Curlers

Curler: (n) rollers on which locks of hair are wound or clamped for

For most of my adult life, I have toured with women.

There are worse jobs.

I suppose at a later time, I can go into detail about the physiology, psychology and even the spirituality of being so closely entwined with all these delightful daughters of Eve.

Today I would just like to talk about curling hair.

There was a time when it was very popular. I think the favorability of women curling their hair is based upon how sick they get of straight hair dangling in their face. This creates the backlash—welcoming curls.

There was one particular young woman of my acquaintance who faithfully curled her hair before every show.

Now please understand, when I use the word “show,” I’m not speaking of huge theaters and venues with doormen. In the era of our voyaging, we performed in just as many single-room coffeehouses as concert halls.

It didn’t matter.

This devoted, divinely inspired, dedicated young damsel refused to go onstage anywhere without curling her hair.

Even when there was no stage, she still required fifteen minutes—where all she needed was an electrical outlet, her hot curlers and a chance to roll her hair up, let it set for five minutes and then remove them, leaving behind her do.

She always looked great.

Her hair appeared so beautiful when it was curled that I went to a barbershop and asked them if they could do a perm in my hair. (This was back when that hairstyle had not yet been relegated to the Kingdom of Foolishness.)

It took a lot of courage for me to decide to get a perm, and even more to ask for it. Yet without even taking a breath or missing a beat, the barber responded:

“You don’t have enough hair for a perm.”

This really hurt.

I wasn’t sure I wanted a perm, but to know that I was already bald enough—or on the path to it—that I was not permitted to even consider one, was depressing.

So unlike my traveling companion with her curlers, I just did my best with a soft hairbrush and a splat of water.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Curiosity and Curious

Curiosity (n); curious (adj): eagerness to learn; inquisitive

A case can be made that curiosity and curious are synonyms—the same word—like Siamese twins.

But may I present the possibility that curious is what emerges in the human heart when finally stimulated to pay attention. Curiosity, on the other hand, is something we nurture in ourselves, to expose subjects of interest, even when others are convinced that the whole planet is boring.

If I wait to pursue only the things that make me curious, I will unfortunately be at the mercy of all the panderers, pundits, preachers and politicians.

But if I allow curiosity to grow in me, I am naturally asking to be given, seeking to find and knocking so the door will be opened.

Life is a curious thing; it’s best to arrive with curiosity.

Always beware those who are positive there is nothing more to be revealed.

Ignore the masses who insist that everything that needs to be known is already known.

For here’s the truth:

Some people want to meet God because they desire to worship him, praise him and thank him for salvation and eternal life.

My curiosity is stronger.

I want to meet God because I would love to quiz him on his management style.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Curfew

Curfew: (n) a regulation requiring a person to be home at a certain prescribed time.

The startling thing about wisdom is how much sense it makes if you’re not running from reason.

If you’re in a mood to listen and hear, the gems that can be picked up from the desert floor of human interaction is mind-boggling.

But the minute you’re convinced that your aspirations, your lifestyle or your pursuits are supremely energized, then your ears will close and your mind will flap in the breeze.

Such is the case with the American adolescent.

I was once an adolescent, so I feel qualified to speak on the issue. On top of that, for some reason I decided to birth babies, who unfortunately became adolescents—and once again, I peered first-hand at the lingering problem with these creatures.

An adolescent is self-destructive because an adolescent believes that truth is better acquired outside the home, outside the faith, outside the school and outside common sense.

So anyone who tells an adolescent about an exciting adventure suddenly becomes the “John the Baptist” of the high school hallways, declaring the “way of the Lord.”

Nowhere is this any more true than in the arena of curfew.

If every living human were completely honest, they would proclaim: “Nothing good is ever done after twelve midnight, unless you work the third shift making ice cream at Ben & Jerry’s.”

Everything that happens after midnight is drenched in iniquity, covered by darkness and surrounded by the kind of rascals who feel it is their privilege to “party all night and sleep all day.”

So when a Mom, Dad or any authority figure sets a curfew sensitive to that border into the entrance of Dante’s Inferno, it is based on a concern that when fun is done, we need to run.

Because after we’re done with all the eating, the movies, the bowling, the partying—then we are in the car, driving and looking for a new location to continue an event which should be over.

Everyone knows this.

Even if you caught a teenager speaking bluntly to a friend, this adolescent, too, would have to admit:

“At midnight, the coach turns into a pumpkin and the slipper drops.”

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Cure

Cure: (n) a method or course of treatment, as for disease

“I’m not sick.”

This is what I used to tell my mother on the days I wanted to go to school, go out and play or pursue some activity which was being halted because of “under the weather.”

Then there were the days I said, “I am sick.” I was trying to avoid a test, a bully or was too lazy to get out of my bed.

It carries over.

If everybody who was sick sought treatment, more people would get well. And if all the people who are truly well would cease to be paranoid hypochondriacs, we would probably spend a whole lot less money on medical treatment in America.

How do you know you need a cure?

When can you confirm there’s some sort of difficulty, impediment or disease which is keeping you from your best?

