May 5, 2010 · 7:20 am

As sweet as a simile in springtime

I will always remember the day in fifth grade when we learned about similes, metaphors and alliterations.  It was then that I knew I was different;  I was the only one enjoying the lesson.  I had no choice but to feign nonchalance to avoid ridicule.

Who would have imagined that day in Mrs. Sergent’s class that 40 years later there would exist, in a place called the Internet, a website of hip hop similes?  Yes, indeed.  I found it, a site described as “The best rap lyrics, hip hop similes, metaphors, clever battle raps and punchlines.”  The best.  Among all the sites for rap lyrics, hip hop similes, metaphors, clever battle raps and punchlines this one is “the best.”  Or so it claims.  Not surprisingly, it’s pretty off-color, especially to a middle aged word geek.  But I’m amused that it exists.

I’ve always enjoyed a good simile, and when I hear a good one I tuck it way for emergencies.

I once worked with a colorful Texan who used to describe being “as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”  Others I like include:

     “busy as a cross-eyed boy at a three-ring circus”

     “hard as putting pantyhose on a porcupine”

     “happy as a pig eating pancakes”

     “quick as a nun’s kiss”

     “off like a prom dress in May”

There’s another cute one going around, “my grandma’s teeth are like stars, they come out at night.”

Do you have a favorite?

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May 4, 2010 · 7:03 am

Why I love Facebook

Let me say upfront that I have some gripes about Facebook.  Just when this old dog is comfortable with functions and features, some so-called upgrade happens and she has to learn new tricks.  I resent that Wordscraper players I know have gotten debilitating viruses.  I seethe when a dialog box pops up with some new offering, such as linking my personal profile to some public doohickey and gives me only two choices, “Now” or “Later.”

Those grievances aside, I think Facebook is the coolest thing to come along in, oh I don’t know, maybe ever. 

I happen to have a lot of friends and I cherish every one.  It has taken a lot of effort over the years to maintain these friendships, but it’s been well worth the investment.  If I look at my life as a quilt, each square, stitch and wad of batting represents laughs shared, bread broken, hard times endured or secrets kept.

Before I make my point, I have a confession.  I really don’t like the telephone.  If there’s someone I haven’t seen or spoken with in a long time, it’s not only difficult but hugely frustrating to try and catch up on life over the phone.  You have to remember the high points, funny stories, details that might be of narrow interest.  Phone calls happen in real time.  Real time isn’t always practical.  Please don’t get me wrong.  If a friend in need called me, I’d spring into action.  And I’d never turn down or resent a call from a loved one.

Facebook gives us the opportunity to share the little things that connect us day by day and give our lives texture.  It brings us together during a blizzard when we might otherwise be feeling isolated.  It allows us to make each other laugh, rally around a cause or share our love of books, movies and music. 

Facebook has been criticized for providing an outlet for drooling out useless minutia.   Admittedly, some status updates read as humor columnist Gene Weingarten describes in this week’s column:  “I am currently squirting tepid whipped cream directly into my mouth from the can because my refrigerator is broken and this is the only source of nutrients I can find that has not yet spoiled…”  But 99 percent of the posts I read make me smile or laugh out loud.  I consider this a pretty enjoyable way to spend my time.  And it is my time because I can interact when it is convenient for me and not when there’s a pot boiling over on my stove.

Facebook has also brought me closer to people I’ve known my whole life but not necessarily well—such as some cousins whom I didn’t know well as a child because we were apart in years or miles.  It has been a blast hanging out with them online.

Those benefits aside, here’s the most remarkable thing about Facebook.

For years I have had a fantasy that all these smart, clever, witty friends I have could one day meet each other.  Up to now, I thought that would only happen at my funeral.

I am amazed to see my fantasy coming true—on Facebook.   All I have to do is throw out a comment and, voilà, a college chum in New Jersey is joking with a church friend now living in Barbados (who by the way happens to write a great blog called Living in Barbados).   An old Dewey Beach house-mate living in Florida is in dialogue with my best friend from seventh grade, now living in Arizona.  A colleague from 20 years ago, now living in Burbank, might be sharing a laugh with one of my distant in-laws living in Chihuahua.  I was waiting for a friend living in New York City but studying at l’Institute de Francais, to strike up a tête-à-tête with my former OB/GYN, now living in Panama; I haven’t given up on that.   

Nearly every day, the people in my life come together to share a laugh, often at my expense.

I love that.

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May 3, 2010 · 7:11 am

Fashion nonsense

You’ve got to love the lingo of the fashion industry.

