Category Archives: A words

Academia

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Academia: (n.) the environment or community concerned with the pursuit of research, education, and scholarship: he spent his life working in academia.

I just don’t know why we can’t find a middle ground–especially in the realm of those who enjoy a walk of faith and individuals who solely embrace a religion of education. It seems like they stand on opposite ends of a scorched battlefield and hurl fireballs at one another.

Is there such a thing as SMART faith? Or perhaps better stated–“faithfully smart?”

Is it possible to believe in the divine blessing of a Creator and still be fully aware that Mother Nature runs her household by “the survival of the fittest” and freely evolves at will?

I don’t know why prayer has to be framed in ignorance, nor do I understnad why the discovery of a great treasure of information can’t be celebrated in reverence to the original Information Giver?

At times I feel pulled. Should I side with those who seem to possess a cranial superiority? Or kneel at the altar with my brothers and sisters who understand the value of repentance and humility?

Am I a weirdo? To me, knowledge is just the wonderful, greasy slide that gets us more quickly to the swimming hole of wisdom. I don’t think it’s possible to understand the wisdom of God without recognizing the tenets of knowledge that get you there. Nor do I think that revering academia and some “Ten Commandments of intellectualism” draws you closer to your Daddy in Heaven.

I like smart things. They further enlighten me of the higher intelligence of the universe–and I’m so benefitted by knowing that there IS a higher intelligence in the universe. It gives me hope that I might one day escape my own stupidity.

There is no actual war between God and knowledge–only a skirmish in our own souls when we believe you can separate one from the other.

AC

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

AC: (abbr):

 

You see, here’s how I heard the story;

This guy was on his way to do AC 360–that’s with Anderson Cooper–and they called him and canceled because the AC (air conditioning) was out in the studio. The guy asked them what they thought was causing the problem and the producer replied, “It has something to do with the AC.”

The guy said, “I know that. It’s the air conditioner.”

The producer said, “No, it’s the AC. The alternating current.”

The guy was so upset about not being able to do the show that he went down to the local AC (athletic club) and started lifting some weights. In doing so, he pulled a muscle in his AC (I think that’s somewhere in the knee.)

He went to the hospital and the doctor was a bit baffled by the injury, saying that the calamity did not usually befall anyone unless they were a gladiator in the Roman coliseum, AC (before the birth of Christ).

The fellow wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, puffed up to have a gladiatorial injury, but on the other hand, he felt that it was AC (all so common).

While sitting in the Emergency Room waiting to be discharged, lo and behold, AC came through the door–Anderson Cooper. Actually he was wheeled in on a gurney and appeared to be in some pain. Rushing up to the gurney, the gentleman asked what was wrong, and AC explained that he was working on the AC in the studio when the AC started working again and sent a shock through his whole body and threw him across the room. So he had to call an AC (ambulance carrier) to get him to the hospital to check out his AC–(all corners).

In a strange sort of way, the man felt justified about being canceled from the AC show because of faulty AC when he discovered that if he had gone TO the AC Show the AC might have shocked him.

So he went home, called his girlfriend, and told her that he had a gladiator’s injury that hadn’t been seen in the hospital since AC–before Christ.

She was confused. Actually she was AC (always confused).

Abzug

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abzug: Bella (1920-98) U.S. politician, lawyer and women’s rights activist. She helped to found Women Strike for Peace in 1961. Serving in Congress as a Democrat from New York, she fought for the rights of women and the poor.

Sometimes progress is so slow that we actually fail to notice that it’s going on. It is the short-sighted part of the human race that often makes us unsuitable for either the jungle or the boardroom.

But when I thought about Bella Abzug, fond memories returned. She was not exactly what you would call an attractive woman. Generous folks would have referred to her as “handsome,” and less gratuitous comments could have included “homely.”

I am certainly glad she was not around for this 24-hour news cycle, where her appearance would have been ridiculed in an attempt to render her words ineffective. That’s what we do nowadays, you know. When we are unable to contradict the objections of an intelligent spirit which has stormed into our presence, we make the attacks personal so as to dismiss their effectiveness by pointing out their physical oddities.

No, I am sure Bella Abzug would have been joked about as the classic lesbian, or mocked as someone’s “ugly grandmother.”

