Servile
You wanna feel servile? Do you? DO YOU? Write a daily blog. Seriously, try it. Do you think I'm having fun writing this stuff? Well, I'm NOT!!! You think I'm all hanging out by the pool, working on my tan and my six-pack, being served nibblies by the cabana boy. I'm not! This is my usual day:
AM
6:00 - Get up and log in to see what the Word of the Day is.
6:10 - Jump in the shower and do my morning toilette.
6:30 - Meditate for 30 minutes on the word to become one with it.
7:00 - First cup of coffee and bran cereal.
7:15 - Search DuckDuckGo looking for additional information on the Word.
7:45 - Give the 'sband a good morning kiss and have second cup of coffee.
7:46 - Search Google Images for additional visual cues of the word.
8:15 - Search the public library databases for additional information on the word, including, but not limited to, The NY Times historical files, Academic Search Premier, American Periodicals Online 1740 - 1941, MasterFile Premier, and Fugitive Fact File.
9:00 - Watch Live with Kelly.
10:00 - Go through personal emails and Facebook and have third cup of coffee.
10:45 - Go through Blog related emails and feedback.
10:46 - Go for stimulating walk to meditate further on the Word.
11:30 - Get the blog ready for writing.
11:45 - Write first draft and drink liter bottle of Mountain Dew.
PM
12:15 - Realize it's crap and rewrite it.
12:45 - Play Bubbletown in frustration.
1:30 - Realize I'm a mess cuz I'm running on caffeine.
1:35 - Eat lunch - usually Earl's Cheese Puffs, a box of macaroni and cheese (sometimes just the powder pack if I don't wanna boil water) and a half-dozen Twizzlers.
2:00 - Watch Bonanza on ME TV. Pine for cable and TCM.
3:00 - Realize I'm having a caffeine crash. Have a Lo-Cal Monster.
3:01 - Rewrite column for third time.
3:30 - Weep silently knowing that the entry sucks like all the other and that no one cares.
3:45 - Watch the story line of "Neighbours" on YouTube involving hot-guy Chris.
4:30 - Read over the blog entry and shake the laptop like it's an Etch-a-Sketch hoping to make the entire virtual world get erased.
4:40 - Do a different Google Image Search.
5:30 - Realize the 'sband is at the front door and nothing has been done for dinner.
5:31 - Give the 'sband a good evening kiss and suggest salads and Lo-Cal Monsters for dinner.
5:32 - Watch 'sband roll eyes and say, "Someone has had enough caffeine for one day."
5:33 - Clutch pearls, gesticulate, and remonstrate vehemently to 'sband how crappy the day went and that the entry is terrible and caffeine is the only thing that keeps me alive and how can I go on? and just one more Lo-Cal Monster is all I ask and that if he loved me he'd make the salads cuz writing is hard and all the online databases at our library suck and can't we move to Mexico and live on beach and I can't think of one freaking thing to write about and
5:47 - 'Sband crabs laptop, read entry, smiles, and says it's great.
5:50 - See entry for 5:33.
6:03 - 'Sband gives me a mouth-covering kiss to get me to shut up.
7:15 - I realize the entry is actually pretty good.
7:20 - Edit and get ready to publish the following morning.
10:00 - Go to bed with the foreboding that drama is somewhere around the next corner of life.
And now you know. My life - welcome to it.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Benison
Benison
Mmmmmmmmm, benison...
Really? I'm from Wisconsin and I'm supposed to use this word without thinking of delicious yummy deer meat? Yea, fine, I'll admit it - I come from a family of hunters and have shot a gun before. Mainly a BB gun. Mainly at my brother's 45 RPM records* (he was very unimpressed). But hey, I've shot other guns. One. Can't remember what kind it was - some sort of hunting rifle. Like three times, maybe. I can't remember. I do remember getting hollered at by my brother for shooting up his 45s. I couldn't help it - I was going through a destructive phase. I also remember shooting at a cattail Dad threw into the swamp. I missed.
I was surprised though, because benison comes from Latin Benedicere and venison comes from Latin venation. Two words, both from Latin, one letter difference, and look at how different the words were from which they evolved. If that isn't a metaphor for the human race and life in general, I don't know what is.
OK, so I hate to change the subject, but this show we're watching just mentioned "Corinthian columns." While there is nothing about columns that would normally make my mind do such a shift, it's that word Corinthian. There is an entire generation of people in the US of A (if not two) that cannot hear the word Corinthian without thinking of leather. Of course there is no such thing as Corinthian leather, but it was drilled into our heads that it was "rich." And for anyone too young to remember those ads and thinks I'm hyperbolizing about how an entire generation would know the phrase "rich Corinthian leather," here you go. You're going to start believing me more often, aren't you? Damn straight.
