November 10, 2010 · 6:14 am

Closing the cover

It’s the end of an era. That’s what people my age and older say about practically everything as it passes.

This week U.S. News & World Report announced that its December issue would be the last to hit newsstands, following 62 years in print circulation. The magazine will continue to live online.

As with many periodicals, U.S. News has been struggling to adapt to dwindling print ads and consumers’ overall shift to the Web, by publishing less often and making other cutbacks.

I am not a regular reader of the magazine. I paid a lot of attention to its famed rankings of U.S. colleges and universities when our son was applying to college five years ago. Otherwise, I read an occasional copy in a doctor’s office, or perhaps on a plane.

However, I remember vividly a year in which I read it consistently.

In my senior year of high school, all students taking Mr. Henretty’s U.S. Government class at Annandale High were required to subscribe to—and read—U.S. News & World Report every week.

Carrying around my copy of U.S. News made me feel more adult than turning 18 did that year. I read U.S. News before I began reading the newspaper regularly. In fact, reading the magazine and discussing it in class might have given rise to the news addiction I developed shortly thereafter. There’s no doubt Mr. Henretty knew what he was doing.

I suspect high school seniors are reading as much news online as we read in print in 1978, if not more. But I can’t imagine their feeling the same pride and excitement that we did, pulling U.S. News & World Report out of our book bags.

As soon as the December issue is on the newsstands, you can bet I’ll be picking up a souvenir copy at an airport near me.

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November 9, 2010 · 6:18 am

Desperate times

I just activated my emergency Snickers bar.

You might be saying to yourself, I thought she was forced to give up chocolate. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

I made it through Halloween without a single piece of chocolate, which took great will power; but I was committed to good health and respectful of my dietary restrictions. However, I did stash one Snickers bar, perhaps as a measure of security, where I could get to it in an emergency.

Recently, some minor yet frustrating annoyances have graced our doorstep, which have called for generous amounts of patience and flexibility. The first was October’s fender bender and the various inconveniences that ensued.

I fully appreciate that the flies in my ointment are mere gnats compared to what the world’s poor, sick and homeless face every day. All the more reason to face one’s irritations with proper perspective.

So, as my gnats began to reproduce and mutate, I consulted my handy new manual, How to Say It, to be sure I addressed each inconvenience—and the person behind it—appropriately. Chapter 13 on Complaints offered a wealth of tips and techniques for airing one’s grievances, firmly but politely. I drew upon the insights offered in Chapter 13 to respond to statements like, We’re sorry, Mrs. Welch, but the rug you ordered in August, that was to be delivered in September, might (but we cannot offer any guarantee) be delivered in mid-January, and We’re sorry, Mrs. Welch, but the home project that was to be done in October is delayed indefinitely. We hope to start before Christmas (but we cannot offer any guarantee).

Chapter 13 gave me the right words but it provided no guarantee. Or result. I was on the edge.

With the ointment now full of horse flies, the only weapon I had left was an illegal, fun-sized Snickers bar.

Now, following a Snickers breakfast and paying the piper for it, I will leave  to catch an early flight with an impossibly tight connection. I will be optimistic about not hearing your flight is delayed, your flight has been cancelled or you missed your connection. (Heaven knows, the airlines offer no guarantee.)

Either way, I know the newsstand sells grown-up sized Snickers bars. And extra strength Tums.

Optimism aside, is it an omen that an enormous fly is buzzing overhead as I write this?

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November 8, 2010 · 9:22 am

Royal flair

Some headlines are just too good not to re-post:

Queen joins Facebook, but you can’t be her friend or poke her (UK Metro)

The Socialite Network: UK’s Queen joins Facebook (Associated Press, London)

Queen Elizabeth on Facebook, not looking for friends (Montreal Gazette)

What do you know? Today Buckingham Palace is to launch a Facebook account for The British Monarchy, which will feature news, photos, videos and daily updates about the activities of Queen Elizabeth II and other members of the Royal Family.

We don’t know what kind of settings are available uniquely to Her Majesty but it has been made clear she’ll be protected from common pokes, Friend requests and any direct contact other than a distant “like.”

I’m not one of the Royal Family’s 70,000 followers on Twitter, so I don’t know what kind of updates are already tweeting out of the palace on a regular basis.

