Posts Tagged ‘love’

Loving Lincoln on Valentine’s Day

February 14, 2011

Today is Valentine’s Day. Two days ago was Lincoln’s Birthday. Two holidays close on the calendar that seemingly couldn’t be more different.

On Valentine’s Day, we pause to show our love to our dearest life-partners, be they spouses or significant others or boyfriends and girlfriends. There’ll typically be an exchange of gifts, perhaps an intimate dinner spiced with snuggles and nuzzles and, at the end of the evening, with any luck, the dirtiest, most degrading sex acts you can imagine.

On Lincoln’s Birthday Saturday, we honored perhaps our greatest president by running some chores and perhaps watching a basketball game. These have become the customary methods of observance, since a large majority of Americans probably didn’t even notice the occasion. “But I watched the Ohio State-Wisconsin game because basketball players are tall, as was Lincoln,” you might protest. You’d be lying, something Honest Abe wouldn’t stand for.

For me, there’s always been a strong connection between these two dates. I’m surely not alone among those Americans who’ve heard of him to count Lincoln as my favorite president. He overcame humble beginnings, marriage to a woman described in contemporary accounts as “bonkers,” and the death of four of his five children, and biographers count these among the good times. He presided over dissolution of the Union and a subsequent Civil War that killed over half a million of his countrymen. When victory was finally achieved and he got the rare opportunity to go out on the town — wouldn’t you know it — he was assassinated.

Yet every portrait, every statue you see of the man, he’s got a big grin on his face. Well, maybe not a grin as such, but as close to it as they came in those days of carnage-inspired stoicism. His eyes speak volumes about his vision of a nation reunited. His jaw is set in determination to do what must be done. His beard and eyebrows — true, they could stand a trim, but this was in the days before introduction of the Braun Series 7 shaver, with its 10,000 micro-vibrations for a quantum leap in thoroughness.

A gawky fashion victim rocking a stovepipe hat and a schnoz described in the kindest terms as ginormous, Lincoln wasn’t a handsome man. But he had an air about him, and it wasn’t because he rarely showered. There’s just something about our 16th president that reaches out to me from a century and a half in the past. Today, on Valentine’s Day, I think I’ve finally figured what it is.

I love Abraham Lincoln.

Let me be clear right up front that this man-love is in no way sexual. I don’t swing that way and I’m sure the Great Emancipator didn’t either. My feelings also aren’t to be mistaken for simple respect or admiration. I do think highly of his many fine qualities, and believe he’s almost single-handedly responsible for me not living in a Confederate Empire headed up by King Haley Barbour.

But I know it’s love because it comes from the heart. It’s an emotion, it’s not based on reason or judgment. It flows freely toward the man simply because of who he is, not what he does. The actions he took during his lifetime were just outward manifestations of an inner goodness you rarely find in commanders-in-chief anymore.

How can anybody resist the man after even the briefest study of his life?

It was absolutely precious how he worked a farm in Kentucky for his poor father throughout his childhood, even following the clan to Indiana and later Illinois. He didn’t leave home until he was 22 years old, because his family needed his strong rail-splitting back to work the fields. How darling is that?

When the dear man did leave home, he worked at a general store while trying to catch up on his education by attending school for a year. Despite what had to be merciless teasing from children half his age, he persevered and managed to learn how to read, write and do simple math. He failed in a business he started yet still stayed in town and worked off his debts. So cute!

He became a lawyer, though he can be forgiven that as a youthful indiscretion. His political career began in the Illinois General Assembly, the most beloved state legislature west of the original colonies, where he protested passage of a pro-slavery resolution and, in his spare time, represented a freed slave who was recaptured by her former owner. He won the case of Bailey v. Cromwell in a style that even the judge admitted was “absolutely adorable.”

He joined the Whig Party (the Whig Party! OMG!) in 1846 and was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. Eight years later he joined the newly formed Republican Party, the bad boy. Actually these Republicans were progressives opposed to slavery so the move was a lot more endearing than it would be in today’s political climate. He tried to run for the Senate in 1858 and, despite a series of famous encounters that became known as the Lincoln-Douglas debates in which his sweet demeanor wasn’t enough to head off his bullying opponent, he lost that election. Poor baby.

