He was called Bear because he looked like a bear.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, education, Everyday, family, food, language, life, theatre, writing
I figured something out yesterday: The closer I get to someone, the more of my name I lose. It's not the first time, I admit, that I've had this thought. I’ve often been concerned with the apparent fluid boundaries of what constitutes Identity, especially where names are involved. I got it naturally; after all, I’m no average Chris…I’m Kris…with a K. I even wrote a song about it once. It was always a delicious fantasy for me, though, in grade school, to change the spelling of my name on my homework assignments. I mean, Chris (with the “Ch”) was as foreign a person to...
I’m curious by nature, curiouser by Pinot Grigio.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, food, health, language, life, writing
I keep a little file folder on my desktop labeled "Better Jobs Than This." I like to read it when my current job drives me to the brink of pulling out my hair and anyone else's who's unfortunate enough to be standing next to me. My stress relief is to routinely surf the web looking for employment. When I find a job that appeals to me, for whatever reason, I either copy and paste the announcement, or I copy the entire link. I open my little file folder and I deposit it there for a rainy day. Or a sunny day. I hold...
I can't die here, not this close to the Mennonite bakery.
Filed under: Deep South, faith, family, food, health
I think I almost died last Friday morning, right outside of Macon, Mississippi. The weather was atrocious, as it has been for the past two solid weeks; the rain was torrential (FYI: that's a word on My Favorite Words List, which I keep in my glove compartment), the wind was ridiculous, and the roads held pockets of watery vengeance...but that's not what I thought was I dying from. Because I'm a fairly safe driver. It's one of the good qualities I inherited from my father. I kept my cruise control right on 60 mph, stayed in the slow lane, and I'd successfully...
Godzilla vs. Supergirl, sushi-style. Hi-Ya!
I'm not really good at saying No. But, I don't really ever say Yes, that often, either. I think what I've allowed to happen is an assumed understanding of emphasis between asker and askee. For instance, someone might ask me if I like the shirt they're wearing. My usual response, trying my best to avoid confrontation (which I always do on little things, remembering U.L.'s constant quip of "Is this the hill you want to die on?"), is "I do." And that is not to be confused with I DO. Or, I do. I firmly believe it's possible to say No with nothing but the sheer...
How on earth do you wash a Fedora? [and other random thoughts]…
![Link to How on earth do you wash a Fedora? [and other random thoughts]…](http://cleverkris.com/wp-content/themes/psm/scripts/timthumb.php?src=http://cleverkris.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/mind-analysis.jpg?w=92&h=250&w=250&zc=1)
I have been intensely busy, lately. Not just by hand, either. My mind...it often goes into Mach 7 when I attempt to procrastinate (by the way, the word "procrastinate," itself, is ironic - I mean, by the time you write the word out, you could have done something already - it's not a word for the lazy), and the only thing I can physically do to make it stop is to sleep (even though my dreams are usually full of anger when I do that - last night, for instance...ouch!), but if I don't stop it, from time to time, it just runs all...
Because hands can do everything but lie.
I don't always know what to do with my hands. You might find that ironic for an actor, even more so for an educator. But, it's still the truth. It wasn't anything I ever really noticed until a few years ago. I began to realize that my Nana was fascinated by the frequency with which I used my hands to animate my conversation. She would look less at me and more at my gesturing. Over time, I became so concerned with how I might physcially be telling my story that I began to grow flustered at the dinner table. I didn't know how...
Advertise With Us