Fashion is a heavy-hitting segment of the world economy, so it should be taken seriously.  But is it taking itself too seriously?

I am slow to keep up with the jargon.   Shrugs, jeggings, boyfriend jeans.  I am often garment-naïve until these styles are already passé.  I know tunic because Julius Caesar wore one.  As an aside, my husband was shocked recently to see a storefront sign advertising the “boyfriend crop.”  He thought it was an S&M device.

I try to listen to fashion consultant Stacy London, host of What Not to Wear, when she tells us how it is–what clothing styles we should wear for our body types or how to make an impression at that all-important social occasion.  Heaven knows, I need all the help I can get.

But there’s something about Stacy and her ilk that I just can’t take seriously when I hear:

“If you are wearing a sequined evening gown, you need a shoe…” or

“If you are short and stocky, you should wear a pant…”

A shoe?  A pant?  Just one?

OK, I know that’s accepted fashion-speak, but are we supposed to go along with this without snickering?

I’m not sure I can stand to listen to it anymore.  Maybe I’ll go out and buy an earmuff.

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May 1, 2010 · 6:52 am

Coming of age

Word Nymph has lived online for a whole month now.   That’s seven in blog years.

Her identity is evolving.  Before making her online debut, it took a month just to come up with a suitable name.  So what’s with this name, Word Nymph?  It must seem odd, especially to visitors who have recently stepped in.

The name was inspired by the purple-crowned wood nymph, a type of South American hummingbird.  There’s a loose parallel.  The Word Nymph speaks some Spanish and flaps her wings insanely fast, but it ends there.  Oh, and she likes purple.

The word “nymph” and the image it evokes—playful, not fully formed, like a fairy—comes from Greek mythology.

As the Word Nymph was creating her online persona, she imagined a park where all could play, squeal and intermingle over topics of common interest.   Words happen to be her fancy.

The Word Nymph also likes to laugh, mostly at herself, so she enjoys telling of her own ridiculous foibles and skewed observations. 

On this first day of May, she is thrilled to have so many playmates actively jumping in, bringing her grins and giggles every day.  She is looking forward to the summer, when she and her online buddies can kick off their Keds, nibble on Good Humor bars and keep up the folly.

Please remember – Word Nymph takes a break on Sundays.   Anyone for Swinging Statue?

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April 30, 2010 · 8:37 am

Sociology lessons while U wait

Earlier in this business travel season I had the opportunity to spend 11 hours in the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport.

When I posted on Facebook the news of my prolonged delay, four out of five Friends recommend I head for the bar.  My inner shopper begged for retail therapy.  Instead, I went gate hopping.  Every hour or two I got up and sat at a different gate.

I observed travelers and imagined their back stories.  I spotted trends and differences.  Surprisingly, there were more commonalities than differences among travelers at a given gate, from certain mannerisms to the ways in which adults related to their children.  I wondered how these might be linked to their destinations. 

I was seated at one gate when an arriving flight came in.  I watched as passengers entered the airport.   Each one was extraordinarily obese.  Oddly, nearly all passengers wore thin, frayed tee shirts, yet they did not seem to know each other.  One by one, each man who came off the plane sported an enormous, pendulous belly.  It was surreal.  And the women, also terribly overweight.  I was ashamed of myself for noticing, yet I couldn’t look away.  Each woman’s huge breasts dangled freely, inadequately supported by proper garments. It’s like the flight originated in a city without modern lingerie. 

I desperately wanted to know where they had flown in from. It must have been somewhere warm, as it was still winter and no coats or jackets were worn.  Was it a charter flight to a taping of The Biggest Loser?   Was it a city on Men’s Health magazine’s list of 10 Fattest Cities?  I thought about asking a passenger innocently, “From what city did this plane depart?”  But then, I just couldn’t come up with an honest but polite response to, “[insert city], why do you ask?”

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April 29, 2010 · 5:07 am

Lay down your peeves

Personally, I find the “Got milk?” ad—and every tired play on it—peeve-provoking.

I found myself tempted to ask, “Got peeves?”  in a tone of ridicule but thankfully, I had my answer before I had the chance to type those clichéd words.

Comments I received on a recent piece on poorly written song lyrics showed that my readers are bursting with word usage gripes, off the radio as well as on.

So, friends, this playground is safe.  Let ‘em out. 

I have a top 10 list of my own, in no particular order.  If there’s sufficient interest, we can explore each one in detail at some later time.  

