The Top 15 Meanest Things You Could Say To Another Person On Purpose, Or Even Worse, Accidentally.
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So, I have an evil side. What about it? I don’t like admitting it, but fortunately, by the time you realize it’s true, there’s no point in admitting it because, theoretically, you’re experiencing it, you’re the guy at the other end of it, getting my evil. I’m not sure but somehow that last bit sounded gross, didn’t it. Anyway. I’m human, and being human means coming with an evil side. And it’s a lot easier, every now and again, to revel in that than to pretend otherwise. I don’t try to understand it anymore than I try understanding why people spell words out in front...
A word about Free Enterprise and blood pressure monitors.
I found myself, yesterday, in the middle of Walgreens. I was comparing the prices of blood pressure monitors, and not for U.L. or a grandmother. I was purchasing one for myself. It seems I stay in a constant state of Stage 1 Hypertension, according to my third doctor's appointment in the last month. This, almost more than anything else, means I am now a bona fide Adult. Nothing says Welcome to Life like high blood pressure. I brag a lot about how healthy I am, but the truth is I’m only doing that as a means of psyching myself out. I know all too...
She was, in fact, too next to me.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, food, humor, language, life
If it hadn’t happened to me, I would have wanted it to. Because I love desperate people, people who are in dire need of belonging to Something: a group, a party, a conversation. They’re simply fascinating to watch in public because they have no radar for ridicule. Enter: Me. The Radar. I’m not always “in your face” about things, but it takes all kinds, I know, and I respect those who are. For me, I’m much more like a Dorothy Zbornak; I like to fight with my wit, when I have any. Like that girl, last night, whom I’m supposing I met thought I...
The very idea of texting your mother…
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, language, life, writing
You tell me if you get this: a student gets up to leave at the end of this morning's class, and casually turns back to me and says, “Well teetle, I guess! Have a good weekend!” Teetle? Do you know what that means? I didn’t either. I asked her to repeat it. “I said ‘teetle.’” “Do you mean like toodle-loo? Is that what you’re trying to say? As in, See you later, toodle-loo?” “I would never say that. That sounds dumb.” There was a lull as we tried to figure out how to communicate what, at first glance, appeared to be nothing but a simple, closing remark as she...
I’m made of sterner stuff than common sense, I’ll have you know.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, family, language, life, theatre, writing
I used to get frustrated when I'd be cast in a play, an old one written back, say, in the 1920s, a la Glaspell or O'Neill, and halfway through the play I'd come to one of my lines: "Egads, Helen! Don't do that with your teeth! The zipper's fine." Or... "Eureka! Eureka! I've unlocked the secret code. Now, the children may eat." I hated that type of diction. It was always difficult for me to comprehend who in the world would ever actually say these things. Even harder still when one of the words had a repeat. I had no idea how to even say these words. That is...until today. Today...
I’d like to introduce you to the word “hingent.”
Filed under: End of the World, Everyday, food, language, life, writing
I have a confession to make. I wasn't all that "sold on" what I wrote yesterday. It didn't, how shall I say this without hurting my feelings, make a whole lot of sense. I've spent most of this morning trying to be OK with it because every day can't be a diamond. Indeed, most of them are just broken pieces of coal. But, but...that, that's OK. The whole point of starting a blog was to give myself room to make writer's mistakes with the option of accountability, depending on how many read the blog and felt the need to comment. I'd fallen into a rut, as a playwright and...
If you were to ask me, and I'm pretending that you are…
Filed under: Deep South, education, faith, family, language, writing
I have a friend, back in Indiana, who once accused someone of living of life marred by a ridiculous philosophy: that of the Bumper Sticker. I'm not entirely sure, but I feel that the credit for this sentiment really belongs to Carrie Fisher. But since I don't know Carrie Fisher, not really, I'm going to give it to Christian. He's close enough to count. I'm sure there are plenty of us who actually live a similar life, myself included, even if we're not overly aware of it, along the trench lines of the Bumper Sticker philosophy. I mean, who doesn't love a well-placed pun? I...
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...
"The magic stops here," She said.
I've decided I'm not legitimate until I get a business card. The kink in that plan is that no one has told me who the person is that purchases them for you. That's the way it rolls in Academia. String after string after string all tied to some alleged piece of paper that started the whole trail...probably back in the last 1950s. The thing you don't find out until later is that sometimes it's not even really a piece of paper. It's a person. Or a piece of a person. And it's quite an ingenious plan. I've certainly never seen the person, the...
"And I said, Well, excuse me, I didn't know you had a copyright on the bow tie."
Now, you may not believe this, but I really do try very hard to be nice, to be kind, to be a friend, to be polite, etc. It's just that I have a great deal of trouble sometimes in doing anything even remotely nice, or kind, or friendly, or polite, etc. And sometimes, it's not even really my fault. It isn't. It's just that I'm, every now and again, a tiny beat behind the music. I'm not even sure I hear any music, so God bless my poor little drummer. Of course, I don't hear very well, either, and I know that doesn't...
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