Tag Archives: Harry Margulies

Second Chances by Harry Margulies

An hour or so ago I finished writing what was to be this blog.Sport baseball. I set it aside to watch a couple innings of the Dbacks/Reds game, then returned to it to see what sort of mess I’d created. As messes go, it was wonderful. As entertainment, it wasn’t so good. I deleted it. And so here I am, giving it another go. I’m not upset over the wasted time, or pissed that I’ve got to come up with something else to write about. I’m actually grateful.

Chef Adding Sauce To Dish In Restaurant KitchenThere aren’t many pursuits that allow for unlimited second chances. Tripped-up athletes need to wait for another season, chefs who can’t discern between Roquefort and the less wholesome kind of mold hope for an uninformed restaurant to give them a fresh shot, and miscalculating surgeons need to move to another state, or maybe take a job as an exterminator.
 
But writers get second chances. Actually, writers are given an unrestricted number of opportunities to make their work perfect.3 JeopardyGameBoard Aside from journalists working under a tight deadline, or Final Jeopardy contestants forced to scribble a correct response in thirty seconds, writers can take a timeout, hit delete, and start over. It can be a frustrating process, sure, but I’d be willing to bet there aren’t a lot of writers who move on to become exterminators.

I shouldn’t have written that last sentence. I don’t mean to disparage in any way those insects icon-05employed in the extermination industry. It’s a difficult job, and quality exterminators are both skilled and knowledgeable. But I’m not going to delete the sentence. I’m trying to make a point, and besides, I’ve already deleted an entire blog, and I just don’t have it in me – which, I guess, is the point I’m trying to make.

I’m just a guy trying to fill a page. I’m not trying to make a grand statement. I’m not trying to reinvent anything. I’m not even sure anyone reads anything I write. What a lot of us don’t get is that we’re all writers. Whether we’re texting, emailing,Woman Looking At Shopping List In Supermarket or dashing off a grocery list for ourselves, it’s called writing. And unless we’re sending anonymous spam out to the world, our name is on everything we write, whether we paste it on the page or not. It’s called ownership. Why then are most of us so careless when it comes to writing?

I’m not exempt from this laziness. I’ve dispatched plenty of cringe worthy memos and emails over the years. I’ve hit send many times when I shouldn’t have, when I should have taken a few seconds to look at what I wrote, to see if there were any typos, or if it was Face of Defense: Game Show Features Air Force Captainreadable, or if it made any sense at all. But I’m working on it. Unless Alex Trebek is awaiting my quick response (the impossible for anyone but him to correctly pronounce one), I’ll walk away from what I’ve written, maybe watch a couple innings of a baseball game, and then come back to what I’ve written. It’s hardly ever good (the writing, not the game). It always needs fixing.

I don’t like to be preachy; it’s just that I’m tired of trying to figure7 UofFMascots things out. Nobody should have to waste time wondering whether the blog they’re reading is about how mascots belong in collages or colleges; I think it could be either. Nobody should be forced to read a run-on sentence that only make sense to the person who wrote it down the road they will certainly become frustrated while doing the same.
 
 
Anyway, I suppose I should rewrite the blog I deleted earlier, but the Dbacks/Reds game8 AZDbacksLogo 9 RedsLogo has ended, and I need to post something quick, something that doesn’t require another look. Sorry for the mess.

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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the recently released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women, and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.

 
 
Photo Credits: Jeopardy board photo courtesy of SethAllen623, Alex Trebek photo courtesy of Sony Pictures Television

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Required Reading by Harry Margulies

Is it wrong that many authors enjoy conjuring titles for their Word Doc babies as much as they enjoy conjuring names for their delivered by a doc babies? Should they be more devoted to the names of their novels than to the names of their non-fiction flesh and 1 Babyblood? Which of these do you think was given more consideration: Sing Upon the Dells Tomorrow, or Emily? By the way, I just made up that title; so if you’d like to use it for whatever, feel free. On the other hand, if you intend to profit from it, best of luck.

