Remember that precious Robert Fulghum book from a few years back–the one where he listed all the things he learned in kindergarten and then showed how they had carried him in good stead throughout life? In a folksy and fuzzy approach, he made millions by writing nonsense like “Play fair” and “Share everything” and “…no matter how old you are – when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together.”
Is this the right spot for a group vomit? If so, bend over with me now and make a big heave.
And you know how that smarmy Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light, puts out the “art” version of Fulghum’s kind of packaged, insulting nothingness–stuff that’s aimed firmly at any unthinking plebe with a Mastercard?
And you know how both men deserve to have their nostril hairs plucked out, slowly and painfully, by a the beak of a drunken hummingbird who keeps missing their nostrils and instead just pokes their eyes out?
Yea, like that. I resent their particular kind of mass-marketed crap in an eye-poking-outish-by-small-birdie fashion. I also kind of want to dismantle Pinocchio there and whack both guys in the testes with the wooden legs.
Thus, you can imagine my dismay when, recently (as I was carving Kinkade a third buttock out of Pinocchio’s femur), I realized I had to give Fulghum, at least, some cred. His premise might have merit after all.
See, I live with a kindergartener. Watching him move throughout his days has, in fact, taught me a handful of life lessons:
Always leave an eye slit. Even if you have a pair of pantyhose over your head or are working the door at a speakeasy, clear vision is key to a life out of the hoosegow.
Have other people do the work while you take a rest. Construct the situation so the workers are enthusiastic about breaking a sweat while you garner all the glory. For more, see: Coldplay vs. Joe Satriani.
Drink with gusto and little discernment. Even if you’re catching drips straight out of the gutter, don’t be proud.
So, okay. I’ll back off Fulghum, to a certain extent, and will only bop lamely at his kneecaps with Pinocchio’s dismembered head for a few minutes.
Kinkade, however, is getting a wooden tibia right up the pooper.
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