Creative Misreading

       I just came upon the transcript of a microcassette recording I made while driving the U.S. West Coast and into Canada in 1999--


       This is what I read in a guidebook about Washington's Olympic Peninsula tonight:

             “The lower portion of the subalpine zone is covered by tourists.”

Wait a minute:

            “The lower portion of the subalpine zone is covered by forests.”

But then again, I’ve seen a lot of tourists lately covering a lot of everything.

       Creative misreading can also tell something of the truth.

Comic Relief?

       We're not out of hard economic times.   But I do recall a year or two ago when distress was deeper yet and employment maybe even more huge a worry on people's minds.  The news twice weekly seemed to say something like

                We need 100,000 new jobs a month 
              just to keep up with population growth.

And I always pictured squadrons of little infants going off to work.

Rappers Have an Ear for Rhyme

       Driving home tonight I heard a rap artist on the radio doing his thing, a thing I'm not used to hearing often.  I caught a rhyme that I doubt I would hear anywhere else.  "Righteous" was rhymed with "I might just."

       A lot of different letters and separate words in there that don't seem to add up to a "rhyme that chimes."  But it does.

        If we only take note visually of words and letters, we can be led astray from their actual sound in connected speech.  The rap artist wasn't.  Give it a try a couple times, more if necessary.  (Yes, the "t" at the end of "just" doesn't quite match, but in conversational English, that final "t" jus(t) gets lost.)


      

Footnotes

       It's so good as I go through throwing away most old academic journals which I simply have no use for any more, to realize as I do read an occasional piece that catches my eye,  unlike the many years as a student and academic, I no longer feel the compunction to read the

footnotes.

Homemade Cartoon WordPlay

                     Bomb-smelling dog.                            Bomb, smelling dog.

"One Hundred Names for Love"

       Diane Ackerman wrote One Hundred Names for Love about her husband Paul West, both of them writers, both in love with language and each other.

       When Paul fell victim to a stroke that took his abilities both to understand and use language, Diane nursed him back to health by reminding him of the enormous list of pet names he called her by, such as "swan" or "pilot-poet."  He remembered them and gradually regained those words, then others, with love and language. 

       Diane lists the hundred names in the back of the book.  She says, "Paul had so many pet names for me I was a  one-woman zoo."

The Name Befitting the Profession

       We saw a movie tonight, Ginger & Rosa, a good one.  But as credits rolled by, I spied a name, Gary Hoptrough.  He's a stuntman.  It struck me again how names (perhaps made up) can reflect or be appropriate for the professions their owners are in.  Maybe a big trough requiring a huge effort and skill to get across?

       I've thought from time to time that Hawk Spittle would be a good name for a professional baseball player.  Perhaps it's due to memories of chewing tobacco used by ballplayers to get their nicotine lifts.

       Then there's a name that's not made-up, belonging to my friend Toby's proctologist.  The man performs Sigmoidoscopies, inserting a long tube to examine the lower intestinal track, starting from you-know-where.   The doc's last name...Nestlerod.

Honoring a Rabbi

       A few words from a rabbi we honored last night for his 13 years of service to our congregation before he moves on to become a senior rabbi in Vancouver, Canada.  We truly felt the value of Dan Moscovitz's words and deeds during his years with us.  He says these three points distill the messages he has given us:

       1.  Life is precious.  It is sacred.  And it is final.  We are all going to die.  We cannot control or change that.  The only thing we can influence is how we live.  So live a life of meaning and purpose.  This is the only life you get.  Fill it with holiness, fill it with meaning, fill it with love, with service to others, with intention and attention.  Don't waste it because no one gets two funerals.

       2.  Empathy.  Because we as Jews have suffered,  ancient Egypt, the Holocaust, we of all peoples should understand the pain and the suffering of others.  Be more observant of the lives and the needs of others.  Notice people and their challenges in life.  Understand them before you judge them.  Put yourself in their shoes, see the world through their eyes.  And be an empathetic expression and extension of God in the world and in their lives.

       3.  Live on Jewish time.  By that I mean the Jewish calendar, its seasons, holidays, observances.  They are an ingenious pattern for living a life of meaning.  Shabbat tells us to stop, to stop the rushing of our lives and each week to thank God for the blessings that surround us, the blessings of those in our lives.  Yom Kippur reminds us to make amends.  Chanukah of the power of the few in the face of the many to speak truth to power.  Regular Torah study in the weekly Torah portion gives insight and context to the present...as it honors our past.  To sit shiva removes us from the world to focus on what our world has lost, for we have lost one who is dear and profound to us; it is about the soul.  Tradition becomes a tradition because it had something of value to offer; if it didn't, we would have dropped it.  Follow it, observe it, honor it.

       The song sung by our cantor immediately after Dan's words, carried the theme that was heartfelt for this congregation:  "Because I knew you, I have changed...for good."  

      

"Palaver"

       "Enough of my palavering," said I to my son on the phone before we said goodnight.  Hadn't used that word in ages.  It means "to talk profusely or idly," which is what I had been doing.

       Palaver is from Portuguese palavra, meaning "word" or "speech," from Late Latin parabola, parable.  The two halves of the word derive from Greek para ("beside") and ballein ("throw"), and thus can translate "comparison," which certainly is a meaning of "parable."

       Perhaps too many comparisons or analogies or illustrations or examples can grow profuse and idle and become "palaver."

Which Eye Profession do You "Opt" for?

       I went to see the doctor for new eye-glasses.  Or did I?  Is the optometrist a doctor?  An optometrist is not an M.D., Medical Doctor, but an O.D., Doctor of Optometry.

       Only the ophthalmologist is an M.D., specializing in the structure and diseases of the eye and who may perform surgery.  The optician sees to the proper making of the eye glasses, reading and transferring the optometrist's measurements into the actual glasses.

       All three professions opt for the "op" beginning, which goes back to Greek for "eye."

"Howl," 2

        The poem Howl is a howl of anguish and ecstasy.  It is about institutional psychiatric care (Allen Ginsberg's mother and his friend Carl Solomon were both sufferers), about people prostituted to money and industry, about hypocricy and corruption in government, about young people struggling to make sense of their lives, discovering and rapturing with sex and drugs and love including homosexual sex.

       The rhythms of the poem Howl are powerful and incantatory; the language is uninhibited, words that friends use to be honest and forthright with each other.  The judge rightly vindicated Howl, and Howl stands as a great testament of "telling it like it is" with force and accuracy and high emotion.

       "Howl!"      The word is imitative of the sound we and animals utter.  The poem is that cry at length.  The movie is a majestic work of art and love.

