Another photo which proves a picture is worth a thousand words. In October 1999 my husband had a business meeting in Switzerland, so we tagged along for a long weekend. We spent most of our time in Lucerne, in the center of the country. It's located along Lake Lucerne and nestled among the Swiss Alps, so it's a prime tourist destination. We took a steam engine across the lake, then an incline railway (something that enchanted Boy at the time) to the top of Mt. Pilatus (7000 ft), and a cable car back down to the city. Here is the view from atop Mt. Pilatus. It wasn't a very sunny day, but you can still get a sense of the Alps' majesty, as well as the beauty of Lake Lucerne.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Photo of the Week--8/25/08
Another photo which proves a picture is worth a thousand words. In October 1999 my husband had a business meeting in Switzerland, so we tagged along for a long weekend. We spent most of our time in Lucerne, in the center of the country. It's located along Lake Lucerne and nestled among the Swiss Alps, so it's a prime tourist destination. We took a steam engine across the lake, then an incline railway (something that enchanted Boy at the time) to the top of Mt. Pilatus (7000 ft), and a cable car back down to the city. Here is the view from atop Mt. Pilatus. It wasn't a very sunny day, but you can still get a sense of the Alps' majesty, as well as the beauty of Lake Lucerne.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Some brain required...
... and I was running low on brains yesterday. It should have been simple enough to as
semble the new chair and ottoman I bought at Ikea yesterday. (It's purty, ain't it? And comfy.) Heck, there were only four steps. Only six pieces. Only 10 screws. But somehow it didn't turn out that way. I ended up muttering and cursing to myself, ready to strangle the cat if she jumped in the box one more time.
Now, in my defense, it had been a long day. I took Boy to school to pick up his schedule. This required turning in his emergency info, getting his school ID photo taken, paying a deposit for his books, getting his schedule, turning in his internet permission form, paying for his yearbook, paying for school lunch, and picking up his books. (All 15 pounds of them. And notice how much "paying" was involved?) Since he missed orientation, we also walked around the school: finding his locker and making sure the lock worked, locating all his classes, timing how long it took to get from one building to another because he has classes in two buildings. Then we did some school supply shopping, took in a funny movie (thank goodness), grabbed lunch, picked out the chair at IKEA, got his free ice cream, and finally made it home around 3:30.
Not so bad, right? But then I started assembling the ottoman and discovered that the finish I had picked out didn't match the table I already had. I could live with it (eww), or I could go back and exchange the chairs ... and I might as well get it over. So I carefully disassembled the ottoman, tried five times before getting it to fit back in the box, taped it back up, and headed back to Ikea. I sat in the return line for 15 minutes, then got the chair with the right finish. I headed home, realized I needed food for dinner, so I stopped to go shopping. Then I realized I forgot to pick up the dry cleaning, but I had to go home to get the receipt.
I get home, put away the groceries, and by now it's after five. There was still half an hour before I had to run out for another errand, so I tried to start assembling the new chair, and couldn't figure out step one. There are two short screws, two washers, and two thingees I can't name that hold screws. But the picture doesn't show the washers in the first step, and I don't see where they go in steps 1-4, and all the other screws are in groups of four. What the ??? I look at helpful instructions, which show this:
Of course, they don't show any phone numbers for me to call. I don't feel like searching for the number, so I stomp around and grumble, stare at the instructions again, and generally feel like this:
Finally, I did what the picture said, and discovered the two extraneous washers actually appeared in step four, in such small pictures I didn't see them before. I got the chair assembled, the dry cleaning fetched, the errands run, and the dinner made. Then I collapsed in my new chair.
But I didn't get the blog updated. Or the latest chapter. I get enough frustration out of writing and the search for publishing that I didn't need any more for that day. Today will be better; a couple hours cuddling kittens at the Humane Society and all the frustration is gone, leaving me ready to write.
semble the new chair and ottoman I bought at Ikea yesterday. (It's purty, ain't it? And comfy.) Heck, there were only four steps. Only six pieces. Only 10 screws. But somehow it didn't turn out that way. I ended up muttering and cursing to myself, ready to strangle the cat if she jumped in the box one more time.Now, in my defense, it had been a long day. I took Boy to school to pick up his schedule. This required turning in his emergency info, getting his school ID photo taken, paying a deposit for his books, getting his schedule, turning in his internet permission form, paying for his yearbook, paying for school lunch, and picking up his books. (All 15 pounds of them. And notice how much "paying" was involved?) Since he missed orientation, we also walked around the school: finding his locker and making sure the lock worked, locating all his classes, timing how long it took to get from one building to another because he has classes in two buildings. Then we did some school supply shopping, took in a funny movie (thank goodness), grabbed lunch, picked out the chair at IKEA, got his free ice cream, and finally made it home around 3:30.