Here’s the problem with titles: unless they’re totally appalling, they’re invisible. Sing Upon the Dells Tomorrow is obviously an awesome, well-crafted title2 LiterarySpectrum that could slot nicely anywhere along the commercial to literary spectrum. But no one who stumbles across this gem of a name will feel compelled to explore its chapters – because nobody told them to.

I’ve given this a lot of thought over the last couple of minutes. What motivated me to choose shining purple gift boxthe books I’ve read? I suppose some were lying around the house, just like me, with nothing better to do. Some were gifts, but I read them anyway. Some I picked out at a bookstore, because there were lots of copies available. I deduced that the abundance of inventory was a testament to their readability.

But to be honest, most of the books I’ve read throughout my life I’ve read because they were required to be read. It all started in elementarySchoolchildren and their teacher reading in primary class school. Without fail, my teachers would ruin the last day of the school year by handing out a piece of paper detailing that summer’s required reading. Although the lists were well defined, there were always some options, I think so girls didn’t have to read stuff about trains, and boys didn’t have to read stuff about girls. Otherwise, miniature model of the trainunless you could figure out a way to attend a different school the following fall, there was no choice but to read a book you were told to read. Some unknown teacher would soon be requesting a book report – a book they had probably read themselves. I was too naïve, or maybe too stupid, to cheat by scrutinizing the blurb on the jacket. And there was a circulating rumor that teachers could tell if you had read the Cliffs Notes instead of the book, on account of Cliff purposely adding something fallacious to his notes then informing all teachers of such. I never really believed that rumor, since Cliff seemed to be on our side and such a move would certainly put a dent in his revenue; but I was just a panicky kid like the rest.

It may have taken me until now to learn the lesson buried within this woeful childhood memory; but it may have been worth the wait. My next book will be titled: Required Reading. My stomach still gets all goofy when I hear the phrase, Young man suffering from a bad stomach ache pain isolated on whibut people will buy this book. They have to, right? I realize that Required Reading will come with certain expectations, so I promise to make the prose worthy of the title. And if it works – and I don’t see why it wouldn’t – I will use it as the title for everything I write going forward. It’s a great idea. I’ll not only sell lots of books, but I’ll finally have time to do the things I’ve been meaning to do for years – like naming my kids.

 

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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the recently released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women, and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.

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Man On Quest For News by Harry Margulies

Less is more. This seems to be the mantra of choice for many print and broadcast journalists, at least in my corner of the world. The media here aren’t distributing less 1Newspapercontent, just less significant content, as in less newsworthy stories, important articles, and impactful pieces. (I live in a fairly large market in the desert southwest by the way, one that boasts every major sports team as well as every major mattress franchise.)

I’m not sure what happened. Could it be that it’s become unprofitable for the local paper and broadcasters to hire more than a few cubicles worth of real journalists? Or are people simply more interested in what happened to a bachelorette than what happened to a polar ice cap. (I can only assume, without digging for specifics elsewhere, that one of those is still as cold as the other). Either way, it’s become much harder to find out what’s happening in the world. Unfortunately, John Stewart can’t cover everything.
 
I’ve stopped watching the televised local news. I mean there are only so many heartwarming, heart-rending, haunting human-interest stories my limbic system can handle. And I only scan the local paper for movie times, or to find out the high temp for the day, give or take ten degrees.
 
 
Speaking of weather, it’s usually front-page news in my local paper, even though 99% of the time it’s either really really nice, or really really hot. Last week it rained – .03 inches fell – and half the front page was devoted to this drama. I’ll give the paper’s editors their due, as it was a historic sprinkle. There is no recorded instance of precipitation on this date ever. Meanwhile, something a little weightier is going on somewhere in the world – I’m guessing.
 

It’s not that my local paper is comic book thin, which wouldn’t be a bad idea. It’s chock-full of mostly nonessential articles about freshly painted iconic old signage, or new spaces added to a trailhead’s parking lot. Although these sorts of stories are of interest to some of the wet blanket population, of which I am a part, they aren’t published just once. They’re recycled more often than the paper they’re printed on, wandering through the week from main news one day to editorial the next then to local, and finally (sometimes) to whatever space needs filling at the bottom of the obituary page. Although I want to be as oblivious to the paper’s contents as the editors presume I am, I can’t help but notice this embarrassing strategy for filling the void between ads.

