




Lies Parents Tell

Parents are liars. Seriously. I think it’s a requirement to be a parent.

Don’t believe me? Who told you all about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and the Labor Day Gnome? (What, you’ve never heard of the Labor Day Gnome? You know, the little fellow that comes at night and stocks your kitchen full of beer, pretzels and pork rinds for the football-filled holiday? I guess that was an original creation of my dad.)

Parents lie all the time. I don’t fault them for that—it’s part of the job, like passing the buck in a corporate job or schmoozing in a marketing job. In the job requirements under the posting for “Parent,” you’ll see all kinds of personality traits and characteristics, such as “Able to withstand loud noises for extended periods of time,” “Enjoys saying the word ‘No,’”and “Willing to work evenings, weekends and holidays, as well as basically every minute of every day.”

And at the bottom of such a list, were it to exist, would be the last, but nowhere near least important, requirement: “Capable of telling lies with conviction and finesse.”

If this seems harsh, I apologize. I’m in favor of this. I’ve met a lot of rotten kids in my day, though thankfully I never was one. If parents can exert more control over them by stringing them along with a cute little lie about a magical rabbit who poops candy on Easter, then so be it.

However, some of the common lies parents tell I just don’t agree with. With that in mind, here are some parental lies I think the world could do without:

1) Eating raw cookie dough could kill you.
Yeah yeah, I’ve heard all about big bad “salmonella,” but have your parents ever told you what it does to you? Have you ever known anyone who got “salmonella poisoning?” Of course not. As near as I can tell, the only reasons for this lie is to avoid kids getting their slobber in the cookie dough and to make sure parents have enough to make all the cookies they want to make. Based on how delicious cookie dough is, I don’t find those reasons to be substantial enough to warrant those lies.

2) Eating vegetables is good for you.
People are still spreading this falsehood around. To refute it, one must only think of the natural world. Many poisonous animals have very distinctive colors to ward off predators from eating them, thereby saving two lives. I think this is a good comparison to make with vegetables. The reason they taste so bad is because they are bad for you—so don’t eat vegetables and save two lives.

3) It’s bad to lie.
Ah! Lying to kids about how it’s bad to lie—that’s like putting someone to death for committing murder. It’s not always bad to lie. Case in point: Sam’s wife asks him how he likes her new haircut. Sam tells her the truth—that her new haircut makes her look like Sasquatch with Chihuahuas growing out of its ears—and Sam sleeps alone on the couch for a couple nights while Sam’s wife cries herself to sleep. Wouldn’t a little lie have benefited both parties?

What are your favorite parental lies?

It makes me Sick!

I think we could all take a cue on how to act from Mr. Flu.

This isn’t a wise elderly gentleman I know that you haven’t met yet. Rather, I’m talking about influenza, the disease that gets passed on from person to person so well it would make Haley Joel Osment and his co-stars of the film, “Pay It Forward,” quite proud.

Here we come quickly to the central point of this post: contagious diseases, like Mr. Osment, teach us about generosity. They coach us on how to live more deeply, in a more fulfilling way, helping others and giving of ourselves constantly.

And how do we repay disease and illness? Are we ever thankful? When was the last time we said to one another "Hey, I think I got my cold from you. Thank you! Now I can pass it on to several of my healthy and deserving compatriots."

Sickness and disease are most underrated, underappreciated, and generous of all of us. And despite adopting several different foreign children, Brangelina isn’t even as generous as disease. I think even Haley Joel Osment would agree on that.

A slippery situation








You wouldn't.

The most rewarding part of love

As I finished talking, she looked at me sheepishly, like she had something she wanted to say but had forgotten how to speak. Finally, she said in a tiny voice, “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Babe, we’ve been together for nearly three years now. I just think it’s time that we take our relationship to a new level.” I was nearly pleading with her at this point.

“I’m just afraid that I’ll open up to you and I’ll end up getting hurt,” she responded.

“You know I love you, honey. You know this. Whether we do this or not, it won’t affect the way I feel about you. But I know that it will deepen our relationship and bring us more intimately together.”

