Actual Story per KTVB, 01/13/09:
Legislators have been getting hit by cars so frequently of late, that the speed limit around the Capitol Building in Boise, Idaho is being lowered in order to protect lawmakers, several of whom have been hit crossing the street in front of the Capitol, by speeding motorists.
Not so actual story, per my sick and overactive imagination who has since had its TV privileges temporarily suspended (dateline, unknown):
“Hey everybody, look! I caught me a good one this time!” Family, friends, and neighbors gather around to admire the congressman strapped to the bed of a pickup.
“That’s awesome, Bill! You got yourself a 21-pointer, there for sure.”
“Twenty-one pointer? Wassat?” asks the little neighbor, who has ridden up on her tricycle to find out what all the fuss is about.
“Oh, that someone who has been serving in the legislature for 21 years, making laws and stuff, honey.” Whispers her father, who has chased her for blocks; he told his wife he was “concerned about traffic” and other safety matters, what with their daughter out navigating the world alone on that “damn tricycle.” His wife buying none of his story, guessing that someone in the neighborhood had brought down another congressman or woman and figured she’d leave him to chase the story, and their daughter.
“Hey, I thought those guys had a thing for term limits or something,” chimes in a high school boy, thinking he has so much to teach the adults, instead of realizing he may still have so much yet to learn.
“Well, yeah,” responds one of the onlookers, sneaking the boy a beer from a nearby cooler. “They all want term limits, til they get into office. Then they end up voting themselves pay raises instead, don’t ya, big guy?” At this, he turns and stares into the eyes of the panicking man tied to the bed of the pickup, and winks at him, walking away, still muttering about term limits.
“What’s going to happen to me?” Will you let me go now?” The 21-pointer in the truck almost shrieks as he asks, “What are you going to do?”
“Shhhh” a calm voice can just be heard, over the shouts of the growing crowd in the neighborhood, some yelling about term limits, some drunken fools yelling “Kill, kill.” “No, we aren’t going to kill you.” The man who had brought him down in the first place is the owner of the calm, quiet voice.
“But, we aren’t going to exactly let you off the hook, either. You promised something to these people here.” He holds his beer bottle in his hand, as he points first to himself, and then to the still gathering, but now quieter crowd. “We are the people of your district, sir. Are you ready to listen to us now?” Of course, the 21-pointer nods his head eagerly, and only flinches a little as the hunting knives are unsheathed, and cut him loose.
The rest of the evening is spent with the legislator and the people of his district sharing beers, BBQ, and ideas about far more than just term limits, but how to get the congressmen and women back out to neighborhoods to share ideas with the people that elected them, without having to knock them down and out to do it. The wee hours of the morning give rise not just to the sun, but to the 21-pointer’s rededication to the ties he knew he had to his red necked friends and neighbors, and had tried to forget along the way to social climbing and fundraising.
A little sore, and a lot hung over in the morning, it’s worth the experience in the long run. He’s the only congressman, come election season, not to run for re-election, but he’s also the only one who had enough money and support to do it if he’d wanted. But when he throws his support behind another nominee, the man wins by a landslide; even though he had once run over a congressman outside the Capitol Building.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Shut My Mouth
Words are the medium by which I express…well…everything; my artistic side, emotions, intellect, personality, and so many other things. They all come through by way of my essays, blogs, or just simple conversation.
But when things aren’t going well, the first casualty is always the thing that is also my source of comfort: my words. If I’m angry or upset, I get quiet. It isn’t a purposeful silent treatment; rather, it just feels like I’ve swallowed all my words, and can’t spit any of them out again. They just sit in the pit of my stomach instead.
When times are tough, the written word won’t come to me at all. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t have anything to say, or if it’s that I have so much that it gets all jumbled together and can’t make it out of the traffic jam of my mind. Or maybe I just don’t want to examine the words that are trying to escape, since they aren’t ones that are as pleasant as what I’d like to imagine. I never want to write about bad stuff, and when things are going badly, that seems to be what takes over my mind and shuts my mouth.
