The Writer's Poke

For Writers: The first time I met the neighbor's dog, Duke, he was sleeping in the carport of our new house. He raised his head a little, but soon he went back to sleep. Apparently he wasn't impressed. He was clearly a mutt, but the neighbors seemed to take good care of him, and if he wanted to sleep in the carport, that was okay by me. Everyone has to sleep somewhere. But a few months later, the neighbors picked up three more dogs. And unfortunately for these dogs, they quickly displayed a bad case of mange. Alarmingly, the neighbors had no plans to take their dogs to the vet, and soon enough, Duke had mange, too. We used to grill out all the time in that carport, and let me tell you, there's nothing like the smell of pork chops and mange. Lovely. It got so bad that Linda suggested that we take the dogs to the vet ourselves. I vetoed the idea. These aren't our dogs, I reasoned. And in a matter of weeks, they weren't the neighbor's dogs, either. Duke managed to ...

For Writers: The English department had a beautifully renovated building, but the graduate teaching assistants were still housed in what had started out 100 years ago as a men's dormitory. We didn't even have our own phones (let alone computers) in our offices. Instead, we had to walk down the hallway to the one phone that the entire floor shared. Our office furniture wasn't much newer than the building itself. But my desk was big and sturdy, and with a little imagination, you actually did believe that the old "duck and cover" drill could work with with a desk like that. Every time I sat in the old wooden chair, however, it was an act of faith. It was designed so that you could lean back in it, but every time I did so, it let out an ominous loud "CREAK!" One day as I was killing time grading student essays, I leaned back in that chair. It would be the last time anyone would ever lean back in that chair. All I heard was a snapping sound, but it echoed th...

For Writers: There's nothing subtle about Aerosmith's "Love in an Elevator." The entire song is about the act of getting intimate in the most public of places -- be it a mail room or an elevator. And according to the wikipedia entry for the song, the lyrics are at least partially based on singer Steven Tyler's own personal experiences. Imagine that. Is this song really about love? Now that's another issue completely. Certainly the idea of "making love" is a euphemism that we all understand, but in the more literal sense of the word, where is the love? Why not call the song by it's true name: "Lust in an Elevator"? Where is the most public or inappropriate place that you've ever "made love"? Were you ever caught? OR How do you control lust? Does it need controlling? "I've looked on many women with lust. I've committed adultery in my heart many times. God knows I will do this and forgives me." -- Jimmy C...

What's more fun than playing with language? (Don't answer that.) From: http://www.funnyordie.com/jokes/25ff77418c Just like the Eskimo need many words to describe different kinds of snow, it is useful for the modern self-pleasurer to have many words to describe the sin of Onan. Roosterbate: masturbation for the purpose of waking up, or greeting the day. Reminiscibate : memory based masturbation Pragmatibate: masturbation to rid yourself of a tenacious turgidity, often employed on long distance bus trips Procrastibate : masturbation for the purpose of putting off more useful activities. Emobate : An incomplete masturbation due to self loathing Jurassibate : masturbation to dinosaur related material Karassibate : group masturbation with fellow readers of Kurt Vonnegut Debatobate : weighing the pros and cons of whether or not to masturbate NoBassibate : self-pleasure resorted to when fish aren't biting Lastibate : the last time you masturbate (theoretical)

For Writers: Some people might thrive on being the center of attention, but not me. Actually, if I'm around people I know well, then I don't mind. But thrown into a group of strangers, I would usually rather blend into the background. One particular Halloween, two of our friends invited us over for a party. The problem was, they would be the only two people there that we knew. The rest of the invited were their buddies from work. We came really close to not going, but at the last minute, we picked up some cheap masks from Walgreens and headed on over. The party was already in full swing, and all the unknown people were standing around the living room with beers held at the ready. It's one of those few occasions when I could actually feel the claustrophobia in the air. The living room probably held up to eight or ten people comfortably, but it was never designed for a mob. Linda and I stayed in the room long enough to get beers, but as quickly as we could, we made our exit ...

For Writers: Yesterday was "PJ Day" at my daughter's daycare, and boy was I jealous. Although my job is fairly casual, we're not casual enough for people to run around in pajamas. Why is it that the only adult allowed to do that is Hugh Hefner? I shouldn't complain too much, though. At my last teaching gig, it was frowned upon for faculty to wear Levi's to work. Even on Fridays. So while we never had a dress code, it was one of those unwritten rules. And on one of the rare occasions that I did risk wearing jeans to work, I immediately ran into the college president in the hallway. The first thing she did was give me the once over. She didn't say a word, but I could tell that she did not approve. What clothes are you most comfortable in? Why do we still buy into the idea that some clothes are more "formal" than others, or that a certain kind of dress is or isn't appropriate for different circumstances? "Clothes make the man. Naked people ...

