youse

youse pron. you (usually more than one person)

I am absolutely amazed that this is an actual word in the OED. It really shouldn't be. They should have a note in there somewhere about Italian Americans or New Yorkers. I am almost tempted to start using this word in my vocabulary as I have heard it enough in my life.Here is a list of media where you can find the proper usage of "youse:"The SopranosJersey Shore (Ronnie especially uses this word often.)A Bronx Tale Rocky I or IIYou can also head to Federal Hill in Providence, RI or Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn if you want some active usage of "youse." Just stand on the sidewalk and wait for someone to walk by.I have also located a poem by e.e. cummings using this word...not that I am convinced that this is an actual word...I can't trust a poet who doesn't even use proper punctuation. I don't usually like e.e. cummings but I actually enjoyed this one:mr youse needn't be so spryconcernin questions artyeach has his tastes but as for ii likes a certain partygimme the he-man's solid blissfor youse ideas i'll match yousea pretty girl who naked isis worth a million statuesNow youse stop sitting at your computer and go get some fresh air!

oojamaflip

oojamaflip n. something that one cannot or does not want to nameWhatchamacallit, whatsit, thingamagig...oojamaflip. So now I have added a new nonsense word to my repertoire. Awesome. I have never heard this word used in common language. It makes me think of the whatchamacallit candy bar - which is really tasty. It also makes me think of Fraggle Rock, which is also a wonderful thing. The Doozers were my favorite and they actually have the Doozer knitting song on Youtube - which just made my day...[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdbeGkovaXQ]Now that I have a baby, I've realized how poor the quality of children's television is. Sesame Street is ALL ELMO. I feel like Jim Henson would be so disappointed. There should be more Oscar and Grover. Snuffy is never on anymore! Sesame Street and the Muppets were so intelligently made that adults could enjoy them. I can't stand the children's shows today. Thomas the Tank Engine? Dora? Really? It's so depressing. Creepy Mister Rogers was ten times better. Those puppets in the Land of Make Believe were freaky as hell, but they lit the match on a child's imagination.I think that may be the nub of the problem with children's television these days...they go too far. The muppets, fraggles and creepy puppets were almost a real life depiction of a child's imaginary friends. They sparked childrens creativity without doing the whole job for them. This is why I hate toys that make noise and move. Children need to learn how to create their own thoughts and imaginations...not have everything done for them. My husband and I talk about the toys we loved as kids - Memory Games, Sit and Spin, Choose Your Own Adventure books. Let's hope the whole retro fad extends into children's toys, games and television. 

luck

luck n. success or failure apparently brought by chanceI have to confess that I chose this word on purpose because I really wanted to write about it. Over the years my husband and I have created a comfortable life for ourselves. We have a nice home, a happy baby boy and a great dog. We sit by the fire and drink wine. We have dear friends, plenty of good, healthy food, and have travelled well. We are grateful and feel blessed. However, if you say we are "lucky" I might have to punch you.The word lucky inevitably comes up to describe my life after some piteous story about someone else's hardship. I am forced to recall the adage "never judge a book by it's cover" when I hear the word lucky to describe my life. I wish I could start spouting off the stories of my hardships - my brothers cancer, my father's death from a brain tumor, how I worked in a factory out of high school because I couldn't afford college, my first job as an accountant that I took so I could pay the rent...etc. etc. If one were to stack up all of the hardship and troubles I have had in my life, the pile would be equal to or higher than my good fortune pile. Good things come to those who work, and sometimes they don't come at all even if you're working really hard. Sometimes you have to keep working toward the light at the end of the tunnel however small that light may be.I would prefer to say that we are blessed for having some of the good things in our life. We were blessed to give birth to a healthy baby, but it has taken skill and hard work to keep him healthy and growing well. I have definitely made sacrifices for it. Yes, we have a nice house in the suburbs - but you should have seen some of the shit holes (pardon my language) we have lived in - including a fourth floor attic apartment that was slanted and a duplex that had no subfloor that Stella (our dog) would pee through to the basement because she was scared of living in Brooklyn. We've had brand new cars that have been keyed and tires slashed. There have been firings from jobs, death and lots of debt. I have cried for whole days until my eyes were swollen shut...and I know my future has its fair share of pain and hardship waiting for me when I least expect it.You can say I am lucky for one day or one hour, but not to describe my entire life. I am not entitled to what I have and I know it can go away tomorrow. I know what it means to have nothing at all and to have to start over from the beginning. Yet therein lies the beauty of a well worn life - there is always a beginning. When you've seen the bottom and looked up to the top the last thing you count on getting you there is luck.Mother to Son By Langston HughesWell, son, I'll tell you:Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.It's had tacks in it,And splinters,And boards torn up,And places with no carpet on the floor --Bare.But all the timeI'se been a-climbin' on,And reachin' landin's,And turnin' corners,And sometimes goin' in the darkWhere there ain't been no light.So boy, don't you turn back.Don't you set down on the steps'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.Don't you fall now --For I'se still goin', honey,I'se still climbin',And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

