If the weather pundits are right it’s likely there will be a tornado watch later in the day; it’s warmer and more humid today than it’s been all months and thunderstorms are predicted, that’s the ideal conditions for a tornado. The air, however, at least right at the moment, doesn’t feel tornadoy. There’s a stillness and a sort of greenness to the air right before a tornado. If you’ve been through more than one tornado season you know what I mean.
It’s a bit late in the year, but, then again we had snow on Veterans Day and that’s a bit early in the year for snow. Yes, I know, talking about the weather is demonstrative of either an idle mind or having nothing to say. The expression is that idle hands are the Devils playthings. The expression isn’t based on the premise that the hands are independent of the body; the carpenters hammer, for instance, a viable tool for mischief, only works at the carpenters pleasure, there is no pleasure in the hands. Ok, scratch that, for the purposes of an entry about weather the hands take no pleasure in their work or play, if your boy/girlfriend husband/wife can’t bring you pleasure with their touch (just hands at this point) something has gone horribly awry. I suggest, too, that those sort of idle hands are not playing at the whim of mischief, or evil mischief.
I like that sort of folk wisdom. I’d be loath to argue the theology of the point. I know the saying means working paws stay out of trouble. I like the saying going to Hell in a Hand basket though, honestly, I have no fucking clue what a hand basket has to do with anything. There was a Gary Larson cartoon with all these people in a picnic basket looking at the cartoon flames licking the air about them and the caption reads “Where are we going? And why are we in this hand basket?” I can’t think of a Gary Larson cartoon that stood out for being particularly not funny or obtuse.
Ok, Will Oldham may be an acquired taste. If I were trying to get you to acquire the taste (assuming you don’t already have it) that is not the song I would use, but it is why I say “ … the devils playthings” and not “… the devils tool” as I’ve originally heard the phrase. Tool(s) doesn’t work syllabically for the song. If I were giving writing tips it would be the suggestion that you read your work out loud before editing it. Essays, journalism, fiction, any and all prose in any and all languages need a meter as much as songs or poetry. Songs, however, also need the meter to fit with the accompaniment, narrowing word choices even further. I’m just saying anything that sounds clunky or clumsy to your ear is clunky and clumsy, and, unless it’s a speech changing the meter of your voice won’t make any difference, the reader won’t give you the benefit of that doubt. I don’t know, your mom might, but for the most part no one else will. The worst condemnation I can think of is your mom telling you to never mind those other kids they are just jealous of your wit and genius and good looks and special, special such and such. It’s the verbal equivalent of riding the short bus. This becomes exponentially worse the older you are. In your thirties, for instance, you have reached felony ‘tard status. In your teens you’re a tard for even listening to your mom without rolling your eyes and sucking air through your teeth.
To bring things back around, when the air is green and still and it’s not a tornado it’s probably your mom. Hey, don’t kill the messenger, I just report the news I don’t make it.
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