Category Archives: B words

Chaff

Chaff: (n) worthless things; trash.

The Good Book might be really interesting if we actually understood it. Or maybe the problem lies in the fact that it has been so misunderstood that sometimes it doesn’t always appear to be a “good book.”

But when Jesus described the process of separating the wheat from the chaff, to the average reader of twenty-first century America, the
concept is alien, if not totally obscure. I suppose because we are no longer an agrarian society, the disposition of wheat does not necessarily tingle our brains.

Wheat that is used for making flour is often surrounded by a protective casing called “chaff.” For generations they removed it and cast it aside so the “pure wheat” could be extracted and put to use.

Have I ever told you the purpose for advancement? The real value of education and allowing knowledge into our lives is the discovery of an obvious, practical application. Therefore, today we know that the chaff that used to be thrown away is really quite good for us. It may be a little coarse and sometimes tasteless, but it enters our bodies like a dietary roto-rooter and cleanses us from all internal nastiness.

It is no longer thrown away. It is turned into cereals, granola and even used in supplements.

Gradually the human race moves forward and understands that the Creator of the Universe made sure that all the answers to our problems are available in a nearby field, a clump of rocks, a splash from the ocean or a stroll through the forest.

 

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Chafe

Chafe: (v) to make a part of the body sore by rubbing against it.

In the pursuit of complete transparency, wisdom dictates that some subjects still remain opaque. In other words, keep it to yourself.

I can think of a few:

I don’t want to hear about your bowel movements.

Maybe every once in a while late at night with a really close friend, the subject might offer some entertainment value, but overall, keep your
fiber intake private.

Here’s another one: your sexual prowess.

Please don’t even allude to it. Don’t get in mixed company and talk about how you were voted the best kisser in your senior class as you peer around the room to see if all the hearers have truly heard. I admit, it is rare to find any human being who will be truly honest about their weakness in the bedroom, but please, don’t tell me a bunch of stories or offer affidavits from satisfied customers.

Here’s another one: make your faith in God a visual thing that I can perceive by watching your actions, instead of something you need to recite in detail to make sure you have truly and completely fulfilled your obligation to testify.

Religion should not be personal, but rather, very public–because we live it out. But if living it out is not enough for you to make your point, then passing out pamphlets probably won’t improve your chances.

There are many others I could mention, but let me close by saying that you should probably not discuss how or how often you chafe.

I am an obese man, so my thighs have been known to have unnecessary intercourse with one another during the day, leaving them red and raw. But you don’t need to hear me discuss it or request possible remedies.

Weakness is a good thing if nearly everyone in the room shares it in common and can immediately identify with it.

But if your skinny friends have never chafed, they will probably have neither interest nor sympathy for your red, glowing, puffy legs.

 

 

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Cha-Cha

Cha-cha: (n) a dance with Latin American rhythm

“Someone talked me into it.”

Those are the words that usually precede every horror story.

When I was in high school, some friends of mine wanted to go to a dance club because there were a lot of girls there and even though they
were not necessarily in favor of becoming “light of foot,” they were very interested in possibly lighting up some of the fine ladies.

So we decided to practice dancing–including the cha-cha.

I am large. I am pretty agile for a large person, but also self-conscious about swaying my hips and “jutting” in bizarre intervals.

My friends insisted that I looked great. They did this because they wanted to go to the club, and I had the car to get us there.

We selected to wear some fancy clothes–at least by the standards of our home town of fifteen hundred people. We arrived at the club, and I came in with the confidence of the Titanic. I mean the Titanic when it started its trip.

I began dancing and soon all those around me stopped to watch me do the cha-cha with this tiny young girl with auburn hair. I thought they were viewing because I was good, but actually they were stunned by the sight of such a portly fellow trying to do such tiny steps.

They laughed.

Is it necessary for me to say that no one likes to be laughed at? Yet running out of the room crying was not an option. Raining down fire from heaven ala “Carrie” was not available. But I got my revenge.

I just kept dancing.

After awhile, people got tired of staring, started moving themselves, and in no time at all, I was ignored.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere. Maybe you can dig it out. Here’s a clue:

It’ll have something to do with “keep dancing.”

 

 

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Chablis

Chablis: (adj) a dry white wine from Chablis, France.

Warning to all innocents and those easily influenced by the ramblings of raging writers. I am about to spew from my storage bins of persona
l prejudice, based upon my own experience. It is not racial, ethnic or gender-based.

It is an abiding distaste for wine. Or really, any alcoholic beverages.

When I was a young boy, I had bronchitis all the time–something my parents referred to as “the croup.” It produced this horrible hacking cough that sounded like I had run out of mucous and was banging the back of my throat with a ball-peen hammer.

The only medication the doctor recommended for my condition was Pertussin Cough Syrup.

It tasted terrible. It gagged me. Every time my mother threatened me with a spoon, bottle in hand, I tried to wrestle it from her, spilling the contents, in hopes that the family funds were too depleted to purchase another bottle.

So you can imagine how surprised I was when I went to a party with friends, and they asked, “Would you like a glass of wine?” I had seen people drinking wine in movies, and they seemed pleased with the taste, so I agreed.

Just imagine how shocked my friends were when I started to gag on the wine, insisting it was my old nemesis cough syrup.

They comforted me, saying that some people found red wine to be a bit strong, but that I would certainly like a white wine–a Chablis.

I didn’t.

Finally, at one party, somebody gave me orange juice with a little bit of wine and said, “Try this! It’s a spritzer!”

It was somewhat better–but still tasted like someone had left the orange juice in the sun for three days and was trying to pass it off as freshly squeezed.

Let us just say, I am not a drinker of wine, nor any kind of alcohol. I feel no self-righteousness about it; I don’t even think it makes me unique.