Head pointed slightly toward the floor, her eyes darted up and looked at me, and I thought I saw a small twinkle in them. And sure enough, a quiet grin swept lightly across her face, one cheek to the other.

“Okay,” she said, almost whispering. “Okay.”

With that, she leaned slightly to the side, and I heard a soft exhale, like someone opening a new bottle of Coke, punctuated by two short high-pitched squeaks.

Her eyes widened a bit in anticipation of my reaction. I hugged her close to me and told her, “I’ve never felt closer to you.”

* * *

Is there any moment in a relationship quite like the first time your girlfriend farts in front of you? I don’t think there is.

There’s a certain crude magic to it. Provided your girlfriend isn’t named Helga or Bertha and has never won any chili-eating contests, you may not be accustomed to an elegant young woman squeaking one out, asking everybody if they smell fresh baked bread. After all, women are advised from a very young age that farts may be a lot of things, but ladylike is not one of them.

This is precisely the reason that the “long-term relationship fart” can be so important. You’re acting in a way that is completely against everything you might have ever been taught, but a way that is so in line with one’s true nature that once it happens, it feels so natural you wonder how you ever lived without it.

So whether you feel it necessary to have “the talk,” or if a loud one pops out accidentally mid-laugh, farts—especially girl farts—should be a celebrated occasion in any committed relationship. After all, girl farts are like unicorns: they are almost mythical, and you’ll most likely only encounter one if you believe very strongly that they are real.

Well, I believe. Do you?

Buried Treasure







It's a strange feeling, to say the least.

The Making of a Scandal, Part 3

This is the last installment in a three part series. To view the other segments, click here.

When last we left off, we were making papier mache dolls of cute little babies, then "accidentally" leaving them in the driveway and "accidentally" running them over when the neighbors happened to be watching. And we were doing all of those in an attempt to be friendly and playful but also strive to maintain some "edge," some bad boy status that will help build the attraction and lure in readership.

Is it working? Well... are you reading this? The answer to both questions is the same.

STEP 3: Do something high profile, stupid and downright crazy.

Lucky for us, there are a lot of good role models in this area. Bill Clinton had his Monica, Pam Anderson had her Tommy, Marv Albert had his chewing toy. These are all people whose names we won’t soon forget because they followed the scandal steps to success. They might not have been lighting the world on fire, but they had enough exposure that they became overnight sensations (or more accurately, humiliations).

Obviously, I’m not advocating engaging in oval office extracurriculars, “behind the music” videos with a bad boy drummer, or biting back (so to speak). But the idea is solid: once people know you exist, engage in some outrageous behavior to stand out among the crowd.

We here at MisusingBigWords are at somewhat of a disadvantage in that area, though, since our site and some of what can be found therein is fairly ridiculous and outrageous already. Also, we’re on the internet, where people have come to expect ridiculous and outrageous content.

So here’s what I’m thinking, and hopefully it’s both high profile and stupid enough to get some attention to our little grassroots blog: We get a bunch of senior citizens, preferably some with little bladder control, and we dress them solely in white knee-high socks and white pointed hoods, paint all sorts of offensive symbols (pentagrams, anarchy, etc) on their chests with some sort of animal’s blood, then give them slingshots and tell them to run around shooting each other. Then we take pictures of it all, write a nice story about it, and post it on here like it’s a children’s fairy tale.

I’m fairly certain that would fulfill all the obligations of ridiculous, outrageous, high profile, stupid, and not just downright crazy but almost criminally insane, and thereby hopefully cause the scandal I’ve been talking about in my two previous “The Making of a Scandal” posts.

STEP 4: Profit.

I’ve provided the structure for driving visitors to the site, now it’s just a matter of making it pay off. But that’s a story for another day.

America has bad gas












An inspiring encounter

I was sitting in my office when the office cleaning lady came in.

"Hello," She said.

"Hello," I said.

This particular cleaning lady comes in almost every day, so we've become friendly with each other. However, she speaks very little English, so I don't ever make much conversation with her, despite knowing some Spanish, because I feel like if she doesn't know what I'm saying she will be disappointed and embarrassed. Probably nothing like that would happen, but oh well.

