* I receive many emails on a daily basis and I sometimes wonder why certain phrases are used to start email exchanges. Here I will share some email highlights and how I interpreted or responded to them: “I hope this email finds you well” Did…
If you were to die tomorrow, what one thing (or few things) would you be most disappointed that you weren’t able to complete, change, or achieve? Here is some of my wisdom: I don’t need praise or attention to have value. Cultivate twelve people who…
*when things were so much better.
Joel: “Mom, how was it back in the days when you were a kid?”
When I was a kid, we were tough. We didn’t whine like kids today. Nobody had “peanut allergies” back then. Sometimes people’s throats just closed up for no reason, and we accepted it. We didn’t get “participation trophies” back when I was a kid. Actually, we didn’t have trophies, period. If you accomplished something, your reward was that no one pushed you in a lake or teased you until you had to move. It separated the winner from the losers.
And no one wore seat belts back then. If you got in an accident, you just got sewn up and didn’t complain. And look, many turned out fine! Many of my friends didn’t, but you would never hear them whining about it if they were still here.
Everyone smoked back then, too. Parents smoked. Doctors smoked. The babysitter smoked. And, let me tell you if you were in a crowded room, you were grateful for the smoke because it made it harder to see all the car-accident scars.
We didn’t bother with sunscreen when I was a kid. You were lucky if you lived long enough to get cancer. We used to throw a block party any time someone got a tumor. Tumors were a symptom of longevity. Suddenly, what, everyone’s too good for cancer now?
When I was a kid, if an adult handed you a shot of whiskey, you drank it. There was none of this namby-pamby “What’s in this drink? Why does it taste funny?” You were lucky to be given anything at all! We didn’t have these nanny laws about kids needing to stay sober all the time. What do they need to be sober for? It’s not like they’re driving anywhere.
No one ever wore helmets in the good old days, unless they were going into combat, and, even then, all the helmet did was slow the bullets down. “The skull is nature’s helmet,” my gym teacher used to tell us.
We didn’t worry about “spaying” and “neutering” our “pets” back in the day. We just had some stray animals that came around for food. And, where I come from, your neighbour’s cat’s sex life was none of your business! No need to change anything.
I am old enough to remember when married couples actually stayed together. When a spouse died, which they did often, the marriage kept going. Widows wore their husband’s ashes around their necks in a jar, and everyone respected that. If a man lost his wife, he got the next oldest sister who wasn’t already spoken for. Lucky broad. Am I old?
That’s another thing—people used to have respect in the old days. We said “Herr,” “Frau,” “Officer,” “Your Honor,” “Warden,” etc. None of these strange kid names like Apple and North and Olive or Moonshine. Or Sparrow James Midnight, whatever the hell kind of name that is.
And there wasn’t any “sleet” or “thundersnow.” There was sun, wind, rain, snow, and that was it. None of these fruity combinations of weather. Sleet is for people who can’t make up their minds about what’s going on. Fruit combination for gender I wonder?
Kids have it so easy these days, with their recovering-mask-bullshit-clean lungs, and thankfully intact skulls after all this time. I would like to take them out back, force-feed them peanuts, and send them into combat. Actually, I tried to do that recently, and am no longer allowed within a hundred meters of the local playground. But, one of these days, those kids are gonna find out what the real world is all about, and, boy, oh, boy, I can’t wait to laugh it up on my back porch while enjoying the fifty degrees November heat that my generation created. You are welcome, Sparrow Moonshine.
