Cryogenics

Cryogenics: (n) the branch of physics that deals with very low temperatures

In any given winter in Central Ohio, I must have said it at least a hundred times:

“I’m gonna freeze my ass off.”

Why I thought it was significant to center in on my ass, or if my overall freezing would begin or end there, I do not know.

But with the arrival of cryogenics, you can now freeze your ass ON.

Yes, if you develop some sort of incurable disease or if you’re just sick of living in the twenty-first century, you can freeze your body—to later have it thawed out in such a time when the disease that inhabits you can be healed or the ugliness of age that is pursuing you can be receded.

In other words, you get younger.

I have to ask myself if this is something I would like to do.

Was I so impressed with my first go-around that I would like to go around later on with people, times and unknown quantities beyond my control?

Coming back from the dead in a much, much different generation is certainly waking up with no friends.

You might be a curiosity, but still, so old-fashioned and stuck in your time that the new-fangled world, which obviously must be accomplished, might be unsuitable for your occupation.

Even though no one likes it, death offers an obvious last chapter.

Otherwise, if you delay it, it’s like that annoying friend from your high school who started writing a novel twenty years ago and has not finished it yet, though every time you meet him he reminds you that he has a novel on ice, and that someday…ah, yes.

Someday…

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C



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Cosmetic

Cosmetic: (n) a preparation for beautifying the face, skin, hair, nails, etc.

I have an odd face.

Not odd in the sense of grotesque, but rather unusual.

Though I am a man, I really can’t grow a beard. Matter of fact, I can go many days without shaving before anybody would even call it stubble.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I don’t have eyebrows. It’s like the plans were drawn for some, but apparently there was some problem with the shipment.

My ears pin back to my head. I know that normally ears are a problem because they stick out, but mine could certainly be a bit more assertive.

My nose is small for such a big face.

And as I’ve grown older, I’m not so concerned with wrinkles as I am with little discolorations—marks that appear, changing my countenance from smooth to sometimes resembling the surface of the moon.

I have two such places. One is in the middle of my left cheek. It appears to be some sort of wart. It is tiny, which makes it even more annoying. Then, near my left eye, I have a very light brown age spot.

I realize this is not of much interest to you. (Matter of fact, I may be writing this sentence to no readership.)

But the point is, I want to take those two tiny mars and use cosmetics to cover them up, so that my face looks like a moon pie instead of the cratered dark side.

It is vain.

It is the last thing I do in the morning—before coming out of my room, I grab a simple cover stick and touch those two parts with coloration until they disappear.

I’m not so sure it makes me look younger—but it does make me feel younger.

Or maybe just immature and childish.


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Buddy

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Buddy: (n) a close friend

A buddy is much more than a close friend.

I always viewed a buddy as someone who is a little younger than oneself, who tags along with great devotion, Dictionary Bsuffering under the pangs of hero worship.

I had such a friend.

He was about two years my junior, intelligent as a librarian’s daughter and completely inexperienced in most aspects of life.

I set him up with his first girlfriend.

I explained some of the greater subtleties of human sexuality (from my limited perspective).

I took him to his first X-rated movie.

We were so close that half the people thought I was a bad influence and the other half were grateful that I took him under my wing.

It lasted for about a year. Then one day somebody talked to him about me–or maybe nothing, or perhaps something.

Who knows?

From then on, we never really saw each other.

But sometimes I wonder if he thinks about the time we had together–the adventures, the laughs, the mistakes and the double-takes.

I remember it fondly.

Was I a bad influence on him? Hell, yeah.

In a good way.

 

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