Not so bad, right? But then I started assembling the ottoman and discovered that the finish I had picked out didn't match the table I already had. I could live with it (eww), or I could go back and exchange the chairs ... and I might as well get it over. So I carefully disassembled the ottoman, tried five times before getting it to fit back in the box, taped it back up, and headed back to Ikea. I sat in the return line for 15 minutes, then got the chair with the right finish. I headed home, realized I needed food for dinner, so I stopped to go shopping. Then I realized I forgot to pick up the dry cleaning, but I had to go home to get the receipt.
I get home, put away the groceries, and by now it's after five. There was still half an hour before I had to run out for another errand, so I tried to start assembling the new chair, and couldn't figure out step one. There are two short screws, two washers, and two thingees I can't name that hold screws. But the picture doesn't show the washers in the first step, and I don't see where they go in steps 1-4, and all the other screws are in groups of four. What the ??? I look at helpful instructions, which show this:
Of course, they don't show any phone numbers for me to call. I don't feel like searching for the number, so I stomp around and grumble, stare at the instructions again, and generally feel like this:
Finally, I did what the picture said, and discovered the two extraneous washers actually appeared in step four, in such small pictures I didn't see them before. I got the chair assembled, the dry cleaning fetched, the errands run, and the dinner made. Then I collapsed in my new chair.
But I didn't get the blog updated. Or the latest chapter. I get enough frustration out of writing and the search for publishing that I didn't need any more for that day. Today will be better; a couple hours cuddling kittens at the Humane Society and all the frustration is gone, leaving me ready to write.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Walden: The Official Haiku Review
I must make a confession: I couldn't finish Thoreau's Walden. I know it epitomizes the American Transcendentalist movement of the mid-19th century, with its emphasis on self-reliance and individual spirituality. I know it's a classic, important work that influenced not only many writers, but future environmentalists. I know I really should finish this book; I chose it as my last selection for my summer Remedial Lit Project (pre-WWI American) because I looked at a list of writers I'd never read and Thoreau was the most glaring omission.
I also know that if I had a time machine and could meet Thoreau, I would likely find him an insufferable git. So here is my Official Haiku Review of the first third of Thoreau's Walden:
Do you own your stuff,
Or does it own you? You fool!
Go away. You suck.
I can't say I disagree with Thoreau's premises about consumerism, self-reliance, and the value of nature. (If he thought mid-19th century America was shallow and obsessed with possessions, I can only imagine how appalling he would find modern culture.) He has some valuable observations about what's really important in life, and some really poetic descriptions of his little shack in the woods by Walden Pond. Unfortunately, the overall tone of the work can only be described as smug. Now, I managed to plod through dozens of chapters on whales in Moby Dick, and wade through intelligible dialogue in The Pioneers, and I was willing to do so for the sake of a story. It wasn't always a great story, but I wanted to know how things would turn out.
However, I'm not going to sit still and be harangued at by a misanthropic hermit just for some pretty descriptions of nature. I'd rather sit out in a hammock and enjoy it firsthand, preferably while reading something that's meaningful and entertaining. So I'm taking my one pass for the summer and stopping early. I'm also stopping my Remedial Lit Project until next summer, when I will try to get to many of those foreign authors I never read. Don't despair, however; the Haiku Review will return next month as I begin my Remedial Film Classics Project.
I also know that if I had a time machine and could meet Thoreau, I would likely find him an insufferable git. So here is my Official Haiku Review of the first third of Thoreau's Walden:
Do you own your stuff,
Or does it own you? You fool!
Go away. You suck.
I can't say I disagree with Thoreau's premises about consumerism, self-reliance, and the value of nature. (If he thought mid-19th century America was shallow and obsessed with possessions, I can only imagine how appalling he would find modern culture.) He has some valuable observations about what's really important in life, and some really poetic descriptions of his little shack in the woods by Walden Pond. Unfortunately, the overall tone of the work can only be described as smug. Now, I managed to plod through dozens of chapters on whales in Moby Dick, and wade through intelligible dialogue in The Pioneers, and I was willing to do so for the sake of a story. It wasn't always a great story, but I wanted to know how things would turn out.