Yesterday we buried my grandmother which was almost as bad as the day she died. Happiness and good cheer felt like distant memories. They felt like something I had lost when she died. But my grandma knew that even in the darkest times, we can…
*an article I dedicate to my brother Thomas Weiss, who I dearly love and look up to when it comes to anything numbers. And a lot more, too. Sometimes it feels like the things we learned in school are useless and nothing drives that point…
Enough with the eggs already! No more chocolate-egg eating! My house is stuffed with chocolate eggs. The church bells next door are ringing again every fifteen minutes so everything is back to normal but there is so much more church stuff going on. My son’s communion is approaching and I have been reading along with him in his church studies. Interesting, I guess. I also learned about old traditions in the village regarding church ceremonies at 5 a.m., kids who walk around and make noise with “Ratschn” (something loud and weird) to remind people to pray. I am telling you, I am a Jesus pro by now from the last three days alone. So, I wonder what Jesus must have thought and done during his last three days on this planet. Maybe he wrote a mental diary. Maybe something like this:
Good Friday, you ask? Not great. Died today. Very painful. Do not recommend it. Saw Dad briefly and brought it up first thing. “All-powerful and You couldn’t have made it, I don’t know, smothered by puppies? No, it had to be nailed to a cross.”
“Trust Me,” He said, “the merchandising.”
Then He told me He was sending me back.
“So we’re really doing that?” I asked.
“We’re going to blow their minds.”
But wait: First He said I had to hide out for three days so people would believe I was genuinely dead. I was nailed to a tree and left to agonize in the sun for hours; I think they’ll figure it out.
“So I come back,” I said, “and then I just go on with my life? Because dying really makes you think, you know? And I’ve been seriously neglecting my carpentry.”
“No, you’re only alive again for a few weeks.”
“Oh.”
“But then you come back again in two thousand years or so. Maybe.”
I just don’t get Him.
Anyway, woke up here in this tomb. Pitch black. Luckily, I have this heavenly aura going on now, kind of like Mom had, so I can see a bit. Found a blank scroll and a pot of ink. At least I hope it’s ink. The glow is only so-so and I’m afraid to look too closely.
Not going to lie, good to have some alone time. Disciples, disciples, disciples. Always with the questions. “Is it me, Lord?” “When will these things be?” “Is this really the last supper? Thinking about hummus. But why?
Might take advantage of the peace and quiet to work on some new parables. Parable of the Pitless Olive. Parable of the Fasting and the Furious. I wonder if anyone would be interested in these in book format?
Signing off for today. Fingers starting to cramp up, what with the hole in my hand and all. Thanks again, DAD!
So BOOOOORED!!! If only there were a corpse in this tomb I could raise from the dead. At least we could play Sin or No Sin or something.
This wound in my side is not looking good at all!
And surely Dad could have thought ahead to provide some snacks.
Getting nowhere with the parables. The Parable of the Creepy Tomb. The Parable of the Overbearing Dad Who Keeps Me in the Dark (Literally and Figuratively).
Still thinking about hummus. I tell myself to stop thinking about hummus, but then all I can think about is that I’m not thinking about hummus. Considered performing the Miracle of the Ink into Hummus but still not sure what I’m writing with. It has a kind of smell… Then again, that could be my wound.
Hard to focus. My mind beginning to wander.
The boys know that whole body/blood thing was a metaphor, right? That must have sounded crazy! I should clear that up when I get out of here.
There was a pretty good turnout for my crucifixion, though, I have to admit.
Ugh, how much longer!
Maybe if I sing some songs. Some hymns. That’s a funny word. Hymn. Hymn. Hymn…
Rolled the rock away this morning. I mean, it’s the third day, right? Technically I’ve only been stuck in here for two full days – Saturday makes one complete day, and today is two days – but if you count Friday as day one, Saturday day two, this is the third day. Three days. I’ve done three days. Or maybe two. I don’t care, I can’t take it anymore.
Stepped outside. Kind of expected a crowd but found only two shiny dudes in white standing there. “You Dad’s guys?” I asked. They nodded. Couldn’t even be bothered to show up Himself. Typical.
“Listen, if anyone comes looking for me, tell them I went to take a bath.”
Then I wandered off. Pretty forgettable morning, really.
Am no longer craving hummus. Suddenly want chocolate eggs.
