The Schwa Was Here

Life is like a bad haircut. At first it looks awful, then you kind of get used to it, and before you know it, it it grows out and you gotta get another haircut that maybe won't be so bad, unless of course you keep going to SuperClips, where the hairstylists are so terrible they oughta be using safety scissors, and when they're done you look like your head got caught in a ceiling fan. So life goes on, good haircut, bad haircut, until finally you go bald, and it don't matter no more. I told this wisdom to my mother, and she said I oughta put it in a book, then burn it. Some people just can't appreciate the profound.

What, are you totally psycho?" I shouted. "Maybe I am!" he screamed back at me. "Maybe that's just what I am. Maybe I'm that quiet guy who suddenly goes nuts and then you find half the neighborhood in his freezer." I gotta admit, that one stumped me for a second - but only for a second. "Which half?" I asked. "Huh?" "Which half of the neighborhood? Could you make it the people on the other side of Avenue T, because I never really liked them anyway.

Touch is a freaky thing when you're not used to it. It makes you feel all kinds of things.

It comes with being sixteen," Mom said. "You teenagers, you go into a cocoon when you turn fifteen and don't come out for years." "So they become butterflies when they finally come out?" my little sister Christina asked. "No," Mom said. "They're still caterpillars, only now they're big fat caterpillars that smell.

I mean, it's like we all get our raw materials from our families―but it's up to us whether we build bridges or bombs.

It's called loitering, which is like littering with human beings as the trash.

[Dad] So your intentions were good. That's what matters. [Anthony] But isn't, like, the road to hell paved with good intentions? Yeah, well, so's the road to heaven. And if you spend too much time thinking about where those good intentions are taking you, you know where you end up? Jersey? I was thinking 'nowhere,' but you get the point.

I'm tired of eating your family's lousy, tasteless recipes," Dad said. "Tasteless recipes? My grandmother's rolling in her grave!" "It's from indigestion.

But sometimes you get a career and then you suddenly realize you don't have a life. Or if you stay at home with your family, you suddenly realize that your life is actually everyone else's life, not your own. Either way, when you got all your eggs in one basket, the basket gets heavy. Maybe the eggs start to break.

Lik the tree falling in the forest," says Ira. "Huh?" "You know, the old question - if a tree falls in a forest and no one's there to hear it, does it really make a sound?" Howie considers this. "Is it a pine forest, or oak?" "What's the difference?" "Oak is a much denser wood; it's more likely to be heard by someone on the freeway next to the forest where no one is.

The way I see it, truth only looks good when you're looking at it from far away. It's kind of like that beautiful girl you see on the street when you're riding past in the bus...there she is, this amazing girl walking by on the street, and you think if you could only get off this stupid bus and introduce yourself to her, your life would change. The thing is, she's not as perfect as you think, and if you ever got off the bus to introduce yourself, you'd find out... This girl is truth. She's not so pretty, not so nice. But then, once you get to know her, all that stuff doesn't seem to matter.

...the Statue of Liberty's got this invitation: 'Give me your tired, your poor, your reeking homeless--' 'Huddled masses,' said Ira. 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.' ... Okay, fine. So like everybody in the old countries says, 'Hey, I'm a huddled mass,' and they all wanna come over.

Should I push him or should I throw him?" Howie asks. "Do what comes naturally," I yelled back. "I don't know," he says. "This is a very unnatural thing.

schwa: The faint vowel sound in many unstressed syllables in the English language. It is signified by the pronunciation "uh" and represented by the symbol upside down e. For example, the e in overlook, the a in forgettable, and the o in run-of-the-mill. It is the most common vowel sound in the English language.

This is why I don't speak sooner. Other people, they talk, talk, talk until words mean nothing. There is no truth.' He pointed to his chest. 'I keep truth here. Not in other people's ears.' ―The Night Butcher

In spite of my wisecracking, pain-in-the-ass ways, I was the clip that held things together. Unnoticed. Taken for granted. Okay, maybe I'm giving myself too much credit here, but I'd be damned if I was gonna keep on being the family paper clip.

Crawley reached into the pocket of his fancy robe - a dinner jacket, I think it's called. The kind of thing Professer Plum would wear before killing Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with the candlestick.

Instead of ignoring me, Frankie was suddenly noticing every little thing I did, wondering why I did it. Christina started asking me questions about things, like I was the smarter brother. Dad was now confiding in me about things that were really none of my business, and Mom started treating me like I was actually a responsible human being. It was all very disturbing.

...Our conversation with the supermarket manager had been about as helpful as a New Jersey road sign, and if you've ever been there, you know the signs don't tell you the exit you're coming up to, they only point out the exits you've just missed. It puts parents in very foul moods--and since you're probably there to visit relatives, their mood was pretty touch and go to begin with.

It's like when you call the radio station when they ask for the ninth caller, but you're never the ninth caller, so when they actually pick up and talk to you, you figure it must be some mistake. Then they put you on the radio, you sound like a complete fool, and then you hang up before you can give them your address, so they can't mail you your concert tickets. Don't laugh - it happened.

I don't want to go to the government," the Schwa says. "Yeah," I said. "They'd dissect him and put him in a formaldehyde fish tank in Area 51." Howie shook his head. "Area 51 is for aliens," he says. "They'd probably put him in Area 52.

As for the other team, there would be much weeping and gnashing of teeth, as the Bible says.

I wasn't expecting that. It hit me in a place I didn't know was there. All I could think of was one of those medical shows. They're operating on some poor slob, they accidentally nick an artery, and he starts gushing. 'We got a bleeder!' the surgeon yells, and everybody comes rushing to the operating table. Nobody was rushing to me, though.

The building was no warmer than the street outside, and it smelled like something died in there from smelling something else that died in there.

That's legally blind, I'm not legally blind" "Yes, she's illegally blind

Do I get paid, too?' 'Yes,' he said without hesitation. This scared me, because Crawley gave money like bulls gave milk: not at all, and you get gored for asking. If he had already decided this was a paying job, it must be horrible beyond words.

If you're a guy, I'm sure you already know that their most famous product is that litle plastic stariner at the bototm of urinals, and you probably still laugh every time you look down and see PISHER written in happy bold letters, like maybe it was to remind you why you were standing there.

Funny how you can live six inches away from people and barely even know them.

Crawley took a long moment to weigh his answer, then sighed. This was a good thing, because when people sigh, it usually means they’re about to tell the truth. A sigh means it’s not worth the energy to lie.