Tag Archives: boogers

Cold sore

Cold sore: (n) an inflamed blister near the mouth, caused by infection with the herpes simplex virus.

Treating a cold sore is an example of a microcosm of all human self-improvement.

  1. First, you have to be willing to admit you have one.

No–it’s not dry crusty “corner-mouth.”

You didn’t burn yourself on jalapeno juice.

And it’s not because you haven’t had the chance for a big yawn.

There is actually something growing there, threatening to take over all lip service.

  1. It doesn’t get better because you pick at it.

Yes, we’re human beings so we pick at our problems instead of addressing them and trying to heal them. Picking off the top layer of dead skin only leaves the underlying layer of bright red, infected skin.

And as unbelievable as it may sound, some people find it a little gross to see you pick at your cold sore.

  1. The cold sore has an agenda–so you’d better get one as well.


Yes, most cold sores sign a lease. They feel they have an absolute right to the location for the entire time they desire to stay.

To evict them demands that you use extreme measures.

Some folks try the septic pencil. (Not only does this hurt like hell, sting and often make the sores bleed, but it has have never been proven to be effective.)

  1. Antibiotics do not kill viruses.

Yes, a cold sore is a virus. We’re just going to leave out the whole discussion of the word “herpes.”

As a virus it cannot be treated with antibiotics, though people often rush to the doctor to get a scrip of the anti-bios.

  1. It’s almost impossible to cover a cold sore with make-up.

Actually, you might want to say the cold sores sport make-up. They accentuate that you have a well-made-up mountain at the corner of your mouth.

  1. The truth is, if you increase your fluids, get a little more rest, don’t pick at it, and try not to draw too much attention, it normally will depart within a week to ten days.

Having a cold sore is not a pleasant experience (and every once in a while, one will occupy both corners of your mouth, as if going North and South to fight in the Civil War.)

Be patient, child of God. You are not alone.

The only guarantee for making yourself socially unacceptable is to lose your cool and run through your office complex, screaming and begging for somebody to cut the little boogers off your face.

This is extreme.

There is no cold sore that has not found a human face it does not like.

Coming soon to a crevice near you…

 

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Cold sore

Cold sore: (n) an inflamed blister near the mouth, caused by infection with the herpes simplex virus.

Treating a cold sore is an example of a microcosm of all human self-improvement.

  1. First, you have to be willing to admit you have one.

No–it’s not dry crusty “corner-mouth.”

You didn’t burn yourself on jalapeno juice.

And it’s not because you haven’t had the chance for a big yawn.

There is actually something growing there, threatening to take over all lip service.

  1. It doesn’t get better because you pick at it.

Yes, we’re human beings so we pick at our problems instead of addressing them and trying to heal them. Picking off the top layer of dead skin only leaves the underlying layer of bright red, infected skin.

And as unbelievable as it may sound, some people find it a little gross to see you pick at your cold sore.

  1. The cold sore has an agenda–so you’d better get one as well.

Yes, most cold sores sign a lease. They feel they have an absolute right to the location for the entire time they desire to stay.

To evict them demands that you use extreme measures.

Some folks try the septic pencil. (Not only does this hurt like hell, sting and often make the sores bleed, but it has have never been proven to be effective.)

  1. Antibiotics do not kill viruses.

Yes, a cold sore is a virus. We’re just going to leave out the whole discussion of the word “herpes.”

As a virus it cannot be treated with antibiotics, though people often rush to the doctor to get a scrip of the anti-bios.

  1. It’s almost impossible to cover a cold sore with make-up.

Actually, you might want to say the cold sores sport make-up. They accentuate that you have a well-made-up mountain at the corner of your mouth.

  1. The truth is, if you increase your fluids, get a little more rest, don’t pick at it, and try not to draw too much attention, it normally will depart within a week to ten days.

Having a cold sore is not a pleasant experience (and every once in a while, one will occupy both corners of your mouth, as if going North and South to fight in the Civil War.)

Be patient, child of God. You are not alone.

The only guarantee for making yourself socially unacceptable is to lose your cool and run through your office complex, screaming and begging for somebody to cut the little boogers off your face.

This is extreme.

There is no cold sore that has not found a human face it does not like.

Coming soon to a crevice near you…

 

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Subscribe to Jonathan’s New Podcast

 

Arachnophobia

dictionary with letter A

Arachnophobia: (n) an irrational fear of spiders.

A fear of spiders.

Isn’t that like saying, “people who poop?”

I mean, it’s everybody, right?

