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!

Maquette

Maquette

Good news for geeks: I did an image search for maquette just now and discovered that just about all the returns were of sci fi/fantasy models. Hardly any buildings at all. I guess that would make sense, since architects use computer renderings now. (Although you'd think the sci fi/fantasy geeks would, too - I guess that's our irony for the day.)

Looking over all the maquettes that are for sale, I feel like I want to get in on this somehow. Obviously there's oodles of bucks to be made or there wouldn't be a maquette of every character from every sci fi movie ever made. All I have to do is get models made of items/people that are in public domain and put them on a pedestal that reads "Touched in the Grey Matter." All of a sudden a maquette (or perhaps a bobble head?) of Millard Fillmore is a souvenir of this blog and I get a few dollars to keep the phone connected. It's the American way! And laugh if you want to, but...

Other ideas for maquettes would be my mom - it may not look like my mom, but that's not the point - how would you even know? You get to have a maquette that has a base on which is printed "Touched in the Grey Matter: BrieDank's mom!" Won't that make for fun office conversation during down times, Monday mornings, and Friday afternoons? You bet it would!

When you get your maquette of a boniface you can explain to your friends that it's not just any boniface, it's the one that runs the Touched in the Grey Matter nightclub. And when you push the button on the base it'll says one of four things -

"Welcome to the Touched in the Grey Matter nightclub. The only cover charge here is that you must click on the ads! HA HA HA HA!"
or 
"I learned everything I know about bonicafing at air hostess training school!" 
or 
"Buy a bucket of beers and get a free Grossehonkinmuelleimerpuffmais!"  
or
"Our specials tonight are the tacos and the Resep Gimbal Mi."

Cool maquette and you get to relive some of your favorite TitGM memories! Life is good.

Welkin

Welkin

Oh, boy, an opportunity for more adventures in hot-air ballooning! Not really.

Speaking of welkin, I'm thinking I'm gonna take up lawn bowling just so I can wear these cool shoes. They come in sizes eight and nine, so what else do you need? It's nice to know that golfers aren't the only people who wear ugly clothes. I remember when I was 16, I was gonna take up golf. I got the clubs, the course membership, got signed up for lessons, and my mom gave me a first-day-of-golf present. I opened the box with high expectations, and was greeted with a 100% polyester Tony Soprano-style golf shirt. It was white with pink and brown horizontal pinstripes with the added luxury of palm tree silhouettes going around it. When I put it on and tucked it in, the trees appeared to be growing out of my pants.* I looked at my mom and said


"Giiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrl, I don't think so!"


You know, when you come from a conservative/traditional family like mine, it's never a good idea to call your mother "giiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrl."

So three weeks later when I was able to leave the house again, I took the shirt back to Fleet Farm, but they wouldn't take it because mom assumed I would love it and had thrown away the receipt and pulled off all the tags. So it's been hanging in my closet ever since. I took it off the hanger once three years ago and tried it on. It still fit because the only sizes Fleet Farm sold in golf shirts was XL and UL.** I was going to wear it to a party where people always dress in pink and/or lavender, but by now the shoulders had been stretched to where it looked like I was trying to hide a couple of 45 RPMs under there. So I put it back in the closet. The 'sband wants me to just get rid of it, but I can't - it was a present!

*That's what he said! Or not.
**Uber-Large. Go figure.

Oftentimes

Oftentimes


Personally I think this should be ofttimes just because I like how it sounds, but they never ask me. Even now when I have a blog, they don't ask me. Not just a blog, but an important language blog, read by...

Fine, it's read by two people. I mentioned in the past that I had three readers, but my mom said that I was cutting in on her TMZ and The Smoking Gun time. Thanks, mom.

But what I want to know is how some words that are normally two (or three) suddenly become one. They do it all the time in the Germany.* But in English, of course, the whole thing makes no sense. I suppose it could be argued that it's like that they combine for a different nuance - say 'all ready' and 'already' for example.

So why isn't 'alot' one word? I'll admit, it drives me knutz when I see someone spell it that way, and this is not me hoping to get the rule changed, but by rights, shouldn't it be? It's no different from 'sometimes.'**

Screw it. I'm putting myne foot down right here and now and declare that from here on out, I shall not be using sometimes and oftentimes any longer, I will be using occasionaltimes and manytimes. Or perhaps for the latter I'll just go all the way and use awholelottatimes. I'm syque of these self-appointed dictionary writers telling me what I can and can't write.

