Works for me Wednesday - Super Glue

Nikki has introduced me to the world of Works for me Wednesday (WFMW) hosted at Rocks in my Dryer. While the acronym may sound like that of an obscure radio station, it seems like a neat idea to share about something that has had a positive impact (no matter the size) in your life. Hence, this WFMW post about the wonders of super glue.

While it is just an urban legend that super glue developed as an accidental solution to wounds in WWII, I have found that it is in fact most useful to me in a variety of bodily-mending ways. Consider the following:

A dab of super glue will reinforce a torn finger or toenail so that you stop catching it on everything and yelping for no obvious reason to passersby. One dab is usually all it takes until the nail grows out far enough to trim properly. And yes, by “trim” I mean hone down to appropriate shortness in a very manly fashion.

A thin line of super glue will close a cut and amazingly stop the pain as well (yes guys, I know you can handle the pain from a wimpy cut, but it’s equally manly to say, “yeah, I just threw some hydrogen peroxide in there and watched it bubble for a minute then slapped some super glue on – good as new).

If you are living with cracked heels due to poor maintenance, dry climate, or genetic reasons, super glue will mend together even the jagged Grand Canyon style crevices of the foot world.

I’m sure there are countless other ways to employ this wonderful compound, which is as universally handy as duct tape. Like the ancient Chinese proverb states, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it; and if duct tape or super glue can’t fix it, it ain’t broke.”

Insatiable

The word for the day is insatiable. Simply stated it means impossible to satisfy. However, be not beguiled by the ease of definition, for this is no simple word. Indeed, it is one of those magnificent words which when said leaves an air of mystery and unspoken challenge in the air. Say it with me, ĭn-sā'shə-bəl. Its delicious sound caresses the roof of your mouth before lazily sliding from between your barely parted lips. In one moment it complements those of great power and focus, and in the next it slanders those of weak character or evil disposition.

The thought-provoking prowess of this word, when employed, will cause any but the most naïve to pause and ponder the veracity of the statement which it compliments, as well as the judgment of its speaker. Yes my friend, you would do well to be wary of the insatiable.

Five Random Things About Me

Okay, I have been tagged by Nikki to list 5 totally random things about me that most people probably don’t know. So here goes… oh, and as a side note, I will not be “tagging” anyone else for this task – I don’t have enough friends to lose one or two this way.

1. During college I took a fencing class and near the end of the semester entered an area tournament in which I won third place.

2. I have an irrational fear of sharks (even though I have never been in the ocean, and was only on a beach once in my life). Sure, statistically I am more likely to get struck by a bolt of lightning on a clear day then get attacked by a shark; but the lightning isn’t sentient – it doesn’t care if it zaps me or the next-tallest thing around. Sharks on the other hand want to see if I taste good. What if I taste good?

3. I once played the role of a vicar in a theater production and spent most of the play running around in a pair of boxers and a wife-beater after an imposter clubbed me and stole my clothes – oh, and I wore black socks. Mustn’t forget the near knee-length black socks.

4. In my dreams if I fall off a tall building or cliff or some other such structure or am forced to jump for whatever reason, all I have to do is close my eyes and I will land safely at the bottom. This is quite handy for example when trying to evade the fearsome sharks that have somehow swam up to the top of an unmarked thirty-story building just to see whether or not you taste good.

5. While I have not yet found any grey hairs on my head, I do have one solitary grey nose hair that comes to visit every so often. The left nostril, if you really must know. And yes, that’s my left not yours. I have no idea how many grey nose-hairs you have in your left nostril, so why would you even think that was an option?

The Life and Times of a 3 year-old

Tic-tac anyone?

G., my 3 year-old daughter, begs and begs for cuddles to fall asleep each night. Now what is wrong with honoring this innocent request you ask? Well, in truth there is absolutely nothing at all wrong with it – in fact it is wonderful. I would love to lay next to her every night and stare at her little face as her eyes flutter shut and her breathing slows to a calm melodic rhythm. Her peaceful sleeping countenance helps me remember what a sweet little girl she really is and all the crazy “terrible threes” moments from the day fade away into meaningless moments of the past. However, I also have five-year and seventeen-month-old sons who clamor just as loudly for my nighttime attention.

