A magnet on the front of our refrigerator declares:
I’d give up chocolate . . . but I’m no Quitter!
Still another magnet advocates living strongly, something all the self-help books–and especially those for women–promote all of the time. And, oh, wow — the supporting words for this one come from the Bible.
Be a Risk Taker!
“ . . . Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9 NLT
I like having the words: Be a Risk Taker up in front of me every day.
Most of us like short, catchy phrases. We’re offered wit, wisdom, encouragement—even social angst to chew on—in our daily lives because of them.
I think the Capital One credit commercials on television are an absolute hoot: “What’s in Y-O-U-R wallet?” they ask us as these crazy, silly Vikings trip, stomp and break their way through stores and buildings—paying for all damages with their Capital One credit card. Of course these commercials are trolling for new card holders, but they do make us consider the versatility from a single source. (Kind of like the contents on the front of our fridge.)
I don’t care as much for the implied tone in the more universal chestnut that forecasts: “You are what you eat.”
If I am what I eat, technically I should weigh at least 400 pounds—or be dead. I’m neither. I like it all—the green and the healthy, the chocolatety-smooth treats, as well as the perfectly char-grilled, a little pink in the center, please and thank you, goodies.
My stance on things is: somewhere toward the middle is mostly good. A balance. Not just one direction, but many.
The magnet-held contents of my fridge demonstrate this:
The 12/11/11 Mallard cartoon says much to us, as the child in the frame tells his mother:
“Mom!! – I got the part of “nondescript person number three” in the school generic inoffensive holiday-season extravaganza!”
I’m always clipping Non Sequitur cartoons, and in particular the ones that poke fun at the writers of the world. We’re in trouble when we take ourselves too seriously:
Miriam, the Anti-Muse, gripes to her husband: “Isn’t there a program that’ll write a best seller for you? Then you’d have more time to clean out the basement –“
Or in another of his cartoons where a slouchy-looking writer has his feet up on the coffee table, working on his laptop while watching a big-screen TV:
The post-Journalism Existentialist: I blog, therefore, I am.
A Peter Vey cartoon I clipped shows one employee talking to another employee who is sitting at his desk surfing the web –
“If you want to find out more about my dull, boring life, check out my blog or my Facebook page or my Twitter or the flyers I taped to lampposts all over town.”
That one almost hurts, doesn’t it?
The contents of the front of our refrigerator constantly offer rotating humor, encouragement, pointed reminders—and sometimes solace, like the beauty in the picture of a frosty winter day with only a red barn for contrast that I tore from a magazine and posted last week:
There are times when silence has the loudest voice. – Leroy Brownlow