Will we now know what kind of tea she’s sipping or what’s in her porridge? For whom she’s voting on Britain’s Got Talent? How many animals she’s feeding in FarmVille? What she really thinks of Kate Middleton?

Have you liked the Queen today?

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November 6, 2010 · 8:20 am

Pussycat pussycat

There was a side angle to yesterday’s Word Nymph post that caught the attention of a few readers who know my family. Several people commented on and off line about the fact that we are cleaning out our attic. One reader referenced our attic by its given name, the Pussycat Lounge.

I guess it’s time to come clean about our dirty little secret. Besides, we are going to have to do something about it eventually if we are ever to sell our house or save our son from having to deal with it on his own.

I may have mentioned that we live in historic Kensington, Maryland, incorporated in 1894 and preserved as a small town of Victorian homes and antique shops.

Our house, built in 1912, is still quite in character. From the gingerbread out front to the lace curtains, wood floors and flowery wallpaper, our home appears to be inhabited by prim and proper residents.

Until you get to the third floor. The Pussycat Lounge is my husband’s man cave. It’s also his treasure chest, his scrap book, his museum, his “art” gallery. It’s a monument to his childhood, adolescence, adulthood and his second adolescence.  It’s where cigars are smoked, whiskey is sipped, hundreds of carousels of old slides are viewed on a large screen. Some nights, the mirror ball spins, the lava lamp bubbles, tiki lights twinkle and, before it almost caught the house on fire, a commercial sized neon bar sign glowed. It’s also where old nursery furniture and baby clothes were stored and, until recently, where a turn-of-the-century clawfoot bathtub, not connected to any pipes, held hundreds of stuffed animals.

Oh, and it’s also command central, where the business of the household is managed.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. There are no words for the Pussycat Lounge. As with any significant monument, it must be experienced.

Some day we may offer tickets to the closing of the Pussycat Lounge. Everyone who comes can take a souvenir, which might just be a picture of you.

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November 5, 2010 · 8:31 am

The meal deal

This past couple of weeks have been a time of major purging at my house. In preparation for a major home improvement project—installation of central air conditioning—my husband and I have been going through 20 years’ worth of attic accumulation and carrying clutter and memories out the door.

This week we donated our son’s baby furniture, equipment and worn stuffed animals to charity. Yesterday, we said good bye to six window unit air conditioners. Serious purging.

Still, there remains a large bin in our basement that has gone untouched for 20 years. We were never quite sure what to do with its contents. Until now.

I have an idea for turning clutter into cash—by selling Happy Meal toys on street corners in San Francisco. Once the Board of Supervisors’ ban on offering free toys with junk food takes effect, I’ll hit up parents leaving McDonald’s with their kids in mid-meltdown, revealing plastic characters, from Aladdin to Zazu, nestled in the lining of my trench coat.

Will the ban make a difference, you wonder? I don’t know. I think kids get hooked on McDonald’s because it tastes better than Mom’s meatloaf and brussels sprouts. The Happy Meal wasn’t introduced until I was in college, after I’d been already been hooked on McDonald’s fries and chocolate shakes for more than 10 years. And hot apple pie before they banned frying it in lard. It never took a plastic Disney character to lure me over to the dark side.

 Psst, need to score a Nemo? I can hook you up.

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November 4, 2010 · 8:32 am

Dream on

Not too long ago, we had fun here talking about our first jobs. The idea came about when the Today show ran a series about its hosts’ first jobs. The post prompted readers to share memories of theirs.

This week, CBS’ The Early Show has been airing a series on dream jobs, in which the hosts and others from the CBS family help viewers score their dream jobs, if only for a day–working at the zoo, cooking alongside Bobby Flay, writing cards for Hallmark and so on.

This got me thinking. I don’t know about you, but my idea of a dream job takes on a different form with each passing year.

When I was four, I wanted to be a ballerina nun. That lasted until I was six, when I wanted to be a go-go dancer. Actually I was a go-go dancer, in a make-believe go-go club my friends and I set up in the garage, with the help of my mother, who made us all fringed hot pink go-go dresses. We had one 45 rpm record, The Beatles’ “Can’t Buy Me Love;” two if you count the flip side, which was “You Can’t Do That.”

