Tag Archives: pizza

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.

Crevasse

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Crevasse: (n) a deep, open crack

“It’s just about eight feet.”

God, I hated those words.

Growing up, I was the chubby, endearing, intelligent and funny friend. If you put me in a room watching Chiller Theater or listening to music or eating pizza, I was the star of the show.

But every once in a while, I got myself trapped into doing activities that blubber-boys should never participate in whatsoever.

I was thirteen years old and was asked to go on a hike.

I cannot lie—I went on the hike because at the end of the hike we were supposed to have a cookout over an open fire with marshmallows. They did not explain that there would be a five-hour death march preceding it.

I was panting within fifteen minutes, melting with sweat within a half hour—my legs so weak at the end of fifty minutes that I could barely stand.

This in itself was problematic.

But then we came to the Brave Man Crevasse.

The grown-up in charge of the expedition had mentioned it the night before with starry eyes, nearly breathless over the joy each of us would have in taking what he called “The Great Leap.” Struck by stupidity and still dreaming of marshmallows, I had failed to consider the impact of his statement.

About three hours into the hike, with me praying for death or the second coming of Christ, we arrived at The Crevasse.

Very simply stated, it was where the path ended and then resumed eight to ten feet over on the other side, with a drop of about fifty or sixty feet in the middle

The major problem was that before I could even consider what we were doing or how I personally was going to achieve it, many of my friends boldly took the jump and landed safely on the other side. Applause followed.

Pretty soon it was down to Lance and me. Lance was considered to be the coward of our troop—afraid of every type of bug, and really somewhat terrified of dirt. Lo and behold, Lance decided to choose this day for his epiphany of courage. He jumped up in the air and landed, his foot slipping at the last moment, nearly falling, but grabbed by some nearby buddies, who then alternated with pounding him on the back for his courage and clapping wildly.

So there it was—that universal turn of nine heads in my direction.

Their faces were full of encouragement, nodding as if to send good vibrations in my direction.

I thought about following Lance’s example, then realized I was not born stupid. So instead I stepped to the edge and looked over at the craggy hillside, filled with rocks and bushes beneath. My first thought was, “I wonder if I could survive a fall and get the hell out of here in an ambulance?”

But it seemed unlikely and certainly painful.

The delay was apparently unnerving to my cohorts, because they began to express verbal exhortations, which gradually became more ferocious and even challenging. That’s when the dastardly statement came to be.

“Come on! It’s just about eight feet!”

You see, they were wrong. It was a crevasse. There was no place for feet at all. If it had been just eight feet, I could just walk across. But it was eight huge spaces of nothing but air.

Spurred on by a combination of humiliation, edification and (still) the prospect of dinner, I leaped.

But I did not do it feet first. Instead I leaped with the top of my body toward the ledge, barely catching it with my hands, my feet dangling and kicking, and me ready to fall.

Blessedly, all of my friends who had made it safely to the other side grabbed me by whatever they could reach and pulled me up to safety.

My heart was pounding. It didn’t stop its thumping for a solid twenty minutes.

Every single one of the people who leaped across chose not to talk about it.

I think they were terrified that they nearly lost me in the Great Crevasse on the overly lengthy hike in pursuit of toasting a marshmallow.

 

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Couch Potato

Couch potato: (n) a person whose leisure time is spent watching television.

Quietly listen or observe the contradictions around you and you will be able to accurately assess what is true and what is just the present jabbering fad.

For I will tell you, it is completely impossible to be so busy that you “just don’t know what you’re going to do,” and still have enough time to binge-watch a television show or an Internet series.

One of these two thoughts does not go with the other.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

In similar fashion, it is highly unlikely that we are on the verge of equality between men and women when every romantic comedy has a female protagonist who is completely dissatisfied with her life of business success and financial gain, but according to the plot of the screenplay, must find a man or she will be despaired.

Likewise, be careful listening to those who threaten that couch potatoes—people who spend more time sitting than moving—are in great danger of shortening their lives.

It’s a toss-up.

I’ve met people a hundred years old who worked hard all their days—and just as many who may have never actually gotten out of a chair.

There doesn’t seem to be any universal reasoning for who gets heart disease, the big C, a stroke or any other variety of deadly disorders simply based on whether they rose from their couch and walked around more than anyone else.

Matter of fact, I have bought potatoes at the store, put them into my pantry, and come back many weeks later and found that they were still edible. Potatoes seem to have an impressive lifespan.

So beware those who think they can sum up everything in life with an exercise program or people who think what you eat doesn’t make any difference at all.

Here’s a clue—an idea that just might have legs and feet:

If you’re planning on binge-watching something like “Game of Thrones” for the next eight hours, just make sure you’re snacking on salads and seeds instead of pizza and Big Macs.


