tutor

come on greg. grasp the concept.

[groaning]

grit your teeth. you want to graduate. this is within your grasp.

[grumbling]

i’ll graph it. grapple with it. get a grip on it.

{grousing]

you’re going great. grok it.

[gruff growling]

it’ll come to you gradually. they’re going to grill you on it.

[grim]

grin and bear it. it’ll grow on you.

[gagging]

grope your memory. grep in it. it’s all grist for the mill.

[grossed out]

times up for the day. grammar is tough.

 

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captivating

what do you think of marci?

dude, she’s captivating.

what? who says captivating? that’s something you’d read in a fashion review… so you think she’s pretty?

i don’t know about that. cute, maybe? interesting? the main thing is, she seems nice. she’s… perky? does that sound dumb?

nah. she’s perky. they say she’s also smart.

yeah, that too. she’s, you know, got my interest. i’m captivated.

so you going to ask her for a date?

i think she’s out of my league.

how can you be captivated if you won’t ask her out for a date?

because i can’t stop thinking about her.

 

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suddenly

glacier withdraws at
glacial pace then suddenly
green grass blades appear

 

For The Daily Post

wonder

I wonder what I’ll write today?

When you (yes, you) write a wonderful post, I wonder at it. I read it in wonder. In wonderment.

It’s a wonderment, a wonderwork. Full of wonderfullness. Wonderfullnesses.

It’s wondrous. Wonder of the world. Wonderopolis. Wonderville.

Some wonderkinds can do it when young. During the wonder years.

But me? I so want to write wonderfully, but I despair. If a post of mine turns out well, well, it’s a wonder. I go well, well. Will wonders never cease? Like I’m in some wonderland.

Are most writers wonderers?

Most of my wondering comes as I wander. I have wanderlust but not wonderlust. As I ramble, I wonder at wonderbras and Wonder bread and Wonderheart the Care Bear. 🤔 And Wonder Woman.

Other days I don’t wonder about anything. The word wonder just looks strange on the page.

 

For The Daily Post.

uncompromising

if we’re going to live together, you’ve got to be flexible.

i am flexible, but you get an idea in your head and you’re unshakable. look, you’ve got to bend a little once in a while. bend but not break.

i bend every day. i’m determined to make this work. i’m not stubborn but nevertheless, i do have principles.

you’re obdurate. you’re headstrong. you’ve got to understand that different people are different. i’m not you.

you are not me. you’re pigheaded. you’re a bloody-minded man.

aha. so that it’s. you’re firm and uncompromising, but i’m intractable and immovable. you’re a woman, resolute but fair, unyielding but willing to meet me halfway. i’m the typical guy, intransigent, obstinate, rigid.

that’s about it. you’ll make a deal with another guy. you’ll come to an understanding, you’ll make concessions. i know i’m single-minded. all i’m asking for is give and take.

ok. i take back what i said. let’s find a happy medium. i love you and respect you.

same here. i got a little carried away. compromise is good.

let’s go out and do it over dinner.

a cocktail and dinner.

or a beer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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fact

We live in a post-fact world.

I don’t pay any attention to facts anymore, and I’m a teacher.

I give the kids what they want – a smooth ride. Entertainment. Nobody cares about the teaching part.

Once in a while, a student will “fact check” me, but a word or two to them about their grade for the semester shuts them up.

I just say what I want to say. Whatever comes into my head, fact or fiction. Who cares? Folks just want to believe.

I may sweat a little in the doctor’s office, waiting for the verdict. You need your good health.

In the same way, I pay attention to my tax guy and my car mechanic. I’m not stupid.

The kids don’t have to worry about any of that, though. With them, I’m fact-free.

 

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branch

honey, i’ve been promoted.

wonderful! to what?

branch manager.

wow. the company’s branching out? opening a branch office? where?

some little town in the middle of montana.

huh. how many in the office?

just me at first.

that’s a branch? sounds more like a twig. or a bud.

they told me branches start out small like that, and branch managers too. for example, branch rickey signed with the st. louis browns in 1905 and look, he went on to introduce jackie robinson to major league baseball. the branch davidians started out small and…

whoa right there. aren’t those the guys that were at waco?

well, yeah. but that was later and they had a compound there, not an office.

i need a drink.

bourbon and branch water?

 

for The Daily Post

typical

my husband is not the typical husband

he is the stereotypical atypical husband

that is, more caring than the norm,

if what my friends tell me, represents the norm

he is prototypically unusual

yet within the marriage he is an

archetype of typicality

of being typical of himself

angel that he is, i must learn

to endure his foibles

 

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fabric

what is all this talk about the fabric of spacetime?

in the books and movies the fabric is always endangered. somebody is always tearing it. how can that be? hasn’t spacetime been around since God made the world or since the world evolved, if you’re a non-believer. Who thinks you can go around tearing it?

when I was a kid growing up in New York, the only time you heard about fabrics was when your sister talked to her friend about sewing or buying a new dress or if you knew a boy who was a tailor’s son or whose dad repaired car upholstery.

talk about fabrics on the street corner and everybody would think you were a… a… whatever. tho i did have a friend from Philadelphia who would call the rear part of a girl her fabric. he’d say, some nice fabric out on the street today.

i also knew a boy from London who called his underwear his fabrics which made everyone hoot.

my mom made my shirts but she didn’t ask me what kind of fabric i wanted in them.

also, come to think of it, the sign on my dad’s shop had the word fabricate in it.

 

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messy

messy on epic scale

the volcanic eruption

struck by tsunami

 

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