemed less threadbare, less tired than before.
Want fumed. He was banished and it was all the fault of the paltry little man at the next table. He vowed his revenge even as the court officers bound his hands and took him away. Need would never be safe from Want.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The Secret Life of Shadow
The warm, swollen sun dipped gently below the far off horizon. Man began his nightly rituals in preparation for the long sleep ahead and gradually the world tucked itself cozily into bed. And then it was the shadows turn to play.
In daylight, where light rules with iron shackles, the shadow is prisoner to the harsh glare of the sun, but at night the shadows are king. Soft starlight illuminates their nightly dance. Long, transparent limbs swing freely through the crisp night air while the crickets sing their earthy tune.
These nocturnal denizens give themselves over to the freedom of dark and slowly, as the sun begins to rise, they return to their places. The light once more binding them to the mundane things of life. They wait silently for the moon. Their silvery revels the stuff of dreams.
In daylight, where light rules with iron shackles, the shadow is prisoner to the harsh glare of the sun, but at night the shadows are king. Soft starlight illuminates their nightly dance. Long, transparent limbs swing freely through the crisp night air while the crickets sing their earthy tune.
These nocturnal denizens give themselves over to the freedom of dark and slowly, as the sun begins to rise, they return to their places. The light once more binding them to the mundane things of life. They wait silently for the moon. Their silvery revels the stuff of dreams.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Soudtrack to Life
Recently, I've been thinking how great it would be to have a personal soundtrack. It would be so freeing knowing what to expect in the next few moments from the tenor of the music in the background. You would know not to open a certain door from the ominous music that would begin to play, you would always know if you were about to have a romantic moment from the way the music would begin to swell. Your anticipation would be greater, your poignant moments more touching, your happiness infused with a spritely tune. Oh, to have a soundtrack...........
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Spark of Life
There is a reason they call it the spark of life. Passion ignites. Creativity burns like a fever. Focus and dedication are a steady flame. It all comes down to heat and when that heat extinguishes, life begins to end.
For me, failure was what doused my flame in the harsh waters of reality. In one instant, I'd failed everyone I'd ever met. I would not be remembered. My fate was sealed with my anonymity. Listless, withdrawn, morose, depressed. All these could describe me back then, but those words could not begin to touch the melancholy, the frozen netherworld, that had become my existence. There is no life without fire and my embers were almost out.
Eternity would have been more bearable. Then one day life began, very slowly at first, to become warm again. Heat began to creep into my bones in an ever persistent pace. I began to feel color again. A steady, warming glow began to make itself in my chest again. I began to smile again.
I found my passion, my quest, my mark to make on the world.
For me, failure was what doused my flame in the harsh waters of reality. In one instant, I'd failed everyone I'd ever met. I would not be remembered. My fate was sealed with my anonymity. Listless, withdrawn, morose, depressed. All these could describe me back then, but those words could not begin to touch the melancholy, the frozen netherworld, that had become my existence. There is no life without fire and my embers were almost out.
Eternity would have been more bearable. Then one day life began, very slowly at first, to become warm again. Heat began to creep into my bones in an ever persistent pace. I began to feel color again. A steady, warming glow began to make itself in my chest again. I began to smile again.
I found my passion, my quest, my mark to make on the world.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Waiting
The clock ticks steadily onward. A never ending heartbeat that seems to drag every moment forward with its constant rhythm. Waiting is the hardest part. Seconds bleed into minutes, minutes into hours.
There is a stillness to waiting. She thinks that may be the hardest part. The personal silence that engulfs her in this busy, crowded space. She begins to rock back and forth in time to her breathes. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. She is starting to get strange looks from the faceless souls around her.
She doesn't care. She just wants the waiting to end. She is waiting for the waiting to end. She tries to distract herself. She thinks of the best scenarios. The ones where she is healthy and happy. She thinks of his smile as he turns to look at her; the calm sunrise on what she almost had; the comfort of someone's arms wrapped tightly around her.
It doesn't help. She is not distracted enough to no longer see the minute hand make is ponderous way around the large metal clock across from her. She is starting to get frantic with the need to make it all stop.
The door opens. Her waiting is over.
There is a stillness to waiting. She thinks that may be the hardest part. The personal silence that engulfs her in this busy, crowded space. She begins to rock back and forth in time to her breathes. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. She is starting to get strange looks from the faceless souls around her.
She doesn't care. She just wants the waiting to end. She is waiting for the waiting to end. She tries to distract herself. She thinks of the best scenarios. The ones where she is healthy and happy. She thinks of his smile as he turns to look at her; the calm sunrise on what she almost had; the comfort of someone's arms wrapped tightly around her.
It doesn't help. She is not distracted enough to no longer see the minute hand make is ponderous way around the large metal clock across from her. She is starting to get frantic with the need to make it all stop.
The door opens. Her waiting is over.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Love Is
| "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) |
| How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. |
While generally not a fan of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I do love this poem. It takes one of man's most prized emotions and weaves it into the fabric of life. I've often heard the expression "I love you but I'm not in love with you" and it seems to me that people who say things like that have completely missed the the point. Love is not just an emotion; love is the act of being. It becomes of part of your sense of self and colors everthing around it. This is the kind of love that stands the test of time and it is truly sad that society today conditions people to reject this kind of love. Selfishness is the norm and the selflessness of this kind of love is scoffed at as weak and old-fashioned. How sad.
Monday, September 15, 2008
When Perception Becomes Reality
Optimism. Pessimism. Realism. Attitude becomes a way of perceiving the world. Perception becomes individual reality. We are all optimists, pessimists, and realists in differing degrees. Like the primary colors they blend to make a kaleidoscope of perspective.
