Man Martin's Blog, page 140

How We Say Things Down Here

"Comfort Food"Recently I took a fascinating on-line quiz asking me what expressions I use for common, everyday items.  The result came back showing I'm a Southerner, which is pretty useless considering I know I'm a Southerner, but still, it was strangely gratifying.  It occurred to me, however, that what's needed is not someone telling Southerners words we already know, but a Southerner to tell outsiders words they don't know.  This is less a problem, perhaps, in Atlanta than elsewhere, since this is a fairly cosmopolitan city, but in the more rural areas, there must be a good deal of avoidable confusion among Yankees who don't understand the local terminology; therefore, in the interests of the greater good, I offer this short list.

What you call "saturated fat, sodium, cholesterol, carbohydrates, and sucrose," we call "comfort food."

What you call "polenta," we call "grits."

What you call "assertive" we call "rude."

What you call "morbidly obese," we call, "big boned."

What you call "reckless endangerment" we call "driving."

You say "c--- s------ m-----f------ son of a w---- b---- m---------- a--h---," we say, "bless his heart."

What you call "redneck kooks," we call "neighbors."

What you call "crazy redneck kook nut-jobs," we call "relatives."

Selfies by the Masters

Pablo Picasso Just drank my fifth Red BullLeonardo da Vinci I've decided to let my beard grow outAndy Warhol This should be good for an entire hour














Salvador Dali
I feel just like a goldfish on a piano.
A piano with breasts.













Rembrandt Does this hat make me look stupid?
Vincent Van Gogh What did you say?  What did you say?  Sorry, still
can't hear you.

America's Funniest Home Videos Spoiler Alert

A dad shows his kid how to jump on a trampoline, takes three jumps, sails off, and lands on his head.

A kid rides a skateboard over a ramp, loses control, and lands on his head.

Running from an army of zombies, a woman trips, does a perfect 180-degree somersault, and lands on her head.

A woman is about to blow out candles on a birthday cake; she rears back to take a breath, overbalances, falls out of her chair, and lands on her head.

A man is standing on a ladder cleaning out leaves from the gutter.  The ladder tips over, and the man lands on his head.

A zombie gets inside a jetliner, 10,000 feet up, causing it to crash.  Everyone inside lands on their head.

A couple is learning to ski.  The man instructs the woman, "This is how it's done."  Then he loses his balance and lands on his head.

A skater loses control at a rink, and everyone lands on their head.

While trying to board up a window against approaching zombies, a man slips, falls downstairs, and lands on his head.

A teenager sets a treadmill as fast as it will go.  He stops running for a moment, flies off the back, and lands on his head.

A man uses a pulley to lower a barrel of bricks from a second story window.  The weight jerks the man violently off the ground.  On the way up, he hits his head on the barrel, which is heading down.  At the top, he hits his head against the ledge and jams his fingers into the pulley.  Meanwhile, the barrel bursts open on the ground, releasing its bricks.  The man flies back down, hitting the barrel - this time going up - against the underside of his chin.  He lands on the bricks and lets go of the rope.  The empty barrel lands on his head.  In the background, zombies mass against the horizon.

Do Something Nice for Someone!

Tell a Dog About JesusThe worst thing about spying on you for the NSA is how boring it must be.  Do something once in a while to spice things up.  Call an airline and ask if they have any deals on one-way tickets to major national monuments.  Take a package to the post office; when they ask if it contains any dangerous substances or explosives, say, "Darn," and head back home.  Hang a poster of the White House on the wall with a big red X in the basement, and the words, "Put bomb here."

How long has it been since you've surprised your parents with a phone call?  Call them at 2:30 AM; that'll surprise them.  When they answer, say, "Oops.  Wrong number," and hang up.  Call again in ten minutes.

You know all those dogs and cats at the pound with be euthanized unless somebody decides to adopt them?  Go to your local pound and tell the animals about Jesus.

Find a small child and tell him Santa Claus is dead.  When he starts to cry, say, "Cheer up!  I was only kidding.  There is no Santa Claus."

Lessons from 2013

2013, and what a great year it's been!
As we muddle into 2014, it's time to take stock of the lessons learned.
You learn something every day, and if you didn't know that, you just learned it.  If you did know it, you learned I know it.
For example, I learned where my cell phone had been, which had been missing all those weeks.
I haven't learned where my gym bag is, but I'm pretty sure I'll learn it's in Nancy's car, who's out of town right now.
Also, I learned that citrus fruit, if eaten in sufficient quantities, will cause astoundingly odorous flatulence.
I learned how to twerk.
I finally learned the ending of Breaking Bad.
I learned I snore.  (I've learned this before, but I seem to keep re-learning it.)
Anyway,
Happy New Year

Resolutions

I resolve that next year drawings of me will
exercise at least three times a week.A study shows that fewer people than ever are making resolutions.  This is concerning; what will become of America if we lose the deluded optimism that leads us to believe we can lose thirty pounds or finish that memory quilt before little Sally gets back from reformatory?  Deluded optimism is what made America great, it's the foundation of our national fabric.  (Yes, I know, fabric doesn't have foundations, but let it go.)  Our whole attitude toward making resolutions has changed: it used to be, "What's your resolution this year?" then it was, "Are you making any resolutions this year?" and now it's, "Are you dead yet?  I thought you were dead."
The lack of resolutions has serious economic implications.  The fitness club industry, which is the linchpin of the national fabric's foundation, depends for survival on the sudden burst of new memberships between January and February.  By March, those members have drifted away, but the gym has gotten enough extra revenue to see it through the lean months; meanwhile Krispee Kreme and Duncan Donuts get a huge boost in business as fitness backsliders finally give up and buy themselves a dozen who-the-hell-did-I-think-I-was-fooling glazed donuts.
America's already fallen behind China.  Also Japan, Singapore, Taiwan, Germany, and Iceland.  If we don't want to fall behind Luxembourg as well, everyone needs to make a resolution this year, however small.  Make a little resolution, such as "I resolve to eat the rest of those candied almonds."  The time has come to step up to the plate and wipe the cobwebs from the linchpin of the foundations of our national fabric.  