You might have two creepy people you’ve met in your life who think spiders are cool, but you would never let them babysit your children, nor would you co-sign a loan so they could buy a really neat video game setup.

I guess the key word here is “irrational.” An irrational fear. When it comes to spiders, what would that be?

Honestly, I do not see parents turning to their children and saying, “Come on, Billy, it’s just a spider. Here’s a little comb. Preen his hairy legs.”

People have all sorts of pets, but no one has a pet spider. Matter of fact, I think having a pet spider might be one of the four profiles of a serial killer.

So what is an irrational fear of spiders?

I suppose if you mistook a box of raisins for spiders that might qualify.

Or if you believed the dried boogers in your nose were spiders and constantly tried to dig them out with Q-tips, I get that.

But other than that, a distaste for spiders is not really a fear, but rather, an intelligent pursuit.

I remember when I was told that you could tell a black widow spider by the hour-glass on its…well, I don’t remember. Was it its backside? Or its underside? Either way, if I have to get that close to be sure, just to have fellowship with a black spider without being prejudiced against it for being a black widow, I will pass.

Then there’s the brown recluse spider, which is brown, and I assume, reclusive. So I imagine if you happen upon one of them, they’d be really pissed off because you found their hiding place and they would spread some poison your way.

I don’t even want to get into tarantulas.

And Grandaddy Longlegs look like they should be in Star Wars.

I don’t like spiders.

If I reach the pearly gates and God finds my bigotry against them to be distasteful and feels I need to spend some time in purgatory for my intolerance, so be it.

Just as long as there are no spiders.

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

Anchovy

dictionary with letter A

Anchovy: (n) a small shoaling fish of commercial importance as a food used for fish bait. It is strongly flavored and preserved with high amounts of oil and salt.

The dangerous thing about knowledge is that it rarely accentuates your pleasure, but rather, puts a pin in your balloon and leaves you with the reality instead of the misrepresentation.

There are many examples, but on this day, they seem to be embodied in the tiny anchovy.

Little did I know that they were bait.

Even though many of my friends like anchovies on their pizza (a taste, I have explained to them, which could just as easily be achieved by dumping a salt shaker on the crust) I really don’t think any of them know they’re eating fish bait.

But it should be obvious. Don’t the little things have hairy legs?

Now, I have on occasion eaten a pizza with anchovies because I was surrounded by individuals who thought it was a status symbol to prefer the little boogers on their Italian delight.

I have even pretended to enjoy it. Even though I pride myself, to some degree, in being a candid-type fellow, I am not without my pretense. And the specter of being the only person in the room objecting such a refined pizza-topping choice has left me succumbing to the mob mentality and participating in eating what I now know is fish bait.

  • I suppose I shouldn’t make the point that we wouldn’t eat night crawler pizza.
  • Anyone up for minnows and onion?

But truthfully, I have no problem with anyone who has a certain taste, unless they have selected it because they think it makes them more refined and sets them apart from the sausage servants and pepperoni paupers.

Now, if I run across one of them, I will inform them that they’re hooked on what belongs on a hook.

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

Amateur

dictionary with letter A

Amateur: (n) a person who engages in a pursuit on an unpaid basis.

It’s a pretty good definition that Webster came up with.

Yet I can tell you that in my lifetime, I have performed my share of professional service to neither acclaim or remuneration.

Yes, there’s another aspect of being amateur. It’s pretty simple: a true professional is in search of his or her weaknesses, to perfect them in order to avoid both critique and lack. An amateur, on the other hand, is in search of praise in order to acquire grace for a multitude of weaknesses, pretending they don’t exist.

This is why amateurs get worse with rehearsal and professionals get better. For after all, to continue to practice is an admission that things need to improve–and if you’re unwilling to admit your mistakes, then such a maneuver seems meaningless, and perhaps mean-spirited.

For instance, I wish we did have professional politicians–for actually, the little boogers are all amateurs.

A professional would understand that a certain amount of resolve is necessary to pave the way for the ultimate discussion which will lend itself to a treaty designed to progress the cause, to avoid looking inept.

Amateur politicians come in believing they are perfect in their present condition, needing no improvement, and only manifest resolve with no understanding of the divine need for agreement.

The end result is that we have a very amateur country with amateur participants, amateur results and therefore we receive the due payment for an amateur.

What do I work on in order to be professional?

  1. I compare myself with people who are better than I am, and work to imitate their excellence.
  2. I never settle for good when great still looms in the distance.
  3. I alleviate criticism by doing my own evaluation, which is much more intense than that of my audience.
  4. I keep a sense of good cheer about transition. It is not only inevitable, but also necessary.