However, I'm not going to sit still and be harangued at by a misanthropic hermit just for some pretty descriptions of nature. I'd rather sit out in a hammock and enjoy it firsthand, preferably while reading something that's meaningful and entertaining. So I'm taking my one pass for the summer and stopping early. I'm also stopping my Remedial Lit Project until next summer, when I will try to get to many of those foreign authors I never read. Don't despair, however; the Haiku Review will return next month as I begin my Remedial Film Classics Project.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Oh say, why can't I N-B-See?
Luckily for my sleep habits and the fast-approaching school year, the Olympics are over. No more staying up til midnight waiting for gymnastics scores or rain-delayed beach volleyball finals. All the spectacle and pageantry are over, and it was a great two weeks of sport. You'd have to be a total grumpus not to be thrilled by Michael Phelps's eight golds and Usain Bolt's sprinting records, or to be moved by the stories of the South African amputee who competed in the open-water swim, or the 33-year-old gymnast who moved from Uzbekistan to Germany to get cancer treatment for her son, and won a medal against competition half her age. The Olympics are full of great stories like these.
However.
I am still quite displeased with much of NBC-Universal's coverage of the games. I understand that gymnastics, swimming, and track score high ratings, and that's why they get the main focus of the prime-time coverage. And this year satellite users actually got a button that took them to a menu where they could choose from several channels that had coverage (something only eight years behind, and vastly inferior to, technology that the BBC used in Sydney). And yet, with all those channels, I didn't see a single taekwondo match on the air. And this, after the Today show showed profiles of the Lopez family, who are the first three siblings to all medal at the same Olympic games.
Apparently, NBC has time to show four replays of every dive in preliminary competition, and a dozen replays of Bolt or Phelps, but not even one two-minute round of a TKD medal match? They weren't even pretending this year to show most events live, so they couldn't edit the competition to give us a little more breadth of coverage? On Saturday afternoon, they figured people would rather watch table tennis, rhythmic gymnastics*, and synchronized swimming** for three hours than see a single, 6-minute TKD match. Why? It wasn't because Americans were challenging for medals in those events, because they weren't. What world are the NBC producers living in? Certainly not the one where mixed martial arts shows draw high ratings and pay-per-view audiences, or the one where 1600 competitors of all ages (and both sexes) competed at a national TKD tournament not two months ago. Sure, TKD bouts on an Olympic level can be a bit slow, because the competitors are so good, but it can't be any worse than the Olympic boxing match I saw last week where the competitors grabbed and held and threw each other to the ground instead of actually throwing punches.
NBC seems totally oblivious to this, as shown in their coverage of the athletes during the Closing Ceremonies. They showed the Lopez family again, saying they medalled, but I had no idea what medals they actually earned, since NBC didn't show them. Then they focused on Bryan Clay, the American gold medalist in the decathlon, traditionally called the "the world's greatest athlete." The announcer said he seemed to be overshadowed in these games by athletes like Phelps and Bolt, and I shouted "DUH!" at the televison, for NBC blew off the first day of decathlon competition, moving it from primetime to late night, and then devoted about two minutes to each of Clay's second-day events before showing the entirety of the last event, the 1500 meter run. But that night they showed most of the marathon live, because there's nothing as exciting as watching guys run through streets for two hours. (Hey, it was LIVE!)
So I guess I'm going to have to wait another four years to see world-class TKD on the television***. Maybe by London 2012 I can get digitally broadcast CBC, or BBC America will offer their own coverage. Or maybe NBC will give us real choice through satellite coverage. You never know, it could happen.
* I'm sure the ladies of rhythmic gymnastics work hard, but to me their "sport" looks like something better suited to the circus, not the Olympics. There's virtually no tumbling, so it's more like dance than gymnastics. (Don't get me started on the idea going around about adding Ballroom Dancing as an Olympic event.)
** And just to be totally inconsistent, I hate it when people make fun of synchro. I actually did this for a year in junior high, and it's very tough.
*** And also "Team Handball." I want to see this because I have no idea how it works. I'm envisioning a dozen guys on a squash-sized handball court. Do they tag team? Take turns hitting the ball? My mind boggles.
However.
I am still quite displeased with much of NBC-Universal's coverage of the games. I understand that gymnastics, swimming, and track score high ratings, and that's why they get the main focus of the prime-time coverage. And this year satellite users actually got a button that took them to a menu where they could choose from several channels that had coverage (something only eight years behind, and vastly inferior to, technology that the BBC used in Sydney). And yet, with all those channels, I didn't see a single taekwondo match on the air. And this, after the Today show showed profiles of the Lopez family, who are the first three siblings to all medal at the same Olympic games.
