I believe it's The Washington Post that once a year runs a contest asking readers to take a word, make some small change to it and then redefine it. There's also a recently published book with hundreds of these "new" words (can't really call them neologisms, I suppose, maybe "newlogisms"?), but I don't remember the title. Anyway, I tried my hand at it a while back and came up with around four dozen, some of which I'm posting today, others at another time. And, better yet, send me yours! I'd love to post them. Also this week, an Edward Lear nonsense poem (did he ever write anything but nonsense?), including a link to a great EL site plus a New Yorker clipping.

MY LIST

sincentive: encouragement to break any of the ten commandments

liebrary: repository for politicians' speeches

obitchuary: death notice for a female dog

Pulletzer Prize: for the best book written by a chicken

pretaliation: hitting back first

liquorice: the perfect combo of candy's dandy but liquor's quicker (Thanx, Ogden!)

younique: yes! you are special!

urinade: a poor substitute for Gatorade

sinvitation: a request to be adulterous

toylet: what Barbie uses

Mrs. Sissippi: a married state

copulite: foreplay only

pastorize: baptism in boiling water

origummi: how to make cranes from gummi bears

cattlelac: a luxury cow

Genesisn't: the rebuttal

procrastina - never mind, I'll finish it later


This Edward Lear poem is from his nonsense story "The History of the Seven Families of the Lake Pipple-Popple".

Here's a link to it and lots more of his wonderful whimsy:

http://www.nonsenselit.org/Lear/ns/pp.html • Saturday

 

Lettuce! O Lettuce!

Let us, O let us,

O lettuce leaves.

O let us leave this tree

And eat lettuce,

O let us, lettuce leaves!


Finally, here's a clipping from a New Yorker magazine of many years ago:

A Christmasy piece of flash fiction this week, a doodle, some whimsy and some humor. And, yes, I keep trying out new templates for the blog. Bear with me—sooner or later I'll settle on one. For a while, anyway.


I wrote this flash fiction piece as part of a writing exercise. The idea was to write several stories with the theme of "Where were you last night?" I'll probably share some of the others down the road.

“Where were you last night?” Her voice slurred the words, ran them together,mangled them so they came out "Wawuryousnight?" He felt torn. He hated her for the drinking, for the lack of self control. He hated to be around her when she was like this. He glanced at the bottle of sloe gin on the table, noted it was almost empty. But he also understood, even though he didn’t want to because it was in good measure due to him and his job that she drank. He knew she hated the forced isolation, the extreme weather (it was always freezing here and she was born and raised in Miami, for Chrissake!)  There were no other women around, just the male workers and she had nothing in common with them.

“It was December 24^th, dear, remember? I was delivering toys.” Santa sighed.

*      *       *       *       *

"If Only I Could Draw!"

Cartoon #31: Setting: produce section of a supermarket. Scene: display of lettuce with sign that says “Iceberg Lettuce”. Disappearing stern-first among the heads of iceberg lettuce is a small model of a passenger liner with “Titanic” on the bow.

Cartoon #42: A sailor has climbed the rigging up to the crow’s nest on a three-masted sailing ship. He looks in and yells down to the captain, watching from below, “There’s a bunch of crows in here!”

THE WORLD SHOULD LAST TILL THE BEER IS GONE

Okay, right up front, I'll say it: I'm a beer snob. First, I don't drink pseudo-beers (you know the ones I mean—Bud, Miller, Coors, etc.) or the faux-lite cousins (Bud Lite, Miller Lite, Coors Lite, etc. lite). Give me a good import or, even better, a good US micro-brew, any time. Any brewery that goes for quality over quantity is going to brew not just drinkable beers and ales, pilsners and lagers, but very good ones.

Second, I want my beer in a glass. Not a bottle. Not a can. (Putting beer in a can is like putting a Rolls Royce in a demolition derby.) Pouring a beer down the side of a glass releases aroma and flavor, making the beer still more enjoyable.

