I love writing about love, even though I’m an emotional orphan. I didn’t abandon my feelings—they abandoned me!
If jellybeans came in a broader flavor base that included emotions too, I’d avoid the red ones, because they would taste like rage.
We are the wire, and tomorrow is like yesterday with a furry back. Don’t pet me, Tuesday! Please don’t Wednesday with my emotions.
Love has a sound, if you know what to listen for. It sounds like silence, surrounded by blindness. It’s the Helen Keller of emotions, at least for me.
When she’s cuddled close, I feel there’s nothing I can’t do, and I can’t do nothing about it, because my heart is her heart for as long as she wants it.
If you need me I’ll be sitting over there, on the ground, next to the empty chair. The emptiness always reminds me of your love.
A handshake is a balanced transaction, an even interaction based on agreement. A handshake is a physical representation of quid pro quo. But if Seth Goden is right, and we are now past this for that in a gift society, what should we do with our hands...
I’m a master of encouragement. Why should I do work myself when the price of getting others to do it for me is as cheap as cheering them on?
When congratulations are in order, I like to wait until they’re out of order to offer a high five or enthusiastic pat on the back.
If a man is powerful, then his rival must therefore also be powerful. The other’s prestige enhances your own. So choose your enemies wisely. My enemy is so great he won’t be born like a normal man. Oh, not Immaculate Conception like my God, but h...
If you say renewable, I’ll think energy. If you say fore, I’ll think play. If you say binary, I’ll think anal defibrillator.
Numbers have power. But not enough to supply all the energy for all your daily electrical needs. There’s just not enough strength in numbers for all that.
I want to save the environment. I like being green as much as the next Smurf.
Her love is a green rose in a fit of red jealousy. Contrast that to my love, which has no contrast, and is a red rose full of red envy for the object of her jealousy.
It must be awful to be on a team with a superstar, someone much better than everyone else. At least that’s how my teammates must feel about me. But who cares? They’re just my clones.
At first, the drudgery of mastering your craft is a prison—boring, slow, and with an awareness of how much time you’ll have to put in. But somewhere along your prison sentence, you come to see the time you put into your work not as dull and meage...
Today I found yet more evidence that I’m a lunatic. The proof came in a package in the mail. The sender? Myself. The evidence? Tampered with.
Some people believe that people are essentially evil. Others believe people are essentially good. I believe they are somewhere in the middle, like Denver.
