Bulwer-Lytton Would Be Proud!

So, thanks to a discerning but gentle reader of my blog, I was reminded that a few years back I actually won “runner-up” (is a runner-up a winner?) twice in the annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. So for completeness of this blog, I present you with those two sentences plus one more.

Hiram had been a three-toed dragon, well on his way to a promotion to Imperial five-toed dragon, when he accidentally choked on the pink chiffon scarf of Princess Chloe's hat, and his coughing set the new oaken parapet, on the old stone bulwark, ablaze, thereby earning a demotion to Troll 3 – now his only responsibility was to keep Billy goats off the bridge.

Runner-up in the Fantasy Fiction category of the 2007 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2007win.html

 The Jones family held their annual family reunion on Easter going through over six dozen spiral-cut, hickory-smoked hams and several bottles of a fine Australian shiraz, before Farmer Jones, the head of the family, took the leavings back to Manor Farm to slop Napoleon and his other champion hogs, but the seventy-six ham bones fed the pig's tirade.

Runner-up in the Vile Puns Category of the 2008 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2008win.html

I also won honorable mention in the Worst First Sentence Contest at the 2007 Santa Barbara Writer’s Conference. That honorable sentence was:

Dimitri was ready with bells on – he was actually wearing tweed, but his personality was bright, shiny, and tinkly as if it was laden with bells; not the standard cow bell variety, those are low and dull, but more like the Russian troika sort that kids everywhere relate to the coming of St. Nick – for tonight he would put the ram in the rama lama ding dong.

The art is by George Almond.

The Toad’s Words - Excursus #24

For this Excursus of the Toad, I have decided to explore some F-words. Now, calm down. It’s not what you think; this is a family (an F-word, by the way) set of excursuses. You see, I was reading an article the other day and the author used flout and flaunt in the same sentence and I thought, “I am not sure if I know what the flip flout means.” So, I looked it up and it said, “often confused with flaunt.” Now, if that is not an invitation to an excursus then I don’t know what is. So, without further ado, we proceed.

Flout, verb

Pronounced flout (yep, even the dictionaries say that flout is pronounced flout. Useful, don’t you think?) Pronounce it out with an fl in front of it.

To treat with scorn or to mock. To show contempt. To scoff.

Flout, the noun means a contemptuous mocking speech or action.

The word seems to originate from the Middle English word flouten, to play the flute. While none of my dictionaries or etymologies will go out on a limb and say this, they seem to imply that the flute was used at times to mock actions on the stage.

I found flout used several times in Shakespeare’s Much Ado about Nothing. For example in Act 5, Scene 1, as a verb:

“I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple— Scrambling, outfacing, fashion-monging boys, That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander, ...”

And as a noun: Shakespeare wrote in Act 5, Scene 2, of Love’s Labour’s Lost:

“Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;”

Flaunt, verb

Pronounced flawnt (awnt is pronounced the way some folks from the upper East Coast pronounce aunt.)

To try to impress others obtrusively.  To show off.

Here the origin is also in doubt. One source says it points towards a French origin but I cannot find a French word so perhaps they were referring to French actions? (The French wouldn't flaunt, would they?) The origin I like the best says perhaps it is a combination of words like flounce and vaunt.

“The most unkindest cut of all,” Gerald exclaimed after his teacher called him a pedant who flaunted his knowledge of Shakespeare by quoting him constantly.

Flautist, noun

Pronounced flou (as in how) and tist as in list.

You might think this is an easy one for anyone paying attention. Clearly a flautist is one who flauts! But you would be wrong. A flautist is one who plays the flute. Some people call a flautist a flutist which is also correct but not as cool or highfalutin!

Flautist comes from the Italian word flautista which means a person who plays the flute.

I wonder, if a flautist is a person who plays the flute is a floutist a person that mocks people?

Floyd, the fellow from Flanders, played the bellows-mender, Flute, in A Midsummer Night’s Dream while Florence, his wife, was the flautist behind the curtain trying to set the mood by using a vintage wooden flute.

Flounce, verb

Pronounced with fl from flour and ounce from the word ounce.

To move with greatly exaggerated and clumsy motions or to make jerky and abrupt movements with the limbs. Also, to flounder or struggle.

Possibly of Scandinavian origin from the Swedish flunsa (to plunge) and Norwegian flunsa  (to hurry). It also may have been formed in the 16^th century from flop and bounce. I like the latter theory better.

