Source: Define Hypocrite
I have been thinking a lot about happiness of late, partially because so many people seem unhappy. I think that was my first epiphany upon entering the world of Social Media; people are unhappy and there are a lot of them. Now don’t get me wrong, we all know some people who wouldn’t be happy, were they not unhappy but I am not talking about them. We will just let them be. I am also not thinking theologically here (i.e. juxtaposing happiness and joy), today I am going to err on the practical and pragmatic side of things. With that being said, let’s get going.
I think most people want to be happy; they are just not quite sure how to get there from their present location. Many people honestly believe that happiness is a lucky bounce; a sunny disposition or favorable circumstances but I disagree. Happiness is a choice…
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When I was a kid, they had this thing called a celebrity roast. People got together and made fun of the guest of honor. It had a weird, rough-handling vibe. I think it may have come from a wise place in someone’s psyche. Celebrities regularly have “smoke blown up their” fundaments. A roast could remind them that they were, in truth, much like everyone else, and…a roast could be funny. Many of them had genuinely funny moments. (Though I think peoples’ feelings were hurt at these things, and the humor got brutal, and thus they lost their cache.)
I remember a comedian named Red Buttons going on and on about how dumb it was to give the guest of honor such a sparkling honorific since a whole lot of more deserving people “never got a dinner.” This morning I want to steal Red Buttons’ routine because I just saw a…
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I refuse to pay for cable TV, which means that I use a simple antenna to get whatever programming flows into the evening. The other night I was wading through the TV wasteland when I came across an old movie I had seen multiple times before. It’s titled Meatballs. It was one of those commercial vehicles that made money for Bill Murray in his younger days. It was much as I remembered it, though there was more sexual harassment and vulgar comedy than I recalled. The big inspirational speech Murray gave at one point was vintage fun, and just as stirring as it was way-back-when.
The film itself did not have much of a story. It was simple-minded, superficial, juvenile–perfectly tuned to the audience it intended to entrap. I wonder now if Murray looks back on some of those scenes (and the ideas behind them) and cringes a little. …
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Since there isn’t anyone reading this blog, I think I will please myself alone and write about MY writer, the writer who wrote things for me, though he may not have known he was writing for a chubby girl in New Mexico. How did he come into my life? I’m not sure. I am almost certain it was by way of my oldest brother Dean McCollaum. Dean was always bringing home books that had been assigned to him in his various colleges, and I was drawn to them–moth to the flame, moth to the flame.
The first one I remember clearly is Cat’s Cradle. It’s really an amazing book, about how things can go just terribly wrong, in a moment. It centers on the idea of helping Marines get out of battling in the mud, an invention that causes water to freeze at much higher temperatures than it does…
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Reading a book is delightful, a long sumptuous meal with good wine and a dessert if you’re really lucky.
Source: Reading a Book
I don’t have much to say today because I’m in the midst of reading a book–an actual, physical novel with characters and settings and a plot. I absolutely love reading books, but I’m surprised at how much effort it takes for me to read one. This is partly because I have visitors right now. My second brother and his wife are here, and I like to cook for family when they are around. Plus, I have moved laundry to Friday during the summer.
I’m not going to talk about the particular book here, but I will talk a little about the reading experience before I get back to it. I’ll save my review of the book for when I have it finished (hopefully sometime tomorrow).
Reading a book, a novel especially, has a secret world quality to it. I open the pages, and suddenly I’m in another place with other…
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There’s another word that’s similar from the world of archetypes–crone. These terms would not be insults if our culture had the right attitude about age. White hair should be considered a mark of wisdom and earned respect. (I write this though I have my white hairs carefully dyed about once a month.) A battle-axe can hurt you if you cross the wrong line, but she will always try and make things fair, worthwhile, beautiful, and true. I consider myself a battle-axe in training. Just a few more years, and watch it!
This is great. Thank you Eva.
I have been promising to post a video essay about Roswell for a few days now, and here it comes. It’s actually a scavenger hunt. It involves fifteen public and easy to find locations here in Roswell. It has only one reference to aliens. Don’t get me wrong. I love the alien thing about this town. I have written about this before, so I will not go into it here.
The thing is, it can be really easy to drive right past perfectly beautiful places and moments in this town and not realize you’re doing it. The challenge every creative person faces is subject, but you are the subject. Your life is the source, and if you live in Roswell, then this is the beginning of your inspiration. A couple of years ago I did a project which involved taking a picture of sunset every day. It was an important…
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Thank you Eva. Another great post
In anticipation of A Bookish Affair, I’ve been planning a photographic essay about good old Roswell, America. By photographic essay, I mean I have set of images that I’m going to try and get of this town that show it off and ask those who live in it if they have REALLY seen it. People are probably now required to be more visually astute than ever before, but I’m not sure if we are always using our eyes to our advantage.
As a reader from my early childhood, I’ve never been great with my eyes. My nose and eyes were always buried in a book. Neither my mother nor my father needed glasses in youth, but all four of their children have–all of us. I’m the lucky one that is MOST myopic. Yep, I’m the only girl; I got the fat gene; I’ve worn glasses since I was nine, so…
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