The gentleman that used to share the office with me was a very talkative fellow, and would often engage her in conversation, often beginning the conversing with this phrase "Es correcto decir...?" (Is it correct to say?) and then ending his sentence with a very mangled bit of Spanish that would be most accurately described as correct, but not right--not right at all. While I enjoyed their interchanges, I am not comfortable enough with people to act his part, the part of the lovable doofus. I wish I could, but it's just not me. Not that I'm not lovable, or a doofus, I just don't think I could pull off both together.

Anyway, after exchanging greetings, I continued working, which on that day meant cleaning and organizing the office a bit. And my way of cleaning usually means everything gets a lot messier and dirtier and more chaotic before anything actually gets clean, so there were piles of paper and binders and paper clips stacked everywhere, as well as mounds of rubbish thrown away in the garbages.

"Cleaning?" She asked.

"Yep," I said, and gave her one of my "Oh yeah, you know it" smiles. You know, the ones that look remarkably like the "I'm smiling at you but I really wish you'd leave" smiles. This time, though, it was meant to be the first type of smile.

"Cleaning good," She pointed out.

"I know it," I agreed heartily.

"Trash no good," She explained.

"Oh I agree," I replied thoughtfully.

We continued doing our own respective work for a few more minutes.

"Okay, bye," She remarked with finality.

"Bye. Thanks," I told her, gratefully.

To this day, this has been the longest exchange we've had. I still I don't know her name, but I learned more from that cleaning lady than any other person might learn from any other cleaning lady in any other office anywhere, ever. I don't know if that's saying much, but, well... I'm saying it anyway.

1 Drink every time someone buzzes in
2 Drinks every time someone gets a wrong answer
4 Drinks every Daily Double
5 Drinks for Audio/Video Daily Doubles

Let’s Make a Deal
3 Drinks every time someone makes a deal

Wheel of Fortune
1 Drink every letter that is turned
2 Drinks every spin of the wheel
4 Drinks each time someone buys a vowel

The Dating Game

The Newlywed Game
3 Drinks every time someone says “Make whoopee”
1 Drink every time wives insult their husbands
4 Drinks every time husbands insult their wives
1 Drink every time couples kiss

Press Your Luck (aka the "Whammy!" show)

Rockin' in the free world

I recently joined the ranks of the headphone-sporting, music-listening, iPod people. You know the ones. They walk around with those things in their ears, ignoring everything around them, that I’m-way-too-important-to-be-troubled-by-all-you-mortals-with-your-untethered-heads-and-your-unblocked-ears look on their faces.

Well, now that’s me.

The only problem is, I’ve always been very aware of my surroundings, constantly looking around, taking in the sites and sounds and smells (which can be especially fun in LA. Usually the smell is something like alfredo sauce stirred by dirty feet combined with oregano squirted with skunk juice).

Now, though, as I walk around with my jams kicking into my skull, I find something curious happening. First, I start walking to the beat. Pretty soon I’m bouncing down the street almost gangster-like as Grandmaster Flash tells me “The Message” of how the jungle of the city is weighing him down.

Then, almost on cue, the world syncs up to my tunes in an epic feat of harmony. The cars roar by in rhythm, a bus honks to punctuate the lull between the verse and the chorus, a jetliner soars overhead to perfectly complement the syncopated cadence of the music.

I’m practically swimming in my groovitude. I’m making eyes with everyone I come in contact with and we’re all nodding to the melody and to the notion--We’re alive, we’re hip, and we’re all in this together, making beautiful noise, making memories, and making the world a better place.

And just as suddenly, the album ends, and all that joy, that sorrow, that mix of emotion and blend of genius on the edge and artist on the verge, it all shatters and clatters and smashes back together into the dull roar of the city, waiting for something to stir it to life again.

There I am, looking around, thinking that maybe there’s something to these headphone-sporting pod people after all.

The Making of a Scandal, Part 2



Which brings us to...

