Olfactory Confessions

A writer can only write so long without mentioning the biggest part of his or her life. For some writers this luming presence is a thought or an idea. For others, this gargantuan spectre is a childhood event or tragedy. What ever this humongous, gigantic, or enormous thing may be a writer can never be fully content or understood until he or she has dealt with it in real and honest terms. Shakespeare, for example, it is believed, wrote many of the tiny words seen at the bottom of TV commercials before he was able to slay his giant. "Irritable Bowl Syndrome" was not his best work, but it was a brutally honest portrayal of a terrible affliction. When it premiered, people were shocked, even appalled, but its therapeutic value for William can not be underestimated. Lost to time, this disturbing play opened the door for such great works as "Hamlet" and "Romeo and Juliet". For Shakespeare it was IBS, for me, as for most Taylor's, it's my nose.

My name is Paul Taylor and I've got a really big nose. If you don't have one or live with someone who does, you can't possibly understand what I go through. Just try to imagine, what its like to have your other senses deadened because your sense of smell is so strong; or never being able to turn your head and walk through a doorway at the same time; or wondering if today is the day your neck will give out from the sheer weight of the thing! Yeah, doesn't sound so fun now does it, you nosist pig? It's always "Mommy, mommy I want a big funny clown nose too!" Until your neck gives out and you find yourself face down on the sidewalk, too exhausted to lift yourself, and your dog is having its way with your leg while school children gather around and laugh. I can live with these things, I've done it all my life, it's the people I care about who suffer most. My poor wife can't kiss me without tying herself down to something solid, just in case, during a moment of passion I inhale too deeply.

It's not all bad though, I have my good days too. We all have handicaps. Some of them just happen to be more visible than others. Just because my handicap walks around in front of me yelling "Here I am big and bulbous blah...blah...blah!" doesn't mean I'm not petite and cute as a button on the inside, like a little Swiss ski jump. And, we all know it's the cute little Swiss ski jumps on the inside that count.

My name is Paul Taylor and I've got a really big nose.

Toaster Wars

[Que Star Wars Music]

NaNaNa NAAAAAA NA NANANA NAAAAAA NA NANANA NAAAAA NA NaNaNa naaaaaaa

Long Long Ago,
In a galaxy far far away......

So, this isn't MySpace and you have to use your imagination a little...Get Over It! We can't all afford the very best of everything can we? Some of us have to make do with what we've got and, well, this is the best I've got (A couple of nana's in upper and lower case letters is all you're going to get and you should be thankful for that!). This generation makes me sick, you all have to have surround sound in Dolby digital; flat screen televisions and toilet paper. In my day, a couple of nana's would send us through the roof, but not you whiners, you won't poop without four-ply, triple quilted, downy scented squares of cloudy soft shame.

Anyway, I'm getting a little side tracked. I was perusing my last post and realized I hadn't really said anything about our marriage and this is, after all, a marriage blog...Imagine my embarrassment! So, I thought I should amend this disgusting oversight immediately.

You see, Jess and I recently got married and that entailed moving all of our stuff into the same general location. This, from an outsiders perspective, might seem pretty easy...and they would be right, it is easy! To my relief moving in together went very very smoothly...almost too smoothly. In fact it wasn't until we were unpacking the last box that we realized the challenge, nay, the evil twist of plot, that lay before us. We had not one but two toasters! Now the simple minded might say "Great! We can have twice as much toast!". But not us, no, we took this minor kink in an otherwise perfect move and blew it way out of proportion.

My toaster was sleek, new and shiny, the Ferrari of toasters really; and Jess' toaster was, well, old. She said something about classic and sentimental value but all I saw was a beat up old toaster. She said "I've had this toaster a long time and I'd like to keep it!"

I've been wearing this underwear a long time too, I thought, but it doesn't mean I wouldn't change them if someone offered me a shiny new pair. But, she seemed determined, so I changed the subject and snuck my toaster onto the kitchen counter when she wasn't looking. Problem solved, I just knew she'd forget all about Barney Rubble and his toaster once she had given my dream toast making machine a try! The plan seemed fool proof until she noticed my toaster on the counter. "Hey!" She said, "I thought we agreed to keep my toaster!"

Uh Oh, I thought, not only has my planned failed, but my memory is failing too! Dumbfounded, I said something about looking over there and ran into the other room.

For weeks, both of us refused to use the others toaster. Until Jess brought it to my attention that our behavior was immature and ridiculous. So, because I hate to be immature and ridiculous, we put our thinking caps on and tried to come up with a compromise. "I know!" I said eyes narrowing, "We could have a toast off!"

And so the stage was set. We demonstrated the highlights of our treasured machines; we tasted each others toast; and glared at each other. Until finally, after my toaster had clearly won and she obviously looked away first, we were right back where we started. Worn out, tired and exhausted we sat defeated on the kitchen floor. Just then, Seth, our brother-in-law, knocked on the door. "Let's let him take which ever toaster he wants!" Jess said, a little too enthusiastically. "Okay", I said nonchalantly, my exterior was like a pond of serenity but my insides quivered like a new born llama on meth. I just knew he was going to pick my baby and I would be without my Lamborghini of English muffin heaven.

When Jess presented him with the idea he shrugged, picked up Jess's toaster and walked out the door. "That's easy" he said, "I'll take the classic!"

Suddenly, my toaster looked cheap and plastic. Something you might find in Walmart while my brother-in-law walked out with a treasure beyond melted butter. "Are you sure you don't want the new one?" I asked hopefully.

"Nah," he said, "the old ones always make better toast."

New Era

Okay, here we go, my first blog ever. I'm embarrassed to say that all previous blogs have been the contribution of my beautiful and linguistically gifted wife. She not only writes funny, charming, and dare I say provocative blogs, but she lets me bask in the credit of their creation (and if you haven't seen a full grown, 200 pound male of the species, with hair like a gorilla on Rogain, "basking", then you haven't lived!). What a Woman! And, while this is one tremendous perk of being married to such a talented vixen, I think its time for me to hop off the old free ride to blogger infamy and strike out on my own. She shouldn't have to bare the burden of always coming up with the cute, funny little stories that lighten the unbearably mundane lives of our two blogger groupies (whose very happiness, dare I say existence, is intrinsically tied to the tectonic action of her comedic prose).

Yes, I know you crave her stuff; but us Lilliputians of the literary world need our voice too. Like Michelangelo's little brother Jimmy, its time for me to step out from behind the giant shadow cast by "big brother" and sculpt... That's right sculpt. If not the "David" then perhaps the "Tooth Pick Log Cabin" or the no less challenging "Clay Mountain". What ever form this ill advised expression of inner turmoil takes, you can rest assured that it will be pure and tortured. Because, what I lack in talent, charm and good looks, I make up for with determination, the ability to fart on command and hair every where but the top of my head. Thats right folks (and by folks I mean the two of you), this blog has entered a new era, if not for the better than at least its new and that, my pudgy little Internet scavengers, is all any of us can ask for.

P.S.
My wife tells me it's not a good idea to insult the readers (rookie mistake).