Dark

Dark: (adj) having very little or no light

The human emotions need to believe everything will be alright.

Our spirits require alternatives that allow us to make intelligent choices.

The mind of a human being is in search of fresh ways to do things better.

And our bodies need to be exercised so that our respiration grants us the oxygen to be optimistic.

Anything that intrudes on these processes may seem entertaining, but ultimately will defile us.

For after all, “dark” is not the presence of anything.

Unfortunately, it is just the absence of light.

Credits

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Credits: (n) a listing of those who create a film

Let me give you a really quick clue on a way to identify a shitty film:

Any movie that has many, many credits rolling BEFORE the action begins—or especially before you even see the title—Is a piece of doo-doo on celluloid.

You can tell because you realize they had too many meetings discussing who would get credit, how it would be phrased, how it should be presented, and in what order it could be placed on the screen, instead of sitting around trying to make a better flick.

The greatest problem with art is that it becomes quite ugly and loses all beauty as those who are trying to push themselves forward insist on struggling to the front of the line.

If a motion picture has more than one director, more than one company, more than one producer and more than one cinematographer, generally speaking, someone is trying to bullshit someone else to gain power, instead of putting the work in on crafting something entertaining and inspirational.

That’s why when you see a great film they get you into the setting as quickly as possible instead of rolling fifty names in front of your face, which frustrates you because you have to remember what movie you’re actually watching.

I have been a part of making some independent films, and I will tell you:

The simpler, the better

  • The director should have a name.
  • The writer should have a name.
  • And the cinematographer and editor should have names.

And preferably, one name for each category, so that egos can get out of the way and the possibility for great storytelling can unfold.

Ironically, movies with lots of credits normally don’t deserve any credit.

 

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Coy

Coy: (adj) slyly hesitant.

 Impersonation or imitation?

The two words are basically synonyms, yet many folks would insist that an impersonation is clever or entertaining, whereas an imitation might be insulting.

At least, that’s my take on it. I wonder why.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Because certainly there are things that can be impersonated or imitated which are humorous or even necessary. For instance, if we have to take a test, we have to impersonate someone who’s knowledgeable.

Yet impersonations or imitations are not always flattering, and worse, they can be downright deceiving.

I found this to be very true, especially when dealing with the subject of humility. I will say that try as you will, you will never be able to impersonate a humble person nor imitate humility and still maintain sincerity.

This is mainly because we choose to be humble when we are flirting with disgrace instead when of celebrating victory.

This is what makes us coy.

I get nervous around people who think they’re being coy. I feel cheated. I think they are trying to avoid presenting their real selves, and instead, substituting what might resemble honest.

I don’t like it when parents tell me their children are shy. Can I question that? They don’t appear shy to me. They seem sheltered. They often have the whiff of conceited. And occasionally, one might even pick up some judgment in their distracted stare.

Coy is a tough one for me.

I am always afraid that someone who is trying to visually present him or herself as humble is merely waiting for an opportunity to dominate me when I least expect it. Donate Button


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Bleed

Bleed: (v) to lose blood from the body

Dictionary B

Seventeen.

In the course of watching one evening of television–with a lot of channel flipping–I counted seventeen people who were shot.

All of them started to bleed.

I watched with interest.

It seemed to stain their clothing.

They appeared to be in pain, though I felt no empathy.

In one particular gun scene, ten of the seventeen were wounded with blood loss.

I watched intently.

Turning my television set off, I went into my bathroom to prepare for bed and realized I had not shaved that morning. So for some inexplicable reason, I thought it was a good idea to do so before I went to bed.

Call it clumsiness, stupidity or just a bit of “sleepy eyes,” I cut my lip with the razor.

Blood poured forth.

Not as much as you would expect to come out of a gunshot wound, but it struck terror in my soul and nearly made me frantic.

It was my blood coming out of my face with no immediate prospect for cessation.

It took me five minutes to stop the bleeding.

I looked down at discarded toilet paper covered with my red fluid and the sink stained. It was gruesome.

In actuality, I probably didn’t lose more than a tablespoon of blood–but it terrified me to see my life dribble away.

One of the things that disturbs me about entertainment is what we now consider to be entertaining.

Bleeding is bad.

Things that cause bleeding are equally as sinister.

And losing our sensitivity about a single drop of blood may be the definition of evil.

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Alda, Alan

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Alda,  Alan (1936 – ): U.S. actor, director and writer, he won five Emmys for his role as Hawkeye Pierce on the television series M.A.S.H. (1972-83). His movies include Same Time Next Year, California Suite, The Seduction of Joe Tynan and Everyone Says I Love You.

I tried last week.

I attempted to watch an episode of M.A.S.H., which had its heyday in the 1970’s.

It was entertaining. But with the presence of never-ending one-liners, plays-on-words and physical comedy culminating in someone falling into mud, I was quickly aware that the gods of comedy had departed from this Olympus to different mountaintops of humor.

It was weird. I used to love the show. I especially enjoyed Alan Alda as Hawkeye. But now it seems kind of old–almost like Catskills comedy translated to a war zone with occasional serious overtones.

There are exceptions. Certainly the final episode, when the cast members go their separate ways, is a classic for all time; or the entrance of Radar into the operating room to announce the death of the commanding officer. Stunning.

And I’m sure if you talked to Mr. Alda, he would agree that although he is still quite proud of the work, he is not afraid to move on to other possibilities and new horizons.

Matter of fact, of late I have seen him in more dramas than comedies. Maybe a wise choice, Alan: because the kind of comedy that is prevalent today demands more ridicule, embarrassment and mocking than setting up a punch line.