He’s The King Of Flatulence

I cannot confirm nor deny a discussion in which a prospective employer asked me for a reference for a candidate.

If such a conversation took place and someone asked about a candidate’s strengths someone might have said, “he’s the king of flatulence and the best motivation your office has for burning popcorn in the microwave.”

They might have asked if that was an exaggeration or requested more details and been pleased to know Candidate Skidmarks had trouble washing their hands and remembering to make sure the toilet flushed.

Floating remnants and a certain shall we say, stench made it clear you had stepped into the bathroom at an inopportune time.

We intentionally avoided discussing the elevator as there are still employees who refuse to ride it again saying it is easier and safer to walk nine flights.

I’ll Reach Out And Touch You

Most Thursday nights you don’t find yourself on the sidelines of a soccer field watching your baby girl chase down the girl that has the ball.

Or more accurately you don’t have the pleasure of hearing people remark on how they don’t think she’ll catch the other girl knowing they are not just wrong, they are very wrong.

My baby had a look in her eyes that her family knows well and that always makes me smile because it is familiar to me.

It the how I will go through whatever or whomever to get to the ball–pure focus and pure fun.

“She is going to get a shot. Go!!!”

“Not going to happen.”

“That other girl can’t catch her.”

I don’t have time to correct the other mom because my daughter has come from behind, stolen the ball and is already driving it back the other way.

I always enjoy watching her play, but I especially enjoy when she lets loose like this. I wish I could join her but the other parents won’t appreciate me running through their children and the freight train doesn’t stop on a dime.

Never did, but now I really have to be careful not to stop too suddenly or the body might complain.


“Why are you calling me?”

“You violated the three email rule.”

“Three email rule?”

“Yeah, it is the one that says if you cannot express your message in less than three emails you need to pick up the damn phone and explain it.”

“I don’t like talking on the phone.”

“I don’t like Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, or liver. I really don’t like having my time wasted by people who can’t communicate effectively so I reached out and touched someone.”

“You can be kind of grumpy.”

“I work in bursts of productivity and I am very effective at it. Don’t violate the rule again.”

“It is not a real rule. Besides you’re going to make up some other stupid rule and blame me for that.”

“Look at the clock on your phone. How long does it say we have been talking?”

“Less than 3 minutes.”

“It took you far longer to send me the gibberish you pushed across in your emails. I saved us both time. You don’t have to thank me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You have no idea.”

The Questions We Ask & The Answers We Don’t Get

One of the guys asks me to explain how I keep banging my head into a wall.

“Don’t you know the definition of insanity?”

“I don’t need to, I just look in the mirror.”

“Maybe you ought to ask some questions and see what kinds of answers you get.”

“Sometimes we ask questions knowing it is unlikely to get the answer we want and or hope or but we ask anyway. And sometimes we don’t ask because doing so might rip hope into tiny threads.”

“Isn’t it better to know?”

“Fuck better to know. We don’t know a fucking thing, but we think we do. Do you know how many times I woke up not knowing how I would pay the bills or how many times I got punched in the mouth for looking up.

I don’t fucking need to know more than I fucking know because it is fucking enough. I go with my gut and rely upon experience to help me figure out whether to duck and run or just keep walking.”

He tells me he is not following my train of thought and I am glad the three email rule breaker isn’t around.

“Let’s shift gears for a moment. I once sat on a couch and held a woman’s hand while we watched a movie. It is one of my favorite moments…ever.

Ask me why and I’ll quote Whitman. Everyone should have such a thing. You forget the rest because for a moment in time you have truth.”

Final Words

Nazis are running for office in multiple places throughout the US and there is a list of the 40 Worst College Campuses for Jews.

We’re stuck in the middle with clowns to the left of us and jokers on the right who are enraged by the  other and doing nothing but trying to find ways to hurt the other side.

Compromise is a word that we use in Scrabble and other word games but rarely see in action in meaningful ways.

The president is dunce and a dolt who is propped up by the willfully blind, the actively stupid and inherently obtuse with a smattering of smart people who think his party line is superior to the other side.

It is impossible for me not to wonder about the relationship between the dunce and the Nazis because the coincidence of them thinking now is a good time to run is questionable.

I hold out hope that he’ll prove me wrong and that as part of that process he’ll make those who feed on hate understand there is no place at the table for them.

But I won’t hold my breath.


Tumult and turbulence are the watchwords of the moment.

I know what it means to walk alone and apart, to have no resources other than my own to use to figure out my fate.

And I know what it is to be supported too.

Fortunately I no longer know of a good reason to burn the microwave popcorn and for that I am grateful.

The little things always are the larger parts and pieces of the big things.

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