WANTED: Cone of Silence

November 11, 2015.Reading time 5 minutes.

With all of the useful technology being invented daily, how has someone not created a real life Cone of Silence? We can map a human genome, bungee jump without a cord, order a pizza with a tweet and yet we have no cone of silence! The cone of silence was largely responsible for keeping the bumbling Secret Agent Maxwell Smart undercover for five seasons and would you believe, three films!

The cone of silence would be something of real use, especially for men. I have said some really stupid things in my life – most men have. Just like my tantrums and trivial diatribes, I save most of my stupidity for my wife and family. Why waste it on people I don’t care about, right? I won’t regale you with the stupid things I’ve said, the book entitled Somehow I’m Still Married is coming out in 2021 (maybe). There is so much stupidity out there for us all to enjoy – and 2016 is an election year! Stupid is multiplied by four during an election year.

Speaking of stupid, why, Dear God, why do you let televangelists create syntactic combinations of lexicals? Seriously? Why couldn’t they be left out of the phonetic pool? There are good people living authentic lives of love that would be attractive to the lost and searching and they have trouble getting their message out. And then, one day, some dope decides red cups are the most important, despicable, and overtly evil thing in the world and everyone pays attention. Seriously? A cup? If that’s the highest priority on your list, you’ve got it pretty good, pal.

Doesn’t he know that Christians are NOT going to boycott their lattes? Seriously, start talking about taking away Starbucks and church attendance goes way down. After all, the carpets in many churches are coffee brown to bring people and their careless stains inside – red cups and all.

Somebody please invent the Cone of Silence – we now have the perfect test subject!

Of course it will need a remote control and someone must be the authority. Would we have an election for that? I can imagine the debates. There is so much needless tripe spewed at political debates that the cone of silence would be in full use while we tried to pick who got to be its master. No, an election wouldn’t work.

The cone of silence administrator would be such an onerous and powerful position that it would have to be won by some sort of game. That’s it! We could have a huge challenge of The Quiet Game that your mom made you play on car trips and whoever wins becomes the Quiet King and controls the cone of silence for seven years.

The original Quite Kings - The Darling Boys — The original Quite Kings – The Darling Boys

I am quite sure it would hover over me sometimes, but it would be for my own good and the good of my relationships. I can accept that. There would probably have to be a blimp sized one ready to deploy at anywhere a televangelist got to address a crowd. And wouldn’t that be good? I have faith in the Quiet King. He knows when to push the button.

Speaking of Kings, I seriously doubt the people at Starbucks hates Jesus. And regardless, I know with complete certainty that Jesus loves the people at Starbucks. So if you have to picket, protest the Tall and Grande sizes because there is nothing grande about getting a miniature cup of coffee at those prices, regardless of its color.

Love Rejected

November 4, 2015.Reading time 6 minutes.

It’s late. I’ve been in a deep, refreshing sleep for hours – completely uninterrupted which is close to a miracle for a middle-aged man. I don’t know exactly what time this started, but at some point I feel her scootch close to me. Even though I am asleep I feel her touch as if she has invaded my dream. It is a good touch – soft and gentle, yet unrelenting. But I can’t focus. I am too caught up in the spidery web of slumber and cannot will myself awake to take part in this late night liaison. Part of me wants to though, I admit.

So what should I do? Should I be honest and say, “No, thank you”? To speak would give away cogitation letting on that I was awake. So I do nothing. I feign sleep. I may as well be dead for all of the affection I return.

Only she doesn’t accept my complacency. She forces herself on me and digs her claws into my chest – not too hard, but enough that I feel their sharp tips penetrate the first layer of skin. I wonder if I’m bleeding. I wonder if my blood will stain the opulent 800 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

Then, to offset the roughness of her claws, I feel the gentle pull of her tongue on my nose. I feel the hotness of her breath. Many times I would court this kind of behavior yet at this moment I can’t bring myself to wipe the haze from my mind and accept the love I am receiving.

“Get off me, Liza!” I cry as I push the kitten off of my chest and roll over.

It only takes a second until she is once again snuggled against my sleeping better half. I’ve probably blown it now. The sweet kitten won’t try to nuzzle me again for weeks. Rejection stings.

We’ve all been rejected.

I remember first time my love was spurned like it was yesterday. Her name was Jenny. It was Mrs. Lampton’s second grade class at Cochrane Elementary. Most of my days were spent in the “special chair” next to the teacher facing the other students. I may have been put there for disciplinary reasons, but I like to think I was a kind of a teacher’s assistant. My behavior must have been better this particular day because I was actually facing the teacher in the same row as Jenny. When she went to the front to sharpen her pencil, I opened my desk and found the profound piece of literature I had crafted to woo her. Woo her for what purpose I had no idea, but this was what a man does when he feels this way. Things would work out after the wooing was done. At least that was the scenario my seven year-old mind had constructed.

When she sashayed back down the row, I summoned the courage to hand her my note. It was done! We were practically engaged now. Two lovebirds, ready to do whatever lovebirds do. I smiled smugly and felt total zen-like peace wondering when the love would begin to bloom.

Only it didn’t. I never got a response. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Over the ensuing weeks, I recounted the words I had painstakingly written:

Do you like me?

Check a box YES [] NO []

What could go wrong? That tried and true note is what Jeff told me to write and he got it from his older brothers and they were in middle school! At the very least she could have checked NO and returned it! Then I would know. Now it is 41 years later and I’m stuck wondering what happened to the love I had offered. I don’t remember anything else from second grade except for Trey, the clairvoyant kid who somehow knew exactly when Mrs. Lampton was about to walk back into the room.

I wonder if Jenny is a wife and mother now. Or a high powered attorney with a cold, analytical persona. If they still make old spinsters she’s probably one of those because she spent her life rejecting love. I would stalk her online only I don’t remember her last name and Facebook profiles don’t usually list elementary schools.

Rejected love is still love, regardless of whether it is ill-timed, somewhat demented, or aggressive. If love must be rejected, one should have the courtesy to explain why – even if they are seven!

I don’t want to be like Jenny.

So Liza, I’m sorry. I check YES [] and will make every attempt to accept your love as you can provide it. But since only one of us is nocturnal, let’s shoot for daylight hours.