Category: Journal

September 5th, 2022

Journal Writing

September 5th, 2022

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As a general rule of thumb: you should try not to be all thumbs and no fingers. You have to hand it to me at least I am writing about hands instead of feet or missing socks this time. It’s hard writing with your feet anyways. Although I know some people can. The sad thing is that they probably still have better handwriting than me. Thank God for typewriters, right? It’s almost always better to keep your neighbors up all night than have illegible texts like I do. In all seriousness, I would love to do more writing on my vintage 1958 Olympia SM3 typewriter. But I find it extremely difficult to hit the keys with just my thumbs while a neighbor is rapping their knuckles on my door. It’s probably just as well, though, because the last time I checked, one of these relics in pristine condition was selling for a couple hundred dollars. Unless, of course, you get it for a steal with a special five-finger discount, but I never understood that expression since anything worth stealing would probably take all ten. Besides, thieving from the wrong person is a great way to quickly become all thumbs and no fingers, which is why it’s unmistakably better to work for a living. Happy Labor Day!

September 2nd, 2022

Journal Writing

September 2nd, 2022

Starting Off on the Wrong Foot-Long

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They say you should never start off on the wrong foot — but if you’re anything like me, you’ll start off on a couple of wrong inches at least. And speaking of feet, why do we call it a foot when most people’s are less than twelve inches long? Unless you wear a size fourteen, in which case, congratulations on finishing clown school. I was a clown school dropout, which is how I landed in the high-stakes world of sandwich artistry. Oh well, I guess if the shoe fits, right? I promise this won’t turn into some kind of running gag.

But starting off on the wrong foot isn’t just for relationships — it happens in the kitchen too. Burn your lettuce? Wrong foot. Mistake mayo for tartar sauce? Definitely the wrong foot. Drop an entire foot-long sub on the floor and invoke the five-second rule? “Hey, you sunk my battleship… no, wait — my submarine… sandwich. Either way, I lost.” That’s a wrong foot, a wrong knee, and probably a wrong elbow.

Now, I’ll admit I’ve had my fair share of wrong-footed moments outside the kitchen too. I like to keep souvenirs and gifts from girlfriends in a shoebox — I’m sentimental like that. I mean, is there really any other way to be sentimental? But more often than not, those girlfriends would end up walking all over me. And yes, I promised this wouldn’t turn into a running gag, but I never said I wouldn’t stumble my way into a walking joke.

One particularly pedestrian relationship left me with a shoebox full of memories and a smoldering desire for closure — quite literally. After the breakup, I decided to set fire to the shoebox — or at least I thought it was the shoebox. I was so sad I swear I had to listen to The Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” a hundred times just to feel better. Turns out, I accidentally torched a shoebox full of my recipe cards instead. So now, I’m not only down a relationship but also my instructions on how to make my Yellow Submarine Sandwich. Let’s just say I ended off on the wrong foot, the wrong fire marshal’s list, and quite possibly the wrong setting for flambé. My kitchen’s seen more smoke than a sock pirate ship under attack — and if you’re wondering, yes, that’s the same scoundrel band of sock pirates that stole my laundry. Lucky for me, it’s easier to escape them when your sandwich doubles as a submersible — complete with pickle torpedoes.

So, whether you’re navigating love or foot-long subs, the lesson remains the same: make the best impression you can. And if you do start off on the wrong foot, at least try not to burn the shoebox. Or the lettuce. And definitely not the submarine.

August 11th, 2022

Journal Writing

August 11th, 2022

Laundro-Matey or Five-second Gruel

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They say the first step to good cooking is having clean laundry. And no, not because your oven doubles as a dryer — though, if it does, we’ve got bigger problems. It’s because nothing ruins a culinary masterpiece faster than realizing you’re out of clean dish towels and drying your hands on last week’s jeans. Suddenly, that five-star meal feels a lot more like a five-second rule situation.

Of course, before you can even think about cooking, you’ve got to conquer one of life’s great mysteries: the case of the missing sock. Did it vanish under the washer? Fall victim to the laundry room floor? Or, and hear me out, is there a scoundrel band of sock pirates using them as ransom? Honestly, feet can smell pretty funky, so maybe someone’s airing them out for the greater good. If you’re concerned, may I suggest sandals? Or, if you’re feeling bold, perhaps a pair of Crocs. Though someone once disclosed to me, in confidence, that Crocs are only fashionable if you’re boating — and no, a gravy boat doesn’t count.