What do we do when our outlook differs from a disappointing reality? Sometimes we can will reality to conform to our wishes, but more often than not we are forced to accept a vision that is ill-fitting our mind's landscape. Is it better then to be on the blue end of the scale, looking at our surroundings with the edge that comes from pessimism but never being disappointed when things go south? Or is better to be a vibrant red, constantly seeing roses (yellow realism being the elusive clear sighted vision we crave)?
Which causes the most damage?
What do we do when our outlook differs from a disappointing reality? Sometimes we can will reality to conform to our wishes, but more often than not we are forced to accept a vision that is ill-fitting our mind's landscape. Is it better then to be on the blue end of the scale, looking at our surroundings with the edge that comes from pessimism but never being disappointed when things go south? Or is better to be a vibrant red, constantly seeing roses (yellow realism being the elusive clear sighted vision we crave)?
Which causes the most damage?
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Don't Worry
Recently I have been wrestling with a dilemma of epic proportions. It all started when I heard, for the first time in years, the song "Don't Worry, Be Happy". It is so easy to tell someone not to worry about the anxieties in their life. In fact, we have many ways of saying so. "Chin up", "smile", and "turn that frown upside-down" are all imperialistic expressions used to command the listener to change a particular feeling. While such expressions are meant as comfort or solace, the fact is that such expressions demand a change in demeanor. It begs the question, is it really possible to will yourself into a better mood?
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The Night Before Atlantis Fell
In the brief, ethereal moment before twilight breaks into the deep velvet of full night, three stars shone faintly in the sky. Trees swayed gently in the soft, dusky air. A trio of diaphanous women gazed silently into the coming darkness.
Theirs was a wait of expectation. Soon their world would be one of myth and legend, the milieu of intangible longing and unspoken expression. The elders had come to the incontrovertible decision to leave the mortal plane and no one inside the great city would be allowed to leave. Goodbyes would not be permitted and any family outside the colossal walls would forever wonder at their fate.
These three refused to accept the destiny forced upon them by men old enough to be their grandfathers. These men had taken away any chance of lives filled with love, and laughter, and above all, freedom. Soon the transition would take place and anyone outside the protective barrier would perish in unimaginable ways. This was the destiny they chose.
Life without freedom is death and so they chose death. Brave souls.
Theirs was a wait of expectation. Soon their world would be one of myth and legend, the milieu of intangible longing and unspoken expression. The elders had come to the incontrovertible decision to leave the mortal plane and no one inside the great city would be allowed to leave. Goodbyes would not be permitted and any family outside the colossal walls would forever wonder at their fate.
These three refused to accept the destiny forced upon them by men old enough to be their grandfathers. These men had taken away any chance of lives filled with love, and laughter, and above all, freedom. Soon the transition would take place and anyone outside the protective barrier would perish in unimaginable ways. This was the destiny they chose.
Life without freedom is death and so they chose death. Brave souls.
New Music Worth Checking Out
1. Jenny Says - Cowboy Mouth
2. Trash Unreal - Against Me!
3. Sometime Around Midnight - The Airborne Toxic Event
4. Seventy Times 7 - Brand New
5. Pirate Song - Go Betty Go
6. Bow Down - Warsaw Poland Brothers
7. The Boy With The X-Ray Eyes - Earthling Society
8. Money Honey - State of Shock
9. End of the Movie - Cake
10. Nobody But Me - Save Ferris
2. Trash Unreal - Against Me!
3. Sometime Around Midnight - The Airborne Toxic Event
4. Seventy Times 7 - Brand New
5. Pirate Song - Go Betty Go
6. Bow Down - Warsaw Poland Brothers
7. The Boy With The X-Ray Eyes - Earthling Society
8. Money Honey - State of Shock
9. End of the Movie - Cake
10. Nobody But Me - Save Ferris
Monday, September 8, 2008
All Who Wander...
Across desolate, forsaken gloom that marked the hour before sunrise, a lone figure trod grudgingly across the empty wasteland. His dirty face was streaked with tear tracks as he unceasingly put one foot in front of the other. He did not hear the sorrowful call of the raucous birds in the distance. His mind focused only on the step before him. A steady beat of sand and skin and leather.
His past forgotten in the quest to continue on. It was almost a relief to not have to think of anything other than the shifting sand under his road-weary feet. As the sun began to rise, its life-giving rays having gone horribly amok in the barren wilderness he now found himself in, he thought back in the inevitable sequence of events that put him on this solitary path.
Who was the woman? Why did she need him to die?
The sun rose silently on the empty land.
His past forgotten in the quest to continue on. It was almost a relief to not have to think of anything other than the shifting sand under his road-weary feet. As the sun began to rise, its life-giving rays having gone horribly amok in the barren wilderness he now found himself in, he thought back in the inevitable sequence of events that put him on this solitary path.
Who was the woman? Why did she need him to die?
The sun rose silently on the empty land.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Only The Lonely
The lonely soul stands atop a cliff watching a seething mass of humanity twist and gyrate in time to the steady thrum of mundane life. The magnetic pull of companionship, of love, of desire drawing him ever closer to the crush and pull of writhing bodies. Deeper he travels into the dark crowded place called "family and friends".
Atop a small rise, he watches society pulse in endless streams toward every direction, his arms by his side as he is touched by many hands. The babble of voices, the faint melody of a thousand different songs wafting gently on the breeze.
He is alone. He is always alone.
Atop a small rise, he watches society pulse in endless streams toward every direction, his arms by his side as he is touched by many hands. The babble of voices, the faint melody of a thousand different songs wafting gently on the breeze.