But I digress – this story is not about how to best divide ones attention and sleep-quota among three little ones; it is about one particular night just after I lay my head down next to G.’s on her pillow. My wonderful wife, Nikki, and I had just abandoned a much needed alone time on the couch to talk and eat raw vegetables dipped in tasty green onion dip (but not before munching a carrot or two). This said, as I looked at G., a disconcerted expression contorted her face. She waved her hand in front of her face in a manner that made me think she had hurt a finger and was about to ask for me to “kiss it better,” when she very seriously said, “Daddy, your air is yucky.” Hmmm… time to brush my teeth.


Now where did I put those tweezers...

Yesterday G. once again became disturbed when she looked up from where she sat in my lap reading books and observed, “Ooh daddy, you have hair in your nose – that so yucky.”


The Disciplinarian

While I am not a pushover when it comes to disciplining my children, it is no secret that no one can put the fear of disobedience into them like my wife. Well, earlier today when G. was supposed to be napping, she snuck downstairs in hopes that we had forgotten it was naptime and she could resume playing like it had never happened. Since this certainly wasn’t the case, I scolded her for getting out of bed and told her to go back to her room. She planted her little feet and stubbornly told me that she had no intentions of doing any such thing. At that same moment Nikki glanced in G.’s bedroom in passing and not seeing the little sleeping lump she expected, called “G.?” Hearing this downstairs, G.’s resolve instantly dissolved as a wave of realization and trepidation swept across her face. She literally jumped at me trying to clamber into my arms as she desperately cried out, “Daddy, take me to my room! Take me to my room!” I can only imagine what fate she thought would befall her should her mother discover her escape.

To bite or not to bite -- That is the question

Today I gave G. a piece of spicy jalapeño cheese, warning her that it was “hot cheese,” but she was welcome to try it. After taking a bite and chewing it up she made a small rasping sound in the back of her throat and politely returned what remained of her slice to the plate. I asked her if she was done with it, to which she replied, “Yes. It is very much not good.” I glanced at Nikki who was trying to hide her quiet chuckling. Once composed, she asked G. if she wanted more cheese. “No,” G. replied. “It’s too hot. I have to wait for it to cool off.”

The reality of perceived truth

Isn’t it interesting that aside from a few basic truths, other facts do not affect us or are not important to us until we become aware of them. Even at the moment we learn of them, it is not the concrete absolutes of their being that affect us, but how we perceive them to be in our minds. Our perception, so far as we are concerned, is identical to the reality of the situation. Since this reality is dependent on and varies from person to person; perception is indeed reality. Consider a woman who believes they have one donut left in the cupboard which they plan to happily devour after lunch. They are infused by a sense of contentment in their perceived donut ownership. However, the fact of the matter is that said donut was eaten earlier by the woman’s husband (whose perceived sense of well-being may decline dramatically after lunch).

Interestingly the facts changed earlier when the woman’s donut account went from one to zero, while her perception – her reality – maintained a one donut balance. Further, after lunch when she realizes that her unwary husband consumed the delectable treat, her reality (or perception thereof) will change from one donut ownership to donut bankrupt causing a discernable and negative change in her sense of contentment and stability, while the reality of the matter (zero donuts to zero donuts) made no change whatsoever in that moment.

If you remain unconvinced of my argument think on the following examples:

• The moment a person dies vs. the moment in which a loved one learns of the death
• The moment a person’s vehicle is burnt and destroyed by a freak gasoline fight accident vs. the moment in which they discover the tragedy
• The moment a person loses their entire family fortune in the stock market vs. the moment in which they try to buy a diamond engagement ring for their potential fiancé and subsequently learn that their purchase is denied due to the fact that they have no money and everything is about to be repossessed down to and including their vintage record copy of “It’s a Small World” personally autographed by the Sherman brothers themselves.
  

I rest my case.

Local Area Activities

Pictured above are the winners from last year's Local City Dakrat Hunting Competition -- the prize animal came in at 230.6 grams.

Legal Notice: Local City Dakrat Hunting Competition entrants are not discriminated against based on age, sex, race, religion, political affiliation, or size.

Frozen Wonderland

While Dakratland may be cold enough to make a snowman wish he could travel South for the Winter, the frigid weather can at times create masterpieces of wonder and beauty as pictured below in the aftermath of freezing fog (pretty to look at, not to drive in).

Aw Bloody...

