Listen, I’m all for capitalism. But these car commercials at Christmas – what is up with that? Who is watching this commercial and deciding that is what you’re getting your spouse? Are they sitting on a couch made out of diamonds? Don’t they find that uncomfortable, a diamond couch? 

Worse, these car commercials make it look like the spouse is, like, totally psyched to get a new car. Yeah. No kidding. A December to Remember, they call it. You know what Liz would Remember about December if she woke up to a brand new $60,000 Lexus in the driveway with a bow on it? She would remember how her husband had hollowed out the kids’ college fund for a car that she didn’t need.

Commercials tell us that we deserve the best and that we can have it. And they are frighteningly persuasive. 

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My entire life, one of my great pet peeves has been the misuse of the word “literally.” You probably know what I’m talking about. When people misuse literally they are literally using it in the exact opposite way it is intended to be used –  i.e., your head did not literally explode when your first child was born. (Because gross.)

“Open a dictionary!” I would command those who would misuse literally. And one day my buddy (who had just made the outlandish claim that basketball star LeBron James was literally carrying his team on his back through the playoffs) retorted “You open a dictionary.”

So I pulled up Merriam-Webster on my phone. And staring right back at me was a new definition of literally, following the first formal definition:

Literally. Informal. Used for emphasis or to express strong feeling while not being literally true. (Gah!!)

I recall that moment now, as I have listened over the past weeks to one sexual predator after another – captured in the media spotlight like a jail breaker scaling a fence – express regret for “mistakes” made in how they have treated female colleagues.

So I have a new grammatical pet peeve, albeit one with higher stakes now.

That. Is. Not. The. Definition. Of. Mistake.

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There are millions of women sports fanatics. We know that. But I wanna talk to the fellas right now because I literally don’t even know many guys in our population who don’t Completely Lose Their Minds when it comes to their sports teams. Do you?

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I was in Stop and Shop last Saturday, perusing the aisle for honey – not the one shaped like a bear but the normal one – and I found myself slowing to a standstill. I was being blocked by an unattended shopping cart, abandoned in the middle of the aisle like a burned out Toyota in a zombie apocalypse.

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29 Nov 2017, by

Failure and Goose Poop

If you don’t know what goose poop looks like, lemme tell you something – it looks a whole lot like a mossy little rock. And you’re probably asking “Who cares what goose poop looks like?” But you’re only asking that because you weren’t the one skipping stones with your son and you weren’t the one who picked up goose poop with your bare hands. If you were, then I promise you, you’d be very interested in what goose poop looks like.

I was only picking up that goose poop in the first place because Liz and Finn were tossing stones into the lake. Lucy was next to them, picking what I assume were poison berries. I didn’t feel like picking poison berries with my daughter (though I did say “Try not to eat those poison berries!” so I feel like I did my job there). So stones it was.

I heard Finn and Liz talking as they threw. Or rather, I heard them pause, each with a stone in hand, look at each other, each say something, and then throw. I got closer to listen to them. (Which is probably why I was distracted and picking up goose poop instead of stones.)

What they were saying was pretty cool. They would name a thing that they wanted to get rid of, thoughts and fears they wanted out of their lives, and then hurl the stone into the lake.

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Copyright ©2012 Conor Grennan. Photos: Larry Closs.
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