I just feel, if you’re going to taste something that rancid and foul, you better damn well be sick.

 

 

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Cesspool

Cesspool: (n) container for the temporary storage of liquid waste

Blather.

Defined by this humble writer as language which is accumulated in large clumps without any regard for validity or truth.

Synonyms: politics, religion, the Internet.

Blather.

One of the signs of blather is the overuse of terminology which supposedly has gained universal acceptance, even though it has no rational moorings.

For instance, “America is a cesspool.”

Although countless writers on the World Wide Web insist that our nation is a storage container for liquid waste, this is completely erroneous.

Actually, there’s a lot of solid waste out there, too.

 

 

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Cessation

Cessation: (n) the process of ending

“All good things come to an end.”

Unfortunately, all bad things don’t.

For some reason we get bored with good things and decide to either evolve them or abandon them. But bad things seem to be granted social
 tenure. They get to hang around even if they do stupid stuff.

Why? Because bad things are grouchy and good things smile.

It’s a lot easier to ask someone who’s smiling to go to the back of the bus than it is to approach a grouchy person with such a request.

Yes, it’s true. As long as the black man smiled back at the white bigot, not much happened–which brings me to one of the things that demands cessation in our country:

Racism.

Truthfully it will not leave until we stop talking about the beauty of cultures and the glories of separate ethnic practices. Even though we insist that everybody is different and that it’s a good thing, we work like hell to try to find common conversation and similar ground. Otherwise, parties would just be drinking in silence.

Another thing that demands cessation is genderism.

There are those who think it’s cute to point out the difference between men and women, and in doing so, keep women in a position of scrounging for crumbs of praise, while denied the cake.

And if you don’t mind, I’ll close by saying that we need a cessation on the idea of being tough.

I don’t know how that works. If everyone is tough, isn’t that just a world filled with cranky people instead of toughness?

Someone has to be kind–otherwise, nothing happens.

Nothing breaks.

Nothing changes.

Cessation will occur when we stop being afraid of grouchy people–because we decide we enjoy smiling ones.

 

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Certifiable

Certifiable: (adj) able or needing to be certified.

“You certainly are a good dad. I can tell by your sons.”

Or maybe they just decided to become nice people to spite me. Perhaps they saw what an ass I was and chose a different path.

We are guilty of taking credit for what is not our effort–and if it is our effort, we know deep in our hearts that we truly never pulled it off.

Another lady asked me if I was a good writer. You see, she wants me to be certifiable. She wants some reputable organization, publisher or book club to ratify my claim to authorship.

It seems you can do almost anything in this country as long as you can get two other people to vouch for you.

Yet I seem to recall a childhood memory of a statement: “The proof is in the pudding.”

I don’t know what pudding has to do with it, but the true proof of whether something is worthy of honor is not in the number of certificates or awards it receives.

Because of that, none of us will ever hear the best singer, read the best writer or have the privilege of being governed by the best President.

The process of becoming certifiable is just too insane.

 

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Certain

Certain: (adj) known for sure; established beyond doubt.

Punctuated by a smirk and a chin tilted to the heavens, certainty is one of the great human vices which loves to be touted as a virtue.

Matter of fact, without being certain, people become suspicious that you do not have confidence in your own code.

I can tell you, my dear friends, I am certain of this: I will try with all my heart but often fail–with the same heart. Since failure is inevitable and the only way I can truly discover how to do things better, I have gradually learned to embrace it, if not relish it.

Some people are certain they’re going to heaven, yet no one of a certainty is claiming a destination for hell.

Yes, “certain” is always something to our advantage, which fails to take into consideration the needs of others.

So I am on a mission–a vigil, if you will. As a “Knight of the Well Rounded Thought,” I am looking for evidence to disprove what I find to be certain, knowing that if my belief can withstand such scrutiny, it is well worth my passion.

 

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Ceremony

Ceremony: (n) a formal religious or public occasion

We catered the food so it must be good.

We rented expensive tuxedos, so we’re certainly on our way to a major event.

We brought out the cloth napkins. Must be important guests.

We’re also using the best china. It’s been a while.

We got a haircut. Time to look better.

We trimmed our beard or fussed with our eyebrows. Must be on the way to see the President.

We lit a candle. It’s got to be more spiritual.

Ceremony is when we believe that certain rituals or articles have more significance–therefore they announce greater value. Because of that, certain aspects of life have become ceremonial.

We can’t worship God without dressing up, getting in a car, going to church, sitting on our perch and being led through a series of pre-fabricated and pre-tested ceremonies.

We cannot get married without spending tens of thousands of dollars, confirming to everybody that we’re worth it and “this thing is really on the level.”

Ceremony robs us of the joy of simply enjoying good things for no damn good reason whatsoever.

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Cerebral

Cerebral: (adj) characterized by the use of the intellect

A think tank.

Much of my thinking tanks. Does that count?

We are so impressed with the brain that we fail to read the instructions–like getting a new appliance. We unpack it and try to figure out its
intricacies as we go, instead of truly understanding its purpose.

The brain is where three distinctly different experiences collide:

  • Our upbringing
  • Our fear
  • New information

We cannot receive new information without fearing it and comparing it to what we’ve already been taught. So new information has to work really hard to displace old, faulty mind-wiring.

Because of this, our attempts to be cerebral or intellectual are often the rehashing of old outdated concepts.

Is it possible to give new information a primal position–where we have the opportunity to expand and grow with much more fluidity?

Yes, it is.

But we must take care of our fears and emotional inadequacies. We must get rid of superstitions. Then and only then does a fresh notion have a chance of gaining life in our cerebrum.

The world will continue to be a place of repetitive disaster until we understand that what needs to be done is not already in our brain–but will come as we open the door to greater understanding.

 

 

 

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