At the Republican convention of 1860, there were several older and more experienced candidates in the running for the presidential nomination, but all had enemies within the party. Delegates didn’t find him as pretty or as cool as the other candidates, but they were impressed by his perky, can-do personality and went on to nominate him. Only a few months later, he was elected 16th president.

Rebellious elements in the South became insanely jealous that the Northern states could find such an appealing leader, so they seceded from the Union and fired the first shots of the Civil War. Your heart would’ve broken to see Lincoln’s face when he heard the news but he decided to make the best of a bad situation and take the reins of war. Despite his lack of military experience, he was much involved in war strategy. Old-timers in Washington still tell stories they heard from their grandmothers about how cute he was, carrying his lunchbox and an armload of homework on his daily walk from the White House to the offices of the War Department.

Over the next four years, he not only won the war, but he issued the Emancipation Proclamation freeing the slaves (complete with the most darling collection of stars drawn in the margins and all three “i’s” in “Emancipation Proclamation” dotted with little hearts) and delivered the Gettysburg Address, perhaps the greatest speech ever given by a U.S. President. His cabinet stood by, bursting with as much pride as if he’d just won the regional spelling bee.

With the war’s end in sight following Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, the cherished Mr. Lincoln looked forward to happier times that didn’t involve so much bloodshed. He had about ten good days between the war’s end and his fateful appointment with John Wilkes Booth. The dashing actor was obviously jealous of Lincoln’s by-now rugged good looks, and shot him at close range shouting “sic semper tyrannis” which, loosely translated, means “I hate you because you’re beautiful.”

The poor baby clutched to life throughout the night but just couldn’t hang on. He died before he could see his dream of a reunited nation fully realized.

How could anybody not love a guy like this? His charming repeal of habeas corpus during the height of the war, his delightful firing of a series of inferior generals, and his beloved backing of the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution permanently banning slavery, all served to create the cherished legend of Lincoln.

So on this Valentine’s Day, I’m proud to tell the world: I ♥ Abe!

How can you not love such a total babe?

Revisited: Valentine’s cards for the holy

February 14, 2010

While doing research for a recent post about godly websites, I came across a selection of Valentine’s Day poems designed for those who tend to see all holidays through religious glasses. (Just wait to see what they’ve got cooked up for Washington’s Birthday next week). These sentiments in rhyme would fit just perfectly on that special card you present to your loved one today, though I guess they’d make some pretty good hymns too.

While the construction and meter and tone were all quite proper, I thought I could do just as good a job incorporating Holy imagery into messages suited for consenting adults. Let’s see what you think. Two of these poems were written by a legitimate Christian lyricist and two were written by me. See if you can tell which is which.

God’s Valentine Gift

God’s Valentine gift of love to us
Was not a bunch of flowers;
It wasn’t candy, or a book
To while away the hours.

His gift was to become a man,
So He could freely give
His sacrificial love for us,
So you and I could live.

He gave us sweet salvation, and
Instruction, good and true–
To love our friends and enemies
And love our Savior, too.

So as we give our Valentines,
Let’s thank our Lord and King;
The reason we have love to give
Is that He gave everything.

 

Way Better Than Your Spouse

When we awake to celebrate
This very special day
We look across the bed and see
The love we want to stay

But greater than that love is one
Who we can’t really see
We’re told He lives up in the sky
Near Alpha Centauri

The one we love on earth is dear
But we know they’ll end in death
They’re hardly perfect, that’s for sure
From here I smell their breath

But up above the loved one is
The one who wields the rod
For He demands devotion pure
I think they call him God

You Are Often In My Thoughts

Love is a command
That Christians are called to do;
Our Lord says “Love your God,
And love your neighbor, too.”

Some people are easy to love;
They are human rays of sun;
They light up every life,
And encourage everyone.

You are in that group,
So I sincerely want to say:
You are often in my thoughts;
Happy Valentine’s Day!

