life

Cars: The One First Everyone Remembers

They come in varying shapes and sizes and colors and scents and tastes and– to put it simply they are the chariots of the American Dream; a customizer would sell his or her family to obtain a classic beauty and jazz it up; some children believe it their rite of passage to be handed those jingling keys and the dependability which accompanies them.

Old men love them. Old women love them.

Young men love them. Young women love them.

Teenagers drool over them: what would you do if your dream vehicle all of a sudden appeared in your driveway? There is your parent holding the keys over your trembling head–as a matter of fact it is your sixteenth birthday, and you did pass the driving test yesterday. No coincidences in this situation.

Of course I am referring to cars.

What is the first image popping into your head? A Volkswagen beetle, or even better a van; although nowadays those prices are steep. A hot rod–my neighbor owns a loud one. A pickup truck…not a bad choice. A Jeep.

Hold on. A Jeep?

Please tell me you’re lying; someone put to you up to this. Were you double dog dared?

I see–triple dog dared. Okay, go ahead and sit down in the back…yes, we’ll talk later.

Geez, man, Jeeps? Can you believe that guy?

Back to the point:

There is something to be said about the thrills received from driving aimlessly across the interstate system. Towns you never heard of appear instantaneously on the sides of the road; for example you see a sign reading Kimbolish and beneath it in blue letters, 4 miles, but you realize Kimbolish sounds like the dumbest name for a town and you stopped to take a leak not five minutes ago. So grab a t-shirt, a mug with the town name spelled in foam letters upon the ceramic…call it a day. But if you forget to try their local burger joint, then stop off at Fernaningo–the ghost town fifteen miles ahead. I heard they specialize in mystery meat.

Cars are also the social markers of our world. The next time you are prowling the streets–to some of you it may be an everyday routine–watch the reactions to the driver in the sports car compared to the driver of the mini van; babies laugh when one of those horns go off—and it is not the latter.

What was your first car?

Think daily,

A Southpaw

 

 

 

Fortun(-e)ate Son. Clever, Huh?

You go to a Chinese restaurant for a number of reasons:

The dumplings.

The crazy dragon architecture–they are not spouting real fire.

And the fortune cookies; but to be honest those were the first images which popped into your head, weren’t they? Professional psychic, people; I work Tuesdays and Sundays, so go ahead and leave your check on the doorstep.

Anyhow…

We were discussing Chinese interests, choice among them fortune cookies; but have you ever wondered how truthful their slips are? See, I look at it optimistically: once you crack open a cookie the fortune listed directly relates to your life. And if your life is literally going down the toilet, perhaps the fortune will say, “Time for a deep plunge,” or if it’s one of those cheeky slips, then “Surf’s up, dude. Hang ten.”

Burn those cheeky slips. Set a torch to ’em–they were manufactured in Hell anyways.

But you know which cookies you dream of…the ones perfectly describing your tumultuous love life by saying, “Tulips are the color of your money…and your heart.” Excuse me, in modern terms, “Buy her tulips, you cheapskate.” What is that going to get you?

I got a cookie today telling me to “maintain my appetite and accept the smaller things” The thing is, I run, so unless it is referring to my current relationship–actually, scratch that, it only makes sense for vampires and cannibals. I don’t eat girls.

I might as well take it into consideration. And so should you. Go to a Chinese restaurant, drool over the dragons–maybe some of you want to take selfies under its gaping jaws–then buy rice and more rice; and take a bag of fortune cookies home with you. Read them out loud at the table…even if they say, “A trip to the bathroom is imminent in your future.”

By the way, be careful about that rice.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

 

 

Talking to Girls. It’s A Craft.

You are standing right beside her and are currently tasked with catching her attention. She  has to notice you–by God it was you who saw her from the corner of your eye; it was you who walked over here! If that isn’t courage, then you would be better off engaging the girl  talking to the water cooler!

Take a deep breath. Loosen up a bit.

Ah, is she turning? Her eyes find you and a smile spreads on her face. She says, “Hello.”

Brilliant work, my friend. You have succeeded up to the point where others back down–walking up to the girl you’ve had your eyes on since she first walked into the room. Truly, well done; now all is left is to talk back. Go ahead. Say something. Don’t stand there stuttering! And…you missed your chance; either way she was smiling at the guy behind you…yes, that guy.

Time for review:

The first thing you missed–saying hello back, even if it was not to you. Don’t you know girls like it when you intrude on their conversations? Kidding, of course; everyone hates it when people intrude on their conversations. Take Anti-Eavesdropping 101.

The second thing–

Nope. No second mistake because you didn’t make it past the first step.

