Comic

Comic: (n) a comedian, especially a professional one

There is no error in comedy.

It is always appropriate.

It is always needed.

And the more serious we think matters are, the greater the requirement is to sprinkle the wit of a comic. Otherwise, we start believing that we are inter-related
with the Divine.

There is “The Divine Comedy”–and that would be the realization that as mere mortals, the best we can do is keep good cheer about what certainly can be a bumpy ride on this roller coaster of life.

The first person to crack a joke is often the blessed soul who exposes light at the end of the tunnel.

The first individual to discover a comic twist receives all the hugs when the rescue is complete.

We need more comics.

We need more people who realize that life on Earth cannot be that important–when we’ve been put in charge of it.

 

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Chug

Chug: (v) to drink something in large gulps

My inexperience often leaves me intimidated, while my excesses are often overtly displayed in either my demeanor or appearance.

I’m not a beer drinker.

It’s not because I think it’s morally wrong or it’s associated with those who fart more than think. I just never started.

It’s almost like the scenario that if you don’t have sex before you’re twenty-one, you just might not ever have sex.

There are windows, am I right?

Everybody should hit a baseball with a bat before they’re six.

Everybody should ride a rollercoaster before they’re ten.

Everybody should probably kiss someone before they’re twelve.

Everybody should read a book which is thicker than a carrot before they’re fourteen.

I could go on and on.

I don’t know when most people drink their first beer. I was eighteen, and ended up sipping it. I can guarantee you that a sip of beer will probably prevent you from taking a gulp, and the lack of a gulp certainly forbids chugging.

There are many things I have drunk in my life that weren’t particularly sweet and tasty–but for some reason, that first sip of beer scared me away.

So when I watch movies and see teens chugging beer, only to vomit it up within the hour, I guess I just don’t get it.

Even though I have over-eaten to the point of regurgitating, I didn’t have fond memories of the barbecue ribs which instigated the urping. Matter of fact, for a season I couldn’t even hear someone say, “barbecue ribs” without dashing for the bathroom porcelain.

Yet people will drink beer, chug it, throw up and come right back for another serving.

Interesting. I just had a thought.

I wonder if that’s how recycling got started?

 

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Cellar

Cellar: (n) a room below ground level in a house

I could probably write a large volume of underground stories about cellars. Many things come to my mind.

One particular fascinating and disgusting example happened the Thanksgiving of my senior year in high school.

I had a girlfriend. That in itself was momentous. We had begun our highschool affair and had progressed beyond light petting to flirting with
some heavy petting, moving quickly towards petting at will.

So I picked her up on Thanksgiving evening and brought her over to my home. We stood around for a few minutes, talking with parents, though my mind was on bringing her down to the cellar, where we could make out on a couch normally reserved for the dog. (I wasn’t terribly concerned about comfort nor fragrance–really just availability.)

We had agreed not to have sex in the same fashion that teenagers promise their parents that they won’t ride the roller coaster at Disney World.

Trying to stay loyal to our promise of no intercourse, for which we would have no recourse, we just kind of laid there on the couch, rubbing up against each other ferociously. (I realize that such movement has a street name, but it sounds so coarse and really doesn’t capture the full energy and excitement of the event.)

Suddenly, in the midst of a back–or perhaps it was a forth–she pushed me away, leaped to her feet, jumped on her hands and knees and threw up all over the cellar floor.

I was surprised.

Apparently, the gyrations had disagreed with the turkey and dressing or angered some cranberry sauce.

But I learned something about myself. First, I would never be able to keep my promise to not have sex. But secondly, I found out that I cared very deeply for this young friend, because I got down on my hands and knees and cleaned up her throw-up.

I didn’t enjoy it. It felt sacrificial. But I did it.

She was embarrassed, impressed and touched. I was relieved it was in the cellar instead of the dining room.

I don’t think anybody ever knew about the event that night, when my girlfriend threw up…because apparently she was sick of me.

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Bated

Bated: (n) in great suspense; very anxiously or excitedly.Dictionary B

When asked recently what would make the world a better place, without delay I replied, “Excitement.”

Feeling we are too mature to wiggle and squirm in anticipation, the average adult plows through a day’s activities without much emotion.

We call it control.

We insist it’s grown-up.

We fear the appearance of childishness, and in the process, lose the better parts of being childlike.

  • So we declare that “Christmas is for the children.”
  • The roller coaster was exciting, but well within the scope of our coping.
  • And romance and its pleasures are a matter of well-timed course.

Excitement is what allows us to believe that things can get better. If we are fully aware of all the possibilities, then we are no longer able to be surprised. And any creature who is incapable of being astonished at the beauty of creation soon loses the true significance of living.

I like to be excited.

Sometimes I like to excite myself, just to make sure it’s not broken.

But mostly, I feel the need to let my breath be bated by the beauty of something unknown. 

