All Chicked Out

You know how chick can also mean girl? I would like to write a musical parody of Guys and Dolls, but call it Cocks and Chicks. I've never seen Guys and Dolls, and I don't know what it's about, so I probably won't write the parody. But I like the title. So I'll just write that. Cocks and Chicks!

Be Alive.

If you don't struggle, grapple, ponder, strive, challenge, reflect or create, I don't know what to say to you. Beyond small talk, what would we discuss? What do such people discuss? Life is a continuous effort to keep going forward, peppered with triumphs and setbacks and sudden attacks of ennui. I relish those who take up the cause. Be determined. Be engaged. Be concerned. I haven't the time or the energy for the non-living.

Cliffhanger.

I woke up as the Velociraptor was about to challenge the T-Rex.

Nice mustache. Wanna stare at some musicians together?

I went to Green Music Fest in Wicker Park on Saturday, where, beneath the requisite haze of pot smoke, amassed hordes of ironic mustaches and the girls who inexplicably love them. All abuzz with anticipation (assonance: alliteration for vowels) for the musical stylings of Yo La Tengo.

Many wore costumes, few danced. I understood; it's nearly impossible to maintain stoic indifference and dance simultaneously. Safer to leave self-expression to one's outfit.

Preemptive defensiveness vs ecstatic self-abandonment. I win.

The risks of engaging in polite conversation

One of the greatest hazards of small talk is being subjected to some near-stranger's medical concerns, personal tragedy, or generalized complaints about the injustice of their life condition. That's why I'm no longer going to ask "how are you?" unless I'm sincerely interested in the answer. From this day forward, I will be greeting coworkers and acquaintances with statements only. For example: "I bid you good day, sir." or "Girl, you're gonna make it after all." or "Solider on, comrade." or "Cool socks."

Moreover, when someone asks how I am, I will employ the proven strategy of preemptive aggression. Here's how I imagine this going:

Colleague: Hey, how's it going?
Me: That is a private matter I only feel safe discussing with a licensed therapist.
(awkward silence)
Me: Cool socks.
(at this point, I will turn and sprint in the other direction, then realize I just came from there and stop on a dime, turn around, and recommence sprinting, this time yelling nonsense and waving my hands above my head)

Sophisticated Taste

I was thinking about Reader's Digest today, because my brain is like my iPod on shuffle, and how as a child, I used to devour the true stories about shark attacks, hippo attacks, mountain climbing disasters, kidnappings, and other horrifying accounts of traumatized survivors. Those, and the little anecdotes in the "Laughter, the Best Medicine" sections.

Yes, I am clumsier than usual. Thank you for noticing!

I need seven hours of good sleep, or I am mentally handicapped, emotionally unstable and physically awkward. Which makes writing an argument for Christian-inspired, China-made collectibles quite a challenge. On the positive side, my alliteration skills are still intact.

Tear Fears and the Female Heart

Do you know what I love about women? Women will let you cry without trying to calm you down or reassure you that it's not that bad. Women know what sometimes it is bad, and that the only way to get through it is by expressing just how bad it is. Women know that tears don't always mean pain. Women know that tears, even when they do mean pain, also mean life. Women don't fear tears because women are experts in pain and joy and love and hope and despair and triumph and fear and heartache and fury. Women are artists of emotions.

Dream House

In second grade, my dream house had turquoise siding, purple trim, and a window seat in my bedroom. I bet I could make that happen one day.

Destiny

Everything happens for a reason if I want it to.