*Or "rpm gramophone record" as per wikipedia. "Gramophone"??? Fer Pete's sake, if they had said they were "gramophone records" when I was a kid, I think we all woulda waited for CDs - despite the fact we had no idea such a thing was coming.
Mmmmmmmmm, benison...
Really? I'm from Wisconsin and I'm supposed to use this word without thinking of delicious yummy deer meat? Yea, fine, I'll admit it - I come from a family of hunters and have shot a gun before. Mainly a BB gun. Mainly at my brother's 45 RPM records* (he was very unimpressed). But hey, I've shot other guns. One. Can't remember what kind it was - some sort of hunting rifle. Like three times, maybe. I can't remember. I do remember getting hollered at by my brother for shooting up his 45s. I couldn't help it - I was going through a destructive phase. I also remember shooting at a cattail Dad threw into the swamp. I missed.
I was surprised though, because benison comes from Latin Benedicere and venison comes from Latin venation. Two words, both from Latin, one letter difference, and look at how different the words were from which they evolved. If that isn't a metaphor for the human race and life in general, I don't know what is.
OK, so I hate to change the subject, but this show we're watching just mentioned "Corinthian columns." While there is nothing about columns that would normally make my mind do such a shift, it's that word Corinthian. There is an entire generation of people in the US of A (if not two) that cannot hear the word Corinthian without thinking of leather. Of course there is no such thing as Corinthian leather, but it was drilled into our heads that it was "rich." And for anyone too young to remember those ads and thinks I'm hyperbolizing about how an entire generation would know the phrase "rich Corinthian leather," here you go. You're going to start believing me more often, aren't you? Damn straight.
*Or "rpm gramophone record" as per wikipedia. "Gramophone"??? Fer Pete's sake, if they had said they were "gramophone records" when I was a kid, I think we all woulda waited for CDs - despite the fact we had no idea such a thing was coming.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Aliment
Aliment
"In the Propontis, as far as I can learn, none of that peculiar substance called brit is to be found, the aliment of the right whale." — From Herman Melville's 1851 novel Moby Dick
Well, that makes the whole thing much more clear, doesn't it? My main question is, when Mr. Melville says "the right whale," is he talking about white whales in general, or THE White Whale? All that verbosity and we're just left hanging with more questions.
Speaking of authors, the 'sband recently turned me on to Amanda McKittrick Ros. She is fabulous! I wish I knew enough people that would dig getting together and reading aloud to each other from her tomes. What a delightful way to spend a quiet evening. Hmmmmm, winter is coming, and there's no better time to discover new passions than in the winter! (The sun set for the first time before 8.00 pm here....yecch - we are not amused.)
And just so you know, I realize that I mentioned Ms Ros directly after a discussion on Herman Melville. Please know that this does not mean that there is a correlation between the two. I mean, please, it's not like I had started out the entry discussing William Faulkner...oooohhhh, ouch!
Back to aliment - did you recognize it from its more technical form "alimentary canal"? For some reasons the wires in myne grey matter are registering a cross between the digestive tract and Venice. I think from here on out I'll refer to my digestive system as the alimentary canal. For some reason, referring to that extense of tubes down there as a 'canal' is making me very happy. I really want to link to a canal photo which shows the visions playing in my head, but I think I'll let it go.
"In the Propontis, as far as I can learn, none of that peculiar substance called brit is to be found, the aliment of the right whale." — From Herman Melville's 1851 novel Moby Dick
Well, that makes the whole thing much more clear, doesn't it? My main question is, when Mr. Melville says "the right whale," is he talking about white whales in general, or THE White Whale? All that verbosity and we're just left hanging with more questions.
Speaking of authors, the 'sband recently turned me on to Amanda McKittrick Ros. She is fabulous! I wish I knew enough people that would dig getting together and reading aloud to each other from her tomes. What a delightful way to spend a quiet evening. Hmmmmm, winter is coming, and there's no better time to discover new passions than in the winter! (The sun set for the first time before 8.00 pm here....yecch - we are not amused.)
And just so you know, I realize that I mentioned Ms Ros directly after a discussion on Herman Melville. Please know that this does not mean that there is a correlation between the two. I mean, please, it's not like I had started out the entry discussing William Faulkner...oooohhhh, ouch!