It has turned out that I’ve had a real dream job or two in my life. Or at least good jobs with dream perks. For several years, I got to travel the world, sometimes via corporate jet, doing fascinating work. Still, working in public policy as I did, it was not unusual to work on a single issue for years on end with seemingly little hope of completion.

It was then I used to dream of being a supermarket cashier. In addition to a fondness for groceries, what appealed to me most was the ability to finish a day’s work completely and definitively, with nothing hanging over my head. When your shift ends, you turn in your cash drawer, clock out, go home and leave it behind. You come in the next day with a clean smock and a fresh outlook.

I no longer have that dream because I am fortunate to be engaged more recently in project work, which carries with it that same sense of satisfaction–of completing a project, wrapping it up neatly and beginning a new one.

My husband has what many consider a dream job, and yet he dreams of other options. He is an oceanographer and wants to be a cowboy.

I can’t say at this moment what I’d consider to be my dream job. Maybe a shoe model.

Your turn. What did you want to be when you grew up or, now that you’re grown, what would be your dream job, even if you could do it for only a day?

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November 3, 2010 · 8:35 am

Autumnal agida

I gather that, regardless of our individual political leanings, most of us are glad to have Election Day behind us.  

This has been a stressful time for our nation and its citizens as we’ve nearly wrestled each other to the ground for power. Personally, the raw nerves and ugly behavior displayed in past months have had me gobbling Tums like movie popcorn.

I have close friends and family members at both extremes of the political spectrum and in every gradation in between. Nowhere is this more evident than on Facebook. While I have personal connection to—and fondness for—each one of my 147 Facebook friends, the reality is that there are as many flaming liberals as there are arch conservatives, each living true to his or her values. I like having a rich diversity of friendships. After all, life would be painfully boring if we surrounded ourselves only with those who look, sound and think as we do.

It is for this reason that, while I do disclose my political orientation in my Facebook profile, I deliberately refrain from spilling forth my political views from the Facebook platform. This takes a good deal of restraint on my part. The reason for the restraint is that I do not wish to upset or offend my friends the way some do me when they post politically and emotionally charged judgments from their Status boxes. Thankfully, we live in a free country, and we are fortunate to have the right to express ourselves as we choose. But, as someone who abhors conflict, especially among friends, I prefer to avoid it. And gobble antacids.

However, I do wish to list the top reasons I am glad Decision 2010, or whatever your network calls it, is behind us.

  1. No more robo-calls at inopportune times
  2. No more mudslinging political ads souring my evening television comedy or morning news
  3. No more bulky flyers in the mailbox
  4. No more need for conflict avoidance on Facebook
  5. No more, or at least, I hope, fewer, mispronunciations of the word “pundit” by smart, well-paid broadcasters.

It’s pundit, folks, not pundint. One n.

Now let’s move on. Kumbaya.

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November 2, 2010 · 8:23 am

Hefty and handy

I don’t know how many will share my enthusiasm, but I just found something to really sink my teeth into—though if it were a sandwich, I’d have trouble getting my teeth around it. It’s that big.

It practically jumped right out of the Border’s bargain bin into my welcoming arms. Nearly three pounds and 890 pages of meat. It’s called The Big Book of How to Say It. You may already know it; it’s been out for 12 years.

Of course, the title caught my eye. At first, I took it for another tome for word geeks. Actually, it’s two tomes, How to Say It by Rosalie Maggio and How to Say It At Work by Jack Griffin.

Cringe not; this book has little to do with grammar and everything to do with writing and speaking one’s mind in the most thoughtful, personal and effective way—under almost any practical social or business scenario.

The Big Book is also not an etiquette book. While offering suggestions on the most appropriate way to express one’s thoughts, the focus is on choosing the right words and tone for the occasion, customized for the addresser and addressee alike.

I immediately bought it for a special someone for Christmas. Now I’m reluctant to give it up. There are more than 60 chapters dealing with everything from expressing (and accepting) a simple condolence to applying for a job, and 58 topics in between. Each chapter includes several options for “How to Say It” as well as “What Not to Say.”  There’s also a mini-thesaurus in each chapter, along with handy writing tips to suit the situation.