The Food of Love is Nutritious

My Valentine is special
She’s smart and pretty too
I like the way she does her hair
And the color of her shoe

Her eyes are like the stars that shine
Her ears are also nice
Her nose is pert, her brows are plucked
Her smell is like some spice

But these are things that don’t mean much
Unless you’re into one
Who spends the time God gave them
Forsaking Cinnabon

For eating too much high-fat food
Like cake and cream and cheeses
Will make them fat and gross to us
Unlike a certain Jesus

He kept His looks and kept His soul
He never tried to lose
The weight he gained from bread and fish
He was the King of Jews

In such a role he loved us all
The weak, the sick, the poor
We love him back as much we think
As we love the sacred ‘Smore

Weekend advice: Getting that guy to like you

July 11, 2009

“You Want My Advice?” is a weekend summer rerun feature of davisw.wordpress.com. I look at questions of ethics, propriety, faith, technology, geopolitics, health, etc., and offer completely inappropriate, irresponsible and possibly even life-threatening advice. Today, we hear from a love-lorn teenager.

Q. At school last year there was this guy that I really liked. He was just a friend but then I realized that I really liked him! We ride together on the school bus, so while we were on the bus I asked him for his phone number. He said, “I don’t think so. I don’t want you to bug me.” Now what do I do? – Cute Girl in Third Row Who Accidentally Fell Out the Emergency Exit That Time

A. Some guys like to play hard-to-get, and I’m thinking that’s what’s going on here. You need to keep after him in every way you can think of – late-night knocking on his door, throwing pebbles at his windows, moving into his attic, etc. It’s only proper that you don’t technically “bug him,” since he made that specific request, but asking his friends to wear a wire is completely within reason.

Maybe a story from my school days will be enlightening. There was this girl I liked in the first grade and I think she liked me too. I wrote her a note – I don’t remember the specific language I used, but I’m pretty sure “like” was in there a lot – however I was too shy to hand it to her personally. I knew where she lived so I walked by the house and threw the folded piece of paper onto her lawn. Whether she eventually got it or her father simply ran over it with the lawn mower I’ll never know. Eventually, though, we entered into a tumultuous relationship that ended on the balcony of a Paris hotel where she struck me with an exquisite piece of Waterford crystal when I called her a “doody-head.” When we returned to second grade that next fall, we knew we were not meant to be.

My point is that young love has a way of resolving itself, though it usually involves an unwanted pregnancy. You just need to look your best, be kind and friendly when you’re around him, and slip some rohypnol (the so-called “date-rape drug”) into his Full Throttle when he’s not looking. When he falls to the floor of the bus, sit on his face, and I think you’ll be “2 forward + 2 be = 4 gotten.”

Check this out — it’s got vampires in it

July 1, 2009

I’ve been doing this blogging thing for ten months now and I’m still not making the fabulous living that I thought was all but guaranteed. I continue to watch the slot on the side of my laptop for the twenties to start spitting out every time I post and, unless there’s a bad jam in there somewhere, it’s just not happening. Maybe that’s what I should’ve expected when the highest perch in the field is inhabited by Perez Hilton.

I’ve decided with the start of July to try a new tack in my pursuit of fame, fortune and prestige beyond my wildest dreams (even wilder than that one with both Hiltons, Perez and Paris). I’ve noticed that there currently seems to be a vibrant market for anything to do with vampires. And since the only other blood-based business plan I can think of involves the sale of plasma, I thought I’d give this angle a try. To ensure even greater probability of profit, I’ll also be working a significant number of product placement references into my story. I don’t have any contracts for this in place yet; I assume the companies you mention just send you a check out of the goodness of their heart.

Allow me to preview my treatment here, and then readers can tell me what they think the best media might be for my narrative. I’m hoping you’ll suggest film, TV or publishing, though I’ll also consider the idea of nailing single-spaced pages to telephone poles.

