Debone

Debone: (v) to remove the bones from meat, fish or fowl

“Keep your eye on the prize.”

It is a phrase that normally is applied to noble ventures promoting moral fiber or spiritual ecstasy.

But I shall now trivialize it.

Because one of the duties I certainly hate on Thanksgiving Day is deboning the turkey

I don’t know why.

I think the main reason may be that by the time I get to the job of deboning the turkey, I am so sick of eating turkey that the sight and touch of it is annoying.

But it always falls my lot to do this particular job. I think it’s because most people share my dismay over defrocking the fowl. So to keep themselves from being drafted for the duty, they offer praise to someone else (that being me).

“No one does it like you, Dad!”

“You find all the meat that’s hiding away, in all the nooks and crannies, behind the bone and cartilage…”

So I keep my eye on the prize.

The duty is made more pleasant by the notion of having a big bowl of loose turkey flesh in the refrigerator that can be grabbed in handfuls, put on a plate, lightly salted and consumed in tiny chunks of delicacy.

Actually, I like cold turkey better than hot turkey.

And I like deboned turkey better than the kind that sits beautifully upright on the table, held together by its skeleton.

Yet I would never recommend going “cold turkey.”

It’s my understanding that it has other definitions.

Debonair

Debonair: (adj) courteous, gracious, and having a sophisticated charm

Here’s another thing to love about the United States of America.

Depending on where you travel, being debonair could be wearing an ascot—or eating with a fork.

That is the beauty of a nation which defines itself by how relaxed it is when it chows down, and also how, in the name of God, we never allow anyone to tell us what to do.

It is also why you probably will not hear the word “debonair” very often—unless it’s being touted in a sarcastic or negative manner.

Maybe a mother, seeing her son walk out of his room on prom night in his tuxedo, she might pop off with the word debonair.

Or I suppose it’s possible that some judge in a small-town talent contest might note that one of the contestants arriving dressed in a purple jump suit was attempting debonair.

‘Debonair’ is not something most Americans appreciate, or favor.

We equate it with a posing profile from the Continent, by a bunch of prissy people who are more concerned about the crease in their pants than about how well they come off to others.

So somewhere between slob and debonair, the United States floats along, putting on, every morning, the first thing that comes to mind and insisting all day long:

“It was meant to go together.”

Debit Card

Debit Card: (n) a plastic card that resembles a credit card but functions like a check 

No one should have a debit card if they don’t know the value of money.

And if they use their debit card poorly, they will soon have a nasty lesson on the danger of money.

I think a debit card is an absolutely marvelous invention—as long as you have money in the bank and you’re just swiping it away.

Yes—how apropos. “Look at me! I’m swiping my own money. I am stealing from myself. Don’t tell anyone.”

Of course, someone is told.

Whoever is in charge of keeping the tally on your balance—well, that individual knows fully well how much money can still be swiped before you are not only a thief, but a criminal.

Money is serious business that should never be taken too seriously.

But when money is not taken seriously, you can get into serious trouble.

I am happiest when I am not dealing with money or debit cards or credit or paying for anything.

I’ve never gone fishing in a lake and had a crab crawl up to me and charge me for the fish I just caught. (That may be because crabs don’t live near lakes.)

But there’s something beautiful about entertaining oneself, or even feeding your face, without spending a dime. But it is not interesting enough that I will actually pursue it.

It does, however, make great verbiage for an article, where you’re trying to be just a little bit cutie—and bitchy—about debit cards.

Debilitate

Debilitate: (v) to make weak or feeble; enfeeble

To maintain the sanctity of your ego, it is essential to never leave your house.

In your own abode, where you have a favorite chair, a favorite book and a favored spot for almost everything, you can rule, reign and convince yourself that you are superior in many suspicious formats.

But once you step from the safety of your net, you will run across other members of the human race who can outdo you in everything that you once thought would win you the gold.

It’s true.

There are times I’m convinced I’m a really good singer.

Then I go and hear someone who really knows how to sing.

I might fancy myself to be a good speaker—until I am enthralled by the speech from an orator.