"Howl," 1

       "Howl" is an imitative and expressive word.  It's also the name of a famous poem by Allen Ginsberg, which I heard Ginsberg deliver in New York City in 1957 or 58.  Howl is the title too of a wonderful 2010 documentary film on the poem, starring James Franco as Ginsberg.

       The film shows the trial of Lawrence Ferlinghetti for selling the book Howl in Ferlinghetti's City Lights bookstore in San Francisco, on the charge that he was selling obscene literature.  All the words in the film are those of the people being portrayed on the screen:  Ginsberg, judges, lawyers, witnesses.

       Ginsberg reading Howl, Ginsberg speaking to an interviewer, plus the images of a marvelous visual animation of Howl.  Franco is superb both reading and enacting Ginsberg.
                                     (Part 2 tomorrow)

"Boxing"

(Click on cartoon to enlarge)

        Actually the OED says box as a generalized "blow" is now obsolete except as a slap to the ear or side of the head and the origin of the hitting or fighting meaning of "box" is unknown.   It likely had nothing to do with the kind of box depicted here, alas.

"Tennies," Anyone?

       My wife wears her "tennies" and gets new ones when she needs them (when the tennies, that is, don't look good any longer, referring to the uppers that are visible to the world).

       But I'm the only one who plays tennis.  And I need new ones basically only when the soles have no new purchase on the court and the tread is smooth, which is invisible to all but me.

       We kid each other about who buys the most "tennies" with entirely different justifications.  (She says I do, but I also jog and think it's unfair to count those.)

       "Tennis" comes from Anglo-French tenetz (imperative form), from French tenir, "to hold."   In the early form of the game in France, the server would apparently call out to the receiver, "Hold,"  meaning "Receive."

"Anemone"

       Connie has an anemone flower growing in the front yard.  (Rhymes with Gethsemane, hegemony.)  Called the "wind flower," perhaps because its petals are lost easily to the wind; the root is from Greek anemos, wind.

       Sea anemones have resemblance to a flower, and the tentacles around their mouth move,  appearing to be influenced by water's flow.

       An anemometer measures the speed and force of the wind.

       "An Emone of the People" is a play by Ibsen.  No, that's just a joke.  It's "An Enemy of the People."

"2 MSFITS"

A license plate.  "2 MSFITS."  What does it mean?  My first reaction was--"Two Misfits," maybe like a husband and wife who each felt out of step with the world but found each other and were sympatico--thank God...Two Misfits.

But then I thought, what if it were two females, "Two ms. fits"  feminists?  living together?  lesbian?

Leave out a letter or two, and you increase the possibilities of meaning.

"Self"

       In the dentist's office, I picked up Self magazine.

       I found my self resenting it.  Clearly it was a woman's magazine revolving around beauty and health and personal charm and making yourself sexy for men.  What?  Don't men have a "self"?

       If I can't sleep early in the morning, I meditate--following my breathing in and out--and on the outbreath, I say, "There's a self at the center of this breathing," which has often helped bring me back into my own life.

       But some Eastern religions question whether there is a self, encouraging thoughts that we may only come to our "self" when we allow it to disappear, when we fully attend to and are present for others and the world before us as it transpires...

       OK, ladies, you can keep the "SELF."  I disown it. 

"Thou," "Thee," and "Thy"

       "Thou" may sound old-fashioned, but English is now the only Indo-European language that doesn't have a familiar form for "you."

       French has "tu" and "vous," one the familiar, the other formal.  Same with German "du" and "Sie."  We virtually struck "thou" out of the language.  German "du" and English "thou" have an especially close affinity:  "du" became "thou."

       A translation I grew up on of some wonderful Hebrew is no longer used, much to my chagrin.  Part of that older English:


"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy might.  And these words, which I command thee this day shall be upon thy heart."


       "You" becomes more remote.  No longer does God speak to the people God came to live amongst in the familial terms of relationship.

"Of Time" and the Hummingbird

       Six weeks I let it sit empty, guiltily.  But today I finally filled the hummingbird feeder that draws such delight so close to the house.

       Then I came upon this poem of Mary Oliver from a book my daughter birthdayed me with a couple years ago:


       Of Time

Don't ask how rapidly the hummingbird lives his life.
You can't imagine.  A thousand flowers a day, a little sleep, then the      
       same again, then he vanishes.
I adore him.

Yet I adore also the drowse of mountains.

And in the human world, what is time?
In my mind there is Rumi, dancing.
There is Li Po drinking from the winter stream.
There is Hafiz strolling through Shariz, his feet loving the dust.

       from Swan:  Poems and Prose Poems

     
      


 

Beware the "Yours!" of Tennis

       Jeannie and I go back many years as part of the same group playing doubles tennis on Sundays, but when I'm her partner, I laugh every time she says, "Yours!" 

       Why?  Because it appears to me she could have gotten to the ball and returned it.  When the word "Yours!" pops out of her mouth, I am typically miles away, and the ball is already by her and clearly out of human reach, certainly out of mine.

       What can I do but laugh?

"Sleep that Knits Up the Ravelled Sleeve of Care"

       "Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care."

       Thank you, Miss Anderson, for having us memorize those "spot passages" from Shakespeare.

       And we had to memorize them.  Each week, we'd go one by one up to her desk, sit by it, and while other students were studying, recite to her quietly the "passage of the week."

       Today, napping after a lousy, losing game of feeble tennis, lost against the winds and better players across the net, I feel my two-hour nap healing my aching body and soul for the pains of the game, for DST's extraction of an hour, and for a hectic week to boot!

       "Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care."

"Quiescently Frozen"

       "Quiescently frozen" appeared (and still appears) on the wrapper of those delightful confections on a stick, my favorite childhood brand being "Fudgesicle," a chocolaty brown frozen bar.  I never knew, and I never wondered what "quiescently frozen" meant.

       But it must have nagged a little because I recently found myself looking at an Eskimo "Fudge Bar" wrapper...and making a phone call. 

       The "Q. and A." man at the Eskimo Pie Company in Richmond, Virginia, told me it means "less than 10% air is whipped in" so that it has the right texture.  It's denser and colder than ice cream, for example, which has more air whipped in.  Little whipping for "quiescently frozen confections"; they just sit there and "quiesce," which, from Latin, means "be still."

       And now I shall do the same, quiesce, about my fondly remembered childhood dyslexia.
 

Lips, Gum Ridge, & Tongue All in a Mashup

       Police, protesters, and military fighting in Egypt today, and I take note of something I wrote on October 10, 2011:


       Confusion in Egypt today...and confusion in language.  Protests, physical fighting, gunshots, many deaths.

       Reports came on the radio: Coptic Christians protesting; there were police; there were security forces; the military.  Reporter spoke of "the cops interacting with the police"--wait, the cops are the police aren't they?    