You know who I really blame it on? The French. Stupid French.

*Did you know that in Germany when you ask for a large popcorn at the movie theater, you have to ask for the Grossehonkinmuelleimerpuffmais? It's true. Ask a Deutscherlandereneriner.
**As an aside (which is different from 'a side'), Lilly Allen just came on my Spotify singing Phuque You. Now, much to the 'Sband's dismay, 'phuque' is one my favorite words in the English language, but this early in the morning, hearing it over and over is rather disconcerting, I must say.

Unfettered

Unfettered

If you clicked on the link to the def' you'll see that it took you to the general Word of the Day page instead of the specific page for the word. That's because, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I did not get the WoD email yesterday. Yes, I have been fettered. Me of all people. Fettered. I ask for so little in life, and this happens. I think they're trying to fetter my creative streak. It reminds me of when I was in grade school...

"No, Jackson, you have to color like all the other kids! The last time you melted down the crayons, you just poured them on the paper! It was a mess!"

And then in high school...

"Edward, I don't care what you 'feel' like, this is typing class! You will use capital letters when needed! You're just being lazy! 'Feel' indeed!"

And now there's me. I just hope that, unlike Jackson and Edward, I can continue. I should look those two up and see what they're up to. It's good to know that, no matter what forces are against me - slow internet connection, Merriam Webster not sending the word, Creeping Charlie, flat tires on the train, Communists, my mom and the pope, jellyfish, ramen noodles, verbose authors, athlete's foot, weak coffee, out-of-tune clarinets, in-tune clarinets, the sight of clarinets, the cancellation of Supertrain, the renewal of Two and a Half Men, lack of ideas, bad spelling, the rubber band breaking, the rubber band braking, Olestra, the wheat not growing, Huguenots, six point font, Billy Ray Cyrus, houses the color of Band-Aids, the end of Beta Max, not understanding how vitamins work - well, you get the picture - as long as I can type, I will be writing this column! Oh, and have internet access.

Damask

Damask

So back in the 70s when I was in high school, I asked a girl* to the prom. To make sure I bought a coordinating corsage, I asked her what she was going to be wearing. She told me pink damask.

"Uh...," thought I, trying to hide my complete bewilderment.

So I talked to my mom who suggested, I don't know - the usual carnations and baby's breath or blah blah blah whatever.** So I get the flowers, make the reservations at the Supper Club, pick up my tuxedo,*** and go to pick up my date.

Oh, for Pete's sake. Completely wrong damask. Oh, sure, she was dressed in damask, just not the cloth type.

"OH MY GOD!" quoth I to myneself****

Needless to say it took me a minute to get used to the fact that I was going with a girl in fancy armor, who had, for some unknown reason (I didn't have the scrotum to ask), glued on a mustache. But we went and had a decent time, thought I've never been able to date anyone with a mustache since then. Or that wears armor. Of course now I envy her. It took me another four years to come out of the Gay Closet, but she came out of Renaissance-Fair-Geek Closet at the mild age of 17. Such a brave brave girl!

*Yes, a girl! Whadya want, it was the 70s in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't exactly Coming Out Central. (Although it woulda been much easier on me and several girls if it had been.)
**Which was very odd, because normally my mom could be pretty helpful in such things, but for her to say to me "I don't know - the usual carnations and baby's breath or blah blah blah whatever," was rather out of character.
***Here's a picture of me and some friends the next morning.
****I probably woulda just said 'OMG' but that wasn't part of the lexicon yet.

Accident

Accident

After reading the 'Did You Know?' section, I came to the decision that, unless used as a synonym for the blustery season of autumn, the word 'fall' is here now declared stricken from myne vocabulary. From now on things shall not fall - they shall cascade.

I tripp'd upon errant trait hidden within the carpet depths and cascaded down the stairs.

Isn't that nicer than

I tripped and fell.

?

I knew you'd agree. Of course, I cannot think upon said statement without somehow conjuring up the image of 30 feet of taffeta being somehow involved. The most joyful part of course, is not only is it a more colorful image, but said cascader of said steps donning said taffeta would undoubtedly land with neither bruise nor scrape. Just like a baby duck. Except with more rolling. And taffeta. And undoubtedly the wearing of beads for clutching. And instead of your mom waiting at the bottom to lead you to the lake, it would be your savior waiting to swoop you up and comfort you. Oops, wrong savior.

