Tag Archives: blurb

Mar 21 2013
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Age

What is age, but a number? Just something someone tells you to keep track of? If nobody told you your age, you’d have no idea how old you are. Age is hearsay. Age is a number, not an excuse, in just the same way that “I’m busy” is a valid excuse for being lazy. Age is not a competition. Aging is like managing your weight while on vacation; some do it better than others. Some obsess about it, some forget about it, and some don’t notice it until there’s no going back. Age is a number that can only be counted up, not counted down. You can act your age, or act someone else’s age. Age is a state of mind. Age is a reason to celebrate. Age is a reason to never wait. Age is something we share, can relate, and learn to live with day by day.

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Feb 25 2013
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Dis-Ease

Disease is kind of a funny word if you think about it. “dis-ease,” like a lack of ease, ie: slight discomfort. I just imagine a british man from the 1800’s saying to his lady, “I’m facilitating a trifling dis-ease, m’dear.”

You’d think the word for disease should be something like “un-life” or “anti-happiness” instead. Dis-ease sounds so… nice, like getting “let go” from your job, or moving to “assisted living.”

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Jan 07 2013
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hokey

You put your mortgage in.

You take your pension out.

You rip your resumé up and you shake it all about.

You do the hokey pokey and you turn your life around.

That’s what it’s all about.

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Dec 21 2012
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preservation

I find it funny when hunting stores asks you at the checkout if you want to donate to the natural wildlife preservation foundation, almost like they secretly want hunting to be a necessity because there are so many deer and elk roaming around. Like somehow if there were an abundance of bald eagles your first complaint would be, “Yeah, these binoculars are great, but they don’t shoot anything.”

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Dec 16 2012
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Ideal

People overlook the skills you need to be really good at to be a secret agent. Memorizing maps to navigate in a car chase, arts and crafts/media design to forge documents, and don’t forget fashion design to change your disguise/hairstyle. Seems like the ideal candidate for a secret agent is a taxi driver with a media degree in fashion school.

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Dec 15 2012
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experience

Malls seem to become magical secular “winter wonderlands” around Christmas time. The only reason there is all this confetti and fanfare around Christmas is because of Christmas. But stores don’t want to offend any of their customers, so they don’t explicitly acknowledge Christmas. However I’m Christian and see all this stuff and feel a little offended that they’re taking advantage of Christmas in this way without at least, at the bare minimum, giving credit where credit is due. But it’s not the stores’ fault. They’re just practicing good business. It’s the people that go to the mall and support the stores during this time that are to blame with the cold secularity of the ‘winter holiday’ season. If less people supported the stores as they prepare for Christmas midway through November, then the stores wouldn’t start decorating so early. You can’t blame anyone but yourself. So if you don’t agree with it, then make sure you have nothing to do with it, because when I walk through the mall I don’t want to hear your hypocritical ass complaining about it and ruining my seasonal shopping experience! I’m trying to enjoy myself here. I don’t need to hear “Seriously, what’s happening to the world?” as I’m cruising the mall. You are free to leave at anytime.

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Nov 27 2012
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Angel

I was thirsty and uncomfortable waiting for the flight attendants to roll down the length of the plane and serve me 4-6 ounces of choice beverage. It’s bittersweet having an aisle seat because you can see how far away the beverage cart is. I couldn’t help but notice the name tag on on of the ladies read “Angel.” She looked in her 40’s and had obviously gotten some plastic surgery done on her face. No wedding ring, but she had a tan line where it used to be. I imagine she grew up with everyone calling her their “little Angel” all the time. That would mess you up pretty good, but there’s nothing she can do about that now. She asked what I wanted from her stiff smile and I just said “It’s okay, I don’t need anything.”

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Nov 13 2012
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firetruck

I was taking a shuttle home from the airport along with a curmudgeony old man and lady (unrelated), and a family of two grandparents, two parents, and their three year old boy. Whenever a police car or a firetruck would come into site, the kid would point it out and get really excited. Authority figures weren’t the only things he saw though. He would point out the colorful building or the school bus, but nothing got him quite excited as a bright red firetruck. Now the parents are on the lookout for firetrucks too, in case their sun missed any “–there’s one–” and all of a sudden they’re really excited about firetrucks. Now 15 years later their kid has moved off to college and they can’t help but get a little excited when they hear a siren and a see a firetruck race off to go water down someone else’s livelihood.

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Oct 30 2012
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Going Postal

The job of the modern day postman seems so pointless and obligatory, going house to house, meticulously delivering people’s spam mail with dedication and care so those on the receiving end can have something to feed the garbage guys every Tuesday. Sometimes I’ll look at what mail I’m actually putting in people’s mailboxes; insurance brochures, neighborhood community membership form, pizza&pop coupons, dirty magazines, health and diet magazines. And then every once in a while something ‘normal’ gets my attention. Normal as in a regularly sized envelope and not some gaudy, oddly proportioned postcard that’s supposed to grab your attention from its irregular shape, but ends up getting lost in a sea of irregular shapes. This normal letter is handwritten from a real person and sent to another real person. They decided to dedicate time to show they care. I scooped out all the junk mail from the mailbox and left them only the handwritten one, and drove to the next house.

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Oct 25 2012
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Tracer

I was driving on a street with stop lights behind a commercial tanker truck with a license plate from Lima, Ohio, which was strange curious enough on its own, but it couldn’t distract me from the steady stream of water leaking from the bottom of the truck. Stopped at a light I wondered how long it would take before the tank bleeds out; and then how long before anyone notices. The truck accelerated and the trickling stream chased it, dissipating into a mist, and in the afternoon sun, tracing the truck’s path with a rainbow.

 

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