Comment on this entry and get a letter. Write ten words beginning with that letter, including an explanation of what the word means to you and why.
The Letter I Was Given
The first letter. A. On the plus side, it’s a vowel so that expands my options. On the minus side it’s a vowel. I don’t like vowels. I think they’re bossy and clicque-y. Always insisting that one of the five of them be included in every word. And then poor “y” is like the gay boy they let pick out their clothes and do their hair. But he’s only in their club when they need a cool gay friend, he’s not an automatic member. Vowels are snotty like that.
The Ten Words
Adultery: No, I’m not a fan of it. Not at all. But who can think of a giant letter “A” without thinking of Hester Prynne and her branding at the hands of the pious? Okay, maybe many people can. But I can’t. That story made an impression on me. A few years ago my former youth pastor impregnated one of the women youth leaders. They had a baby girl. I suggested they name her “Pearl”. No one else thought it was funny. Probably because they were all so scandalised by the youth pastor’s wandering willy.
Apple: Apple Computer is the lodestar of my computing world. I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on a Macintosh. It was at the Tech Fair at the War Memorial Colisseum. I was a baby geeklet, and scoffed at the point-and-click GUI. After all, I had taken “keyboarding” just to enable my constant 10 “Davey is a loser” 20 Go To 10 programming. What were they trying to do? It wasn’t until later that I was fully converted. And now I am a proud member of the Cult of Macintosh.
Asparagus: My all-time favourite food. There is no food on this earth I like better. Not chocolate, not caramel, not pizza. Give me a plate of asparagus and I’m in heaven.
Ambrose Bierce: I love him. Back when I was a swotty teenager with a chip on my shoulder, his Devil’s Dictionary was a constant laugh-out-loud read. Now that I’m a swotty 35-year old with a chip on my shoulder I appreciate Bierce’s work all the more.
Arbor Day: I love trees. I love to plant trees. My acreage is too small to squeeze any more saplings into the earth, but if I had more land I’d be planting more trees. And yes, I’m already reaching for things that begin with “A”, and I’m only half-way through.
Algonquin Round Table: I love the idea of witty people gathering among fine food and drink to discuss art and literature. I love the fact that American society has been able to elevate a group of drunk gossips to near-saintly status. It strikes me funny.
America, The Country: Yes, I know that technically the United States is only a portion of the vast swath of land called “America”, and that it’s short-sighted, isolationist and nationalistic to think that we are the whole of America. Fine. Now that I’ve pacified the nitpickery, allow me to say that I love America. I love the fact that I am free to worship as I choose, speak as I choose and vote. I love the fact that there are so many of us here from so many different places. That we can eat Chinese, Italian, Mexican and Thai food, all brought here as part of other cultures and their people yearning to breathe free air. I love the fact that a bunch of arrogant farmer geniuses risked their lives to overthrow the tyranny of kings. That we don’t have a “House of Commons” and a “House of Lords”, and that we are not governed by anyone but ourselves. I love the fact that I can have a gun in my home, that I can’t be forced to house soldiers by the pleasure of the president. I love the fact that you can drive for days and still be part of this vast land.
America, The Neil Diamond Song: One of my favourite tunes of his, and not just because it’s fun to yell “Today!” in a crowd of people. I like that Neil captured the spirit of why people come here. And I like that this is a much better selection from The Jazz Singer soundtrack than “Love On The Rocks.
All-Night Pancake Houses: My Circadian rhythms are different than many people. I do my best work and living at night time. All-night pancake houses are the refuge of the nocturnal human. Where else can you congregate with the other Shadow People for buttery stacks of starchy goodness? Where else can you play Eucre till dawn and debate the validity of Reaganomics?
The Alphabet: Really stretching it here, but not so much. I’m a writer. Where would I be without the alphabet? It’d be like a carpenter with no nails, no wood, no hammer. I think it’s cool that with near-endless combinations of 26 shapes I can feel the basso pulse of thundering sky, taste the charcoal sweetness of fresh rain and inspire hunger and sexual desire. Pretty nifty set of squiggles.