"Everyone lies. It is just who lies the least."
At work last night, an attorney sat down with his wife. This attorney looked familiar, and I instantly knew why. I have had the pleasure of jury duty and it was for an entertaining case, involving a stocky 6 pack a day man with the gout who hurt his knee sliding around in the backseat of a taxicab while holding a hotdog in one hand and an ice cold coke in the other. He wanted over 100k because he could no longer work.
The guy got ZIP.
The attorney I saw last night represented this guy. And HE said, "I represent stupid people."
Well if everyone lies, why didn't Gout Guy have better lies?
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Profound Use of Ellipsis
"The thing that p's me off...is that we have to learn these lessons and REAL relationships have to die...to learn them....that is a huge cost...I hate that."
Ignoring the insane amount of ellipsis, this is still a quote that rings true. It may not ring true to everyone, because I'm not sure everyone has had the pleasure of experiencing so much wrong in order to make a right. I've experienced a lot of wrong. I think I now deserve all of the right that I'm experiencing. And the hardest part is trying to figure out how I deserved all of that WRONG.
Ignoring the insane amount of ellipsis, this is still a quote that rings true. It may not ring true to everyone, because I'm not sure everyone has had the pleasure of experiencing so much wrong in order to make a right. I've experienced a lot of wrong. I think I now deserve all of the right that I'm experiencing. And the hardest part is trying to figure out how I deserved all of that WRONG.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Sleeper Cells
I have an agreement with the bees on my property. They don't bug me, and I don't bug them. So I can sit peacefully, one will buzz ever so gently past me, and I don't freak out, flailing and squeeling like a banshee.
They have turned on me. They have used their passive nature to lull me into an unsuspecting state. And have created two forts in the railing of my deck, and now I think they are planning to surround me, leaving me helpless and my allowance of their presence taken advantage of. Could this be Bee War?
I took the angry end of a spatula to one of the forts. As I inserted the handled end, I realized that the railing was deep, meaning the fort was created similar to the Pentagon. It looks harmless and only a couple floor high, but that bitch goes down like 20! These bees had taken lessons from our own Defense Department! Oh their good!
Banging the end around inside, a couple scouts flew out, but after surveying the damage, realized I had done no harm and went back to working. The second fort, no different. I will have to resort to WMD. Chemical Warfare. These jerks cannot make me live a life lacking freedom! Freedom to grill! Freedom to sun myself! Freedom to deck drink! Freedom to do all of those self-indulgent things a Good American partakes in!
They have turned on me. They have used their passive nature to lull me into an unsuspecting state. And have created two forts in the railing of my deck, and now I think they are planning to surround me, leaving me helpless and my allowance of their presence taken advantage of. Could this be Bee War?
I took the angry end of a spatula to one of the forts. As I inserted the handled end, I realized that the railing was deep, meaning the fort was created similar to the Pentagon. It looks harmless and only a couple floor high, but that bitch goes down like 20! These bees had taken lessons from our own Defense Department! Oh their good!
Banging the end around inside, a couple scouts flew out, but after surveying the damage, realized I had done no harm and went back to working. The second fort, no different. I will have to resort to WMD. Chemical Warfare. These jerks cannot make me live a life lacking freedom! Freedom to grill! Freedom to sun myself! Freedom to deck drink! Freedom to do all of those self-indulgent things a Good American partakes in!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Deep Thought for the Day
Love means Nothing, to me.
It is a word so overused that it should only be used for things that can't express emotion back.
Like cheese, a sunset, the stars, and cold beer after work.
Expressions of love are so much more important than just saying the word. It ruins it to look back at all those we've "loved" before. My love for cheese will never be past tense.
It is a word so overused that it should only be used for things that can't express emotion back.
Like cheese, a sunset, the stars, and cold beer after work.
Expressions of love are so much more important than just saying the word. It ruins it to look back at all those we've "loved" before. My love for cheese will never be past tense.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Spelling Bee: Smart Ass
As I teach writing to a student that hates the mere idea of putting his ideas onto paper, I am reminded about how I think. When I brainstorm, it goes everywhere, and often changes the direction of the initial idea drastically.
Example: I wanted to write about being a smart ass. I am one. Self proclaimed not ashamed. The joke has always been that if you graduate from my high school, you must excel in the topic. My brainstorm began with the two words, went through a clever definition, and yada yada yada it ended with breastfeeding. WHAT?!
Let me take you through my steps. I think the term probably originated in early civilizations when donkeys were used as cheap labor. If you had a smart donkey, it was probably rare. This donkey was also stubborn. I think smart ass people are stubborn, for sure! I think they also are smart asses to protect themselves from actually sharing their true feelings; donkey's couldn't tell their cheap owners they didn't want to tow that big bag o' rocks, coffee beans, what have you, and so they'd just go slowly to avoid the inevitable. Because how often does a smart ass get to the point? A smart ass comment is a stall before the truth. What is truth? Honesty. Why is honesty hard? Because it leaves you vulnerable. What else leaves you vulnerable? Having a baby gnawing on your nipples. Hence...breastfeeding.
