I like words. I like words so much that I’ve been pumping out between 1200 and 2000 of them as blog-onomic stimulus almost every night over the last two weeks. In that time and out of that vast and ridiculous output I have fallen in love with a word. Not puppy love, either, pal. Real, visceral, heart-flipping, hysterical blindness-inducing love. I think about this word all the time. It makes it difficult for me to work. I want to behave inappropriately with it in public. And tonight I probably will.

I love swear words. Cursing, cussing, etc. I fuckin’ do. I love the standards: shit, piss, damn, hell, bitch, fuck, etc. I love some of the more creative and colorful compound concoctions bouncing around out there today: fuckwit, dickbag, bitchhog, pissbucket, hellspawn, and the rest. Everyone has their favorites. And I’m sure everyone has their reasons. That’s nice. I mean, you’re entitled to a favorite. Think about your word. Go ahead.

If it starts with a D and ends with b-a-g, then you and I are friends.

Douchebag. That word is awesome. It can describe a person – That guy’s a douchebag. It be modified into an adjective or adverb – that was sorta douchebaggy, man. It can be an activity – oh man, there was some vast and sweeping douchebaggery goin’ on that night.

I think you’re beginning to feel its power. Now, lets apply it to everyday situations and enjoy how it makes life better.

Start out simple, don’t hurt yourself or anyone else – for now. You’ll quickly see how helpful this word can be. Here are a few examples to get you started. At home you could say: “Honey, your douchebag cat pissed on the carpet” or “Geez, that news anchor is a douchebag.” It’s handy if you hurt yourself: “Douchebag! I stubbed my toe.” Or while watching the game: “C’mon Cutler you douchebag! Oh for the love of God!” (I heard that this one is popular right now).

It can be helpful at the office. “Hey man, I think toner is for douches” is fun. “GOD. I HATE Lotus Douchenotes soooo much” is a totally appropriate way to speak to the Help Desk. Try this one with HR: “What do you mean my language is offensive? What are you, some kind of DOUCHEBAG?” It even comes in handy during more sensitive moments. You can console a fellow office worker: “I can’t believe he broke up with you. He’s just too much of a douchebag to see how pretty you are on the inside!” You can give someone their review: “You weren’t really yourself during Q3, Tad. We’re gonna have to put an action plan in place to help you stop douche-ing and start selling.”

There’s really nothing better. Honestly. Try it for a week and if you don’t like it, I’ll take it back and refund you the original cost, which is nothing by the way.

How do you know who or what is a douchebag? Here are some handy equations that all add up to the big D.

1. Drives a hummer + smokes cigars while driving = Douchebag.
2. Wears a tank top + is NOT going to a costume party = Douchebag.
3. Insists on ordering a ton of food + refuses to split the bill evenly = Douchey McDouche
4. Coughs + doesn’t cover mouth = D-bag with a cold, hope he gets H1N1.
5. Talks down to the wait staff + tips too little = D-O-U-C-H-E. (spells douche!)
6. Is under 47 years of age + enjoys the music of The Moody Blues = Douches in White Satin
7. Mean to kids = DB
8. Cheats at golf = DB
9. Is white + has dreads + wears tie-dye + patchouli = Grateful Douche (aka Phish Douche)
10. Misses their PlayStation, because it only does everything – High King Douchebag.

I hope this helps. It helped me get through another night. A couple of posts this week have been borderline sentimental so I figured it was time to lighten it up. Plus, I was getting a bit long-winded. So I thought I’d tighten it up a bit too.

I hope you had a good Monday. And here’s to a good Tuesday. Watch out for douchebags.

Recently, I had the pleasure of listening to a sermon by Rabbi Zoe Klein and it struck me that she and her sermon were a perfect addition to our BNI region’s blog.  A sermon? you might ask. Read the message below and tell me if you have not renewed your respect for the power of words and how you may use them effectively. — Cys Bronner, BNI4Success Executive Director.

Words
By Guest Blogger, Rabbi Zoe Klein

Chanel # 5 is the fragrance from Parisian couturier Coco Chanel, and has been on selling continuously since 1921. “The perfume tries to capture the scent of extreme freshness of the northern lakes under the midnight sun.”

“I want to give women an artificial perfume,” said Chanel. “Yes, I really do mean artificial, like a dress, something that has been made.”

The name, “No. 5” reflects its science,
It was the first perfume
To use so much synthetics.

Advertisers often look for names
That sound scientific.
Look at the back of shampoo bottles
And you’ll find words that hardly make sense,
But sound really important…
I know that oil is bad for hair,
But suddenly “micro-oil” sounds essential.