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Coagulant

Coagulate: (v) to change a fluid into a solid

Every once in a while, my silly little boy shows up to take over my manly frame.

For what I hope is a brief time, I start thinking like a child or an adolescent instead of taking advantage of the library of my journey.

One day I convinced myself I was having a heart attack. Of course, the more I considered that my heart was being attacked, the more abundantly symptoms leaped to the forefront to do their best imitation, trying to reinforce my foolishness.

Eventually I found it necessary to drive to the emergency room and check in.

Well, nobody questioned my contention because…well, because I’m fat. After all, that’s what fat people do. They eat too much cake and pizza and have heart attacks. Since I wasn’t eating, the possibility of cardiac arrest was available.

So they put me on a treatment while they tried to figure out what to do with me. One of the things they gave me was an anti-coagulant. This is a drug that keeps your blood from clotting. I didn’t think anything about it.

But when it turned out that I had mingled a case of indigestion with an anxiety attack to simulate a cardiac event, they sent me home. They offered one warning: “Keep in mind, if you cut yourself, it’ll be very difficult to stop the bleeding.”

I ignored them.

That evening when I went into my bathroom to shave, I did nick myself. I put a little piece of toilet paper on it, as gents often do, but it continued to bleed down my neck, over and over and over again.

I do not know when it eventually coagulated, because I had to lay down and wrap it in gauze.

Whatever they intended for that particular drug was very effective.

I could not coagulate.

So as it turns out, on that particular day my greatest danger was not having a heart attack, but rather, bleeding to death from shaving.

 

 

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Citrus

Citrus: (n) a fruit from a citrus tree

Ignorance is the life of the party, bringing a full keg of beer, until knowledge shows up with pizza.

Most of us are completely satisfied to sip on the beer of ignorance. Why? Because the initial explanation is very satisfying to us.

To push beyond that would mean we might discover something that is less fulfilling–which we have to consider because it’s right.

Some years back I got a cold. I was doing a concert in 72 hours, so I needed a quick remedy to get rid of my common malady. This was during the phase in our society when we believed that Vitamin C was the secret to overcoming the “snoots.”

I decided I was going to be very aggressive in my treatment. I went out and bought nearly a bushel of citrus: oranges, tangerines, grapefruit, tangeloes–everything that had an orange or yellow peel on it. I ate one of these things after another, insisting to myself that I was treating my condition and improving my situation.

After several hours of consuming citrus, I started feeling more sick and logy. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I thought perhaps I wasn’t eating enough citrus, so I chomped more.

My limited understanding of Vitamin C prompted me to eat so much citrus that I just didn’t want to get out of bed.

Now, years later, I understand that all the sweet from the citrus raised my blood sugar, and in the process actually made me feel more ill. (You see, cold germs like sweet things, too.)

It actually took me longer to get over that cold because I aggravated it with a sugar rush. A little knowledge arriving at the right time might have convinced me to change my diet, limit my sugar intake and thereby increase my possibility of recuperating.

But honest to God, if the truth had walked in the door wearing a crown of righteousness, I just might have chased it away.

 

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Census

Census: (n) an official count or survey of a population

Every census is shortly thereafter followed by a tax. This began with Caesar Augustus in the Christmas story and continues today.

We want to find out how many people there are so we have some idea on how we should divide up the horrific amount of expense that’s involved in the process of us being people.

It’s a fussy way of reminding small towns that they’re shrinking and becoming less important.

The government can also determine where to send its money, and where the census tells them there aren’t as many voters, so no need to be nice.

It begins at an early age, when you plan a party at your house. The following Monday morning, after the party, the normal question is, how many people showed up?

Did you do a head count? Was the party successful because people had nothing else to do so they came to it?

No one asks if the chip dip turned out tasty. What flavors of pizza did you select? Was the discussion lively?

No. It all has to do with numbers.

We are a society obsessed with proving the value of our concept by collecting statistics on how many people are aware that we had a concept in the first place. We fear obscurity.

Yet no one enters the tomb with a companion–no census in the grave.

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Booze

Booze: (n) alcohol, especially hard liquor.

“A small piece of cake.”Dictionary B

Being an obese man for most of my life, I have used that phrase over and over again.

When offered the confection at a wedding or a birthday party, in order to communicate to those around me that I am in total control of my appetites, I ask for a small piece of cake.

Then I usually follow the cutter over and watch carefully, whispering in their ear, “Just a little more than that.”

Why? Because I don’t want a small piece of cake, but can’t admit it openly without appearing to be “Gluttonous Maximus.”

I laugh at myself.

It’s the same tickle I get in my soul when I realize that the young folks around me who talk about “a glass of wine with dinner” or “a beer with pizza” are often finding themselves moving on to a cocktail, an evening of drinking and eventually, just having to admit they love their booze.