altocumulus

altocumulus n. cloud forming a layer of rounded masses with a level base, occurring at medium altitudeWhen I was a kid, I used to ask my parents what clouds were and they always told me that they were nothing. They said you couldn't hold a cloud in your hand and you could walk right through them. It just never made sense to me that something that there was so much of in the sky could be nothing at all. It had to be SOMETHING. Over the years as I got older, I would look at clouds and try to find the objects in the world that they resembled. Everyone does this...some clouds look like Jesus, some look like phalluses, etc. So I eventually thought that clouds could be many things and that my parents were dead wrong.In planes, clouds scared me because they blocked out the view and I always wondered when a pilot is training how he/she gets over flying through a cloud. It must be scary not being able to see in front of you. As a passenger, I love being about the clouds and seeing them create a floor in the sky. They look so solid as if you could walk on them.[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BpwMg8AblFc]As beautiful as clouds can be, they have been a source of anxiety for me several times in my life. When I was in the Canary Islands a few years ago, we were driving down from the peak of La Gomera Garajonay Park and were so high up that the clouds descended on us in the car. The roads were incredibly windy and we couldn't see all that well and I panicked. I also don't like clouds when they turn dark and get close to the ground before a storm. They make me think they are turning into tornados when they do this...and I am terrified of tornados.I like my cloud white and fluffy. Unlike fog, which is dark, thick and ominous. Clouds somehow carry hope, happiness and light. There are always clouds around the rainbows children draw. Clouds make a bright blue sky seem bluer. I prefer my bluest skies with a cloud or too. They remind you that imperfection is beautiful too.My favorite song about clouds is by The Rolling Stones...it captures the essence of cloud-ness...[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3F4GmbHl5g]So someday when my son asks me what a cloud is, I will not answer "nothing". I will teach him the complexity of clouds and how something that seems quite trivial can have so much meaning.

gobshite

gobshite n. a stupid or incompetent personI wish I was still in a work setting so I could use this word. Goodness knows that corporate environments are full of this particular breed of person. This word also reminds me of our trip to Ireland awhile ago since its source is Irish slang. One of the things I love most about the Irish people is their candidness and ability to tell you how it is. If you're stupid or incompetent, they will surely let you know. They also have an incredible knack of finding just the right words to capture their meaning as well. Perhaps that is why so many great writers have come from Ireland - Joyce, Yeats, Lewis, Swift. I am not Irish, but sometimes I wish I was (my deceased Italian relatives are rolling over in their graves...). Italians are blunt and honest as well, but they are less eloquent and humorous when doing so as the Irish. At least, that has been my experience.Anyway, back to gobshite. I was just googling this word and came upon an interesting cognitive bias called the Dunning - Kruger effect. Here's some info from Wikipedia:Kruger and Dunning proposed that, for a given skill, incompetent people will:

  1. tend to overestimate their own level of skill;
  2. fail to recognize genuine skill in others;
  3. fail to recognize the extremity of their inadequacy;
  4. recognize and acknowledge their own previous lack of skill, if they can be trained to substantially improve.
So basically stupid, incompetent people are also ignorant assholes? Sounds like a recipe for manager of the year at almost any company in America...