Recalcitrant

Recalcitrant

I'll admit, when I was going through my rebel years (and when I say years, I mean years), I never referred to it as rebelling. I referred to it as recalcitrating.

Mom: Where are you going?
Me: Out for my evening recalcitrational.

I'm not sure but I think they thought I meant to say 'evening constitutional' and just didn't have much of a grasp on the language English.*

At the time, of course, my 'evening recalcitration' was walking down to the local biker bar** where no upstanding community member's kid would ever have been seen. I loved it. I'd don a ripped up T-shirt and trashed gym shorts and go barefooted (the laws were different back then). I got called an anti-gay slur once, not directly to my face, but in a conversation he made sure I heard*** and a woman with him immediately stood up for me - I'm not even sure I knew her. I thought that was very cool.

Since I was barefooted and walking I'd get huge water blisters and bits of glass shards on the bottom of my feet. I thought digging glass out of my feet the next day was the most bad-ass thing ever. Actually I take that back. I just thought it was funny.

Oh yea, and I smoked for a few months. So silly. Now that I thought was bad-ass! Luckily the brand I chose was mentholated, and they messed me up so much I never really got into it. I'm sort of glad I chose the brand I did, though, cuz after that I had some regulars, and they were actually quite nice. Now when I see a teen thinking s/he is cool smoking and obviously doing it for effect I think back on how I musta looked. Silly.

But mind you, it was  only once in my life that I looked silly.

*See what I did there? I took liberties and reversed the words like in The Brothers Karamazov~ or The Sisters Gish. Clever, huh?
~Speaking of the Bros K, many years ago I was paying Trivial Pursuit with the siblings and the question came up, "what brothers in Russian literature blah blah blah." I gave the correct answer and the sibs all looked at me like I was crazy. "How did you know that?" quoth one of they. "I'm an English major," replied I. Shoot, while I was an English major, it's not like I had actually read it. I just figured, it's the American version of Trivial Pursuit, how many Russian brothers can there be that would make it into the game?
**Motorcycle, that is, not bicycle.
***Obviously the guy had a crush on me - they all do, you know. I mean, not just me, but on whomever they spew a slur. The bigger the slur the bigger the crush.

Tranche

Tranche

Every day I go to analytics (as you know), and every day I see the following:

The Colonies: 4
Матушка Россия: 2
Your mom: 1*

And then over to the side there's a pie chart showing the tranche.** Why they feel the need to have a pie chart is beyond me, but they do. So I was thinking, though, pie charts are so tired and cliche, I've decided that the next time I have to do a chart, it's going to be a casserole chart.***  Or perhaps a man-hole-cover chart. Or a Ferris-Wheel chart. Or heck, a Round-Up chart, or Tilt-a-Whirl chart**** Or perhaps a 33 1/3- or 45- or 78-RPM chart. That would keep the yung'uns guessin'!


While any of those are good for a circle chart, I'm truly torn when it comes to a rectangular chart. I really wanted to refer to them as blueberry cobbler charts, but then I suddenly remembered that they could be called letter-box charts. Then if I needed a square chart, it would be a full-screen chart, which would make it a duel name chart for whichever form was better suited. Man, the quandaries I have in life!!

Excuse me, but my private phone in my study is ringing, and we all know who it is!!

*Why and how it separates out my mom, I'll never know. She claims she knows none of the upper ups at Google, but i have my doubts. She used to claim the red phone in her sewing room wasn't a direct line to the Vatican either.And yet I couldn't use it because "it only understands Italian." Whatever.
**How's that for stretching that def?
***I was going use hotdish chart, but that's sort of hard to say.
****Scratch that! "Tilt-a-Whirl" is copyrighted - don't wanna get into trouble.

Validate

Validate

Or as  I like to pronounce it: 
LIKE ME!!!!   
LLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE 
MMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Thank goodness (once again) for the interwebs!! Now all I have to do is post an entry, go in the next day and breathe a sigh of relief as I look at the analytics and see that all three of my friends (and my mom) still like me enough to read this thing!! And I mean literally all around the world! Or at least in the northern hemisphere. On two continents. Damn, I wonder how I could get a reader from Antarctica? Could you imagine? My next cocktail party: "I have readers on three continents, including Antarctica!" Wow.

