My tusk hurts. A haiku.

That poor elephant
Walks blindly, into a tree.
He could use a drink.

Spreading Haiku Monday like buttah on hot bread.
Check out Night Notes on Napkins for more inspiration.

I'm horizontal.

But not in the Enrique Iglesias-violation-of-Ms. Anna Kournikova "Escape" video horizontal.



Reason numero uno being, I am man enough to rock a facial mole. Enrique lasered off his glorious, hairy, brown mound. Sell out.

But the reason primarily being, because he's seducing Anna Kournikova, and I'm recovering from foot surgery (and in all honestly, I'm not jealous. Anna doesn't do it for me, and I personally don't think she does it for Enrique either.) Either way, yesterday morning, I had a bone chip and scar tissue removed from the outside of my right foot, otherwise known as my calcaneocuboid joint. Since then, I haven't left the couch.

I'm in an ugly, gauze-colored cast, surrounded by my laptop, a couple novels, painkillers, and uncomfortable pillows... those back-aching pillows whose main purpose serves aesthetically, rather than functionally. Unfortunately, the leather couch beneath me keeps my sweating constant, as do the pain pills. The musty air of our 100-year-old house suffocates any chance of me getting fresh air. On top of that, my terrible case of heartburn seems to be lingering, a side-effect stemming from laying down all day long.

(Enter your feelings of sympathy. Apathy accepted as well.)

This is my second foot surgery in six months, and hopefully my last. At the end of this recovery, I'm attempting a move out West. I've been in and out of talks with my aunt and uncle in Topanga, all while praying for the opportunity to stay in their mountain villa. They're juggling four kids under six years old, so kicking it on their couch is much more feasible in conversation rather than practice.

Anybody in the market for a roommate?

LOL this and LMFAO that....

Hank Moody illustrates his (self) loathing towards internet slang below.

I like this. A lot. Especially this:

“It just seems to me that (the internet)’s just a bunch of stupid people pseudo communicating with a bunch of other stupid people in a proto language that resembles more what cavemen used to speak than the King’s English.”

I hear the critics of this clip already… “Communication has come a long way! We send more messages now than ever! It’s faster! Easier! We get more done!”

That’s fair. We say more. Larger output. “C u l8r” beats out “I’ll see you later” as far as speed of delivery goes.

But…

But… when does this speed and simplicity start to take away from the message? When did communicating become words being passed back and forth sans any real emotion?

Now honestly, I’m no sap. I didn’t cry during the Notebook (yes, an admission -- I saw it and liked it.) but would it kill people to put some umpf into what they say? Not because I’m some needy guy looking for smiles and frowns and beautiful emotional moments and such… BUT I’D LIKE TO KNOW THAT WHOEVER I’M TALKING TO IS AN ACTUAL REAL LIVE PERSON.

Tell me you haven’t heard this statistic: 93% or so of everything we communicate is non-verbal. As in not what we say but more how we say it. Anyone who has taken a basic Communications class knows this.

So… if we’re moving towards a culture that communicates mainly with text and email… if our everyday conversations have a main purpose of jamming information quickly rather than thoroughly putting the whole point across, including how we actually feel… if our society is moving past one message just to make sure we don’t miss the next…

Do any of us really have anything to say anymore?

I beg you all. Slow down. Allow yourself to leave your drone-like tendencies. Yes, we live in a world where the balance of everything lies in how much information one person has over the other.

But life flies by way too quickly. And personally, my favorite moments are the ones where my emotions are so swept up with whoever I’m with that words not need to be said. Which leads me to believe that if we don’t do something, gone will be the moments that words cannot describe.

And for those who write… which means all of you… (let’s get serious, no one’s stumbling onto my blog) … I suggest you check out Californication. Duchovney at his finest.

"Can I make you Breakfast?" A haiku.

"First things first, honey,"
As we lay in bed as one,
"What's your name again?"

And if you try some time, you might just find...

...you get what you need. Post returning soon.

Who says we have to be realistic?

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