Conjunction

Conjunction: (n) a word used to connect clauses or sentences

I wasn’t exactly sure how to write this essay, and I have to admit, I find myself a little reluctant today, for I didn’t get a good night’s sleep to rally my senses, nor am I particularly hitting on all my cylinders mentally about the word itself, but I’ve certainly been writing long enough to put together something solid on this particular subject, or I can refer to some of my former writings and see if they can grant me some insight, so I will continue to pursue this particular word instead of moving onto another one and abandoning the significance of writing something about a very familiar, usable unit, which is often ignored by the world around us because there’s a great fear, and a legitimate concern, that overextending a sentence might confuse the reader, but I’ve never found such a situation to be true because I give people credit for being intuitive and able to keep up with the subject matter–yet I have to admit that I have at times read what they call run-on sentences, so there is some legitimacy for using caution when putting such skill into practice, but for today, I will simply see what I can come up with, and do my very best, for that is the best I can do, but I will try to do better, even though there is no word for better than best, yet maybe in the process, I can come up with a new word which will communicate that concept, so here we go.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C


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Confabulate

Confabulate: (v) to engage in conversation with imaginary stories

For those of you who are regular readers, I am delighted to report that my new novel is in the works for publication with a major New York House. There’s a great possibility for a bonus check and I’ve been promised distribution all over the country.

On top of that, some of my music has been selected to be recorded and there’s high energy in the label that many of the tunes will be pickedfunny wisdom on words that begin with a C
up by famous artists, which will open the door to even more royalties.

It seems that my readership is growing every day and my podcast has quite a following. Just last week, somebody said that I was what they call “a hot property.”

On top of all that, my personal life is booming with my children’s great success, and the fact that I am alive and kicking, and able to make a difference in these tumultuous times.

I want to thank each one of you for allowing me to come every single day and write my heart, knowing that you are listening and you care about what I have to share, especially this morning, when I’ve taken the time to confabulate all this information in this ridiculous essay.

 

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Comrade

Comrade: (n) a companion who shares one’s activities

In the English language, many words get tangled up with each other and are perceived to be synonyms when they actually are not at all–and funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
when distinction is made, their purpose is more powerful.

May I show you what I mean?

Here are five words that are sheltered under the larger house of “friend”:

  • Teammate
  • Acquaintance
  • Fellow-traveler
  • Family
  • Comrade

In concluding this essay, I will give you definitions for each word so you can distinguish one from the other:

Teammate: someone who is on a team with you, who is focusing on his or her part in the game and demanding that you do the same.

Acquaintance: an individual who exchanges smiles and greetings with you in a casual, pleasant way, because no conflict has challenged the depth of the affection.

Fellow-traveler: the human beings we meet every day who, like us, deserve a seat on the bus and should never be told to go to the rear.

Family: folks you share genetics with, Thanksgiving with, embarrassments with and who also, unfortunately, may be prejudiced one way or another because they know you too well.

Comrade: Of all the patrons lined up at the bar in all the beer joints of the world, this is the person who has decided he or she wants to stand next to you and will fight for the privilege of that proximity.

 

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Clear-cut

Clear-cut: (adj) sharply defined; easy to perceive or understand.

In the pursuit of writing you a delicious essay or a tasty tidbit of insight, I suddenly was completely overwhelmed by the fact that I am not so
certain I know of anything that’s clear-cut.

It’s not so much that life is ambiguous as it is evolving. There are two reasons it evolves.

There is the scientific fact that there is an upward mobility to evolution that is going on at all times.

But there is also the presence of free will, which often makes our attempts at predicting reaction and conclusion to be a farce.

Just when we think we know how Nature works, Mother will surprise us. And after studying humanity incessantly, we are still bewildered by many of the choices made by those within our species.

Some people think their faith is clear-cut. They believe they’re going to heaven, even though many people of deep spiritual conviction have died, promising to send back a message. So far all mail boxes are empty.

Some people think democracy is clear-cut, raising it up onto the shoulders of “Truth”–as the best form of government. Of course, democracy, like everything else, is at the mercy of science and free will.

So being unwilling to disappoint you brilliant, lovable people, I concluded that the only thing that is clear-cut in life is for me to use my free will carefully, to make decisions based upon my current understanding of science.

