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When we look back at our youthful indiscretions, we laugh at them, unless, of course, they happened last night, in which case, the situation doesn't seem all that mirthful. Twenty seven years from now, conditions will improve, as most of the witnesses will have moved on with their lives or at least forgotten your name. Also, there's plastic surgery.
A politician once famously said (or is it said famously?): "When I was young and irresponsible, I was young and irresponsible. Now I'm just irresponsible." He didn't really say the last part, but it's a good line. Selective memory is the best kind to have (it's right up there with the "good" cholesterol).
Would you rather remember things the way they actually were or the way you wish they could have been? We thought so. That's why Rembrandt and Vermeer were invented.
If you are like me, you are always doing the dishes and thinking of a stinging retort that you should have lobbed at the class putz during a volley of puerile insults in a 7th grade schoolyard. Because these inspirational thoughts arrive some decades after the contretemps in question, their usefulness is generally not readily apparent, or ever.
Some people see things the way they are and ask "why?" Others see them as they once were and ask "why couldn't I have thought of that then when it might have done some good?" It's easy to spot the households where this sort of thing goes on during the dinner clean-up. One of the spoons in the silverware drawer is preposterously shinier than all the others. Distracted drying.
You've heard the phrase "youth is wasted on the wrong people." It's something alte kakers say. Young people tend not to share this sentiment. Why should they? They don't believe in sharing.
If there were just one thing in your life you could take back, what would it be? For me, it would be having asked the immediately foregoing question -- the opening paragraph of a thousand self-help trade paperbacks. Now it's too late.
Well, it's time to get ready for bed. It's one of my least favorite parts of the day. There's the whole standing-in-the-doorway-calling-the-cat-for-a-half-an-hour-while-he-crouches-in-the-bushes-in-the- dark-3-feet-away-pretending-not-to-hear-me-just-because-he-can thing. That routine sure is getting tired. But given the size of his brain, I guess that's the most we can expect from the likes of him.
HEY! That's what I should have said to that asshole, Earle Cornbluuth, when he called me a "fake" in the 7th grade.
Yeah, that's what I should have said.
A politician once famously said (or is it said famously?): "When I was young and irresponsible, I was young and irresponsible. Now I'm just irresponsible." He didn't really say the last part, but it's a good line. Selective memory is the best kind to have (it's right up there with the "good" cholesterol).
Would you rather remember things the way they actually were or the way you wish they could have been? We thought so. That's why Rembrandt and Vermeer were invented.
If you are like me, you are always doing the dishes and thinking of a stinging retort that you should have lobbed at the class putz during a volley of puerile insults in a 7th grade schoolyard. Because these inspirational thoughts arrive some decades after the contretemps in question, their usefulness is generally not readily apparent, or ever.
Some people see things the way they are and ask "why?" Others see them as they once were and ask "why couldn't I have thought of that then when it might have done some good?" It's easy to spot the households where this sort of thing goes on during the dinner clean-up. One of the spoons in the silverware drawer is preposterously shinier than all the others. Distracted drying.
You've heard the phrase "youth is wasted on the wrong people." It's something alte kakers say. Young people tend not to share this sentiment. Why should they? They don't believe in sharing.
If there were just one thing in your life you could take back, what would it be? For me, it would be having asked the immediately foregoing question -- the opening paragraph of a thousand self-help trade paperbacks. Now it's too late.
Well, it's time to get ready for bed. It's one of my least favorite parts of the day. There's the whole standing-in-the-doorway-calling-the-cat-for-a-half-an-hour-while-he-crouches-in-the-bushes-in-the- dark-3-feet-away-pretending-not-to-hear-me-just-because-he-can thing. That routine sure is getting tired. But given the size of his brain, I guess that's the most we can expect from the likes of him.
HEY! That's what I should have said to that asshole, Earle Cornbluuth, when he called me a "fake" in the 7th grade.
Yeah, that's what I should have said.
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