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Showing posts from April, 2012

The B.S. Meter.

Everyone has a B.S. meter. Mine's purple.
Actually, mine has been continually calibrated since I was about 16. I began to see through the pat phrases and cliche reasoning that my parents would sometimes give me as a legitimate reason I could not do something I wanted to, or that I needed to do as they told me. "Because I said so" hadn't been spoken to me in over 4 years, and to hear it from my father one day just shut me down. He later gave me a full explanation (I guess he saw the "you're so full of it" look on my face), which I understood, and completely agreed with, but to have been given that B.S. excuse up front felt like being given the middle finger.
So it is now that I'm in my mid-30s, I still find B.S. hard to swallow. Which is why whenever it's given to me, I turn it around and show it back to the person who gave it and call it by name. I do so as graciously as I can, and without malice or sarcasm (a TOUGH proposition, believe me),…

Riding Carts.

You know, as a 36-year-old man, sometimes I like to stand on the back bar of the shopping cart and ride it into the parking lot towards my car.
When my wife is with me, she appreciates how the speed the cart picks up pulls me farther and farther away from her (I don't get embarrassed easily; she does). So sometimes, just to give her grief, I'll kick one leg back like I'm skating along the ice in an ice dancing competition.
It sounds better than "figure skating", that's why.
There Is No Box.Zach