idioms

cry over spilled milk

Fig. to be unhappy about what cannot be undone. (See also It's no use crying over spilled milk.) He is always crying over spilled milk. He cannot accept reality. It can't be helped. Don't cry over spilled milk.

See also: cry, milk

It's no use crying over spilled milk. and Don't cry over spilled milk.

Prov. Do not be upset about making a mistake, since you cannot change that now. I know you don't like your new haircut, but you can't change it now. It's no use crying over spilled milk. OK, so you broke the drill I lent you. Don't cry over spilled milk.

See also: crying, milk, use

spill (out) into something and spill (over) into something

to be so great in number or volume as to expand into another area. The crowd spilled out into the street. The well-wishers spilled over into the neighbor's yard.

spill out (of something)

to scatter, flow, or drop out of something. All the rice spilled out of the box onto the floor. The rice spilled out on the floor.

See also: out

spill over 

1. [for a container] to overflow. I hope your bucket of water doesn't spill over. The milk glass spilled over because it was filled too full.

2. [for the contents of a container] to overflow. The bucket is too full. I don't know why the water doesn't spill over. The milk spilled over because you overfilled the glass.

spill over on(to) someone or something

[for something] to scatter, flow, or drop (out of something) onto someone or something. The bowl of milk spilled over onto the children when they jarred the table. The bowl spilled over on the floor.

spill the beans and spill the works

Fig. to give away a secret or a surprise. There is a surprise party for Heidi on Wednesday. Please don't spill the beans. Paul spilled the works about Heidi's party.

to let secret information become known. My husband was afraid to spill the beans about the cost of his purchases. 

to tell people secret information. It was then that she threatened to spill the beans about her affair with the president.

See also: bean

take a spill

to have a fall; to tip over. (Also with bad, nasty, quite, etc. Also with have.) Ann tripped on the curb and took a nasty spill. John had quite a spill when he fell off his bicycle.

See also: take

spill your guts

to tell someone all about yourself, especially your problems. Why do people take part in these shows and spill their guts on camera in front of a studio audience?

to tell secret or personal information. She thinks you should share such things only with your family, and not spill your guts to every stranger you see. 

Sl. to tell all; to confess. I had to spill my guts about the broken window. I didn't want you to take the blame. Mary spilled her guts about the window. She confessed that she was trying to shield Bob.

See also: gut

spill over

to reach or influence a larger area. The fighting may spill over the border and start a wider war. Layoffs in one industry often spill over into other industries.

Onanism

Genesis 38.7

7. And Er, Judah's firstborn, was wicked in the sight of the lord; and the lord slew him.

8. And Judah said unto Onan, Go in unto thy brother's wife (BON CHA KA WOW WOW), and marry her, and raise up seed to thy brother.

9.And Onan knew that the seed should not be his (BABY MAMA DRAMA?); and it came to pass, when he went in unto his brother's wife (BANG), that he spilled it on the ground (SHAZZAM), lest that he should give seed to his brother.

10. And the thing he did displeased the lord: wherefore he slew him also.

Sometime later the law of Levirate marriage was passed, where a male relative could father a child with the widowed, childless wife of his deceased brother in order to preserve the bloodline.

Although he didn't masturbate in this passage of the bible, today Onanism is a term used to describe a masturbatory activity. But as a writer I wouldn't know anything about that, so now I'm confused. This passage is an intriguing example of the lovely, obedient, moral conduct expected of us. In the story of Sodom and Gomorrah all you ever hear about are the wicked sodomites, they never mention that Lot offered his daughters to an angry lascivious mob in order to be 'known'. Raped. And Lot was supposedly the most noble and pious man in the region, so he was spared from God's wrath.

To recap, Onan is allowed to, actually expected to fuck his dead brother's wife. He feels bad about it, pulls out and spills his seed on the ground. This is punishable by death, not the fucking your dead brother's wife part but the spilling of seed part.

and from this story we get a term for masturbation which is also devious and sinful, slap happy fun time.