I have a feeling that this news vacuum exists, at varying degrees on the Hoover scale, nationwide. I occasionally click through the web, hopeful of finding some actual news somewhere, only to find more teases than anyone ever tallied at a Gypsy Rose Lee performance. THOUSANDS IN PERIL, the bold print on my screen warns, or promises, depending on the sensibility of the viewer. I click the headline, curious, apprehensive, wondering where and why. After stewing through a thirty second shampoo ad, I find out, no kidding, that a satellite TV company could suffer a temporary outage later in the day – maybe. Thousands of their customers are in peril, just as the come-on promised. They may miss out on what the bachelorette is thinking – or worse, what she’s wearing.
 
I suppose less is more is a fitting mantra for the news outlets in my area. They provide less real news, allowing us more time to worry about the important things, like what might happen should a drop of unexpected rain land on the bachelorette’s dress – the one I’ve read so much about.
 
 
 

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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the recently released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women, and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.

 
 
Photo Credit: Shampoo courtesy of eliazar.

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The Perfect Storm by Harry Margulies

“There’s a mother of a storm on the way.”

 
 
 
 
 
“That’s good, honey. Tell me who won the 1948 World Series. Seven letters.”
 
 
 

I glared at my wife, who appeared fully mesmerized by the crossword puzzle in her lap. I was pretty sure that’s what she’d called honey – not me. “Indians. So what’s good about a storm? I’ve got tickets for today’s game, which they’ve just cancelled by the way. Also, the rain always messes with my hair. And I just washed the car.”
 
 
“You don’t have any hair. Why would you worry about it? And you called it a mother of a storm. Mothers are good. Mothers are the best, right?”

 
“Right, dear. But it’s a storm. A mother of a storm is a really nasty storm. I didn’t invent the phrase. I’m just using it. And I still have a couple hairs left. I like them to look nice.”
 
 
 
“Well,” my wife paused, just long enough to draw attention to her insightfulness, “maybe you should start thinking before you speak. You could just as easily have called it a nasty storm, instead of the M word.”

“Aha! You referred to it as an M word. Right there, using just the first letter of a word, that implies it’s something nasty.”

“Stop being such a D. Admit it; a mother of a storm suggests that it’s a nice storm, one that nurtures the earth, makes it happy.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the earth is thrilled, but that’s not the point.” My eyes were trained on my wife, the mother of my children, and, less technically I suppose, the mother of my kitties. Her eyes were still trained on the puzzle. “A mother of a storm is a really bad storm, not a nice storm. I don’t care what you think.”

“Really? So, you’re saying mothers are dreadful and annoying.”

“Absolutely not. Mothers are not dreadful.”

“Just nasty then. And annoying.”

“No, mothers are not nasty, at least not the ones I know. I was only attempting to describe the bad weather that’s rolling in, okay? Mothers are incredible, magic 8MotherswithChildreneven. I am fully aware they should not be lumped together with thunder and lightning. It’s just a phrase, damn it. Why do you have to take everything I say so literally?”

“I’m only trying to point out your mistake. I’ll say it again. You should think before you speak…what is it now?”

“Hang on, I’m thinking.”

“When I’m done with this puzzle I’m going to make some tea. Do you want some, dear?”

“Is it instant?”

“No.”

“So, you’re brewing, is that what you’re saying?”

“You’re so weird. Yes, I’m making it in a pot. Okay, help me finish this: A real doozy. Six letters.”

“I have no idea.”
 

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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the recently released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women, and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.
 
 
 
Photo Credit: Baseball game courtesy of Jmj1000.

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Let’s Grab a Bite by Harry Margulies

I’ve always been a hands-on sort of person. Cereal 1Not in a creepy, leave me alone kind of way, or a give me all the gory details because I insist on knowing everything kind of way. I’d just rather not use a fork, knife, or spoon when I eat.
 