STEP 1: Get Some Exposure






Maybe we should just ask our readers.

Watch for part 3, coming soon...

Why I can't be a nudist

I could never live in a nudist colony.

It's not the nudity part that I couldn't handle, although there are plenty of things to worry about with that, such as ugly people and inappropriately-timed erections. No, the thing I wouldn't be able to handle is the lack of pockets.

No matter if I'm going out or I'm home alone, I'm almost always at least wearing shorts, and most of the time they're cargo shorts with lots of pockets. And I use them all, boy do I ever. At any given time on any given day, if one were to ask me to empty my pockets, one would be confronted with a barrage of knick knacks that would turn the most dedicated packrat green with envy.

Besides the normal cell phone and wallet, I also typically have two or three business cards, six or seven receipts from the last places I went to dinner or the grocery store, a ballpoint pen (sometimes even two), a whole litter of keys on several different keyrings accompanied by four or five plastic Gold Club eXtreme Rewards Preferred Member cards they give you at supermarkets and video stores, ticket stubs for the last sporting event/movie/theater performance I attended, and several sheets of 8.5 x 11 paper folded twice over to be pocket-sized and containing information about either schedules, phone numbers of people I need to call, or musings I had written about why I could never be a nudist.

A wise man once said pockets are the greatest invention in the world, and although I wouldn't entirely agree—everyone knows the high five is the greatest invention of all time—pockets do slide in at a very close second place.

Colorful Commentary

Did you ever notice how colors evolve? I’m not talking about identity crises like orange getting a shade lighter and suddenly calling itself “Burnt Sienna.” I’m talking about an evolution of meaning, a whole paradigm shift in how we interpret colors.

Now, I’m no expert (not on colors, anyway), so I don’t want to get into the whole interior decorating/design aspect, where all the sudden we have a bushy-haired woman in reading glasses on a string around her neck standing in our living telling us not to paint the wall red because it’s too “emotionally charged” next to the “traditional peacefulness” of the olive-green couch.

No no no no no. What I’m talking about is perception; more accurately, auditory perception of colors. What comes to mind when something is described as pink? How should you feel if someone calls you blue, or yellow? Why isn’t it easy being green?

In fact, let’s start with that: green. I remember a time when I was a kid when green was grass, woods, soccer pitches, baseball infields and outfields. Then I grew up and experienced my first election as someone who actually understood not necessarily the specifics but at least what an election was and what it meant to win, and all of the sudden green became a joke. If Ross Perot was our third choice for people to be in charge of the country, and Ralph Nader and the Green Party was behind him, then how could green not become synonymous with jest?

Then four years later, there it was again. Only this time, Nader was third place and green was getting a little more serious.

2007, though, was a big year in the evolution of green. It really stepped up its act this year, making appearances on all kinds of TV shows and networks, getting buddy-buddy with Al Gore, which would not have been cool except for the amazing concert he put on in summer with hundreds of awesome bands all over the world. Yeah, green has really improved its image this year. It’s gotten hip, trendy, the couleur du jour, if you will. And all this simply because green is associated with saving the earth.

Well, I’ve never been a great fan of green. I think it’s greedy, it’s envious, it’s even kind of shallow sometimes. And that’s why I think blue is getting a bum rap.

Think about it. The earth’s surface is made up of about 70% water. So, if you were to look at a topographic map of the world, more than two thirds of it would be blue. You see what I mean about green stealing blue’s thunder? Blue should be enjoying some time in the limelight, shmoozing with rock stars, hanging with Gore, the poster child for "Saving the Planet." Blue should not have to deal with this tired old stigma of blue meaning sad and depressed.

Blue is happening, blue is alive, and blue is ready to bust out onto the world's stage. Except green is in the way, like a conniving little brother who always asks for help with school projects and then takes all of the credit for them.

Green. What a jerk.

Thoughts for 2008

Have you ever pondered to yourself:


You haven't?


I guess I'm the only one.

Well, happy new year anyway.
Subscribe  RSS:   E-mail:  

Blogger Templates by Blog Forum