Ill Spillage

Besides the fact that I really enjoy watching Rachel Maddow (especially when she says "teeny tiny"), she had a particularly good segment about the new drilling permits. When I watched this interview, I was floored. Apparently, so was Maddow. The Deepwater Horizon Oil spill was the worst incident in petroleum history, and it seems that history is about to repeat itself.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Consuming objects

Werner Herzog eats his shoe

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rd6rUo7Htso


Barry Whittaker a crazy vegan buddy of mine in 2007

http://www.barrywhittaker.com/video/byproducts

Check out his website, barrywhittaker.com
He is a funny, thoughtful guy.

I wonder how the literal consumption of objects is any different than food, imagery, theory etc. all the other things that we find ourselves under the influence of and being consumed by.

On Spillage

SPILLAGE

I threw an unlidded cup of coffee into the street. The liquid sloshed and waved out of the thing before it hit the ground. And it was good. It was good to finally have a physical reaction congruent to what I'd been mentally torturing myself with the past 4 weeks behind the veil of a smile. A boy. It's always a boy. Really, it's bigger than that. It's loneliness and I know it.

I could imagine how I must've looked in that fit. Like that scene in a movie where someone split second snaps at a dinner table and furiously swats a glass, sending it to shatter against a wall. But yeah, I can see it. My face knitting itself up tightly into a cry. My friend's arm around me, guiding me up Polk to her car from the Karaoke bar. The blubbering slurs spilling sloppily out of my mouth. The splattering of my anguish into the street, all cream and sugar and steaming from the asphalt now. The hollow sound of the cardboard cup making impact with the ground. It was all congruent, finally. And it was lovely.

I've not been able to cry in sessions with my therapist. Wait, that's a lie. Water's brimmed at the fleshy lining of my eyes, almost spilling, but not. Because I temper myself. I take a deep breath and fan my face with a hand and say. Can we talk about something else? I'm about to cry. Crying in front of another person, even a person being paid to listen to me blather on about the hyper-analyzed minutiae of my life, is an unacceptable imposition. I need permission to be able to do so. Being drunk is permission enough. If I could be drunk all the time, the prerogative to feel what I feel without remorse would always be mine. Though, I know, the legitimacy of my reactions would always be questionable. I wouldn't mind keeping them guessing.

No matter what I do, I am easily undermined. Mostly I undermine myself.

Blog topic--Spillage

I was thinking about a fit I threw the other night, and literally throwing a full cup of coffee onto Polk St. in my frustration. It got me to thinking about other kinds of spillage. In this case the spillage were emotions of mine that I'd tucked behind a smile for so long that I couldn't contain them anymore. But think about and post on other kinds of spillage, the spilling of secrets, of literal messes, things that are brimming at the surface of being spilled, etc.

i had a high school western lit teacher, mr. carlson, who was in love with camille paglia and her latest book at the time, sexual personae. he kept a copy on his desk at all times, and he'd pick it up and tap the cover during lectures. i didn't know anything about feminism when i was 16 (and i don't think he did either) and i wasn't familiar with the conversations that paglia was working within, but i had a queasy sense of dis-ease when frantically writing in-class essays about male characters being seduced and eaten whole by cavernous, muddy, fanged femininity.

"Paglia discusses sex and nature as brutal daemonic forces, and she criticizes feminists for sentimentality or wishful thinking about the cause of rape, violence, and poor relations between the sexes. She also stresses the biologic basis of sexual difference and sees the mother as an overwhelming force who condemns men to lifelong sexual anxiety, from which they fleetingly escape through rationalism and physical achievement."

there is so much wrong with this book (and paglia's work in general). it really upsets me to think about. in my class, i vaguely remember a eudora welty story about a businessman who gets lost in the country and gets his car stuck in a mudpit of some sort. i wrote about mudpit-as-woman. i got an A. fuck mr. carlson. i don't believe in a hard-and-fast biological basis for sexual difference, nor do i believe that woman (a shaky category anyway) is somehow closer to "the earth" -- whether that means aphorisms about a woman's "intuition" or the overblown terror of vagina dentata/sucking maw/mudpit/return of the jedi sandpit creature. i'd like to go back to naperville central high school and have a long talk with mr. carlson, but i think he has retired.

return of the jedi