Shopping for shampoo you are lured by new lexicons:

Fruitify
Nature-fusion
Breakage Restoratives
Elasteesse complex
Protective radiance
Curl quencher
Hydra-repair
Volumizing logistics…
Pin-straight ever-pure
Moisture lock
Color firm gloss
Thermogenic
Basic texturizing
Intensive restructuring emolliant
Volumactive Keratin
Luster tonic
Ultra-riche lather
Anti-fade replenishing life extender
Fast Fortified Amino Scalp Therapy
Shine-revealing caviar
Body-infusion thickening diametress –
Panthonelized sunsilk vitamino frizz-combatant
Color-oxidation-preventor alpha and beta hydroxy
Nutritive Sattin, bonacure ultimate kiwi shimmer-light hydraliscious brightening featherweight maximum vibrancy holistic vegan photobrush finish transforming revivalistic jojoba…

And all of that sounds better in french…

WORDS…can mean so much and so little…

In THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS, there is a great scene
Where Humpty Dumpty says: “There’s glory for you!’
`I don’t know what you mean by “glory”,’ Alice said.
Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. `Of course you don’t — till I tell you. I meant “there’s a nice knock-down argument for you!”‘
`But “glory” doesn’t mean “a nice knock-down argument”,’ Alice objected.
`When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, `it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.’
`The question is,’ said Alice, `whether you can make words mean so many different things.’
`The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, `which is to be master — that’s all.’
Alice was too much puzzled to say anything; so after a minute Humpty Dumpty began again. `They’ve a temper, some of them — particularly verbs: they’re the proudest — adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs — however, I can manage the whole lot of them! Impenetrability! That’s what I say!’
`Would you tell me please,’ said Alice, `what that means?’
`Now you talk like a reasonable child,’ said Humpty Dumpty, looking very much pleased. `I meant by “impenetrability” that we’ve had enough of that subject, and it would be just as well if you’d mention what you mean to do next, as I suppose you don’t mean to stop here all the rest of your life.’
`That’s a great deal to make one word mean,’ Alice said in a thoughtful tone.
`When I make a word do a lot of work like that,’ said Humpty Dumpty, `I always pay it extra.’

Words – in our Torah portion, God created the world through words…through speaking, “let there be…” God said, and there was.

Can mean so much and so little…
And we lift the words that mean so much
To the same level that means so little,

Cantor Kent pointed out today’s paper…
Goldman Sax article, same page as story of homeless 90 year old,
Both stories elevated to the same place…

When a child is tantruming, we say use your words…
But how?

Having published a novel, I put a lot of words out in the world…
And in turn I’ve receive a lot of words,
Stories of people who have read it,
Reactions, anecdotes…
“People are annoyed at me in my ride-share van for reading passages out loud!”
“I was hoping for swine-flu so I could stay home and finish it!”
“Thank you for helping me through difficult times breast-feeding.”
“I read it to my mother before she died.”
I also receive critique…
“…not enough vampires in the book…”

Joe Queenan in the Wall Street Journal wrote:
I cannot help wondering what a typical Amazon.com review might have looked like had the Internet existed centuries ago:
• ”King Lear”—Average reader rating: Two stars. The author tells us: “As like flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.” Oh, right, like I didn’t know that? Like I didn’t know that to be or not to be is the question? Like I didn’t know that the fault lies not in us but in the stars? Tell me something I don’t know, Mr. Bard of Whatever.
• ”The 120 Days of Sodom”—Average Reader’s Rating: Five stars. OK, so I like totally pre-ordered this book based on the author’s name, which just happens to be the same as my maiden name—Marquis de. Yeah, a sketchy reason to buy a book, but I was pumped. But when it got here I didn’t understand it at all. It just didn’t go anywhere. It just kept repeating itself. I went through it a few times more, searching for some deeper, awesome meaning, but just ended up totally bummed. Actually, some parts of it were kind of gross.
• ”Oedipus Rex”—Average reader rating: Four stars. Sophocles is a satisfying author who writes in clear, snappy prose. Youngsters in particular could learn a lot by imitating Mr. Rex, until he goes a bit off the rails toward the end. Nothing earth-shattering here, but zippy stuff. Have to admit I’m still puzzled by the weird subplot involving Mr. Rex’s mother.
• ”On the Revolution of the Celestial Spheres”—Average Reader Rating: Three stars. Those who have read my countless reviews elsewhere know that I am a mathematician, astronomer, polyglot and philosopher in my own right, and therefore uniquely qualified to discuss everything from Zeno’s Paradox to Gordian’s Knot. Mostly, I think my fellow polymath Copernicus has done a pretty solid job here. The thing most laymen don’t realize—unlike mathematicians/ philosophers/astronomers/polymaths like me (as those familiar with my numerous other reviews can tell you)—is that people like Copernicus are really good with numbers. Just as I am. Really, really good. (Me, that is.) Readers seeking more of my unique insights can reach me at Igor@mymommysbasement.com.
• ”Deuteronomy”—Average Reader’s Rating: Three stars. I don’t get it. I’ve read most of the books in this series, and they totally kick butt, but this one leaves me scratching my head. Is there a story here? Am I missing something? Why so much talk about clean and unclean beasts? The author really got on a roll with Genesis and Exodus, and I was on the edge of my seat when I read The Book of Numbers. But this one runs out of gas early. Now I’m glad I skipped Leviticus!