Apologies. Holiday letters. Complaints. Job terminations. Negotiating a promotion. Renegotiating a deadline. Accepting a compliment. Taking criticism. Handling a snafu. Agreeing to a drug test. Announcing the cancellation of a wedding. It’s all there.

As a bonus , in one of the chapters dealing with getting a job, there’s a whole section on How to Say it with Clothes, including 28 tips for men and 23 for women. Just remember, the book was written in 1998.

If you’re looking for just the right gift for everyone on your shopping list this holiday season–word nerd, etiquette geek or lay person–then grab a forklift and head on over to Borders. You could order online but the shipping might cost more than the book.

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November 1, 2010 · 8:14 am

Weekend in Washington

And so goes another weekend. Another Halloween. Another Marine Corps Marathon. Another Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. Another October, gone.

My ears are still ringing from the flip-flip-flip of calendar pages turning in animation, the door bell ringing, endless political ads and the oohs and ows following my husband’s excellent Marathon performance. Thank goodness I Restored my Sanity.

As far as the Rally, which by the way was an absolute blast, you’ve no doubt read the news, watched the television coverage and seen the 100 Best Signs, so there’s not much I can add. Except my favorite sign: “Take it off CAPS LOCK.”

I trust the weekend provided the District of Columbia’s economy with a big burst of stimulus, thanks to the Rally on Saturday, Marathon on Sunday and traditionally huge crowds in Georgetown Sunday night.

I outgrew Halloween in Georgetown many years ago. Instead, I spent the evening on our front porch, in a rocker, wrapped in a blanket, Elvis the cat in my lap. The trick-or-treaters thought he was part of my costume. Crazy Cat Lady.

Nearly 500 revelers came to our door dressed in about 40 different costumes. In addition to the usual witches, cats, fairy princesses and superheroes, there were emergent, yet unfamiliar themes that proved I am not seeing enough movies or playing enough video games. Don’t tell my nephews I asked this, but what in heaven’s galaxy is a clone trooper?

If I could give out prizes, I’d reward all the kids wearing homemade costumes—including a pair of 1920s flappers, a set of black and white Siamese twins and a foursome of six-year-old Mafia men.

But my favorite comes from the only-in-Washington category. He was a little guy dressed in a suit and tie, pressed white shirt, good dress shoes and a leather briefcase.

He was a lobbyist.

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October 30, 2010 · 8:26 am

Bass ackwards

Earlier this week a reader requested a piece on spoonerisms.

Spoonerisms are words in phrases in which the first letters or syllables are switched, often inadvertently. They can be simple slips of the tongue or deliberate plays on words.

The spoonerism is named for the Reverend William Archibald Spooner (1844-1930), Warden of New College, Oxford, who was famous for his slips, perhaps the most storied of which was a toast he made at a University event, in which he proposed, “Three cheers for our queer old dean!” Another account of that story has Rev. Spooner having said, “Let us glaze our asses and toast the queer dean.”

As I have worked through the many word plays for this blog, I’ve skipped over spoonerisms quite a few times. I can think of two possible reasons.

One, I don’t find spoonerisms as funny as many people do. And they’re often associated with inebriation, as in “tee martoonis.” Two, I once committed such an offensive, yet inadvertent spoonerism that it was intensely traumatic, both for me and a waiter, and nearly got me thrown out of a restaurant in 1994. I didn’t have the courage to go back until 2007.

However, for those who do find amusement in spoonerisms, there are far more examples out on the Internet than on any word plays we’ve covered here. So, please, go forth and giggle.

According to a website called The Straight Dope (caution, it’s addictive, you’ll lose an entire afternoon): There is some difference of opinion about what constitutes a true spoonerism. Some authorities view that a spoonerism can only involve an exchange of initial sounds (usually consonants); thus, “peas and carrots” becomes “keys and parrots.” Others allow transposition of syllables (“Don’t put all your Basques in one exit”) or word parts (“When I throw rocks at seagulls, I leave no tern unstoned.”). And others allow the transposition of entire words (“The cows sent into orbit became known as the first herd shot round the world.”)

I bet you have spoonerisms to share. Feel free to leave as many as you like here, but you won’t catch me milling spine.

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