[New? Check out the Word of the Week Intro here.]

Ladies and gentlemen, Rafe wrote me a freaking limerick last week so, needless to say, he won. Being the only commenter on a post may get you a handful of bonus points, but poetry is at least 50. Thanks to him, we’ve also been introduced to a synonym for last week’s brannigan: donnybrook. (To learn more, try here.) It’s a good one.

I chose this week’s word because it’s quaint. You hear it all the time from hoedown enthusiasts, see it scrawled across the heavens in a casual bit of afternoon skywriting, or perhaps in macaroni and glitter on a piece of construction paper.

Heh. Okay, so it’s a mouthful. And even a skywriting champion would likely run out of smoke before completing an attempt to work this gem into one of his/her lofty compositions. The truth is, floccinaucinihilipilification is fairly rare, and it’s encountered primarily as an example of one of the longest words in the English language.

Actually, according to WorldWideWords.org, it was the longest word in the first printing of the Oxford English Dictionary, (but in the subsequent printing, it was trumped by pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis–I’ll save this one for another day.)

Despite its daunting first impression, however, the word is actually fairly straightforward. Floccinaucinihilipilification is pronounced:

flok-suh-naw-suh-nahy-hil-uh-pil-uh-fi-kay-shuhn

Here is a little sound byte I created to get you better acquainted.

Floccinaucinihilipilification is a noun, and the definition is quite simply: the estimation of something as valueless, trifling, or worthless.

As I did a little research (again on WorldWideWords.org), I found the history of the floccinaucinihilipilification far too interesting to leave out. Its origins date back to the eighteenth century in a grammar book at Eton College where a list of Latin words appeared, each of which meant “of little or no value”: flocci, nauci, nihili, and pili.

So as a joke, the kind of joke that sends tingles down my spine, some naughty little schoolboy threw all of these words together, added the suffix -fication to make one big supernoun, thus creating this week’s word. The dude was an eighteenth century boss. (If the mood strikes you, the verb, floccinaucinihilipilificate, to judge a thing to be valueless, may be constructed.)

Now, you might be thinking, “well, this is all well and good, but when the hell am I ever going to use this word?” Well, easy, tiger. Just think, you mutter this thing under your breath at an opportune moment, and it’ll be poetry. Potential sexual partners will be launching themselves at your feet.

Here is a short list to get your floccinaucinihilipilification off on the right start:

1. A letter of recommendation composed by an author with the literacy of a hedgehog.

2. A spork in the face of an opponent wielding an AK-47.

3. Brand new, state-of-the art running shoes as a holiday gift to…aquaman.

4. A cashmere cardigan ruffle shrug in the middle of the Alaskan Tundra.

5. A logical argument presented to Tyra Banks and the audience of her show.

6. A self-defense lesson on how to use your hairbrush as a weapon…to a ninja assassin.

7. Your Christian upbringing as a willing participant in an orgy.

8. $3.50 cash back on a box of graham crackers…Oprah’s graham crackers.

9. A case of dental floss to your average trailer park resident.

10. One remaining square of toilet paper in the face of explosive indigestion the morning after wolfing down the “Gigante Picante Muy Caliente Burrito” at “Mama Josana’s Cantina Mexicana Muy Especial!”

Of course, these are all instances of actual worthless items. Floccinaucinihilipilification is most commonly used as it was in 1999 by Senator Jesse Helms in a comment on the end of the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty: “I note your distress at my floccinaucinihilipilification of the CTBT,” to describe something that may or may not be actually valueless, and is open to interpretation.

“I am sick and tired of your floccinaucinihilipilification of my plight!” might apply.

In another example, a negative review of Snoop Dogg’s musical acumen would be unwarranted floccinaucinihilipilification.

So the most effective way to utilize the list above for proper floccinaucinihilipilification would be in a construct like the following:

[object you deem worthless/trifling] is about as useful as [choose #1-10].

Say it with me, folks: floccinaucinihilipilification.

Do me proud.

{ 2 comments }

My boyfriend Brendan’s beloved 15-year-old F-150 died last week. He’s in the market for a new truck and I’ve been assisting with the search.