Often it takes people like Bella to come along to plant the seeds of discontent in order for some weeds of frustration to grow up in the midst of our neat little “social garden,” and bring attention to the fact that not everybody is going to be a “cute tomato.”

We need her. We actually need MORE like her.

I, for one, am sick and tired of only listening to people I’m supposed to agree with, who make sure that their language is so sterile that it can neither offend nor instruct.

Bella said some tough things. Bella was brash. Bella was angry. Bella believed that anger was a good thing when it was vented against stupidity.

I don’t know if a Bella Abzug could exist in our present society. We would probably put her in a back office somewhere and make her the speechwriter for some blond bimbo who could more easily acquire the vote. I don’t know if we would ever allow her a microphone, a platform or an opportunity to spit fire in our faces.

But it’s because Bella Abzug lived that women today have the opportunity to argue about their positions and be heard–because so many years ago, she pointed out the fallacy in a system that was convinced of its infallibility.

Sometimes we need to stop and be grateful for the people who live, breathe, fight and die, never seeing their dreams come to fruition. Because of their plantings and hard work, the garden still has a chance to grow.

Because of their lives, we still have a chance to overcome our ignorance.

Abyss

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abyss: (n.) a deep or seemingly bottomless chasm.

For some reason, this particular scene really got inside me and registered.

Honestly, I watch a lot of things in movies that don’t impact me at all.  This is why I’m not fond of fantasy. I’m not looking for a way to escape reality–I’m looking for a way to make my present situation fantastic.

But when I watched the movie, The Abyss, and I saw the two characters trapped at the bottom of the ocean, needing to cross a large breadth of water to get to safety, knowing that one of them would not be able to achieve the task and would have to be carried, and that the best way to perform that and give the other one the chance was to have that one individual propelled literally as dead weight–it put a chill down my spine.

Obviously, there was great acting. But just the THOUGHT of being willing to die, placing my trust in another person to revive me on the other side, was absolutely horrifying to my spirit. And as I watched the flick, I found myself needing to turn away because the suspense and danger of it rattled me so.

I realized that I could never trust anyone quite that much. First of all, we would have to agree that the worst part of dying is being there for it. What happens after death is beyond our meager comprehension, and before death is just what we call Tuesday.

But to allow yourself to die, hoping that someone has the power to resurrect you, is probably the essence of what we deem faith.

After all, maybe to the angels in heaven, the earth appears to BE an abyss–a deep, dark chasm of misunderstanding. And I guess in some strange way we’re all supposed to die to this life in order to gain new discovery about ourselves and even eternity. But it doesn’t make it any less scary. It doesn’t make it easier to suck your last–trusting that everything’s going to be okay.

People tell me all the time that they’re not afraid to die and they’re “ready to meet Jesus.” I don’t know whether I believe them or not.

I guess I’m ready to meet Jesus, too.  I just wish it was at Starbucks.

Abysmal

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abysmal: (adj.) extremely bad; appalling

I was always glad it was pink. I think there’s something nice about it being pink. Blue would be weird. Certainly not green. I guess yellow would have been a possibility.

I’m talking about Pepto-abysmal.

I took it as a kid. Somewhere along the line in my childhood–about eight years of age–my parents made the transition from the old-time use of castor oil to Pepto-abysmal. Now caster oil tasted like what I imagine licking tar off of hot pavement on a summer day would be like.

Horrible.

And for some reason, they wanted you to drink it straight down, which always led to gagging and sometimes throwing up, which would convince your parents that the stuff worked, because you would feel better after vomiting, and caster oil would get the props for the cure.

I was so glad when Pepto-abysmal made its introduction.

Am I weird? I kind of liked the stuff. Matter of fact, every once in a while I would go to the medicine cabinet and take a swig. (You had to be careful, because it would leave a tell-tale pink chalk residue on your lips–a little difficult to explain to your over-scrutinizing mother why you’re “hitting the pink stuff.”)

I think my mother once gave me Pepto-abysmal because I had a headache. For a season it was the magic cure–so common in the average household that they developed this big quart-sized version. It was huge.