       Later I realized Coptic is the adjective, Copts is the noun to designate those Christians.  You try to make the "p," "t," and "s" all work in "Copts" without sounding exactly like "cops."

       And maybe those security forces were the military, who after all are ruling Egypt at present.  In that case, in a sense, all of the feuding, fighting folks in Egypt today were COP(T)S.

Homemade Cartoon Punster

                                      "No, I said, 'Hold your breath!'"

"Mother Fu----"

       Pouring a weighty frying pan of food into a bowl, I said, "This is a heavy Mothah!"  Which instantly brought back basic training at Ft. Knox, Kentucky.

       A Southern Black chaplain gave us a lecture on the soldier's use of language, calmly admonishing us that we didn't need to use the term "Mother Fu----."

       There were lots of Black and White draftees in that room, and as I recall, the Blacks first of all and then the rest of us did everything we could to smother snickers, snorts, and bursts of laughter whenever the expression was mentioned.

       I doubt its use was one whit reduced by the lecture that day; and I added it to my vocabulary.  But maybe that truncated "Mothah" of mine is a tribute to the partial success of the good chaplain's efforts.

Elder Sounds

        Elder sounds. I don t know if they constitute a language per se, but they not only express a lot, they communicate a lot--mainly, being under physical stress.

        Getting up and sitting down produce a goodly number of such sounds:  "Uhh," "Enh," little grunts and groans that I 've come to realize are not necessarily seeking sympathy or help, but are involuntary accompaniments to strain.  The body creeks a little to get where it needs to go or do what it needs to do, and the vocal instrument joins it in support!

"Preposterous Pre-Posthumous"

       Poet David Ferry was on the PBS NewsHour tonight.  He had been one of five nominees for the National Book Award.  When asked what he thought his chances were, he said, "My hope is maybe they'd give it to me as a preposterous pre-posthumous award."

      "Posthumous" means "after earth" (humus=earth), so after burial, but "pre-" would then have to be before such burial and still alive--a better time to actually receive an award in person.

       If  "pre" means "before" and Latin posterus means "coming after" (OED), then the fore is coming after and the after before; the verbal house of cards collapses; and it IS preposterous.

       At eighty-eight--and being a poet--Ferry could both worry about and have fun with such things.   And maybe it's why he won the award. 
      

Silent Communication

       A few months ago, I saw the quietest touch football game I 've ever seen.  While setting my pedometer before jogging at the park, I noticed the game.   It was very quiet for about 16 young men lined up in two teams, running plays, moving to catch and defend against passes.

      Then I realized they were deaf.  A very occasional call out or yell, but no words.  However, a lot of gestures, eyes sharply tuned, and from time to time American Sign Language.

       I noticed a CSUN sweatshirt, California State University Northridge, known for its deaf program; hence this number of non-hearing young men enjoying themselves athletically and communicating--quietly--was really not that extraordinary.

Heard in a Word

       On the air, I heard of someone who was an "oxygenarian"--yes, that was the sound, which I knew must be "octogenarian," but once I heard it that way, I realized indeed both "words" apply to me.

       I am in my eighties,  83 as of this week--my prerogative to take the whole week for my birthday at this age--but with asthma and what my primary physician has referred to for the last five years as COPD,  I have breathing challenges that make me an "oxygenarian" too.

       I might as well, while claiming seven days for my birthday, make a single word serve up two meanings that both apply to me!

Homemade Prayer?

       The language of prayer can be mystifying or arcane to many.  I myself say a few words of thanks and concern each morning, thinking about family and friends, but I don't, haven't, before meals like one of my friends and one relative.  Those two give me pause when they take a moment before eating to say a few words.

       Naomi Levy moved me to imagine I could try such a thing.  I found a Blessing over Food in her "homemade" prayer book Talking to God, a book which gives you to wonder why we don't make up our own prayers more often.  These words struck me with their simplicity and justness:

                               Thank you for plants, animals, and water.


      

Un Peu de Français

       Good friends Sally and Marcel back in the U.S. after living 13 years in France.  Back where email greetings are no longer the order of the day (and the birthday).  Thrilled Connie and I were to see and be with them today.  AND for me to receive this "hard copy" in person, to dangle a bit more French before my eyes brought fresh from their home in Provence:

  
       Let's see--"Very, Very, Joyous
                                                       Birthday
                                                                     to a Person
                                                                                       Truly Tremendous
                       Who on this Festive Day
                                                                 Deserves Beautiful Things!"
                                   
                                                 "Ah, Merci!"

"Fulsome"

       This is note I took of a past "word crisis" between two educated and bright broadcasters:

       The panel of commentators on radio's "Left, Right, and Center" had a difference of opinion about the Occupy Wall Street movement in New York City.  Three of the panel opined positively about the protest, and one was pretty much ready to dismiss it.

       Realizing the imbalance in the discussion, the moderator said, "Tony, you're outnumbered here; you deserve time for a fulsome response. Go ahead."

       Tony said, "Fulsome means overripe.   I wouldn't want to give that kind of response."

       Both gentlemen were correct in their respective understandings of the word, but the danger is confusion.  Merriam-Webster says fulsome can ambiguously mean "copious," "abundant," as the moderator intended, or "overdone," "excessively effusive," as Tony took it.

"The Iceberg Theory"

       Daughter Elizabeth seems to have found the perfect poem for my birthday to capture one strong recollection she has of me:  I liked and defended iceberg lettuce when the world had long since shunned it.  Gerald Locklin expresses the position beautifully.   

             The Iceberg Theory

all the food critics hate iceberg lettuce.
you'd think romaine was descended from
orpheus's laurel wreath,
you'd think raw spinach had all the nutritional
benefits attributed to it by popeye,
not to mention aesthetic subtleties worthy of
verlaine and debussy.
they'll even salivate over chopped red cabbage
just to disparage poor old mr. iceberg lettuce.

I guess the problem is
it's just too common for them.
It doesn't matter that it tastes good,
has a satisfying crunchy texture,
holds its freshness
and has crevices for the dressing,
whereas the darker, leafier varieties
are often bitter, gritty, and flat.
It just isn't different enough and
it's too goddamn american.

of course a critic has to criticize;
a critic has to have something to say
perhaps that's why literary critics
purport to find interesting
so much contemporary poetry
that just bores the shit out of me.

at any rate, I really enjoy a salad
with plenty of chunky iceberg lettuce,
the more the merrier,
drenched in an Italian or roquefort dressing.
and the poems I enjoy are those I don't have
to pretend that I'm enjoying.

Gerald Locklin

Writer Needs an Ear for Words

       Pondering writing the other day, I took down my Best of Sydney J. Harris to look through Harris's thoughtful ruminations on the arts.