He is alone. He is always alone.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
The Green Arrow
I sat waiting at the red light. Anticipation burning silently through my veins, waiting for the one blessed instant when the angry red light would turn to a glorious green arrow and I could complete my hard fought battle to reach my destination. Slowly the seconds ticked by until at last I was given the signal to shift into first gear.
The car in front of me started. Then it braked. Start, brake, start, brake. The driver's hesitation a source of laughter to the motorists across from us, waiting for their own release. Did she know the hard green light indicated that she was free to turn left without fear of misadventure? Did the clear direction only confuse her?
Such is the sad state of late night travelers.
The car in front of me started. Then it braked. Start, brake, start, brake. The driver's hesitation a source of laughter to the motorists across from us, waiting for their own release. Did she know the hard green light indicated that she was free to turn left without fear of misadventure? Did the clear direction only confuse her?
Such is the sad state of late night travelers.
Monday, September 1, 2008
That Magical Time of Year
Autumn is now upon us! Hurrah! There is nothing more refreshing than a cool autumn breeze sneaking its way past summer's heat. This is my favorite time of year. When the weather begins to lose the intensity of deep summer and the air becomes crisper, tarter and the essence of the fall season begins to make itself know, the anticipation almost becomes too much.
The scent of autumn awakens to the glory we call September. It smells of newly cut hay, of apple and cinnamon, and most of all it smells of the intangible essence that turns the leaves into a brilliant array of color and begins to put the summer world to bed. It bursts with the freedom of one last dance before the lights go out and winter once more holds sway.
Perhaps it hearkens back to school days, but September in all its shades, seems to be a time of beginnings. It is a time to take stock of the good things laid before us, to reflect on the bounty of the year and make preparations for the months ahead. One last freedom before the dour months of winter again make their chill felt and the world begins to sleep.
Red and gold and green and brown. Autumn is here! September has come!
The scent of autumn awakens to the glory we call September. It smells of newly cut hay, of apple and cinnamon, and most of all it smells of the intangible essence that turns the leaves into a brilliant array of color and begins to put the summer world to bed. It bursts with the freedom of one last dance before the lights go out and winter once more holds sway.
Perhaps it hearkens back to school days, but September in all its shades, seems to be a time of beginnings. It is a time to take stock of the good things laid before us, to reflect on the bounty of the year and make preparations for the months ahead. One last freedom before the dour months of winter again make their chill felt and the world begins to sleep.
Red and gold and green and brown. Autumn is here! September has come!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
When Everything Stays The Same....
It is a human inevitability that change happens. In our avant-garde society, where change is no longer measured by year or season or even month but is instead spinning past us in an ever escalating whirlpool of state-of-the-art technology, stability has become a rare commodity. We are continually presented with new and better ways to "stay in touch", to "be connected", and "improve our lives", but with all this, has human nature really changed to fit the modern role?
When faced with adversity, do members of this more advanced civilization really cope any differently? Do we not still find ourselves reaching out to our close friends, our chosen family, in the hope of emotional support and understanding? Do we not still follow the same grieving process that our forebearers experienced in the hundreds of years before modern medicine? Of course we do.
In a time where five minutes is all that seperates the state-of-the-art from the outdated, the indistinguishability of our needs and our ancestors needs provides a solid touchstone that links our past to our future. So while the world continues to update itself, the essence of our humanity will continue to be steadfast. There is much comfort in that.
When faced with adversity, do members of this more advanced civilization really cope any differently? Do we not still find ourselves reaching out to our close friends, our chosen family, in the hope of emotional support and understanding? Do we not still follow the same grieving process that our forebearers experienced in the hundreds of years before modern medicine? Of course we do.
In a time where five minutes is all that seperates the state-of-the-art from the outdated, the indistinguishability of our needs and our ancestors needs provides a solid touchstone that links our past to our future. So while the world continues to update itself, the essence of our humanity will continue to be steadfast. There is much comfort in that.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The End
A touch, a tear, a jeweled emotion
Shrouded in ages of mystery
Is it now? Is it past?
Desperation wars with privacy
A battle rages, rages, rages
it sings of deception, old and new
Brutal winds blow misery and doubt
She writes of her life long past
of the coldness that is to come.
Does life, her life, mean anything?
Does she matter?
The cold winds answer No
Shrouded in ages of mystery
Is it now? Is it past?
Desperation wars with privacy
A battle rages, rages, rages
it sings of deception, old and new
Brutal winds blow misery and doubt
She writes of her life long past
of the coldness that is to come.
Does life, her life, mean anything?
Does she matter?
The cold winds answer No
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A Brave New Age
In this digital age, we have many forms of communication open to us. From the omnipresent cell phone to email to the text message, all pathways to freely express one's self to one's peers are unobstructed. It has often been argued that such relatively impersonal forms of communication lead to an isolated and socially inept individual, and in some instances this does appear to be the case. However, there are several distinct advantages to utilizing such forms of contact.
One of the most significant is the fact that such non-direct exchanges can allow individuals to discuss emotionally charged or otherwise difficult conversations in a way that lets both parties have enough space to remain objective enough to continue a rational discussion. In such situations, an individual who is particularly averse to the minefield of emotional peril would be able to step back and navigate such a treacherous course with a minimum of discomfort. There is much to be said of the ability to spare one's self the pain of an ill planned word.
Another advantage more specific to the text genre of interval contact is its accessibility in places where other means of communication would be impossible. For example, many find it easier to text while "on the clock" than it could ever be to incessantly talk on the phone or even email on the company monitored computer. Vigilant employees may even be able to mask such constant use of their personal devices for long periods of time.*
Overall, I must say that despite some of the drawbacks of these newfangled contraptions, the advantages tip the scales in their favor. However did we manage before the advent of our modern day security blankets?
