Tag Archives: generations

Decibel

Decibel: (n) a unit used to express the intensity of a sound wave

Crossing all generations, cultures, genders, sexual orientations, kingdoms, all religious affiliations, pizza topping preferences, and conjoining into common ground is the international and universal pickiness about sound.

As a musician I’ve dealt with it all my life.

Let me start with three immutable facts.

  1. Music should be heard and not seen.
  2. As volume increases, so does passion.
  3. No composition was ever put together for the sole purpose of remaining in the background.

Even if it was written for a movie scene, the composer dreams that someone will single it out for an Oscar nod.

Yet after years and decades of traveling and performing, I will tell you—there is no setting on a PA system that is low enough to satisfy the tender ears of everyone in the room. Matter of fact, I finally had to forbid sponsors and audience members sensitive to decibels to be anywhere near my sound check—otherwise, all the amateur auditory engineers would be in my ear, telling me how my music was too much for their ears.

Yes, it pissed me off.

If I were a bigger man, it might be better, but also, it means I might have to buy a new wardrobe.

Simply, I like to hear my singing full-throated and my band, full throttle.

Crochet

Crochet: (n) needlework done with a needle with a large hook at one end.

I know nothing about crochet.

Yet this, by the way, does not discourage my need to espouse.

I have never crocheted. I don’t think I’ve even seen someone crochet, though they could have been doing it incognito—because since I don’t know what it is, it could be done before my very eyes and fool me for sure.

But I do recall that I had a great-aunt who decided to crochet me a sweater, since I was so overweight that it was difficult to buy them in stores. (As you can see, the premise for the gift was already somewhat flawed.)

So she set out to do this sweater for me—and then, six months later it arrived in the mail.

It was huge, and the color of straw.

In other words, it wasn’t yellow, it wasn’t brown, and you couldn’t even call it brownish-yellow or yellowish-brown. Although it was brand new, the flatness of the color made it look like it had been worn for many generations. And even though it was very large, when I put it on it felt funny. It was like one shoulder was crocheted shorter than the other, and the left-arm length was about three inches too long. It also had no buttons—you know, in the front, so you could join it and turn it into a sweater instead of a human horse blanket.

But it was warm, and it was the first piece of clothing that had come my way for a while (since in my era there was no such thing as “big men’s shops.”)

I decided to wear it.

My friends tried to be nice, but finally, when the class clown walked in, unaware that everyone was attempting to be sensitive about my misshapen garment, he just burst into laughter, which caused everyone else to feel free to mock at will.

You would think that this would have cured me from wearing my crocheted sweater—but because it was mine, and warm, and because I refused to be intimidated by the foolish fashionistas, I ended up donning it quite frequently.

Matter of fact, I kept it for two years, which is quite remarkable for an adolescent.

I wore it until one day, in study hall, I was suffering from a severe head cold. I had no Kleenex and feared that my entire brain was ready to run out of my nose and into my mouth. I reached up with my sweater and ran it across my nose, trying to sop up unwelcomed mucous.

You can tell by my description of the event that my wheaty-colored sweater could not be worn again.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

 

Subscribe to Jonathan’s Weekly Podcast

Good News and Better News

 

Chick

Chick: (n) a young woman.

The battlefield of my human journey is riddled with foxholes where I’ve made stands, only to find myself retreating–often in humiliation.

It makes me wonder if there’s any purpose at all for being obstinate.

Ten or fifteen years ago, I raised an objection over the word “chick.” I was offended on behalf of all women. Matter of fact, I opened up the
 discussion several times in a roomful of people of all generations.

After a lengthy discussion, I found that I was the only person who objected. The much older women remembered when girls were called “chicks” and it was a kind of a hip, Beach Boys thing. The younger girls felt it was a kindly, gentle alternative to “bitch.”

The case I made about the word being chauvinistic or degrading was met with a sympathetic nod but not much approval.

Here’s what I learned from the exercise:

If people aren’t upset about something they experience every day, I will do them no benefit by stirring them up and making them upset.

Donate Button

Anorgasmic

dictionary with letter A

Anorgasmic: (n) an inability to achieve orgasm despite responding to sexual stimulation.

I found myself in the position where it was necessary, or at least presumed to be, to teach a class on human sexuality to a group of adults. (I clarify that they were adults, because once we started talking about sex, they actually turned into a bunch of giggling teens.)

Considering that sex is so important to our well-being and self-worth, we actually have an extremely flippant attitude about the subject. I will grant you, it’s not necessary to become intellectual in the discussion, but certainly, if we don’t get beyond whispering, smirking and leering, we will never understand how we are meant to co-exist, procreate and satisfy one another.

I think the greatest mistake is the assumption that men enjoy sex and women tolerate it.