For disambiguation (as they say on Wikipedia) purposes we are focusing here on the verb form and not the noun form (which refers to a gathered piece of cloth that is often used with curtains).

The flounder flounced all over the bottom of the boat trying to flip itself back into the water.

Flauta, noun

Pronounced flou as in flour and ta as in ta da! The accent is on the flou.

A tightly rolled flour tortilla filled with shredded chicken or beef or cheese. It is deep fried and then covered with sour cream, guacamole, or salsa, or all of the above if you are lucky. So I can hear it now - some people are saying, “No, that’s a taquito.” Nope, a taquito is the same thing but made with corn tortillas.

This comes from the Spanish flauta meaning flute. So the flauta looks like a small flute – but I guess that would actually be a piccolo.

Felicity ordered a chicken flauta with everything on it at Felipe’s, the little walk-in Mexican restaurant in the Fen.

Flan, noun

Pronunced flawn, as in ‘lawn’ with an f.

Staying on that food theme thing. In Spanish cooking and in the US, a flan is a dessert of sweetened egg custard with a soft caramel layer on top – a crème caramel. A crème brulee has a hard caramel layer on top in case you were confused. In England, a flan is usually a tart with a filling of custard, cheese, or occasionally fruit that has a shell baked in a bottomless metal form known as a flan ring (clever name).

Flan is a French name but comes from the Old German frado meaning flat cake.

Florian liked his flan free standing so he could poke at it with his spoon and watch it wiggle while Flynn like his flan with a baked dough crust so he could pick it up and eat it with his hands.

Flam, noun

Pronounced flam as in Sam.

A hoax, a deception, a trick, or a lie. Also, nonsense or drivel.

This is actually a shortened version of the word flimflam which is also of Scandinavian origin. Why is it words like flounce and flimflam are of Scandinavian origin?

Florrie watched the flimflam man, Flip, flounce around Flavio’s Café trying to pull his hot flauta flam by pretending to have burned himself but not realizing that he was about to slip on the flan the flautist Florrine had accidently knocked on the floor in frustration when Fletcher flouted her for flaunting her knowledge of Friedrich von Flotow’s opera, Martha.

Disclaimer: The author, his heirs, his editors (of which he apparently has many), his colleagues, his cat, nor the finches at his feeder take any responsibility for slip of the tongues, mispronounced words, misunderstandings, or subsequent flouts or flaunts that might come from using The Toad’s Words.

Copyright © by Michael L. VanBlaricum, 2011.

All Rights Reserved.

I Never Stole a Watermelon

 

by  M.L. VanBlaricum

© June 2011

I’m a victim of the year of my birth, 1950, the halfway point in the Twentieth Century. World War I, The Great Depression, Prohibition, and World War II all happened before I was born. I entered the world right when it was getting ready to rest. The main menace to the U.S. when I was a kid was rock and roll. My development was guided by Ding Dong School, Father Knows Best, Make Room for Daddy, and Leave it to Beaver.

I've never stolen a watermelon. I've never pushed over an outhouse, broken my nose, or ridden a horse to school. My dad has. I've never gotten caught playing poker in the back of the school bus or knocked myself out trying to fly like Superman. My older brother has. Not that I'd want to put any of those things on my resume, but everything that I have done CAN be put on my resume.

I never soaped a window or put a firecracker in a mailbox on Halloween. I was the little boy that dressed up like Casper (the Friendly Ghost) and went trick or treating at our neighbors - the ones with the porch lights on.

               

My brother was born in 1943 right in the middle of World War II, just in time to be influenced by Korea and McCarthyism. Having an older brother accounts for my plight a little. He tried things first. I watched and learned the consequences.

               

Remember the song that Howdy Doody used to sing: "Will My Dog be Proud of Me". I can still sing it. All my life I've wondered if my dog would approve of my actions ‑ and the only dog I ever had tiptoed around mud puddles. So, because of Howdy Doody, my social life was about as exciting as ditch water.

I can't tell locker room stories because I didn’t play sports. I was too small for football, too short for basketball, and too slow for track. I can tell you all the heavy action that goes on in the trombone section at band practice. Well, no, I guess I can't. I was the one who always paid attention to the director.

I never went to a canal party. A canal party is where you go to the canal, drink beer, and go skinny dipping ‑ sometimes with girls. On Monday at school you tell lots of lies about it. I did go to school on Mondays.

I never dated until I was sixteen and never drove a car until I was legal. When my dad was a kid they hadn't invented driver's licenses yet.  You could drive as soon as your feet reached the pedals on the Model A and of course you were in the field driving the tractor (or was it oxen?) as soon as you could walk.