Last night, I responded to an ad on Craigslist for a 2004 Chevy Silverado via email, in which I asked for a little more information about the vehicle.  I woke up this morning to the following response:

On Jul 20, 2010, at 11:56 PM, LTC Jessica Palmer <jespalmer2@googlemail.com> wrote:

Hi,

I am selling this car because my battalion has been sent back to Afghanistan and don’t want it get old in my backyard. The price is low because I need to sell it before July 28. It has no damage, no scratches or dents, no hidden defects. It is in immaculate condition, meticulously maintained and hasn’t been involved in any accident…I do have the title, clear, under my name. The SILVERADO has 47,000 current miles VIN# 1GCEK19T84E398344.It is still available for sale if interested, price as stated in the ad $4,900. The car is in Lakewood WA, in case it gets sold I will take care of shipping. Let me know if you are interested, email back.Below are the car details, also link with more photos and copy of Carfax report.If the link doesn’t work,copy and paste it into a new browser page.

Regards!!!
2004 CHEVROLET SILVERADO K1500 Z71
Vehicle title: Clear
Body type: 4 DOOR XCAB PICKUP
Engine: 5.3L V8 SFI
Exterior color: Black
Transmission: Automatic 4WD
Fuel type: Gasoline
Interior color: Gray

LTC Jessica Palmer

It threw me a little that this chick was in Washington state advertising to sell a truck in South Florida.  The price was a little unbelievable but unfortunately people sometimes do have to go to Afghanistan in a hurry these days so the story seemed halfway plausible.  The pictures and Carfax report looked legit enough, so after running it by Brendan, I responded with a quick email saying that the information looked promising and to please call to discuss further.

Shortly thereafter, I started to realize how much scam-y potential all this had.  The Afghanistan cover story was equal parts plausible and suspiciously convenient.  So I got wise and did a Google search for “LTC Jessica Palmer” to see what I could come up with.  This is the first thing I saw:

Google search results

My dad always told me, “If it looks too goo to be true, it probably is.”  Turns out the filthy prick behind all this had used the exact same email to attempt identical scams with various other vehicles.  I was pissed.  It goes without saying that all scam artists can take a knee and kiss my ass, but to cover as a United States soldier being shipped out to Afghanistan just gives the whole operation a whole new degree of slime.

A couple hours later, “Jessica” responded.  The email was lengthy and full of bullshit; I’ve included the important parts:

On Jul 21, 2010, at 11:03 AM, LTC Jessica Palmer <jespalmer2@googlemail.com> wrote:

Hi again,
As i told you, at this moment I am in WA state in a military base, getting ready for Afghanistan (I hope for the last time). I do a special training program each day and I am not allowed to get out of the unit or give calls whenever I want. The shipping will take 3 to 5 days depending on your location and it’s not a problem because i have considerable discount from eBay and I can do it at no cost for you.

The car is located in their warehouse in WA (ready for delivery). I’ve asked them to allow viewers to go there and inspect the car but their reply was: “We are not a showroom!” In this case, I will offer a 5-day period to inspect the car from the moment you receive it, before I’ll have your money. I think this is more than fair for both of us.

If you are still interested just send me your full name and shipping address. I will forward your info to eBay and they will notify you about our deal. Like this you’ll be able to talk directly with them and ask all you want to know.
Regards!!
Jessica

LTC Jessica Palmer

My first impulse was to respond with a string of obscenities so vile they’d make a truck driver weep.  But because I’d already disclosed Brendan’s name and cell phone number, I wanted to avoid creating any unnecessary controversy.  At the same time, I couldn’t just let it go, so during a few spare moments in the tower today, I composed and sent the following:

From: cleanuponaislefive@gmail.com <cleanuponaislefive@gmail.com>
Date: July 21, 2010 1:32:16 PM EDT
To: LTC Jessica Palmer <jespalmer2@googlemail.com>
Subject: Re: 2004 CHEVROLET SILVERADO K1500 Z71

Wow, Jessica.

You are truly an inspiring woman. A successful life in the armed forces takes a special kind of person and I have immense respect for those brave souls willing to risk their lives abroad in the name of our great country.

But you’re not just a soldier. Imagine my surprise after one quick Google search of “LTC Jessica Palmer” this morning indicated that you are selling various other vehicles as well. And what great deals!

