Monthly Archives: May 2005

The Sensibilities of Men
by Jennifer K. Luther
from the poetry contest of Writers’ Journal

Romeo would have eventually explained to Juliet that
they were young when they met.
He needs to explore his options and find himself.
You cannot adequately experience life if you commit
when you are fourteen.

Snow White’s man would later clarify that the draw
had been necrophilia.
She had become far too animated for him.
However, they could try coma-inducing drugs if she is
desperate to hold on.

Cinderella’s uncomfortable shoe would eventually
shatter against the wall.
Someone forgot about compatiability of personality at
the four-hour gala.
His mother considers her “white trash,” and he wishes
He had married a princess.

Esmerelda never tamed and was sent back to the
hunchback.
She was not “military-wife” material.

Prince Erik would resent Ariel’s fish past.
He ponders the possibility of having tuna for children.

The Beast would have declared that she was great
while he sported the hair.
But look at him now; so handsome, so chisled.
He must be shared.

Sleeping Beauty was 100 years older than her
prince.
No man can overlook that age difference.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, why did you cut your hair?
Your comfort does not incite his libido.
The pounds of drag and the extra conditioner were a
small load to bear, a labor of love.

The miller’s daughter lied about spinning the gold.
She risked having his son taken by a dancing gnome.

The deceitful, common, peasant witch; her head came
off without a hitch.

Women learn that “happily ever after” lasts as long as
it takes to close the book.

Friendly tip o’ the day:

To stop the rare pop-ups/unders that appear on Firefox, here’s the fix. You can thank me later. (for those of you that are still using IE, join the cool kids club and use Firefox. You’ll never go back.)


via Troy.

This picture is just begging for a caption.

To all my friends, family, and fellow slackers who have not yet RSVP’d for my upcoming wedding reception:

Répondez s’il vous plaît, already!

Today is supposedly the day you’re supposed to either email or call me to say if you’re coming or not. Granted, you’re still welcomed to come, even if you don’t RSVP — but because I’m such a manners/conscientious person (hah), I’m reminding you now.

More fun with Revolve. Some questions are just funny (“Was Jesus a vegetarian?”) to the following which are subtly scary:

Q. I found out that my friend, who is 15, sells and smokes weed. What should I say? Should I try to help him?
A. You best bet is to find out more about him. What’s up in his life? Does he have problems? Does he know that God has a purpose for his life and pot will destroy that? Love him like Jesus would. Be there for him, but you can’t hang out with him and get involved in this stuff. Talk to a pastor and have him talk with your friend. It’s better for a guy to talk to him than you, as a girl.


Q. What do you think about boyfriends tickling their girlfriends?
A. Tickling = foreplay. That is straight from a guy’s perspective. It is sexual. Girls can call it flirting, playing, or whatever. Guys want to be able to touch your body. And they are going to let their hands tickle you everywhere they can touch. Because “Hey, we were just playing. It was no big deal.”

Q. Hey, my question is how do you tell a friend that’s your crush that you’re into him without ruining your friendship?
A. You don’t. Sorry. You just don’t tell him without it ruining your friendship. God made guys to be the leaders. That means that they lead in relationships. They tell you they like you. It is just an all around bad idea for girls to take on a guy’s responsibility.

Nothing like reinforcing your grandmother’s patriarchy in a 21st century medium. Oy.

I’m still transcribing those horrid “Blab” question and answer columns for my thesis (so far, 12 pages of 10 pt. font, single spaced fluff — what layer of the Inferno am I on?) . I fluxuate from laughing hilariously at what I’m reading to being really angry at some of the sentiments expressed in this “hip” medium.

What’s even funnier are the typos I inadvertently type when my eyes start to cross after typing too long. For example, here’s one question in the text:

Q. The Bible says I’m supposed to be loving my enemies. Does this mean I’m supposed to love Satan?
A. The answer is no, we are not to love Satan. Satan is the enemy of God. He is more than a foe to us; he is evil itself and as children of light we cannot love darkness of have any part in it.

Stupid question, I know. When I was typing it out though, I misspelled “Satan.” Instead, I typed

Satin is the enemy of God.

Heh. Now there‘s some theology for you on a Saturday afternoon. Church dismissed.

UPDATE: (2 days later) TWENTY pages of this dribble I just finished transcribing. Yikes.

You didn’t ask to be born but here you are, breathing, moving, living. You’re holding onto a rising balloon that you can’t let go of because by the time you realize you’re holding onto the thing, you’re already too far off the ground. But you know one day it will pop. In the meantime, you have to find something to do. Quite a predicament.

The fear of life can be overpowering. Much of the fear of life comes from fear of the unknown, of not knowing what to expect. The photographer Diane Arbus, famous for portraits of the retarded, the poor, and the forgotten in America, remarked, “Most people go through life dreading they’ll have a traumatic experience. Freaks are born with their trauma. They’re aristocrats.”

from The Anti-Purpose-Driven Life
by Lincoln Swain