I never smoked out behind the woodshed (or anywhere for that matter). We didn’t even have a woodshed. We didn’t need one. Hence, I didn’t have to split firewood. But, growing up in Illinois with images of Honest Abe, The Rail Splitter, everywhere, I felt like I needed to ax something.

I can't tell war stories because I never wore a uniform. No, band and Boy Scout uniforms don't count. My dad was a fighter pilot and my great grandfather helped Sherman burn Atlanta, so I know I have it in my genes. I got a college deferment for Vietnam. Not that I wanted to go to Nam, but they say R & R was great. I have a friend who admired a girl's puppy in Bangkok so she gave it to him - with rice and hot sauce.

I've never gone hunting. Well, except for that one time I went snipe hunting. My dad used to hunt rabbit and squirrel and go ‘coon hunting with his brothers. He tells great stories about their dog, Ol’ Blue ‑ the best darn coonhound in Southern Illinois. My dad had a sawed off shotgun. I had a squirt gun.

I have never broken a bone. I have a friend who tells about ending upside down in the fork of a tree on a ski slope in Aspen with two broken legs. Another friend broke both his arms in Karate class. Even my wife managed to break her leg by riding her bike behind a neighbor as he pulled out of his drive. My daughter broke her arm when she was only five. And did I tell you how my dad broke his nose?

I've never done anything cool. The people who wrote the Boy Scout Handbook point to me with pride. However, I’ve learned the fine art of living vicariously. I can tell if a person has a good story by looking at the glow in his cheeks and the bend in his nose. I've heard some of the best whiskey drinking, girl chasing, plane flying, car racing, bootlegging stories ever told. In fact, I have this friend that tells a whiskey drinking, girl chasing, plane flying, car racing, bootlegging story that would curl your hair.

Ok, ok. I did do some crazy things. I invented streaking! I escaped from my bath and ran naked down the street when I was three. In fifth grade I got sent to the principal’s office for allegedly pushing Barbara Marshall into a mud puddle. I hustled pool in college. Well, actually I helped my friend, the Big Ten pocket billiards champion, hustle by being his shill. The biggie is - I snuck into a strip joint and drank beer at the University of Wisconsin when I was only nineteen. I even talked to one of the strippers. A really nice girl ‑ Bubbles I think her name was. She showed me what to do with a dollar bill.

 

The Toad’s Words - Excursus #23

Well, folks, it has been nigh on ten years since I have posted an excursus of the Toad.  A lot of water and flotsam have gone under the bridge during that time and a lot of words have been caught in the weeds. I have been diligently writing them all down as they appeared and my notebooks have been acting a bit like Harry Potter’s The Monster Book of Monsters. However, as I sit to write #23, I find that my notebooks are all in my warehouse to keep them safe from any disaster that might occur at my house – fire, flood, forgetfulness. So needing a place to start, I checked the alphabetical index of the previous 109 words and I see that the letter ‘R’ is very much underrepresented. Enjoy the read and when done think about the poor people trying to learn English that have to pronounce these words. Also, as always, we enjoy comments and feedback - this is how we learn. Do not hesitate to share this link with others.

Roux, noun

Pronounced rew as in stew.

This is a cooking term meaning a mixture of fat and flour cooked together to form a brown paste or thick gravy.  Often the fat used is butter but it can be various oils or animal fats. Many Cajun recipes, such as gumbo and crawfish etouffée, are made by starting with a roux.  The word roux comes from the French meaning red-haired or brown sauce – you choose. (I wonder if the French ever use roux to mean saucy redhead?)

The plural of roux is roux which is good because I wouldn’t know how to pronounce rouxes.

“Paul brought a half cup of butter to nearly 400 degrees before he put in the flour and spices and stirred them until he had a nice thick roux which he referred to as Cajun napalm.”

Roué, noun

Pronounced rew (as in Roux) ey (as in Fay.) Accent on the é.

A wantonly licentious or lecherous man, a rake, a profligate, a guy that likes saucy redheads. A couple of dictionaries define a roué as a dissipated man. That definition forced me to look up dissipated which apparently can mean indulging in sensual or foolish pleasures. Who knew?

The plural of roué is roués which is also known as a fraternity and in some circles, the trumpet section.