Apparently, NBC has time to show four replays of every dive in preliminary competition, and a dozen replays of Bolt or Phelps, but not even one two-minute round of a TKD medal match? They weren't even pretending this year to show most events live, so they couldn't edit the competition to give us a little more breadth of coverage? On Saturday afternoon, they figured people would rather watch table tennis, rhythmic gymnastics*, and synchronized swimming** for three hours than see a single, 6-minute TKD match. Why? It wasn't because Americans were challenging for medals in those events, because they weren't. What world are the NBC producers living in? Certainly not the one where mixed martial arts shows draw high ratings and pay-per-view audiences, or the one where 1600 competitors of all ages (and both sexes) competed at a national TKD tournament not two months ago. Sure, TKD bouts on an Olympic level can be a bit slow, because the competitors are so good, but it can't be any worse than the Olympic boxing match I saw last week where the competitors grabbed and held and threw each other to the ground instead of actually throwing punches.
NBC seems totally oblivious to this, as shown in their coverage of the athletes during the Closing Ceremonies. They showed the Lopez family again, saying they medalled, but I had no idea what medals they actually earned, since NBC didn't show them. Then they focused on Bryan Clay, the American gold medalist in the decathlon, traditionally called the "the world's greatest athlete." The announcer said he seemed to be overshadowed in these games by athletes like Phelps and Bolt, and I shouted "DUH!" at the televison, for NBC blew off the first day of decathlon competition, moving it from primetime to late night, and then devoted about two minutes to each of Clay's second-day events before showing the entirety of the last event, the 1500 meter run. But that night they showed most of the marathon live, because there's nothing as exciting as watching guys run through streets for two hours. (Hey, it was LIVE!)
So I guess I'm going to have to wait another four years to see world-class TKD on the television***. Maybe by London 2012 I can get digitally broadcast CBC, or BBC America will offer their own coverage. Or maybe NBC will give us real choice through satellite coverage. You never know, it could happen.
* I'm sure the ladies of rhythmic gymnastics work hard, but to me their "sport" looks like something better suited to the circus, not the Olympics. There's virtually no tumbling, so it's more like dance than gymnastics. (Don't get me started on the idea going around about adding Ballroom Dancing as an Olympic event.)
** And just to be totally inconsistent, I hate it when people make fun of synchro. I actually did this for a year in junior high, and it's very tough.
*** And also "Team Handball." I want to see this because I have no idea how it works. I'm envisioning a dozen guys on a squash-sized handball court. Do they tag team? Take turns hitting the ball? My mind boggles.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Olympic observations
I'm a little pressed for time lately—which may have something to do with the amount of Olympic competition I've been watching—so today's entry is a bit stream-of-consciousness, just things I've been wondering about while watching the Olympics.
On watching track events: I can't imagine working and training years and years and years, as many of these athletes do, and then having something go wrong (clipped hurdle, botched baton pass) in your event. How must it feel to be so close to achieving your dream, and then make a mistake? It's one thing to perform your best and lose, but to not even perform your best? I lost sleep before and after a simple state competition, overthinking every mistake; how much worse could it be for these Olympic athletes? I can't imagine. I guess the Olympics are a high reward, high risk event.
On watching gymnastics: Conversely, what must it be like to be 18 (like Nastia Liukin), or even 16 (like Shawn Johnson), and achieve your lifelong dream? I can only imagine how gratifying it would be to work hard, perform well, and win a gold, but then what? There's still three-quarters of your life to live. What do you find to do next? You can't really do the same thing but better, you've already got gold. So now what? Not a problem I'll ever have.
Also, if the Chinese did falsify birth records for some of their gymnastics competitors: Why? Did you really think you could get away with it? I guess if you head an authoritarian state, you probably did, but did you think about the loss of face if the truth came out? How terribly embarassing. I guess they did it (if they did it, which they probably did, if you looked at some of those girls) for the same reasons some athletes start doping: they just wanted to win too badly. I don't understand it, though; even if you win, wouldn't it feel hollow, because you cheated? And when you get found out ... ask Marion Jones whether it was worth it, when she only had those gold medals for only a few years.
On watching beach volleyball: Beach volleyball is awesome. How do they move so fast on the sand? How do they dig some of those spikes? How do they manage to return almost every serve? I love volleyball, even though I'm slow and can't jump high.
I wish I were tall.