As a happy return from vacation welcome, we noticed that the wall outlet our freezer was plugged into had also taken a vacation. What clued us in to this fact? Well, the CSI-like blood trail originating from beneath the appliance was a good hint, but there's nothing better to satisfy the question than the smell of fetid meet wafting from the warmed metalic insides of a chest freezer. Yummy. I had to refreeze the items inside just so I could stand the smell long enough to remove the offending articles -- except for the final bits which were stubbornly frozen in the bloody mess (pun intended), and weren't loosened even after pounding on them with a hammer. As a side note, it feels a little evil to pound repeatedly and furiously on a chunk of flesh while small blood flecks spatter your hands and face. Alas, after digging to the bottom of the freezer I realized that it was ruined since I would not be able to clean the blood that had oozed into the fine cracks where the metal met at the bottom and sides.

Happy Halloween

In the midnight hour of All Hallows Eve,
When the spirits and creatures are stirring,
The piercing howl of the Jack-O-Wolf,
Calls all to terrified silence.

Five Guaranteed Steps to Overcome Procrastination Forever

[Blog Forthcoming]

Of the most pleasant sounds ever heard,
Silence is the one most oft reveared.

"Hello darkness, my old friend,

Ive come to talk with you again,

Because a vision softly creeping,

Left its seeds while I was sleeping,

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence."

Everyone is a Critic

WARNING: This post contains SPOILERS for the movie THE LAKE HOUSE. Do not read if you have not seen the show and do not wish to have the ending revealed prematurely!

Disclaimer: Yes it is a chick flick, and yes it is a remake (Il Mare is the Korean original).

First, let me say that Keanu Reeves has not ever and will likely never be a good actor. That said, I am inclined to acknowledge that he was slightly more tolerable in this movie than in Sweet November (119 minutes of my life that I will never get back). In order to keep this short, I will ignore the many minor things that annoyed me and rant about the one major issue – the ending.

I was hopeful that at least in the last moments of this film I could walk away with the life lesson that in an ordinary world, even one with possessed mailboxes and a somewhat creepy dog, bad things can happen without a “happily ever after ending.” But no, just when I was filled with dark hope, Mickey Mouse must’ve poked one of the writers in the ribs and said, “He he – hey, you can’t end a movie like that! Look at The Little Mermaid – wow the original sure was depressing. Who would want to see a show like that? You’d better throw in some singing wildlife and dancing flowers or at least let the main characters get together and messily kiss all over each other.” And that is what they did. Bleh. Yes that is my official rating. On a scale of “Get outta my way, I gotta retch” to “I have truly been enlightened and feel I am now able to transcend the bounds of this earthly experience,” I give The Lake House one-and-a-half blehs.

The Erosion of Irony

I heard a song on the radio today that I couldn’t get out of my head, not because of the catchy tune, rather because of the artist’s choice of lyrics. “Ironic,” a song by Alanis Morrisette, talks about a series of misfortunes which ruin otherwise memorable and/or life-changing events. Such careless use of language is distasteful in general, and as is specifically illustrated in this case has led to the quiet demise of a once strong and literarily gratifying word.

Indeed, the concept of irony has been so diluted over the years that a recent edition of one dictionary lists its third definition as: “coincidental; unexpected.” (In an effort to maintain the dignity of said publication for those who may esteem it as one worthy of such, I refrain from naming it here.) My dear friends and readers, events, however ill-timed they may be, do not merit the label of such a grand word as ironic. Irony is in fact not coincidence, but “the use of words to express something different from and often opposite to their literal meaning;” or in experience, an “incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs.” (see The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition). This is not to be confused with sarcasm which lacks the wit and subtlety of irony.

Rain on your wedding day is not ironic – disappointing perhaps, but not ironic. A ninety-eight year old winning the lottery and dying the next day is not ironic. Honestly, it would be more surprising to learn the old man’s heart had survived the shock and that he lived. Alanis should be ashamed of what she has done here. An entire generation of school children will now grow into adulthood without a proper understanding of or respect for the irony in their lives. She has cheapened a precious commodity and sold it to the world as a thing of naught. For shame, Alanis. For shame!