WWJL?

If Jesus had a facebook page, what would he like?
If you posted about your vacation to Aruba, would he "like" that?
If you said something really stupid, racist, or homophobic, would he unfriend you?
If you stood up for someone who said something really stupid, racist, or homophobic, would he unfriend you?
If you had a new page promoting your next book, would he "like" it?
If someone who was clearly a cyber-whore - you know what I mean - sent Jesus a friend request, would he accept it?
How many followers would he have?
Would you be one of them?

Secret Fears

We all have our secret fears, I suppose.  Mine happens to be Sunday afternoons.  Not anything particular that happens on Sunday afternoon, just the afternoon itself: those long weary sand dunes of time after lunch and before it's dark enough to go to bed.  Everything the eye falls upon mocks one with memories of former joys; every pleasure has turned to ashes, and there is nothing to look forward to but eventual unconsciousness and then work again on Monday.

One finds oneself asking unanswerable questions.  What is the point of it all?  Is purlieu a real word, or just something I made up?  What's that pain in my hip?  Should I see a doctor about it?  Where did I leave my glasses?

With most fears, familiarity reduces their potency.  A person who has a morbid fear of snakes, for example, may be "snapped out of it" by thoughtfully stuffing his mailbox, briefcase, and desk drawers with lively serpents.  The first one or two times the herpetophobe is surprised by a wastebasket full of squirming snakes, he screams and runs away in a dither, but in time the reaction cools as he becomes used to the idea until, pulling back his bed covers to find a writhing nest, he can scarcely restrain a yawn.  "Ho-hum," he says to himself.  "Snakes again.  So what else is new?"

The horror of Sunday afternoon, however, is only magnified by having experienced it so often and with such clock-like regularity.  There is nothing to do for it, one must endure.  Ah, for a nice drawer-full of snakes.

My Philosophy

Sure, bad things have happened to me from time to time, and, sure, I've made some bad decisions.  I've done some things that I'm not proud of.  But you know what?  I don't regret any of it, not a thing.  Because the things that I've done, the things that have happened to me - good as well as bad - have made me who I am.

For example, that time I went surfing.  Boy, did I make a fool of myself!  My wife has a video of me doing a complete somersault and bonking my head on the board.  That was just before the Great White came up and bit off my leg.  Ouchers!  Of course, looking back on it, I shouldn't have gone surfing in shark-infested waters, and the chum-scented sunscreen was probably a bad idea, but still, that accident is part of who I am.

Or when I went scaling that crevasse by myself (big mistake!) and got my arm pinioned in between those two rocks, I figured it was about the worst thing that could happen to me.  I didn't have any bars on my cellphone (natch) so I just waited around about an hour before the solution hit me.  Saw your hand off!  Like Nietzsche said, "Anything that doesn't kill you, makes you a lefty."  Anyway, that accident is part of who I am now, and I wouldn't take it back.

Or when that mad scientist put the brain of his golden doodle inside my skull.  Frankly, I can't remember how he talked me into that one.  I was drinking tea with him inside his enormous castle, and next thing I know, I'm coming to on an operating table, and he's asking how I feel and waving a dog biscuit in front of my face.

When people say to me, "How did you get to be this way?" or "Stop sniffing my crotch!" I tell them, it's who I am.  All those experiences are the rich tapestry that have woven the unique individual who is me.

I Love You So Much

How much do I love you?  I love you so much, that if anyone hurt you in any way, I would hunt them down and kill them.  Seriously, they could run, but they couldn't hide - I'd find them sooner or later, and bam.  Dead.

Like didn't that operator on that so called 24-7 helpline seem sort of snarky to you?  I got the distinct impression she was being sort of condescending when you called about hooking up the wireless printer.  You want I should off her?  She said her name was "Debbie," but I'm pretty sure she was in Sri Lanka or somewhere.  Sure, she sounded American, but real Americans don't sound that American, if you know what I mean.  No matter.  Those calls are recorded for quality assurance.

All I got to do is hack into the corporate mainframe and I can find out who was manning the lines that day, what country they were in, and where they lived.  I'll track Little Miss I T Support in whatever backwater she lives and poke her with a sharpened umbrella tip.  That's it, one little poke.  Only this umbrella tip would be coated in deadly curare, ha ha!  Thirty seconds later, she'd be dead, and the police would never know what happened.  I'd just melt into the crowd, an ordinary man with an umbrella.

On second thought, that's a bad idea.   There's no point killing her until she realizes what she's done and feels sorry for it.  I'd kidnap her and hold her in some smelly warehouse somewhere.  Where there's water dripping from the ceiling for some reason, and big heavy chains hanging down.  But it'd just be her and me.  She'd be tied up in a chair, and I'd confront her with her own recording.  "Is this your voice?  I said, 'Is this your voice?'  Answer me.  That's better.  You see how easy it is when you cooperate.  Now what did you mean by starting every sentence with 'I need you to...'  Like, 'I need you to try shutting down the computer...?'"  I'll hold her for a couple of days until she cracks.

I know those Isotoner Gloves weren't exactly what you wanted for Christmas, and I know you're kind of disappointed, but I'd like you to consider this kind of an extra gift for me, like a coupon.  A coupon for me to kill anyone on earth you like.  Any time.

Merry Christmas.