What? A retry?  Sorry, pal, she walked away; and unless you cross paths on the dance floor the chances are slim she will know your name by the end of the night. But maintain hope–she’s going to have to refill her drink at some point…and would not it be a coincidence if you were standing there at exactly the same time?

Searching for her, are we? Not a bad plan…could be refined. Watch out for the tall guy carrying the tray–ouch, you probably have to pay for those drinks. Go ahead and brush past the gossipers; and–my, my, you did find her.

Okay. Take a deep breath. Loosen up a–

You forgot to loosen up! Flexibility is essential! 

And now you’re reaching for her shoulder–amateur–wait, she is turning and it is a smile; and she says, “Hi there.”

Tip number one: say “Hello.” The rest is rocket science.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

 

 

 

The Apple Falls Far From The Tree?

Pap Finn–the abusive father of Huckleberry Finn; not abusive in the sense of beatings, but rather a mentally insulting abuse: he was dealt a bad hand in life; his son was dealt a hand of triple aces; he wants to steal those triple aces out of his son’s hands and pass him a rotten deck. The same cards for each man. The same troubles for each man.

Huck’s cards, in this case, education and reading and writing, are to Pap a bunch of “…hifalut’n foolishness…” (Twain. 21). and all his son is accomplishing is “…puttin’ on frills…” (Twain. 22). He cannot stand to see his son best him–a universal reaction of fathers to their sons as their child grows beyond their mold to experience life personally.

Sons model themselves after their fathers. They are expected to see a role model in their parent, and when these expectations fall short what else does the father do than try to change himself in the eyes of his son; so the son can in turn turn over his own leaf and go out into society a responsible man, so says Pap Finn, “I’ll learn people to bring up a boy to put on airs…and let on to be better’n…his own father…” (Twain. 21).

This situation flips in the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

To the casual reader it is clear Pap Finn loathes his son’s good fortune and his carelessness towards all things homely–the uneducated backwoods lifestyle of Pap Finn. He does so because of one reason: the widow, a woman who “…put[s] in her shovel about…things[s]…ain’t none of her business.” (Twain. 21). She has taught Huck how to read and write; how to be civilized; and how to speak grammatically correct; and since these qualities were not easily afforded to Pap Finn he is bitter about his turn of the cards and so pursues a nasty path of guilting his son into giving him liquor money.

Apply the symbiotic father-eat-son relationship to the current world and the first and most prominent example is immigrant families: a son is granted an education of higher standing than his father; the father is outraged at his spread of knowledge and good fortune; and both men argue over their expanded stances on life–a moment forever repeating in history.

Such is the same between Huckleberry Finn and Pap Finn. Once the son receives education and traces the shape of his corner of the world he wants to do all he can to escape; even if that includes leaving his father a duller man, which is how it appears to the latter.

All is indicative of Structuralism and Semiotics.

Think daily,

A Southpaw 

 

 

 

How To Not Take Life For Granted

There tend to be a lot of misconceptions about life–one person will say you have to take it this way, while the next guy tells you take a turn down that road…oh, which road? The road less traveled…

That’s a Robert Frost joke…did you get it?

Anyhow, life is open to many opinions on how it should proceed, meaning, of course, everyone wants to offer their two cents into your life pool–yes, an actual pool in which you alone float around on an inflatable duck, or maybe a raft, and drink lemonade while watching life proceed around you. Try it sometime–it’s relaxing.

And what is the number one nuisance in your pool?  There is the moment when someone cannonballs into the water–nothing like that ever turns out dry….but the most annoying  instance happens to be when you are accused of taking life for granted.

Remember how you’re supposed to take advice with a grain of salt?

The people who make these accusations apparently forget that maxim; they want to shove the whole canister down your throat and repeat to you the errors of your ways–they’re like the arrogant kid brother who never shuts up…not that mine is anything like that.

Not all people take their lives for chance; rather, they see it in a different light than the person chatting them up in the inflatable duck. They see it in terms of whether their melting ice cream cone is worth swallowing or if it deserves to be thrown in the trash; and perhaps that is taking the ice cream for granted, but it sure beats having sticky fingers in the pool. And that person on the duck–remind him he chose the duck over the raft.

So, the next time you see those people paddling in your pool and carrying huge salt canisters in their boats–well, first, tell them to get of your pool; it is private property–simply swim to them in your yellow duck and ask them why they waste their lives to punish others who have done nothing but eaten or thrown away their ice cream cones because they either wanted a different flavor or it began sticking their fingers together.

Then steal one of those salt canisters–those are rare to find.

Think daily, 

A Southpaw