The setting is current-day America, though if I have to be specific to achieve a certain ambience, I’ll say it’s suburban Idaho. (Fact check: does this even exist?) A 17-year-old girl named Jelle is spellbound by all things “Twilight,” so she heads down to the local Best Buy store to buy a DVD of the movie. While browsing through the aisles, she notices a striking young male employee in the next department. Over his bright blue company shirt, he’s wearing a cape and a cowl, and the oddity of his clothing choice fascinates her. She tries to get his attention but fails at first because this is, after all, Best Buy.

Finally, after she kicks at the locked glass case under the music player display, the young man approaches. His name tag identifies him as “Edward Associate,” and Jelle decides to call him “Ward.” They chat briefly about the merits of the iPod versus the Zune (ultimate choice based on highest corporate bidder) and she works up the nerve to ask him when he gets off. “Every chance I get,” he chuckles with twinkling eyes, then realizes his error and quickly answers “nine.” They agree to meet at a quarter past over at the Wendy’s.

Obviously, she hopes he’s a vampire and hopes his choice of menu items will give her a clue of that possibility. When they arrive together at the counter, she orders the new Sweet & Spicy Asian chicken, available for a limited time only (for reasons that will soon become apparent), and he selects a dollar-menu hamburger. She had hoped he’d order something made with red meat instead, indicating a proclivity for blood, and she can barely contain her disappointment with his choice. Still, they sit and chat for a while, and he seems like a nice enough guy. Turns out he’s originally from Pennsylvania, which she thinks might be one of the Sylvanias with vampires.

After a while, Ward says he needs to get going. Jelle says she’s enjoyed talking and maybe they can get together again some time. Ward says he’s got a dentist appointment the following afternoon, and asks Jelle if she’d like to come along. She agrees to meet him at his house. She knows the area – it’s in a diverse subdivision that has a blend of ranch homes, split-levels, bat caves and eerie mansions, so again she reminds herself to keep her dreams in check.

The next day is bright and warm. As she arrives at the Associates family home, she is ever more certain that he can’t be a Lord of the Night and still be going out to the dentist on a sunny day like this. But when she pulls into his driveway, she spies Ward through the full-length glass door of his home, slathering on a heavy coat of Coppertone sunscreen. He greets her with a friendly kiss on the cheek, and over his shoulder she notices the bottle is labeled SPF 120. Could a high-enough UV protection factor shield a vampire from the light of day? Maybe.

They ride to the dentist in his car, a Chrysler PT Cruiser, which seems like ideal transportation for the Undead. She accompanies him to the waiting room, and overhears the receptionist confirming his insurance plan as Delta Dental and the scheduled procedure as an incisor sharpening, which has a significant deductible but he says go ahead anyway. Jelle turns to the camera and says (or else she thinks to herself in italic if this is a book) “looking good.” She sits and reads a magazine article about Jon and Kate so she can sympathize with the pain he’s surely feeling.

After the procedure, Ward suggests they head over to the local Golden Corral all-you-can-eat buffet for an early dinner. Jelle tells herself this needs to be the time and place to find out for sure if this guy is the vampire she wants him to be. She’s already vested almost 24 hours in this relationship, and she needs to know if it’s going anywhere. They load their plates high with yeast rolls, buttered corn and small, deep-fried spheres. The waitress takes their drink orders: Jelle asked for iced tea, and the ever-enigmatic Ward has a V-8. Jelle excuses herself and heads to the carving station for a thick slab of steak, heavy on the garlic, which she plans on driving into Ward’s heart if he finally reveals himself to her.

About halfway through the meal, both are overcome with Corral-arrhea and head off to their respective restrooms. When Jelle emerges 45 minutes later, Ward is nowhere to be found. She checks the parking lot, which is filled with Chryslers, but none of them are the blood-red model that belonged to her new beau.

Heartbroken (sort of), she pulls out her cell phone and sends him a text message: “s’up? thought you liked men,” though what she really meant to say was “thought you liked me.” A few seconds later comes his response. “AWOOOO” it says, which she interprets to mean “Also Women (hug)(hug)(hug)(hug).”

A little later, he brutally slays her and drinks all her blood.