       Recalling Mark Twain's annoyed observation that "the difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug," Harris goes on:

       "Most persons--and this includes aspiring writers--simply fail to recognize that there are very few true synonyms in the language, no matter what the dictionary may insist....

       "The right word is as important to the writer as the right note to the composer or the right line to the painter....A writer needs an "ear" as much as a musician does.

       "And without this ear, he is lost and groping in a forest of words, where all the trees look much alike."

      

When the Image Matches the Description

       There was a strange photo in the L.A. Times to accompany Mark Swed's review of a young violinist 's performance with the L.A. Philharmonic. The photo caught my eye:

Swed noted in his review that soloist Janine Jansen "was all but a member of the ensemble, standing so close to the orchestra she would not have needed to take a step had she wanted to sit on a cellist's lap."

       Indeed, the photo seems to show a cellist's arm fully extended and encircling Jansen's waist in order to get to his instrument!

                                     (Click on photo to enlarge)

 

Writers on Writing

       Philip Roth was approached by a budding writer who pressed his first novel on him.  Upon returning the manuscript, Roth said, "Yeah, this is great.  But I would quit while you're ahead."  Roth then spoke of the awful and torturous field of writing.  "I would say just stop now.  You don't want to do this to yourself."

       The account appeared in today's David L. Ulin column on "The Reading Life" in the L.A. Times.  By column's end some positive notes are struck by both Ulin and the young novelist himself on the bleak field of writing.

       Nevertheless, it's hard to resist the truthful ring of what Ulin also includes from sportswriter Red Smith:  "There's nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."     

"Teaspoonfuls"

       I saw “four teaspoonfuls” on the bottle of a product Connie bought and wondered about that plural.  One dictionary gave me this form first but also approved “teaspoonsful,” which I think might be more “correct.”  The Oxford English Dictionary appeared to avoid the issue by not giving a plural form at all!

       But perhaps the OED was on to something because online I came across a technical writer who said in such problematic instances as "teaspoonfuls" versus "teaspoonsful" it is best to look for another way of saying the same thing, and suggested, for example, “use four teaspoons of x”! 

And on My "Left"...

       My son David has a blog in which he posts sporadically; I was just admiring again an entry about his (and others') difficulties in being left-handed.

       And it's true that left-handedness is not an honored state within language itself.

       From the French, we have "gauche" and "adroit," the former meaning both "left" and socially inept or graceless, the latter to be literally "to the right," and "therefore" to show "skill, cleverness, or resourcefulness."

       Would you believe "left" itself comes from Old English lyft-, "weak, useless," and "right" from Old English riht, "just, correct, straight."

       I hesitate to mention the Latin-sourced "dexterous" from dexter, "on the right side" and "sinister" (same in Latin), "on the left side," the positives and negatives being quite clear.

       Empathize further, and interestingly, with David here. 

"Artisan"

       Domino’s now has special “Artisan” pizza.  Pretty fancy name.  A Times story says the term comes “from the Italian artigiano, was coined as far back as the 16th century to refer to a skilled craftsman who carved or otherwise hand-tooled an item.”

       Foodies have used the word to signify “made in an old-fashioned hands-on manner.”

       But Domino’s doesn’t want to alienate its regular customers who could care less about foodies and their ritzy terms; so Domino's also puts on its box in large letters:  “We’re Not Artisans.”  And, ”We don’t wear black berets, cook with wood-fired ovens or apprentice with the masters in Italy.”

       Domino’s:  straining to speak out of both sides of its mouth. 

"Circa"

       I always love it a bit when I come across “circa.”  I understand what it means because I studied Latin.

      This is no great feather in my cap.  Everyone knows what "circa" means, whether a person has studied Latin or not.  But it is a Latin word, and it means “around,” and we often see it when no one knows the exact date; so a good guess would be “circa 1900” or circa whatever.

      I suppose the use of it instead of “around” is to escape seeming dumb for not knowing the exact date.  You don’t appear dumb when you use Latin; you just dumbfound everyone else.

America

       Columnist Hector Tobar wrote in the L.A. Times of a thirty-year high school reunion in Pasadena of students who were among the first to be integrated by federal court order, a class of kids with multiple skin colors who simply became friends.

       In the column, Tobar quoted the words “equal daughters, equal sons…all alike endear’d.”  The words are by Walt Whitman, which I might have guessed from the affirmative tone.  They’re from the short poem “America.” 

      And here was an American class, still friends in adulthood going back thirty years and more, standing as proof of Whitman’s words. 

"Bury"

       I heard two different people pronounce “bury” as BURR-ee.  One was the President of the United States, Barack Obama, the other a fellow reader with me at the Los Angeles Radio Reading Service.  So I had to look it up.

       I’ve always pronounced it BEAR-ee as in “berry” for example; and though I’ve heard the other way on occasion, I did think that pronunciation sub-par.

      Two respectable sources have it BEAR-ee; one also respectable has it both ways.

      BURR-ee would seem to have justification in that the word shares root meaning from Old English with “burrow,” “borrow,” and “borough,” that meaning being “shelter” or “protection.”  All three words have pronunciations closer to BURR than BEAR!

       (For history and development of bury's spelling and pronunciation, go here.)

       

Words Will Trick You Every Time

       I once heard an explanation on radio of why a bride wears white.  It was very much like this; in fact, just about verbatim:

       "A bride's wearing all white symbolizes that she's inviolate."

       Wait a minute, didn't you just say she was in white?

Good Words

       Connie and I had some good words last night.  With her bad back and some pills helping provide a less painful and easier rest,  Connie has gotten off to sleep earlier than I recently.  I usually give her a kiss as she’s ready to turn off the light.  Tonight I stood at the side of the bed, leaned over, and Connie wrapped her arms around my neck, and I kissed her.  Our conversation went this way: 

        Connie:  You feel good.    
        Me:     You kiss good.

And we chuckled together before saying goodnight. 

A Little Preposition Lets Intent Shine Through

       L.A. Times theatre critic Charles McNulty may have given his true attitude in the perhaps unconscious alteration of a phrase. 

       Referring to a National Theatre production he’d seen in London, McNulty said,

       "When I caught the production...grown men were reduced to sobbing puddles of hilarity.  I’ve never been a huge fan of the Benny Hill style myself, but this madcap caper, involving mistaken identity, bumbling mobsters and all sorts of shameless shenanigans revolving around food, tickled me to no end."

       The Benny Hill remark and especially the use of the phrase “to no end” instead of the more common “no end,”  perhaps suggest the work’s shortcomings to him.  The play may have tickled him, but apparently “to no purpose” rather than “a vast amount.”