And what if you do find yourself out on a boat, clad in Crocs, the wind in your hair? You know, when you suddenly find yourself in a galley cooking for those sock pirates. Just pray they’re hoisting actual sails and not one of your bedsheets. Because if you spot your fitted sheet flapping proudly above deck, congratulations — you’ve officially aired your dirty laundry in the most literal sense.

So, before you tackle that fancy soufflé or attempt a ‘simple’ three-course meal, maybe check the laundry pile. Clean towels, clean clothes, and a clear conscience — that’s the real recipe for success. And if you’re lucky, you might even find that missing sock. Or at least its ransom note.

July 7th, 2022

Journal Writing

July 7th, 2022

A Grandmother Clock

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In a festive room is a grandmother clock, which no longer ticks. Sadly, her mechanisms couldn’t be fixed anymore. We had such good times with her, never thinking about how one day they could end. We wanted to believe they were everlasting. It was easy to disillusion ourselves since her hands tirelessly revolved around a continuous circle. This circle was so much more than just etched numbers, but memories minted by family and friends that will no longer be touched by this loving woman’s hands. Although her ticker may have stopped, we can still carry pieces of her in our own timepieces. They can be put back together again someday when we meet our clockmaker, who goes by Father Time.

November 29th, 2020

Journal Writing

November 29th, 2020

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Often, I wish I could tap into a vein of writing gems, where every word would be polished and sparkle like a diamond. Sometimes, all I find is zirconia or worse: coal. I try not to let this discourage me because even coal can be useful if turned into a heat source or fuel. I feel as long as I can keep even the smallest spark of creativity from flickering out, or I can make it to the next stop down the line, I’ll find more gems of wisdom to keep it going. The more I have, the more rich and rewarding my writing will become. I try to let this thought be my guide. Even when there is just coal in the mine or my canary of cognizance has died.

November 24th, 2020

Journal Writing

November 24th, 2020

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There is no rest for the wicked, so if I can, I try to hit the snooze at least a couple times every morning. Although I don’t exactly resemble a sleeping angel, trust me when I say you really don’t want to see my lack-of-sleep demon, either. This devil fiends for coffee, and so help me if he doesn’t get it! I mean, if you’re quite fond of having a head, you better hope there’s cream and sugar in it too. Lest you want to see eyes turn as black as said coffee. All kidding aside, does anyone know of a good exorcist?

November 23rd, 2020

Journal Writing

November 23rd, 2020

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I was born to write but unfortunately, the written word seems to be dying. Every year, more and more print is being killed off in favor of the digital. Letters have been discarded largely in favor of the quick e-mail, or worse yet: The even quicker text message. Even text itself is swiftly being replaced by image and video. According to a 2018 Pew Research Center study, nearly a quarter of adult Americans reported they hadn’t read a book in the previous year. So, if this figure shows promise for continuous annual growth, I may need to start eating my words in order to survive doing what I believe I was born to do.

April 2nd, 2020

Journal Writing

April 2nd, 2020

Brainstorm

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Sometimes my mind is cloudy even when skies are clear. It’s on these kinds of days, even my name is mud and I question whether the grass is green at all on the other side. It also makes me wonder if my muse only cares to visit when all is gloom and doom, only allowing inspiration to strike me like lighting in a brainstorm. The words seem then to come out of me about 100 mph like a tongue twister.

March 25th, 2020

Journal Writing

March 25th, 2020

Limited Time Only

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After a long day, when you are winding down, the day seems shorter as the clock winds away. Each tick of the second hand draws ever nearer to the stroke of midnight when all is black and still. It is at this hour, I neither wish to be asleep or awake for fear of what I shall miss. Tomorrow is but a modest promise that one today will break. We know that time is of the essence but what exactly is the essence of time? Is it to serve only as a reminder of how limited we are by it when time itself seems limitless? What would be the purpose of that but to create a culture of incredible impatience? An impatience that leads to rash decisions, rashes can result in sores that leave you looking not unlike Job, and crying out to God asking why, to which God will just look at his pocket watch and sigh.

March 17th, 2020

Journal Writing

March 17th, 2020

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Is the ‘trick’ in St. Patrick’s Day why so many of us choose to celebrate this holiday by drinking until we’re a bit green in the face. I mean, how many can truly say they’ve seen the end of a rainbow, and if they have, can they also say they found a pot of gold waiting for them there? And don’t even get me started about four leaf clovers, the odds of finding one are about one in 10,000. You are just as likely to be injured by a toilet — that’s something to keep in mind when you’ve had that one glass too many of Jameson today. Finally, I’m not so sure saying, ‘kiss me I’m Irish’ works even if you are Irish, but you’re more than welcome to kiss the Blarney Stone, I’m sure.