That’s all I’ve got so far. I know it needs a little fleshing out, maybe a dash of character development and a few more action scenes besides the Golden Corral meal. But it does mention vampires five times, so I think there’s potential here. Soon the income should be flowing to me like an open vein.

If not, please know that I have a fallback plan. I registered yesterday to sell my posts on Amazon’s Kindle, which could bring me as much as thirty cents a pop. Now I just have to figure which port on my laptop dispenses coins.

Finally proud that he’s my governor

June 25, 2009

Thank you, South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford, for ruining my post today. Also, too bad about how your ruined your life.

All day Wednesday, intriguing new details were emerging about your six-day disappearance from the governor’s mansion. First, you were hiking the Appalachian Trail by yourself because you needed to get away from the wife and kids on Father’s Day weekend so you could “write”. Then you were spotted by a reporter at the airport in Atlanta, where you confessed you had instead gone to Argentina, of all places, to recover from recent political battles against the federal government. Well, maybe he’d be announcing a new trade agreement bringing two of that nation’s leading exports – honey and sunflower seeds – to South Carolina. Think of the jobs that would generate.

Then, as I get ready to sit down and compose a piece speculating wildly about your adventures south of the border, I check the news to discover that suddenly it’s tango time! As was widely whispered, you’ve been unable to keep your empanadas safely stored in your gauchos (or is it the other way around?). Apparently preparing for a new career in a dinner theatre production of “Evita,” Sanford told a packed press conference that he had spent “the last five days of my life crying in Argentina.”

Then I read this account from The New York Times coverage of the speech:

Surrounded by more than 50 reporters, photographers, aides and spectators in the rotunda of the South Carolina statehouse, the governor spoke with a quiver in his voice and was visibly shaken, tearing up at times and rocking on his feet at the podium. It took him more than a few stumbling minutes to get to the crux of the matter.

“The bottom line is this. I have been unfaithful to my wife,” he said. “I developed a relationship with … a dear friend from Argentina. It began very innocently, as I suspect these things do. But here, recently, over this last year, [it] developed into something much more than that. And as a consequence, I hurt her. I hurt you all, I hurt my wife. I hurt my boys. I would ask for y’all’s indulgence, not for me, but for Jenny and the boys.”

While I might be diametrically opposed to the right-wing governor’s policies, you can’t help but feel for the guy after reading that. Rocking on his feet at the podium? That’s so sad. Suddenly he sounds more like a fallible human being than a self-righteous model of morality.

So you’ll get no jokes from me about how “Miss South Carolina” went from a phrase of ridicule following last year’s Miss Teen USA pageant to a question for the absent governor. No cracks about how secret negotiations to bring a rare Argentinian puma to the Columbia Zoo were disrupted by a cougar. No gags about a South Carolina education that blurred the difference between all those “A” countries (Argentina, Appalachia, Alaska, etc.). No assertions that he was looking for political tips from the corpse of Juan Peron, or that he visited the Falkland Islands to study how he might defend his state from an invasion by Tennessee, or that he became a desaparecido, another of the forced disappearances that characterized the country’s Dirty War of the 1970s.

And, most importantly, no snarky remarks asking how would the leaderless state cope if it were suddenly devastated by an attack that left it in economic and social ruin, then noting that, no, wait, that happened while he was here.

(I’ve been jotting these things down all day – you can’t expect me just to throw them away).

I happen to have lived in South Carolina for the past 30 years, so maybe I’m just feeling protective of a fellow Sandlapper (no joke – that’s really what we’re called). Does he and fellow Republicans John Ensign, Larry Craig, Mark Foley, etc., deserve more shame than disgraced Democrats like John Edwards and Eliot Spitzer? Yes, because they get to have one more adjective attached to their names: “hypocrite”.

Still, you have to feel some positive reaction toward a man who traded conservatism, Dixie traditions and USC football for a yerba mate and a thick steak on the beach of Buenos Aires. If you’ve ever been to Columbia, you’ll know what I mean.