With reality television
We have shows where it is okay to say,
“All your efforts are for naught, your work is terrible,
And you’ll never amount to anything in this business,”
We’ve fostered a culture of cruelty with words…
Words are weapons, pointed and sharp,
And apparently, entertaining…

In Rabbi Joseph Telushkin’s book Words that Hurt, Words that Heal, he wrote:
Words said about us define our place in the world.
Once that place, our reputation is defined,
Particularly if it is negative, it is very hard to reverse.
President Andrew Jackson, who along with his wife
Was the subject of relentless malicious gossip once noted
“the murderer only takes the life of the parent and leaves his character as a goodly heritage to his children, while the slanderer takes away his goodly reputation and leaves him a living monument to his children’s disgrace.”

Jewish tradition actually views words as tangible things…dvarim…
God created the world through words…
Like God, we also create with words.
Read a novel, so moved by fate of a character we feel love or hate or anger…
Made us cry…even though the individual never existed,
All that happened was that a writer took a blank piece of paper and through words alone crated human beings so real that they evoked our deepest emotions.

It is obvious that words are powerful, but the truth is, we tend to use them lightly. We choose our clothes more carefully than we choose our words, though what we say about and to others can define them indelibly.

Dr. Andrew Wood wrote that the more we speak negatively about someone, the more we alienate ourselves from that person…one who speaks unfairly about many people comes to distance and alienate himself from many individuals, and Dr Wood notes, alienation is a major cause of depression…one of the most widespread and rapidly growing disorders in America…

People who minimize the amount of gossup in which they engage generally find that their connections to others become more intimate and satisfying…you’d think it was the opposite…but when you refrain from gossip about others, you tend to focus more on yourself and the person with whom you are speaking. The relationship is invariably emotionally deeper.

Larger society…need more civilized discourse…
Medieval crusaders didn’t wake up one morning and begin randomly killing Jews, rather they and their ancestors had been conditioned for centuries to think of Jews a certain way, once those verbal characterizations take place, it’s easier to hurt, to kill…

Use words carefully…
They do actually mean something,
More than that,
They create worlds…
and sell perfume and shampoo,
and seal friendships,
or destroy them,
and alienate us
and make us depressed,
and redeem us
and allow us to start over again.

Every prayer ends with a word…
How often when you speak,
Would anyone answer you,
Not with a defense,
Or a counter-offense,
Or more gossip,
But amen…
Your breath is a gift from God,
Harness it,
And make prayers.
Amen.

ZOË KLEIN pursued the rabbinate out of a passion for ancient texts, mythology, liturgy and poetry. Zoë Klein has written for Harper’s Bazaar, Glamour, and Tikkun. She has written chapters in a number of collections including The Women’s Torah. You can reach her by emailing: zoe@templeisaiah.com

For the past six years I’ve kept a list of words I love. I add to it, change it, and admire it. Here are a few lovelies:

Tapering, cryptic, taut, superfluous, unaffected, cosmos, extrordinaire, veiled, enamored, ethereal, aspen, peppered, squelch, emanated, travesty, tucked, luscious, cloaked, flecked, bucket, fancied, seething, skewed, pocked, dotted, darling… and on and on.

Have any words that really rock your socks?

This post is inspired by the Radiolab episode on the same subject. For those of you not familiar with Radiolab, it’s an NPR show and podcast which covers variously interesting subjects from an inquisitive, pop-scientific yet usually fairly intellectual perspective. Occasionally it delves into the schmaltz that some NPR shows are infamous for, but the shows are largely informative and entertaining. The episode on choice was particularly… choice.