However, Alanis may not be solely to blame. Indeed, her parents should share the burden of having instilled in her a misunderstood preoccupation with irony. You see, the very name “Alanis” is a form of Alana which is the feminine form of Alan, the meaning of which is not known for certain, though it possibly means either “little rock” or “handsome” in Breton. Hey, anyone might be confused if they tried to figure out why their parents thought they were a handsome, yet feminine little rock. Or maybe just a feminine little rock, or a girly sort of handsome…

A Bedtime Story

Hungry and unable to find a good block of wood to chew on at home, a termite walked down to his local hardware store where he could usually find a wide selection of fine woods on which to dine. However, upon arriving at the store he discovered the lumber section had been eliminated to make room for a new line of aluminum siding and pink flamingo lawn ornaments. Disappointed, but undeterred he continued down the street to a large bookstore. Although unfinished wood was his preference, in times of desperation like this in the past he had been known to nibble on a bookshelf or even take a bite or two out of any blank pages he could find in a book. (He was always careful to avoid the inked pages because they left a simply intolerable aftertaste.)

Much to his dismay, the wooden bookshelves he remembered were gone and long rows of unpalatable metal shelving now stood in their place. Maybe his plan-B snacking hadn’t been quite so infrequent after all. By this time the termite was downright starving and desperate enough to eat that fake pressed wood stuff sold at discount stores if he had to. Fortunately, the shelves still held good old-fashioned books. Relieved that at least these had not been replaced with books on tape or CD or some such other indigestible nonsense, he picked a promising looking antique book (paper products always tasted better aged) and began to wriggle his way inside.

It was dark and cozy inside, and although the air was heavy with the scent of ink, he soon found an acceptably clean page and settled himself down for a much needed snack. But just as he was about to take his first bite, he heard a voice say, “Hello there lad. Now just what might you be doing here?” Mouth still half open, the termite slowly looked around to see who was talking to him. Near the bind of the book, he noticed a large set of eyes blinking at him questioningly.

“Um, hello,” replied the termite nervously. “Who are you?”

“I, dear boy, am a bookworm. And more to the point, I like my reading material kept intact.”

The termite didn’t know what to do. Obviously this bookworm fellow already knew he was up to no good. Well, the termite hesitated, perhaps he could just leave this book and find a different one that was unoccupied. Or he could just stay and chat, acting like he had never intended to do anything else. But no, he decided; he was far too hungry to go searching for anything else to eat and was resolved to stay and munch regardless of what this second-class caterpillar wanted. He said as much to the bookworm, who it turned out was not the scrawny scholarly type he had imagined, but the very large, fit type. In the end, the battle of wits turned into a shoving contest in which the termite was unceremoniously ejected from the book by his much larger competitor.

Stomach grumbling with hunger and cheeks red with anger, the termite was just about to launch himself back into the book for round two when a rather obese gentleman picked up said book and walked away with in the direction of the checkout counter. Upon reaching the clerk the man inquired as to how much the book cost (of course this came across to the bookworm as unintelligible babble as he was quite snugly closed between the third and fourth pages, and the termite hadn’t the slightest idea what was being said because he had never bothered to learn any of the peculiar human languages).

The clerk responded with what must have been some obscene amount of money, as it caused the man holding the book to gasp and clutch his chest in pain. Apparently, the oft-named “sticker shock” was just too much for the man’s overworked heart which finally gave up, sending him into a decidedly lethal case of cardiac arrest. In the course of struggling for his last seconds of life, the man forgot quite entirely about the pricey commodity in his hand and carelessly allowed it to fall to the slightly dirty floor beneath his feet.

Now it was neither the fall, nor the unsanitary condition of his landing that particularly worried the bookworm. Rather, it was the very recently deceased human whose body was moving toward him with increasing speed that caused him a spot of indigestion. Fortunately, his concern didn’t have time to take hold (which might have caused him the discomfort of an ulcer or at the very least bad gas for the rest of the evening); since in another instant there was a solid whump and pages three and four (as well as a few on either side) became quite thoroughly ruined by what would later be described by one insect reporter as, “the most horrific and disturbing end he had seen in all his thirty-two days.”

Needless to say, the termite was unsettled by the turn of events, but at the same time relieved that he had narrowly escaped sharing the same fate. In fact, he realized he had learned a valuable life lesson that day. Indeed, he now knew without a doubt that it is better to have shoved and lost than never to have shoved at all.

Lost zzzzzz's

Sleep deprived – everything is blurry.
My headache hurts my head.
Too tired to wipe the drool;
Not enough energy to close my mouth.

Deprived of sleep – cannot seem to function.
My eyelids won’t obey.
Drunken with the desire to rest;
Mind numb from lack of it.

This isn’t a haiku – it’s not a poem.
Brain has to work to rhyme.
This might not even make sense;
I won’t remember it anyway.

