Category Archives: B words

Burn

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Burn: (v) to flame while consuming

Snakes and fire.

I believe these two are natural enemies of all humankind.

I’ve always been afraid of snakes, without shame. But I realized my apprehension about fire when I found myself staying at a cheap motel called “The California.”(Yes, welcome to the Motel California…)

I was there with my family and we were occupying a room in the front corner near the office. One afternoon, we were half asleep, watching television, when there was a knock at the door. The manager was informing everyone that there was a fire.

I stepped outside, couldn’t see anything, but decided it was a good idea to get my family and some of our belongings out of the room, load them into the van and move the vehicle away from the property, just in case.

We gathered with the other patrons of the motel in the parking lot, when all at once the second floor, as if on cue, burst into flames. It was so sudden that everyone gasped. In unison, we moved back about twenty paces.

The heat was intense, the smell stung our nostrils. and our natural fear kept pushing us all further and further from the inferno.

It wasn’t a large motel, so by the time the fire trucks arrived, the entire establishment was engulfed in flames–except for the lower level near the office.

The firemen told us it would be many hours before we would be able to get back in to retrieve any belongings that might remain, so we went out to visit some friends and took advantage of a free motel room offered by a kind establishment down the road.

Over breakfast the next morning, I couldn’t keep my hands from shaking. I didn’t know what was wrong. But now I realize that I was completely terrified by the experience, and horrified by what might have happened.

An hour or two later, when we returned to the burned-out shell of the motel, we found that our room was intact, and that our belongings were a little damp, but able to be retrieved.

I don’t ever want to burn.

I guess the worst scenario for me would be to die in a fire while being bitten by snakes.

 

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Burly

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Burly: (adj) large and strong; heavily built.

How strong does a man have to be to attract a woman?

How feminine should a lady be to draw the attention of a male suitor?

We have so many rules and regulations in our society that twist us into believing that if we don’t conform to a certain protocol or image, we are doomed.

For years I’ve been concerned about being masculine. It’s not that I lack the appearance of being burly, but I’ve still been self-conscious about whether my pursuits in music and the arts might make me come off a bit “soft.” And God forbid a man should look soft–we believe that’s reserved for the female of our species. And God curse the woman who comes across as strong. That should be relegated to the male counterparts.

Baloney.

While trying to figure out what makes a man and a woman significantly noticeable, we’ve completely lost sight of what it means to be a human because both the female and the male are unwilling to give up any magical turf to comply and become equitable to one another.

I like strong women. It doesn’t make me weak, just as a woman liking a strong man doesn’t render her submissive.

At my advanced stage in life, would I still suck my gut in and over-rate my muscles when walking around a swimming pool?

I hope to God not.

But I’m greatly comforted that my blubbery body helps me avoid the deception.

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Burlesque

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Burlesque: (n) a variety show, typically including striptease.

There are certain words that evoke an immediate reaction–usually either shock or giggles.

It’s amazing to me that we actually become mature adults, but still insist on acting surprised or chuckling nervously about subjects that we think are “inappropriate.”

They are not unpleasant issues.

For instance, orgasm.

I would guess that if orgasms were put up for a vote in this country–pardon the expression, up or down–that people would cross party lines and even the Bible Belt would unbuckle.

Another word is masturbation.

I grew up in an era when it was considered to be evil, spent my adult years when it was perceived acceptable but taboo, and now you occasionally run across someone who actually speaks the word out loud in a conversation at Applebee’s.

It’s also true with the word burlesque.

Even though the shows involved comedians, jugglers, dancers and sometimes even animal acts, burlesque will always be remembered as a platform for strip-tease.

It’s amazing that even though each and every one of us do at least one or two strip-teases each day, we feel that it is gauche in front of footlights.

Well, I’m not connoting that I, myself, would attend a burlesque show to see such a strip-down performance, I just think it is humorous that we are so picky about what we deem unconscionable.

We let our children watch kids being poisoned by gas in Syria, but would be absolutely horrified if they ever saw a titty.

I don’t know what the right thing is. I certainly have grave misgivings about pornography.

But since the removal of clothing leads to one of three experiences–showering, sleeping or sexual intercourse–and I don’t find any one of those to be unpleasant, I will reserve my judgment on criticizing those who have the fortunate DNA of being attractive enough to stand and disrobe in front of the public.

 

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Burlap

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Burlap: (n) coarse canvas woven from jute or hemp, used especially for sacking.