On watching track events: I can't imagine working and training years and years and years, as many of these athletes do, and then having something go wrong (clipped hurdle, botched baton pass) in your event. How must it feel to be so close to achieving your dream, and then make a mistake? It's one thing to perform your best and lose, but to not even perform your best? I lost sleep before and after a simple state competition, overthinking every mistake; how much worse could it be for these Olympic athletes? I can't imagine. I guess the Olympics are a high reward, high risk event.
On watching gymnastics: Conversely, what must it be like to be 18 (like Nastia Liukin), or even 16 (like Shawn Johnson), and achieve your lifelong dream? I can only imagine how gratifying it would be to work hard, perform well, and win a gold, but then what? There's still three-quarters of your life to live. What do you find to do next? You can't really do the same thing but better, you've already got gold. So now what? Not a problem I'll ever have.
Also, if the Chinese did falsify birth records for some of their gymnastics competitors: Why? Did you really think you could get away with it? I guess if you head an authoritarian state, you probably did, but did you think about the loss of face if the truth came out? How terribly embarassing. I guess they did it (if they did it, which they probably did, if you looked at some of those girls) for the same reasons some athletes start doping: they just wanted to win too badly. I don't understand it, though; even if you win, wouldn't it feel hollow, because you cheated? And when you get found out ... ask Marion Jones whether it was worth it, when she only had those gold medals for only a few years.
On watching beach volleyball: Beach volleyball is awesome. How do they move so fast on the sand? How do they dig some of those spikes? How do they manage to return almost every serve? I love volleyball, even though I'm slow and can't jump high.
I wish I were tall.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
My office soundtrack
As I was driving in my car last night, contemplating what I could possibly write about today, a song came on the radio. One of my favorites, in fact, and I realized that while I've blogged about many of my favorite obsessions (writing, taekwondo, cats, quilting), I've overlooked the one that permeates almost everything I do: music. Part of that is because it's summer, when I don't have regular rehearsals and I give my flute a rest. But part of that is because "listening to music" is my default mode, so it's a given, almost beneath my notice. It's like air—I don't think about it, I just inhale it.
I have to have music when I write, even if I'm trying to explain something complex, like quantum physics. (That was an actual assignment once, writing about Nobel physicist Richard Feynman and trying to simplify his life's work for a middle-school audience.) I have my CD collection loaded into iTunes, over 2600 songs, and I usually listen to it on shuffle. I have everything from classic rock to pop, from the 1960s (the Beatles, Hendrix) through the 70s (Elton John, Boston), 80s (Billy Joel, Eurythmics), 90s (Sarah McLachlan, Indigo Girls), and into the 21st century (Coldplay, Kelly Clarkson). Being slightly anal-retentive, sometimes I listen to the list alphabetically ("Abacab" through "Ziggy Stardust") or even by order of song length ("Miracle Cure" from Tommy, 12 seconds, through Elton's live "Burn Down the Mission," 18 minutes.) I have a special fondness for progressive rock bands of the 70s (Genesis, Rush) and piano-based rock (and if you don't think piano can rock, I suggest you check out Ben Folds). Also, because I lived in London from 1998-2002, I have a fondness for some British artists who aren't big names over here (Robbie Williams, Stereophonics).
Most of the time, the music is background as I work. But sometimes I have to stop, turn up the music, and just listen. It always puts me in a better mood and I resume writing with more energy. Some songs get an automatic (loud) replay; my current obsession is Keane, one of those lesser-known Brit bands (who also happen to play piano-based rock); their lead singer has an angel's pure tenor. They do kind of remind me of some of those old progressive rock bands; they might be a wee bit pretentious, but the music makes me forgive all:
I have to have music when I write, even if I'm trying to explain something complex, like quantum physics. (That was an actual assignment once, writing about Nobel physicist Richard Feynman and trying to simplify his life's work for a middle-school audience.) I have my CD collection loaded into iTunes, over 2600 songs, and I usually listen to it on shuffle. I have everything from classic rock to pop, from the 1960s (the Beatles, Hendrix) through the 70s (Elton John, Boston), 80s (Billy Joel, Eurythmics), 90s (Sarah McLachlan, Indigo Girls), and into the 21st century (Coldplay, Kelly Clarkson). Being slightly anal-retentive, sometimes I listen to the list alphabetically ("Abacab" through "Ziggy Stardust") or even by order of song length ("Miracle Cure" from Tommy, 12 seconds, through Elton's live "Burn Down the Mission," 18 minutes.) I have a special fondness for progressive rock bands of the 70s (Genesis, Rush) and piano-based rock (and if you don't think piano can rock, I suggest you check out Ben Folds). Also, because I lived in London from 1998-2002, I have a fondness for some British artists who aren't big names over here (Robbie Williams, Stereophonics).