pudeur

pudeur n. a sense of shame or embarrassment, especially with regard to matters of a sexual or personal natureThe Oxford also mentions the synonym of modesty for this word, but I am have never thought as modesty as being shameful or embarrassed. However, now that I think about it, I suppose it does.Modesty or pudeur is a rare commodity these days. Growing up in Catholic school, modesty was something that was imposed. Having to wear a uniform everyday and not being allowed to differentiate yourself imposed a certain need to find other ways of standing out, such as being smart or artistic. Girls were still nasty and formed cliques, but at least in the classroom, a smart or creative girl could feel good about herself. When my beloved little private school closed, I was forced to go to public school...and such modesty as I had learned did not go over well.I was a victim of some very harsh bullying. I was a chubby 12 year old girl who didn't wear makeup and wore unfashionable clothes that my parents bought me from Bradlees. One particular girl - who wasn't even popular or pretty (I was so low on the totem that the popular girls didn't even acknowledge me) dubbed me "meatballs" and I had the extreme pleasure of being called that everyday of my life at school...until I smashed her in the face with my school books. My parents told me that if I was going to survive, I needed to toughen up and give up my shy, modest and good girl ways. At that point I pushed aside my love of drawing, reading and writing so I could fully focus on improving myself in ways that the world wouldn't cast off.The summer after my first year in public school, I exercised everyday and nearly starved myself. I walked up and down the stairs in my house listening to Paula Abdul sing "Forever Your Girl" over and over again. By the time it was Fall and the beginning of the school year, I was thin. I forced my parents to take me to get clothes that weren't embarrassing and when I started school on the first day the sounds of praise and compliments gave me a sense of satisfaction that I still rarely achieve to this day. I wasn't popular, but I fit in. And it felt damn good. So good that I had a pretty great 4 years of high school.After my high school graduation, my father was diagnosed with a rare brain tumor that would eventually take his life in 2 short years. I had hinged everything in my little world on college so when he was diagnosed on the day I was supposed to leave for my freshman year, it all fell apart for me. I worked in a factory for 6 months and ate my way through the pain until I was once again a chubby, badly dressed introvert. When I finally got to college I found myself in the same place I had been on my first year in public school...so the process began again (without the Paula Abdul music).Over the course of my life this scenario has played itself out time and time again. I am 33 now and I find myself back in the throws of trying to lose the weight so I can fit into the right clothes so I can find the right job...all to get back to that blissful feeling of acceptance. I continually push down my modesty, my creativity and my overall awkwardness in order to attain what I have come to recognize as happiness, when that is not what it is at all.Happiness is something that comes from within. When I listen to my son laugh, I feel it for a moment and it's blissful. Perhaps happiness is something that I have no right to feel everyday, every minute, every hour. For me, I think it is something rare and treasured, similar to love but more fragile...in my opinion.I want contentment. A steady lack of worrisome thoughts and faith in who I am as a person. I want the courage to face the world as I am without sacrificing anything. I want to know the strength to be called "meatballs", to smash that girl in the face once again - but this time, to go right on living without changing a damn thing. 

opine

opine v. hold and state as ones opinionI have been bad and haven't written in a few days as I have been interviewing for a job. My head has not been in the game of learning words recently, but I am back with the word of today.Opinions are a wonderful thing and, just like assholes, everyone has one. To be quite honest, I am really weary of opinions and politics. I feel like my whole life I have either been talking about what I believe and what everyone else believes, etc. Opinions are complex things. They make or break friendships, they get you fired, they cause dissent. I have always been an opinionated person but lately I have been refraining from opining.My reasoning is that life is a little more pleasant NOT standing on my soap box. My head is so full of information that I pick up that it's hard for me to decide what to think sometimes. I also find that my opinion changes over time as I experience and live through more difficulties and good times. As I grow older, I am less likely to opine and more likely to examine my thoughts and keep my opinions personal until I am sure of how I really feel.At this rate, I hope to have some decisions made about what I really believe by the time I am old and gray. At that time, I will dust off the soap box, get back on it and tell you what I think.Call me wishy washy, a coward or a loner, but I am tired of being self righteous and determined to have my voice heard. I have to do some research and learning. I want to be fair. Instead of being seen as opinionated and strong I am more interested in being a decent and good person. I want to enjoy life as much as I can and absorb the world around me - for better or for worse.I have spent my life trying to be something, trying to collect all of the things to use to build a picture of who I am or want to be. I have always had a strong opinion. I have never just let me be me. So instead of looking at things and forming opinions I am going to focus on acceptance and learning to take in all of the world around me without the pressure of having to say what I think. Maybe some meditation...perhaps a few sun salutations...hopefully a prayer or two.Let's see how long this lasts...