I can imagine you are under tremendous stress with this daily special training and the grueling burden of planning for a deployment in Afghanistan at the same time as orchestrating the logistics of vacating what can only be a small used car lot. You have my deepest sympathies.

I’ll bet a busy woman like yourself doesn’t get a lot of time to rest, and if you’ll pardon my presumptuousness, I’d like to offer a helpful suggestion in the form of an energy drink recipe.

I’ve developed it myself and let me tell you, it’s infinitely more powerful than anything produced commercially. I’m not sure what your training consists of, but one serving of this will give you enough energy to outrun a rabid velociraptor (uphill), outswim a hungry great white, and wrestle them both into submission while simultaneously providing the focus and concentration required to do Advanced Calculus.

Anyway, I hope it helps.

In a blender, combine:
1/4 cup organic lemon juice
2 tbsp cayenne pepper
1/2 cup distilled water
1 cup raw bran flakes
1/3 cup chilled arsenic
Orange blossom honey (to taste)

No thanks necessary, Jess. Think of it as a nugget of my appreciation for the work you do.

God bless America.

Regards!!

I haven’t gotten a response.  Fingers crossed that means she took my advice.

{ 12 comments }

WoW #20: Brannigan

by Stormy Cruz on July 20, 2010 · 5 comments

[New? Check out the Word of the Week Intro here.]

Last week’s WoW was pretty good, I must say.  Chicken brought us “fuckity fuck,” and Rafe brought us “fuckmuppetry,” both poetic interpretations of the original.  But I might have to throw the win to Alexa who offered simply “fuck me,” because who can turn that down, right?

Nice job, folks. I like it.

This week’s word is brannigan, pronounced “BRAN-i-guhn,” much like it appears.  It’s a noun, and it means either:

1. a carouse, squabble or brawl
or
2. a drinking spree or binge.

So yeah, I suspect it’s no coincidence that this word sounds like a pale, freckle-faced, red-headed Irish bartender with a pipe in one hand and a Guinness in the other.  At least, that’s what I think of when I see it.

The following little story, told in a series of Limericks (fittingly, Limericks were believed to have originated with early Irish poets and were named after the county of Limerick in Ireland) may help elucidate:

There was once a leprechaun called Flannigan,
Who was perpetually up to shenanigans.
Very sensitive about his size,
With his diminutive allies,
He defended his honor in nightly brannigans.

When Flan met a hulk named Rolf,
He reacted with a derisive scoff.
“You play basketball?” sneered Flan,
In the shadow of the man,
Who replied, “No. Do you play mini golf?”

Wee Flannigan and his friends turned red,
From their toes to their pin-sized heads.
They put up their dukes,
And shouted rebukes,
And went to war on poor Rolf’s Keds.

Rolf looked on at the onslaught amused,
Until his toes began to bruise.
So as an offering of peace,
And in lieu of police,
He offered the men some booze.

And soon their bitterness was dashed,
As the men caroused with Rolf unabashed.
For when he placed that pint on the floor,
He’d instantly mended rapport,
And together they all became happily smashed.

That should do it for brannigan (I like happy endings and getting “happily smashed” is the way to go out). If you missed it last week, check out my “Ode to Beer.”

If you haven’t yet noticed, postings here on IB have been consistently random from the start.  Aside from the weekly WoW, other goods vary from poetry to profound animated cinematography to various forms of satirical musings.  That kind of thing will continue.  But I also have a few new items in the works, one in particular for which I’d like some input from you all.  Stay tuned!

{ 5 comments }

Ode to Beer

by Stormy Cruz on July 17, 2010 · 1 comment

A genie once asked to grant me three wishes,
so I wished for world peace and an end to world hunger,
and when I was sure of every soul in good cheer,
my final wish was for a beer.

Of all the things in this world I hold dear,
I cannot deny my love of beer.

I love beer on a lark,
I love beer in the park,
In the sun or in the shade,
Instead of a glass of lemonade.

Sometimes as I admire the morning dew,
all I desire is an ice cold brew.
I love a beer at any hour,
In the bath or in the shower.

I’ll have a beer when I’m in a jam,
And one to wash down my green eggs and ham.
A beer for breakfast and a beer for lunch,
I’ll never opt for water, wine, soda, tea, or punch.

I love all types of lager and ale;
I’ve tried to quit but to no avail.
My petty worries are each eclipsed,
When I bring that frothy brew to my lips.