When I’m struggling, I also tend to stop speaking to myself as well. Not that I am to be found wandering the streets, gesticulating wildly and shouting at myself. What I stop is the positive self-talk that I generally use to get through a challenge, or even just a day that needs some effort. The silent “Come on, you can do this…” or “Well, I’m sure there’s a good reason this is happening…” and “At least there will be friends/coffee/my dog waiting…” for encouragement, and to remind myself that indeed there usually is a good reason for things and that my dog is always waiting for me, these words are helpful and sometimes even powerful. But, times of stress and strain cause me to give myself the silent treatment, leaving me on my own, or worse: sighing silent messages of defeat.
I’d like to say that as a result of this awareness I’ve learned some valuable new approach to managing the down times. That now, I write, speak, call friends, or reach out in some way with the words that serve me so well during sunnier phases of life. But, it isn’t so. I have acknowledged my tendency to pull away from people, even from myself, and my words. I realize the frustration it causes for those who love me…including the frustration for myself…after all I love me too!
I do, however, believe there is a reason for things to be the way that they are, even my strange hermit-like ways. Although it’s no fun when my words leave me, and I leave everything and everyone else in turn, I find that when it passes, there have been lots of things collecting while I’ve been “away.” Then I enjoy the downpour of thoughts and ideas and new ways of looking at the world that were just waiting to burst forth, while I was waiting. Quietly.
But when things aren’t going well, the first casualty is always the thing that is also my source of comfort: my words. If I’m angry or upset, I get quiet. It isn’t a purposeful silent treatment; rather, it just feels like I’ve swallowed all my words, and can’t spit any of them out again. They just sit in the pit of my stomach instead.
When times are tough, the written word won’t come to me at all. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t have anything to say, or if it’s that I have so much that it gets all jumbled together and can’t make it out of the traffic jam of my mind. Or maybe I just don’t want to examine the words that are trying to escape, since they aren’t ones that are as pleasant as what I’d like to imagine. I never want to write about bad stuff, and when things are going badly, that seems to be what takes over my mind and shuts my mouth.
When I’m struggling, I also tend to stop speaking to myself as well. Not that I am to be found wandering the streets, gesticulating wildly and shouting at myself. What I stop is the positive self-talk that I generally use to get through a challenge, or even just a day that needs some effort. The silent “Come on, you can do this…” or “Well, I’m sure there’s a good reason this is happening…” and “At least there will be friends/coffee/my dog waiting…” for encouragement, and to remind myself that indeed there usually is a good reason for things and that my dog is always waiting for me, these words are helpful and sometimes even powerful. But, times of stress and strain cause me to give myself the silent treatment, leaving me on my own, or worse: sighing silent messages of defeat.
I’d like to say that as a result of this awareness I’ve learned some valuable new approach to managing the down times. That now, I write, speak, call friends, or reach out in some way with the words that serve me so well during sunnier phases of life. But, it isn’t so. I have acknowledged my tendency to pull away from people, even from myself, and my words. I realize the frustration it causes for those who love me…including the frustration for myself…after all I love me too!
I do, however, believe there is a reason for things to be the way that they are, even my strange hermit-like ways. Although it’s no fun when my words leave me, and I leave everything and everyone else in turn, I find that when it passes, there have been lots of things collecting while I’ve been “away.” Then I enjoy the downpour of thoughts and ideas and new ways of looking at the world that were just waiting to burst forth, while I was waiting. Quietly.
If The Mayans Were Right…
Until just a few years ago, the only thing I knew about the Mayans was…well, I don’t know that I knew anything specific at all about them, now that I think about it. But I knew that they had existed a long long time ago, their culture had died out, and we had the broken pottery and crumbling architecture to prove it.
With recent movies, TV specials, and books on the subject, I now know that the big deal about the Mayans is that they predicted the end of the world would be in 2012. I don’t really know the details of the predictions or how they were communicated. For all I know someone found an ancient cave painting of a Mayan guy wearing a sandwich board that said “The end is near” and the number 2012 on it, and this gave us a movie starring John Cusack (for which I am truly grateful. If the world has to end next year for a few more movies to be made with John Cusack before we go, that is fine by me.)
