tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7388414281288942502024-03-14T02:35:31.844-07:00Spank The JesterThe Warped Blog of Alex DuvaulAlex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-76520308671156359772011-12-08T15:49:00.000-08:002011-12-08T15:56:01.318-08:00Superhero Kitten-Pants: A PoemThree kittens to save, with only two hands<br />
So he shoved the odd one down his pants.<br />
<br />
Down from the tree, there arose a great shout<br />
When the third one peaked its head on out.<br />
<br />
The outcry was such, that he nearly died<br />
For it had been in his underwear, right beside-- <br />
<br />
Though he had not technically broken the law,<br />
He paid a price, for it wasn't declawed. <br />
<br />
So after all the lawsuits and legal fights,<br />
Superheroes now wear only tights.Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-33984174491201870102011-12-08T15:37:00.000-08:002011-12-08T15:37:41.266-08:00The Jester's Girlfriend: A Pseudo-Poem<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315.0pt;">The great burly huntress</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;"> had gallantly rescued him </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;">from thugs trying to steal his beautiful jester-suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;">By all the laws of chivalry, he now belonged to her. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315.0pt;">She told him tender things, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;">such as, “I always did love smaller men; </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315pt;">they’re lighter to lift and easier to discipline.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 315.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText2">She talked about all their strong strapping daughters, </div><div class="MsoBodyText2"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText2">and wondered aloud if they would have any small and quiet sons. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">While she was busy, he saw his chance to run away. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">But he didn’t realize that she could track him. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">Now, hanging from a snare </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">in a tree by his ankle, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">he screams that he is not sorry </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">and will never, ever learn his lesson. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">(“Easier to discipline…?”) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">She cut him down, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">but he couldn’t run away </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">when she sat on him. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">In the forest there is a sudden slapping sound. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">He stops screaming very abruptly. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">She’s still mad at him, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">so she spanks him again and again. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">He can’t say he’s sorry loud enough. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">He behaved himself from that day forward. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">Indeed, he was very agreeable. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4in;">And she lived happily ever after… </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">…And now the jester can’t stop bitching about it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">(But only when she’s not around.) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;">Oh, yeah, and she also started a blog...</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.0in;"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-6794289013589372572011-09-27T22:19:00.000-07:002011-09-27T22:19:14.073-07:00Excert From My New Book, Links, And Back Story <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">The knight sat alone, on one end of the banquet hall’s second table, lost in his own little world of thoughts and troubles. He glanced over to where the King sat, at the head of the largest table, between his two closest advisers. His long gray hair reached down towards his shoulders, cascading from the ornate crown that topped his head.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">The man to his right was the knight’s superior, General Mortain, Commander of the King’s Army. To the king’s left sat the Minister of The Realm, Lord Walbrook, tax collector to the King. Weighed down by more than chain mail and armor, the knight could not eat, for he knew both men were coveting the crown.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">The letter hidden near his breast - the treacherous, treasonous letter - it weighed far more than the iron mail that covered him. Why had he come here? Why had he not stayed in his safe comfortable shire, sheltered from the politics of the court?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">He knew the answer: because he was a knight, raised to be honorable, and he could not simply stand by, knowing what he now knew. Another reason: he had come to save the king’s life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">But how? How could he accuse such high ranking men – lords in the King’s Court, and not get his head cut off? Why, one of them was his own superior, the very man he reported to in times of battle!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Oh, m’lords, I wish I did not know anything,” he sighed to himself. “And my king, I wish you knew everything.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">His attention was distracted for a moment by the antics of the court jester, in his suit and hat of black and white stripes, eating off the General’s plate without being asked. The General did not seem happy about it, but it amused the king, so reluctantly he had to go along. The knight could just read his thoughts: As soon as this old man is gone, that jester’s going to get it!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">Well, that would be one positive side effect, at least. He hated that jester. The little man was like a fly buzzing in his face, which would not cease. He supposed that since the smaller man was not strong enough to be a knight, all he had left was annoying people.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">The Royal Idiot (the jester, not the king!) was speaking now. “And let us not forget our favorite glutton, Sir Roger!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">Roger cringed. Not now! He had enough to worry about, without having to relive his humiliations. Earlier that day he had fallen into a huge vat of beer, ruining the whole batch. He was not sure if the other knights avoided sitting next to him because they were embarrassed, or because they were mad at him for not letting them get drunk tonight. And now that horrible jester would not let him live it down!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">The Fool hopped over to his table, resting his head on his hands in front of the knight. “Tell us, Honorable Sir Roger, why could you not restrain yourself until a wench poured it in a cup for you?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">The jester was looking into his eyes, and though he was not allowed to smile, the man seemed to take some evil delight in humiliating him. There was a triumph, a gleam in his eye. Was the man crazy? What had Roger done to him, anyway? He knew other knights that liked to make sport of him, but he had always left him well enough alone. Why couldn’t that hated clown at least return the favor? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">This only made him more sure of his dislike for the man. He hated having him in his face. “Go away, you stupid ass,” he sneered, quiet enough for only one person to hear, “or I’ll cut your nose off.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">The jester merely cocked his head, didn’t seem to be affected by that threat in the least. He had heard it all before. All knights made threats; they were all the same to him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">“I wonder,” he said loudly as he turned away, “what is the greater shame: Sir Roger’s insatiable gluttony, or the fact that he has created the biggest chamber pot in the world!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">The entire banquet hall roared with laughter - at his expense. The jester had no limits; he pressed further, this time with a new target. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">“I even saw His Majesty drinking it! Said it was the best ale he had ever tasted!” More howling and slapping the knees. The King loved it, clearly delighted to be mocked, roasted by his clever Fool.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">“If I said that, I would be flogged!” Roger muttered sourly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">“But good General, do ye have to fling knights while testing out your catapults?” the Fool went on. “Why, I would have rather flung your good friend, Lord Walbrook! ‘Twould be a service to the kingdom!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">Roger couldn’t believe what the man was getting away with. And he was treated as a hero for it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">“But, Sir Fool,” the old king smiled happily, “what would I do without my advisers? How would I know what was best for the kingdom?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Trade that crown for a jester’s cap, and you will feel wiser instantly!” He was sharp-witted, Roger had to grant him that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt;">He abruptly excused himself, before his ignorant co-counter-conspirator could turn on him again. As he thought about it, he became more and more excited. ‘Twould be so easy! The kingdom would be saved!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Thomas-Fool-Parchment-Bird-ebook/dp/B005PGSZG0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1317085975&sr=1-1">(See The Jester, Thomas Fool, On Amazon)</a><br />
<br />
<br />
When you have lived with the Jester as long as I have, you start to dream of wizards and dragons, you start saying things like "'tis" and "'twasn't," and finally, one night, you get bored and ask him to relate his memoirs to you. And once he knows you are interested, he just won't stop talking. The stories keep on coming. 'Tis like a curse. <br />