Why Not? Heavenly MO

        Our Kaiser Health Maintenance Organization had us pay for parking until they seem to have decided it wasn’t worth the delays it took to make payment, the cost to employ money-takers, or whatever, and in a decision that may appeal to just about everybody, the “gates” are now unpersoned, and as you go by the little booth and see a lowered stick blocking your way, a sign reads

                APPROACH SLOWLY   
                GATE WILL RISE

        I am minded, and why shouldn’t I be, of a possible similar sign.   If I’m not in too much of a hurry and don’t press my case, could be it’ll be just that easy when I get to heaven. 

Cartoonist Punster

  

That "High" British Pronunciation

       OK, I’m fascinated with the sound of words.  Actually I find it quite sexy to hear Frances Anderton, one of the producers of Warren Olney’s wonderful radio show To the Point, say “dot com.”  Why?  She’s British with an impeccable upper class pronunciation, and her highly polished utterance of the language is very hard to resist.

       That more rounded British “o” in “dot” and “com,” with the perfectly articulated “t,” unlike my Minnesoda “t,” somehow has great sensual and seductive appeal to me.  I guess it’s hearing high-end lips steeped in class and culture “dirtying” themselves on the common clay of digital lingo that gets me!

"Who-Whom?" (and Beyond) 3

       And finally, here's a tricky, tough nut:

       "(He/him) who doesn't speak, God doesn't hear." 

        It isn't strictly speaking a "who/whom" question but poses the same issue, i.e., whether the doubtful word is a subject or an object.
     
       Changing the word order, "God doesn't hear him who doesn't speak."  You wouldn't say, "God doesn't hear he." Peculiarly, in this saying, the first word is the object of the last word. 

       And please note in contrast with my tricky one that "She who laughs last, laughs best."  And now you know why.  Don't you?

       In both these examples, however, neutral gender language would be best.  "The one who doesn't speak, God doesn't hear."  "The one who laughs last, laughs best."

"Who-Whom?" 2

       Here are some more sample sentences.  It helps to remember, that the letter "m" connects "him," and "whom" (and "them" when plural is needed)  as objects.

       (Who, whom) shall I take to the movie?
(Change word order to ordinary sentence, not a question.  Replace with "he," "him."  So?)

       To (who, whom) do I owe the honor of this visit?
(Temporarily change word order again.  Substitute "she," "her."  Which fits?  Therefore?)

       I don't know (who, whom) wants to lead the group.
(Starting in mid-sentence, try "he," "him."  Which sounds right?  So ?)

       I don't know (who, whom) the teacher wants to lead the group.
(Start mid-sentence.  Change word order to put "she," "her" with verb "wants."  Now which sounds right?  Voila, you have it.)        
              

"Who-Whom"--Have fun

       This is an attempt to answer my wife Connie's request to deal with  the "who-whom" dilemma:

       "Who" is subject; "whom" is object.  So if you can substitute "he" or "she" for the questionable word and it sounds right to you, the proper word is "who."  If you can substitute "him" or "her" for the doubtful word and it sounds right, the proper choice is "whom."  Also, shifting the word order temporarily to put the dilemma word closer to the preposition or verb it belongs with will help in deciding  too.

                                                           SAMPLES
       (Who, whom) wants to take a walk with me?
               (Substitute "he," then "him."  Got an answer?  You're right.)

       (Who, whom) do you want to take a walk with?
               (you do want to take a walk with (who, whom).  Substitute "she," "her."  Got it?  Right.

      
      

"Talking to My Students" by Michael L. Newell

     
        I was catching up on my former student, present friend's, poems, which he sends me by email (has sent me for years).  A good spate of poems.   Some of them tempted me to want to read them aloud on my blog.  Michael emailed me his blessing if I were tempted enough.  So here's one:

                                TALKING TO MY STUDENTS
 
                    Words stream through my mouth, a channel                
                    for voices I had forgotten: there's my father,
                    how did he get in there--I thought I had left
                    him at the ancestral home and moved myself
                    on down the road; there's old Bob lecturing
                    my drama class--why the sneaky bastard even
                    slips into my English classes where he has no
                    territorial rights; Ben, dead and buried, brings
                    his ascetic haunted face and voice, his moral
                    clarity, into my discussions--softly scolding
                    my lack of rigor; singing a song, there is Joseph
                    smiling, nodding encouragement, making sure
                    I  keep time accurately, hit the right notes,
                    remember the melody, treat the lyrics with respect;
                    I have become a river where streams merge--dozens
                    of friends, teachers, relatives, colleagues, students,
                    even an occasional enemy, have filled me
                    with their thoughts, their words, their rhythms; I am
                    a typical American, mongrel to the core, never one,
                    always many, never pure, always a mixture
                    of contradictory traits which strengthen one another;
                    my current carries with it the debris of every life
                    which has brushed up against me; my voice, I tell
                    the faces in front of me, is not my own, it belongs
                    to every person I have known; it belongs to you.

                    Michael L. Newell

 


     
      

"Adjusting" Republican Language

       Jon Stewart  did his comic/critical job this evening taking to task the new linguistic approach of Republicans trying to regain momentum lost in the 2012 election.

       Resident language expert and GOP advisor Frank Luntz said all Republicans have to do is change the "language errors" and make "adjustments."   Don't call for "smaller government" but for "more effective and efficient government."  Don't call for "controlling growth of Medicare and Social Security"; say "save and strengthen entitlements."

       In other words, you may want to hack government down to a barely noticeable entity and slice social programs a breath short of disappearance, but just sound like you're for improving and rescuing them!

       So it's Orwellian, even if not as blatant as "Freedom is Slavery."

 
      



         

"Goodbye"

       Language is the most malleable of stuff.  Transformations take place over time.  One of the most interesting to me is "goodbye," which is an alteration of "God be with you."  How did it happen?  Probably something like this:

           God be with you

           God be with ye

           God be wi' ye

           God b'w'ye

           God bwye

           Good-bye ( may be influenced by "good day" and "good night")

           Goodby

High School Latin to the Rescue

       When I came home from tennis yesterday about noon, Connie asked, “Have a good game?”

       I found myself saying, “I got up.  I went.  I played.”   I guess I was echoing and mocking the “Veni, vidi, vici” (WENN-ee, WEED-ee, WEEK-ee) reportedly written by Julius Caesar in 47 B.C.E.
 
       However, Caesar said, “I came, I saw, I conquered,” and I the opposite in the least painful way I could manage to utter it.

Words Summoning the Pride and Dignity of Labor

       Last month I gave a  poetry reading for a fellowship group at our temple.  One of the poems was "Shirt" by Robert Pinsky.  The poem honors those who labor to make shirts for us around the world.