*Something I myself have no familiarity with I'm sure.
One of the most significant is the fact that such non-direct exchanges can allow individuals to discuss emotionally charged or otherwise difficult conversations in a way that lets both parties have enough space to remain objective enough to continue a rational discussion. In such situations, an individual who is particularly averse to the minefield of emotional peril would be able to step back and navigate such a treacherous course with a minimum of discomfort. There is much to be said of the ability to spare one's self the pain of an ill planned word.
Another advantage more specific to the text genre of interval contact is its accessibility in places where other means of communication would be impossible. For example, many find it easier to text while "on the clock" than it could ever be to incessantly talk on the phone or even email on the company monitored computer. Vigilant employees may even be able to mask such constant use of their personal devices for long periods of time.*
Overall, I must say that despite some of the drawbacks of these newfangled contraptions, the advantages tip the scales in their favor. However did we manage before the advent of our modern day security blankets?
*Something I myself have no familiarity with I'm sure.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The Chair
This chair is the absolute most comfortable chair in the entire world. I first came into possession of it in March of 2004. It has moved with my every year for the last four years. It is the only piece of furniture that has come with me in all my travels, and I absolutely love it.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Athletes
The dictionary defines 'athlete' as
ath·lete
A while ago, I was the unfortunate victim and the very picture of a captive audience to someone who enjoys NASCAR. As they were involved in watching cars drive around in a circle really fast, I was left to find what entertainment I could in the mundane, droning commentary. I was completely astounded to hear announcer refer to the drivers of the vehicles as "athletes". Are you kidding me? These are men (and one woman) who routinely sit for hours steering a vehicle in a circle!
After watching the Olympics, I have wondered at the inclusion of some of the events (e.g. table tennis, also know as ping pong and badminton) but these do require some sort of athletic ability and stamina, no matter how minor. Calling the driver of a car an athlete is just an insult to the hard work and abilities of true athletes like gymnasts, swimmers, and marathon runners.
ath·lete
n.
A person possessing the natural or acquired traits, such as strength, agility, and endurance, that are necessary for physical exercise or sports, especially those performed in competitive contexts.
A while ago, I was the unfortunate victim and the very picture of a captive audience to someone who enjoys NASCAR. As they were involved in watching cars drive around in a circle really fast, I was left to find what entertainment I could in the mundane, droning commentary. I was completely astounded to hear announcer refer to the drivers of the vehicles as "athletes". Are you kidding me? These are men (and one woman) who routinely sit for hours steering a vehicle in a circle!
After watching the Olympics, I have wondered at the inclusion of some of the events (e.g. table tennis, also know as ping pong and badminton) but these do require some sort of athletic ability and stamina, no matter how minor. Calling the driver of a car an athlete is just an insult to the hard work and abilities of true athletes like gymnasts, swimmers, and marathon runners.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Clouds In My Coffee
I was listening to the Carly Simon classic "You're So Vain" today and one of the lyrics struck me a bit odd. The last part of the second verse says 'I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee...', which is great because it flows nicely with the song and it is a fantastic visual image. That is until you really think about it.
I was singing along (loudly, as I was in my car and no one was close enough to hear me murder the tune) and trying to visualize my coffee being corrupted by clouds and then I realized that my coffee actually is corrupted by 'clouds' every time I put cream in it. I love putting cream in my coffee! It looks like a tiny nuclear explosion, complete with mushroom cloud and faux nuclear winter.
I can only conclude that Carly Simon prefers her coffee black, uncorrupted by billowing trails of milky goodness. (And on a more metaphorical note, that apparently in this song, she saw her dreams as clouding her reality; which, is sad really as I think my dreams enhance and color my reality in a most delicious way.)
I was singing along (loudly, as I was in my car and no one was close enough to hear me murder the tune) and trying to visualize my coffee being corrupted by clouds and then I realized that my coffee actually is corrupted by 'clouds' every time I put cream in it. I love putting cream in my coffee! It looks like a tiny nuclear explosion, complete with mushroom cloud and faux nuclear winter.
I can only conclude that Carly Simon prefers her coffee black, uncorrupted by billowing trails of milky goodness. (And on a more metaphorical note, that apparently in this song, she saw her dreams as clouding her reality; which, is sad really as I think my dreams enhance and color my reality in a most delicious way.)
Yes Ma'am!
Tonight a woman who was arguably sixty years older than me called me "ma'am". I find this disturbing on several levels. Not the least of which is, how old does this woman think I am??? I mean, seriously I know I'm not a teenager anymore, but I definitely am not on par with this woman, so what could possibly possess her to call me "ma'am"?
I might actually be a little forgivable if I'd been wearing a ring of some sort anywhere near my third digit but no, I left all my rings at home tonight. As I was extremely polite and helpful to her, my only guess is that she is either very hard of seeing or unconscious of her actual age. Either of which would inspire empathy in me had she not wounded me with her draconian use of such a vile and uncouth appellation.
(Just in case you were wondering, I prefer "Miss". I personally only use "Ma'am" on people who annoy me or in a joking manner with people I know well.)
I might actually be a little forgivable if I'd been wearing a ring of some sort anywhere near my third digit but no, I left all my rings at home tonight. As I was extremely polite and helpful to her, my only guess is that she is either very hard of seeing or unconscious of her actual age. Either of which would inspire empathy in me had she not wounded me with her draconian use of such a vile and uncouth appellation.
(Just in case you were wondering, I prefer "Miss". I personally only use "Ma'am" on people who annoy me or in a joking manner with people I know well.)