This is my attempt to heap my own misery on the world. Enjoy.Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-77523309945401429412011-09-27T21:37:00.000-07:002011-09-27T21:37:49.122-07:00I Cry Myself To Sleep, Part Two<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">My cat had kittens, five of them. Four of them survived, but they were so small, that was almost no big deal. They grew up. My favorite, Elmo, got scared by the dog barking at her, fell off the roof, broke her back, and died right in front of me. Her anus was open like a hole, she smelled of urine, her eyes were glazed and lifeless, and her body became stiff with her head turned at an angle. I wrapped her in a towel and just sat rocking her, with her sister looking on, until my dad came home and took her away. We still have the dog that scared her. Her sister is especially bonded to me. </div><div class="MsoNormal">My horse died last February, a few weeks after my birthday. She had been my friend for eight years, and I have never met a horse that acted so much like a tame dog. She was big and white, all white, and she used to rub her head on me until I had to hold her mane for balance. </div><div class="MsoNormal">And that is all I can think of. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I assure you that all of these stories are completely true, they just look too dramatic even for me, who’s lived them. Sometimes I don’t even know, which one is it this time? Why does my heart hurt tonight? </div><div class="MsoNormal">I function all right. Most of the time I succeed in staying up until I’m too tired to think about it. Even though I know I should cry, I always find myself wondering, “When can I stop crying? When is it going to end?”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh yeah, I finally “lost” my religion a few years ago too. I can’t pretend to be a joyful Christian anymore. When I pray about my circumstances, I don’t feel better. The bible isn’t comforting. So I don’t try anymore. I always wished I could be divinely comforted and strengthened, but I got a rude lesson about that very early. God, apparently, ignores me. (I know, I should not think that way. Please don’t try to tell me about God, I’ve heard it all before.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During “show and tell” in my church youth group, when I was still trying to make it work, Joey Schlabitz said “Let me guess, something died?” when it was my turn. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I said, “No, but something’s about to.” And everyone broke into huge laughter. </div><div class="MsoNormal">His words still haunt me to this day. “Let me guess, something died?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe I don’t “cry myself to sleep” every night. But even if my body isn’t crying, my heart is. I laughed a few times when I wrote this blog. I also cried, it hurt. I guess that’s how life is. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-27686368931857481662011-09-27T21:32:00.000-07:002011-09-27T21:32:37.299-07:00I Cry Myself To Sleep Every Night<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I moved to the country with my parents when I was eleven. Then my dog died. She was old. </div><div class="MsoNormal">We had a new dog, but the cat lost her mind and attacked my new dog and my dad shot the cat. The first cat I ever had, the one I picked out from a litter that my third-grade teacher, who lived on the next street over before I moved, gave birth to. (Or maybe it was her cat…) </div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a bunny but it ran away. The meth addict neighbor bought it for me, then she released three others in her yard for her boys. She thought the horse fence would keep in something as small as a rabbit. My mom thought I put deodorant on the bunny, because of a weird misunderstanding. Dog Number Two would come in my room and eat her poop like candy (the rabbit’s, not my mom’s). Then she chewed her way out of the cage, probably had five dozen babies, and maybe got eaten by now. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then it all started happening at once. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Meth Addict Neighbor decided she hated my mom and we couldn’t see Helpless Little Meth Baby anymore. He was almost two years old. He would run down the hill to our house and stay for a few hours, maybe every few weeks, before she realized he was missing. Sometimes his four-year-old brother would come down with him and ask for food. He would be in his underwear in wintertime too. </div><div class="MsoNormal">There was a long custody battle in which my mom testified about all the horrible stuff she (we) saw in those three years. Drunken Redneck Dad got custody of both boys, but for a long time it was agonizingly uncertain. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Cute Little Meth Baby was never ours, but we loved him and knew we could take care of him better. We still know it, and he still isn’t ours. </div><div class="MsoNormal">About the time Meth Baby was taken from us, my former horseback riding instructor died of colon cancer. She had been my first adult friend.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a baby wild turkey that had been abandoned by its mother in a posthole. This was right after both the baby incident and the riding teacher tragedy, and it lived twelve days. I shook it and poked it, desperately trying to make it get up, but it was too sick to move, so it just closed its eyes and died. When you’re still a kid, this is devastating. I had taken a CPR class recently and once had to “do CPR” and “clear the obstruction” when it tried to swallow a grasshopper longer than its head. I had been so proud to feed it to her, too. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Second Dog ran away, got caught in a coyote trap at the neighbor’s, and he had to “end her pain.” We didn’t find out until after the deed was done. My mom loved that dog because she killed snakes. </div><div class="MsoNormal">My neighbor across the street was moving away and he promised to give me his tiny goat, Rod. My dad, who hates goats, loved him because he looked like “Billy Goat’s Gruff.” This neighbor had befriended and probably had sex or did drugs with the Meth Neighbor. His next-door neighbor’s oldest son was kind of my ex-boyfriend. I don’t know if he knew of the deal or not. But then Rod escaped Mike’s house and visited “Ernie,” and Ernie shot him. “The stupid goat jumped into the bullet.” Yeah, sure, goats jump faster than bullets fly. I hate that kid. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I was in the local “Young Eagles” program as a teenager, in which kids got the chance to fly in a small plane for free. My dad had worked for a friend of the woman who organized it and flew for it, and Sadie took me up twice. Then I got a job covering the county fair for the local newspaper, as a “teen reporter.” I asked her to take me up over the fairgrounds for an aerial picture. She was so nice, she actually did it.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then, right out of a noval, she died in a plane crash a few months later. A plane crash! She was a pilot—why didn’t she “help” the other guy with his pre-flight? Oh, the drama. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The last time I saw her, I was at the fair with Goat Killer, when I still thought he was a good person. She was wearing a polka-dot dress and bright red lipstick, and laughing at me for being with a boy. She looked so very happy. </div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-76285578362981556502011-09-25T20:19:00.000-07:002011-09-25T20:19:20.230-07:00Like Sunshine On My Nipples<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Ever since I wrote the post “I Want To Feel The Sunshine On My Nipples,” I have been challenged and surprised whenever I come up against my old excuses. One way I have been limiting myself is in regards to exercise. I have often had the thought “Why bother working out? I still won’t be as strong as the average man.” But then, who says I have to be, or that I won’t? I guess I’m harsher with myself than I care to admit.</div><div class="MsoNormal">My grandfather, Papa, surprised me the other day. I like to drive his old pickup truck, a 1964 GMC Jimmy. I’ve even been to the mechanic’s recently with him. He told me the story of his mechanic telling him to put power steering in the Jimmy, because “She’s such a little girl.” </div><div class="MsoNormal">“But I told him, ‘She’s stronger than she looks, boy! She’s tough!’” </div><div class="MsoNormal">He loved telling the story, and it made me feel good to hear it. For years he sort of coddled me, “I’ll get that, Baby. It’s heavy.” It used to bother me, but then I decided it wasn’t that important. I wonder if he changed his mind because I didn’t care anymore. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I used to have a German pen pal, back in my Taekwondo days. I learned two new words from her: “zierlich und zerbrechlich.” I looked “petite and fragile” to her. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m afraid my reply didn’t make me seem very smart. I must have used the word “coarse” or “vulgar” for “tough,” and I think when referring to my body I used the word for “corpse!” I didn’t hear from her again, and no wonder. (What’s the German word for “moron?”)</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I guess I don’t look like a body builder. For years it bothered me, and it still does, sometimes. When I was in school I was kind of a pushover. I want to look tough, so no one will pick on me. It’s hard to get over your fears when you’re afraid to be seen as prey. Maybe someday I won’t see potential bullies everywhere I go. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I have noticed that relative muscle strength is actually a variable that changes day by day and hour by hour. The four factors that affect it are: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Diet—sugar bad, protein good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Rest—deprivation bad, sleep good. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Exercise—not too much, not too little. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Hydration—plenty of water, but nothing with sugar or natural sugar or caffeine. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s that simple. I’m not a fitness nut at all, but I know the factors that affect my strength. If I’m sleep-deprived, dehydrated, tired, and just finished a bowl of ice cream, guess what? I won’t be as strong as I normally would. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I eat sugar, but I try to limit myself. It’s all about balance. It also doesn’t hurt, if you know how your thoughts are inhibiting your potential. Only then can you challenge these unhelpful thoughts and overcome them. </div><div class="MsoNormal">So I lied. There are only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">five</i> things you need to worry about, on your way to building physical strength. You cannot build physical strength if you do not also build mental strength. And only then, once you feel good about yourself, can you conquer the world. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-8858073901881167132011-09-25T20:03:00.000-07:002011-09-25T20:03:31.295-07:00"Shit On Your Neighbor" And The Value Of Writing People Off<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Among my Christian friends, I have sometimes had the impression, based on annoyed but “sad” facial expressions, of being written off as lost, because of something I said or did that wasn’t kosher.</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Well, she’s lost,” I can just see the subtitle of their thoughts. I can read it on their face, that I’m blinded by the devil and they need to pray for me (because of something I said?). It has annoyed me to no end in the past, but now I wonder if they’re not onto something.</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is a value, actually, in writing people off. It frees you from the responsibility of having a relationship with them, changing them, or dwelling on what aggravates you about them. Imagine mentally handing them a note that says, “You’re not my problem anymore.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Often we assign roles to people and certain expectations along with the roles. We want perfect parents, aunts, uncles and friends. For example, I expect my aunt to get off my case about using psuedo-cusswords like “That was freaking huge,” and calling our card game what it really is, <b>Shit On Your Neighbor</b>. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The teacher in our brain grades people according to how we think they should be, not how they actually are. I am actually in favor of a double standard, as far as this goes. There should not be the same standard for everyone, because some people simply cannot perform well as a parent, grandparent, or person. This is not about letting someone off the hook; it’s about protecting yourself from being hurt.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Hurt feelings only result from unmet expectations.</b> Once you lower your expectations for them, they cannot hurt you as much.