       While preparing my reading, I tried to recall the song that used to be played as a commercial thirty or more years back for the ILGWU, the International Ladies Garment Workers Union.  It touched me every time I heard it.  My kids were young at the time, and when it was played, they'd turn toward me and say, "Look Dad's crying again."

       Well, I found it online of course, and it's still worth hearing and pondering. 

       

Pasta's Many Shapes (and Names)

       Connie made a tortellini soup for dinner.  I knew the "ini" meant "little," and found the first part was based on "torta," meaning "cake."  They were little round pasta kind of curled up, and so the shape of "little cakes."

       Over the years I have found pasta at the grocery by their looks based on the roots in their names.  I'm not sure how thankful I was to learn that vermicelli are "small worms," so named for the slender rolls or threads of paste, but farfalle are "butterflies," which are pleasant, and I was happy to learn that linguine pasta are "little tongues," narrow and flattened like a tongue.

       Maybe I was happy because linguine has the same root as "language," which after all we do sometimes call "a tongue."   

"Undeserved" vs. "Underserved"

       In a business page column of the L.A. Times of September 1, 2011, Michael Hiltzik writes of the "undeserving poor," so-called by some.  The column debunks the term, and it made me think of the easy mixup between the words "undeserved" and "underserved."
     
      The poor are often “underserved,” get a smaller piece of the pie the federal government serves up to its citizens.  Hiltzik’s column clearly demonstrates that that is the case.

      The other term, “undeserving poor,” takes a totally opposite stance.  And Hiltzik quotes A. J. Liebling  as having identified what this term is really saying: “that the poor are poor because of their sins and whatever they get is too good for them.”  It is a term that deserves debunking.
      

"Numinous"

       The word "numinous" is a lovely word.  Of course it's just a word, a word like any other word.  You want a dictionary definition, you can get it.  And then...there's what it refers to.

       The O.E.D. says "Divine, spiritual:  revealing or indicating the presence of a divinity; awe-inspiring.   Also, aesthetically appealing, uplifting."  Merriam-Webster says "1:  Supernatural, mysterious  2: filled with a sense of the presence of divinity:  holy  3:  appealing to the higher emotions or to the aesthetic sense:  spiritual."

       But the root goes to Latin nuere, "nod" and Greek neuein, "to incline the head."  That which is numinous is that which has been given the "divine nod."

Yiddish in His Own Mind

         Word a day keeps the doctor away.  No, that's an apple.  But "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," my Grandma said.  (I thought it was a Jewish expression for that reason, but I'm afraid it's more universal than that.)  I also thought "spatula" must be Yiddish because it sounded so funny and foreign to my American-born ears.  Actually, it's Late Latin in origin with the same or related root as "spade" for turning over soil as "spatula" turns over pancakes.  And that's ... all the Jewish expressions I have for you today--none.

Cartoonist Plays with Words (& Letters)

 

Tide of Revolt Sweeps Mid...

        Rebellion and fighting in Mali, Algerians and Mauritanians involved, Syria (egad!), and what's happening in Egypt (which many, many Egyptians are asking more than I am).

        Tide of revolt sweeps Mideast

        This exact headline appeared 2 1/2 years ago.  What was a transplanted Californian who grew up in Minnesota to make of such makeovers as were going on in the Mideast?  In fact,  Connie and I, native Minneapolitan and St. Paulite, respectively, both read that headline when it appeared  Tide of revolt sweeps Midwest.  We're not used to seeing that shortened-from-the-Middle-East form for anything but our native Midwest.  It was shocking to think of the Midwest in a tide of revolt, even if only momentarily! 

       But as it's going, the same headline could be broken out again. 

Pronouncing Foreign Names

       A major tennis tournament is ending today in Australia.  Many more countries send competitors than in former years; what a challenge it is for those not from the player’s country to pronounce the names.  At a recent tournament I jotted these notes:
 
    Today Jankovich played Palyuchenkova.  That second name has six syllables, PAL-ee-you-CHENGK-o-vuh.
    I always get mixed up between Cilic and Lubicic, pronounced CHILL-itch and L’YOU-bih-chitch.  Federer finally beat Cilic today in a hard-fought match, and only after it was over did I realize I’d been thinking Cilic was Lubicic.
    Tipsarevic won a match I didn’t see.  His name is pronounced tip-SAHR-uh-vitch or tip-suh-RAY-vitch--I don’t know which.

"Nostalgia"

       I was reminded today that the word "nostalgia" is at least half "pain"; that's the "algia" part of it.  It can be sentimental longing for what's past, and therefore approaching the maudlin, but it needn't be.

       Anticipating a final chance to study ancient Jewish texts with our senior rabbi who is retiring to live in Israel, I recalled the numerous classes we had together poring over texts for what they could teach us at present, with liveliness and humor and open discussion...for the last approximately twenty years.  There was a joy in learning and in the sharing.  The pain came in suddenly foreseeing the absence.

         Nostos, Greek, means "returning home."  The Oxford English Dictionary suggests it all best and most succinctly: "acute longing for [the] familiar..."  That "acute" carries the pain.    

      

Just So the Neon Doesn't Run Out of Gas

       Connie and I are always amused at the bright red neon sign above a store in a mini mall not too far from us.  The sign reads

                 SALVATION ARMY THRIFT STORE AND BOUTIQUE 

I think it’s the “boutique” that gets us most, plus the surprisingly fancy and colorful sign. 

       Only thing is, frequently some of the letters are broken or out of commission.  Especially when you go by at night, as we did recently after a movie, the sign is prominent, but the unlighted letters are invisible.  If it were your first time going by, what would you make of a sign that read

                                ION AR                           TORE AND BOU

But we should stop by and find out just how "boutique" a Salvation Army store can be.

Is the Creator's Gender in Question?

       Novelist Meg Waite Clayton in an L.A. Times op-ed piece yesterday not only thanked the president for supporting equality for women in his inaugural address, but noted that female pronouns outnumbered male pronouns five to two in the address, "a high point in...inaugural speeches."

       Clayton, therefore, like me, found it jarring to hear "God bless you.  And may He forever bless these United States of America."  Another hurdle?  To degenderize God?  One solution here, simply retain "God" a second time in place of "He."

       Various religious denominations are meeting this challenge, my own Reform Judaism included, and avoiding "Lord" as equivalent to God due to masculine associations, hence  "Sovereign," "Eternal," and so on.  I think it's a worthy project today to not bias the Creator as one sex and not the other.