Back to aliment - did you recognize it from its more technical form "alimentary canal"? For some reasons the wires in myne grey matter are registering a cross between the digestive tract and Venice. I think from here on out I'll refer to my digestive system as the alimentary canal. For some reason, referring to that extense of tubes down there as a 'canal' is making me very happy. I really want to link to a canal photo which shows the visions playing in my head, but I think I'll let it go.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Belaud
Belaud
"OH MY GOD! Your blog has changed my life! Thank you so much! I read your blog daily when I first get up in the morning and it helps me get through the day. My son was just a lazy dope-smoking slacker, but since he's been reading your blog, he's gone back to school, got his SEC Series 7 and can open a dentist practice in eight states. My car runs better and my dog no longer pees on the rug. Thank you for creating this blog and allowing us to glimpse into your fascinating life. You are a witty and wise person and I thank you for all you've done for me and my family - both biological and chosen."
Yep, happens all the time.
Unfortunately not to me, but I don't know, maybe someone...somewhere.
Luckily, I'm not after immediate gratification. I write this because I want to make sure I have my place secure in internet and cultural history. I haven't mentioned this before, but when I get done writing an entry, I print out three copies - I send one to The Smithsonian Institute, one to The Library of Congress, and the third to The Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies. I make sure to put "Donation" on each of the envelopes and on the cover letter that accompanies each. I am thus part of the historical collections at three different entities.
"But what if they just throw your stuff away?" you may query.
Good question; I'm glad you asked. Have you ever been around librarians and/or curators of any sort? They hate throwing things away - especially things that are "donations." It's not that they don't want to throw things away, their brains are literally hard-wired in such a way that they can't throw things away. That's why their offices are always such a mess- it's always stuff that should be tossed, but they just can't quite do it. So while my papers may be "lost" in some office now, the day will come when an intern is asked to catalog everything. Said intern will see page after page of my writings, assume that they're part of a series the institute collects, and I'll have a lovely scanned home for my lovely scanned writings just waiting to be discovered and discussed in the scholarly journals of tomorrow. Wanna live forever? Just gotta know how to use the system.
"OH MY GOD! Your blog has changed my life! Thank you so much! I read your blog daily when I first get up in the morning and it helps me get through the day. My son was just a lazy dope-smoking slacker, but since he's been reading your blog, he's gone back to school, got his SEC Series 7 and can open a dentist practice in eight states. My car runs better and my dog no longer pees on the rug. Thank you for creating this blog and allowing us to glimpse into your fascinating life. You are a witty and wise person and I thank you for all you've done for me and my family - both biological and chosen."
Yep, happens all the time.
Unfortunately not to me, but I don't know, maybe someone...somewhere.
Luckily, I'm not after immediate gratification. I write this because I want to make sure I have my place secure in internet and cultural history. I haven't mentioned this before, but when I get done writing an entry, I print out three copies - I send one to The Smithsonian Institute, one to The Library of Congress, and the third to The Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies. I make sure to put "Donation" on each of the envelopes and on the cover letter that accompanies each. I am thus part of the historical collections at three different entities.
"But what if they just throw your stuff away?" you may query.
Good question; I'm glad you asked. Have you ever been around librarians and/or curators of any sort? They hate throwing things away - especially things that are "donations." It's not that they don't want to throw things away, their brains are literally hard-wired in such a way that they can't throw things away. That's why their offices are always such a mess- it's always stuff that should be tossed, but they just can't quite do it. So while my papers may be "lost" in some office now, the day will come when an intern is asked to catalog everything. Said intern will see page after page of my writings, assume that they're part of a series the institute collects, and I'll have a lovely scanned home for my lovely scanned writings just waiting to be discovered and discussed in the scholarly journals of tomorrow. Wanna live forever? Just gotta know how to use the system.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Sedulous
Sedulous
This morning I saw on Facebook a posting from a woman who wrote "ADVENTURE!" and then had a link to The House on the Rock. There is a bit of a conversation under it which ended with her telling a friend if "you haven't been there, you absolutely must go. You'd love it." Uh oh. I really want to respond to this, but how? Hey, I hope yer being ironic! But what is she wasn't? What if she thought HotR was actually some sort of cultural phenomenon that should be experienced in all its wonders*?
If you haven't been to House on the Rock <- read this. I'll wait.
Done? Welcome back!
I went to the House a couple times when I was a kid and it was fascinating. It was a beautiful collection of stuff that made my young mind explode in wonder. My parents loved it. I even went once by myself when I was around 20 and was impressed. Have my tastes changed that much, or has the whole place just recently gone to sensory-overload hell? I swear, when I was younger, there was the House and then you walked to the collections. Now there's so much crap, there are collections in the House! Seriously, you want to see architectural coolness? This is so not the place. And the whole place really really needs to be dusted. Boy, that would keep an army of house cleaners busy for months. Oh, and all those musical rooms with the "player" animatrons? I coulda sworn when I was younger they actually played. Lord knows it would cost a fortune to keep all the stringed instruments in tune, but they could at least fake it. Half the strings aren't even attached to their instrument - they might be at one end, but the other end just hangs there, impotently, with the bow going over, well, nothing.