The Power of Priceless Junk

It’s just what you never knew you needed but must have because it’s such a great deal. It speaks to you at a level no one else can truly understand. “Youuu need me,” it says in that suave foreign accent you can’t quite place but reminds you of somewhere sunny with an ocean view where everyone is wealthy and trim. Why do you need the three-slotted thingamajigger with optional whingding-a-ma-bopper? You finally purged the last item from your home, which could have been this one’s long lost twin, at your latest garage sale escapade. (You were asking for a dollar, but ultimately threw it in as a freebee to close the deal on a $2 sale of bird-watching binoculars you bought at a second-hand store a decade ago just in case you might ever need to use them… which you never did.) Well, you certainly didn’t set off to buy this item when you went shopping this morning, but this price is just too good to pass up.

You might conceivably need this sometime in the future, and it definitely won’t be this inexpensive then. No, most certainly not. If you don’t buy it now you will have to pay double or triple later. What if you can’t afford it then? What if aliens invade town tomorrow and take your favorite pet gerbil hostage, demanding one thingamajigger with optional whingding-a-ma-bopper for his safe return? What then, huh? Yes, you’ll be sorry you didn’t buy it today. Who knows, the item might even be sold out by then. If that’s the case, you may as well just kiss the little furry critter goodbye. Come on, isn’t the life of your rodent friend worth more than the meager price being asked for this one-of-a-kind item? “But of course I am,” injects the thingamajigger into your thoughts. “I am invaluable to you. You cannot resist me. Buy me.”

So you buy the thingamajigger with optional whingding-a-ma-bopper. No, you buy two (in case one gets lost or broken and you won’t be able to replace it later for this cheap). Sadly, you have succumbed to the wooing of the worthless soon-to-be-clutter. No one was there to remind you of the following facts: It’s on clearance for a reason – no one in their right mind would buy it. It’s at a rock-bottom price for a reason – no one in their right mind would buy it. It’s still sitting on the shelf even after being on rock-bottom-clearance price for a reason – no one in their right mind would buy it. Oh ye of muddled brain. Now you have to go buy the whatchamacallit container (on sale today only) to store your new stuff until that far-off imaginary day when it will suddenly and magically become useful.

"I will live with you forever... under your bed, in your closet, in the back of a drawer; invading wherever and whatever I wish. There is nothing you can do to stop me. You are under my power. You are mine. Do not even try to escape me. Resistance is futile. After all, you paid good money for me. Mu hu ha ha ha!"

Modern Education

Lately my two-year-old daughter (G.) has decided that it is perfectly acceptable to scale her gate at night and tumble, flop, or otherwise awkwardly land on the outside in order to escape bedtime. You see bedtime lives only in her room, and once free of this unforgiving taskmaster that demands all her time she can run, play, giggle, and harass siblings as she sees fit.

Well tonight, after thinking I had the girl well on her way to sleepyland, I was lying next to my four-year-old son (Pookie) when the otherwise pacified boy suddenly said, “come on in, G.” And yes, there she was standing at his gate (having made an apparently uneventful and silent dismount from her gate). At this point I returned her to her bedroom, and sensing a long night of “musical rooms” ahead for me, I went downstairs to enlist the help of my caring wife. She was busy with something at the moment so we talked and it was five or ten minutes before she ascended the stairs to assist with the situation. Very shortly thereafter, she thumped for me to come to her.

You see, like the cave-men of old, we use a rudimentary thumping system in our home to signal each other when it would be ineffective or inopportune to call out. It consists of pounding on the floor or wall with a knuckle, fist, foot or some other relatively solid bony appendage in a rhythmic pattern – thump, thump thump thump thump; thump thump. I interpreted this particular thumping to be somewhere above the lazily thumped, “hey, come on up when you have a minute sometime in the near future;” but well below the heart-stopping and wall rumbling thumps of, “get your sorry *** up here NOW before I have to punish you in a way that the mere memory of which will cause you to wake up at night in a cold sweat and panic for weeks to come.” But I digress, back to the story.

When I located my wife at the epicenter of the thumpage, she was standing outside Ethan’s room looking in with a mixture of mild exasperation and poorly-hid amusement. When I inquired as to why I had been summoned, she simply pointed to the far end of the room and turned on the overhead light to facilitate my viewing of the intended area. There, against the wall looking not at all ashamed sat G. and Pookie to either side of a two-foot by two-foot section of wall which had been cleanly stripped of all paint, roughly forming the shape of an imperial storm trooper’s helmet. At first I stared in disbelief, unsure that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me this late at night. Then I was surprised to discover that I wasn’t even mad, just curious as to how in the world they had managed to accomplish such a task.

