Tag Archives: art form

Decoupage

Decoupage: (n) the art or technique of decorating something with cut-outs of flat materials over which varnish or lacquer is applied.

I’ve heard it mentioned.

People have threatened to do it.

In the midst of a meeting, it has inspired a whole room, leaving them agog with anticipation.

“We could decoupage.”

The only reason I even knew the definition is that one time, upon leaving such a gathering, feeling ignorant, I looked it up in the dictionary. I also watched a video of what may apparently be the only soul who actually has tackled the process.

Yet it is a favored suggestion. However, when actually placed in the context of the moment, is quickly avoided due to the amount of work it entails.

It’s sticky, it’s messy and after it’s finished, it screams at the top of its lungs:

 “I’m homemade!”

I don’t know how it ever got a reputation for being elegant, cool and “happening.”

But since I feel fairly certain that I will never decoupage anything (and am probably riling up some ardent “decoupagers”) I will stop criticizing the process and declare it an art form—which I hope will make everybody happy.

 

Clumsy

Clumsy: (adj) awkward in movement or in handling things.

Sexual intercourse looks dumb.

It is so awkward and clumsy that when we first meet a potential mating partner we have to get ourselves all worked up–sometimes drunk--to participate in the ritual, and then, after several months or years of interacting, marriage often occurs, where no one is quite able to get as worked up again, so merely on the stimulus of doing the act, we often find ourselves embarrassed, if not unmotivated.

It’s clumsy.

What makes it even more clumsy are people who think they are adept, talented or professional at it. Then it becomes similar to a bull in the pen, bragging about his graceful ability to take a dump.

What truly makes sex significant and endearing is how clumsy it is. If both parties would submit to the stumbling aspects of the action, giggle a little bit more and listen to one another, it could continue to be pleasurable for a long time.

But we view it with a funeral-home grimness.

How can anything be important if monkeys can do it eight times in an hour? Really??

Is there such a thing as a sacred vagina or a sanctified penis?

It’s clumsy.

And if we discuss it too much as if it’s a pertinent issue, the clumsiness of it becomes ridiculous, and we, fools for approaching the topic with such gravitas.

I’m clumsy. I’ve never been with anyone who isn’t clumsy. Although some people insist they are excellent lovers, the truth of the matter is, they have an over-exaggerated sense of their own prowess, which is not necessarily shared by their bedfellow.

Let’s relax.

Things that should be clumsy, like sex, are regaled as great art forms. Things that should be meaningful, like concern for one another and kindness, are treated as lowly.

This would be a good place to start. Have a serious conversation with your love partner about how to be kind to your neighbors, and when you get done, run to the bedroom and have clumsy sex…and laugh about it.

 

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Burp

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Burp: (n) a belch

The definition of crazy: believing what is in your head because it had the spunk to come to your mind.

If a persistent idea can survive some scrutiny, it should be granted merit. But if the notions floating in your gray matter cannot be confirmed by other independent gray matter, then you may need to have a full brain-flushing.

I bring this up because in the first couple decades of my life, I found it difficult to burp. People even tried to teach me how to do it at will (since it was a favored pastime of males age twelve to sixteen). I was never successful.

Now, I won a gold star at farting. It was the burping that escaped me. Often I found myself struggling with some gas and pain because I couldn’t be relieved through the burp.

It became an obsession with me. When other people heard a loud burp from an individual in a room, they would crinkle their faces and say “gross.” My thought was much different. In my brain, I mused, “God bless you, genius. Could you teach me to do that?”

It seems so silly.

But worst of all, when I did occasionally burp, it was so poorly performed. It was more like a silent hiccup that barely lifted my shoulders. That resounding, basal explosion of vibrating magnitude of sound totally and completely avoided me.

So I guess I have a different attitude toward burping. Although I do not hold to the Aramaic tradition of thinking that it’s a sign of expressing appreciation for a meal, I do think it is an art form–which will probably never receive its due.

You know.

Similar to poetry. 

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