Tag Archives: spill

Cork

Cork: (n) material used to make stoppers for bottles

Long before there were screw-on caps, people had to figure out a way to keep their wine from spilling. After all, it’s unrealistic to think that the wine bottle will remain upright since we, ourselves, are incapable of the  maneuver.

I don’t know who suggested the cork. But little did they know that centuries later, they would institute a phraseology which encourages funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
control: “Put a cork in it.”

As soon as this genius—whoever he or she was—carved a piece of cork to fit into the top of a bottle and was able to pull it back out, to open the vessel once again, he or she made it clear that if you don’t want to spill the contents, you’ve got to make sure the exit is dammed.

That covers so many subjects I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

For instance, every morning I wake up stuck with how I feel. Sometimes washing up, getting some breakfast or just moving around might improve my energy, but often the contents of my “bottle” is either ready for pouring—or needs corking.

I have to know the difference.

Bluntly, there are times when I am not suitable for human consumption. No matter how many aspirin I take, push-ups I do or cups of coffee I may ingest, what is inside me needs to be corked.

Then there are days when my internal splashings can pour forth like crystal blue water. Those are the occasions when I can pull the cork, and make myself available for the party of humankind.

“Put a cork in it.”

And when you do—be grateful to the person who decided to cease accepting spillage and found a good way to keep it bottled up.


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Chuckle

Chuckle: (n) a quiet or suppressed laugh

He drove me crazy (even though that would not require many miles of journey.)

He was a theater critic who came out to watch my show, and even though I settled my inner being by insisting that I would not glance his
way, my left eyeball seemed to deny the commitment and wander over to view his reaction.

I was hilarious–at least as hilarious as I ever get.

I was on–which is merely the opposite of off.

The audience was with me–though you’re never quite sure how much of it is sympathy.

He just sat there. He didn’t smirk. It was like someone had bet him that he could remain emotionless during the entire affair.

I had never met him before, but I hated him. Not with a ferocious anger, sprouting a rage of violence–just a normal, temporary, human hatred, which could be assuaged merely by the introduction of a simple compliment.

After the show he came backstage to see me. I was surprised. I thought the next thing I would receive from this fellow would be his review, in which he used as many synonyms for “mediocre” as possible.

But turns out he thought I was hilarious.

I had to ask him, “Did you ever laugh?”

He frowned at me as if concerned about how much I might have hurt myself falling off the turnip truck.

“You don’t have to laugh out loud to chuckle inside,” he explained. “I am an internal chuckler, who simultaneously admires the material that amuses me.”

I stared at him, but decided not to pursue the conversation, since at this point, the outcome was in my favor.

But as I considered his insight, I realized that I often watched things on television or at the movies, and would tell people how funny they were–yet I wasn’t really sure my face exuded anything other than a death growl.

All I can say is, you can feel free to chuckle, even if it’s done inside your closet of appreciation.

But thank God–oh, thank God–for those who spill and spew their laughter.

 

 

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Akimbo

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Akimbo: (adv) with limbs flung out widely or haphazardly. e.g.: she fell on the ice, arms and legs akimbo

It happens from time to time.

I think it’s because some people come into a motel room and use the shower for oil treatments, hair coloring or perhaps they have particularly slippery shampoos or conditioners. I’m not sure.

But you will occasionally come across a porcelain surface in a shower stall that is so slippery that you will suddenly find yourself sliding in every direction as you grope for the wall, only to discover that these tiles are equally as slippery–lending itself to the possibility of an uncontrolled sprawl.

The danger here is simple. If you try to correct your tumble too quickly, you actually increase the possibility of ending up akimbo, with parts of your legs and arms broken in the process. After all, usually people don’t really get hurt during a fall. Most of the time we suffer the damage by attempting to correct the spill–inaccurately.

This happened to me recently in one of those shower situations, as I began to slide in four different directions, incapable of handling more than two. My blood pressure shot up, fear gripped my soul and I had the instinct to try to rectify my situation quickly.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I allowed myself to slide to a position where I ceased to fall uncontrollably. I froze for a moment, regaining my wits, and then found a way to simply lean back and land with a safe bounce on my ass.

It was beautiful. It was wonderful. It was controlled. It was creative. It kept me from asking parts of my body that were not suited towards weird angles to restructure their joints and ligaments.

Because even though I may never use the word “akimbo” ever again, I do understand that arms and legs were never meant to be asses.

The ass learned a long time ago that it has a calling in a crisis–to handle all the crap.