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| Does anybody think that there are cliques around? | | |
| It is better to be well-versed than well-read. | | |
| The name "John." Perhaps the most widespread name in existence. What is the great attraction of this name? There is no attraction to it and the parents who name their children "John" are well aware of it: they name their children "John" because they have no creativity. Ask anyone around to see if they really like the name and will you find one who adores the name? Nope. Even people who today say they don't like the name will tomorrow be the ones who name their child "John."
There have been many explanations for this phenomenon of many "Johns" and they range from the plausible (kind of) to the fantastic. Here are some:
It has been said that the prevalence of "John" is due to a couple's feeling obligated to name their son after a family member, although they do not particularly wish to. This tradition keeps going as the children's offspring feel that they must name the next generation "John" in respect of the older generation.
A historical approach reads that the Emperor Constantine, after the "In hoc signo vinces" incident, had another revelation in which he was told that a quarter of the world's males must be named "John." But because he had trouble implementing this on the people, he called out a witch, who held a service, casting a spell on all mankind down the ages to have a propensity to name boys "John."
One scientist has the theory that the first human Neanderthal descendant gave himself the name "John" and that the name has been imprinted minds ever since as a primeval, psychological instinct. Naming our children "John" is an instinct, although it is not as extensive and other animal instincts, and because of its relative moderation, we show our evolutionary superiority over lesser forms of life.
Finally, from a conspiratorialist comes the conclusion that the Socialists have been clandestinely brainwashing us. Their goal is to make everyone of us, male an female, a "John," and after the name "John" they would add a number. (For everyone in a Socialist state must be a number.) People would end up with a name such as "John 316." Eventually, the name itself would be taken away, leaving only the number. The conspiratorialist even says that our Social Security Number will go after "John." But many disagree with this, however, asking the question why we would need "John." Why could we not go straight from names to numbers, bypassing the mixture of the two? I was told that the the Socialists want to give us a false sense of creativity and the name "John" will give that until we have reached a great Communistic level and any form of creativity is beneath us.
However much these theories arise, abound, and die, they will not stop the "John" plague. "John" will forever be a constant throughout the ages. Have I any scientific basis for this? No. "John" just will.
Disclaimer: Nothing personal is meant to those named or have named someone "John," and no disregard for the apostle is felt. All examples taken as to why there are so many "Johns" have been made up and are not intended to serve as research material. The writing is meant strictly for reading and should not be ingested in any way. Do not read while on medications, but, rather, take medications after reading. | | |
| Do not think I have not written more of "Jill the Jack-in-a-box" because I do not know how to go on with it; I do in fact have a rather clear idea on how I want to continue the story. However, I think things get too crude and, well, just plain wrong for me to continue writing it on this blog. I fear that I may offend many people, and so 'Jill's' session on this blog has ended. | | |
| It was the week of the ball. Jill's stepmother Jillian told him that if he got all of his chores done on the day of the ball, he would be allowed to go. His spirits brightened, but the thought that he and the princess shared a name still tortured him and he did not know if he wanted to go or not.
The night before the ball, while Jill was trying to sleep for the big day ahead of him, a day in which there were countless chores to do (his stepmother gave him extra), he did not get his sleep, for his stepbrothers spent half the night playing their same old trick of cranking him up. Around two o'clock in the morning, they got tired and went to bed. Now Jill's stepbrother's could get up whenever they pleased, but his stepmother Jillian made him get up at five thirty every morning so he could get his chores done; today he voluntarily decided to get up at four to try to get all those extra chores done in time for the ball. But disaster struck! So tired was Jill, he slept through his alarm clock and did not awake until six fifty-three. There was no way he could get all his work done in time, he thought.
He scarfed down his breakfast of Apple Jacks then ran to and fro feeding the ninety-eight barn animals, cleaning their stalls and coops, milking the cows, picking up the chicken's eggs, cooking everyone's breakfast, and washing dishes. In the afternoon, he had to clean the whole house, make lunch, and do more dishes. Then he had to polish his stepbrother's boxes, make sure their music was in tune, iron their clothes for them, comb their hair, and help dress them. After that, he had to feed the ninety-eight barn animals, milk the cows, and brush and harness the horses.
While he did all his work, he realized that he really did want to go to the ball. His name and the name of the princess might be Jill, but it did not matter. What if she were to pick him? The thought that he would marry the beautiful princess was the only thing that kept him going during all those chores - that and another bowl of Apple Jacks for a quick lunch.
All was ready for them to go to the ball. Jill came into the house and told his stepmother so.
"All right," she said. "Tell Jackson and Jackville I'm ready to go."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied and went of to get his stepbrothers.
Jackson and Jackville speedily appeared and hopped into the carriage. Jill and Jillian stood inside the door of the house. She was pulling on her gloves while saying, "Jill, while we're gone, you have to wash the windows and paint the outside of the house blue."
"But you said I could go to the ball if I got all my chores done, and I have," he said, not understanding.
"You did not," she said.
"Did too. I did all the chores you wrote down."
"Humph. You must not have read the fine print, you dull dummy."
Jill took out the list of chores from his pocket, and in small, barely discernible letters were the words "Wash windows" and "Paint outside of house blue."
"But I washed the windows yesterday and painted the house from blue to green last week. Why do you want it blue again? And look: it's raining!"
"I did not like the green. It did not match my eyes." She walked off towards the carriage.
Jill resigned himself. He washed the house's two hundred eighty-four windows inside and out and in the rain, painted the four-story house before his stepmother reached the carriage.
"I'm finished," he announced. "Can I go now?"
"No," she said, as she climbed into the carriage.
His face fell. "What now?"
"You slept in too late."
"But you said I could go to the ball if I got all my chores done, and I did, unless there's fine fine print. You never mentioned anything about getting up at a certain time."
"Jill, I've told you time and time again that you must be up by five thirty, and I've heard that you weren't this morning. Besides, you can't go to a ball looking like that."
Jill looked at his filthy clothes hanging on his filthy body. "I can be cleaned up in two minutes," he said and started going to the house.
"Jill," yelled Jillian, "you are NOT going! You've tried my patience too far." And she shut the carriage door.
"Fine. Fine," he yelled in return. "I won't go. But I hope you realize you're breaking the law, because it said that all the male royal subjects were to attend the ball, and you're keeping me from attending."
"You're no royal subject, Jill," she sneered. "Drive on!" she called to the coachman.
Off they drove, leaving poor Jill behind them in the pouring rain.
To be continued. | | |
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