 

Tongue-tied Tattlers

Calvin Trillin, "Deadline Poet" in The Nation, wrote

                         The Nomination of Chuck Hagel for 
                        Secretary of Defense

                        Opponents think that Hagel should
                        Be more respectful of Likud.
                        And on Iran, whose nuke we're battling,
                        He's shown no zest for saber rattling.
                         The first fight for this loyal lieutenant
                         Won't be abroad but in the Senate.

which (with Obama's speech in mind) prompted my response to Trillin

                        I'd like to praise you for your rhyme;
                        It's almost always on the dime.
                         And Barack Obama would agree,
                         Especially on couplet three:
                         The man who pronounces "tenet" "tenant"
                         Would figure "senate" sounds like "lieutenant." 


                            

            

Car Wash Dialogue

“Whose car is the white one?” 
        “Mine.” 
“You know you have a hole...?”
        “In the windshield.  Yes, been there a dozen years.  No, I don’t want it fixed.”

              Silence.  We watched the car getting sealer waxed.
 
“You gonna keep it?”  
        “Whadaya mean?”  
“Interested in selling it?” 
       “That car goes.  As long as I’m still going, it goes with me!     

             He backed off, smiled, disappeared.

             How many insults can a man endure in one car wash?

Richard Blanco, "One Today"

       A poet doesn't get something approaching a million pairs of ears for his or her poem very often.  Richard Blanco did today at Barack Obama's second inauguration.  The poem was titled "One Today."

       Most of all, I admired the ambition of the poem.  I heard in it the minority voice trying to speak for all of us, seeking to become all of us.  It had the sweep and empathy and joy of the multiplicity of America in it.  I heard Norman Corwin's voice among others calling out the particularity of our differences and the expanse of our commonality, willing us to the unity which honors in our hearts that full-throated America.

                                                                         

Maybe He Suddenly Recalled His 1st Stint as Guv

       Jerry Brown is cocky and confident as governor now with his Prop. 30 having passed to up taxes and help save California's neck.  But two years ago at his inauguration it wasn't the same.  Wonderful how a slight pause in speech can totally subvert your verbal message.

      The chief Justice of the California Supreme Court did the honors.

 Jerry Brown:   I take this obligation freely.
 Chief Justice:  Without any mental reservation?
 Jerry Brown:   Without any…mental reservation.  (Audience laughter)
 Chief Justice:   Or...?
 Jerry Brown:   Really!  No mental reservation.  (Louder laughter)

       

      
      

"Browse"

       Amazing the common soil in which words grow.

       We have "browsers" for the Internet, but it's warming to know that this high tech tool is associated with the lowly cow grazing in the field.

       Whether browsing in a bookstore (if you can find one) or browsing the World Wide Web, we are back with the animals slowly tasting of the new sprouts.  This is what "browse" comes from.  It is probably a modification of the Middle French brouts.

        I am personally glad to chew my cud over this one.

        

       

"%&*#," He Said Inscrutably

       The "99 cents only" store advertises a 24 inch Beach Ball.
                                               
                                      “Those %&*# Beach Balls!”

the ad exclaims, you know, because people get both exasperated and intrigued by beach balls sailing near them at baseball games.

       We recognize those typed symbols as signifying swearing.  But what if we really said them aloud--

          "Those percentage ampersand asterisk pound Beach Balls!"

I think they could be almost as expressive as the language they're intended to substitute for, don’t you?

"Legacy Competing with Lame Duckery"

       I heard that risible but thought-provoking characterization today of President Obama's situation for the remainder of his presidency.

       Obama will be focused on what he most wants to achieve and be remembered by before his second term ends; opponents will hone in on defeating and delaying, knowing the president cannot be re-elected.

       "Two powerful forces," says diplomat Aaron David Miller, "legacy competing with lame duckery." 

"Lethality"

       One word keeps going over in my head these last few days, and it's "lethality."  I learned from the "gun talk" on the air waves that that is a chief criterion of interest and prestige amongst gun owners.  It is a high order value for desirousness and...decision to purchase.

      The aridness of that word, the abstraction from reality of the very sound of it must be a way to keep one from thinking about other things like "death" or "blood" or "mayhem" or " conscience." 

"And the Winner Is...."

       Until a better expression of love comes along, I'm content to rest with the one Anne Hathaway made to her husbaand the other night at the end of her Golden Globe acceptance speech:

       "Honey, you make every day better than the last, and thanks for a whole string of yesterdays.  I love you."

A Twist of the Tongue

       The daily paper can turn up tongue twisters that defy utterance.  You don't need familiar ones like "toy boat."

       A newspaper afforded me this:  "Clooney's peace pleas."  Say it ten times fast without mistakes.  Good luck.  Whether you're successful or not, it will have given your "articulators" a good workout.

"The Times" Trying to Keep Up with the Times

       Every day I see a section of the L.A. Times headed

                                              LATEXTRA

The E serves two words, and the red letter better allows it to do that.  This section has news that’s later breaking than could make it into the front section; so the name is appropriate.

       The “LA” which begins the heading is right for the city and its abbreviated initials.  If your eye wants to see LA TEXT, it can do so; that and the no-space-between-words hints at the uptodateness and speed of computers, email, texting, and websites, trumpeting print papers’ effort to “stay in the game” with the latest technology.

       All in all, LATEXTRA is a slightly off-kilter heading that hits the mark!

"Gobsmacked"

        Didn't know this word till Stephen Sondheim used it in an interview:  Asked how he felt about having a theatre named after him, Sondheim said, "I was gobsmacked."

       "Gob" is a mouth, perhaps from Gaelic and Irish.

        Being gobsmacked signifies the gesture of clapping a hand over the mouth; flabbergasted, stunned into speechlessness with amazement.

      

How Cell Phones Have Improved Communication?

      

                                          (Click on comic to ENLARGE)
      

"Time Is Money" Is No Excuse

       "Market Place" is a pretty good daily public radio show, and I listen from time to time, but I have a  pet peeve.    Host Kai Ryssdal is amiable, easy to listen to, and a competent interviewer, I'd say.  But he always ends his interviews with "Thank you for your time."

       It probably bothers me because as a college prof, when a student once said to me at the end of an office hour visit, "Thank you for your time," I felt insulted.  If that's all I gave him during our visit, I must have failed.

       Kai, a "thanks" alone might be enough.  Maybe a "Thanks for that insight" or "Thanks for the benefit of your experience" or even "Thanks for your opinion" would suggest the value of the interview and express appreciation.  Presumably your guest is doing something more than just hanging out with you.

No, We're Not Far from the Apes

       Over a year ago, The Planet of the Apes was re-released from 43 years before.  I enjoyed it back then but had no hankering to see it OR to make the acquaintance of a "prequel" to the original story which was coming out at the same time.