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I spent many years becoming sad and emotional over the way people had treated me, until one day I realized that I needed to assign them new expectations. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Now I have new, lowered expectations for people. I expect my grandfather not to be conscientious about taking his supplements. I expect my aunt to get me in trouble for saying the word “pussy.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We’ve all heard the old clichés of “Love people as they are,” and “Accept people on their own terms.” That’s great advice, but I see little practical application for it, no actual instructions for how to implement it. But I think I’ve actually found a way to do it, though loving them is optional. </div><div class="MsoNormal">But first, you often must stop being in denial about them. <b>You cannot accept people as they are without first acknowledging what they are. </b>And here's how: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Write a list of expectations for each person that bothers you.</b> Think also of how you will protect yourself from them, whether they mean to hurt you or not. Then stick to your plan. Don’t feel guilty about it. As long as they don’t change, you don’t have to. Lower your standards, then set up boundaries. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then, when they do something that crosses the line, you will be prepared for it. It will not surprise you. It will not be as devastating. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It won’t erase hurt feelings, but the mantra “I expected this” will help you get over most of the shock.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Have your list handy, though out of sight. When they do something that makes you cringe, that bothers you, when you think about them and obsess over “Why are they this way?” “Why do they do that?” refer back to your list and comfort yourself that you actually saw this coming, or put a new item on the list. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Another important thing to remember is to make this list as impersonal as possible. Use their real names, not family names, or put their family names in quotes. <b>Reducing the emotional to the practical helps you sort through your feelings.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">You can do this for anyone. Don’t feel guilty because it’s your friend, mother, sister, husband, pastor or even God. You can certainly love them without thinking everything is rosy, <b>love is a separate issue</b>. After doing this exercise, you may decide that being around them is too much negativity, and limit your contact with them if you can. If you can’t, at least you feel prepared. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I did this for everyone that had hurt my feelings, or aggravated me. Because of my strict religious background, I also decided to make a list pertaining to God. It’s not blasphemy, it’s just my imperfect expectations. God can handle it, I think.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And if they exceed your expectations, if they suddenly become the person you wanted them to be, then that is wonderful! You can enjoy the surprise without comparing them with an impossible standard. In other words, you can relish any kind of progress, however incremental.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div><div class="MsoNormal">And if they never change? Then that is fine too. You have more room to live your life, and it’s no longer about them. This practice frees up your brainspace to be creative, to be happy, to come up with ideas and to avoid such negative distractions. <b>It frees you up to live your own life, not theirs.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">And don’t forget, the stuff they do may still make you cry. <b>It’s okay to be upset. Just don’t be surprised.</b></div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-78065209045936669152011-09-20T00:12:00.000-07:002011-09-20T00:12:07.811-07:00Everyone Should Be A Writer<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I love to write, almost as much as I love breathing, but I don’t like to describe myself as a writer, because I think everyone either is a writer or should be. Everyone should compose something, even a little thing only for their family and friends. So why don’t most people bother? What makes those who write, even if they are not published, stand out from the rest, in the fact that they do something? What makes a writer?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Three things make someone choose this creative outlet. They are all important, but the first one is the greatest: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">They believe that they can. </div><div class="MsoNormal">They want to. </div><div class="MsoNormal">They make the time. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Most people “don’t want to” or can't find the time because they don’t feel they have something worthwhile to say. They don’t think the world would be interested. But they don’t have to please the world: for every creative product, there is a market. Find your niche, don’t try take on everyone. </div><div class="MsoNormal">What I have noticed is that there are published books that I think are poorly written, but are popular or are bestsellers. I’m sure there’s someone out there who absolutely hates what I put out (or would if I were actually that famous!), and someone else who absolutely loves it. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I see inspiration everywhere. My Papa could write about the time he spends reading the Bible and how that makes him feel, or his perspective on religion or life as a senior of an older, southern generation, or the philosophical aspects of baseball—and he is retired and watches TV all day! He has more interests than he thinks: Baseball, bluegrass, Dolly Parton, his family and what they mean to him. Somebody should tap into the market he belongs in. Why not him?</div><div class="MsoNormal">My cousin could write about the challenges of being married with two children at twenty. My Mom-Mom could write one of those romantic stories she loves. My mother could publish a book on life-coaching or her theories for a happy marriage. My Grandma could post something on websites about recycling or the environment, my Grandpa could send an article to a running magazine. My dad could talk about his favorite knives and guns, his boss about working as a bouncer in a Swedish brothel or meeting Timothy Leary at a love-in.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Or any one of these people could use their imagination and make something up. People love fiction.</div><div class="MsoNormal">But why is it so very hard to convert these people? They have plenty to say, they could find the time if they wanted to, and there is always a market. And now it’s easier than ever to have a blog and self-publish, and it’s free or cheap! (Hell, they even let someone like me do these things! You don’t even have to be competent, and I’m living proof!) So why not? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because either: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">They don’t think they can. </div><div class="MsoNormal">They don’t want to. </div><div class="MsoNormal">They don’t have the time. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I have found that often the last two reasons are really only excuses for the first. </div><div class="MsoNormal">You make time for what is most important to you, often what you do for others. Many people seem unable to do anything just for themselves, out of guilt or a feeling of unworthiness. I am “selfish” sometimes, because of my favorite creative outlet. But it’s harder to be selfish if you are out of practice. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Of course, I realize that not everyone wants the kind of life I aspire to. I have “written” my own story lines since before I was literate. I would peg the age at about six years old. For many years, I didn’t sleep, I just lay there and thought of the newest exploits of my favorite Disney characters or superherpes (sorry, I meant to say superheroes!). I still do that, only now I’m older and supposed to be more mature. I pretend that I am. </div><div class="MsoNormal">And I’m not judging any of the others as having low self-esteem (well, not everyone). But I want them to be winners with me, when I become one. Why settle for mediocrity?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Find what your interests are, make a list, then narrow it down to your passions. Or, think of a character and build a story around them, maybe based on someone you know who is funny, quirky or annoying. And remember, there is always a market. So find yours. </div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-62250502518051342192011-09-13T17:59:00.000-07:002011-09-13T17:59:48.962-07:00I Want To Feel The Sunshine On My Nipples!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">“Why is Wonder Woman so happy?” I wondered the other day, while trying to stalk her on the internet. “She’s such a feminist.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, we’ve all heard about the stereotype of the bitter feminist that hates men, and I know some men who can get very upset about it (as if they were forced to date these women, or they were the only ones available). But really, even with all the backwards practices in the world, I think the answer to our problems is not in hating men, but in loving ourselves. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Most feminist theory is just a cop-out against being happy. Yes, I said it. “I can’t have a good life because I’m a woman.” Men don’t have that excuse. They must be short, bald, fat or old instead. But really, even in the dark ages of history (his-story, that’s the root of the word!), there have been women who have had good lives, who have managed to be successful and happy. So why not now, even with all the unfair stuff that goes on? </div><div class="MsoNormal">I am not against feminism. How can I be, if I benefit so much from it? I don’t think women should submit to their husbands or stay home, unless they want to. But why are all these smart, aware women so miserable? </div><div class="MsoNormal">We all have excuses that “prevent” us from having the life we want. We are all handicapped in our own minds. Being a woman shouldn’t be one of them. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I guess what we should really be asking ourselves is “What are my excuses?” Instead of being resentful of nature or of men, our fellow humans (or huwomans), ask, “What are my obstacles really? How can I overcome them?” You will probably find that most obstacles are the ones you set up for yourself. They’re in your own mind, not in the outside circumstances. </div><div class="MsoNormal">What I like to do is think of in what ways I feel slighted personally, not what happened two hundred years ago or what happens in Arab countries. I feel oppressed when a man takes off his shirt and I can’t. Why are my breasts always made sexual, when their function in life is to nourish children? <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I want to feel the sun on my nipples!</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Infantile men make breasts into sexual objects, toys, and women go along with it. If some men can’t handle bare breasts without lust, how is that my fault? Why should I take responsibility for someone else’s faults? “He couldn’t help but rape me, officer, I was wearing a tank top.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">That is the only thing that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, consistently, the male privilege of my father and brother walking around outside or in the house with no shirt. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The important thing, the one thing that will eventually change our circumstances, is voicing the problem aloud. We must complain if anything is to be done—the squeaky wheel getting the grease again. The women’s rights movement began when women started talking to each other about what they thought was injustice. Do you think men thought women wanted to vote, before they said something? Find out what bothers you personally, what you feel is unfair about your outside circumstances, and say something. Voice your concern to other women and especially to men. And remember that happiness is often created from the inside, rather than from how you are treated on the outside. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, in summary: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>1) Create your own happiness—don’t use feminism as an excuse. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>2) Find out what bothers you personally, what affects your life, not others’ lives. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>3) Speak up about it—but don’t harp on it.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Note to men: A lot of men have oppressed and hurt women, both in the past and foreign countries, and right here in our personal lives. Please understand that it is hard not to think that all men are like this, if this has been our experience. </div><div class="MsoNormal">In one of my short stories, which will be published on Amazon soon (I promise a link), a jester decides that he hates all knights, even as the knight he humiliates thinks that even though other knights have picked on him, he has not. It’s not exactly the jester’s fault; they are both victims, in this case. Please keep that in mind if you are not a chauvinist. Perhaps you will be lucky enough to change a few minds.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-3272883065075748112011-09-13T17:38:00.000-07:002011-12-08T15:57:39.924-08:00Ingredients For A Conversion: Four Emotions Every Christian Experiences And Thrives On<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">According to my latest theory, based on my own religious background, Christians only experience four basic emotions, which they sadly mistake for their spiritual states. Two of them alternate in cycles; one is a supplement to those two, and the fourth is a tragic side effect of the other three. These are only emotions; the “reasons” given can vary widely, depending on circumstances and individuals. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Please note: This has been my experience of Christianity. It may not be yours, but I’m betting it is. I hope I don’t seem disrespectful in this post. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Despair:</b> This manifests itself as anything from “How can God ever forgive me?” to “I’m no good at being a Christian.” It can also be “How can I ever make this marriage work?” or “Why can’t I stop thinking sexual thoughts?”</div><div class="MsoNormal">No matter what the issue is, low self-esteem is the result. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Euphoria:</b> This is an emotional high caused by a stirring worship service, or an intense prayer session, or really anything that makes you feel “close to God.” </div><div class="MsoNormal">It is not God’s presence, it’s just your emotions, and often it’s false or fleeting. This does not mean God approves of you, that you are in the presence of God, or anything else. It’s just an emotion. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Sadly, most Christian activity is just a pursuit of this high, or a way to convince oneself that you are a good Christian and a good person. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You may have noticed that the typical salvation experience involves both of these two emotions. In fact, the incentive for salvation used by the church is an artificially induced dosage of despair. First, show them how sinful they are. Then, thank God, there is a way to be saved. Most Christians go through an endless cycle of despair-euphoria-despair, all of their Christian lives. How many times have I been saved? About a hundred, maybe. When the euphoria is gone, they worry about their salvation, and the process is repeated. Perhaps it didn’t “stick” last time.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am not saying Christianity is a false religion. But it helps to know the tactics used within the church. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Suspicion</b>: This is often referred to as “discernment” or “guidance of the Holy Spirit.” This suspicion can apply to other Christians, nonbelievers, churches, movements, pastors, or even physical objects. Other Christians are not truly saved and are used unwittingly by the devil; inanimate objects are demonic or are idols. That pastor is living with hidden sin (the Holy Spirit told me!); unbelievers are spiritually blinded; that church movement believes non-biblical things; why did she do or say that, if she’s supposed to be a Christian? </div><div class="MsoNormal">Too much suspicion can turn people into judgmental, self-righteous hypocrites. It’s not fun being around them. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Suspicion can also apply to having too many rules for one’s conduct. You can’t joke about sex—“I don’t find that funny!” You get other people in trouble for what they say or do, because they have to know you don’t approve. Nothing about God or Christianity is funny. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tiredness</b>: Finally, the tragic result of all that suspicion, euphoria and despair. You get tired of always seeking euphoria, “God’s presence,” spiritual highs. It’s all too much. </div><div class="MsoNormal">A few years ago I “cracked.” After pushing all my life, I just got too tired to push any more. I stopped reading my bible; I don’t pray anymore. Neither of these things feel natural to me, or ever have. Churches do not feel like welcoming places anymore. I don’t belong there. And I’m generally happier, now that I’ve stopped trying so hard. </div><div class="MsoNormal">No one can say I didn’t try, really hard. And I know many, many people who are only a few setbacks away from cracking like me. The other three emotions keep one from cracking. I have experienced all of them, but no more. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Are you suspicious of me? Perhaps you are tempted to be offended or be sad or write me off as lost. Are you afraid you will be like me, someday? Does the pressure to be a good Christian seem too much? You’re not alone. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps the bit on suspicion has got you feeling “convicted,” or guilty about a sin. Prepare for another despair session. Please don’t be too hard on yourself. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Believe me, I have been where you are. My heart was truly sincere; I really wanted to please God. But now…I’m just so tired. </div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-87113854160678768722011-08-11T15:41:00.000-07:002011-12-08T15:57:39.924-08:00Deathbed Classroom<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">“What if you die and find out it’s not true?” someone asked our fourth-grade teacher, in the Christian school. “What if God’s not real?”</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was an unspoken question that Christian children whispered to each other when adults weren’t around. And it was always on our minds, at least a lot of the time. But mostly it was forbidden to mention it, bad to ever doubt that God, whom we could not see or hear, existed. Worse still to wonder if another religion was the truth and we were going to hell according to its standards. </div><div class="MsoNormal">We had just finished a very philosophical discussion about heaven, hell, animals, and other related matters. But I was very surprised by the flippant, dismissive remark that followed this inquiry. </div><div class="MsoNormal">“So what? You’ve lived a good life,” the teacher, Mrs. Bitter (not her real name, but close, and descriptive) fired off. And with that, the discussion was over. We were back to being children/cattle again. Our opinions weren’t respected anymore. </div><div class="MsoNormal">There seemed to be some sense of letdown settle over us. I noticed this in myself, and thought I saw it in my classmates too. That was it? That was the best answer she could give us? Somehow that remark, and the fact that she thought she had the answer, rubbed me the wrong way. It rubbed me so hard, in fact, that I’ve remembered that rug-burn ever sense. Maybe we did live good lives, but that wasn’t enough. </div><div class="MsoNormal">We knew even then what we were missing. No one had to tell us that life would be easier if we weren’t believers, if we didn’t have to worry about whether whatever we did or chose was a sin or pleased God. Those were my exact thoughts, actually: “My life would be so much easier if I wasn’t a Christian.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">So now I’m on my deathbed, but somehow I’m still in fourth grade too. All around me, my classmates are old and weak and on their deathbeds too. And Mrs. Bitch is still there! She’s still reminding us that we all lived good lives, making us feel guilty for ever questioning the afterlife. </div><div class="MsoNormal">So I’m two hundred years old (I can dream, right? This is fantasy, remember?) and I’m looking back on a long life spent serving God and trying to please Jesus. Was it happy? All these things I did, all my effort, all my abstinence (not just from sex, from anything that could be an “idol”), was it worth it?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps I had become a missionary and lived among strange people without any comforts, missing my parents terribly and wondering why I had made this mistake. But I couldn’t go back to the States, because there wasn’t enough money, and the other missionaries would hate me, and God would be so disappointed. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe I had gotten married, tried to be a good submissive wife, wore skirts but no jewelry or makeup, and had five kids because some preacher said that birth control wasn’t letting God give you as many kids as you could handle. I gritted my teeth and obeyed some man against my better judgment, even when the welfare of my children was at stake. I resented all the babies that kept me from writing and pursuing my goals. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe I never published anything, because I was afraid God didn’t want me to. Maybe I decided I would only write “for the glory of God,” and wasted my time with Christian novellas that always ended one way: the character gets saved. Or gets saved and falls in love. Never any sex, never any creativity. I would be miserable with so narrow a margin. It always seemed a little forced anyway. </div><div class="MsoNormal">And then I had given ten percent of my money away in “tithes” that I didn’t want to give up. I had spent my life pleasing and serving others, with no time for myself. I had not enjoyed music, art or reading that wasn’t Christian or bland. I had not bought things for myself, stuff that I enjoyed. I had given away things I loved, thinking that God would approve. I had wrestled even with my own thoughts, had thought of my “flesh” as evil, had not allowed myself to enjoy anything too much. </div><div class="MsoNormal">(There may be some denominations out there that promote a different, less strict brand of Christianity that I’m unaware of, but this was what was taught to me when I was younger.)</div><div class="MsoNormal">I relate my life story, and so do a lot of my peers. We listen in our beds as most tell a version of the same tale. A few are gone, maybe—they left the church and never looked back. We pray for their souls and lament that they are lost. And all the while, at the back of our minds, a small, tiny voice asks the question: “Wouldn’t it have been easier…wouldn’t it have been better…what if…”</div><div class="MsoNormal">But we dismiss it, knowing that that voice is the devil trying to make us walk away from God. We don’t trust that voice, even though it’s a part of ourselves. </div><div class="MsoNormal">“Ahem!” Mrs. Bitter finally clears her throat. “All eyes up here! I have an announcement to make. Class is over; you’re all dismissed.