Apostrophe used to form a plural.  I don’t like to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it’s tempting when the tag reads From: The Smith’s. 

“I” used as an objective pronoun, as in please send your response to Mary and I.  If Mary drops out, send your response to I?  Really?  Conversely, some of the same people bugged by I turn right around and say, she is as old as me.

“Myself,” other than as a reflexive pronoun, as in, if you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact myself.  You cannot contact myself because you are not I.  Also, “myself” is not an intelligent substitute for “I.”

“Different than” instead of “different from.”  This one appears to have cropped up lately and is getting out of control, even among the most articulate of speakers.  Someone please do something.

Prepositions as sentence-enders.  I realize the rules have relaxed on this one and I am willing to accept that, where it makes sense.  Where it does not make sense:  “How long were you gone for?”  “Where did you get that from?”  “How late will you be out til?”

Random quotation marks.  If you are going to put something in quotes, someone better have said it.  Who said, Wipe your “Feet?”   This example comes from the “blog” of “unnecessary” quotation marks  – check it out for a chuckle. 

Mispronunciation.  One example, Pulitzer is PULL-it-ser, not PEW-lit-ser.  NU-cle-ar, not NU-cue-lar.  I could go on—and will.

Punctuation outside the quotation marks, when writing in the United States.  I realize the Europeans do it differently but, until Jeopardy is filmed in the UK, I’d like the clue-writers to put periods and commas back inside the quotes.

Adverbs preceding absolute adjectives—such as unique, true, accurate or pregnant.  Nothing is “very unique,” “so true,” “completely accurate” or “a little bit pregnant.”  It is or it isn’t.

People who don’t think good grammar matters, especially public speakers.  I read an analogy once that likened good speech to a practiced art.  The commentator noted that, when we go to a musical performance and a singer hits the wrong note, we don’t say, “that’s all right, I know what note he meant to sing.”

Wow, it’s hard to stop at 10.

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April 28, 2010 · 4:44 am

Operation Buzzword

Marketing firms have perfected the art and science of crafting compelling campaigns.  The best campaigns reach a level so deep that targeted consumers are left with indelible memory retention, emotional engagement and motivation to act.  Think back to some age-old advertising slogans.  Even after more than 20 years, we remember the peace of mind we had upon hearing “Don’t leave home without it.”  Or “Plop plop fizz fizz, oh what a relief it is.”  Or “You’re in good hands.”  

We know that marketing  and ad campaigns see the light of day only after they have been fleshed out, flushed out, looked at upside down and inside out, extensively field and focus group tested, to ensure the message reaches targeted eyes and ears in the most stirring manner possible.

I found it interesting to read recently that military operations are named using a similar process.  In “Operation Name Game:  Where Military Might Meets Marketing,” The Washington Post’s Christian Davenport looks at how U.S. military operations in Iraq and Afghanistan are named–so as to rile the troops, intimidate or soften up the enemy or comfort those on the home front. 

For example, he points out that campaigns directed internally at the troops (e.g., Operation Scorpion Sting) are named differently from those aimed at local population (e.g., Glad Tidings of Benevolence) to elicit the desired response.

He added that campaign crafters are also charged with identifying potential downsides, to avoid serious consequences – such as being ridiculed in late night monologues.  Davenport upholds Winston Churchill as one of the best marketeers in history but notes Churchill didn’t have to worry about Leno.

But think about it.  The same opinion research, buzzwords and psychographics are in play among military strategists that might have gone in to Staples’ Easy Button.  Click; it’s that easy.  Northrop Grumman should get in on that one.

Read Davenport’s piece; it’s brilliantly written.

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April 27, 2010 · 5:25 am

The ants are my friends

They’re blowing in the wind.

Mondegreens.  What a cool name for a mistake.

The term reportedly was coined in 1954, in Sylvia Wright’s “The Death of Lady Mondegreen,” published in Harper’s Magazine.  In the essay Wright wrote that, as a child, she misheard a line in a ballad and subsequently sang “and Lady Mondegreen,” instead of “and laid him on the green.”

Ten years before there was a term for it, a novelty song based on the concept had listeners all over the world singing:   “Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey.”

Humor columnist Dave Barry wrote occasionally about such matters.  I remember one in particular that appealed to my inner Sylvia Wright.  The song was “Help Me Rhonda.”  For those of the Beach Boys generation, stop and think; can you sing the first line?  Here’s a hint.  It begins with “Since you put me down…”  Barry felt compelled to point out that the second part is not, “there’ve been owls puking in my bed.” I am still not sure what the lyrics really are because the liner notes make no sense.  Puking owls make more sense.