Naturally, it was my duty as a responsible father to explain to my wayward children why such an act was unwelcome and should not be repeated in the future. During the course of my impromptu lecture, I asked them why they had stripped the wall of its green paint, leaving an unsightly white void in the middle of his wall. In response, Pookie turned to me and said simply, “I taught G. how to do it. Daddy, I’m a teacher.” I wasn’t sure weather to be upset about the vandalism, frustrated that he didn’t feel sorry at all, or just pleased that he was filling his role as big brother and passing useful bits of knowledge on to his little sister. However, I think all that matters in the end is that my kids are finally sleeping. Ah, the incomparable joy of sleeping children.

The Inevitable is an Unstoppable Force

November is not far off now. October is even closer.

Cold days await us. Overly cold nights will haunt us. Dakratland days are short in Winter. Dakratland nights overshadow the world of day. Everything is frozen in place. No, not the missileers. They must work to keep our country safe.

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Nothing is of value except that which is worth something.
On every deserted island lives no man.
Contemporary is relative to one's perspective only.
Other than nothing everything else sure is something.
Many men have suffered in pain.
Munchies are useful for those times when your tongue is hungry but your stomach isn't.
Every dog has his day; but then again they can't tell anyone about it, so what's the point?
Never spit into the wind - you're likely to insult it.
Ten 'till, but not fifty past... why?

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No One Can Overlook Many Moldy Eggs Near Them.

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How long did it take you to figure out the word puzzle... or are you still trying?

Weird Words

Jargon:
1. Nonsensical, incoherent, or meaningless talk.
2. A hybrid language or dialect; a pidgin.
3. The specialized or technical language of a trade, profession, or similar group.
4. Speech or writing having unusual or pretentious vocabulary, convoluted phrasing, and vague meaning.


What an odd concept jargon is. It refers both to highly specialized speech used within a narrow field (such as legal jargon) and absolutely meaningless babble. That’s like having only one word to mean overly stuffed and starving. But think about the similarities for a moment.

If “muncheed” meant either you were starving and needed something to munch, or you were completely stuffed and all munched out, no one would know what you were trying to communicate. Isn’t the same true for jargon? Start using the elitist technical jargon of lawyerese and people will have the same reaction. They won’t know if you are trying to wow them with your depth of knowledge or are experiencing a psychomotor seizure, which can cause staring, mental confusion, uncoordinated and random movement, incoherent speech and behavior outbursts (hmmm… still kind of sounds like some lawyers, doesn’t it?).

Okay, maybe jargon is aptly named describing two opposite ends of the speech spectrum, but why do we need five different words for any one thing anyway? Maybe those guys who make the big bucks off of writing, publishing, and selling thesauruses are responsible for this phenomenon. Whenever the royalties start to slow they come up with a bunch of new words to mean old things and publish them in the word power section of Reader’s Digest. All the unwary subscribers who subsequently score 3 out of 10 and are ashamed at the lack of their word prowess and decide to purchase the latest edition of Roget’s Thesaurus.

Or perhaps prideful but intellectually challenged citizens are to blame. Whenever they cannot think of something sufficiently proper sounding or intellectual they just make something up and it catches on until it is eventually incorporated into the English language. (And before you ask, yes politicians are included in this category… and most men who at one time or another in their life tried to impress a woman with their insightful theory on the hot topic of the day which they know absolutely nothing about.)

The most likely culprit, however are those literary folks like novelists and poets. I can see it now – the poet is up against a deadline and it is two o’clock in the morning. He must find something that goes well with presumptuous and means beautiful. Let’s see – pretty? No. Beautiful? No, all wrong. Argh! There just isn’t a word that works. Unless… Hmmm, what about pulchritudinous? Ah yes, perfect!

And so another useless word is born.

Deep Thoughts from a Shallow Mind

If you had to describe water to someone who had never experienced the sensation of “wet,” how would you describe it?

Why are oranges called oranges and apples aren’t called reds? What a silly question. You may as well ask why an orange isn’t called a round, or why we drive on parkways and park on driveways or how babies are made or why all good dogs go to heaven but nothing is mentioned about cats who were once worshiped as gods or why… Wait – I’ve lost my train of thought. And why is it a train of thought anyway and not a convoy or…