 
7A IceCreamDelight:CerealByDesign©I don’t think I’m alone on this, either. There’s some sort of social mandate, I guess because we live in a society, or maybe because our moms didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of company or friends, that dictates we must use utensils when we dine. When we were toddlers we all ate with our fingers, right? And we all really enjoyed eating, or, more accurately, scooping up globs of food from our highchair trays and shoveling it into our mouths (when we were on target), right?

Cereal 3Eating with our hands wasn’t a problem until we wereCereal 4 ridiculed for being slobs. And being a slob wasn’t a problem until we understood the implication of the word. It’s my contention that this is the reason some children take longer to start speaking than others. They’re just postponing the inevitable, when they can no longer pretend that the meaning of the word slob evades them. Anyway, I, for one, was never encouraged to play with my food – until I was a grownup with kids of my own.

When my daughters were school age (not college age, but probably not as young as you’re picturing them), they struggled with the whole process ofCereal 5 starting their day. With much coaxing, and some screaming, they would eventually get out of bed, get dressed, decide on a bowl of cereal, and then persuade me to drive them Cereal 6to school so they wouldn’t be late. After a while (not ten years, but probably not as brief a period as you’re picturing it to be), I decided to do what I could to mitigate their slothfulness – and my screaming. I figured I could erase a good ten minutes of squandered time each morning by making their cereal selection for them. I’d pour it into their bowls, pick from their collection of archaic, curiously durable, plastic Happy Meal cups for the milk, and have it all waiting for them to enjoy – or complain about.

Cereal 7Cereal 8This routine somehow worked well, at least until the girls realized they’d been gifted with an extra ten minutes, ten minutes which I soon began to spend staring at uninspired bowls of Rice Krispies, waiting for my princesses to show.

I had a choice. I could be upset that I had wasted time coming up with this time saving Cereal 9scheme, or I could make the most of the time I was wasting while waiting for them. I started playing Cereal 10with their cereal. They weren’t watching. Nobody was. I could get away with it. I started combining different cereals into one bowl, mixing flakes with Krispies, Trix with Mini-Wheats, merging rivals as if world peace were a real possibility. The girls didn’t mind. In Cereal 11fact, they started looking forward to seeing what idiotic combination I’d come up with each morning. They started showing up for breakfast earlier and earlier, out of curiosity, not because they wanted to be on time for school. I had succeeded, inadvertently (like all my successes), and I was grateful for this accidental achievement.

Although mixing, swirling, and merging disparate cereals Cereal 12seemed to satisfy my children’s need for early morning entertainment, it was Cereal13becoming wearisome to me. I had food, I had a kitchen to myself, and I had available hands – hands I could use to play with cereal. I sorted it, stacked it, arranged it, and Cereal 14generally amused myself with it, just as I had when I was a toddler, before I was told not to, before I admitted to being a slob. The simple designs became more intricate, more inspired, more…inane.
 
 
Cereal 15My girls have since graduated and moved on. My Cereal 16wife no longer dreads dining with me in public. She no longer waits for the embarrassing moment when I push my silverware to the side at a restaurant so I can maneuver my arms and hands as I see fit. She knows I’ve had my slob fix already, in the early morning Cereal 17hours, on a playground that I suppose might also be described as my cereal bowl.
 
 
 
 
 
See more of Harry’s imaginative cereal designs on INSTAGRAM

 
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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the recently released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women, and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.

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Lobster Boy by Harry Margulies

1CircusTentThe man behind the towering makeshift ticket booth snatched the dollar bill from my hand and nodded toward the somber circus tent pitched behind him. I had paid for the right to see what anyone with a spare buck would feel compelled to see, especially those who possessed an easily strong-armed, obligingly browbeaten sense of curiosity, like mine.
 
2CoffinI made my way through the tent’s dark portal, my heart racing, my head bathed in a pool of anticipation and iced in a gooey layer of dread. There it was, I supposed, inside the floodlit, coffin-shaped box: The World’s Largest Rat? I approached carefully, certain anything so gargantuan, so rodent, might easily swallow me whole.