But what does this have to do with me? Likely this is a similar phenomenon to that when you learn a new word: you tend to notice it everywhere. Since listening to that episode I’ve been examining the role of choice in my life in a different way. Some anecdotes:

- I was out for a walk with a friend I hadn’t seen in years. We were chatting about her intent to investigate tree planting next summer. While it would be extremely easy for me to get sidetracked on funny tree planting stories (lord knows I sure as hell had plenty to tell that day), the point is that I found the entire process of tree planting extremely calming. Once I had settled into the routine and learned the ropes, there was nothing that I needed to worry about, nothing to choose. At any given minute I knew what I was doing and what I was going to be doing next. Wake up, make lunch, plant trees all day, come home, eat dinner, go to sleep, repeat. My choices consisted of “ham and cheese or PB&J sandwiches for lunch today?”, “filth-encrusted blue cargo pants or filth-encrusted green cargo pants?”, or “which scarcely-playable CD should I listen to?”. (that second choice was soon obviated by the blue pair literally disintegrating) As someone who often feels the need to inspect decisions from every angle, the loss of choice was (paradoxically) liberating.

- The aforementioned Radiolab episode contains an interview with Oliver Sacks, who has chosen to give up choice in his diet. Every week, his housekeeper brings the same groceries, and he eats the same meals and snacks. Every day he buys exactly one dollar of 72% cocoa-content chocolate from a store in his neighbourhood. As modernity has provided limitless choices for many in the developed world, he has chosen to spare himself some of the torment of decision from the areas of his life where he can allow it. I’d go into further detail on the episode, but if your ears have an hour to spare, I’ll just recommend you give it a listen yourself.

- I’ve often enjoyed letting chance rule in small parts of my life. Most recently, and most randomly, I was out for a walk with someone I see slightly more often than once every few years, and we were at a loss as to where to go. Having always wanted to try a randomized approach to moving through the city (as inspired by Situationist International and psychogeography) I rolled a die* to determine our direction and we set out. Granted, we only managed two rolls before my ingrained, order-loving, direction-finding tendencies took over, but it was a pleasant introduction to a different approach to participation in the city. I’ll have to give it a slightly more committed attempt and report back… and hope that the cruel vagaries of chance don’t have me walking around the same block for hours.

* yes, it was a four-sided die, 1-N, 2-S, 3-E, 4-W (and nerdier yet, it was a virtual four-sided die)

I wanted to hear sweet words

slip between your teeth

while your eyes would

convey this mixed message

of a sick love you have for me

however i need to hear

sticky little post-it

rhymes

to slither into your vocabulary

just so that I can get my fill

of those corny cliches

i love so dearly

Oh dear, dear. Have you seen Shakira’s new video, Give It Up To Me feat. Lil Wayne? Surprisingly enough, I am not confused by this video. I get it completely. Shakira is channeling her inner Britney, Beyonce, Lady Liberty, and some kind of Hindu goddess. Oh, and she doesn’t forget the token rapper either. Yikes. However, the fact that I get it doesn’t mean I have to like it. I don’t want the She Wolf she’s trying to sell these days. I am not sold on the ethnically-diverse dancing she’s going for. All I want is the old Shakira. The Shakira whose hair was long and black. The Shakira who wrote beautiful lyrics and put them to music. The Shakira who sang in Spanish. The Shakira in this video is the complete opposite of the Latin artist I once loved. I’m just saying.

Por amor a tu gente y tu idioma, querida Shakira, regresa a tus raices. Tus fans, los que te queremos de verdad, esperamos que pronto nos vuelvas a cantar en español. Pronto, muy pronto.

I’m spinning into the fire
which was once hotter than the sun
which once was a part of me
rising from the tips of my spears
now I burn
slowly at first
but wilder with every passing moment
it dances around me
licks at the edges of pages
slips through fingers and mouths
until I have only words
words to sooth, words to love
everyday words to cry

She holds winter to her chest and has the blue eyes to prove it. She’s salvation stuttering in a coat of anxious arms. I’m an origami promise buzzing and behaving. I’m trying to come true.

Look away, now look back. You’re blinded – by the whiteness of the sea of stars, you’re blinded.

Floating across your empty slate, imagination, front row centre. Purple water, red trees, black eyes – technicolor dreams.

Chase away your sickly feelings, clear your mind to imitate your eyes. Nothing will ever be the same.

Everything, brighter. You see one, hear one. Everyone, the same.

Humanity takes shape ebhind the crumbling wall of hatred, behind the blinded eye of man.

as much as bird song is the thought I woke up to this morning. At least birds seem to be communicating which is more than we can say for ourselves much of the time.