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Olympic Commentators
Like much of the world, I watched part of the Olympics and it struck me how ridiculous some of the commentators of the slower sports are. I realize that they do have to "fill time" during the less action packed sequences but really I find it beyond absurd that two such commentators called a rather slow boat race "a barn burner". Seriously people.
I would really enjoy it if just once the commentators would say something like "Well, Joan, there's really not much happening right now" or "Wow, Mark, this is the most boring thing we've seen all year". That would be my kind of commentating.
I would really enjoy it if just once the commentators would say something like "Well, Joan, there's really not much happening right now" or "Wow, Mark, this is the most boring thing we've seen all year". That would be my kind of commentating.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Bloodsuckers!!!!
Foul softheaded mooncalfs! Deadbeat insensate blackguards! Yes, that's right! Tonight my store was plagued by the malicious toad-eating parasites otherwise known as shoplifters. I would gladly vituperate and eviserate all such black-hearted miscreants.
I was astounded, truly appalled, at the audacity of one such malefactor well known for her misdeeds. She accosted me demanding to know if I was watching her, and then proceeded to rail at me about how "there are shoplifters and I am not one of them." All this because I felt the need to hang up clothes within her eyesight (and thus making it impossible for her to shoplift). How I longed to call her on her blatantly obvious nefarious activities, but I held my tongue (a feat which those of you who know me may very well call miraculous).
It is because of such flagitious villains that I believe the ancient punishment for stealing be reinstated, namely having one's hand cut off for "sticky fingers". It is a punishment that truly discourages the offense; and in today's high tech society, cases of mistaken conviction would be virtually impossible, thus making this the ideal penalty. Once again stores would be safe havens for legitimate shoppers. Hurray for honesty!
I was astounded, truly appalled, at the audacity of one such malefactor well known for her misdeeds. She accosted me demanding to know if I was watching her, and then proceeded to rail at me about how "there are shoplifters and I am not one of them." All this because I felt the need to hang up clothes within her eyesight (and thus making it impossible for her to shoplift). How I longed to call her on her blatantly obvious nefarious activities, but I held my tongue (a feat which those of you who know me may very well call miraculous).
It is because of such flagitious villains that I believe the ancient punishment for stealing be reinstated, namely having one's hand cut off for "sticky fingers". It is a punishment that truly discourages the offense; and in today's high tech society, cases of mistaken conviction would be virtually impossible, thus making this the ideal penalty. Once again stores would be safe havens for legitimate shoppers. Hurray for honesty!
Noisome
I was just doing a little reading and I came across the word 'noisome'. As is my wont when coming across unusual words, I looked it up. Now many of you may know that the word 'noisome' has absolutely nothing to do with noise. The dictionary defines it:
adj.
1. Offensive to the point of arousing disgust; foul: a noisome odor.
2. Harmful or dangerous: noisome fumes.
I find it extremely irritating that this word exists as a description of a noxious odor. It goes against my principles to use this word, so I ask all of you to join me in boycotting the word 'noisome'.
Do Poets Dream?
Do poets dream of far away places
of fairies and spirits and magic divine
of mystical dancers with gleaming faces?
Do writers wish for enchanted forests
with masses of fairy-tale creatures
who all sing in chorus?
Or do they dream of quiet scenes
of music and light and symphony
dancing serene on arctic greens?
And their fingers shape destiny
of fairies and spirits and magic divine
of mystical dancers with gleaming faces?
Do writers wish for enchanted forests
with masses of fairy-tale creatures
who all sing in chorus?
Or do they dream of quiet scenes
of music and light and symphony
dancing serene on arctic greens?
And their fingers shape destiny
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Button Lady
When you work in retail you and your co-workers tend to develop a kind of code for customers whose presence you dread. At my place of employ, one of these customers is know in the Apparel department as "Button Lady". Merely mentioning this code name produces a scattering of employees equal to, if not surpassing, yelling "Fire" or "Nuclear weapon in the house".
Let me describe for you the horrors Button Lady has inflicted upon the hapless apparel hirelings. This woman (and I use the term somewhat loosely) is not exactly a small person and she shops the plus size clothes regularly. She then proceeds to try on the selected garments but instead of fastening whatever buttons, snaps or zips that close the tops she yells "I need some help in here. Could someone help me? Does anyone work here? Hello! Hello!" repeatedly. She does this in sometimes fruitful attempts to force the unfortunate girl who answers the call to button the button or zip the zipper of the chosen piece of clothing, and once, even to tighten the straps of her bra (and yes, she still occupied the bra while straps were being tightened). Needless to say, this is not a pleasant task.
Consequently, whichever ill-fated colleague lets Button Lady into the fitting room walks away quickly and informs all other employees that our nemesis is about to make her nightly racket. Everyone then vacates the area until Button Lady stops yelling or the yelling has gone on for long enough that other customers begin to notice. As Button Lady tends to shop after 10 p.m. the disturbance to other shoppers is generally minimal and we can sometimes escape her nefarious calling (however unable we may be to escape the subsequent mess she makes with the undesirable garments).
When at last she leaves, the entire department heaves a sigh at relief that this monstrous shopper has vacated the premises. We then set about repairing the damage done and consoling anyone luckless enough to be caught in her claws.
This woman, while not typical, is one of the reasons why retail employees are desperately underpaid and under appreciated. In future posts I hope to further acquaint you with other demons of the retail world, who bear names like Bird Lady, Mart Kart Lady, Humming Man, and Lipstick. You have much to look forward to!