The history of roué is pretty interesting. Roué is the past participle of the French verb rouer meaning broken on the wheel.  Apparently, in 1720, the profligate Philippe II, Duke of Orleans and Regent of France, called his licentious companions “roués” thus implying that they needed to be broken on a wheel. The term then took on the new meaning.

“Bernard and his coterie of debauched rakes, who frequently were in the company of courtesans, are known as the Roués of Rue Royale.” 

Rue, verb

Pronounced roo as in kangaroo.

To be sorry for or to regret. To feel remorse or to lament. This appears to come from the Old English. In Beowulf, it is used as hreow.

“Stu clued Sue that he knew she would rue the day she called in with the blue flu.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Row, noun

Proununced rou as in pow or wow.

A noisy disturbance, a brawl, a loud quarrel. A commotion or clamor. It can be used as an intransitive verb as well. And, so you don’t have to look it up, an intransitive verb is one that doesn’t need a object.

Americans have developed the word rowdy which clearly is a diminutive of row. The origin of row is not known. However, Shakespeare used rowse as a shortened form of carouse in Othello. So let’s blame the existence of row on Shakespeare.

Of course, when pronounced ‘rō’ as in ‘tow’, it refers to a form of nautical locomotion or a line of stuff.

“The sight of a sow standing in the prow and rowing with a bough caused a tremendous row.”

Roe, noun

Pronounced row as in toe.

Fish eggs or the egg laden ovarian member of a fish. Roe from a sturgeon (usually beluga sturgeon) is usually referred to as the delicacy caviar. The word origin is pretty boring. It comes from the Middle English rowe.

A roe is also a small deer with forked horns.

“Mr. Sears sold his roebuck so that he would have enough money to buy a ton of Russian Beluga roe.”

Ruse, noun

Pronounced rooz, as in kangaroos.

A strategy or subterfuge to mislead or trick someone.

This word comes from the Old French ruser meaning to dodge or practice deceit. In the seventeenth century, it was used as a hunting term to describe the dodging motion of the game.

“The roués rued the day when they caused a row by attempting a ruse to steal the beluga roe from the chef while he was focusing on his roux.”

Note: If you read this before the evening of 7 June 2011 you will have seen an error in my definition of intransitive verb under the word 'row.' Amy Rogers pointed out that I said 'subject' instead of 'object.' It has been fixed but in defense, I was half right - they both have 'ject' as part of the word.

Disclaimer: The author, his heirs, his editors (of which he apparently has many), his colleagues, his cat, nor the gophers in his yard take any responsibility for slip of the tongues, mispronounced words, misunderstandings, or subsequent rows that might come from using The Toad’s Words.

Copyright © by Michael L. VanBlaricum, 2011. All Rights Reserved.

New Trick for Old Dogs

My Facebook friends may recall that my one and only 2011 New Year’s Resolution was to learn new tricks so that I don’t become an old dog. The hard part was deciding what those new tricks might be. I considered learning to play the blues on the harmonica or blue grass on a five-string banjo. Both are still on my life list but I don’t see any hope for this year. I considered learning to tango but that requires my partner be involved and this was my resolution, not hers. Reading and writing poetry has become my main new trick. I would like to say that I came up with that by sagacity, but the truth is that it was serendipity. However, this short note is about another new trick which I freely admit was gotten to by having observant friends that like to point out my weaknesses.

I learned to tie my shoes fifty-five years ago in kindergarten. Jody McQuown taught me how to do this while we were supposed to be napping on our rugs. She taught me to make what I now know to be named the Two-Loop Shoelace Knot. This is quite different from  the Standard Shoelace Knot that everyone else in my family was tying. It seemed to me (as a five-year old) that making bunny ears and wrapping one around the other and then pushing one through the rabbit hole was a lot easier than what my parents and brother were trying to teach me. I still do.

I have often bragged that I tie a perfect bow for my shoes. When my wife and daughters needed a bow for a dress or their hair they would come to me to make one of these very symmetric bows. But what I didn’t realize, until a few weeks back, was that my “perfect bow” was not.

An emeritus math professor friend of mine was visiting and watching me tie my shoes. Engineers and mathematicians are really good at staring at other people’s feet. How do you tell if an engineer is an extrovert or an introvert? An extroverted engineer looks at your feet while he is talking to you, an introvert looks at his own. Anyway, my math professor friend watched me tie my traditional Two-Loop (Bunny-Ear) Shoelace Knot and then make it into a double knot. “I thought you were an Eagle Scout?” he said.

