I think "nice flip-flops" is an oxymoron.
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I think "nice flip-flops" is an oxymoron. That's what I said to Amanda, last night, after the show. She'd brought a group of our professor friends to see my play, and afterwards, as is the normal routine and course for our social troupes, we ambled over next door to the Old Venice Pizza Company, the neighborhood bar and grill, and I stood patiently accepting kudos and the like, something I don't always enjoy doing because it seems so impratically rote, but I endure it all the same - I mean, I was brought up right. All the while, though, I was staring at the Pinot Grigio selections. I was reminded...
And, for the record, I really like my shower curtain.
Last night. Oh, my, last night... Full house. Standing ovation. Sheer exhaustion. After party. Kudos. The usuals. Totally worth it...all the rehearsals, which in this case were rather tightly thrown together and quickly so, and the lines...oh god, the lines...I've never been that close to Shakespeare (he seems standoffish like my cousin Jonathan - sure, sure, he'll speak, he'll pass you the potato salad if you ask him, but he won't really like doing it, and you'll be able to tell from the look on his face, but it'll be a private thing, not broadcast to the whole dinner table). But, last night, Shakespeare...
That time I almost met Harper Lee.
I take great pride in the Lee last name. According to legend, and also my father who, among his many world travels, visited the "Lee place" in Ireland, etc. I think, from what I can gather, that it was hardly more than a couple of sticks stuck upright in a slab of mortar. I mean, that's been centuries back; the only palpable evidence was that of the family crest, but don't ask me what's on that thing. I couldn't tell you. What I do know is that there were only ever two Lee brothers who set out for the New World. Both...
He'd just always wanted a hearse, he said.
U.L. and I like to take Sunday drives, after dinner, each week. There's no rush to this ritual. We enjoy a long dinner with the rest of the family; we gossip, we share news (even the made-up News, an old habit we used to do when I was younger, that's found some way to stick, even to this day). What you do is, you mute the TV, you guess at what's being said by looking at the graphics, and then you tell your version. It was quite a shock, for instance, when I realized that Bush had actually been re-elected, and even greater still,...
Keeping up with the Jeffersons.
You know how the song goes. I'll just put a verse of it here: Fish don't fry in the kitchen; Beans don't burn on the grill. Took a whole lotta tryin', Just to get up that hill. [...] Finally got a piece of the pie, hi, hi, hi, hiyah, uh, hi. Something like that. My memory may fail me, but I love the song. And, like the Jeffersons, I've moved on up, got my pie (no meringue because that's like pudding, and I hate pudding). My piece of the pie? I've created a website. I have. I'm just not entirely sure how. I know, I know, I can hardly...
"Why don't you go cut the yard. Again."
There is more than a big handful of things I don't understand: why male seahorses carry their young; Kate Bush's song, "Babooshka;" Kate Bush, in general, really; the things you do simply because your family asked you to do them - as in participate in a talent show at a Relay For Life event; and, why anyone should ever be up before 8:00 AM. Let me set the scene: I'd gone back home yesterday, to help out around the house, to be a "good son," like I was brought up to be. And yesterday, as well as last night, I...
[...] losing Language and Outhouses.
![Link to [...] losing Language and Outhouses.](http://cleverkris.com/wp-content/themes/psm/scripts/timthumb.php?src=http://cleverkris.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/r-words.jpg?w=150&h=250&w=250&zc=1)
I originally started this blog because I have come to recognize my, more often than not, Losing Battle with the Thousand Thoughts, something I fully intend to expound on later. But, I fought so regularly with my internal editor that I couldn't just get words on a page and leave them alone long enough to sieve through them. The blog, I thought, would be my excuse, my Place in This Writing World, to just put things down, without theme, without intention, without resolution...sort of like brainstorming for the world to see. I felt it'd make me both accountable and more...
"I'm not so sure that shrimps is correct."
...if you know me - and soon enough you will, I hope - you know that I'm a bit obsessed with language and pronunciation, etcetera. For instance, I flat-out refuse to drag the word comparative over four separate vowels and/or syllables depending on which part of the country you live in. Instead, I just say it shortly and sweetly, like this, comparative: emphasis on the first syllable, omitting the middle "a," and running the rest of it together under the "r" sound). It sounds more intelligent, I think. I am quite a strong advocate for doing all I can to...
I prefer to shop alone. But let me tell you why.
Not so very long ago, I went shopping. It's usually a love/hate recreational blood sport, for me; when it happens, under the guise of shopping with others, I like to get in, get done, and get out. No holds barred, no time for stragglers, and definitely no time for Buckle employees. I'm not so keen on "group shopping", or "couples shopping." For whatever reason, truth be told, I prefer to shop alone. I can become rather delusional, in my personal shopping, not knowing when to say when. My previous attempts at shopping with others is probably a more normal cycle for a shopper: ...
The Educator-Writer-Procrastinator Gives an Opinion
There’s a monologue, mostly in my mind since I’ve not put it to page yet, about this man who’s still young but held, gripped, by this fear that he’s losing language, losing words, and throughout the entire monologue he struggles with confessing this because he keeps forgetting what to say to express how he’s feeling. It’s a tragic little piece of prose; at least, in my mind. I keep procrastinating when it comes to writing it down. I procrastinate a lot, and I don’t know why; it’s obviously an illness as yet to be fully defined the APA. I like to...
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