Once I’d screwed up the nerve, I peeked inside the rat’s cage, 3Rator stage, or home – I wasn’t sure which, and I really didn’t want to know – and peered at it. I agreed. World’s largest? Quite possibly. If not, maybe ginormous? I trotted from the tent, satisfied that it had been a dollar well spent and smug with the knowledge that I had seen something very few people would ever see, or would ever dare to see.
 
Sometimes I look back on that day, seemingly long ago, but in actuality just last summer at the county pita chip show and festival, and I long for more such encounters. 4FreakShowBannerClassic sideshows barely exist anymore, eradicated alongside such derogatory, politically incorrect designations as freak and weirdo. I understand. It really isn’t proper to stare at the unusually dimensioned, or the multi-headed. And to 5SideshowActspay for a glimpse? Yikes. That would surely erase about a million karma points from my already modest stash.

So, what can be done to resurrect this beautifully disgraceful branch 6CarnivalBannerof the entertainment industry? We all crave to look at things so unusual and so extraordinary that they only exist when a carnival banner informs us of such. Someone needs to start collecting and exhibiting to the public Close-up of an one dollar bills(for no more than a dollar a peek, please?) the things we would otherwise never encounter. I thought about doing this myself, but I wouldn’t know where or how to assemble my inventory of freaks.

I did however come up with a list that I’m certain would draw crowds of intrigued people, the kind of folks with an expendable dollar in their pocket and already bankrupt karma account. Imagine walking into the stale darkness of a sideshow tent, a singular bright bulb illuminating the peculiarity on stage, or in the box. Things like a car with a working blinker, a person wiping down a piece of gym equipment they’ve just sweated up, a pile of money actually won in Las 8Banana:Umpire:Cars:Sword Vegas, a week old banana that’s still yellow, an umpire who doesn’t move the strike zone with whimsy, an airline service representative responding to a complaint letter, a telemarketer checking the Do Not Call list, a bird that poops only on abandoned cars, a small child sitting quietly in an airline seat, a sword swallowing wife, and a one-faced politician.

9LobsterWouldn’t you shell out a buck to see these anomalies? I would, if only they existed. My heart’s racing just thinking about it – my conjoined, lobster-boy heart.
 
 
 
 
Photo Credits: Human Freaks Banner courtesy of Jack Delano, for the Office of War Information,
Umpire courtesy of Trevor Grieve, Abandoned Cars courtesy of Famartin.

 

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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the recently released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women, and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.

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I’d Give It an Eleven by Harry Margulies

I’ve come to the conclusion that people only rate or review things while they’re either really pissed, really happy, or when they feel nobody’s Rollercoaster loops.been paying them any attention. It makes sense. Inside each of us is a need to vent when our expectations aren’t met, or applaud when we’re pleasantly surprised. But when I scan a page of reviews, searching for enlightenment or guidance, I get the sense that what I’m really scanning is a printout of the worlds’ emotional issues. Love, hate, adoration, and regret; review sites boast more roller coasters than Cedar Point amusement park.2Cedar Point Logo
 
 
 
There’s something liberating about getting stuff off your chest, especially if it can be done anonymously, or for free. I’m not bitching on behalf of the many therapists who I suppose have lost business on account of the internet.Work with your fingers on the keyboard on a laptop I’m not bitching at all. I just find it interesting that anyone who can count to five is allowed to do so, publicly, while riding a wave of mental young woman in a conversation with a consultant or psychologistimbalance. Maybe review sites should hire out-of-work therapists to sort the rage from the reality. That way the rest of us aren’t stuck sifting through the mire, guessing who’s being honest and who’s having too good or too bad of a day.
 
 
Sometimes when I need a laugh, I’ll go to a review site and check out the bandwagon assessments; you know, the ones written by those who struggle to have an original thought: “@dimwaddle3 is absolutely right! My Acme sprinkler Blue and orange sprinkler watering grass. Garden irrigation system watering lawn. Closeup image of a garden sprinkler on a sunny summer day during watering the green grass in garden.broke too when I ran over it with my mower! One star!” This is the sort of review that makes me chuckle, makes me shake my head, and then makes me want to buy a case of Acme sprinklers.