Valentine’s poems both sacred and profane

February 14, 2009

While doing research for yesterday’s post about godly websites, I came across a selection of Valentine’s Day poems designed for those who tend to see all holidays through religious glasses. (Just wait to see what they’ve got cooked up for Washington’s Birthday next week). These sentiments in rhyme would fit just perfectly on that special card you present to your loved one today, though I guess they’d make some pretty good hymns too.

 

While the construction and meter and tone were all quite proper, I thought I could do just as good a job incorporating Holy imagery into messages suited for consenting adults. Let’s see what you think. Two of these poems were written by a legitimate Christian lyricist and two were written by me. See if you can tell which is which.

 

God’s Valentine Gift

God’s Valentine gift of love to us
Was not a bunch of flowers;
It wasn’t candy, or a book
To while away the hours.

His gift was to become a man,
So He could freely give
His sacrificial love for us,
So you and I could live.

He gave us sweet salvation, and
Instruction, good and true–
To love our friends and enemies
And love our Savior, too.

So as we give our Valentines,
Let’s thank our Lord and King;
The reason we have love to give
Is that He gave everything.

 

Way Better Than Your Spouse

When we awake to celebrate

This very special day

We look across the bed and see

The love we want to stay

 

But greater than that love is one

Who we can’t really see

We’re told He lives up in the sky

Near Alpha Centauri

 

The one we love on earth is dear

But we know they’ll end in death

They’re hardly perfect, that’s for sure

From here I smell their breath

 

But up above the loved one is

The one who wields the rod

For He demands devotion pure

I think they call him God

 

 

You Are Often In My Thoughts

Love is a command
That Christians are called to do;
Our Lord says “Love your God,
And love your neighbor, too.”

Some people are easy to love;
They are human rays of sun;
They light up every life,
And encourage everyone.

You are in that group,
So I sincerely want to say:
You are often in my thoughts;
Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

The Food of Love is Nutritious

My Valentine is special

She’s smart and pretty too

I like the way she does her hair

And the color of her shoe

 

Her eyes are like the stars that shine

Her ears are also nice

Her nose is pert, her brows are plucked

Her smell is like some spice

 

But these are things that don’t mean much

Unless you’re into one

Who spends the time God gave them

Forsaking Cinnabon

 

For eating too much high-fat food

Like cake and cream and cheeses

Will make them fat and gross to us

Unlike a certain Jesus

 

He kept His looks and kept His soul

He never tried to lose

The weight he gained from bread and fish

He was the King of Jews

 

In such a role he loved us all

The weak, the sick, the poor

We love him back as much we think

As we love the sacred ‘Smore

 

You want my advice (last one)

February 12, 2009

“You Want My Advice?” is (or, I should say, was) a twice weekly feature of davisw.wordpress.com. I looked at questions of ethics, manners, faith, fashion, geopolitics, science, etc., and offered completely inappropriate, irresponsible and possibly even life-threatening advice. In today’s final installment, we hear from the reader who finally drove me over the edge.

Q. Out of the blue, I’ve been contacted by an ex. We had a brief relationship several years ago, which represents part of my past that I’d rather forget. He is emotionally unstable, so I can’t just tell him to leave me alone, even nicely. I’m afraid he might harm me. I’ve been responding to his phone calls and e-mails (which all have a general message of “I think of you often and I miss you”). I’m also a widow and a parent of two children. I lost my husband almost four years ago. I have been trying to date, but it seems harder now than it ever was before. Many men hear of my situation and run the other way. Some are so insecure they can’t handle the fact that I was married before. I think it is a little unreasonable for them to expect me to never mention my late husband in conversation. In high school, I dated this wonderful guy for two years. We came to a halt after we graduated, but kept in touch. I made a series of really bad decisions with him and find myself regretting them constantly. We talk regularly now, about things such as moving in with each other and getting married. I am currently in a relationship where the person has put an expiration date on it. He says “I love you” a lot but he also becomes distant and cold toward me. My ex-boyfriend has cerebral palsy. I have loved him for more than a year, regardless of his condition. He broke up with me because he didn’t think he could love someone if he didn’t love himself. I have an on-again, off-again relationship with this other guy for more than five years. We are “off” now but I can’t stop thinking about him. It was my decision to end the relationship because I felt I was wasting my time. We get along well, but he lies and cheats. But the love I feel for him never changes. I can’t help but wonder if he is really my soul mate.