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">“But what about Heaven?” Austin, the kid who lies next to me, pipes up. “Don’t we get to go to heaven?”</div><div class="MsoNormal">“No; heaven’s cancelled. God never existed all along, it turns out. But don’t worry, you’ve all lived good lives.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">The disappointment is palpable. So much waste! I could be in a bar with the lost kids, I think. I could be having a good time until the very end. But now it’s too late. I was tricked. My one life, and I was tricked into giving it away.</div><div class="MsoNormal">“But I didn’t live a full life!” I whine. “I didn’t really <i>live</i>!”</div><div class="MsoNormal">My last thought as the darkness encroaches upon me, as I get sleepier, right before I cease existing forever, is, “I hope I get reincarnated.”</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-33710171126877426992011-08-11T15:21:00.001-07:002011-08-11T15:21:59.030-07:00Listen To The Voices<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I was “writing,” the other day, and I tried to make a play on the cards but it wasn’t allowed. </div><div class="MsoNormal">“Damn!” I thought. “Damn, damn, damn!”</div><div class="MsoNormal">“It’s not damned,” one of the voices told me cheerfully. “It’s only a game.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Why, you’re right!” I exclaimed. “It is only a game—I’m so happy. Thank you!”</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was very welcome. What a gracious voice I had—how wonderful that she was looking out for me. I hope that voice comes by to visit again soon. All my other ones are just so negative. This one makes me happy.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think we all hear voices, if we listen. Most people pretend to be deaf, and they think you’re demented if you open up your ears and allow yourself to hear them. This one was telling me not to cuss so much. Cussing is negative; I should try to be positive. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The greatest problem I have had in my life is fear. The form has changed as I’ve grown older, but it’s still there, usually when I think I ought to do something but don’t want to. My fear made me fail my driving license test four times, and prevents me from taking a fifth test. But then, I don’t like to drive. Funny, isn’t it? </div><div class="MsoNormal">The other night I was lying in bed, trying to go to sleep in spite of the horrible knot in the pit of my stomach. I would not sleep well, I knew it, and I would likely cry myself to sleep. I tried to think of the feelings techniques I read in self-help books, so I asked my fear how long it planned on staying. I didn’t expect a response, it was more of a joke. But surprisingly it came, right away and instinctual. It was so clear. “Until you’re safe,” it said. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Instantly I was overcome with gratitude. My fear wasn’t the enemy! It was looking out for me! All these years I thought it had hated me, and I blamed it for making me miss out on everything, for making me uncomfortable when I shouldn’t have been. </div><div class="MsoNormal">But what had this voice, this fear, been trying to tell me all along? Perhaps it had saved me from situations I wasn’t equipped to handle yet, or that weren’t in my best interest. For years I had fought it, doing hundreds of things I didn’t want to do, with people that made me uncomfortable, all in the name of family. And I hated myself for being afraid. But I wasn’t crazy, it turns out. Nothing was wrong with me. If anything, here was something right about me. </div><div class="MsoNormal">When my fear talked to me, it also helped take the edge off. It didn’t feel like terror so much anymore. I was grateful to my fear. My fear would guide me tomorrow. It would look out for me and my well-being. I didn’t feel so alone anymore. I slept better that night than I had in months. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Now I have different ways of dealing with my new friend. Instead of cursing it, hating it and myself, I ask what message it’s trying to give me. Am I doing something that is not in my best interest, even self-destructive? Do I really want to do that? Does that person make me uncomfortable? If so, then maybe being around them isn’t very good for me, is toxic. </div><div class="MsoNormal">“I love you, fear,” I said to it, hugging my new friend in my mind. “You’re a part of me, and you’re looking out for me. Thank you so much. You’re so good. I love you.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Humans are often self-destructive, but also self-healing. We have other personalities, other voices, to guide us, but we often hate them. We yell and hit them. We criticize and cuss them. But we don’t realize that they are a part of us, that we are really punishing ourselves. So we become anxious and have low self-esteem, because somebody important to us hates us. No wonder society is so screwed up. </div><div class="MsoNormal">But then, sometimes, we stumble across these hated alter-egos, and we realize that they have feelings too, that their feelings are our feelings. And these feelings are killing us. So we try to make peace with the voices, wondering if it’s too late to change a lifetime of habits. </div><div class="MsoNormal">But, to our surprise, we heal. We have peace now. We’re happy. And it feels damn good. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-38352016839356989622011-08-09T18:24:00.000-07:002011-08-09T18:24:05.609-07:00My Ideal Marriage<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">My ideal marriage is basically a Booty Call For Life.</div><div class="MsoNormal">After seeing so many couples struggle trying to “make it work” with the Conjoined Twins approach (joined at the pelvis, if they’re lucky!), I've worked out a better system. My approach isn’t very “romantic” (in other words, traditional) and is officially banned by several churches (not really, but I can only hope). But it’s insanely practical, enables you to love someone without getting hurt or caught up in their emotional problems, and does not bother with outdated “traditional values” that are rather cumbersome and impractical nowadays. </div><div class="MsoNormal">However it’s not for the faint of heart, nor for codependents. If you need someone to “complete” you, not a romantic but an unhealthy idea, this is not for you. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Separate houses.</b> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I rather like the idea of the Chinese “walking marriage,” where the husband walks to his wife’s house every night and returns to his own every morning. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it’s hard to maintain a fairy-tale image of someone when Prince Charming scratches his ass and picks his nose in front of you. Happily Ever After is a huge pressure and burden when you’re always there to bicker about leaving the toilet seat up and shrinking the laundry. Annoying habits that bug you every day can be overlooked if you don’t see him day to day. Thus eliminating the need to be so picky, to look for that perfect someone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Separate money. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Finances is one of the biggest fight-causing agents in a marriage. I’ve seen some couples almost divorce over it. If we can eliminate this one, we would all be much happier. So no joint savings or checking accounts. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Unless I want to be a stay-at-home mother, which is temporary, there is no need to be supported by a man (or woman). So why have the stress of what happens when two people who have very different upbringings and money management styles clash? </div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s the deal: I don’t want a man to take my money for himself. Even if I eventually “buckle down” and have a traditional marriage, I will protect myself with a separate checking account. Especially if they do not know the other person’s credit history or sense of responsibility, both women and men need to do this. Forget “love;” entrusting someone like this is just foolish. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Sleepovers. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Is this technically living in sin, I wonder? This kind of sex sounds much more exciting than “The kids are in bed, you want to do it?”</div><div class="MsoNormal">It could be a standing appointment that you look forward to every week. He would be much more likely to bring over wine or flowers, or dinner, or clean up his own place. Then, when the romance is over, you can each go back to your own lives, without trying to prolong the good feelings. Save them for next week. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Separate bedrooms. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">For the sleepovers. Can you honestly sleep good with someone else, maybe a snorer, beside you? Throw the honey in the guest room and grab a good night’s rest. You deserve it. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Or at the very least have a big bed and separate blankets. How many men you know are good at sharing the covers? There’s no need for the heartache. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Divorced-style parenting. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">If you have enough support from friends and family, you could make this work. Most marriages do not end in death anyway, so if you want to be cynical, why put your kids through the stress in the first place. My young half-brother seems to think it’s normal to visit his mother on weekends; it’s what he knows. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, it might be difficult, but how is parenting ever easy anyway? Slacking parents will be forced to contribute when the kids come over. And think of this: a few nights a week will be all to yourself. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Separate names. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">I spent all my life building up this name; why change it now? I deserve my own unbroken identity, not to be symbolically owned. It may not be an issue for some, but it is for me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Separate legacies. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Girls named after Mommy, boys named after Daddy. Children should be taught that the female line is important too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These suggestions are rather radical, but why stop there? I may not even have a ceremony; I may not even make it legal (depending on what benefits there are to a marriage license). There is no need for love to go insane and become something like an obsession. </div><div class="MsoNormal">If you do not have a narrow and outmoded view of marital success, I think these methods, as much as you can apply them, will increase your odds. You will be invulnerable or somewhat shielded from the devastating effects of financial recklessness (though not your own), different parenting styles, cheating, and snoring or sleep-farting. </div><div class="MsoNormal">By eliminating the causes of most arguments, you might just make it where other two-headed creatures have failed. </div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-45557299087366967812011-08-09T18:12:00.000-07:002011-08-09T18:12:50.072-07:00The Drug Addicts of My Childhood<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Here's What A Meth Addict’s House Looks Like: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Nauseating chemical-type smells, overwhelming, probably “cooking” it, mixing drugs on the stove. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Soiled diapers on the kitchen counters. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Bits of food encrusted on the inside of the fridge—the fridge has its own putrid smell. Ditto for the microwave, where she simply shoved food in—no napkin, no plate—and threw it out on the floor for her children. “That’s where it will end up anyway.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">A brand-new $800 washing machine, picked apart piece by piece. It’s in about a hundred pieces on the floor. She does not know how to put it back together. (Sometimes meth addicts like to pick things apart when they’re high.) </div><div class="MsoNormal">Spoons in her bedroom, with strange white stuff encrusted on them. (Meth that didn’t get drawn into the needle and dried there. She mixed it up in spoons.)</div><div class="MsoNormal">There was food bits all over the furniture, crumbs in the beds. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This woman’s housekeeping style was much like that of the hoarders on the documentaries on TV. But TV cannot describe the smells and stuffiness, the sickening atmosphere of it. I was too intimately acquainted with the next-door neighbor and her house. It was like my unfortunate second home for many years in my early teens. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Sure, my mother and I shouldn’t have been so involved, we should have simply called Child Services instead of waiting for her to “get it,” but we were just being good Christians, right? We <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had </i>to help her out, for she was raising two little boys all alone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why didn’t we see at the time that she was on drugs? Was it because she was a mother? Had horses and pets? Lived in the country, spoke coherently (most of the time), drank a lot of coffee and got hyper?</div><div class="MsoNormal">For being so discerning and discriminating as to throw out stuff we thought was demonic or an “idol,” (that we loved, usually), how could we have been so blind? </div><div class="MsoNormal">(I use the word “we” a lot when thinking about that time in my life, for it seemed my mother and I were unhealthily joined at the hip. Thus, it’s “our” life and what “we” went through, even in my own mind.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s what I learned about “bad” parents, incompetent parents: They don’t reform. My mother was very gifted at taking care of children, and tried time and again to show her how to do it. Eventually she accused my mom of calling her a bad mother behind her back, and took the baby away, the baby that we had raised for almost two years. So no matter how subtly the maternal magician tried to “train” her, to show her, she knew exactly what Mom was doing. And she didn’t like it. </div><div class="MsoNormal">She didn’t learn how to clean her house, after we stepped in and did all the hard work for her, maybe four to five times. She never appreciated it, and once we got in big trouble for “throwing things away” when they were in their proper places after all. </div><div class="MsoNormal">She went through the trash every time after we finished cleaning, probably looking for her lost meth. We might have thrown it away, thinking it was a white rock. </div><div class="MsoNormal">So I learned eventually not to bail people out. I became very cynical for a number of years, depressed and unhappy and angry that I did not have a happy childhood. I had excruciating, unexplainable pain in my right shoulder and arm constantly. Still have a little pain, sometimes, and it’s still painful to write by hand. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I had no energy, could not get up in the morning, struggled with severe constipation, and kept an extremely late schedule. I think all of these things were mostly symptoms of my emotional turmoil. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I was watching a documentary on hoarders recently and flashed back to the past. I wonder how many “hoarders” are on drugs. </div><div class="MsoNormal">So what’s the point of all this reminiscence? The moral of this story is, when you’re in the thick of it, it’s hard to see you need to make changes, that you can’t go on like this. What would have happened if the neighbor had not taken the baby away from us? Would we still be helping her, hoping she would change, never dreaming that she could have a drug problem?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ignorance is never bliss. Yet so many people choose deliberately not to see what’s right in front of them. I paid a huge price because of ignorance. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Never again. </div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-46031807306805340912011-08-07T19:34:00.000-07:002011-12-08T15:56:01.319-08:00Antique Toilets, Paul Bunyon, Michael Jackson, and Elvis: The Perfect Orgy?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I’ve always wondered why there is no market for antique toilets. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I recently met a man who claimed to have Michael Jackson’s toilet, the one he flushed the other glove down. I think he’s full of…glove. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I decided right away that I could easily top that, so I said that was nothing, I had the toilet that Elvis died on. If only the porcelain could speak, it would tell me the King’s last words. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I first became aware of how the legend died from a guy at my Taekwondo class who had a crush on me. He swept me off my feet with the words, “He died taking a dump!” At that moment, I knew he was the one for me. I don’t even remember how that came up.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wrote a poem about Elvis once (sort of). Apparently Elvis killed Babe the Blue Ox (sort of). </div><div class="MsoNormal">I came across one by Robert Frost, “Paul’s Wife,” about Paul Bunyon carving himself a wife out of a tree (He liked wood, I get it, but doesn’t he realize there are dolls that won’t give him splinters?). It was boring and stupid and way too long, and I decided I could do better. So I did better, in just eight lines. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Paul never was one to follow trends</div><div class="MsoNormal">Until, one day, said one of his friends, </div><div class="MsoNormal">“You’ve worked too hard, it’s taken its toll; </div><div class="MsoNormal">You need something new; try rock and roll.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So Paul left work, and came back the next day</div><div class="MsoNormal">And Paul was there, but where was Babe?</div><div class="MsoNormal">They never did find her, but have you heard the news?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Paul got himself some <b>blue suede shoes!</b></i></div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-65994398329598473792011-08-04T13:54:00.000-07:002011-08-04T13:54:15.218-07:00Voice Lessons<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">When I was very small a family friend took me to a speech therapist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said “tree” and “seat” instead of “three” and “sheet.” Then in a third-grade play I had one line: “We shop.” The play was stupid anyway, but it was still embarrassing. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Later on I was told that I needed to take voice lessons, that I spoke in a monotone, had impressions of me that were unflattering, etc. I got in trouble at school for humming too loud.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll never sing soprano, and that’s okay. A peacock shouldn’t feel bad for not being a nightingale. Our voice can be used to boost our egos, or to humiliate us. Those who hate their voices hate something about themselves, and probably don’t like their image in the mirror. </div><div class="MsoNormal">You can use your voice for good, or for evil. Heal yourself or hurt yourself. I know what I’ve been guilty of doing, and what I want to do in the future. Here’s how I’m going to try it. People really don’t need to change their voices, they just need to make them work for them. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Invite yourself to speak up.</b> If you could say anything in the world, what would it be? Now you have that freedom. “I just want to say…”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Learn to speak louder and clearer.</b> People should not have to ask “What?” all the time. Yell if you have to, at first. Just be heard the first time. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Read aloud.</b> By yourself, if you’re shy. Comic books and poetry are good. Foreign languages are good too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Babble like a baby.</b> It’s fun. Stutter on purpose too. Only when you’re by yourself.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Role-play your favorite heroes, just like when you were a kid.</b> I’m a superhero sometimes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Learn to sing and hum—hum loud.</b> No one will get you in trouble now. Happy people hum. You’ll be happy. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Yell and scream, when no one else is around.</b> If you are frustrated, express it. Throw a tantrum. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Write notes to loved ones and heroes,</b> then imagine saying those things out loud. Everything you’ve ever wanted to say—put it all in there, even if they are dead. Love letters, fan mail, sad or hurt letters, angry letters, all of it. Then send them, if they are loving and honest. Imagine in romantic movies where the heroine is writing a love letter and you hear her voice. Never write a note you wouldn’t say aloud. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Say things aloud as you write them—very slowly.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Record yourself reading something, very slowly.</b> Don’t rush it or you’ll sound nervous. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Imagine yourself as a comedian</b>. Again, don’t rush. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Learn to speak more slowly.</b> It will force you to relax.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Interactive listening.</b> Really listen, and paraphrase in your responses. It will make you feel listened to also. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Don’t interrupt other people. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Speak kindly to yourself.</b> I would say, “Alex, I love you, you’re so good,” etc. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Praise yourself for a good job. </b>“I’m so proud of you. You were so brave today.” Remember to say it out loud. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Hold conversations with yourself.</b> “I want to do this.” “Me too, I agree.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Look at yourself in the mirror—really gaze lovingly at your reflection.</b> This is not a voice thing, but it will make you more confident.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Have a wide stance.</b> Don’t sit with your legs together. The more room you take up, the more you will relax, the better you will feel. In other words, wear pants. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Hold a note.</b> Tuneless humming or singing. I am reminded of a scene in the Disney movie, “The Little Mermaid,” where the witch steals her voice while she is singing a beautiful, wordless song. “Aaah-aaah-aaah-aaah-aaah-aah, aaah-aaah-aaah-aaah-aaah.” You could also sing “hmmm-hmmm-hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm-hmmmm.” It’s mindless and relaxing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Sing before bed for a good night’s sleep.</b> Try to sing a happy song. You need to be well rested if you want more confidence. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Speak your mind, whenever you can.</b> But don’t be mean. And be prudent too, with timing and venue. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Speak up.</b> Ask for what you want. “I would like…” “I want…” “I don’t want to…” “It bothers me when…”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Karaoke.</b> If you have access to a machine. Don’t try to sound perfect. Do it by yourself, if you’re shy. Put your finger in one ear, to hear yourself better.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Practice different accents.</b> Be silly. My favorite is talking like Dracula. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Don’t be apologetic.</b> Don’t sell yourself short. My family has the bad habit of saying stuff like, “I don’t know how good it’s going to be, because I’ve never tried this before.” I’m trying to break that bad habit. When I email James Altucher with an idea, I say “This will make your blog more popular,” not “I think this will make your blog more popular.” Talk confidently, and you will be more confident.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Talk about yourself in the third person.</b> Not when other people are around. They’ll think you’re crazy. Complement yourself in the third person, and the second, and the first, and the zeroth. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Learn to laugh in a way that you like.</b> A lot of us don’t like our own laughs. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Change your voice, if you want.</b> Make it more attractive to you, not to other people. That’s your goal. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Affirmations.</b> “My voice is unique and beautiful. I am loved because of it and because the message I have.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Praise your body, out loud.</b> “My legs are so beautiful.” “I love the shape of my hands.” You must find something that you like aesthetically. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Praise your good qualities.</b> “I’m so good at…” “I love to…” “I’m sensitive and caring.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Anything else you want to add, Alex?” </div><div class="MsoNormal">“Why, yes I do. <b>Ask yourself your own opinion, </b>once in a while.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Whisper to yourself in the dark.</b> Before drifting off to sleep, talk about the day, talk about tomorrow, be hopeful and optimistic. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not all may work for you; just pick out the ones you like. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Learn to love your own voice, and use it to speak up and further your own goals. Those are really the only voice lessons you need to take. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-56964499538170906802011-07-21T14:42:00.000-07:002011-09-13T15:48:29.061-07:00How Not To Teach Taekwondo<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I was once in training to become a martial arts instructor (long story, that didn’t actually work out). My teacher said that I was already certifiable, but that I needed to do one last homework assignment: Describe ten useful skills for class management. I like to think I learned by example. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Smoke and drink in class. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Nothing sets the mood and tone more effectively than the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer. Lit cigarettes can also be used for student correction. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Carry a working chain saw to class. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">The right environment is crucial to student learning. The magic combination of chain saw noises, visible drunkenness and a ski mask help to motivate even the laziest students. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Approach students in such a way as to make them cower. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Demand the respect that you deserve, especially from inexperienced white belts. See previous two skills for ideas. The nervous twitch you picked up when the aliens did an ill-fated experiment on you (or so you tell the students) can also be used. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">4.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Set a specific punishment-of-the-day for class. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">“The voices tell me that the punishment of the day will be…” This gives the instructor a creative outlet and the students something to look forward to. Be sure that it is embarrassing and that it entertains you and the other students. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">5.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Always undermine students’ opinions and beliefs. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Students are always wrong; instructors are always right. Your feedback to student responses should always reflect this principle. Examples of such abuse include, “I have not yet begun to be evil,” “My favorite superhero can beat up your favorite, just like this,” and “He’s not really unconscious. Kick him some more and he’ll wake up.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">6.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Select a candidate for humiliation to use as an example. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">This can be a sort of “teacher’s pet,” if you wish. Or you can pick random students each day. Even if he or she does nothing wrong, you have your recipient for “punishment of the day.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">7.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Play “twenty questions” when giving correction and praise. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">“What do you think you did wrong with that round kick? If you cannot guess within one minute, I will fetch my chain saw. The rest of you can chime in with opinions on his failures too.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">8.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There is only one form of correction. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Attention student receives for doing something wrong should never be positive. Be on your guard against giving too much praise. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">9.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Be generous with humiliating nicknames. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">This is <i>your</i> class as instructor, right? Then why should students get to pick their own names during your time? References made to physical appearance, body type or previous embarrassing experiences (e.g. “Barbie girl” for a boy) are ideal. If in doubt, <b><i>remember that verbal abuse is not a hate crime. </i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">10.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Teach concept of instructor entertainment. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">“As your instructor, I am rooting for your success. I am also rooting for your failure, whichever entertains me the most.” This concept teaches students to compare themselves to others, which is a valuable skill in life and good for their self-esteem. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-62185629095149279402011-07-21T14:24:00.000-07:002011-07-21T14:24:07.112-07:00Brain Damage And How I Read Books<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">My mother recently asked me why I started books in the middle. </div><div class="MsoNormal">“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “brain damage, I guess.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Unfortunately for me my condition has not yet been diagnosed. I’ll never give up hope, though. If you would like to better understand my pain, please try the following methods. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Fiction: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Remember that a good fiction story grabs you with the first sentence, and is not only well written, but easy to read. Classic novels are not very popular, not because their stories are poor, but because their language is too formal and flowery. A casual style does not mean that it is not descriptive, thrilling or intelligently written. Besides, don’t you have enough brain drain without trying to prove how smart you are?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Also pay attention to attention span. What makes an excellent, sparkling short story often makes a terrible novel, or at least a mundane one. Keep it short and sweet, so the newness of it does not wear off. Anything more than two hundred pages, I can’t handle—at least not without shortcuts. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, shortcuts—take a nice sharp pair of scissors, and if your favorite book is too long, just cut out the excess pages and chapters. You only need the first, middle and last chapters anyway. Or, for those who don’t own scissors (and for library books—I guarantee those people won’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</i> see it your way), you can simply skip ahead and read the last chapter only. </div><div class="MsoNormal">If it is too repetitive, intimidating, mediocre, or just plain bad (remember you don’t have to justify <i>why</i> it’s boring to anybody!), either skip chapters or toss it out. Life is simply too short. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Non-fiction: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I usually start nonfiction books in the middle. Yep, just open up it to a random page and start reading. It doesn’t matter if the material is out of context, or if the author would have preferred that you read the other chapter first (did you really think they wrote it for <i>you</i> anyway?). It’s more interesting this way. Even books of essays are more fun this way. </div><div class="MsoNormal">And no, I don’t then go back and start from the beginning. Just keep opening it to random places, when one part gets boring I go to another part, etc, until I read all of it or get fed up. Don’t worry, you will remember what you’ve read before, in case one part becomes another part you previously read. </div><div class="MsoNormal">This method erases all the tedium of introductions (that can sometimes be as long as the book itself), acknowledgements, copyright laws, etc. And I don’t feel a bit of guilt about it either. It’s my life, after all, no one from the library will know, and after purchasing the book it becomes toilet paper for all they care. Just be bad. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Remember also that the author is not your mother (Unless, of course, she is). Especially for self-help or health books, just take what you can use, what appeals to you, or what applies to your situation and discard the rest. Everyone is different, but books are very general. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For both Fiction and Non:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is no law that says you cannot read more than one book at one time. This should be obvious, but sometimes it isn’t. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You should have noticed that almost all of my above points can be applied to writing as well as reading—even “start in the middle” and “skip chapters.” I use all of them in my writing, including the one about having multiple books at one time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even “only take what you want” is a good one, as I don’t waste time on writing scenes I can’t stand, even if they would contribute something to the plot. It lowers the quality of my other scenes, and how can I really do it if my heart’s not in it? </div><div class="MsoNormal">So there you have it—a double how-to article. Be sure to save this for future reference. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-28064300375405662842011-07-21T14:08:00.000-07:002011-07-21T14:08:04.519-07:00Duct Tape Legs<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">“Would you pay me five dollars to wax my legs with duct tape?” my cousin asked me a few years ago. It was a family gathering, he had found a roll in the truck, and had obviously noticed that his legs were getting very hairy lately. I didn’t know it at the time, but my twelve-year-old cousin might just have been more brilliant than he seemed back then. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I realize now why he had said this: He really <i>wanted </i>to hurt himself, but was afraid nonetheless, and was seeking an incentive to help him overcome his fear. The man was a genius! We can all learn something from him.</div><div class="MsoNormal">(I declined to become his benefactor, by the way, and he did it anyway—three times. I don’t remember ever having so much fun at a family reunion.)</div><div class="MsoNormal">I recently liked a guy and wanted to call him, but of course was shy about it. There were so many reasons not to: What would his parents think? Would I get him in trouble by calling him? What if he didn’t like me anymore? What was the use—I might as well give up. </div><div class="MsoNormal">But as I sat brooding over these things one day, I thought back to another boy I had fancied years ago, for about a month. When visiting my grandparents during this time, my uncle found his number in a church directory and dared me to call him, right at that moment, and bet me ten bucks that I couldn’t do it. I bought myself something nice that week. (Fortunately the answering machine had saved me—I’m horribly shy on the phone.)</div><div class="MsoNormal">That one flash of reminiscence inspired me. Within an hour I had put together a plan for how to contact him, to get back in touch. Within four days I had executed that plan, and was well on my way. </div><div class="MsoNormal">What can all of this teach us? Most of us are waiting—just waiting for something. We stand on the edge of the cliff and wish that someone would push us off, force us to overcome our own inertia. Why?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because we’re scared. We just can’t take that one first step. Yet if someone put a gun to our head and forced us to realize our full potential, we would be ever so grateful to that thug. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The question then becomes, how to use the principals of reward and punishment (no, strike that one—we punish ourselves quite enough) to our own advantage?</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am reminded of the three hillbilly brothers on my favorite eighties TV show who had their own business: “Anything for a Buck.” But due to inflation, let’s just raise the price a bit. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Would you wax your legs for five dollars? Would you call someone for ten? If not, why not? If the price is too steep, perhaps you don’t really want to do it after all. </div><div class="MsoNormal">What would you like somebody to dare you to do? Why do you pray for a thug with a gun? </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s time to start your own “Anything for a Buck” business, but this time you will be doing work pro bono. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for those you love, to set a good example. You can’t pay a hillbilly to accomplish your dreams for you; this is the real thing. If you don’t do this, who will? </div><div class="MsoNormal">Hopefully, though, for your own sake, you will wax your legs with duct tape only once. (Did he honestly think it would hurt <i>less</i> the second time?)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-21067518226507491132011-07-19T18:56:00.000-07:002011-07-19T18:56:52.348-07:00Find Your Political Anus<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Feel like you have no anus? Here’s help. </div><div class="MsoNormal">No, this is not a laxative commercial. Opinions and assholes—we’ve all got them, as the saying goes. But what if you’re still undecided? Here is how to proceed. Follow these simple steps, and you will never suffer political constipation again. Or at least, you will have a little bit of relief right now.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Remember that political views do not often reflect reality. A woman who is pro-life may still seriously consider an abortion should she find herself pregnant unexpectedly. This does not make people hypocrites; it only makes them human. A hypocrite always has a holier-than-thou attitude. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Realize that you will never have all the answers. There may never be perfect answers. For example, should we draft young men for war, to defend another country? But what then do we say to our neighbors who are being attacked? </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t be afraid to say, “I don’t know.” Just don’t be suckered into hearing a lecture about someone else’s beliefs. Often a noncommittal answer invites an attempt at conversion. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t be afraid to change your mind. Experiences differ from person to person, and throughout a single lifetime. A changing, open mind reflects growth.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Go with your gut. What makes sense to you? Decide what is truly important to you, not to those around you. If you try to please everyone, you will end up pleasing no one. A cliché, but it’s true. So why not please yourself first?</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Avoid labeling yourself—or others. No one is completely left, right, middle, conservative or liberal. And do we always know what these things are? Be a person, not a Republican or Democrat.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Search yourself for unhealthy political attitudes. These include cynicism, idealism, apathy, paranoia, bitterness, warlike attitudes (us vs. them), going along (peer pressure), rebellion, and helplessness. Do what you can to find the source of these attitudes and get rid of them. This will do your mental health a lot of good.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Ignore media hype. Remember that news agencies are trying to get you to buy their papers and magazines or watch their television programs. And even in the most objective cases, do you really know how the stories are filtered? Secondhand news is just that—secondhand.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Beware political humor or stereotypes. Yes, there is a bit of truth in there, which is why it is funny. But political humor is often mean or disrespectful, and we all know that stereotypes are bad. Please refrain.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Vote. You do not even have to use all of your ballot; just do what you know. And if you want to take it a step further, get involved with an organization that is dear to your heart. Promote your beliefs as much as you like, but be respectful of others too. </li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of a political opinion! Be sure to feed it regularly with the appropriate literature, nurture it with the supporting activities it needs, and take it out to socialize once in a while with others like it.</div><div class="MsoNormal">But remember also to teach it discipline and control. Do not let it get too aggressive, or let it fight with other people’s assholes (I mean opinions!). A dog that bites strangers gets shot down; likewise with opinions.</div><div class="MsoNormal">And, yes, there are some babies born with imperforate ani. But, fortunately, the problem can be corrected soon after birth. So now everyone’s happy! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-738841428128894250.post-7699779709291990732011-07-16T12:07:00.000-07:002011-09-19T23:50:29.033-07:00Spank The Jester--Spank Him Hard<div class="MsoNormal">Why would I want to call my blog “Spank The Jester?” Because it’s fun; because it’s catchy.<br />
<br />
But most of all, because some evil, magical fairy (who is also apparently a pervert) put a<br />
<br />
nerd-curse on me and told me it was a good idea. Bastard.</div>I apologize for the fact that this is not a kinky porn site (not yet—a person can dream, right?).<br />
<br />
It’s not even a blog about medieval stuff. (Nerd-curse, remember?) Basically I needed a<br />
<br />
dumping ground for my oddball and sometimes depraved mind, and hopefully a little gem of<br />
<br />
wisdom slips through now and then. And sadly, no, I am not on drugs—that I know. I think that<br />
<br />
Jester is tainting my food…I hope he keeps it up. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
So, to get this blog off to a good start, here are thirty-four reasons to Spank The Jester (it is a euphemism, and a thousand points to anyone who can tell me what it is!). As my Mom-mom used to say “I’ll spank the shit out<br />
<br />
of you, then spank you for shittin.’” Spank on, Mom-mom. Spank on.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<ol><li>Because he’s bad.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Because you can. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Because it’s fun.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">You know you want to. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He won’t stop laughing at you. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He’s creepy. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He farts too much. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He’s a loser. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">You’re a loser. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He’s better looking than you. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He tried to set your cat on fire.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He won’t wipe that stupid, dumb grin off his stupid, stupid face.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He’s evil. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">You’re evil. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">You found crack in his room. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">You caught him with a clown—it was embarrassing. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">If you don’t do it, who will?</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He won’t fight back anyway. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">You hate him. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He eats all your food. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He’s smarter than you. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">You think he’s trying to kill you. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He has more friends than you. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He can’t run away fast enough. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He shrunk your underwear while doing the laundry. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">You caught him with sixteen clowns, in a car—it was humiliating. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He won’t do his chores. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He steals your girlfriends—as if there weren’t enough clowns in the world. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He gets you in trouble with the law. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He breaks your things. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He steals your stuff. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He’s an arsonist—remember the cat.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">He plays his heavy metal devil-music too loud. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Finally, most important of all, just because he’s there. </li>
</ol></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Alex Duvaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11707710389237899920noreply@blogger.com0