Let me describe for you the horrors Button Lady has inflicted upon the hapless apparel hirelings. This woman (and I use the term somewhat loosely) is not exactly a small person and she shops the plus size clothes regularly. She then proceeds to try on the selected garments but instead of fastening whatever buttons, snaps or zips that close the tops she yells "I need some help in here. Could someone help me? Does anyone work here? Hello! Hello!" repeatedly. She does this in sometimes fruitful attempts to force the unfortunate girl who answers the call to button the button or zip the zipper of the chosen piece of clothing, and once, even to tighten the straps of her bra (and yes, she still occupied the bra while straps were being tightened). Needless to say, this is not a pleasant task.
Consequently, whichever ill-fated colleague lets Button Lady into the fitting room walks away quickly and informs all other employees that our nemesis is about to make her nightly racket. Everyone then vacates the area until Button Lady stops yelling or the yelling has gone on for long enough that other customers begin to notice. As Button Lady tends to shop after 10 p.m. the disturbance to other shoppers is generally minimal and we can sometimes escape her nefarious calling (however unable we may be to escape the subsequent mess she makes with the undesirable garments).
When at last she leaves, the entire department heaves a sigh at relief that this monstrous shopper has vacated the premises. We then set about repairing the damage done and consoling anyone luckless enough to be caught in her claws.
This woman, while not typical, is one of the reasons why retail employees are desperately underpaid and under appreciated. In future posts I hope to further acquaint you with other demons of the retail world, who bear names like Bird Lady, Mart Kart Lady, Humming Man, and Lipstick. You have much to look forward to!
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Ubiquitous Loose End
It never ceases to amaze me the amount loose ends that one can accumulate in the course of a day. These can range from unfinished sentences, incomplete tasks, and of course the dangling participle. That begs the question of where do all the loose ends go?
I have a theory that at the end of every day, all the loose ends come together and form themselves into something large and woven, and when connected together the result is something approximating the fabric that is one's life. The half-finished puzzles, the unread portions of books, the thoughts whose hazy shape lies fallow in over burdened minds, they all form a cohesive picture of life filled with everyday heartbreaks, heights of exquisite joy and the overwhelming peace of hearth and home. The beautiful moments that form a lifetime's memories come from all the loose ends and concluded beginnings that follow each journey through life.
I have a theory that at the end of every day, all the loose ends come together and form themselves into something large and woven, and when connected together the result is something approximating the fabric that is one's life. The half-finished puzzles, the unread portions of books, the thoughts whose hazy shape lies fallow in over burdened minds, they all form a cohesive picture of life filled with everyday heartbreaks, heights of exquisite joy and the overwhelming peace of hearth and home. The beautiful moments that form a lifetime's memories come from all the loose ends and concluded beginnings that follow each journey through life.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
And The Miles In Between
Today at work I met a family from France. They were just visiting this area to take in the sites (Zions, Yellowstone, and the like) and they expressed amazement at how large our country is. Granted that in truth, they had only seen a relatively minuscule portion of this land, to them it was a far grander scale then it probably seems to those of us raised here.
The father shared that if you were to drive in France the distances that seem normal to us (like the 200+ miles to Boise or Salt Lake or even the 100+ miles to Twin Falls), you would more than likely be visting an adjoining country. He seemed to astounded by the fact that many of us drive such distances with little or no contemplation on the awesomeness of the journey.
I gave his words much thought and I finally I came to the conclusion that it is all about perspective. Out here we have much space, much freedom and because of it we have grown accustomed to the long, isolated journeys to visit loved ones, attend plays and concerts, or even just to shop. We value privacy and individuality in a way that many who come from more crowded environments can only imagine. And I must say that I for one prefer the open spaces to the clustered towns of long inhabited Europe.
The father shared that if you were to drive in France the distances that seem normal to us (like the 200+ miles to Boise or Salt Lake or even the 100+ miles to Twin Falls), you would more than likely be visting an adjoining country. He seemed to astounded by the fact that many of us drive such distances with little or no contemplation on the awesomeness of the journey.
I gave his words much thought and I finally I came to the conclusion that it is all about perspective. Out here we have much space, much freedom and because of it we have grown accustomed to the long, isolated journeys to visit loved ones, attend plays and concerts, or even just to shop. We value privacy and individuality in a way that many who come from more crowded environments can only imagine. And I must say that I for one prefer the open spaces to the clustered towns of long inhabited Europe.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
The Perfect Day
I have recently been thinking what my perfect day would be. I can only imagine that I would wake up in a large bed in a large room with many windows that are generously shaded by large flowering trees whose subtle smell gently wafts into the room. All this after a healthy nights sleep. It would be early morning and I would lie still enjoying the ambiance, then I would rise for a stroll in the nearby orchard.
When I return to the house I would enjoy my favorite breakfast (that I also would not have to clean up), and then read a truly involving book on the front porch. Around noon, friends would come over and we would gather foodstuffs appropriate for a picnic and head out on horse back in search of a cool, shaded mountain stream by which to consume our midday meal.
After an lingering lunch, we would all follow a rugged mountain trail that would deposit on a clear empty beach just in time to watch the sun set over the ocean.
Sadly, I have yet to hear of any domicile set in an orchard that is close enough to both mountain, sea, and reality to ever have my perfect day.
When I return to the house I would enjoy my favorite breakfast (that I also would not have to clean up), and then read a truly involving book on the front porch. Around noon, friends would come over and we would gather foodstuffs appropriate for a picnic and head out on horse back in search of a cool, shaded mountain stream by which to consume our midday meal.
After an lingering lunch, we would all follow a rugged mountain trail that would deposit on a clear empty beach just in time to watch the sun set over the ocean.