I will agree with Webster that normally when you have enough passion to get better at what you do, it makes people believe you’re worthy of payment.

But to get there, you have to be an amateur without dough, still doing a great show.

Adenoids

Words from Dic(tionary)

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Adenoids: (n.) a mass of enlarged lymphatic tissue between the back of the nose and the throat, often hindering speaking and breathing in young children.

I was only ten years old so the significance completely evaded me.

Our family physician was named Dr. Livingston. To me it was just another name, not a literary setup, so when Dr. Livingston looked over his silver spectacles and told my mother and father that I needed to have my tonsils removed–otherwise I would have tonsillitis any time it was rumored to be in the area–they agreed.

They were further delighted when he told them that while he was in there yanking out the little boogers, that he might as well take my adenoids, too. It was common at the time. Tonsils were apparently so emotionally linked to adenoids that it was a given in the medical field that if you took one you had better remove the other, too, or fussiness would ensue.

Dr. Livingston? Tonsils and adenoids, I presume?

My father, being raised in a miserly German home, was excited because he felt he was getting two operations for the price of one.

So I was sent to a clinic in the big city twenty miles from our little burg, and was prepped for surgery. This was long before anethesia was perfected. It was actually barely beyond the phase of a shot of whiskey and a punch in the jaw.

What they used to put you under was ether. Now, let me explain what ether smells like. It has a distinctive odor. Imagine if a bottle of alcohol let off a big, stinky fart.

There you go.

So after they had removed my co-dependent organs, I awoke to the smell of this nasty “stinky” in the air, to spend the next hour-and-a-half doing nothing but trying to regurgitate all of my insides for public view.

About two hours later my stomach finally calmed down and they told me I could have some nice, cool Jello. (I had heard rumors that ice cream was the normal gift given to a patient, but apparently I ended up at K-Mart Presbyterian Municipal Hospital, where budget cuts were inserted to extract all pleasures.)

Unfortunately, the flavor they chose for my Jello was cherry.

When my mother and father wanted to go out and catch a bite to eat, they left my older brother in charge. The cherry jello by then had landed in my stomach, was introduced to the raging ether, and was immediately evicted. So when I threw up my cherry jello, my brother was convinced that I was bleeding to death. He ran through the halls screaming for nurses to come and save me.

The comical part (as if it isn’t already) was that it took the nurses at least ten minutes to figure out that what was in my bed pan had the unmistakable fragrance of Kool-aid.

Things went back to normal–if you call being ten years old, in a hospital, losing your tonsils and adenoids, vomiting profusely, with a maniac for a brother, only room for Jello and without the benefit of an ice cream confection … anywhere near normalcy.

Acrylics

Words from Dic(tionary)

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Acrylic: (adj.) referring to synthetic resins and textile fibers, made from polymers of acrylic acid or acrylates: e.g. a red acrylic sweater.

That’s not how I remember acrylics!

I don’t know when they happened on the scene, but they leave a nasty memory in my mind.

Up until time that acrylics came into full swing, I had two young women traveling with me who were helpful, energetic and quite functional in aiding me in setting up the sound equipment for our music group. I never heard a complaint. They never lamented that they were too weak, too feminine or too girly-girl. Even when a guy came up and tried to take something from their hands in an attempt to be gentlemanly, they would turn the guy down and continue to be efficient roadies.

That is–until acrylic nails came along. Those little boogers were sent to turn women into nervous ninnies.

First of all, they were not perfected. So when applied, being unnatural to the normal nail on a woman’s hand, they were very willing to separate and break off if you even PEERED at them. So since these dear ladies in my group had spent the money on this new nail treatment, and considering that it was a bit embarrassing to have nine intact but one busted and split like the side of a fiber-glass boat, the women became constantly worried–and refused to carry equipment.

So here I am, moving from a work force of three to just me, to tote that barge and lift that bale, because the girls must avoid laborious duty in order to protect their acrylics.

But the final insult was when they were in the process of dressing for the gig, and one would break anyway. So not only had I sweat in vain, but I had a comrade on stage who was frightened to extend her hand for fear that the audience would notice that she had been ingloriously de-clawed.

Now, I am sure these things have improved over the years, but the word “acrylic” still makes my skin crawl and reminds me of the night that I was wiggling around in the van, in the dark, feeling my way–to find a little piece of the crap that one of my friends insisted had just fallen off of her finger, and was therefore still retrievable.