Because to understand science is to be introduced to God, and to be introduced to God is an open door to the Universe.

 

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Clean-cut

Clean-cut: (adj) giving the appearance of neatness and respectability.

He was Mr. Wintermute.

I did not know his first name since I was a young boy and was not allowed to speak it, or for that matter, hear it. He was our village barber.
He cut hair.

I didn’t like to have my hair cut. I didn’t have any reason. Mr. Wintermute was a nice enough fellow. I suppose in today’s culture, we might accuse him of having “soft hands,” but such things were not considered when I was a young’un growing up.

He offered two possibilities in his shop. The first was called “regular,” and the second was called “butch.”

A butch haircut was one that was combed to the top and then clipped down to look like grass on a putting green.

A regular haircut was a little splash of hair left on the top and white walls on the sides.

Mr. Wintermute did not take special orders.

He had a little speech he delivered every time I went into his chair. “Yes, it’s good that you came. You’re looking a little shaggy, like the dog in the Disney movie. Let’s see what we can do to make you look clean-cut again.”

By clean-cut, Wintermute meant shaving everything in sight, leaving unattractive stubble around the ears, and a clump of what appeared to be crab grass on top. Of course, that clump needed to be clean-cut also, so he offered Brylcreem to smooth it down. And even though “a little dab’ll do you,” Mr. Wintermute was much more generous.

I would actually walk out of the barber shop feeling chilly–because suddenly my ears were on their own, to stay warm. My chubby face now just looked fat–and all the adults around me, who were advocates of clean-cut, “o-o-h-ed and a-h-h-ed” to maintain the belief that how one cut one’s hair actually had something to do with character.

Mr. Wintermute has long ago passed away. I think he would be very pleased that I wrote this essay about him, highlighting a time in American history when how we looked was the essence of who we were.

 

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Chosen

Chosen: (adj) having been selected as the best or most appropriate.

Without spraying dark, sticky thoughts into the air, I must admit that if I knew what I know now, I might not have chosen to be born.

I don’t think I would have chosen Mary and Russell as my parents. Considering my youthful antics, they might not have chosen me.

I certainly would not have chosen to be raised in the Midwest of the United States during a season when prejudice, bigotry and self-righteousness were considered to be “American values.”

I wouldn’t have chosen to be fat. Even though some people try to gain their self-esteem while encased in blubber, the excess poundage does take its toll.

I don’t know exactly what I would have chosen–I mean, I could continue this list and probably offend everyone I know.

But I certainly would have chosen Jesus.

This is not because I’m a religious person. Matter of fact, I have been known to doze off immediately at the mention of prayer.

It’s the practicality.

It’s the humanity.

It’s the responsibility that Jesus of Nazareth placed on himself and his followers that lets me understand that he “gets it.”

He gets what it means to be a human being on this planet called Earth. I don’t know if his manifesto would work on other planets. I don’t know anything about habitation in other galaxies.

But Earth requires a certain payload to launch your rocket.

I’ve chosen that.

I fail at it, and as long as I realize it’s a failure on my part and not a master plot against my happiness, I’m usually just fine.

I don’t know what else specifically I would have chosen.

I would not have chosen a career as a writer, because criticism and obscurity are your only friends.

Would I have chosen to pen this essay? Probably not.

I got up in a rather relaxed, lazy mood, and your interest just didn’t interest me that much.

So I’ve chosen, at times, to persevere–even though the immediate benefit does not scream its worth.

 

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Centipede

Centipede: (n) a small, predatory, long, thin animal with many legs.

Ignorance can be very appealing and humorous–as long as it’s presented as the stupidity it truly is. Matter of fact, humor is often the
exposure of ignorance.

There are times I pull up a word for this daily essay and decide to study a little further, so that the information I impart to you is tinged with accuracy. (God knows I wouldn’t want to give you fake or faulty facts.)

But on this particular day, I chose NOT to look up anything on the centipede because my ignorant understanding of it is so darling.

Over the years I did not know the difference between a centipede and a millipede, except that one creature touts a hundred legs and the other brags a thousand.

What always tickled my funny-bone was the knowledge that the animal with the hundred legs is quite large and dangerous, while the “slitherer” with a thousand legs is small and fairly harmless.