Everyone seems to have a position now on the whole Mayan thing. The good news is, I really don’t. Apocalyptic predictions are pretty easy to come by, and I could spend my last few precious years, or decades, depending on who’s right, just digging through all the theories. Seems like an ironic waste of time to spend your life trying to figure out how it’s going to end.
But, for the sake of my having something to write about today, let’s say the Mayans’ sandwich board guy got it right and next year is it for all of us. I have been thinking a little about the things I will and will not miss, should we go the way of, well, the Mayans:
Will Not Miss:
The pits in avocados and mangoes. Great fruits, but the flesh to pit ratio is out of whack. Plus, by the time you try to free the mango from its pit, pretty much you could have just sliced up a peach, and settled.
Hair removal. The shaving, plucking, and dissolving with various chemicals is not only time consuming, but tedious. I find that there is always something, somewhere that gets missed. It’s the kind of thing that will distract me the rest of the evening once I see it…one tiny hair, and I can focus on it more intensely than any speech, movie, or dinner date that the hair removal was intended for in the first place.
Saying hi all day long in the hallway at work. Although I enjoy my colleagues immensely, am delighted to stop and chat whenever we pass each other, there should be a legal limit for how many times you have to say hi to the same person when you pass them in the hallway multiple times throughout the day. “Hi”, “How are you”, “How’s it going”, “Hey”, “Oh you again,” it becomes a little silly after a while. I would not miss this social ritual, were it to disappear tomorrow (or, let’s say, a year from now.)
Grocery store parking lots. This is a place where new cars go to become old cars. The dents and dings inflicted by runaway carts, doors flung open by cars parked too closely, bumpers dented by people who reverse first and look later, it is a danger to vehicles large and small, but the little guy really takes a beating. Suburban vs Kia: you know who is going to come out the winner in this bout.
And one last item:
Ill fitting underwear. From the sag of the granny panty to the pinch of the thong, from chasing wayward bra straps to the gouging underwire from hell, there are myriad foundation garments that, should we all be launched into space by a giant explosion, better all be going with us.
The list could go on, but I want to mention some of the good in this world that would be missed as well. This includes:
Bubbles. Their simple, silent beauty, and the act of sitting on a porch blowing them from a wand with a small child giggling with you is a pretty darn good thing. Bubbles: missed.
Lipstick. Love the stuff. Even if I don’t have any makeup on, just some lipstick will give the illusion that I am “finished.” Magical. Wish there was a lipstick equivalent for one’s career.
New toothpaste. I like having that new tube that I haven’t squeezed so badly in the middle that half of the stuff is trapped at the bottom of the tube, and then have to work to get out. Those first few squeezes (from the middle) of a new tube are awesome.
Chocolate covered cherries. Perfect food: it’s candy, but fruit. Go with it, its fruit.
Puppy tummies. Puppies always have these really round, soft tummies that are awesome to cuddle. A dog tummy is ok, but not the same as puppy tummy.
John Cusack movies. You knew this was coming, but I wanted to make sure we covered this. “Serendipity,” “Say Anything,” “Martian Child,” I could go on and on…but I might not have time, if his “2012” movie is right.
Sleeping in. There is just not enough sleeping being done anymore. I don’t know what happened to the idea of the long, lazy morning at home in bed (maybe that was just my idea) but…well maybe I won’t miss it if we explode. Or implode. Or whatever…(maybe I need to read a book about this after all?) I imagine we just won’t be around to do the sleeping anyway. And I’ve heard Heaven is pretty relaxing…
If I had to pick one last thing to miss it would be…well, everything. Even though there are many days that I feel like the world is full of mango pits and granny panties, I will try to remind myself that it also has plenty of bubbles and puppy tummies to balance it all out.
