December "Tweets(?)" of the Month

 

• There oughta be a litmus test for the number of times a lazy reporter can declare a non-scientific judgement a litmus test

• Our daughter is studying ancient times in the hopes of becoming a future historian, an aspiration that I believe must involve some sort of time travel. I imagine we’ll one day be sitting down to watch a program and she’ll just before our eyes disappear. Her mother will scream in terror. Me? I’ll seize the abandoned remote!

• Happy Birthday, Valerie Glenz Rodell! I can describe you as loving, sweet, diligent, youthful, understanding, sexy, prudent, encouraging and patient enough to await the day my elusive ship’ll some in. How all those positive words can accurately describe your character and I can still  declare you as my wife of 26 years honestly amazes me. If we all got what we deserved on our birthdays, today you’d hit the Powerball jackpot. And I’d get squat. I already hit the jackpot the day we met.

• I dreamt last night a female zombie approached and asked if she could pick my brain. Not thinking, I instinctively gave her the finger. She mistook the gesture for a compromise offer and now whenever I have to do basic math or carry the 7, I must remove foot wear. I thought about complaining about her snack, er, snap decision but figured I'd better bite my tongue.

• You might think it’s all just profane nitpicking, but I’d rather be called an “effing a—hole” than just your typical garden variety “a—hole.” Being an “effing”anything at least hints at some baseline social skills.

• I pity the people who reside in austere newer homes so tightly constructed they don’t make a peep. Our 50-year-old home coughs, creaks, sighs and sniffles. The floors groan, the cupboards squeak, and when the old furnace rattles to life (thank God) it sounds like a veteran stage actor clearing his throat just before the curtain rises. My favorite sound? I love hearing the fireplace damper being pulled open. Sounds to me like the wheels of an old steam locomotive as they begin to grip the rail. But my all-time favorite sound is the distinctive rattling of the warped old floorboards when the legs of the crib began to bounce on them, signaling that one of our babies was awake, hungry and eager for another day full of play, laughter and songs so joyful I imagine even the house had fun.

• I consider it yet another degradation of once-proud men, but I'm upset how what I once called "the family jewels" somehow became "my junk." From jewels to junk in three short decades. SAD!

• Which is more confounding? That you’ve become the person you are today or that the person you’ve become today is the exact same person you used to mock when you were the person you used to be.

• Women age distinctly; men uniformly. As a woman ages, she becomes more individual -- her hair color, her laughter, her manner of dress -- all put her in sharp relief from other women. All men age the same. We lose hair, gain weight and generally stumble thru life w/ the bewildered expressions of men who mistake the sliding glass patio door for open and repeatedly slam into the invisible solid. If we lived to be 120, we wouldn't be able to walk 50 feet without someone confusing us for their Uncle Burt.

• We revel in the misfortune of less fortunate. We gloat when our hatreds provoke irrational acts. We care not who's killing whom as long as our pack can elude blame. I fear we're becoming a nation that behaves as if 50 percent of us were raised by wolves. The other 50 percent? They’d be the wolves. 

• I live in a house with 3 sassy women. And I'm under a constant barrage by boneheads eager to engage me in provocative political and social arguments. I hold my tongue so much it's a wonder my fingertips don't have tastebuds.

• I was stuck at an interminable red light wondering about all the things that take so damn long. Things like waiting for the computer to boot up, TSA lines, and getting stuck on IT hold. Our busy lives are consumed by mini-eternities. Want to know something that goes by like lightning? Sixty years. 

• I read because I'm convinced the more I have in my mind the less I'll have on it.

• I suggest we Pennsylvanians reshape our borders -- put some wiggles in 'em -- so we don't appear on maps like the state most likely to be used as the dead battery gauge when the USA starts to run out of power.

• My father died in ’04; mom in ’17. Their memories flicker fainter each year for our daughters, 22 and 16. It’s a pity. I wish on their tough days they could recollect how the faces of these two people lit up when they saw their beloved grandkids — and stayed brilliantly illuminated whenever they were blessed to be in their presence. I wish I had a pill — just one pill — that would restore all our memories. Not of childhood, but of infancy, when our every expression, sound or gesture provoked pure delight. The pill would remind us of what perfect love, security and hopefulness feels like. One pill. One dose. I’d prescribe it to America. 

• This is the time of year married men begin to envy leaves. Leaves get blown at least once a year.

• Being a student of communications, I have a lot of questions about what to me is one of the most fascinating methods of all-time. I'm talking the smoke signal. What were the parental controls ("Look away! Look away!")? Did shifting winds lead to historic misreads ("I can say with near certainty the Indians won't attack today, Gen. Custer.)?" And how many petty annoyances do we still share some 200 years later, ("Can I bum your lighter? It's asking me to change my password ... AGAIN!")?

• I sometimes fear my drive for ceaseless originality is weakening and I'm destined to reach back for the greatest hits. But I always conclude I'm being too hard on myself. I sometimes fear my drive for ceaseless originality is weakening and I'm destined to reach back for the greatest hits. But I always conclude I'm being too hard on myself.

• I sometimes fear my drive for ceaseless originality is weakening and I'm destined to reach back for the greatest hits. But I always conclude I'm being too hard on myself. I sometimes fear my drive for ceaseless originality is weakening and I'm destined to reach back for the greatest hits. But I always conclude I'm being too hard on myself.