So much like our world.

When in doubt, when feeling insecure, when confronted with competition–over-advertise. Exaggerate.

The millipede was certainly intimidated by the prowess of the centipede, so it picked a name that immediately had legs to it. A thousand, to be exact.

So over the years, whenever I thought about these beings, I always reminded myself that the one who bragged about the most appendages was actually the weaker.

Huh.

Maybe there’s a lesson there.

 

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Birthplace

Birthplace: (n) the place where a person was born.

My birthplace is Ohio.Dictionary B

I suppose I could end the essay right there.

But perhaps it is my responsibility to make comment, storyline or even complaint about the location.

Having traveled for many years all over the U.S., I will tell you–there is no such thing as a natural Eden or a perpetual hell.

Once a birthplace has been secured for you due to the proximity of your conception, what follows is a needful series of feelings, which make that place tolerable–even blessed.

They tell me that the Son of God was born in a barn. Yet when we want to insult people, we make reference to the fact that they act like they were “born in a barn.”

So is the problem our birthplace?

Are there really regions of the country which are outposts for prejudice, anger, antipathy or intellectualism?

Of course not.

Being born requires a vagina and gravity.

After that, if you’re going to make a human being, you must mingle love, responsibility, work ethic and humor.

If you’ve got those four working, the place of your birth is truly insignificant.

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Bier

Bier: (n) a movable frame for a casket

Dictionary B

If you want to creep people out, just start talking about death.

Matter of fact, in the pursuit of bizarre conclusions, I have even brought the subject up at a party, and watched the room go from appalled to reflective, culminating in depression.

There are three things that are true about death:

1. It is the only thing that is certain, that we are certainly unwilling to admit is inevitable.

2. Everybody talks about an afterlife, but no one is really in a hurry to get there.

3. All humans are scared shitless of it–even though sometimes we pretend we’re not.

Sooner or later, we get there.

  • If it’s sooner, we call it a tragedy.
  • If it’s later, we usually say something like, “Well, it was his time…”

Therefore, it’s best that we take a moment and consider the quality of our lives–because each of us will someday end up hauled away on a bier to a place where we will not return, to go where we are not acquainted.

So I guess the best way to end this little essay is to conclude that while we are waiting, enjoy each other … and have a beer.

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Beagle

Beagle: (n) a small sturdy hound with a coat of medium length, bred especially for hunting.Dictionary B

Shall we discuss the word “rescue?”

For you see, when people tell me that I should get all my pets from “Rescues,” I must remind myself that these creatures have been salvaged from dire straits.

Therefore, since they do possess a brain, they just might have memories of being dangled over the flames of hell.

So when my young son wanted to get a dog, we went to the local Rescue, stepped behind the desk where they keep all the animals in cages, and were suddenly confronted with a collage of confused, frustrated, angry and sometimes even half-starved dogs crawling over one another to gain favor of this most recent human entering the room.

I suggested to my son that he pick one in the corner, who was not quite so survival-minded and seemed to have a sweeter temperament. Unfortunately, we found out that the reason this particular pooch was so silent ended up being that he was near death’s door.

But we nursed him back to health.

He really was a mutt, but the breed he most closely resembled was a beagle. We were pretty sure he would never get too large–except the other unknown portions of him did not know he was supposed to remain small.

So we ended up with a midsized dog who obviously had some brain damage from the trauma he had experienced, and therefore was a little cranky with strangers, while also picking up the personality and goofiness of our clan.

Even to this day, if you mention his name, there will be a split vote in the family on whether he was Snoopy or the Hound of Hell.

He didn’t care.

He had opinions on everything, similar to an old man at a Chinese buffet. But in his own way, he lived a full life of sixteen years before wandering away and apparently forgetting where he left his keys.

One of my favorite memories of that unique creation was his “hidden hound.” Even though I think he aspired to be a full beagle, if you began to howl like you were wailing at the moon, in no time at all, he would join you with a most baleful rendition.

He fought it.

He tried to pretend he didn’t understand, but always ended up with a bit of Southern heritage, barking at the air.

The dog’s name was Madez, and in honor of him, I will place this essay under the title of…”Beagle.”

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