“Yes,” I answered with a little fear. Then, once I determined that he truly was watching the knot I tied, I said, “I know this is different but it produces a perfect knot.”

“No,” he said with a tone that I am sure he had developed from years of telling students that the way they just took the integral of the differential form was wrong. “You just tied a Granny Knot. No wonder you have to tie a double knot.”

Over the years I have taken to tying double knots in the bows so they don’t come undone. I first started doing this back when I ran with coworkers at lunchtime and they didn’t like stopping while I retied my shoes.

I was stunned. I looked at my shoes (more out of shame than checking what he had just said) and realized that he was right. Fifty-five years of training my hands to go right-over-left then right-over-left was wrong. I should have been going left-over-right then right-over-left, if I had ever thought about it. Tying your shoes is like riding a bicycle, if you think about what you are doing you will probably mess up. Now I would have to retrain my hands. I didn’t think it was possible. I immediately untied my shoes and retied them properly but with much difficulty. I was certain that I could not learn this new approach. I would never be able to tie my shoes in the dark again.

I am here to report that my old dogs now have new bows. Not only does a properly tied square-knot bow not need to be double knotted but old hands can be retaught. I still can’t figure out how I didn’t notice that I have been tying a Granny Knot for all of those years. I guess I am an extrovert.

Reflections in a Double Doo Wop

By

M.L. VanBlaricum

© May 2011

I drove my love to the airport today.

Her heart now beats A Thousand Miles Away.

Over the Mountain, Across the Sea,

We have an Unchained Melody.

In the Still of the Night I put music on,

And listened to some doo wop songs.

C, A minor, F, then G,

Put me in a maudlin key.

My heart became a little blue.

All I want is Only You.

I should probably change this song.

Perhaps a Rama Lama, Ding Dong?

Petit Gris

By M.L. VanBlaricum

© April 2011

I rose earlier than usual this morning. I walk to the driveway in my bare feet to get the LA Times; the dew from the overnight coastal fog is still on the grass. I spot a brown, garden snail (Cornu Asperum) scurrying back to the bushes after spending the night eating my amaryllis. Perhaps not scurrying by people standards, but I bet in its mind (if snails have minds) it is absolutely doing a sprint.

The snails in Santa Barbara are originally from the Mediterranean – someone brought them over by accident in all of the plants that were transplanted here from there. But, the story goes that a hungry Frenchman wanted a fresh supply of escargot so he imported his own and they got out of the corral. If you listen closely some mornings you can hear French and Italian coming from the flower garden.

I watch it (I’ll call it Tove) slither, gyre, and gimble towards the boxwood. When I was younger, I used to stomp them or throw them into the street to take their chances dodging cars. I now carefully pick up the slimey Tove and gently carry the critter to my backyard and place it in front of my Eastern box turtle, Duchess who is currently enjoying the wabe. Duchess loves’ Petit Gris Escargot but she is not an elegant eater.



A Left-Handed Poem

by M.L. VanBlaricum

An old trombone injury has acted up,
my arm is in a sling.
After sixty years of being right-handed
I am left-handed,
for six weeks.

Typing is not an issue,
I’ve always hunted and pecked.
Now, I am half as slow.
Ctrl/Alt/Delete is an issue.

Buckling my belt is an issue.
So is buttoning my pants.
I sprained my left index finger
pulling the button hole to the button.

Using the remote control is not an issue.
Wasting time watching what it controls is.

Opening a Coke bottle is an issue.
Beer with twist off caps is the brew de jour.

I have learned to type on my BBerry
with my left thumb.
Now I’m ambithumbdrous.

I can hold a book open left-handed.                               

Turning the pages is a problem.
Time to switch to an e-book?
I think not,
But, that can be rethunk.

Growing a beard
keeps me from bleeding to death.
Trimming the beard is dicey.
Oh for a pair of left-handed scissors.

I can't take the garbage out,
That's a positive.
I am gallant however,
And hold the door open for my wife.

I can put my socks on,
if they're old and stretched at the top.

I can't tie my shoes.
Having my wife do it is demeaning -
to both of us.
I now wear sandals.
Sandals, a beard, lookout Sixties here I come!

Brushing my teeth left-handed
the toothbrush went up my nose.

I'm sloppy using a spoon.
A fork becomes a weapon.
Cutting my meat is difficult.
I shy away from restaurants.

My daughter says that it is good
for old people to learn a new skill –
it sharpens the brain.
All things considered,
I would rather be learning
to juggle.

And what does she mean,
 “old people”?

©April 2011