With recent movies, TV specials, and books on the subject, I now know that the big deal about the Mayans is that they predicted the end of the world would be in 2012. I don’t really know the details of the predictions or how they were communicated. For all I know someone found an ancient cave painting of a Mayan guy wearing a sandwich board that said “The end is near” and the number 2012 on it, and this gave us a movie starring John Cusack (for which I am truly grateful. If the world has to end next year for a few more movies to be made with John Cusack before we go, that is fine by me.)
Everyone seems to have a position now on the whole Mayan thing. The good news is, I really don’t. Apocalyptic predictions are pretty easy to come by, and I could spend my last few precious years, or decades, depending on who’s right, just digging through all the theories. Seems like an ironic waste of time to spend your life trying to figure out how it’s going to end.
But, for the sake of my having something to write about today, let’s say the Mayans’ sandwich board guy got it right and next year is it for all of us. I have been thinking a little about the things I will and will not miss, should we go the way of, well, the Mayans:
Will Not Miss:
The pits in avocados and mangoes. Great fruits, but the flesh to pit ratio is out of whack. Plus, by the time you try to free the mango from its pit, pretty much you could have just sliced up a peach, and settled.
Hair removal. The shaving, plucking, and dissolving with various chemicals is not only time consuming, but tedious. I find that there is always something, somewhere that gets missed. It’s the kind of thing that will distract me the rest of the evening once I see it…one tiny hair, and I can focus on it more intensely than any speech, movie, or dinner date that the hair removal was intended for in the first place.
Saying hi all day long in the hallway at work. Although I enjoy my colleagues immensely, am delighted to stop and chat whenever we pass each other, there should be a legal limit for how many times you have to say hi to the same person when you pass them in the hallway multiple times throughout the day. “Hi”, “How are you”, “How’s it going”, “Hey”, “Oh you again,” it becomes a little silly after a while. I would not miss this social ritual, were it to disappear tomorrow (or, let’s say, a year from now.)
Grocery store parking lots. This is a place where new cars go to become old cars. The dents and dings inflicted by runaway carts, doors flung open by cars parked too closely, bumpers dented by people who reverse first and look later, it is a danger to vehicles large and small, but the little guy really takes a beating. Suburban vs Kia: you know who is going to come out the winner in this bout.
And one last item:
Ill fitting underwear. From the sag of the granny panty to the pinch of the thong, from chasing wayward bra straps to the gouging underwire from hell, there are myriad foundation garments that, should we all be launched into space by a giant explosion, better all be going with us.
The list could go on, but I want to mention some of the good in this world that would be missed as well. This includes:
Bubbles. Their simple, silent beauty, and the act of sitting on a porch blowing them from a wand with a small child giggling with you is a pretty darn good thing. Bubbles: missed.
Lipstick. Love the stuff. Even if I don’t have any makeup on, just some lipstick will give the illusion that I am “finished.” Magical. Wish there was a lipstick equivalent for one’s career.
New toothpaste. I like having that new tube that I haven’t squeezed so badly in the middle that half of the stuff is trapped at the bottom of the tube, and then have to work to get out. Those first few squeezes (from the middle) of a new tube are awesome.
Chocolate covered cherries. Perfect food: it’s candy, but fruit. Go with it, its fruit.
Puppy tummies. Puppies always have these really round, soft tummies that are awesome to cuddle. A dog tummy is ok, but not the same as puppy tummy.
John Cusack movies. You knew this was coming, but I wanted to make sure we covered this. “Serendipity,” “Say Anything,” “Martian Child,” I could go on and on…but I might not have time, if his “2012” movie is right.
Sleeping in. There is just not enough sleeping being done anymore. I don’t know what happened to the idea of the long, lazy morning at home in bed (maybe that was just my idea) but…well maybe I won’t miss it if we explode. Or implode. Or whatever…(maybe I need to read a book about this after all?) I imagine we just won’t be around to do the sleeping anyway. And I’ve heard Heaven is pretty relaxing…
If I had to pick one last thing to miss it would be…well, everything. Even though there are many days that I feel like the world is full of mango pits and granny panties, I will try to remind myself that it also has plenty of bubbles and puppy tummies to balance it all out.
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