Tag Archives: pimples

Cove

Cove: (n) a small indentation or recess in the shoreline of a sea, lake, or river

 Clever will only take you so far.

This is true in any occupation, but certainly must be observed faithfully by the writer.

For you see, I am going to tell a story today about when I was sixteen. The temptation is to preface this story with an introductory sentence funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
which sounds cool, or what they might refer to as “off-the-top-of-the-head-ish.”

For instance:

  • when I young
  • back when pimples were my major problem
  • long before anybody called me Dad
  • in an era when I languished in my teens

You see what I mean?

Although at times these little scribbled affrontations are passable, they can get old very quickly, even if you’re talking about being young.

So suffice it to say, at one time in my life I decided to start a coffeehouse for the fellow-students at my high school. This was back when such an idea seemed expansive and other-worldly rather than old-timey and really out of it.

I found a small house—so tiny it was difficult to believe anybody had ever lived in it. But you could stuff about thirty-five people in, on the ground floor, if everybody agreed to inhale and exhale in unison.

It was perfect.

I covered the windows so no external lighting could come in, installed black lights and put colored bulbs around to give it a spooky effect.

We could not decide what to call the place, but one night, as we pulled up, we noticed it looked like an old fisherman’s cabin. So someone suggested we call it, “The Cove.” Actually, the suggestion was “The Fisherman’s Cove,” but as the weeks went by, the adjective was dropped, and it became known as “The Cove.”

All the students at the school jockeyed for the right to be one of the holy thirty-five to come to The Cove on a Saturday night, to sit around and eat bologna sandwiches and listen to the rock music our parents were sure would lead us to hell.

As it turned out, the rock and roll music did not take us to hell, but unfortunately, the bologna sandwiches gave us cholesterol problems.

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Billboard

Billboard: (n) a large outdoor board for displaying advertisements.

Dictionary B

I am gradually learning to be reluctant to assume that my common practices or inclinations are universal across our species.

It is a natural posture we tend to take when justifying our feelings to make ourselves a part of the mass instead of separated like the math nerd from high school who’s too skinny and has pimples.

So I will phrase it this way: I read billboards.

I don’t know why. Probably because driving on the highway, I am a prisoner to the miles. And even though I may be listening to the radio or having a great conversation, 5,280 feet, which makes up only one mile, can still be a long way.

So I’m grateful for the reading material along the side of the road which fortunately is set in a large enough font for me to discern.

I read ’em all.

So I’m not so sure that television advertising always works with me. I have heard many commercials on radio and never given them a second thought.

But I have often stopped at a Chinese buffet advertised on a billboard, which was only five miles ahead, finding myself more and more excited as I speeded toward it.

I’ve gotten good deals on motels.

I have occasionally found an inspirational message.

There are folks who consider billboards to be an eyesore, but I do not believe anyone can claim that they’re ineffective. In the course of a single day on an average freeway in America, tens of thousands of people pass by and at least have to glance up and see the promo.

It is very effective–at least with me.

And I don’t even think they’re ugly, even though the ones in Kentucky that say “Hell Is Real” may totally and completely disprove my assertion.

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Battered

Battered: (adj) injured by repeated blows or punishment.Dictionary B

Not all blemishes are pimples–but all blemishes may end up being called pimples and must suffer the accusation.

It is the nature of the human race to try to simplify things down to smaller categories. It is actually one of our more endearing qualities, because when we complicate matters, we become a living comedy of fleshy error.

Such it is with the word “battered,”

I have always had great respect for human beings, but I have occasionally looked into the mirror of humanity and seen my blemishes next to those who have pimples.

In other words–without further twisting this little parable–I have watched and even counseled people who have battered other souls, and realized that some of the symptoms of their actions live inside of me, and have even sprouted from my tongue.

I can try to rationalize it; I can insist that I am so adorable, generally speaking, that I am exempt.

I can shout from the housetops that I respect women, but as long as there is one nasty chauvinist remark lingering in my brain, I must be aware that I have too much in common with the batterer.

I do not think we succeed by comparing ourselves favorably to others.

I think our true power is when we find the first seedlings of a crop of sin inside ourselves.

  • I have been rude.
  • I have been overbearing.
  • I have interrupted.
  • I have been sarcastic.
  • I have been dismissive.
  • And even though I have not raised my hand and struck another traveler in anger, I have used my wit and words to bruise.

Eliminating all domestic violence will not protect women until the men who would never be violent discover the ways that they still batter.

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Antsy

dictionary with letter A

Antsy: (adj) agitated, restless or impatient: (e.g., he was too antsy to stay in one place)

It reminds me of the story of the man who went to the doctor with a surprising case of adult acne, and after tests were conducted, the physician informed the gentleman that the acne was a symptom of a cancer which was growing in his liver.

The man replied, “But can you clear up my skin?”

You see, that’s what I think about “antsy.”

Antsy is one of those superficial symptoms we address with a topical solution, by distracting ourselves, trying to be patient or fidgeting around, hoping nobody will yell at us.

But “antsy” is actually the emotional acne that appears because we are aggravated. And aggravation is what crops up when we’ve allowed the cancer of arrogance to take root in our being.

Even though many folks may disagree with this, insisting that their own form of nerves is caused by a high metabolism or an energy which has dogged them from their youth, I find that people get antsy because they’ve allowed themselves to become aggravated, which is brought about because they feel they deserve special consideration or they’ve been miscast.

It’s amazing how quickly your acne clears up when the cancer is addressed. Of course, many people would rather take care of their pimples than their tumors.

But the condition of aggravation is a damning state which never gives you peace of mind, nor any celebration over accomplishment.

I started solving a lot of my problems when I realized that I was arrogant. It’s not that I’ve escaped all of these prideful bursts of self-infatuation, but I am fully aware that I’m susceptible, and only in remission.

So because I address my arrogance, I get a whole lot less aggravated, and find that waiting is not only necessary, but powerful in most situations.

I don’t need to be antsy.

So unless you want to die from cancer of the liver but with beautiful skin, and you want to be known as a fussy individual because you never addressed your true addiction to arrogance, it’s a good idea to go back and track down the source.

How do you avoid arrogance? Well, it’s really quite simple.

Since there are eight billion of you on this planet … you really can’t be that special.

 

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