Condone

Condone: (v) to approve or sanction something,

Life is a perpetual pursuit to discover the boundaries, borders and limitations of what is just none of my goddamn business.

If I become exhausted in this worthy quest, I will soon start objecting to things that other people are doing simply because I do not want funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
anyone to think that I condone such irregularities.

This is why governments release well-worded rebukes to other governments about their comings and goings, so as to make sure the history books will note their disapproval.

For years we did this over the subject of divorce. It was so looked down upon in our society that people were ashamed to admit they had marital problems for fear of being ostracized–for even thinking about calling it quits.

Those in the gay community were repeatedly informed by the righteous rabble that they were loved as people, but hated for their sin. (However, since that sin was considered to be homosexuality, it was a little bit difficult to separate it from their lives, to receive the love instead of being stung by the hate.)

I don’t think Facebook could exist if people weren’t condoning one thing while condemning another, to make sure it appeared they were not in a condoning mood.

To read what people write in criticizing one another, you would assume they have removed all beams from their own eye, and are clear-sighted to evaluate and critique the world around them.

Not me.

I will run from any instinct to judge another person, which also gives me license to not be present to condone.

Matter of fact, that running may be the only exercise I’m getting.

 

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Beard

Beard: (n) a growth of hair on the chin and lower cheeks of a man’s face.Dictionary B

Call it an oversimplification, but I believe the three stages in the life of a man can be summed up as follows:

  1. Birth
  2. Arrogance
  3. Disproven.

The key to success in human life, wearing a male body, is to arrive at “disproven” with a sense of humor instead of disappointment.

So it was well after my birth, in my season of arrogance, that I decided I wanted to grow a beard. For the life of me I cannot remember what stimulated this notion, but understanding my mindset in that season, it had something to do with being sexy. Because being sexy in the arrogant period of macho life is Number 1 on the Top 5 of important goals.

Of course, you know the problem.

Each one of us is issued a body filled with genetic mishaps, and within that body are limitations. As it turned out, one of mine was the ability to grow a decent beard.

I should have suspected this since I don’t really need to shave every day and only do so to keep up with the “Bill Joneses.”

So since I don’t need to shave all the time, it’s highly unlikely that my face is going to suddenly sprout a bush.

And it didn’t.

It grew in various portions of acreage, leaving other areas deserted.

I was unable to grow any hair on my cheeks, so my beard made me look like I was trying to become a Jew instead of a gigolo.

I persisted.

I used eyebrow pencil to fill it in for a long time, before finally one day I looked in the mirror and pitied my poor efforts.

As it turns out, I can grow a mustache and a soul patch.

I call it a beard. This shall satisfy my need for arrogance as I continue on in my understanding of being disproven.

 

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Bandana

Bandana: (n) a large handkerchief, typically having a colorful pattern, worn tied around the head or neck.Dictionary B

Knowing your limitations is important…and annoying.

Importantly annoying. To a certain degree, that summarizes adult life.

When I was a much younger man, I became quite enamored with the hippie philosophy–but more or less the attire rather than the ideals.

Now, let me make it clear that I am a chubby fellow. (Chubby is the generous word I use today for “fat.”)

But I did love the flowered shirts and the bandanas which were often worn on the head, to look cool and maybe have some practical purpose which certainly escaped my perception.

So since they did not make these flowered shirts in my size, I had a girlfriend make one for me. Unfortunately, the material I chose was literally covered with flowers, and she made it a little too big and irregular around the collar, so it kind of draped me at the chest.

But I slid on a bandana and proudly donned my new shirt and went out into society to establish my uniqueness. Much to my chagrin, the first four people who saw me referred to me as “ma’am.”

You see, when you’re chubby and wear a blousy flowered shirt, it does appear to be a blouse. Add a bandana and you look a little like you’re heading off into the field to pick lettuce.

So I was greatly offended, but rather than abandoning my clothing choice, I decided to grow a mustache to enhance my masculine image. Unfortunately, most people just thought the circus had come to town and they had caught the Bearded Lady on “Shave Day.”

It was embarrassing.

It made me defensive.

So my life as a hippie was very brief, and eventually I found it safer to reject the bandana in favor of a baseball cap.

To my delight, almost immediatelyI was once again viewed as a dude.

 

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Allocate

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Allocate: (v) to distribute duties or resources for a particular purpose.

I have discovered over the years that the best way for me to move forward in success and personal appeal is to extract as much fussiness from my ego and body language as humanly possible.

Even though we will occasionally tolerate a bit of sassiness in one another, we eventually grow weary in well-doing and begin to plot the social death of such aggravating creatures.

With that in mind, I cautiously present to you that one of my pet peeves is the word “allocate.”

I don’t like to be allocated.

Over the years I have acquired a toleration for the process because I live in a world where progress is ignored in favor of the worship of committees. Sometimes I feel it might be better if chaos, anarchy, or at least wild abandon permeated our species, and we spent more time correcting our mistakes than we do planning our indecision.

Just the action of “allocating” has an arrogance to it–as if we have asked God to step down from His throne and allow us to be Kings for a Day.

Let me be the first (or maybe the second) to shout aloud: “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

It isn’t that I lack experience, or that I’m less intelligent than you. It’s just that I’m fully aware that allocating love, finance, mission, mercy or direction to other people is well beyond my expertise.

I am extraordinarily suspicious of those who pull on a tie, sport a smug grin and in great detail explain why certain things can not happen because they can’t be “allocated in this environment.”

As I said, it is a bit of fussiness. And I am certainly not opposed to hearing good counsel or even being submissive to the powers that be.

But for God’s sake, can we say we really believe in a Divine Creator if we never ask Him to do anything that doesn’t add up on our human-held abacus?

  • If I don’t ask God to lift weights that are heavier than my allocation, what’s the purpose of prayer?
  • And if I don’t think you can do more than what I think you can, based upon the limitations I have placed upon you, what is the value of friendship?

I am sure the intentions of “allocate” are good–and I will try to be less growly on these subjects.

But for the time being, I will continue to leave “allocate” and all of his relatives off my Christmas card list.