Actually, I have really really good news. I now have an occasional reader from Malaysia, which means that at least once a week I already have readers from three continents! Take THAT Facebook!!

But I am most thankful because getting my validation validated online means I no longer have to roam the dark streets and bars of desperationville looking for validation from strangers. I used to say, "Hey, a stranger is just a one-night stand I haven't met!" Now I can say, "Hey, a stranger is just a person who hasn't increased my stats!" And instead of saying "Hey, would you like to come over and get better acquainted?" I can say, "Hey, you have a smart phone! Let me show you my blog!" I used to think when someone said they didn't wanna come over to get better acquainted it was because - poor lambs - they thought I was out of their league. Now when they don't wanna see my blog on their smart phone it's because - poor lambs - they're illiterate and embarrassed about not being able to read it in front of me.

So I'd like to thank you all 1) for being literate and 2) for validating me by stopping here and spending a few minutes on my blog. So, it's true! For learning and exploring new ideas and keeping my ego healthy - reading truly is fundamental!! 

Cachinnate

Cachinnate

I have a feeling that when my friend*

*And when I say 'my friend,' I mean the one friend who reads this. Bless his heart for reading it - it's him, the Holder of My Hand and my faithful reader in Russia. Anyway, I brought the "my friend" up because I'm always fascinated by people who begin a story with "My friend and I..." like they only have one. I find it rather...funny. Not in a cachinnate sort of way, but just in a curious sort of way. If you're going to narrow it down to a specific friend, should I know his/her name? Oh, and my mom. I'm not sure what she thinks of it, though. Everyday I call her and ask her what she thought of that day's entry and she replies "It was different." And then there's an uncomfortable minute or three of silence, and then we talk about The Vampire Diaries and hang up. And when I say one or three minutes, I actually mean four to seven. I know what you're thinking: "Oh, Brie, you most certainly must be taking a ride on the hyperbalization train!" I wish!! I decided to buy a stop watch and time it! Last night was the record breaker, though, at almost eight minutes! Do you know how uncomfortable an uncomfortable pause can be with your mother on the phone after that amount of time? Pretty darned uncomfortable!!! Thing is, my parents are not exactly blameless. I mean really, there we are on Christmas morning, I had just gotten a new milk bottle and clothes pins to play Drop the Clothes Pins in the Milk Bottle. I was just starting to play, in fact, I was doing really well. Seriously, I hadn't gotten this many in in weeks! And a new milk bottle, you imagine how proud my little heart was! So anyway, there we are Christmas morning - I thought there couldn't possibly be any better presents than the one I got. But no!! Why, what's that behind the couch?? No one even noticed it - it was a new Hammond B that Dad had been talking about for months! So we wheeled the organ out from behind the couch, pushed it right up to the Christmas tree and Mom ran upstairs and got her tambourine, and we played our favorite Christmas song!! Well that was just about the best Christmas ever!! You know there was one other one...oh crap, I need to release th

Hyphenate

Hyphenate

Normally I write about the word of the day that was the word of the day for the day I write about the word…of the day. However, I'm making an exception here because...well, “hyphenate” can be used as a NOUN!! How much of a day brightener is that? Yes, as a matter of fact, it is a lot!! I thought that hyphenate was used only for compound words and/or adjective. ("That briedank certainly is a corn-shucker!"*)

While, as I've mentioned before, I hate the whole corporate-speak of turning nouns into verbs ("Let's round-table that later in the week."[insert visible shudder here]), turning an adjective into a noun makes me extremely joyful. I once read in Shakespeare where a character referred to the unwashed masses as 'vulgars.' LOVE that! I've been using "vulgar" as a noun ever since.***  

This means, of course, that if you're a jack-of-all-trades or an admin or a stay-at-home-mom, or anything where you have to wear different hats (as it were), you can now refer to yourself an a Hyphenate. Be proud of who you are - you are the multitasking multitalented multifaceted go-to!!

You are....The Hyphenate.

*I don't know what it means either, but it's my example and I'm sticking to it.**
**Для моих русских друзей, извините за все непереводимый жаргон.
***Yes, I know it's not nice to refer to people in such a manner. I try not to, but, well, sometimes...