Here is a simple fact: No one avoids anything that pleasures them. I have run across people who were either bored or dissatisfied with adventures that promised pleasure and only delivered a modicum of the proposed package.

It’s like going on a vacation and staying at a hotel, hoping to sun-bathe, only to discover that the swimming pool has been closed for repairs. No matter how much you try to make the local restaurants and shops interesting, the original goal taunts you.

Even though we consider ourselves to have a high-falutin’ society, our approach to sexuality lands somewhere between Neanderthal and Bedouin.

Basically, we believe that men are to be pleasured and women are to provide the pleasure.

Once I was able to convince my class to stop snorting and chuckling, we discovered that human sexuality is meant to be a mutual effort made by two people to achieve orgasm–no matter what it takes.

The ideal circumstance is to make sure that the female acquires pleasure. Then the male doesn’t have to feel the need to perform, but instead, can relish the interchange.

  • Yes, women would be much more interested in sex if they were having orgasms.
  • Men would have to spend much less time wooing them if they were trained in how to assist a woman in finding her own space and time.

But to do this, we must admit that men and women are more similar to each other than different … and we just might be one or two generations away from that conclusion.

 

 

Donate Button

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

Anomymous

dictionary with letter A

Anonymous: (adj) a person not identified by name; unknown name.

Sometimes I stumble across an adage or poem that is particularly clever, insightful or even artistic, and at the bottom is the word “anonymous.”

Obviously, it’s not.

  • Somebody wrote it.
  • Somebody thought it.
  • Somebody did it.

Yet over the years, a strange transition has occurred.

Here’s my opinion on that process: some person without an agent or an ego came up with an idea which he or she shared freely among friends.

One of those people realizes how obscure their companion is and feels compelled, on a journey to a far-away city, to share the inspiration. They are surprised at how responsive everyone is to the piece, and initially give credit to the friend who spoke it.

But then they think to themselves that since this buddy is never going to actually be in this far-away city, what would be the harm in taking bows for the composition?

Likewise, someone else in the room, who travels even further, decides to repeat the same process, stealing the thunder from the thief.

After a while, at a huge party somewhere far away, three or four people hear these words, and attribute it to several different individuals, generating an atmosphere of confusion.

Since no one is certain any longer who actually came up with the idea, it is determined to call it a draw and attribute it to Mr. or Mrs. Anonymous.

It also occurs in our everyday life in America. We have a nation of laws, regulations and general compliance within the citizenry, and believe that this temperate climate is achieved by human effort, never giving any credit to the spiritual training and the moral grounding that has been infused over generations.

We choose instead to attribute to religion or politics, and everything good is a by-product of our thinking or the latest craze.

In case you didn’t know, loving your neighbor as yourself is not anonymous.

If you weren’t aware, telling the truth did not spring from nothing.

Sometimes it’s a good idea to trace back great notions to their source, and therefore sit at the feet of wisdom instead of crinkling your brow … and pretending that the power that makes life work springs from magical four-leaf clovers.

Donate Button

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

Angelou, Maya

dictionary with letter A

Angelou, Maya: (1928-2014): a U.S. novelist and poet, who wrote the autobiography, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” recounting her harrowing experiences as a black child in the American south.

When Ms. Angelou died recently, I was curious about how the press would discuss her journey.

Let’s be honest–it’s what we do. We characterize human beings into such small compartments that it is difficult for them to be contained without busting out the sides.

Here is what I discovered: most of the reports focused on some aspect of her race, her experiences within the realm of her color, or her writings about the subject. It will be many generations before we’re able to escape the statement, “She was black.”

The next popular phrase used for her was “ground-breaking.”

Often I think we fail to understand that breaking ground means that the earth has gone fallow, failing to grow anything, and that someone needs to take a shovel to the crusty surface and risk looking like a fool for pursuing hope in the desert.

Even though we laud her efforts, we must realize that she spent the majority of her life subjugated by a society that found her inferior by hue, even though she was able to intellectually surpass all the hum of their activity.

In third place was an appreciation for her art.

I suppose it might have taken a primal position had it not been for an ongoing, quiet racism that whispers in corners of the secrecy of our private moments.

I personally remember her as a soft-spoken, gentle woman with a bit of edge, who tried to explain the confusion around her using more beautiful language than it perhaps deserves.

I recall her debating a rap artist and telling the young man that using dark or evil language was like pouring poison into the world. She said, “Poison is always poison.”

The young rapper was very respectful but unmoved. For after all, one man’s poison is another man’s medicine, and all the cures we have for ailments, left to themselves or taken in excess, are deadly.

She was a tender, simple woman of craft who believed there was still much to be done, carried the scars of her upbringing and yearned for a more peaceful place.

It is a great comfort to me that she has found that home.

It is a great curiosity to me that perhaps in the future, people like Maya can be known for what they say … instead of what color they appear to be.

 

 

Donate Button

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