The Lizard Chronicles

Some of this is true. Some of this is better. –Too Much Joy

I Mean, Have You Tried NOT Being Poor? July 15, 2020

Filed under: haiku,julaiku,Nation,Poetry,Rants,Writing — lizardesque @ 11:23 am
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Tone-deafness persists

“Let them eat cake” repackaged

as “Find something new”


On Refusal to Wear a Mask July 2, 2020

Filed under: culture,haiku,julaiku,Poetry,Rants — lizardesque @ 9:58 am
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Free for the Summer June 10, 2015

Filed under: Clothing,Rants — lizardesque @ 12:07 pm
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July 15

Twirling in my favorite skirt

Summer weather is finally upon us, and with it comes many things to love: sunshine, long days, fresh berries, big floppy sun hats, festivals, al fresco dining, sprinklers, corn on the cob, and fireflies. Need I say more? Perhaps not, but I will, otherwise this would be a really short blog post. There’s another less-oft-mentioned reason I am a lover of summer: pantslessness. At long last, the weather is warm enough to free my lower limbs from the garments that have imprisoned them for months. I can go barelegged, free from confinement, and leave behind the tyranny of pants!


For me, pants are a necessary evil. They have their place, of course. They offer warmth and protection in ways skirts cannot. Getting through a Chicago winters without pants would be tough. Also, I don’t have to worry about pants possibly blowing up into my face on blustery days. Pants are also generally better suited for bike riding and yoga, but, in my mind, that’s where their advantages end. You see, I’ve long suspected that the people who make pants hate me. I feel pretty certain that they have been conspiring against me for quite some time, such that I look forward to shopping for pants as much as I look forward to visiting the dentist. At least dentists have some good pharmaceuticals at their disposal. Meanwhile, I have considered self-medicating with wine while shopping for pants since it usually brings me nothing but piles of discarded trousers that are too big in the waist, too long or too short in the rise, too tight in the thighs, and always much, much too long. Yes, I realize they can be shortened. Great, so now I also need to pay a tailor to alter these already overpriced garments lest I trip over them. Hem them myself, you say? Sure, I’ll add that to my pile of projects I’ll get around to some day. Adding insult to injury, even when pants are the proper length for me, they just make me feel kind of stumpy.


Sometimes I feel bad. After all, it wasn’t always socially acceptable for women to don pants. Shouldn’t I be dancing with joy in my slacks as I celebrate feminist progress? Turning cartwheels in my chinos while singing, “I am woman, hear me roar”? Then again, perhaps I should just be comfortable knowing that I can wear pants if I want to. I don’t have to wear them. So, while the weather is warm, I won’t. I will put on a dress and twirl as I enjoy freedom of choice along with the many other delights of summer.


Winter Haiku January 5, 2014

Filed under: Poetry,Rants — lizardesque @ 11:43 am
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No al fresco dining in my immediate future

I, blissfully spoiled

By two years of mild winters,

Think this one just sucks


The Great Corrector June 14, 2013

Filed under: Life tales,Rants,Writing — lizardesque @ 5:34 pm
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Hark! Somewhere, grammar needs correcting!

Hark! Somewhere, grammar needs correcting!

My name is Liz, and I’m a recreational copy editor. Well, it’s not entirely recreational. I am actually paid to use my knowledge of spelling, punctuation, and grammar, but after hours, the proofreader in me is never off duty as I navigate a sea of improper usage, mentally (and sometimes physically) correcting assaults on grammar, spelling, and punctuation from all sides.

On a typical day, as I wrap up my morning walk, I might pass the corner store that proudly offers food and liquor for my convenience. I have never patronized this establishment, as I am leery of merchandise that necessitates the use of quotation marks around food and liquor. Likely, the quotes are part of a misguided attempt at emphasizing the store’s offerings (never mind that stocking both food and liquor hardly make this shop unique in the realm of convenience stores), rather than a diabolical ploy to circumvent USDA regulations, but you never can be too careful. Anyhow, since I routinely carry neither a ladder nor an array of paint colors for correcting signs, I continue on my way.

Later, as I settle in at my desk and check my e-mail, I sigh, not only because of the absurd amount of spam in my inbox, but also because at least seven messages proclaim that I can loose weight now! with the revolutionary, miracle celebrity cookie diet. I could simply delete the e-mails and instruct my spam filter to recognize such correspondence as junk. After all, to expect perfect spelling from spammers would be to set myself up for profound disappointment. Still, I fight the urge to reply with the suggestion that the company probably would be taken more seriously if its advertisements were not riddled with errors. My fight proves successful for a number of reasons: 1) I know the aforementioned reply would never be read; 2) if, by some strange turn of events, the reply is actually read, the reader would probably forward it to 100 or so friends with the subject line Does this chick need to get a life or what?; 3) although I think everyone should know better than to refer to spam for dietary guidance, I don’t actually want to help a company that clutters up my inbox and preys on people’s insecurities to make a buck; and 4) even I have better things to do than copyedit junk e-mail.

Meanwhile, a radio commercial advises me of the newest drug that I should discuss with my doctor if I happen to be one of millions plagued by seasonal-affective-attention-toenail-fungus-hyperactivity-personality-reflux disorder (or whatever) and declares that side effects are low. Um…what? Does this mean side effects will only affect the lower parts of one’s body? I would think any recipient of this medication already has enough problems down there, what with the toenail fungus. Perhaps this a clever way of stating that the drug’s side effects are really bad (as in, “Aw, man, that was low!”). Of course, I know that the intended meaning is that the risk of side effects is low, and I grit my teeth when I think that someone was actually paid to write the copy for that ad.

In one of my non-junk e-mails, a friend says lets definately get together next weekend, and, although it pains me, I don’t correct her for fear of becoming that friend. Besides, I realize everyone slips up now and then. I will never claim to have perfect grammar and spelling. I went most of my life before finally learning how to keep continuous and continual straight, and have a serious mental block about remembering whether I want to lay down or lie down on the couch for a nap. As I type this, Microsoft Word, with its squiggly green underline, implies that lay down is incorrect, but word processing programs cannot always be trusted, as anyone who has ever typed the sentence, “All ways remember too reed you’re work two Czech four miss takes,” can tell you. Oh, that’s just me? Okay then.

I turn my attention to work and use my considerable command of English to earn money that I can spend on overpriced coffee drinks. After a few laborious hours, I decide it is time for a latte run. As I stand in line at the coffee shop, I see the sign: Muffins: buy one get one free! Muffin’s? Muffin’s what? Actually, I know that there is nothing missing and a superfluous apostrophe is the culprit here, but I amuse myself with wondering what a muffin might have in its possession that is available for purchase today at half price. I’d never thought of muffins as having possessions. I suppose certain qualities that are associated with muffins (for example, deliciousness, sweetness, caloric density, blueberryosity [this falls under “artistic license”]) could be implied by the use of the possessive muffin’s, but I sincerely doubt that was the intent of the sign. I sidle up to the white board, quickly look over my shoulder to check that no one is looking, and, with a flick of my hand, remove the offending apostrophe. I wipe the marker dust on my jeans and casually step away from the sign, smiling because there is one fewer (please note, not one less!) error in the world. I may not be able to leap skyscrapers in a single bound or rescue children from burning buildings, but I like to think that, in some small way, I am making the world a better place.