It doesn’t have to debilitate me.

I don’t need to be the best to participate.

That is, unless I’ve convinced myself that the presence of competition is an insult to the glory of my anointing.

Most debilitation happens somewhere between the eyes and ears on the way to the brain. It’s that short journey—where we take what we see, parse what we’ve heard and condemn ourselves—because we are made less because someone has more.

This has caused wars.

It perpetuates divorce.

And it has rendered politics and religion completely unacceptable to pursue or discuss—because all that is derived is strife.

Life does not debilitate me.

It just explains that I’m not alone and I very well may not be top dog.

 

Debbie

Debbie: (n) a female given name.

As she skipped her way into a small frat house at Cincinnati Bible Seminary, to sit around in a tiny room with about fifteen other post-high-school strangers, to listen to imitation-hippie-music with a Christian twist, she illuminated the whole surroundings with her smile, which foretold of just a pinch of naughtiness.

She never made you work hard to feel appreciated.

I don’t think she ever met a man she didn’t like.

She wasn’t easy—just uncomplicated.

She loved to laugh.

She thrived on flirting.

And she sang like singing was second nature to her soul.

I had come to the gathering that night to find a vocalist for my up-and-coming band, and by the end of the evening I left with Debbie as my new cohort.

I traveled with her for almost three years. We threatened to become romantic, whispered promises—and we sang great music.

With my tunes, her voice and our buddy, we went all over the United States, appearing on national television, hitting the religious charts and getting to sing a song on the Grand Ole’ Opry.

She has remained my friend throughout the journey.

Even though we will never recapture those thirty-six months of music and magic, we maintain a deep-rooted friendship.

I doubt if she will ever read this.

But I know if she did, she would concur.

And oh—by the way—one of my fondest memories as a young man is the first day that she arrived poolside, wearing a bikini.

She had amazing lungs.

Debauchery

Debauchery: (n) excessive indulgence in sensual pleasures; intemperance.

I sit here just a little bit grumpy because unless I exaggerate—or even worse, lie—I cannot give you a great story about my personal debauchery.

I came close a few times.

I was alone and naked with several women who were willing to put up with my feeble attempts—when all of a sudden, I chickened out.

I’ve been offered liquor, drugs of all sorts and even invited to participate in a scam or two. I do believe I turned down most of these misadventures out of wisdom or moral fiber.

But I’m curious sometimes if I missed out on an exciting rendezvous by simply being afraid to jump in and participate.

The human race is a silly lot.

We extol the beauty and power of virtue while simultaneously hoping there are enough slipups and fumbles to keep things hopping.

We want our children to be virgins when they get married.

But we also want them to have the passion and energy of a Nevada prostitute or a Playboy mansion philanderer.

We are so foolish.

Matter of fact, the word “debauchery” itself is kind of self-righteous and tight-assed—because your debauchery and my debauchery would probably differ.

Your debauchery would be pointing out all the things you refuse to do that I do—and my rendition of debauchery would be much the same.

 

Debatable

Debatable: (adj) open to question; in dispute; doubtful

Feeling in a particularly generous mood, I decided to give you a gift of five things that are debatable and five things which, in my simple-minded way, seem to be non-debatable.

Where to begin?

Let us start with the debatable topics

  1. The American election system.

Since it is broken, it is well worth a healthy discussion.

  1. The educational system.

We love to stir up dust about lackings here and there, but still maintain a segregated and impoverished endeavor.

  1. The purpose for religious services

Since faith without works is dead, maybe works could survive without a building—and an organ.

  1. Racial forgiveness

Instead of denying the misdeeds found within all races of humanity, perhaps we require a massive group hug and teary-eyed apologies to one another.

  1. The institution of marriage

Is it divine? Or simply a man-made way of guaranteeing family units to sustain the tax burden?

Now, as to non-debatable issues:

  1. Is there any power in “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth?”

Just open a history book and let the blood pour out.

  1. Is there a God?

Since no one knows, discussion either way is theory, and for that matter, often nasty.