Since alcohol is not particularly tasty, and normally used for cuts and bruises, the motivation for drinking it is at least an acquired sensibility–an agreement to tolerate the swill to achieve a sensation.

Now, I have to admit that I am a tee-totaler, so my opinion has to be viewed as obsessed with prejudice.

But it is astounding that the difference between “a glass of wine with dinner” and “booze” can simply be the time we have on our hands, our perception of our problems, or whether some friend is willing to sit down…and get sloshed with us. 

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Bona fide

Bona fide: (adj) genuine, real, without intention to deceive.

“It’s almost like pizza,” said the little boy as he munched on some rolls that were microwaved, having come from a box.Dictionary B

Just for the record, pizza rolls are not like pizza. They’re pizza rolls. I have no problem with them existing, as long as someone doesn’t say, “Well, it’s kind of like we had pizza–just all rolled up.”

Democracy has nothing to do with the presidential election. The election is an over-muscled, under-thought, lying extravaganza. Democracy, on the other hand, is a free airing of ideas, realizing that in that process we will probably have to change our minds from the hard line we have struck.

Religion is not Christianity. It doesn’t even try. It dresses up, passes around a multitude of symbols, and remains somewhat austere and stringent in an attempt to portray a God we refer to as “Love.”

We should never grow weary in the pursuit of well-doing, but we should also never call something bona fide–real, possessing lasting quality … if it fails to resemble the promise.

 

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Bipartisan

Bipartisan: (adj) involving the agreement or cooperation of two political parties

Dictionary B

Compromise is when one person wants pizza and another desires a hot dog, so it is decided to settle on hamburgers, with the hope that the bun will remind the pizza desirer of his choice and the beef in the hamburger will hearken to the filler in the hot dog.

In other words, no one’s happy but instead, tries to feast on the nobility of negotiation.

Bipartisan is a term that is not used as often in our day and age, mainly because we are convinced of the purity of our motives, and therefore, the divinity of our cause.

Or maybe it’s just that we’re too damn stubborn to sit and listen after we’ve yapped and fillibustered.

But the truth of the matter is, bipartisan is a ridiculous notion put forth by people who spend their day thinking that the world’s problems will be solved by forming an excellent debate.

When one person wants pizza and another wants hot dogs, hamburger is not the answer. It is unsatisfying to both parties and merely provides a surrogate solution, which will continue to be picked at by the participating partisans while they try to get their way.

Truth is never what you think, what I think or even a merger of our thought bubbles.

Truth is something completely erratic, which exists only in the hearts of those who are willing to humbly admit that they do not know what the hell they’re talking about.

Only through conversation can the stupidity of our reasoning be revealed, and then, only through repentance will it ever be abandoned.

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Appease

dictionary with letter A

Appease (v.): to make (someone) calm or less hostile by agreeing to their demands.

“There is a way that seems right unto a man, but the end of it is destruction.”

That’s a damned strong proverb.

  • Why aren’t there things that seem to be right in our present thinking that don’t end up destroying us?
  • Why can’t we use reasoning power to discover paths of goodness instead of falling victim to ridiculous conclusions that render us devastated?
  • Is there nothing good in us?
  • Are we devoid of understanding unless divine intervention snatches us from the pit of delusion?

I don’t think God has given up on the human race. I hope humanism hasn’t given up on God. We just need to remember that appeasing certain aspects of iniquity and stupidity is to become entangled in a web of deceit.

So I have to ask myself, where am I vulnerable to such lunacy? Where does my desire to get along with everyone place me in the roll of victim instead of victor? How much collaboration is possible before it becomes dangerous compromise?

There are some things we cannot give up, even to appease:

1. No one is better than anyone else.

Any philosophy that tries to teach otherwise needs to be given the chance to change its position, and if not, needs to be abandoned.

2. Men and women are in this together, not as enemies, but as equals.

So even though many of my peers find it extremely humorous to joke about the battle between the sexes, ultimately there must be a peace treaty, or our race will never make progress.

3. Liberty and justice for all.

Especially for those I don’t agree with. Yes, I must caution my spirit to make sure that my preferences don’t cloud the common sense of granting freedom to my neighbors.

4. Lying is wrong.

Even when I do it.

And lying is the spreading of any untruth or misinformation, even if it seems to advance a good cause.

5. And finally, we are not alone and we’re also not helpless.

True spirituality is accepting the fact that there is a God–but He has entrusted us to do His earthly work.

If I find myself giving in to other people on these issues just so we can have a more pleasant conversation and not get indigestion over our Beef Wellington at dinner, then I stall civil liberties in favor of civility.

If you like sausage and onion on your pizza instead of mushrooms and broccoli, I will join you for one evening, munching on your predilection.

If you want to discuss your superiority over another race, religion or orientation…then be prepared for me to disagree.

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