Most of the time, the music is background as I work. But sometimes I have to stop, turn up the music, and just listen. It always puts me in a better mood and I resume writing with more energy. Some songs get an automatic (loud) replay; my current obsession is Keane, one of those lesser-known Brit bands (who also happen to play piano-based rock); their lead singer has an angel's pure tenor. They do kind of remind me of some of those old progressive rock bands; they might be a wee bit pretentious, but the music makes me forgive all:
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Word Nerd Sez: B is for ...
bombastic
This episode's choice has been inspired by the upcoming Democratic and Republican political conventions. "Bombastic" is a fun adjective whose definitions include "pompous or overly wordy" and "high-sounding but with little meaning." I'm sure we'll hear plenty of bombastic speeches in Denver and St. Paul. Since many politicians are also pompous "stuffed shirts," calling them "bombastic" is doubly appropriate, since the word comes from the Old French bombace, or "cotton stuffing."
Now, as a word nerd, I do sometimes encounter blank looks when I bring out one of my favorite five-dollar-words in casual conversation. Usually this did not happen when I was living in London. My British friends might make fun of me for saying "pants" instead of "trousers" (forget might—they ruthlessly "took the mickey" out of me), but they wouldn't blink an eye at "officious" or "bombastic." But one time the band I belonged to was performing at the military base where we rehearsed. A Canadian band was visiting, and after the dual-band gig, we sat around and socialized a bit. ("Socialized" in band-speak means "drank alcoholic beverages.") I'm not sure how the subject came up (maybe talking about shared Detroit-Windsor TV experiences), but I mentioned Detroit's former king of TV news, Bill Bonds*, and applied the adjective "bombastic." One of the Canadians looked at me in astonishment and echoed, "Bombastic? Why the fancy word?" Well, duh. I explained that I could have said "pompous, ostentatious, and self-satisfied," but why use three words when one will do? I'm sure my withering scorn would have made a bigger impression on him if he had been sober, but I wasn't about to apologize for my vocabulary. As Ralph Waldo Emerson recognized, "Bare lists of words are found suggestive to an imaginative and excited mind." (Thanks to A.Word.A.Day for the very appropriate quote. If you haven't subscribed yet, you really should.)
*If you want a better idea of Bonds' character (he was eventually fired for a DUI), view this very R-rated attempt at a promo here, surely one of the inspirations for Will Ferrell's "Anchorman."
This episode's choice has been inspired by the upcoming Democratic and Republican political conventions. "Bombastic" is a fun adjective whose definitions include "pompous or overly wordy" and "high-sounding but with little meaning." I'm sure we'll hear plenty of bombastic speeches in Denver and St. Paul. Since many politicians are also pompous "stuffed shirts," calling them "bombastic" is doubly appropriate, since the word comes from the Old French bombace, or "cotton stuffing."
Now, as a word nerd, I do sometimes encounter blank looks when I bring out one of my favorite five-dollar-words in casual conversation. Usually this did not happen when I was living in London. My British friends might make fun of me for saying "pants" instead of "trousers" (forget might—they ruthlessly "took the mickey" out of me), but they wouldn't blink an eye at "officious" or "bombastic." But one time the band I belonged to was performing at the military base where we rehearsed. A Canadian band was visiting, and after the dual-band gig, we sat around and socialized a bit. ("Socialized" in band-speak means "drank alcoholic beverages.") I'm not sure how the subject came up (maybe talking about shared Detroit-Windsor TV experiences), but I mentioned Detroit's former king of TV news, Bill Bonds*, and applied the adjective "bombastic." One of the Canadians looked at me in astonishment and echoed, "Bombastic? Why the fancy word?" Well, duh. I explained that I could have said "pompous, ostentatious, and self-satisfied," but why use three words when one will do? I'm sure my withering scorn would have made a bigger impression on him if he had been sober, but I wasn't about to apologize for my vocabulary. As Ralph Waldo Emerson recognized, "Bare lists of words are found suggestive to an imaginative and excited mind." (Thanks to A.Word.A.Day for the very appropriate quote. If you haven't subscribed yet, you really should.)
*If you want a better idea of Bonds' character (he was eventually fired for a DUI), view this very R-rated attempt at a promo here, surely one of the inspirations for Will Ferrell's "Anchorman."
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