But if there was something aggravating, dastardly or nasty stirring in your gut, Pepto was well-prepared to go down there and do battle. My mother was convinced that she saved the life of my young nephew, who had an appendicitis attack, by giving him Pepto-abysmal. She insisted  that when they removed the appendix, they found it encased in a pink fluid. Being a kid, I never realized this was impossible. And it further increased the mystique of the magical fluid.

Now I’m not stupid–I know that it’s really Pepto-Bismol, but I thought it was cute to call it Pepto–abysmal, considering that it takes care of things–gut-wrenching things–that are abysmal.

If you didn’t find it cute, I am sorry. Maybe you need to be “Pepto’d up.”

ABV

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

ABV: (abbr.) alcohol by volume

Let’s even things out. I get it.

Politicians are generally considered to be greedy, nasty folks, out to get a vote, who will do anything to be elected.

People involved in religion are portrayed in our society usually as a bit ignorant, with an ax to grind and with the horrible side of being judgmental.

Corporate fat cats are only concerned about the bottom line and will personally kick your butt to get it.

Let’s just say that I don’t argue with any of that. But by the same token, WHY are alcohol and weed portrayed as “fun, glamorous, intriguing and giggly?”

I’ll tell you the truth: I saw a woman walking down the hallway of my motel the other night who was drunk. She was obnoxious, loud, out of her mind, a little scary and right near the front door, she threw up–which by the way, even though they cannot portray this in movies, STINKS.

I also stopped and asked two young men parked in front of a convenience store for directions . They rolled down their window and the waft of marijuana smoke floated out to my nostrils. Not only could they NOT give me adequate guidance to get to my destination, but I don’t think either of them ever knew I was there.

They weren’t HIGH. They were LOW.

The lady in the hallway wasn’t partying–she was vomiting.

Let’s try to create a society where we start with candor, move to balance and end up being able to make intelligent choices for ourselves. Let’s not attack government and spirituality and leave ABV and drug stupors in some sort of imaginary world of untouched revelry.

  • Alcohol makes people nuts.
  • Marijuana makes people dull.
  • Politics makes people compromise.
  • Religion makes people overly dependent.
  • And corporations make people too worried about profit margins.

I get it. I would just like to see this represented fairly. Alcohol is not better than the Baptist church simply because the people in the movies want to sell beer so they can get funding for their next project.

The alcohol blood volume in this nation is ridiculous. The political gridlock is equally stupid. The religious insignificance offered is insipid. And corporate greed is not making better products.

Call ’em like you see ’em–and make sure you test for the right volume in each situation.

Abuzz

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abuzz: (adj.) filled with a continuous buzzing sound.

I probably would have made the mistake of advertising the Beatles album, Let It Be, with some sort of corny phrase, like, “Let it bee. The world is abuzz with the new sounds.”

I do think there was a time in this country when such a play on words would have been considered extremely intelligent,  or at least appreciated as being whimsical and cute. Now if you would play on the word ‘abuzz,’ people groan, acting like you’re Rip van Winkle, waking up from a twenty-year-nap, into a world of smart phones and tweeting instead of computer disks and spiked hair.

What has happened? Because the word “abuzz” is really kind of nice. Matter of fact, I’m sure that sometime, maybe even in the last two weeks, I have used it or even inserted it into one of my essays. But if you become artsy in using it, you suddenly become “Grandpa,” trying to be too silly, making the kids laugh by tickling their ribs.

Wouldn’t it be important, though, to keep a little cleverness in our society, so that not everything is black and white, being chased by crap brown? Does everything have to be straight-forward, and if it isn’t, mystical or fantasy related?

I’m sure if people watch old episodes of Mary Tyler Moore, or especially MASH, their heads must spin with the rapid-fire use of language, which is laced with so many double entendres and plays on words that you almost have to have a program to keep up with them.

I would agree with the younger set–some of that scripting was a bit over the top. But I think the absence of dialogue, sweetness, gentle nudgings and even coined phrases in our present entertainment and even political scene is just downright drab.

So I will freely admit that I should be careful not to use the word “abuzz” in relationship to anything resembling a bee or a fly–that is, if you will admit to ME that describing the color green as “greenish” … is absolutely boring.

Abutment

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abutment: (n.) a structure built to support the lateral pressure of an arch or span, e.g., at the ends of a bridge.