I prefer not to evaluate the products I purchase, but if I do, I do it silently, without any posting of stars or announcements. I don’t know why anyone should care what I think. I do yelp occasionally, but only when someone steps on my foot Man's legs ,which weighed on floor scale. Isolatedor I inadvertently bite into a whole peppercorn. I don’t understand the use of stars anyway. None of us have ever touched or tasted one. Why do they 7Starsrepresent a system of measurement? We should use something more tangible and relatable, like candy bars, or tiny icons of expensive bottles of wine. We all know that five candy bars are better than one candy bar. I’m not so sure that five stars are better than one. If the earth had to negotiate five stars instead of one, we’d probably all be goners – especially if the earth was texting while orbiting. By the way, when did five become the gold standard? It used to be ten, didn’t it? If we get any lazier, excellence will be defined by two stars – or two Butterfingers. 8Butterfinger
 
There’s another reason I don’t like to rate things. Whether I’m impressed or disappointed about a product I’ve purchased, I’m simply in awe that someone actually figured out how to make it. Think about the things we take for granted, New microwave oven with analog control. like a microwave oven, or a stick of gum. You could give me a box filled with live microwaves, or a broken off chunk of Wrigley Field, andGum I never would be able to make an oven or Chiclets out of them. How can people not give manufacturers five stars just for trying?
 
So, to all you manufacturers, builders, and creators, thank you for all you do, whether it enhanced my life or not. If I were the rating sort, I’d give you all the Golden 2011 year incrusted with diamondshighest mark. But I’m not going to do that because I’m not too happy, I’m not too pissed, and I don’t feel at all neglected.
 
 
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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the recently released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women, and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.

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Beneath the Narcissism by Harry Margulies

It seems there are two kinds of people who populate my town: those who are certain they 1PretentiousMan&Womanare better than everyone else, and those who actually believe those people. Unfortunately, most of the population fits firmly in the former category; fortunately, each one of them is a humor novel waiting to be written.

 

I have yet to meet a pretentious person who isn’t funny – unintentionally, but Teen in side view mirror.still. They always seem to be asserting their superiority in the most frivolous ways, like by buying expensive SUVs just for the abundance of oversized mirrors in which to stare at themselves while they drive. That’s fine, but the only reason to buy a monster-sized vehicle is to take it to Costco. Yet pretentious people refuse to 3CostcoLogo.svgbrowse stores that don’t provide shopping bags. When they purchase their Brie and Chateau Margaux, they would not like it handed to them in an emptied Jack Link’s turkey jerky carton, thank you. Portions of brie off a wheelIf only they realized how much more rewarding it is to take up two parking spaces at Costco than at Tiffany’s, perhaps they’d stoop to shopping there on occasion.

 

Is affectedness a permanent affliction? According to a medical journal I read, assholes are slim girl in jeansnot reversible – yet. There’s a plastic surgeon in Santa Barbara working on that. But what if it weren’t an enduring disorder? What if people who pooh-poohed commonplace staples like ketchup, or compassion, could change their perspective on life? How could that happen? And why would they consent to such a nonsensical transformation?

 

I truly believe there is a measure of good imprisoned within most Close up of Perfect Diamondpretentious people. It’s always hidden, unlike their highly visible six-carat diamonds or eight thousand square foot winter homes. It may not ever show it’s pretty face, but it’s there.

 

How then might goodness ever depose obnoxiousness? It’s not likely to happen without outside help; without someone bold enough to take on the challenge and strong enough to deflect the condescension – someone like Lily Hanover7Lily

 

Lily isn’t pretentious, nor does she approve of those who are. She’s not afraid to apprise Evelyn and Sidney Banks of their social impairment. She sees the good in them. She wants to educate them and encourage them. 8EyelidAnd she wants them to open their eyes for some reason other than a lid tuck. She might have bitten off more than she can chew. We’ll have to see.