Can you offer a suggestion for how I might deal with my situation? – Troubled in Love

A. No. In fact, I’m sick and tired of all you whiny, needy social misfits constantly beating a path to my website with your pathetic problems. You need to take control of your own lives and figure out your own solutions, rather than relying on all-knowing super-beings like myself to give you the answers.

I’ve been writing this advice column twice a week for ten weeks now, and I don’t see that the world has become a better place as a result. I’ve answered questions about invasive squirrels, proper shoe color, organ donation etiquette, satellite TV, the creation of God and gender-neutral names. Every answer has been as appropriate as can be, and yet no one ever writes back to offer their thanks. The most feedback I’ve ever received was that one time a guy was looking for a cure for halitosis and I told him to drink pesticide and he died and they wrote about it in the paper.

This marks my final advice column. I’m not going to be dragged down to the level of you lonely losers any longer. If you need suggestions about how to live your lives, you better hope that one of the following works, because it’s the last you’re getting from me:

·         Try rotating the tires on your car. If that doesn’t make the noise go away, remove the tires completely.

·         A shampoo with conditioner may be what you need. Just be sure to use it on your hair.

·         I also read that article about a donated kidney being removed through the vagina, but I still wouldn’t recommend dental work being done through your ear.

·         If you’ll limit your caffeine intake, I bet the vibrations will stop.

·         Tell your wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend that you hate them and never want to see them again.

·         Try a non-allergenic carpeting or else stop eating off the floor.

·         You need to lose some weight, get a haircut and give up your dreams of moving to Japan.

·         The sim cards in virtually all cell phones will usually provide your minimum daily requirement of minerals and vitamins.

·         Before you think about remodeling your kitchen, might I suggest you remodel your face.

·         God is not sitting on His Golden Throne in heaven worried about which casserole you bring to the church supper. He thinks congregants would be just as happy with one of those KFC Famous Bowls.

You want my advice? (Pt. 10)

January 8, 2009

“You Want My Advice?” is a twice weekly feature (Tuesdays and Thursdays) of davisw.wordpress.com. I look at questions of ethics, propriety, faith, technology, geopolitics, etc., and offer completely inappropriate, irresponsible and possibly even life-threatening advice. Today, we hear from a love-lorn teenager.

Q. At school last year there was this guy that I really liked. He was just a friend but then I realized that I really liked him! We ride together on the school bus, so while we were on the bus I asked him for his phone number. He said, “I don’t think so. I don’t want you to bug me.” Now what do I do? – Cute Girl in Third Row Who Accidentally Fell Out the Emergency Exit That Time

A. Some guys like to play hard-to-get, and I’m thinking that’s what’s going on here. You need to keep after him in every way you can think of – late-night knocking on his door, throwing pebbles at his windows, moving into his attic, etc. It’s only proper that you don’t technically “bug him,” since he made that specific request, but asking his friends to wear a wire is completely within reason.

Maybe a story from my school days will be enlightening. There was this girl I liked in the first grade and I think she liked me too. I wrote her a note – I don’t remember the specific language I used, but I’m pretty sure “like” was in there a lot – however I was too shy to hand it to her personally. I knew where she lived so I walked by the house and threw the folded piece of paper onto her lawn. Whether she eventually got it or her father simply ran over it with the lawn mower I’ll never know. Eventually, though, we entered into a tumultuous relationship that ended on the balcony of a Paris hotel where she struck me with an exquisite piece of Waterford crystal when I called her a “doody-head.” When we returned to second grade that next fall, we knew we were not meant to be.

My point is that young love has a way of resolving itself, though it usually involves an unwanted pregnancy. You just need to look your best, be kind and friendly when you’re around him, and slip some rohypnol (the so-called “date-rape drug”) into his Full Throttle when he’s not looking. When he falls to the floor of the bus, sit on his face, and I think you’ll be “2 forward + 2 be = 4 gotten.”