Third, I want my beer at the correct temperature. "Ice cold" beer leaves me cold. Cold subdues the flavor. A beer served at around 57º, give or take a few, has more flavor than the same beer served straight from the fridge. That means I have two choices to get my beer to the correct temperature. One is to remove it from the fridge half an hour or so ahead of when I want to drink it (not always possible) or (brace yourself, this will probably come as a shock), I can microwave it. Yes, microwave it. Pour the beer into a glass, nuke it at full power for 10-15 seconds, and presto! it's at the right temperature. Doesn't affect the flavor, there's no foaming, no loss of carbonation.  

The following bits of beer info are from http://hubpages.com/hub/beertriv.

    • Beer is the second most popular beverage in the world, coming in behind tea.

     • Pabst Beer is now called Pabst Blue Ribbon beer because it was the first beer to win a  

       blue ribbon at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893.

    • To get rid of the foam at the top of beer (the head), stick your fingers in it. (But do it to your glass only!)

    • Monks brewing beer in the Middle Ages were allowed to drink five quarts of beer a day. (I would have been a monk.)

    • Bavaria still defines beer as a staple food.

    • Tossing salted peanuts in a glass of beer makes the peanuts dance

    • Samuel Adams Triple Bock is the strongest beer in the world with 17% alcohol by volume.                 

    • In Japan, beer is sold in vending machines, by street vendors and in the train stations.

    • To keep your beer glass or mug from sticking to your bar napkin, sprinkle a little salt on the      napkin before you set your glass down.

    • The Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock because of beer. They had planned to sail further south to a warm climate, but had run out of beer on the journey. (Smart, those pilgrims!)

         We attempt to find truth through Art, but Art is a guidepost, not a destination. When Art genuinely touches us, we know we're on the right path. Truth lies, if not ahead, then at least somewhere along the path we currently tread and therein lie the beauty and power of Art. Art helps us to discover and know ourselves and because "ourselves" is a collective term, expressing universality, we tap into the collective love and goodness of all of us who are "ourselves". A life without Art is a life without life.

*    *    *    *    *

 In a moment Truth would come flouncing through, throwing open wide the hinged saloon-style doors (you know the ones, they always hit you in the ass because you forget to move through them quickly – it’s so embarrassing) and come sashaying over to one of the round tables, probably the one with a leg just a tad bit shorter than the others so that people were constantly taking their napkin or a a matchbook or a business card or once even a five  dollar bill, folding it and putting it under the short leg to rebalance the table. One time a man representing everything good and wholesome in the little town had put a matchbook under the wrong leg and drinks went sliding downhill. It made the morning paper next morning.

Yes. Truth. Truth liked flouncing almost as much as Truth liked sashaying. Truth had once tried to flounce and sahsay at the same time but decided people wouldn’t understand. It was too much like mixing  Crest and Baco-Bits.

Anyway, truth flounced through the hinged saloon–style doors (but we’ve been through all that), sashayed to the table and whoomphed into a chair. There was only silence as the piano rinky-tinked away in the corner, kind of like little Jesus away in a manger or the dog in the manger maybe. Truth had something to announce, something important, and all who were there that day knew it, expected it, waited for it, savored the moments leading up to it, fondly recalled it in the remaining days of their lives. It was not the kind of announcement that would change a man’s life, change the town, or even cause anyone to change their mind. It was, however, a nice change.

“I have an announcement,” pontificated Truth (Truth did so admire the Pope!) and I want you to hear it. Otherwise, why would I make it?” Truth waited  to see if anyone would laugh. No one did. “Mange!” was the first word out of Truth’s mouth, followed by “Manger!” and finally, “Mangere!” Silence while the import of these three words sank in. Mange. Manger. Mangere. Two in English, one in Italian, the latter, perhaps,  no, almost certainly spoken at one time by the Pope himself.

Clearly, the connection between Mange and Manger was crystal clear. But no one had ever made the next obvious connective leap to Mangere, Italian for “eat.” Now there were three. Now it was complete.

Truth stood. Truth turned. Truth waved. Truth was finished. Truth moseyed this time, moseyed to the hinged saloon-style doors, flung them open and strutted into the street, embarrassed when the saloon-style doors hit Truth in the ass. The piano continued to rinky-tink and silence continued golden.

Truth was happy. And that’s the Truth.