 

 

Who is this Lily? She’s a character in my new Second Wind Publishing release, The Weight 9Superheroof the Moon. She’s not a superhero. She’s just a beautiful Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00017]adult-film star who wishes people were more real – and who isn’t repulsed by a bag of turkey jerky.
 

 
 
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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the recently released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women, and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.

 
Photo Credits: Brie courtesy of freefoodphotos.com, Lily courtesy of Cavs Lady, Eye courtesy of Micky Zlimen.

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If You Can by Harry Margulies

Beautiful Black Labrador Puppy DogSometimes when they dream their paws start to twitch,
Where is it they’re running? What is it they wish?
Maybe they’re chasing a squirrel or mouse,
Maybe they’re trotting home, back to their house.

 

2Cat
But what if they had nowhere to run,
Those tiny paws trembling from fear, not from fun.
The smallest things scare them, if only they knew,
They’ll take what they’re given, that’s all they can do.

 

Guarding TogetherSomeone will love them, that’s what we say,
Let’s leave them behind, get on with our day.
You’ll be fine, pups and kitties, you’ll be fine, just you see,
Someone will take you – it just won’t be me.

three kittens striped tabby isolatedBut more often than not they don’t end up fine,
Their life not a book, but barely a line.
They don’t understand why there’s no one to love,
Why they don’t get a chance, why they can’t find a hug.

Bulldog lying on wood floor.
Unconditional love, it’s so hard to find,
There’s always a catch, I hope you don’t mind.
But that’s what you’ll get if you give them a home,
Unquestioning love that won’t leave you alone.
It will be there all day, you don’t have to ask,
Their love is a pleasure, it’s never a task.

6CatIf you don’t have the time or the love or the space,
It’s not fair to adopt them, just leave them in place.
But if there is a spot in your family this season,
Please make a commitment, listen to reason.

And then when you notice their paws start to twitch,
You’ll know that they’re happy,
You’ve granted their wish.
7Harry&Bingo

If you can
 

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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the soon to-be-released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.

 

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Believe Me by Harry Margulies

I used to believe everything I read (with the exception of book reviews and comments on AOL).1AOLLogo I always figured if someone went to the trouble of writing something, it must be true.

abstract background of blue smoke on a black backgroundThen my whole belief system went up in a pffft of smoke when I realized I sometimes write stuff too. I don’t believe anything I say, so how could I believe anything I write?

Panicked, I decided to reread some of the books, men with laptoparticles, and comic strips that I’d considered indisputably credible, just to validate my newfound hunch. There was my favorite book about talking cookies, and an intensely deep cartoon about a daisy who realized she could ride a bike because she was good with pedals – or maybe it was petals. I also remembered reading an inspiring magazine article about how writers are the smartest, coolest people in the world. I remember this distinctly because that was the moment I decided I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. IGlass of beer went online today to find the article, since the magazine was published two weeks ago and was already in the recycle trash. I was not about to start pawing through my recycle trash, as it smells like a spoiled casserole of newsprint, diet coke, and beer. Anyway, I reread the article online, and sure enough it still rang true.

So does that mean I should start believing everything I read again? I’m not sure. It would make life so much easier if I didn’t have to question all the news American football.stories, fashion articles, or college football pundits who are certain life begins and ends with the Southeastern Conference. And I’d really like to start opening 6SECLogomy spam emails again. The people who write and send those seem genuinely interested in helping humanity prosper, and I feel bad ignoring their rarely coherent but always altruistic messages.

Maybe writers should be required to label their work. You know, with a big T atop anything that’s true, or a big N atop anything that’s nonsense. Everything
7FamilyCircusLogoelse, like editorial pages, or the Family Circus cartoon for instance, would have to be labeled with a ?8QuestionMark so we’d know up front not to believe, probably, what we were reading. Hmm. Maybe I’ll post this idea in a random comments section online. I look forward to receiving a page full of honest feedback.

 

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Harry Margulies is the author of The Knowledge Holder and the to-be-released The Weight of the Moon. When he’s not writing about romance, money, women and other subjects he thoroughly enjoys but knows nothing about, he’s frittering his precious time as a cartoonist.

 

 

 

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Filed under books, Humor, musings, writing