For Writers: I've listened to Ace of Base's "The Sign" for 15 years, and apparently I've never heard one of the lines correctly. The actual line is: "How could a person like me care for you?" But as I've always heard it, Jenny sings: "How could a person like me trip on you?" Quite honestly, I like my version better. Because I think there's a lot of room to explore the notion of tripping on others. Not literally, of course, but figuratively. Yes, other people can cause us to trip. Maybe it's the kid in grade school that dared us to smoke our first cigarette. Maybe it's the boyfriend we were sure loved us, even if he had a funny way of showing it (and never used the "l" word). Whatever the case, wouldn't it be nice to have someone around to hold up a sign to alert you before you fall? Who have you tripped over? Or, who have you caused to stumble? "He got his hands on me and I tripped." -- Brett Ross

For Writers: More so than most normal people, writers make a practice of sharing private thoughts publicly. Fiction writers might disguise their ideas by putting the thoughts and actions into another character, but when one reads an author's body of work, it's generally pretty easy to determine when an author is just using a character as a spokesperson for the creator's own beliefs. For most normal people, there seems to be value in keeping part of yourself private. But is this belief misguided? One high school instructor I know of, for example, will not even divulge any personal information on his Facebook page. Why? Because he doesn't want that information to get into the wrong hands. But again, I'm not sure exactly what he thinks is so worth hiding. Perhaps he's trying to hide the fact that he is human? What are you hiding? Find a way to release your private thoughts to the world. "We are all alike on the inside." -- Mark Twain

For Writers: I needed to write my dissertation to finish, but the thought of writing something 200 pages long (and 200 pages would be on the short side) kept me from writing for five years. Meanwhile, I was paying my tuition each semester so that I could stay active in the program. I pretended that I was just making an "alumni donation" to the university, and this was supposed to make me somehow feel better about paying out thousands of dollars just to keep the hope of finishing alive. Then that May, I received my annual progress letter. There was a new graduate program director, and his letter indicated that they planned to deactivate me from the doctoral program. I wrote back and asked for one more chance, to which he responded: "You have until August 15." In other words, I basically had three months to write and defend my dissertation. And guess what I did that summer? I wrote my dissertation. Something that I couldn't do in 5 years I was able to do in under ...

For Writers: Back in the stone ages, I suppose people took naked pictures of themselves with Polaroid Instamatic cameras. But now we live in the digital age, and even most cell phones have built-in cameras. Technology has made it much easier to share ourselves with others. And some of us bear more than our souls. Over the past year, there have been stories of teenage girls who have taken risqué, shall we say, photos of themselves. Some cheerleaders in the Pacific Northwest, for example, were kicked off the team when high school administrators discovered their inappropriate pictures posted online. The girls' lawyers cried foul, wondering why the girls were punished and not the boys that had apparently posted the pictures. In Pennsylvania it was the boys and not the girls who were punished. The girls sent the pictures to the boys' cell phones (amusingly dubbed in one article as "sexting"), but the boys were the ones who found themselves in trouble. Somewhat amazingly, t...

For Writers: I have a friend, let's call him Bandhu (which is Hindu for friend). A few of us took at trip to New Orleans one year, and Bandhu totally amazed me. We were at a bar, and Chumbawumba's "I Get Knocked Down" was a very popular song at the time. Bandu just let it all loose on the dance floor. I can't say that he was or wasn't the smoothest cat out there, but what I will always remember is how uninhibited he was. And since the drinks in that bar were so watered down, I can't just attribute his moves to the booze. This young man was sober, and he was out there shaking it for the world to see. On the other hand, he was still uncomfortable drinking a jelly shot off the stomach of a hired drink seller, but maybe he was simply concerned about her hygiene. It was the funniest thing watching him slurp the shot off her stomach, being careful not to touch her body in any way with his tongue. And since he hadn't developed the nerve to lick her clean, he ...

Inspired by http://dilbert.com/blog/entry/define_friend/ For Writers: Dilbert cartoonist Scott Adams is also a writer, and he is the most famous person that I know of who keeps a regularly-updated blog. He has even published his blog entries in the form of a book, lovingly titled: Stick to Drawing Comics, Monkey Brain! Lucky for us, he doesn't just stick to comics. The man has a brain, and I like the cut of his jib, if you'll excuse me for using that expression. In a recent blog post, he gave his definition of a friend. According to Adams' definition, to qualify as a friend, two conditions must be met: 1. You must have told that person a secret. 2. That person must have accepted a favor from you. Personally, I thought Adams' conditions made quite a bit of sense; and although I had never really thought of friendship in those terms, it certainly seems to pass the smell test. Provide your own definition for the term "friend." Using Adams' definition explore h...