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Acapulco

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Acapulco: a port and resort in southern Mexico on the Pacific coast; pop. 592,290, full name Acapulco de Juarez.

Since I don’t drink, gamble, have a beautiful body like a Greek god or enjoy dancing in the night life of an exotic resort, places like Acapulco never really drew my attention nor any of my interest. The things that would be of value to me, like the sunshine, water and some good Mexican food, are really available in my neighborhood.

It’s not that I am a curmudgeon who hates to be around crowds of people because I think they are dark and evil or different and weird. It’s that early on I discovered my own level of contentment and toleration for variation–and I love to stay within those parameters lest I find myself spending a lot of money doing things I don’t really want to do anyway, pretending they are the coolest thing that’s ever happened.

I don’t like to be overwhelmed by entertainment. So for me, going to a carnival which is set up in a shopping center parking lot, eating a corn dog, and trying to knock over a few milk bottles with a light-weight ball as I watch children use their tickets to ride on a rickety roller coaster is just as much fun as going to Disney World.

You see, I think there’s a danger in over-stunning our senses with innumerable sources of stimulation all at the same time, without having the opportunity to take in individual bonuses because we are so inundated.

I know I am alone in this.

But I’ve never wanted to be jaded by convincing myself that the only way I can have fun and sun is by going to Acapulco instead of stepping into my back yard with a pitcher of iced tea, a good book and some great music to listen to on a wonderfully sun-drenched afternoon.

It’s not that I’m simple–it’s just that I have five senses and I really don’t want to jam them up, so that they’re running around colliding into each other, vying for attention.

Stop for a moment and taste the iced tea. U-m-m-m. It’s good. Now, put your head back and let the sun warm your face. Excellent.

The one time I found myself at a resort like Acapulco I couldn’t get a moment’s rest or a chance for an idea to stretch its legs, because all the young cabana people were constantly walking up and asking me if I wanted to go deep-sea fishing, sight-seeing, hand-gliding or rollerblading.

I felt bad when I told them “absolutely not.” I wondered if they lost commission because I appeared to be out of commission. After that I decided to avoid such fruitless journeys, and instead, chose to tantalize my sense one at a time.

So you may go to Acapulco and you can even send me pictures.

I think I will just stop off at Taco Bell, pick up a couple burritos, sit in the sun, jot some notes down on a piece of paper, and after I become hot enough, dip the better parts of my body in some cool water.

That’s what I call … a vacation.

AARP, AAU, AAUP, AAVE

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

1. AARP: (abbr.) American Association of Retired Persons

2. AAU: (abbr.) Amateur Athletic Union

3. AAUP: (abbr) 1. American Association of University Presses 2. American Association of University Professors

4. AAVE (abbr.) African-American Vernacular English

If you don’t mind, I will take this series of initials to “initialize” my article for the day.

Seeing these four organizations lined up in the dictionary together really tickled my funny bone, because other than the dictionary throwing them together in alphabetical order, these four groups would not only be unaware of each other, but might be tempted to avoid contact.

It got me laughing. Wouldn’t you love to attend a party where a bunch of old people, aspiring athletes, college professors, reporters and hip-hop African-American rap stars got together to share the same pot of dip?

What a hoot!

I don’t think anybody would venture into that possibility, even for a mad-cap comedy. Too far out. But it IS the reason why fear and prejudice survive.

For instance, I was deathly afraid of a roller coaster until I sat in one. The theory and definition of a roller coaster bleached me white in apprehension. Likewise, being raised in a small town but far from rural America, I was absolutely petrified at the notion of being around barnyard animals. Pigs, cows, goats and sheep seemed like alien creatures out to suck my soul. And then, one day a friend of mine invited me out to the stables. Once I got used to the odor and learned how to carefully walk, I found the creatures to be quite domesticated, as long as you followed a few simple rules and honored their territory.

Bigotry is not the by-product of experience but rather, the lack of it.

Just think if the AARP, AAU, AAUP and AAVE got together somewhere OTHER than the dictionary. After the awkwardness wore off and the menu was reviewed for acceptability, conversation would naturally lend itself towards common goals and similar journey jaunts. It would end up being inspiring.

Segregation is not natural. Birds of a feather don’t really flock together, but actually tend to gather in promising trees near meadows filled with food sources.

It would just be so neat to see Grandma talking to some urban black man about her experience with blues music. Both of them would have to explore their resources and expand their boundaries. Meanwhile, the professor could amble up and explain the origins of both getting old AND the American ghetto. One of the athletes could be an anomaly … by being white.

Such a palette for colorful discourse.

So even though they only appear together in the dictionary, you would have to agree, our world would be better if these four actually did plan a meet, eat and eat. Yes, the world needs MEG’s–Meet, Eat and Greet.

It is only then that we will begin to birth a nation that has old, amateur athletes who are former professors that are completely well-acquainted with African-American vernacular.