Twenty Eight Reasons Why English Teachers Die Young -- Actual Analogies and Metaphors Found in High School Essays
1. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
2. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
4. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
7. He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.
9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.
18. Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
23. The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
25. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
26. Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.
27. She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
28. It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Thursday, March 11, 2004
"Suffering is optional." - Maya, The Mistress of Illusion
Yeah, but only when we master the art of balance. Which means crawling from the end of the seesaw to the center, where you can observe each end flying up and bouncing down without taking the ride. This is how I imagine zen children play in their zen playground.
Now, for some of us, it's the ride that keeps us alive and creative -- all those feelings serve a purpose, they're the oils with which we paint, the images we record on film, the dialogue we ascribe to a character. We are not creating something from nothing. We are drawing from our vast external and internal experiences to present a story from which others may derive some education, emotion, entertainment.
Right here, I will interject that my year of Paxil was the calmest and most unproductive of my life. On the other hand, extreme emotional turbulence is like drinking a Slurpee too fast: brain freeze.
I don't want to suffer, 'though I do seem to choose it on occasion. I want only these things: to love/be loved, to understand/be understood, to be fearless -- not reckless -- in my approach to it, to play in it, to laugh in the face of it, to cry only long enough to cleanse and not drown in it. I want to enjoy my successes and learn from my failures.
There is great risk in asking for what you want; the possibility of unmet expectations looms like a cinematic shadow, faceless and foreboding, its source unseen. Ironically, we are the source of the threatening shadow that darkens our dreams. Is there a way to use this self-induced energy as a creative medium without being destroyed by it? Perhaps it's simply a question of being in the flow without clinging to the destination. Change is inevitable; we can participate in it with grace, or be ravaged by its craggy edges.
My body wears a few physical scars, part of my collection of life's souvenirs: the one in the center of my forehead is from a car accident when I was 4 years old, on my way to see Santa Claus; the one on my right breast is from a frightening biopsy with a happy ending; the one on my right index finger is from a Star Wars laser fight I had with my former lover in the La Cienega Toys 'R Us. There are many more invisible scars on my heart. I am learning to wear them with the same kind of respect and honor one attributes to any wound of war.
We hold ultimate responsibility for our part in how it all goes down and plays out. We can make it an adventure or a disaster. If our needs are not met by someone else, we must learn that our care was not in their hands. We are afraid to claim such power, because it could blow up in our faces. Then again, maybe it won't. You never know.
Balance is available to us, even if we're challenged by gravity. It's just about choice.
Now, for some of us, it's the ride that keeps us alive and creative -- all those feelings serve a purpose, they're the oils with which we paint, the images we record on film, the dialogue we ascribe to a character. We are not creating something from nothing. We are drawing from our vast external and internal experiences to present a story from which others may derive some education, emotion, entertainment.
Right here, I will interject that my year of Paxil was the calmest and most unproductive of my life. On the other hand, extreme emotional turbulence is like drinking a Slurpee too fast: brain freeze.
I don't want to suffer, 'though I do seem to choose it on occasion. I want only these things: to love/be loved, to understand/be understood, to be fearless -- not reckless -- in my approach to it, to play in it, to laugh in the face of it, to cry only long enough to cleanse and not drown in it. I want to enjoy my successes and learn from my failures.
There is great risk in asking for what you want; the possibility of unmet expectations looms like a cinematic shadow, faceless and foreboding, its source unseen. Ironically, we are the source of the threatening shadow that darkens our dreams. Is there a way to use this self-induced energy as a creative medium without being destroyed by it? Perhaps it's simply a question of being in the flow without clinging to the destination. Change is inevitable; we can participate in it with grace, or be ravaged by its craggy edges.
My body wears a few physical scars, part of my collection of life's souvenirs: the one in the center of my forehead is from a car accident when I was 4 years old, on my way to see Santa Claus; the one on my right breast is from a frightening biopsy with a happy ending; the one on my right index finger is from a Star Wars laser fight I had with my former lover in the La Cienega Toys 'R Us. There are many more invisible scars on my heart. I am learning to wear them with the same kind of respect and honor one attributes to any wound of war.
We hold ultimate responsibility for our part in how it all goes down and plays out. We can make it an adventure or a disaster. If our needs are not met by someone else, we must learn that our care was not in their hands. We are afraid to claim such power, because it could blow up in our faces. Then again, maybe it won't. You never know.
Balance is available to us, even if we're challenged by gravity. It's just about choice.
Saturday, March 06, 2004
"There is no Mr. Right because there is no Mr. Wrong. There is whoever is in front of us, and the perfect lessons to be learned from that person."
A little "Course in Miracles" wisdom from Marianne Williamson.
What did I learn today, in finally exposing my heart to a man who doesn't share the exact sentiment? That speaking my true feelings was an act of bravery. That I can be loving in my acceptance of rejection. That I can respect the man's process without compromising my own needs. That I can state what I want, ask without begging, hear without whining. That I can be loved for who I am and still not be the one. That I can accept the possibility I am not the one for him, but I am a magnificent woman who is worthy of being the one for someone.
That open, honest communication can reframe the definition of a relationship to accommodate a new paradigm -- also a test of bravery, but that could be a very good thing.
That 15 years is a long time to some people. That six months can feel like one.
That you can't eat in the face of unrequited love because it hurts like a hot dagger in the belly.
Wait: I already knew that. Why did I need to get that lesson again?
What did I learn today, in finally exposing my heart to a man who doesn't share the exact sentiment? That speaking my true feelings was an act of bravery. That I can be loving in my acceptance of rejection. That I can respect the man's process without compromising my own needs. That I can state what I want, ask without begging, hear without whining. That I can be loved for who I am and still not be the one. That I can accept the possibility I am not the one for him, but I am a magnificent woman who is worthy of being the one for someone.
That open, honest communication can reframe the definition of a relationship to accommodate a new paradigm -- also a test of bravery, but that could be a very good thing.
That 15 years is a long time to some people. That six months can feel like one.
That you can't eat in the face of unrequited love because it hurts like a hot dagger in the belly.
Wait: I already knew that. Why did I need to get that lesson again?
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