Cover

Cover: (v) to place something over or upon, as for protection, concealment, or warmth.

 “I’ll be fine.”

This is what I said to my hostess when she asked me if I might need a blanket. In that moment, I felt that I might be bothering her too much by requesting one—and the room seemed to be a really good temperature and I thought I could lay on the bed without the need of any kind of cover. funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

After all, I was just going to sleep. How much do you really need to protect you when you’re just heading for Sleeper Land?

She gave me a quizzical look when I refused additional “warmage,” as if to question my judgment on the matter, but wanting to be an ideal lady of the house, she honored my wishes, left the room and disappeared into her home, which was an unknown castle to me.

I brushed my teeth, I went to bed, and as I reached over to turn off the lamp on the nearby stand, I realized that I didn’t have a cover.

It was my fault. I had explained that I didn’t need one—but now that I was in my room and darkness was falling around me, I wanted a cover.

I nearly cried.

I didn’t know the house well enough to creep around looking in cabinets, searching for blankets, so I lay on the bed, very still, trying to convince myself that I would be content without being embraced by my cover.

I do not want to be overly dramatic…

Yes, I do. It was hell.

I found I could not sleep without having something over me. I felt naked, even though I was wearing pajamas. My shoulders were hanging out there to be seen by the night spirits, without apology. My legs were lonely.

I did not know what to do. I wanted to sleep but that didn’t seem covered.

So I got up, opened up my suitcase, began to pull out all my clothing, and tied pant legs onto shirt arms, with attached socks, until I eventually put together a really weird quilt.

It worked so well that after experimenting on four or five different combinations, I had everything covered, from my toes up to my chest.

I felt powerful again.

Yet as I lay down to go to sleep, I realized the top of my chest was unsheltered. Not wanting to get up to disrupt my makeshift blanket, I reached down into my suitcase, grabbed a pair of underwear and stuffed them under my chin.

At last…

Thank God Almighty.

Covered at last.

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Copyright

Copyright: (n) the exclusive right to make copies in music

I had just turned nineteen years of age when I was sitting in the back area of my mother and father’s loan company which they had opened in our small town, and for some inexplicable reason, there was a piano situated in one of the corners.

I don’t know how it got in there. I don’t know whether someone was unable to pay their loan and offered their piano as penance—but it was there.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I was also present—with my new wife, whom I had only been married to for about seven months, but we already had a first son. (You do the math.)

Long story apparently being made longer, I decided to walk over to that piano and write a song. I had sung songs for years. I had done my karaoke versions of popular tunes long before the “Kary” came from “Okie.”

I don’t know what gave me the idea that I could write a song. Maybe it was because I was nineteen and pretty convinced I could do anything. Somewhere in the expanse of the next hundred and eighteen minutes, I wrote two songs. I had no idea if anybody would think they were good—I was so damn impressed with them that the notion of seeking another opinion seemed redundant.

I did not know if I would ever write another song, so I immediately wanted to make sure these two songs were not only recorded, but copyrighted—to make sure that no less-talented individuals would steal them, attaining great notice and gain.

There were two ways to copyright my songs. I could make original copies of the lead sheet and words, and mail them to myself, and never open that envelope because it would have the stamped date on the outside from the official Post Office.

This did not sound dramatic enough to me.

So instead, I pursued the other avenue, which was to contact the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C, and receive innumerable forms, which I filled out, paying a small price for each composition. From that point on, once it was cleared that my songs were indeed original, I would have a copyright for all time.

My God. Who could resist such majestic red tape?

I went through the entire process, and even today, somewhere buried deep in a box in one of my closets, is a certificate informing the whole world that my two songs made a visit to the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., and returned home again—sanctified.


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Beautiful

Beautiful: (adj) pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically.Dictionary B

  • Manipulate the language and you control the discourse.
  • Controlling the discourse dictates the policy.
  • Policy in place, objection is often futile.

I’m not trying to be overly dramatic, yet I tell you that “beautiful” is one of the more cantankerous words in the language.

First of all, it has no real definition.

It is not only “in the eye of the beholder,” it is enforced by the prejudice of the viewing mob. Somehow or another, people have decided through marketing what beautiful is, and we now accept it as the common understanding.

Looking at Facebook the other day, I saw some pictures of my granddaughters. The comments that people selected to place in responding to the pictures were universally shallow.

“Pretty.”

“Gorgeous.”

And of course, “beautiful.”

Moving down the page, I discovered the picture of a young man. The responding words in the comment section were “strong, manly and handsome.”

I am really not trying to be a nudge about this. Being a plain-looking man, I am not offended by those who are attractive, nor do I wish them to have more limited appreciation.

I just feel that the word “beautiful” needs to be used more often to describe a fulfilling experience which radiates joy in the human heart rather than the perfect construction of eye sockets, cheek bones and noses.

I have been around people who are comely. And yes–I was struck with their features. But within five minutes, when it became necessary for them to perform some function other than iridescence, I saw that many of them were so dependent on their countenance to carry them that they had failed to hook up their brain with their tongue.

They were lost.

Yes, in a blind audition, they would be rendered dumb.

So under my granddaughters’ pictures on Facebook, I wrote, “Let’s get off the ‘pretty’ thing and realize that these are intelligent, intuitive and talented people.”

I was scoffed.

After all, these “complimenters” were just trying to be nice.

How could “beautiful” be considered anything but positive?

Even though it succeeds in leaving out most of the rest of us.

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

 

 

 

Ad nauseum

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Ad nauseum: (adv.) referring to something that has been done or repeated so often that it has become annoying or tiresome.

Perhaps it is overstated to say there are things which cause me to want to throw up. It IS a bit dramatic. But still, everyone reading this is aware of the sensation of feeling nauseous, and actually desiring to regurgitate to get it over with. There is a point when you’re sick, when getting the illness OUT of your being seems rather pleasant.

I, for one, have found several facets of our everyday life and social structure to be worthy of such expulsion. Might I give you a list?

1. Religion that is more concerned about religion than it is people. (Urp.)

2. Politicians who tout the importance of debate and never pass legislation to help anyone. (See me quickly run to the bathroom.)

3. Those people who preach the beauty of capitalism only because they’re getting richer and salting it away in a Cayman Island bank account. (Pepto-Bismol will not help.)

4. Individuals who insist they are no longer prejudiced as they perpetuate the bigotry of their parents into their everyday lives, only masking it slightly, as a subtle choice. (Where’s my bowl?)

5. Movies that are chock-full of fantasy or remakes of subjects that have been done so many times that the plots are threadbare. (Please shoot me and put me out of my misery.)

6. Piety in all of its forms–be it Christian, Muslim, Jew, Hindu, Scientology, Amish or Republican and Democrat. (Please just bring me some cold 7-Up and soda crackers)

I could make a longer list, but I think you get my point. What creates ad nauseum is when we continue to espouse ideas, beliefs or even platforms that offer no proof whatsoever as to their viability in human life. For some reason, we’re just supposed to bow our heads and mumble some words of consecration in honor of what is really a dead, stinky idea.

When you smell something rotten, it makes you sick. If you decide to hang around until the smell either becomes acceptable or you get used to it, it doesn’t mean that it stinks any less or that you’re not just as sick.

The best way to handle anything that upsets your stomach … is to stay away from it.