about legal drama "Judge Judy"

The judge stated the facts of the case. The couple had lived together and have one child. The woman also has children from a different relationship. The judge asked how many. In this courtroom built from concrete composite such a shame and brick, finished with mother's defiant girl and wood paneling she tilted her head down in answer, "Two. Two other children." Stain spread wings when life's changes happen in only a few words.

about a certain type of reality TV personality

On the show "The Bachelorette," there's always at least one guy, a realtor or medical sales rep or something, who has kids and tells everyone about how he has "sacrificed to be here," implying that he left his kids behind to come on the show. The guy has little to no relationship with his ex-wife and kids except that he probably called the kids the night before he flew to California to start taping. He even got a little emotional as he hung up the phone, his voice thickening as he said goodbye. He tried to savor that feeling and carry it with him on the plane. He felt the feeling grounded him. And it might, if he can summon it again at the right moment, allow him to seem more sincere with the bachelorette woman, Charity or Chastity or whatever her name is. He had a good feeling that this thing might turn into something bigger, turn him into something bigger.

(posts) a real poem, another good one

Sentimental Moment or Why Did the Baguette Cross the Road?
—Robert Hershon

Don't fill up on bread
I say absent-mindedly
The servings here are huge

My son, whose hair may be
receding a bit, says
Did you really just
say that to me?

What he doesn't know
is that when we're walking
together, when we get
to the curb
I sometimes start to reach
for his hand

about a softie, a nancy boy

At the airport. This 40-year-old dad-guy in khakis drank half a beer and now he's acting like he's a man. He pulled from his luggage a little Nerf football, dropped back, and threw it toward his kids. The ball fluttered and dropped about three feet in front of his kids' toes.

In those moments, I saw him lower his inhibitions some. Fun dad came out to play for a while.

He started smiling as the idea popped into his head. "I'm gonna seize this moment and really connect with my son in front of all these people." And then to not connect on the play. Broken up by his own fear of letting go of that little, fluorescent softie; letting go too soon, not following through. Or holding on too long, as with any dream he's ever had. Hit by reality after the play was called dead. The pass falls short. He falls short.

It was the beer's fault. His wife has already discussed this with him. You can tell that she's already drawing up a demeaning play to focus his attention once again. Sportsman. Dreamer. Alcoholic. Beautiful.

Stretching out, trying to break the plane. At the airport. Secretly hoping this plane is the one that finally crashes.


Note: Co-written by my best bud.

about dragging