There you go. I’ve been looking for the right term, and I think I’ve found it.

I want to be an abutment.

For many years I have been fully aware that there is a need for bridges between people in our society and the cultures in our world. Bridges are easy to understand–they’re just roads we pave to get from one place to another.

But because they have to go over circumstances and the rough terrain of bad attitudes, these bridges between people need to be lifted high, suspended in the air. To do that requires a structure that stands tall and firm in order to uplift the path and permit the bridge to be completed to the other side.

I want to be one of those abutments.

I want to be stubborn about the things that set people free instead of being stubborn about my prejudices.

I want to stand tall on principles that have lasted for thousands of years instead of ideas that have just been hatched and blogged in a thousand words.

I want to hold up the road that crosses the angry waters that exist between human civilizations.

What do I think makes a good abutment?

1. NoOne is better than anyone else. Superiority is the best way to keep us on the low road instead of suspending great ideas to the stars.

2. I’m going to stop blaming everybody for my problems. The day that we started blaming instead of claiming responsibility is the day we found excuses for failing instead of ways to correct error.

3. And finally, I’m not going to judge anyone because I can’t stand to be judged.

Can you imagine, if we just took those three abutments of great ideas and built them up strongly in our culture–how it would sustain a bridge for us all?

Yes, I want to be an abutment. I don’t have to be the bridge. I just need to learn to be strong about the things that are lasting, and admit my weakness about the things that are stupid.

Abutilon

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abutilon: (n.) a herbaceous plant or shrub of the mallow family, native to warm climates and typically bearing showy yellow, red, or mauve flowers.

Have you ever read anything and thought to yourself, “I didn’t get that? ”

So you read it again, and you come to the conclusion that you’re never going to get it.

I have absolutely no idea whatsoever what this plant–the Abutilon– would look like. I have to admit, I got a little stalled by “herbaceous.” I envision a kind of green, thistly thing growing out of the ground with very little purpose, considered by those who possess thumbs which are green, as a weed. But you see, often plants like that have only one survivable tactic–a single aspect that separates them from being a big, green, ugly stem: they sprout a flower.

I remember when I was a kid, I came running into the house with a whole bouquet of dandelions, freshly picked from our yard. My mother took them from my hands, threw them in the trash and said, “Those are weeds. We usually spray and kill them.”

I was devastated. To me they were pretty yellow flowers.

Do you ever wonder what makes us determine what is productive and what is cast aside? Are dandelions worthless because they grow in grass, which we want to be totally green, and they interrupt the spectrum by introducing yellow? And what is the nature of this plant–the Abutilon? I will never think about it EVER again. I KNOW I won’t.

But perhaps in an attempt to apologize for its herbaceous, bush-like nature, it sprouts a flower. That’s nice.

Maybe if everything that was a little bit ugly sprouted a flower, it would have a much better chance for acceptance.

Yet to be honest with you, I return to the fact that the entire definition for this particular plant baffled me from the onset and continues to leave me befuddled.

Abut

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abut: (v.) 1. to be next to an area of land or a building 2. to share a common boundary with

This word conjured a hilarious story from my past.

I once knew this lady who prided herself on being very dignified. She was dumped at the altar by a suitor who was less than scrupulous, and we invited her out to dinner to comfort her in her hour of anguish and sorrow. We all were furious with this venial chap who had treated her so badly.

Matter of fact, one of the members of our party called this fellow “an ass.”

The woman was a bit proper in her stylings, and never comfortable with the use of colorful language or colloquialisms. So even though we encouraged her to vent her anger, she could never quite come to the point of using the more appropriate terms to describe her rage.

So every time we referred to this former fiance as “an ass,” she would correct us by replying, “I don’t like that. Let’s just call him a butt.”

So as the evening wore on and she became more infuriated by him and confident in herself, her use of the phrase “a butt” became more and more intense, until finally, by the end of the evening, “a butt” sounded more ferocious and foul than “an ass.”

It was a valuable lesson to me–that often it’s not the words we choose that carry the vengeance, but rather, the spirit by which they’re flung.

But it will be impossible for me to ever think about “a butt” without remembering her crimson face spitting it out with gushers of anguish, as she pronounced the former boyfriend to be “a butt.”