  1. Are men and women equal?

Since we have to live in equality, it would be ridiculous to introduce restrictions.

  1. How, or even when, will the world end?

Go back, clean your room and do your homework, you little brat.

  1. Is there a hell and is there a heaven? It is possible to have a heaven without a hell, so the insistence on including eternal damnation is rather vindictive, don’t you think?

These are just my opinions. You can either revel in them or rebel against them.

 

Debase

Debase: (v) to lower in rank, dignity, or significance

It’s difficult to know whether human beings prefer stories which end in success or are finalized in some degree of tragedy.

I, for one, become light-headed and sleepy if I hear too much good news all at the same time, fearing that some of it may be embellished to maintain the sugar content.

Yet I have to admit, all of this “dark theater” that surrounds me adds an extra layer of worry to my soul—which is desperately in need of being cleansed from unrighteousness.

But universally, all of us are aware that we take our turn being debased. Or as I jokingly call it—spending time in “de-basement.”

Sometimes we even stand in line for it.

We’ll enter a contest, apply for a job, petition for a cause only to be flattened at the last moment like a housefly which paused too long next to the watermelon.

It’s not just part of life.

It is actually the portion of life that makes life ultimately livable.

If I don’t know how to do without, or be left out, rejected and mistreated, I will never have the sensibility to be merciful to others.

It’s a helluva way to learn it.

Certainly the heavens should have thought of a more cotton-candy schooling.

But sometimes you go without so that when you go with, you have a greater appreciation and perhaps even a broader understanding of value.

So give me a story where someone tries, fails, survives, laughs, rallies and then kicks ass.

Thus, the definition of the American dream.

 

Debacle

Debacle: (n) a complete collapse or failure.

It is my opinion that the word “debacle” and “failure” should never be linked.

As human beings, it is our responsibility to learn and appreciate the value of failure. In the long run, failure saves time, energy, money and much future humiliation.

That is, unless we try to fix our failure.

A debacle is an attempt—or many attempts—to mend a failure, so it appears there was never a misstep in the first place.

It is duct tape on a broken piece of glass.

It is an awkward apology to someone who’s truly been offended.

It is becoming offended yourself when the awkward apology is rejected.

It is trying to explain something unexplainable.

It is pardoning yourself before anyone else suggests you might be guiltless.

It is sitting in the middle of a mess and demanding it continue because funding is available.

It is repeating the same service over and over again, though nothing and no one is transformed.

It is taking a system that was crafted two hundred and fifty years ago and holding onto it through tradition, even though modern technology suggests there’s a need for alteration.

It is taking the side of your political party when it is obvious that error has been made.

It is swimming in an ocean when warned not to swim—simply because they don’t know how good a swimmer you are.

It is believing that since people are different, you can claim to be better.

It is arrogance added onto sin, dipped in pride…

…and deep-fried in unforgiveable ignorance.

 

Death Wish

Death wish: (n) having a desire for one’s own death

Life is the opportunity to live.

More life is what we get for solving our problems.

But I have to be honest with you—continued life is not very interesting if it doesn’t possess purpose.

I’d rather be dead than bitchy.

I’d rather be dead than bigoted.

I’d rather be dead than poked and probed for the rest of my days by young doctors who are trying to make their reputation by discovering something wrong with me.

I’d rather be dead than harm a little one.

I’d rather be dead than remain silent as the world flirts with annihilation—simply lacking the common sense of cordiality.

I’d rather be dead than live without knowing if another human being finds me hopelessly attractive.

I’d rather be dead than be religious.

I’d rather be dead than be an atheist—although that’s problematic.

I’d rather be dead than continue to curse after I’m blessed.

I’d rather be dead than live in a country whose people believe they’re better than everyone else.

I’d rather be dead than find myself buying into the idea that lying is just a human thing we do.

I’d rather be dead than sit around all the time, wondering how and when I’m going to die.

Dying doesn’t look very complicated.

But once its accomplished, it does alter your social calendar.

So having a death wish is really wanting a decent burial for what is already dying inside.