rodomontade

rodomontade n. boastful or inflated talk or behaviour

Dorothy Parker is one of my favorite poets because of her sarcasm and cynicism. She has the ability to wrap these two qualities into a rhyme. This word reminded me of her poem 'Braggart'...Braggartby Dorothy Parker The days will rally, wreathingTheir crazy tarantelle;And you must go on breathing,But I'll be safe in hell.Like January weather,The years will bite and smart,And pull your bones togetherTo wrap your chattering heart.The pretty stuff you're made ofWill crack and crease and dry.The thing you are afraid ofWill look from every eye.You will go faltering afterThe bright, imperious line,And split your throat on laughter,And burn your eyes with brine.You will be frail and mustyWith peering, furtive head,Whilst I am young and lustyAmong the roaring dead.Rodomontade is one of my least favorite things in the world. I find braggarts to be the most insufferable of all individuals. I like the poem above because it captures the caustic emotions that one feels having to listen to a rodomontade.In pondering the act of bragging and its relation to narcissism, I've come to thinking upon self esteem. Every one these days talks about how self esteem is so very important to living a happy life. Attending Catholic school in my younger years led me to believe that self esteem was very similar to pride...even hubris if taken to extremes. I was taught to avoid too much of it and to strive for humility. However, too much humility can make you a pretty sad kid, unless of course you are a saint (which is rare.)So how much self esteem is the right amount? It's not a good thing to have none at all as you become a door mat and most likely depressed. Having too much makes you an insufferable narcissist. Like everything else in this world, we have to walk a fine line and find the balance. The world needs braggarts and narcissists as much as it needs martyrs and saints. Without the contrasting personalities we would not be able to appreciate the truly good and the shockingly evil. Everyone needs both the angel and the devil on their shoulders.

hodiernal

hodiernal adj. relating to the present dayToday is a hazy 66 degrees with the sun just beginning to burn off the fog of the morning. Graham has just finished 8 ounces of formula gone down for a nap. I am roasting eggplant which will be assembled into a vegan muffelata sandwich that needs to marinate for at least 3 hours before we eat it for dinner. When Graham wakes up, he will eat something pureed and then we will head out to the mountain for a run. When I am done writing this post, I will check on the eggplant, fold some laundry and eat some soup for my own lunch. Stella is somewhere sleeping and the painters two houses down are done with their annoying sanding machine. The neighborhood is suburbanly quiet as it's too early in the season for landscapers. This is what is going on today in my life.In writing the above hodiernal blob, I have started to think about how vastly different my life is as compared to this day last year. I was about 4 months pregnant with Graham and we were living in Brooklyn. My feet had not begun to swell up to twice their normal size yet and I was feeling pretty good (and getting big already.) I would head into work everyday and go about my business. I met with vendors, followed up on projects and dealt with the drama that came my way that day. These days I think a lot about going back to work and lately I am starting to doubt what I should do.It has taken me awhile to learn that what I have now is freedom. I have struggled with this new freedom over the course of Graham's babyhood. I always used to say with pride that I have never known a day without work since I was 16. My parents instilled the mentality that if you are not employed than you are lazy. I come from a working class family and I remember my dad working 3 jobs at one point so we could survive. Being busy has always been the goal and I have always been an incredibly hard and dedicated worker. But as I write this I have come to learn something very different about myself and the world. Just because you work hard does not mean you will get ahead.The working world boils down to about 3 different personality types : laborers, careerists and intellectuals. My parents were laborers, not careerists - and I am a laborer. Laborers are people who work hard and put in honest work, sometime even physically difficult work. Laborers are not good at playing games, gossiping and making alliances. They go to work with the intention to put in a full day of thinking and doing and solving problems. They take pride in being punctual and dependable. They are the backbone of a company but never seem to rise above the middle. They establish deep friendships, but are never seen as popular.Careerists are politicians. Their entire goal is to climb the ladder no matter the method. Going into work for the careerist is not simply about putting in a full day and getting things done. At all times the careerist has an ongoing campaign. They are always running for the next rung on the ladder. Work and performance is secondary to a true careerist. Establishing relationships, being seen as a leader and making sure the perception people have of them matches the criteria for their next promotion. Careerists are always working on the bullet points listed in their review. They tend to be ruthless in their endeavors. Personally, I tend to think they are of below average intelligence...but I'm a laborer and thus biased.Intellectuals are the doctors, chemists and professors of our world. They go to school for long spans of time to learn their trade and are the smartest. However, having an advanced degree does not make you an intellectual. Professional students sometimes travel in the guise of the intellectual, but do not be fooled. True intellectuals are able to use their intelligence to provide for themselves. They convert the book smarts and theories into skills that can be used for the good of others and making money. They are the unique minority that is smart enough to make money off of their brain power alone. I admire intellectuals more than anyone else.In viewing these categories, I have come to the conclusion that I am 80% laborer and 20% careerist. I don't consider myself incredibly smart. I just work really hard. In order to do well in the corporate world, I need to get my careerist qualities to at least 60% - at least for the line of work I have chosen. I need to smile more and complain less. I need to give more false compliments and tone down the sarcasm. I need to be someone who I am simply not.So should I strive to have a "career" because the world tells me it's important? Am I even capable of becoming more of a careerist? If I am successful at doing so, will I even like myself anymore?I think I am going to focus on the hodiernal task of assembling my eggplant muffelata...