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What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode? -- Langston Hughes For Writers: Delayed gratification is supposed to be a sign of maturity. That's what we're told, right? And I don't doubt that there's a lot of truth to the idea. If you can't afford a $5000 vacation to Europe, then you probably shouldn't just put it on the credit card and go, right? Save you money for ten years and pay cash for the trip. (Just assume that you'll be around in ten years, and that you'll still have both the health and desire to want to go to Europe.) Take this classic example from psychology: the marshmallow test. If told that they can eat one marshmallow now or t...

Here are the winners of the Washington Post's Mensa Invitational, which once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. 1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time. 3. Intaxicaton : Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with. 4. Reintarnation : Coming back to life as a hillbilly. 5. Bozone ( n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little signs of breaking down in the near future. 6. Foreploy : Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid. 7. Giraffiti : Vandalism spray-painted very, very high 8. Sarchasm : The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it. 9. Inoculatte : To take coffee intravenously when yo...

For Writers: The kid was no doubt intelligent, but he admitted that he never did well when boxed inside the structure of a college class. By semester's end, he had only produced three of the seven required essay assignments, claiming he just couldn't get into the assigned topics. Although the topics I assigned gave students a lot of flexibility, I told him that I was open to foregoing the regular classroom assignments all-together, as long as he had some good ideas ready to present. Since he needed to write the equivilent of four 2-page essays, I suggested that he do an eight-page research paper. We should meet during office hours, I said, so that we could hammer out the details. The following day, he came to my office carrying a box of Playboy magazines. My dad is a collector, he said, and he has Playboys all the way back to the 1950s. Great, I thought, as I watched him starting to remove Playboys from the box. Take a look at this one, he said, as he pulled out three more from...

For Writers: Alfred, Bruce Wayne's butler, has always been one of my favorite characters in the Batman universe. He's obviously so much more than a butler. He is Bruce's base manager and confidant; but more than that, he's family -- the only family Bruce has, and probably the one person that helped him stay sane after watching as his parents were brutally murdered. On our last cruise, we upgraded to a penthouse suite, and with the penthouse came a butler. How would we use a butler, we wondered? Sure, he fixed our fancy coffeemaker, he brought our evening snacks, and he kept our mini-fridge stocked with cokes, but it's hard to develop a meaningful relationship with anyone when the cycle lasts only seven days. As I said, he was more the butler to the penthouse than he was our personal Alfred. What function would a butler (or any kind of personal assistant) serve in your life? Would having your own personal Alfred change your life? OR Would you rather serve or be serv...

For Writers: A number of years ago, I discovered lucid dreaming. Basically, you learn how to recognize when you're dreaming, and then you learn how to control your dreams. At first, I would get so excited just knowing that I was dreaming that I would immediately wake up. But over time, I learned how to curb my enthusiasm so that I could maintain the dream state.  I had so many good ideas on how I could use my newly-learned powers, but usually I ended up just trying to have sex. Needless to say, I didn't like the fact that my baser instincts from my reptilian brain were winning out, and I soon quit practicing lucid dreaming. Recently, though, it dawned on me that people shouldn't be worrying about controlling their dream anyway. What we need to practice is something that might be termed "lucid living."  What would happen if you began each day by saying "I'm alive!"? How might that change the way you fill your day? "I don't want to earn a livi...

For Writers: Our junior high basketball team was going to State, and three busloads of excited kids went to cheer them on to victory.  During the game, they must have been offering an all-you-can-drink special, because I remember drinking coke after coke. The teachers reminded us to hit the bathroom before we got back on the bus, because the bus would not be stopping for any reason on the four-hour trip home.  Yes, I used the bathroom before getting on the bus. And no, that didn't save me. About an hour into the trip, I recognized that my bladder was quite full. I felt the bus hit every bump, and the girl sitting next to me noticed that I had suddenly got very quiet, and about five shades whiter than normal. She quickly evacuated to another seat. Just tell them you need to stop, some of my friends advised, but I knew they weren't going to stop for me. One of my friends even yelled out that if the bus didn't stop, there'd be a mess to clean up later, but the teacher just...

For Writers: Strange things happen to me in Arkansas. Here's just the latest example: Driving north on I-55, I was almost to the Missouri border when I noticed this Grand Prix speeding up behind me. The driver pulled up along side of me, and he motioned for me to roll down my window. Great, I thought, I must have a flat tire or something. This is a rather desolate piece of highway, so other thoughts ran through my head, too, such as: Is this guy going to pull a gun on me and try to make me pull over? But fortunately, all the young man wanted was directions. He asked me how far away the Blytheville exit was, and I informed him that we had just passed it a couple of miles back. This conversation, mind you, was happening at 70 miles an hour. He thanked me for the information, and then I watched as he sped up and exited the Interstate at the next available off ramp. What is the weirdest (or most memorable) incident that has ever happened to you while driving? "You see weird things...