Adjective

Aquard: (adj.)

When a former president, infamous for illegally imprisoning and waterboarding detainees, has a bucket of water dumped on his head for charity.

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Here’s the thing, George.

Your administration was a little while ago now. And I’m not going to start making a fuss over how, in eight measly years, you and your cohort of shitty devils managed to break the entire goddamn world.

Sure, we’re still cleaning up your mess… and will most likely be doing so for the next, oh, I dunno, fifty years or so. But that’s okay. That was then. This is now. And one shouldn’t dwell on the past. This is now.

This is now.

You can paint your paintings and hold art shows in your library. I’m actually quite a fan of your work, albeit in an infantile, elbow macaroni self portrait kinda way.

I’m cool sharing the present with you. Because that was then. And this is now. And yes, now is a terrible, violent and so so scary disaster. But we can all deal with that. So long as you don’t bring up the past and remind us what now could have been.

So please, George. Tread lightly. For once in your life, bub… be mindful.

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Adjective

Inspirrational: (adj.)

Displaying a cloying and incoherent positivity.

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Once, while in a conversation with some impending school chums, a woman told me in utter seriousness that, “… life isn’t measured by the amount of breaths you take. It’s measured by the number of moments that take your breath away.”

She said this without a touch of irony – she just sat there radiating with shallow, dopey optimism like a Thomas Kinkade painting.

“So, death then?” I joked, hoping to change the mood.

Half the table laughed. The woman smacked her teeth and told me I was gross. And I learned who my friends were going to be.

Look…

I’m not saying good things don’t happen. They do. Every day. All around the world. People exhibit acts of pure love, kindness, and selfless altruism. People are beautiful and good and warm and glorious to one another… probably with the same frequency that others shoot, stab, or strangle one another.

Good things are… well… good.

Our planet is a remarkable little pearl, stuffed to the gills with the awesome, the beautiful and majestic.

I get just as choked up at images of galaxies and nebulae as the next guy… maybe even moreso…

The world is not a cold, dead place. And in the face of hardship, sure – hope’s an essential tonic.

But for the love of Jeff, that doesn’t justify some of the bullshit people say when trying to be inspirational.

In fact, could there be anything less inspiring than someone trying to inspire you?

The half-knowing looks. The huckstery, broad smiles and honeyhallowed voices, and the awful, awful catchphrases.

Life is far too complicated… more rich, remarkable, nuanced, and complex a thing to be summed up in such a bland little chirp of philosophy.

And thank god for that.

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Adjective

Precarryous: (adj.)

The piled instability brought on by trying to lug everything all at once.

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You could just take two trips.

But you know this already.

You could even use the exercise, if you’re being honest with yourself.

But of course you know that, too.

You spent so much money on all of those groceries. Money you worked hard to earn. You took time out of your day and braved the throng and din of a grocery store on a Saturday afternoon… all so you could get everything you need to carefully prepare a meal for your partner.

If you were to add up every stitch of time that brought you to this moment… the work, the travel, the careful and conscious preparation… you’d have to measure it in hours.

But you wanted to save yourself the time of making that second trip.

And that’s the reason you dropped your fucking eggs.

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Adjective

Contemptlative: (adj.)

Marked by prolonged and meditative periods of loathing.

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I’m a negative person. I’ve heard it all my life in varying levels of severity… from loved ones and friends, girlfriends, coworkers, peers, even my enemies (so few, unfortunately). Sometimes it bothers me to think that others see me as this smoggy old crag. But you know what? The world needs cranks. It needs critics and grousers to point and say, “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

It’s not that I’m without my glees and passions. I love dogs, and cats, and lemurs, and really good hot and sour soup, and rain, and big fluffy snowfalls, and reading magazines in the grass, and Jack Lemmon, and the smell of pencil shavings…

It’s just that I get the same dizzy charge out of masticating on the things that get stuck in my craw – loud neighbors, bad pop songs, people who don’t politely trot at an intersection when you let them go, and douchy guys who put gel in their hair, and girls with nasal, squeaky idiot voices, and insincerity, and Bono, and people who obsess over their children, and people who go on and on about how they feel blessed…

When I’m confronted with these things, I chew and gnash my teeth on my frustration. I drink it up and let my blood go hot and percolating. I get to wave my hands in the air and spout and bellow. I get to use really colorful language.

Negativity’s got its upside…

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