There are plenty of other famous mondegreens:  CCR’s “there’s a bathroom on the right” and Jimi Hendrix’ “’scuse me while I kiss this guy.”  And everyone loves that favorite Christmas carol, “Deck the Halls with Buddy Holly.”

I had a friend in college who sang The Police’s “Canary in a Coal Mine,” as “Mary in a coma.”

Another told of her little brother singing “Cracklin’ Rosie peed on the floor.”

And who can’t name two mondegreens in the same line of Manfred Man’s “Blinded by the Light?”  Please keep those to yourselves, as this is a family blog.

Anyone have any clean ones?

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April 26, 2010 · 7:37 am

Today is history

My blood was literally boiling (just making sure you are paying attention).

Yesterday morning on Weekend Today, an error-filled news caption hit me like finger flick between the eyes.  Occasional errors happen—everyone’s human—and,  given it was Sunday, I decided to be charitable and give the show a chance to notice and correct it before the end of the piece.  It almost always happens that way.  A misspelled word or other error appears in the caption but the next time it appears, it’s been corrected.  Not this time.

The caption read, “Single Mom’s of Choice” and focused on women who opt for artificial insemination over waiting for a mate.  Of course the first thing that jumped off the screen (not literally but almost) was the misplaced apostrophe in Mom’s.  Then I noticed the erroneous preposition.  It should have read Single Moms by Choice, not of Choice.  Single moms of choice would mean someone chose them.  The whole caption needed to be scrapped.

Jenna Wolfe had introduced the piece by saying that “one out of four children are raised by a single parent.”  Come on, where are the editors?   As the sloppy caption popped up for about the fourth time, “Relationship Expert” Robi Ludwig explained that for women over 35, “their options for fertility is decreasing.” 

I had already choked on my French Roast during Jenna’s earlier blathering about something, I can’t recall what because all I heard was, “I was like…and Lester was like… and then I was like…and then he was like…”  Is this a morning news program or the cafeteria at San Fernando Valley Junior High?

That’s it.  Charles Osgood, I’ve loved you for years.  You are smart and articulate and your stories are intelligent and interesting.  I’ve seen the error of my ways.  I am moving to CBS where the writers, producers, anchors and reporters don’t share one brain cell.

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April 24, 2010 · 7:50 am

Busted

I am pathologically compliant.  I obey the law, play by the rules and follow instructions. 

So you can imagine my shock yesterday morning when Central Casting sent their most type-cast North Carolina State Trooper to make me feel bad about myself.

Let me back up a bit.  I was driving home after a long week On the Road.  If you’ve been following my adventures (very un-Kerouac, I assure you), then you know I’ve been enjoying alone time in the car, listening to songs alphabetically on my iPod.  I am up to the F’s.  It was a sunny spring morning and I was singing along with Jackson Browne’s “For a Dancer” when I noticed a twinkle behind me.  I pulled over.

“Ma’am, I clocked you going sixty-nine in a fifty-five,” the trooper said.  I said nothing.

He took my license and registration and, when he returned from his cruiser, handed me a Uniform Citation and said, “This shows I caught you going seventy in a fifty-five mile-per-hour zone.”  I thought to myself, 70 in a 55 sounds serious.

I responded, “You said I was going sixty-nine.”

“I was confused,” he said.  “The last person I pulled over was going sixty-nine.  You were going seventy.”  That’s fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit.  He acceded that the speed limit on that road switches back and forth from 55 to 60, but it happened to be 55 where he stopped me.  He said, “I suggest you appear in court.”

I asked once again why he wrote the citation for 70 mph when he initially told me I was going 69. 

He essentially said, “I’ll see you in court” and walked away.

I sat there staring at the “Defendant Copy” of the citation.  I have never been a defendant.   I’ve never even seen the inside of a court room.  Suddenly I felt ashamed.  My compliance streak was busted and so was I. 

So I got back on the road, stayed in the right lane, and went exactly the speed limit the rest of the way home.  For 200 miles, one aggressive driver after another tried to run me off the road.  Where were all the troopers in North Carolina and Virginia then and why was no one nabbing the speed demons who were on my tail?  Automotive sodomy must be legal in those states.

I’ll be travelling by air next week and will be happy to be out of the car for a while.  Now if I can just stay alert during the boarding announcements (see Word Nymph April 12).

Note:  Just a reminder that Sunday is a no-blog day for the Word Nymph.  This week she’ll be curled up reading the North Carolina traffic code.

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