        This week Connie did record that prequel from TV; I watched it with her, and we both enjoyed it quite a lot, which vindicates the review given the film when it came out.   Our fine L.A. Times critic Kenneth Turan thought Rise of the Planet of the Apes one of the prize movies of the season.

       Probably best of all, though?   The critical "bon mot" of the season, which was part of Turan's review.  It  asserted the team who made the movie "earn an opposable thumbs up"!

      

        

Writing Endings Can be Difficult

       Many, many in Los Angeles and elsewhere in California will have read today's "Appreciation" in the L.A. Times of public television broadcaster, host, interviewer, Huell Howser who has died after decades of exploring the state's high roads, byroads, and lives of unique and average Californians.

       The wonderful tribute was written by Robert Lloyd whose empathic columns on television I have praised before through email comment to him.  This column was an especially fine and comprehensive appreciation of Huell's talents and contributions.  Find it here.

       I do recommend your reading the piece.  But I also have to wonder about something.  After a warm, sensitive, and intelligent column, it seemed to end rather unsatisfyingly for all that had gone before.

       Lloyd begins his conclusion by quoting something Howser had said to Lloyd in 2009 for an earlier article:  "You could tell me that I couldn't go outside of a five-mile radius from where we're having breakfast right now for stories and I wouldn't blink an eye.  There's enough right within five miles to keep me busy the rest of my life."

       This was terrific, but Lloyd then ends his piece with "The stories will have to get along without him now."

       I couldn't help feeling Lloyd had short-changed himself for what his own column had built up to, and I simply wrote a final paragraph I thought Lloyd's appreciation had earned, especially after the quote from Huell himself:

       "I don't know that there's anybody in California who would disagree with that assertion by Huell, least of all the hundreds and thousands of people, ordinary and not-so-ordinary, whose stories he helped bring to light."

AND, Poetry Is Medicine for the Soul!

       First time I've been asked to take a pill in the form of a "troche" (TRO-key).  The medicine is identified as "White, Round-shaped Tablet (Flat-faced)."  Shape and size of a dime, in fact.   The word comes ultimately from Greek trekhein=to run, which gave birth to trokhos, wheel, and thence trokhiskos, meaning little wheel, which fits the tablet I'm dissolving in my mouth five times daily for awhile.

       But why my slight unease still with "troche"?  Yes, it's that metrical foot in poetry too, spelled "trochee,"  a stressed and an unstressed syllable, the meter called "trochaic":   for example,  "Should you ask me / Whence these stories / Whence these Legends and traditions....." from Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha.   It must have been perceived as a rolling meter; hence the name "trochaic."

       A medicine and a poetic meter, both running on "little wheels."

Good Journalism, Worth Praising

       An L.A. Times article today wonders whether classical conductors appreciate pop and rock music.  Seems most do and even have favorites.

       But I was stopped by a certain word in this sentence:  "[F]or baby boom conductors such as [Marin] Alsop [Baltimore Symphony] and Fabio Luisi, principal conductor of the Metropolitan Opera in New York, pop and rock was in the air during their formidable years."

       The author surely meant "formative."  I could write,  challenge; yet no editors caught it??

       But I'd rather compliment good writing.  I did recently in an email to Christopher Knight, Times Art Critic.  He had said about Alexander Calder's work:  "In a mobile, wire provides an elegant one-dimensional line for two-dimensional abstract shapes to be suspended in complex three-dimensional compositions that bring motion's invisible fourth dimension of time and space into view."

       "I've never seen a more perfect description of a mobile," I said, "Maybe it's not surprising no one's able to walk in Calder's footsteps."  Knight thanked me,  said he appreciated the feedback. 

If Every Note or Word's Important, None Are

       Today I saw on TV a video documentary on pianist, conductor, teacher...true musician...Murray Perahia.  It closes with some words from Perahia that strike me as not only about music, but other arts and professions, perhaps the conduct of our lives:

       "We live in a culture where foreground is more important than, let's say, middleground or background.  Everything is on the surface.  But there has to be a hierarchy in the end.  One has to know which are the most important notes; otherwise, every note gets played the same or gets thought of the same....And I think that's very destructive.  That either makes very boring playing, or falsely expressive playing, which is I think equally bad....Nothing goes deep."

"A Story in Every Seat"

       The Hollywood Bowl has a slogan that hits home:   "A story in every seat."

       This outdoor concert venue is not a great place to experience a concert but is a great place for memorable experiences.  Who were you with?  What location did you have--high up? down in the boxes?  What music?  Did you bring food, get a dinner there, buy or bring some wine, have a picnic outside before the concert?  Who was performing?  How was the sound, how was the look of the stage that year?

       For me, “a story in every seat” fits the Bowl to a T.

"Amapola" Returns, Summoned by a Rhythm

       What prompts you to remember a forgotten song?  It might be a word.  It might be just the rhythm of a word.

       Connie brought home an easy-to-make dinner called "Steak Gorgonzola."   I said it aloud with the 4-syllable rhythm (GOR-guhn-ZO-luh) and immediately began humming a tune from somewhere.  As I went on wordlessly, recalling the whole melody as I went, Connie asked, "What is it?"  "I don't know," I said.

       But I thought about it, and another word came to me, "Caledonia." It would fit the rhythm...but wasn't that another song?

       Finally it hit--"Amapola."  Wikipedia brought rest of the words, etc.; reached top of the charts in 1941; song began with the title name.  Many, many years since it had passed my ears, lips, or thoughts. 

       Oh heck, why don't I just sing it for you?

       

                            

By All Means, Banish "Fiscal Cliff"

       The "Overused Words List" is out from Michigan's Lake Superior State University, an annual New Year's event.  Among the popular nominations, with selected reasons:

       Fiscal Cliff--receiving the greatest number of complaints, one nominator having the most personal reason to decry the endless use of the term:  Barbara CLIFF, Johnstown, Pennsylvania.

       Kick the Can Down the Road--"I'm surprised it wasn't on your 2012 list--were you just kicking the, um, phrase down the road to 2013?"--T. Jones, Ann Arbor, Michigan.

        Double Down--a blackjack term; "Over-used within the last year or so in politics."--John Gates, Cumberland, Maine.

       Trending--"A trend is something temporary, thank goodness; however, it is not a verb, and I'm tired of news stations telling me what trite 'news' is 'trending.'"--Kyle Melton, White Lake, Michigan.

         

Peering Back on New Year's Day

       I know how far back a few relatives and friends go with me when they call me Donnie:  to my teens and early twenties.

       It's only those who see me intermittently, and it's kind of sweet, the diminutive, affectionate "ie" ending.

       They may glimpse me as I was then.  And with a pirate's spyglass, I almost do too.