L. Knew I Was Kidding, The Audience Was Horrified Though

(The following story, while true, owes its inspiration to an old Far Side strip.)

Yesterday L. was playing with a Thanksgiving balloon his mother had gotten him.  It was rapidly running out of helium at this point, but still had a bit of life in it, and finally managed to slip his grasp and make its escape to the ceiling.  L. expressed some mild displeasure at this, and grasped futilely in the direction of the balloon.

“You’re never going to be able to reach it from there,” an audience member told him.

With all the dignity I could muster (which is considerable), I turned to them with a haughty sniff.  “Do not tell my son what he can and can not reach for,” I scolded before turning back to L.

“Son,” I said.  “Remember the story of the man who thought it simply wasn’t fair that birds could fly and he couldn’t, because that man, after much trial and error, went on to invent . . . the bow and arrow.”

That Just Can’t Be Healthy

In anticipation of my upcoming status update, it occurred to me yesterday that if I ever mastered the trick of walking through solid walls, I’d feel the need to start telling people that I can only walk through walls if they’re thin enough, and that I’m hoping to improve someday . . .

To The Me Of The Past

So I was watching a series of some old Christmas videos of you last night, and I watched with no small amusement because as the years went by I could literally watch the progression of your loathing of being filmed.  Reviewing the record, I’m sure the ten million watt spotlight that outshone the sun that was always being directed into your/my eyes had a lot to do with that loathing that I still feel today, and I wanted to you let you know that I, of course, understand.

With that said though, I hate to sound like Mom and Dad, but seriously, hold the damn present up so I can see what you got!  Half the time I have no idea what you just unwrapped!

Not Really Close, Just Close Enough

I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.

Today, after years of avoidance, I actually had to get up early on Black Friday again.  Fortunately, it was for reasons unrelated to Black Friday, but it still made me shiver in horror, like the idea of being in Hiroshima on August 5, 1945.

Nothing terribly momentous I admit, but enough that I felt like commiserating the day.

(No, that’s not a typo.  I hate Black Friday, and I weep for those who must work it.)

Or Maybe I Would

So once again it’s the time in the United States that people reach the peak of their need to talk about what they’re thankful for.  While this is a laudable pastime, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and this year I’m feeling a little . . . overexposed to the lists of thankful thoughts of others.

I sure am thankful that I would never do anything like that.

That Would Explain It

“This song is awesome!” I said yesterday.  “How have I not heard this song before now?”

“Beats me,” came the reply.  “It’s been out for almost a year now.”

 

Comedic Timing

Since everyone in the house is showing mild signs of fighting against coming down with something, I really wasn’t kidding about how disjointed I was feeling yesterday.

Case in point:

I was a watching a clip of a . . . to put it kindly . . . “comedy” sketch, and once it was over I said something to the effect of “Man, just how many times did they think they could retread that joke anyway?”

At this point, my watch on the table chimed the hour, and since the chime was set to vibrate, it sounded to me like two rude, but enthusiastic chimes of agreement.  Suitably encouraged, I said, “I know, right?”

There was a moment’s silence from across the room, and then the question came, “Did you just . . . agree with yourself?”

“No!” I protested, feigning being wounded to the core.  “That would be crazy!  I was agreeing with my watch!”

So Hey Nonny Nonny

I was glancing over last week’s entries and couldn’t help but notice just how much I ended up dancing around my point, but I’m not too concerned about that, particularly because that’s not entirely unexpected in stream of consciousness writing.  Even so, I should probably take the time to write a final summary.

But not today, because however rambling my thoughts were last week, at least they were in more or less coherent English.

Today I’m feeling disjointed enough that my thoughts are perilously close to being mistaken for me attempting to speak in tongues.

The Times They Are A-Changin’ (Part Five)

And not every “old-fashioned” idea is a bad idea, after all.  Sometimes the basic idea is sound, the particulars just need to be updated.

As I was once told, if you want to start a fight, say something without any consideration about what you’re saying, whom might hear it and how it might be taken, but if you want real trouble, write it down so there’s no doubt what you said; it will come back to haunt you.  I imagine this would apply to typing and texting as well, particularly because that lets you stick your virtual foot in your mouth at the speed of electrons.

But I’m funny that way.

The Times They Are A-Changin’ (Part Four)

Not “public street” level of public, of course . . . more like “party where I know some people better than others, but where everyone in the room can potentially overhear me if I speak loudly enough,” public, but still public enough that I watch what I say as a matter of courtesy.  This blog is a bit of an admitted grey area since it gets posted to social networking sites, but since it’s labeled as my private soapbox, I cut myself some slack.  Even so, even here I consider it my private soap box set up in a public square, and do my best to follow some pretty strict self-imposed guidelines.

Just old-fashioned, I guess.  This doesn’t overly worry me though.

I was born that way, you know.