Good morning dear applicants, we are proud to announce that the Literary Ladybug Guilt (LLG) would be open to all applicants even the non-binary. Non-Binary Defined: “Some people don’t identify with any gender. Some people’s gender changes over time. People whose gender is not male…
Everyone’s still so scared of COVID. But come on, people. It’s going to be endemic soon enough. And that has to mean, uh, something. Endemic means freedom, more or less. For some time. Sometimes more, but occasionally less. They say less is more, and that will…
Spring is here which is the season for drinking cocktails and devouring salads while wearing light summer dresses. So what do you do if you don’t drink anymore? We all know that only small children, recovering drunks, and people in ankle-length vintage skirts choose not to drink, right? To avoid the questions and concerned faces of your coworkers, friends, and family (who are whispering that maybe I am actually pregnant at forty-one), here are some suggested ways to turn down that glass of booze:
1. “I’m taking antibiotics”
Scratch your inner thigh to avoid further questions
2. “I’m training for an Ironman and I’m bulking tonight”
Carry a tub of protein powder around the party for an extra distraction
3. “I pre-partied and I’m already loaded”
Knock over a lamp for emphasis
4. “I’m recovering from surgery”
Choose an organ that no one understands and you can probably live without, like the spleen or part of your liver
5. “I’m violently allergic to alcohol”
Wince as you say this as if remembering the last time you drank
6. “I’m chewing a piece of gum and I don’t want to stop”
If you don’t actually have gum in your mouth just chew on your tongue
7. “I’m doing a detox before my next ayahuasca retreat”
Add, “I’d love to tell you about my spiritual journey in great detail…”
8. “I have to check in with my parole officer in a few hours”
In your best Morgan Freeman voice, say, “Some birds aren’t meant to be caged”
9. “I just shit my pants”
Shit your pants
10. “FIRE!”
Run
More (Existentialist) Life Hacks I Think About
11. To believe in the power of habit. Wake up early. Eat well. Meditate. Destroy your idols. Stare into the void and face the anguish of choosing who to become.
12. To do twenty-five minutes of staring at a blank screen or into space, thinking that life is empty, followed by five minutes of strolling around my neighbourhood, thinking that life is empty.
13. Cook in batches. This way, you get vegan enchiladas all week and the benefit of asking, “Do I like vegan enchiladas, or am I a poser who cooks in bad faith, to impress a woman, thereby disavowing the freedom to eat a steak?”
14. To spend hours petting my cat named Schopenmiauer.
15. To tell people about my goals. This is huge. It holds me publicly accountable and keeps me perpetually terrified that you are alienated.
16. Six words: Tony Robbins, Brené Brown, Eckhart Tolle. Six more: Don’t want ’em, don’t need ’em. My true life coach is any baby who is crying hysterically, ever reminding me that life is a disorienting hellhole that defies explanation.
17. Whenever I will feel lost, I spin in circles until I vomit. Doesn’t really help, but it’s kind of fun.
18. Whenever I will hear someone start a sentence with “Why—,” I don’t wait for them to finish, I just scream, “Yeah, why!” while punching them in the face.
19. My books are my friends: Camus, Sartre, and Nietzsche. My real friends are all sick of me quoting Camus, Sartre, and Nietzsche, so we don’t talk anymore.
20. Instead of speeding through life like a maniac, I will pause to appreciate nature. I like walking in the park, sitting under a pretty tree, and staring at the bark for hours until it looks like an incomprehensible alien substance.
21. Once a month, I will run through a giant corn maze to remind myself that I’m free to take whatever path I choose but that it all leads to a bunch of fucking pointless corn.
22. Once a year, I will dress in a giant Elmo costume and get arrested for public urination, because I am embracing the life of the absurd.
23. I will take “me time” just to think. I think about how warm weather is nice, or a funny joke I heard, or how I want to become God.
24. Shorter showers! Sounds silly, right? Not at all. That’s six extra minutes per day to wear my Elmo costume, and scream my despair at an empty sky.
25. My bedtime ritual will be all about mindful relaxation: Dim the lights. Play some Enya. A little light reading of Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling. Resign myself to the hard truth that I’ll never have faith in anything. Before I drift into a dreamless sleep, I smile a little as I realize I get to wake up tomorrow and do it all over again and again and again and again and again and again.
Employees: Now that we are all finally starting to return to the office, I just thought it would be helpful to remind everyone again of the rules we had and have in place for keeping food in our shared refrigerator. Please follow these guidelines to…