Beer is unparalleled in its allure,
and of the following I am sure:
After six days spent creating the earth–God was done,
and on the seventh day, he poured himself a cold one.

{ 1 comment }

WoW #19: Fuck

by Stormy Cruz on July 13, 2010 · 11 comments

[New? Check out the Word of the Week Intro here.]

Last week’s Word of the Week was like a performance by a one-man band.  Congratulations, once again, to Rafe.

I’ve been rewarding winners with a link and a mention in each new WoW post, but I feel something new is in order this week.  For everyone.  This will be the internet equivalent of dangling a carrot (or a Kit-Kat, people, whatever) in front of you all.  It’s in the form of something to ogle and hopefully thus entice you into participation.  There’s also an unmistakable tie-in to this week’s word; it’s all part of the master plan.

I realize it’s a bit to ask for you to come visit and compose a comment including a random word, but no one’s here to judge.  Just let it fly; give it your best shot.  In the spirit of this week’s word, I’d like to draw the analogy of a little lexicographical loyalty to doing one’s Kegel exercises (boys, contrary to popular belief, these are for you too): just a little bit of dedication can translate to enormous gratification in the long run.

A good vocabulary is sexy on anyone.  No one can argue with that.  If you’re in doubt, imagine two sexually attractive people standing side-by-side.  Each holds a sign.  One reads: “I’m very horny for you, baby.  Let’s have sex right here in the dark.  Do you feel me?”  The other reads, “I have a brobdingnagian sexual appetite for you, baby.  Let’s take advantage of this sensual, subfusc evening and fuck. Grok?”

No contest, right?  I thought so.

So, without further ado, I present to you The Alexa Collection: Erotica.  There’s something for everyone there, but I must warn you, it is extremely NSFW, unless you work in porn, in which case, well shit…you’ll have plenty to share for this week’s word.

The allure of fuck is understandable.  The word is practically as versatile as duct tape–and that’s impressive.  Fittingly, a lifeguard friend of mine used to express the versatility of the latter with this: “If you can’t ‘duc’ it, fuck it.”

I wish I could claim the work below as my own, but alas not.  It is genius, though, and it delineates the scope of fuck in a way that borders on poetry.  Please enjoy:

Make me proud.  And stay tuned for more later this week!

{ 11 comments }

“Whiskers”

by Stormy Cruz on July 8, 2010 · 2 comments

This is the second installment of my Conversations I Really Want to Have series.  Part one, which has nothing whatsoever to do with part two, may be enjoyed here.

{ 2 comments }

WoW #18: Ogle

by Stormy Cruz on July 6, 2010 · 7 comments

[New? Check out the Word of the Week Intro here.]

Happy Tuesday, people. As you may have figured out from the comments section of last week’s WoW, Rafe won again. (Shout out to my friend @yosemity_phil for giving it some last-minute love on Twitter today.) Rafe is good, I’ve got to hand it to him. You can check out the award-winning comment here. In case anyone is feeling intimidated, don’t worry. He’s a cupcake once you get to know him. Having said that, somebody please beat him.

This week’s word is hardly esoteric, but that’s okay. It came up a few times today so I thought I’d go for it; not all good things in this world need be enigmatic. If the past several WoWs were caviar, this one’s more like a fish sandwich. Enjoy.

Ogle.

It can be used as either a noun or a verb, so it’s good and versatile.

As a bonus, I’ve encountered several people who don’t believe ogle is a real word…and that’s always fun.

Definitions as follows:

  • As a verb (used with or without an object): a) to look at amorously, flirtatiously, or impertinently, or b) to eye; look or stare at.
  • As a noun: an amorous, flirtatious, or impertinent glance or stare.

It’s pretty simple, really.

Everyone here with functioning organs has either ogled or been ogled, and likely a lot of both. When you hear (or make) the excuse “Hey, there’s no harm in looking!” there’s likely some ogling going on. Give or receive the universal “heeeyyyy” or “once over” look? Ogle.

A friend used ogle in a speech this afternoon. She was describing a scene at her sister’s wedding where she, her sister, and a couple other members of the wedding party being whisked to the beachside ceremony on a golf cart. The driver of the cart was a little lost and smashed the brake suddenly, sending the bride flying off her seat and onto the ground. The rear wheel tore a hole through the train of her dress big enough to fit a poodle through and left a giant skid mark to boot. Apparently, the other girls all stopped to ogle her and laugh before finally helping her up.

