Friday, June 30, 2023

Tweets of the Month


• As a proponent of "make everyday something festive," I was a pioneer promoter for "Christmas in July" (and August, and September and etc ...). Today I told my daughter to quit the summer job, drop out of school and devote her every waking moment to composing 12 Juneteenth in July carols that'll really capture the essence of this great new holiday. 'cause when was the last time you heard a really rockin; Juneteenth carol? So much remains to be explored about this exciting new holiday. Merry Juneteenth everyone!

• Daughter is expressing interest in getting a facial piercing. That is her decision. My opinion is unsought or disregarded. I told her she can do what she wants. “But know this,” I said. “For every piercing, every tattoo marring of your darling appearance, I vow to get the exact same procedure or replica tattoo done on my wrinkled old ass. And if you think you’re embarrassed by my Dad jeans just wait til you get a load on my Dad Speedo.”

• It’s not uncommon to hear bickering couples contend one or the other is putting "words in my mouth." Let that phrase be a cue to romantic detour from hostilities and begin putting things other than words in one another's mouths. Say a piece of candy. Or an ear lobe.

• I know, I know, there are far more pressing matters concerning the issue, but I do a slow burn every time I hear a newscaster call it "an out-of-control wildfire." All wildfires are out of control. That's why we don't call 'em tame fires!

• I was given a tight deadline. Tough to meet. I asked editor if she had any wiggle room. “You bet! You got yourself some wiggle room!” I love wiggle room! All hail wiggle room! I swear, the next home is going to have a wiggle room …

• News that PGA Tour bosses are grabbing their ankles to accommodate murderous Saudis has me furious at all the times my parents dragged us to Sunday school to memorize the gospels when the life lesson from the shady deal can be boiled down to three jiffy words: "Greed is good.”

• Those who think differently, defy convention and act without regard to the scolding opinion of others are individuals. To live otherwise is to risk becoming an UNdividual.

• If I ever have a role in naming another child, I'm going to argue we name the kid with Unisex name, "Guess." Every introduction would reveal so much about the person. Do they get angry or do they chuckle?

"Hi! I'm Amy! What's your name?"


"C'mon. Really. What's your name?"


• I have no idea how they're doing it. War in Ukraine. Uprisings on the streets of Moscow. Economic tumult. Civil unrest. With all that going on, how on earth does the Russian leadership find time to address priority issues like keeping transgender kids from reading all the books they're busy banning?

• Nerve-rattling headlines declare dozens of Moscow war lords fighting for supremacy. Now, I don't contend to know much about matters either military or spiritual and I'm no gambler, but when I read those headlines I think, okay, I'll see all your war lords and raise you just one peace Lord.

• My superiority complex is so complex it can make sense of the implausibility that a man with accomplishments and results as meager as mine can feel superior to MDs, CEOs and people who merely root for teams from places like Boston.

• I one day hope to meet a smokin' hot geologist dedicated to volcanic studies whose name is Ashley Firestone.

• Because their sedentary postures are identical, it’s impossible to tell the difference between an idler and someone lost in thought, I often cry out “Eureka!” when I reach some profound conclusion. Like just now when I decided if I’m going to have the onion rings instead of the fries with lunch tomorrow. “Eureka!”

• I started today thinking about war lords and how you never hear about peace lords. Now I'm thinking about all the other lords and which lord suits me best. There are land lords, drug lords, lordy lords, Jack Lord, sea lord, The House of Lords and slum lords. I've never seen wordlord, bloglord or book lord, so I guess I'm hoping I'll one day be OMa Lord or, cross your fingers, Good Lord.

• We all need a little perspective on these Canadian wildfires. I mean, it's not like Canada is some massive country with billions of acres of freestanding timber. Canada is roughly the size of Connecticut. Right? They both start with C. That's the way it works, right? Or maybe I'm thinking of Cansas. Either way, let's all take a deep breath -- at least those of us who can still do so without choking.

• Used to wake up on hazy mornings like this and assure myself, "It's just a little morning fog. It'll burn off." Now, I'm troubled by the realization, it is NOT a little morning fog. It IS ALL BURN OFF.

Thursday, June 22, 2023

Thots on Titan sub & untimely death


(648 words)

I blame my years as a young newspaper reporter for why I spend so much time thinking about untimely death.

Back then it was a near daily smorgasbord of reporting on the often violent expirations of hapless Tennesseans. They’d accidentally steer jalopies off cliffs, stumble into the rusty wood chipper, and drunkenly fail to exit the bed after the last cigarette began to singe the sheets.

And after I’d finished each story I’d in my mind put it in one of two categories: “How I’d want to go,” or “Not how I’d want to go.”

So, to me, the death to which I most aspire is to die peacefully in my sleep of multiple gunshot wounds.

It sounds on the surface contradictory. It is not.

See, the first bullet may jar you awake, and you’d be briefly pissed. But bullets four through six will shut your lights out with minimal disruption.

Sleeping next to a snoring spouse is more annoying.

At least, I guess, in the short run.

So that’s how I’d like to go.

What can I say? You’ve got your bucket list. I’ve got my kick-the-bucket-list.

One way I do I not want to go is right now being played out in the chilly waters of the North Atlantic. 

With five souls right now in grievous peril, some may say any lurid discussion of the fate of the crew of the Titan submersible is in poor taste.


The crew is composed of wealthy bona fide adventurers. They wipe their asses with waivers that in cold legalese warn just what happened really could happen.

They not only mock death. They court it.

They each paid up to $250,000 to secure a voyage on the Titan.

Although at least one of them had flown into outer space, they weren’t the kind of people anyone would describe as “flighty.” I’m sure they and their retainer lawyers did their due diligence and decided the result would be worth the risk.

I have a thousand questions. 

First: do you think they were wearing seatbelts? My vehicle doesn’t move until everyone is buckled up.

Another question: If they, indeed, took every precaution, how come the story doesn’t have a happy ending involving a winch and a surface crew reeling in a really, really long rope with the vulnerable sub on one end and  sweet salvation on the other.

Having a long rope solves many at-sea misfortunes.

Many people say their greatest fear is the fear of dying alone. My greatest fear is dying in a room crowded with many people. 

I think for me the worst part would be the hours and hours of small talk with perfect strangers while awaiting a rescue that may never come.

Imagine the conversations. 

The English woman would say she regretted cheating on her faithful husband. The older Australian dude would say he was sorry he missed out on his kids’ childhood. The guy most like me would repeatedly keep apologizing for the constant farts.

It’d be all me. Me. Me.

Why, I doubt Bob Dylan’s name would even come up.

Who wouldn’t prefer to die all alone? But are we ever all alone?

Homer Simpson didn’t think so. When he was being quizzed about his drinking habits, Marge asked if her hubby ever drank alone. Homer responded by asking if God counted as a person.

Yes, I’d want God for my co-pilot in any situation when death seemed imminent.

I’d thank Him for such sweet life, for the love so many of His children shared with me, and for such a laughter filled life.

I’d say I was sorry for all my sins, my sloth, gluttony and for holding to many petty grudges.

And I’d ask Him to forgive me for in a world in need of so much urgent prayer, I chose to write jocular things like this.

Subscribe to my “Use All The Crayons!” newsletter — just $5 month/$50 a year — and get all my best stuff delivered straight to your inbox!