Phew!
Example: I wanted to write about being a smart ass. I am one. Self proclaimed not ashamed. The joke has always been that if you graduate from my high school, you must excel in the topic. My brainstorm began with the two words, went through a clever definition, and yada yada yada it ended with breastfeeding. WHAT?!
Let me take you through my steps. I think the term probably originated in early civilizations when donkeys were used as cheap labor. If you had a smart donkey, it was probably rare. This donkey was also stubborn. I think smart ass people are stubborn, for sure! I think they also are smart asses to protect themselves from actually sharing their true feelings; donkey's couldn't tell their cheap owners they didn't want to tow that big bag o' rocks, coffee beans, what have you, and so they'd just go slowly to avoid the inevitable. Because how often does a smart ass get to the point? A smart ass comment is a stall before the truth. What is truth? Honesty. Why is honesty hard? Because it leaves you vulnerable. What else leaves you vulnerable? Having a baby gnawing on your nipples. Hence...breastfeeding.
Phew!
Monday, July 9, 2007
What matters to me most in writing is the voice. It is the ability to hear the person and to feel like you are reading something authentic. Without even knowing someone, an author, it should feel like the story is true and sincere. I feel like I lost my voice last week. I could write on many topics but I don't know how authentic it would be.
I just finished a book by Amy Tan. She is a Chinese American author with many novels; two of them I have read and were both about mother-daughter relationships. I think looking analytically at an immediate relationship has much bias. I don't choose to look at that currently.
My mom's mother once responded to a request of mine in a way that made me think I truly knew her and could see her soul. While seated at the kitchen table on a Sunday afternoon, I asked her, "Can I see your wedding ring?"
As she took it off to let me hold it, she replied, "Do you want it?"
The look on her face, the edge of her voice, showed me that she was unhappy. But what could she do about it? At that time, she was in her 70s, and had been married probably 3 times as long as she had been single in her life. I think she probably did a lot of the same things I do to hide from discontent. She cooked a lot. Had set routines to the week. Tried to please the one person who probably would always be at least a little displeased, her husband.
To go through the details of the rise and fall and freedom from that relationship are painful. As with anything of the generations slowly aging and fading, it involves sickness, neglect, and death. But She came out with a freedom that caused her to have a large amount of fear, I think. Fear of having a vast pool to jump into, and yet such a large space to drown in as well.
At 82, she remarried and is sitting comfortably watching a whole new line up of baseball games and old western movies. It is her comfort that matters, and who are we to judge if it is the softest of leather couches or the hardest futon with little give. For some people it is just the chance to sit down, with someone next to you to hold your hand.
I write this to tell a story. To look at how the traits of our families are etched in our bones, often without a choice. A fear of being alone. Fear of succombing to unhappiness and replacing the bad with good. At 29, I am not 87. Not even close, but there is something in her that I think explains little parts of me.
And if I don't write with my voice, out of fear of the hard conversations and people actually reading me, I'll lose my voice forever. (I'll try and be funny tomorrow; I promise!)
I just finished a book by Amy Tan. She is a Chinese American author with many novels; two of them I have read and were both about mother-daughter relationships. I think looking analytically at an immediate relationship has much bias. I don't choose to look at that currently.
My mom's mother once responded to a request of mine in a way that made me think I truly knew her and could see her soul. While seated at the kitchen table on a Sunday afternoon, I asked her, "Can I see your wedding ring?"
As she took it off to let me hold it, she replied, "Do you want it?"
The look on her face, the edge of her voice, showed me that she was unhappy. But what could she do about it? At that time, she was in her 70s, and had been married probably 3 times as long as she had been single in her life. I think she probably did a lot of the same things I do to hide from discontent. She cooked a lot. Had set routines to the week. Tried to please the one person who probably would always be at least a little displeased, her husband.
To go through the details of the rise and fall and freedom from that relationship are painful. As with anything of the generations slowly aging and fading, it involves sickness, neglect, and death. But She came out with a freedom that caused her to have a large amount of fear, I think. Fear of having a vast pool to jump into, and yet such a large space to drown in as well.
At 82, she remarried and is sitting comfortably watching a whole new line up of baseball games and old western movies. It is her comfort that matters, and who are we to judge if it is the softest of leather couches or the hardest futon with little give. For some people it is just the chance to sit down, with someone next to you to hold your hand.
I write this to tell a story. To look at how the traits of our families are etched in our bones, often without a choice. A fear of being alone. Fear of succombing to unhappiness and replacing the bad with good. At 29, I am not 87. Not even close, but there is something in her that I think explains little parts of me.
And if I don't write with my voice, out of fear of the hard conversations and people actually reading me, I'll lose my voice forever. (I'll try and be funny tomorrow; I promise!)
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
My Love
I just paused the movie The Departed to say that I am in love with Leonardo DiCaprio. And Malbecs from the Mendoza region of Argentina.
Thank you and Happy F-in 4th of July.
Thank you and Happy F-in 4th of July.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)