(Though ogle is most commonly used to describe a flirtatious or suggestive type of look, it can also mean just a regular old stare, which is how it was used here. Obviously, people.)

When I first saw ogle in print in a book as a child, I assumed it was pronounced “oogle.” Somehow, that’s just what made sense to my 12-year-old brain. Subsequently, I must have avoided hearing it said aloud or saying it myself because that’s how it became seared into my head until a couple of years ago when I pronounced it aloud and someone corrected me. I was sure I was right. Positive. But alas not. And I have to admit, I was a little (okay, a lot) disappointed.

The true pronunciation is: “oh-guhl” (rhymes with “mogul”) which, though it has the benefit of being correct, doesn’t sound half as cool. (When I get enough people interested, I’d like to petition the necessary parties to get an alternate pronunciation–and associated spelling, perhaps–accepted into the vernacular so we can all “oogle” for real.)

Anyway, unfortunately, I can’t ogle you people through the internet, so I’m going to let the Boss Dogg himself, Snoop D-o-double-g demonstrate the art. He is a professional after all.

Due to copyright restrictions, I wasn’t able to embed the pretty version, but I invite you to take it in here. There’s a lot of ogling in this music video. And for very good reason. Sit back, relax, and ogle.

…and if that wasn’t enough for you, there’s always this:

There once was a girl named Jane,

Who was sadly very plain.

She was smart as could be,

But alas she would see,

That men couldn’t ogle her brain.

I hoped you all enjoyed my foray into cinematography last week. I have another epic film up my sleeve this week so you can all anxiously await its unveiling.

That’ll be all for now. Ogle, folks. Be creative; I know this has applications aside from those that make your naughty bits tingle. Let’s hear it.

{ 7 comments }

This is the first installment in a new series of profound postings I’ve entitled Conversations I Really Want to Have.

Please enjoy.

{ 3 comments }

WoW #17: Subfusc

by Stormy Cruz on June 29, 2010 · 4 comments

[New? Check out the Word of the Week Intro here.]

You may have noticed there was no Word of the Week update last week. As a result, I have this image of all of you spending all weekend mute, desperately wanting to speak, eyes bulging in frustration, but unable to vocalize anything except last week’s feracious. I’m so sorry, guys. That must’ve been rough.

When I began this endeavor, I’d intended to post a word every Tuesday, but I’ve since allowed my postings to slip later and later into the week so that in order to get back on track I’d have to sell a word short and that just wouldn’t be right. This is me setting things straight.

Speaking of feracious, Rafe won again. Instead of elaborating upon the official word though, he apparently took it in, chewed it up, spit it out, and came up with “fecund,” a synonym for feracious. Luckily for him, I love that word too:

Your mystery shopper will, in the fullness of time, provide a particularly fecund ground for soil nutrients, and from the sounds of his shopping habits, that is going to happen sooner, rather than later.

Somebody please beat Rafe this week. He’s bound to let all this winning get to his head.

So, back to business: subfusc.

I like this word mostly because it looks and sounds oddly sexy. The accent is on the second syllable (which is pronounced like “fuck” with an “s” tossed in), and the whole thing goes something like this: sub-FUHSK. [See also: subfuscous. It means the same thing but it's not as easy to spit out five times fast.]

Subfusc is an adjective and it describes something dark, dull, drab, or somber in appearance/color.

I find it’s often used to describe clothing. The crowd at a funeral would likely qualify, unless it was my funeral in which case guests would already be familiar with the stipulations against subfusc clothing and sadness. They’d also likely be drunk, perhaps on one particular brand of subfusc liquid that, as one of my favorites, would be provided in abundance: dark beer. One in particular called “Black Duke” that I imbibe at a local microbrewery tastes something like dark chocolate with a touch of coffee and a dollop of black magic and ninja sweat. It’s delicious.

Though I’m certain subfusc could be put to some especially poetic uses (besides profound descriptions of beer), I can’t help but think it would make a terrific name for an emo store. (Let’s hear it for subfusc skinny jeans, eh?)

I can just see it now.