I once was young enough that a hostess offered me accommodations in a barn. (You have to look like you’re brave and strong, able to survive the elements and sleep on hay.)

I was grateful. She explained that she had so many guests in the house that she had run out of blankets and pillows, but I was more than welcome to draw from a huge stack of burlap bags in the corner of the barn to use for such purposes.

Upon entering the barn, I first found a collection of hay that was dry enough, without suspicious damp portions. That was pretty successful, although I will tell you, a bed of hay gets thinner and thinner as the night goes on and you crush the straws.

As she noted, there were innumerable burlap bags, which I grabbed and pieced together to form a blanket and a pillow. I would not consider myself to be a woodsman or an individual given to outdoorsy experiences, but I’ve had my share. Yet on this particular night, it was impossible for me to sleep.

The burlap was so coarse, so itchy, that I was convinced I had thousands of ants crawling all over my body, which was further reinforced by the knowledge that I was lying on a bed of straw.

I tried to throw the makeshift burlap blanket off, but then I got too cold–but every time I covered with it, I got too itchy.

So I faced a perplexing situation in the morning when I stumbled out of the barn and headed to the house for breakfast.

I knew my hostess was going to ask me how I fared amongst the animals, so I quickly grabbed two biscuits, stuffed them in my mouth, took a big swig of milk, and kept my orifice filled the entire meal– so I was only able to communicate with nods and grunts.

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Burial

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Burial: (n) the action or practice of interring a dead body.

Only twice in my life have I stood at the graveside to observe the burial of a loved one.

On both occasions, I felt neither sadness nor reassurance–sadness over losing the individual, and reassurance that somewhere they were being embraced by delighted angels welcoming them home.

Although I am a believer in God, I find that death is a great deterrent to my faith, and discourages my hope. Because many times I have been at the burial of a bug, a mouse, a cat, a dog or viewed animals slain as I drove on the highway on a summer’s day.

On the two occasions when I was staring at the caskets of dear souls I knew, I couldn’t get over the familiar sensation that swept over my being on seeing a rotting deer on Interstate 40, lying motionless on the berm.

There was no life.

There was no continuation.

There was just an end.

I don’t like burials. They remind me that we are all heading into the ground to turn back into the dust of our alleged beginning. It is difficult to comprehend that such an action could be the first step to eternal life.

Unfortunately for me, it feels like the merciful, necessary disposal of road kill.

 

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Burgundy

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Burgundy: (n) a deep red color

I’ve spent much of my life wondering if I am focused or obsessive. It may be impossible to get an accurate meter from anyone else on the issue due to their prejudice. But let me let you decide.

When I was twelve years old I had a little singing group. We all ended up going to church camp together, and after several strategic “nags,” I was able to convince the counselor to allow us to sing an a capella number before vespers.

Now, the evening vespers time at this particular church camp was about a half-mile hike up a big hill.

I bring this into the conversation because I had decided that our singing group should dress up for the occasion in these new shirts we had purchased, which were deep burgundy in color, and made out of some sort of acetate that resembled velvet. They were also long-sleeved.

The day arrived for us to sing, and it was about 90 degrees outside, but by the time of vespers, it had gloriously cooled to 85.

My friends wanted to wear t-shirts and shorts, but I insisted that we maintain our plan and climb the huge hill in our burgundy, long-sleeved, unforgiving shirts.

Being the largest member of our group, I labored, I wheezed, I panted, and I perspired like a man on the gallows.

When I got to the top and it was time to sing, I spent the entire song wiping my face with my hand and dropping the moisture to the ground beneath me. (One of my buddies got so warm that he swooned. Fortunately, he was bolstered by the baritone.)

The other kids looked on with a combination of amusement and admiration. We finished our song and our tenor screamed aloud, “I can’t take it anymore!” and ripped his shirt off, casting it to the side, sitting with his naked top, much to the chagrin of a nearby counselor.

Needless to say, I received a lecture the following day, from several members of the staff, about appropriate attire for vespers.

To this day, I cannot see the color burgundy without breaking out into a cold sweat.

 

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Burglar

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Burglar: (n) a person who commits burglary.

For the sake of maintaining the privacy of the individual, I shall refer to him as Mick.

I met Mick many years ago. He was a nice fellow. We had great conversations and he was very interested in my work. He was so interested in my efforts that I began to ask him about his.

At first Mick was reluctant to share his occupation, but then one night, in a very relaxed atmosphere, he told me that he was a burglar.

I was a little shocked.