Sadly, I have yet to hear of any domicile set in an orchard that is close enough to both mountain, sea, and reality to ever have my perfect day.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Music Worth Listening To
1. Joni Mitchell - Blue
2. Pepper - Faceplant
3. Charlotte Sometimes- How I Could Just Kill A Man
4. The Cribs - Men's Needs
5. The Maine - Girls Do What They Want
6. Kerli - Walking On Air
7. Diego - Losing Me
8. The Postal Service - Clark Gable
9. Rancid - Time Bomb
10. Socratic - Boy In A Magazine
2. Pepper - Faceplant
3. Charlotte Sometimes- How I Could Just Kill A Man
4. The Cribs - Men's Needs
5. The Maine - Girls Do What They Want
6. Kerli - Walking On Air
7. Diego - Losing Me
8. The Postal Service - Clark Gable
9. Rancid - Time Bomb
10. Socratic - Boy In A Magazine
Jam Hands
Recently I have been in the presence of a toddler for extended periods of time and I have made some rather startling discoveries. The most intriguing one of these is what I like to call The Jam Hands Paradox.
It seems that the time of day, the food being eaten, the food previously eaten, nor the cleanliness of the child has any effect on decreasing the jamminess of the child's hands. His hands ALWAYS feel like he has been consuming copious amounts of jam, jelly or marmalade without the use of any sort of eating utensil. It seems that such comestibles as fruit snacks, milk, water, crackers, bread and all other child foods increase the Jam Factor.
Now this wouldn't necessarily be a huge problem except for the Touch Factor, in that a child of toddler years MUST TOUCH EVERYTHING. This includes blankets, pillows, chairs, couches, TVs, pets, curtains and anything else within reach. Unfortunately this leads to plenititudinous loads of laundry. A hassle I'm sure all can relate to.
That being said, I propose that scientists form a special research project devoted to curing Jam Hands. Perhaps in the form of a covering for tiny hands that allows freedom of movement or some sort of spray that dissolves the jammy substance without harming delicate fabrics or machinery (especially the TV and cell phone). Millions of mother everywhere would undoubtedly be grateful and the friends of parents would quite possibly leave annuities to The Jam Hands Research and Cure Center.
It seems that the time of day, the food being eaten, the food previously eaten, nor the cleanliness of the child has any effect on decreasing the jamminess of the child's hands. His hands ALWAYS feel like he has been consuming copious amounts of jam, jelly or marmalade without the use of any sort of eating utensil. It seems that such comestibles as fruit snacks, milk, water, crackers, bread and all other child foods increase the Jam Factor.
Now this wouldn't necessarily be a huge problem except for the Touch Factor, in that a child of toddler years MUST TOUCH EVERYTHING. This includes blankets, pillows, chairs, couches, TVs, pets, curtains and anything else within reach. Unfortunately this leads to plenititudinous loads of laundry. A hassle I'm sure all can relate to.
That being said, I propose that scientists form a special research project devoted to curing Jam Hands. Perhaps in the form of a covering for tiny hands that allows freedom of movement or some sort of spray that dissolves the jammy substance without harming delicate fabrics or machinery (especially the TV and cell phone). Millions of mother everywhere would undoubtedly be grateful and the friends of parents would quite possibly leave annuities to The Jam Hands Research and Cure Center.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Love, True Love
It has recently come to my attention that a significant number of people believe unequivocally in the existence of "soul mates". While I believe that everyone has the right to believe any phenomenon they so choose, this one particularly fills me with an undeniable sense of the ridiculous.
As I understand it, the theory goes something like this: Boy and girl meet; boy and girl fall madly in love; boy and girl discover that they are completely perfect in every way and no one else in the entire world will ever be as wonderful; the peasants rejoice. Lets start for a minute with the supposition that there is indeed one man for one woman and vice versa. In a world with over 7 BILLION people, the odds of finding the one meant for you are astronomical. It would be like searching a 7 mile long beach for one particular GRAIN OF SAND!
Now factor in the fact that millions of people die every day before they reach the age of 25. So, provided the "soul mate" theory were true, you would be charged with finding that "one special person" before something egregious happens to them and you are stranded in perpetual solitude.
If you do happen to be one of the lucky few who finds their "soul mate", you are now faced with several other potential problems, e.g. they are already married, you are already married, you are both senile and wouldn't know a "soul mate" from a snail, and the list goes on. And on. And on.
"Soul mates" is more than a myth. It is a blatant deception perpetuated in movies, music, books, fairy tales, and all other forms of "feel good" media for reasons that I can only imagine. I say Resist The Lie!
As I understand it, the theory goes something like this: Boy and girl meet; boy and girl fall madly in love; boy and girl discover that they are completely perfect in every way and no one else in the entire world will ever be as wonderful; the peasants rejoice. Lets start for a minute with the supposition that there is indeed one man for one woman and vice versa. In a world with over 7 BILLION people, the odds of finding the one meant for you are astronomical. It would be like searching a 7 mile long beach for one particular GRAIN OF SAND!
Now factor in the fact that millions of people die every day before they reach the age of 25. So, provided the "soul mate" theory were true, you would be charged with finding that "one special person" before something egregious happens to them and you are stranded in perpetual solitude.
If you do happen to be one of the lucky few who finds their "soul mate", you are now faced with several other potential problems, e.g. they are already married, you are already married, you are both senile and wouldn't know a "soul mate" from a snail, and the list goes on. And on. And on.
"Soul mates" is more than a myth. It is a blatant deception perpetuated in movies, music, books, fairy tales, and all other forms of "feel good" media for reasons that I can only imagine. I say Resist The Lie!