It would be in the mall somewhere, and the entrance is covered with an enormous black velvet curtain for maximum mysteriousness. Once inside, the only light comes from a few glow sticks strewn about and the dank atmosphere is saturated with noise from one of the featured albums on display, perhaps “Waterfalls of Pain,” “Rivers of Agony,” “Angst and the Angstys,” or “AAARRRGGGH.”

It’s the kind of place where you can fulfill all of your darkest emo desires: black journals to keep a daily record of your anguish, any item of clothing in any shade of mildew you could imagine, and a wide selection of razor blades for when the wretchedness of life gets to be too much.

With each purchase, the cashier slices your wrist and after your 10th slash, you receive 10% off your next purchase. Just a little something to make existing bearable for another day.

Behind that curtain in the corner is an Emo Dance Dance Revolution, where all you do is stand still on the platform while the music plays. Bonus points for awful posture. To win, however, you must shed a single tear.

Welcome to Subfusc.

So, now that I’ve imprinted this awful image in your minds, you may feel like I do after hearing a Ke$ha song (profoundly unclean), but if you’ve added subfusc to your repertoire in the process, then my work here is done.

That’ll be all for subfusc, folks. Do it up. WoW is now back to regular scheduling on Tuesdays, but stay tuned later this week for more goodness.

{ 4 comments }

The impact will be “very very modest.” –CEO of BP 1
regarding 50 million gallons 2 of oil sludge in the sea.
There’s been anger at this pomposity, but folks, let’s not get irate,
and perhaps postpone the talk of using the man for shark bait.

The truth is, Mr. Hayward has been under a lot of stress,
constantly coming up with fresh new fiction to feed the press.
And making all those excuses and telling all those lies
would surely wear out even the heartiest of guys.

No one wants this over more than he does, or so he swore.
“I’d like my life back,” he said. He just can’t take it anymore.
Don’t you all see? The sap just needs a vacation,
a load off all that pesky stress, a little soulful meditation.

Now, some of you may be distressed, and more of you may sneer,
but frankly, I insist. In fact, I volunteer.
A couple weeks of sun and relaxation is apropos,
and I know of no place better than the Gulf of Mexico.

I have a rubber dinghy that’s sufficiently large,
and I’d be willing to provide it entirely free of charge.
(It’s been sitting in my yard and beginning to show some wear,
but worry not. I’ll personally see to every little repair.)

The vessel comes equipped with cans for all your culinary indulging;
in fact, they’re all so stuffed with goods, they’re literally bulging!
And since a vacation without drinks would be an unreasonable affront,
I’ll stock your cooler with lots of refreshing, tangy chemical dispersant!

It’s totally harmless, remember? At least according to you, ol’ fella.
You can sip it with a kinky straw and a little tropical umbrella.
And in the eventuality that you’re still a little warm,
this hurricane season looks promising, and there’s no fresh air like a tropical storm.

In the quiet of the evenings, you might be disturbed by marine life slowly dying.
Drenched in oil and suffocating, you’ll likely hear them crying;
you may be troubled by the gruesome desperation of their plight.
But who am I kidding? You’ve never let that keep you up at night.

“I’m a Brit. I can take it,” is a brave claim, you little lime,
but listen, we all know you you’re having a rough time.
No one wants a stand-up guy like you getting all depressed;
I’ve covered all the bases, so you can get some rest.

Every last detail will be painstakingly planned,
according to your own standards, which have proven to be grand.
So pack your bags, my man, I’ll have everything ready A.S.A.P.
You hear that Tony? Call me.

  1. I’ve used Mr. Hayward as a symbol for BP for the purposes of this poem. Of course, the factors contributing to this catastrophe are far-reaching, but if I had approached this with the intention of being politically insightful, well, frankly, my rhyme scheme would’ve gone out the window. The truth is, I find the entire situation, as I’m sure you do, to be equal parts heart-wrenching and horrifying. It seems all the news surrounding the disaster is bad news, and I didn’t want to create more depressing rhetoric by writing a politically-correct account of the devastation. It may not be poignant, but the truth is, I felt a little better after I wrote this, if only briefly. Perhaps you will too.
  2. This was a rough estimate at the time of the comment. The current amount is terrifyingly, disastrously, devastatingly higher.

{ 4 comments }