First, I never envisioned this person in front of me to be that style of individual. But secondly, I was astounded that he was so forthcoming. He wasn’t ashamed to admit his burglary, but rather, went on to explain that he often found himself coming up financially short at the end of a month, and did not know how to make ends meet.

Because of this, he had often had his electricity turned off, his little son had gone without shoes and his wife had eventually left him.

So Mick decided to become a burglar, but one with a conscience. Here was the way he justified it to me: whenever he found himself a bit short of cash, he would go out and burglarize some old lady or old gent’s house, stealing only the few things he knew he could pawn, which would give him the cash to pay his bills to get him to the next paycheck. When the paycheck came, he took some of the money, went back to the pawn shop, bought back the items, and when he was sure the families were not home, he returned them in a box on the front porch with a typed note which read: “Sorry I had to borrow these. I was short this month.”

When Mick finished explaining this to me, I was simultaneously baffled and impressed. He seemed to have come up with a way to sin which had no immediate ramifications.

I had no idea what to say to him. I wanted to become moralistic, and suggest that stealing in any way, shape or form was wrong.

So I did what I often do in uncomfortable situations. I conjured an elongated clearing of my throat, followed by an anemic nod. 

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Burger

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Burger: (n) short for hamburger

Everybody’s looking for good.

But somewhere on that journey, a conflict arises between the idea of what is good and what tastes good.

Trying to apply angelic mannerisms to the human being is not only a fruitless task, but might fall into the definition of cruel and unusual punishment.

We are people. We are always looking for new ways to pleasure ourselves.

Even though our poets and theologians may suggest a different path, we smile at them as we quickly pass by on our way to pick up another deliciously greasy hamburger. Sometimes we’re willing to make it a turkey burger, but we’re never willing to make it a non-burger.

I think you have to consider where money is best spent. You could put your finance into training human beings into eating five servings of vegetables a day with very few carbs and little meat. But might it be better to accept the fact that we are burger-addicted, and work on a sandwich that tastes great and has few to no calories, so as to appease the need for flavor while still making us look good?

Let’s refer to it as the “Viagra of nutrition.”

If we swallow this pill or eat this particular burger, it will satisfy our need to be naughty without destroying our cardiovascular system.

Doesn’t that seem like a good expenditure of resource?

After all, have attempts at self-discipline in the human family ever done anything but create tension, self-doubt and furious outbursts of rage?

Burgers are not going away. Actually, we are finding that people go away before burgers do. So since they aren’t going away, why don’t we work on making them less harmful?

And while we’re at it, do the same thing with politics, religion and guns.

 

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Burgeon

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Burgeon: (v) to grow or increase rapidly; flourish.

If you don’t learn the tricks, you’ll get fooled at the circus.

Life is a carnival.

Actually, it’s a “carnival of errors” which are overly promoted, while great ideas which need time to simmer in the pot are thrown out with the daily wash.

How can you tell if something is going to burgeon and bring forth great possibilities?

You certainly can’t assess the value because it spawns immediate popularity. We humans are picky–if we’re not familiar with it, if it doesn’t look the same, or if someone really cool fails to recommend it, we are suspicious, or dare I say, even bratty.

You would think that some ideas that burgeoned in the past, proving themselves to be valuable, would be revered. But it seems that each generation has to re-discover for themselves “do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” and the fact that if you don’t sow, you shouldn’t expect to reap.

Matter of fact, the most noble pursuit one can have during this brief journey on Earth, is finding things that will be around in a hundred years.

And instead of allowing them to be shoved to the rear of the bus, we stand up, like Rosa Parks, and push them to the front.

 

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Bureaucracy

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Bureaucracy: (n) a state in which a few decide for the many

I find it extremely audacious and perhaps even pretentious to believe that I have any idea what’s best for me.

I may rail and scream, demanding the right to make poor decisions for my own life, but in my saner moments, free from vanity, I’m completely aware that I am inept at planning my own peace.

And it becomes nefarious to think that I, as a mere mortal, would have any goddamned idea what would be best for you. Yet for some reason, like early Spanish explorers who apparently believed that the world was created for them to pillage, when we get finished screwing up our lives, we feel mission-driven to spread that message of disarray into the affairs of others.

That is bureaucracy: malcontents determined to make other people just as miserable as they are–whether they do it in politics, by passing numbskull laws which are ill-suited to solve the aching need; or in religion, where they preach a God of love who is more picky than your Aunt Myrtle.

Bureaucracy is where we discover we are impotent… but decide to hide it under seven pairs of pants.

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