A couple of my friends are synesthetes, which means that they experience reactions from more than one sense from the same stimulus. For example, letters and numbers might have colors, or names might have a flavor. I remember one saying that lockers tasted like chicken nuggets. Of course, she hadn’t actually licked the lockers, and I guarantee that they wouldn’t taste like fried chicken.
The city of Denver is slowly picking itself up off its feet after this weekend. While I am happy for Seattle (everyone should have the feeling of victory at least once in a while), it was a really hard game to watch. At the Super Bowl party I attended, by the time the third quarter was winding down, most of us had been through all five stages of grief, and were accepting the comfort of beer and queso. And those stages of grief are the inspiration for today’s post.
As a culture, we love heroes. We love to have someone to cheer for, someone who embodies what is good and right. Sometimes, however, heroes are stupid. This seems to happen a lot in movies by the Coen brothers (although whether their protagonists are in any way heroic is another matter). This also happens a lot in tragedies, especially in classic tragedies. Every tragic hero has one shining moment of stupidity in all of their stupidity, and that moment is called their hamartia.
With 2014 on the other side of the sunset, I wanted to write something relevant to the changing of time, the promise of a new year, the symbolism of a new year meaning a new start.
And then I saw that there exists something called a “spoonerism” in writing, and all my previous ideas immediately went out my ear.
On Saturday, I went out to dinner with some friends as an early birthday celebration. We all ate our fill, and when the server came by to ask us how we felt about dessert, all of us laughed because we were so full. Sweet treats to follow? Please.
Speaking of desserts, I’m sure we all know the different between a desert and a dessert, right? Just in case, let’s review.