The problem with the medical field is the same situation presented by the political arena and also carries through into religious circles.

Cures are developed which are advertised and aren’t necessarily suited to the afflictions.

Politicians try to convince everybody that the economy, terrorism or health care are our three greatest issues. Are they? Will they bring a cure to our ills? Or is the dilemma actually that we still want to kick the shit out of each other?

In medicine, they get so excited about certain advancements and cures that they try to use them as a panacea for all conditions, while the conditions that really beset us—obesity, drug addiction and lack of physical activity—continue to hang around, making us sicker and sicker every day.

And in religion, a savior is offered who doesn’t seem to bring any more insight, wisdom or opportunity our way once we’ve been baptized and born again in our further confusion.

What is the cure?

Three steps:

  1. Ease the symptoms. Make people more comfortable.
  1. Find out where it hurts.
  2. Treat as lightly as possible. Don’t assume it’s a flesh-eating bacteria.

That seems to be the best cure. It’s one that people will tolerate.

Even though we’re all dying and will ultimately end in the grave—as dust and ash—we don’t need to do it every day.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Curds

Curds: (n) any substance resembling curd cheese

“Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet

Eating her curds and whey.

Along came a spider, who sat down beside her

And frightened Miss Muffet away.”

You may view this as a nursery rhyme.

Actually, it is a warning to young men everywhere, written in code, requiring deciphering.

First of all, beware any woman who would call herself “Little Miss Muffet.”

The word “little” by itself tells you that she will be on a diet the entire duration that you know her, which means you will also need to be on the same regimen, because of her obsession to always be slimmer.

Shall we examine the word “Miss?” She believes everything she owns, wears, or dangles from her is gold. You are merely coming to the museum to buy a ticket to see it.

I don’t even want to talk about Muffet.

But here’s where it gets interesting: she sat on a tuffet.

Soon in our story, a spider will appear.

If you don’t want to see spiders, don’t sit on a tuffet, which is a footstool close to the ground. This is obviously spider turf.

How arrogant of you, Little Miss, to think you can invade Spider World without being challenged?

And what is the Little Miss eating? Curds and whey.

For those of you less aware, that is the old-fashioned configuration for cottage cheese.

There you go.

She’s not eating a hot dog. She’s not munching a burger. You see, if you get with this chick, you’re headin’ for vegetarian—to eventually die a vegan.

So along comes a spider (surprise, surprise) and sat down beside her. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a spider to sit? Where, after all, do you put all the legs?

It was an act of friendliness, certainly misinterpreted by a spoiled rotten little brat, who should probably choke on those curds.

To make it worse—or to make it clear, depending on your perspective—she sees the spider, feigns horror and runs away.

Now, you’re a spider. You didn’t bite anyone. You came, you sat down. God knows, you weren’t interested in the curds and whey. Your goal was interaction. Inter-species exchange of values.

That damn bigot—Miss Muffet—ran away when she saw you.

Maybe it’s because she heard how well-endowed black spiders are.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Curdled

Curdled: (adj) spoiled, soured

They put us up in a barn.

That night, I became convinced that everyone in the world would have hay fever if they found themselves lying on hay. I do believe it’s a proximity issue.

It was chilly. We had just performed at a coffee house. We were hungry.

Our host, feeling magnanimous, had offered his barn for lodging and even allowed us to pull our old van inside, just in case we needed to access our “stuff.”

We finally were able to communicate that we had not eaten.

He and his wife appeared about five minutes later, to our barn layout, holding a carton of milk and a box of cereal.

I mustered the courage to ask for bowls and spoons so we could partake of the cereal. They agreed, even though they were a bit disappointed that they had left something out and we exposed them.

They both ran back to the house and only she returned five minutes later with some old bowls and some spoons. We expressed our appreciation.

We were so thankful for the cereal and milk.

We poured out huge bowls—all the way to the top—and figured out how much milk was in the carton, dividing it evenly among the three bowls waiting to be baptized. We also ended up using exactly the amount of cereal left in the box.

It didn’t matter. We were gonna eat.

That is…

Until one of my friends put her spoon in and…spit out the first bite.

Because, she said, the milk was curdled.

(Actually, she used the word “sour.” But since my word today is “curdled,” I’ll go for the original.)

My other friend and I took bites—and she was absolutely right. The milk had long ago lost its vintage.

Sitting in the mostly dark barn with the smell of hay everywhere, with grumbling tummies, we were presented with an interesting dilemma.

Since we had already doused the cereal, there was no way to eat it without the milk. And since the milk was already in the bowls, there was no way to remove it without having tainted flavor on the cereal.

We sat for at least five minutes, just staring at each other, hoping to draw wisdom from our neighbor.

Finally, one of my friends piped up. “I hear that in Denmark they eat their cold cereal with buttermilk.”

We frowned at her. She continued.

“Well, if you think about it, buttermilk is really just spoiled milk that’s been promoted.”

Finishing, she took a big bite of cereal, stating, “Really. The Lucky Charms are so sweet that you can barely taste the curdled milk.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement. But we weren’t going to throw it away, which meant we were certainly going to eat our cereal that night with a Danish flair.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C