Ire

I have recently received another “gift” from that little rat-bastard ALS: loss, through a tracheostomy (breathing is not overrated!), of my ability to speak (no doubt a few people think this a good thing). Language is arguably the oldest form of human interaction and being an unwilling participant in this vocal demise really raises my ire.


Ire. Now there’s a word one does not very often hear used. Maybe because of my situation I’m becoming overly sensitive to people’s use, or dare I say misuse, of language. During my working career, I had the pleasure, more than once, of working with people from Great Britain and Australia. I think everyone has heard the joking comment: “Three countries separated by a common language.” After working with these folks, it’s become clear to me that we could all brush up on our skills with our native language.


Whether your native language is English, Castilian, or Yoruba, I submit we would all communicate more clearly and accurately if we invested more time with a dictionary and thesaurus.

Stage Fright

Ahhh. Even if you’re not one for being very bashful, stage fright can strike when you least expect it. Most guys dream of being in the position of having an attractive young lady handling “Mr. Happy”. But when that handling is for the sole purpose of being properly aligned for a portable urinal, shrinkage, nay, abject fear strikes the unsuspecting corpora cavernosum and reduces you to a five year old straight out of the swimming pool.