So I know what you're saying. You're saying, "Hey Briedank, what does any of this have to do with sedulous?"
I'll tell you what this has to do with sedulous. See the picture in the upper left corner? Upon coming to that, the 'sband uttered,
"Oh, god..." and his face fell visibly in despair.
That's right, the true definition of sedulous is walking through all the House on the Rock exhibits without either A) speeding up and staring straight ahead to avoid the hell that's trying to force its attentions upon you, or, B) collapsing into a heap and sobbing for security to come and show you the short cut to the end.**
When we were there, the main demographic was younger families - you know, mom, dad and a coupla kids. I really wanted to ask them what they thought. They didn't really seem like the type to spend close to a hundred bucks for a day of irony. But, good news (thankfully), the Facebook entry was indeed meant ironically.
PS: After a discussion with the woman on Facebook, I feel the need to add the addendum:
"I regret to inform you, that I was not being ironic in the least. :) I adored the place, and it's right up Gabe's alley of interest in weird shit. I am not sure who the intended audience is--I could see it both fascinating and terrifying children. I could see adults bored to tears and/or feeling took, trapped in the labyrinth of some madman's illusory dreamscape cruel joke (at cost). But I enjoyed having my senses smashed to bits, and was entirely, intriguingly disoriented by the questionable authenticity of anything. It was great! and fitting for our fractured times. I've long been fascinating by the history of (our ideas about) the future. This was like the reverse--a museum of fantasy antiquity. LOVED IT."
It's so odd when I meet someone who thinks differently than I do...or was that just me being ironic...??
*Or perhaps "wonders" is more appropriate.
**And you thought shortcuts at Ikea were useful!
If you haven't been to House on the Rock <- read this. I'll wait.
Done? Welcome back!
I went to the House a couple times when I was a kid and it was fascinating. It was a beautiful collection of stuff that made my young mind explode in wonder. My parents loved it. I even went once by myself when I was around 20 and was impressed. Have my tastes changed that much, or has the whole place just recently gone to sensory-overload hell? I swear, when I was younger, there was the House and then you walked to the collections. Now there's so much crap, there are collections in the House! Seriously, you want to see architectural coolness? This is so not the place. And the whole place really really needs to be dusted. Boy, that would keep an army of house cleaners busy for months. Oh, and all those musical rooms with the "player" animatrons? I coulda sworn when I was younger they actually played. Lord knows it would cost a fortune to keep all the stringed instruments in tune, but they could at least fake it. Half the strings aren't even attached to their instrument - they might be at one end, but the other end just hangs there, impotently, with the bow going over, well, nothing.
So I know what you're saying. You're saying, "Hey Briedank, what does any of this have to do with sedulous?"
I'll tell you what this has to do with sedulous. See the picture in the upper left corner? Upon coming to that, the 'sband uttered,
"Oh, god..." and his face fell visibly in despair.
That's right, the true definition of sedulous is walking through all the House on the Rock exhibits without either A) speeding up and staring straight ahead to avoid the hell that's trying to force its attentions upon you, or, B) collapsing into a heap and sobbing for security to come and show you the short cut to the end.**
When we were there, the main demographic was younger families - you know, mom, dad and a coupla kids. I really wanted to ask them what they thought. They didn't really seem like the type to spend close to a hundred bucks for a day of irony. But, good news (thankfully), the Facebook entry was indeed meant ironically.
PS: After a discussion with the woman on Facebook, I feel the need to add the addendum:
"I regret to inform you, that I was not being ironic in the least. :) I adored the place, and it's right up Gabe's alley of interest in weird shit. I am not sure who the intended audience is--I could see it both fascinating and terrifying children. I could see adults bored to tears and/or feeling took, trapped in the labyrinth of some madman's illusory dreamscape cruel joke (at cost). But I enjoyed having my senses smashed to bits, and was entirely, intriguingly disoriented by the questionable authenticity of anything. It was great! and fitting for our fractured times. I've long been fascinating by the history of (our ideas about) the future. This was like the reverse--a museum of fantasy antiquity. LOVED IT."
It's so odd when I meet someone who thinks differently than I do...or was that just me being ironic...??
*Or perhaps "wonders" is more appropriate.
**And you thought shortcuts at Ikea were useful!
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