Monday, August 4, 2008
10 Things I Hate, Vol. 1
10. Pop music
9. Cockatrices
8. When people pronounce it 'supposeably'
7. The cellophane wrappers on CDs.
6. When people don't return messages
5. Time lines
4. Tramp stamps
3. Over-educated people who can't add
2. Green peppers
1. Country music
9. Cockatrices
8. When people pronounce it 'supposeably'
7. The cellophane wrappers on CDs.
6. When people don't return messages
5. Time lines
4. Tramp stamps
3. Over-educated people who can't add
2. Green peppers
1. Country music
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Temporary Insanity
Imagine you pull in to a moderately busy parking lot. You turn off your ignition, gather your purse or wallet, keys, and perhaps a list of necessary items and prepare to enter the looming vista before you more commonly known as "The Store". You walk through two set of double doors and in a feat worthy of The Twilight Zone promptly lose all thinking and reasoning abilities.
No, friends, this is not fiction. Rather, it describes what happens to otherwise normal, and often intelligent people the moment they enter the retail store. With questions like "If this is half off and its $40, how much would it be?" and "If this is buy one, get one free, will it be the same if I just get one?", the average retail clerk (who has managed to retain sanity by being an employee and not a customer) quickly becomes exasperated with nonsensical questions and struggles to complete a shift without pulling one's hair out.
Add to this the always delightful experience of being exposed to various body parts that exhibitionist customers feel the need to expose while in the Fitting Rooms. You have the older women who want you to "check and see if this bra fits right", the men who "need you to see if these pants/shorts/underwear are the right size", and the always popular naked children whose mothers think its fine to try clothes on them in the aisles because "they don't know the difference".
The horrors one must confront when one is a retail clerk!
No, friends, this is not fiction. Rather, it describes what happens to otherwise normal, and often intelligent people the moment they enter the retail store. With questions like "If this is half off and its $40, how much would it be?" and "If this is buy one, get one free, will it be the same if I just get one?", the average retail clerk (who has managed to retain sanity by being an employee and not a customer) quickly becomes exasperated with nonsensical questions and struggles to complete a shift without pulling one's hair out.
Add to this the always delightful experience of being exposed to various body parts that exhibitionist customers feel the need to expose while in the Fitting Rooms. You have the older women who want you to "check and see if this bra fits right", the men who "need you to see if these pants/shorts/underwear are the right size", and the always popular naked children whose mothers think its fine to try clothes on them in the aisles because "they don't know the difference".
The horrors one must confront when one is a retail clerk!
Saturday, August 2, 2008
The Gin and Tonic
For those unfamiliar with the Gin and Tonic, let me give you a brief overview. Gin is a liquor made from neutral grain spirits and flavored with oil of juniper. It originated in the Netherlands around 1650 and was originally intended to be a medicine for kidney disorders. The hearty Brits soon adopted it where it became a national drink of sorts for those too financially strapped to imbibe the costlier beers and ales.
Enter Tonic water. Designed as both a preventative and cure for the deadly Malaria for British troops stationed in lands where Malaria lurks around every insect bite, the bacchanalian Brits refused drink such a vile substance without something to mitigate the harsh flavor. And so a compromise was enacted by combining the equally hard Gin.
What this brief summary does not tell you is that Gin by itself is plain disgusting; having a flavor more akin to a mouth full of pine needles than your average imbiber is likely to care for. And Tonic water is not much better. Nevertheless, when combined with a hot summer night and a glass full of ice, a G&T really hits the spot.
Enter Tonic water. Designed as both a preventative and cure for the deadly Malaria for British troops stationed in lands where Malaria lurks around every insect bite, the bacchanalian Brits refused drink such a vile substance without something to mitigate the harsh flavor. And so a compromise was enacted by combining the equally hard Gin.
What this brief summary does not tell you is that Gin by itself is plain disgusting; having a flavor more akin to a mouth full of pine needles than your average imbiber is likely to care for. And Tonic water is not much better. Nevertheless, when combined with a hot summer night and a glass full of ice, a G&T really hits the spot.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The Begining
It has often been my thought that the process of naming a child is somewhat God-like. You as a parent are charged with finding nomenclature that will forever brand the child. It is with heavy heart that I have friends who have chosen to stick innocent children with such names (and spellings) as Brandi, Tiffani, Madyson, and other cutesy names. It boggles the mind to imagine addressing a balding, middle aged man with a paunch as 'Maverick', a name which research shows in becoming ever trendier. Why must parents look to best the next fecund couple with a trendier, cuter name in the ever more ridiculous world of baby monikers?
But, alas, even older names seem to contain a bit of the absurd. Take for instance the name Duane (or Dwayne, DeWayne, or Duwayne). This grandfatherly name could be mistaken, if one were to enter a conversation midword, as the sound a guitar makes mid cord. Said repeatedly to could be a vocal tribute to any number of rock songs and said with a Southern accent, country songs.
I propose that we revert back to a more personalized naming system. Allow parents of hapless infants to stick their offspring with what ever indecent name they choose and when the child comes of age allow them to pick a name that better reflects who they have become as an individual. Doubtless you will still come across the occasional Ashlei, Brittainny, or Mayson but it is my belief that the overall amount of insipid names would dramatically decrease. (Well, one can only hope)
But, alas, even older names seem to contain a bit of the absurd. Take for instance the name Duane (or Dwayne, DeWayne, or Duwayne). This grandfatherly name could be mistaken, if one were to enter a conversation midword, as the sound a guitar makes mid cord. Said repeatedly to could be a vocal tribute to any number of rock songs and said with a Southern accent, country songs.
I propose that we revert back to a more personalized naming system. Allow parents of hapless infants to stick their offspring with what ever indecent name they choose and when the child comes of age allow them to pick a name that better reflects who they have become as an individual. Doubtless you will still come across the occasional Ashlei, Brittainny, or Mayson but it is my belief that the overall amount of insipid names would dramatically decrease. (Well, one can only hope)
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