And maybe words do only matter to a small number of people (we’ll call them writers with a subcategory of “poets”), but words are literally a matter of life and death every day. If you think I exaggerate ask someone who has stood before a court of law or an insurance adjuster. Just because we give words little respect does not mean respect is not due.

Words are our house maids, cooks, babysitters, flagmen at the construction site, and priests at our death beds. Mostly, we just don’t know what to do with them outside of their pigeon-holed functions. Hear the word “sacred” dropped into casual conversation outside of church and notice the pall falling over the discussion.

Poems are the most conspicuous non-conformists when it comes to language, always traipsing off to attend the opera in housemaids clothing, or preparing for extreme unction at a wedding. Poems don’t fit into everyday discourse and sometimes they are really not polite about it, either.

Which is why poetry matters so deeply. Not just words, but words used with a poetic intent. Whether we agree on what poetry as an art form is or not, we should at least agree that our language is more than a spade used to dig in the dirt. Words are our common spark, the familiar roost, the nest we have built together and from which each of us can fly.

Zen is a way of existing without any goal or motive. Put simply it’s the act of being, just being.
Zen is like cleaning out your mind, releasing all the stuff you don’t need, your worries, fears, attachments and opinions. All these things are not needed. Anyone can embrace a Zen lifestyle, it’s not hard. Clear your mind, sit back and relax.

“Now is all that matters. Live in the now.”

I’ll make this simple. This won’t be about my life. But about things that inspire me as an individual.

(And I think you can understand that.)

Many a man wishes he were strong enough to tear a telephone book in half – especially if he has a teenage daughter.
~Guy Lombardo

Twitter is apparently the front runner for Time’s person of the year.

And “unfriend” is the Oxford Dictionary’s word of the year.

*sigh*

スケベ（助平）

Pervert.  Perv.

pro·pi·ti·ate

To conciliate (an offended power); appease: propitiate the gods with a sacrifice

open your heart to people

they’ll surely know better than you

what you must do

.

I noticed on this weekend’s news (Monday in the far east then) that Obama was in communication with the government of  Myanmar.  As someone who considers shunning right up there with capital punishment on the list of solutions that aren’t, I’ve got to say that I approve.  Dialog may not help, but it certainly doesn hurt anyone.

This country can’t keep on acting as if we were the stern and righteous parent.  Forget that bit about feet of clay: we’ve got fungus in our toes, and it’s not pretty.   The way we behave toward our own minorities makes anything we say at best a joke.  At best.  Withdrawing our favor doesn’t mean much when we have no moral high ground to stand on.

That said, I remembered just what country Myanmar is/was

And, yes, I am old old old enough to remember the signs.

Myanmar,
oh Myanmar
I wonder
how your
dissidents are
O’Bama Shave

.

of course:

If harmony / Is what / You crave / Then get / A tuba / Burma-Shave

.

Every time I have the chance
While some may think it’s whack
I’ll write a post involving pants

Let the kitchen swarm with ants
Leave the laundry on the rack
Every time I have the chance

I give my work a sideways glance
I may catch a lot of flak
I’ll write a post involving pants

Humming lines from Safety Dance
I’ll type away upon my Mac
Every time I have the chance

I’ll not read a bad romance
Nor journal papers in their stack
I’ll write a post involving pants

Though others look at me askance
I swear I’m not on crack
Every time I have the chance
I’ll write a post involving pants

—————

These pants are dedicated, in loving memory, to my friend Elizabeth, whose claim that pants was the funniest word in the English language first introduced me to the humorous powers of pants. Your pants will never be forgotten, dear friend.

The form of this post is a villanelle, a style of poetry, and the assignment of today’s Monday Mission. Please pay a visit to Painted Maypole to see who else has chosen to accept this mission. Painted herself has told me that she has a poem up, also with the theme of pants. (Painted penned a poem of pants.)

Today also marks the third anniversary of this blog. It seemed only fitting that it should wear plenty of pants today.

Singing along to R.E.M.’s It’s the end of the world

Graph by: Koumei via Graph Jam Builder

Mr. Williams

Was blessed to see Mr. Saul Williams perform again, this time at  The Independent. Saul is the real deal. A talented poet with a background in acting, he blends his talents into musical performance art.

Amethyst Rock Star

I’ve experienced the evolution of his shows over the last ten years, from quiet low-light poetry sessions, to flamboyant hip-hop-soul-rock concerts accented with his famous prowess for spoken word. Here’s Saul going from old-school to new at the show:

And here he is slipping into a performance of his master poem, Coded Language:

Check out more Saul here.

Hope you’re feeling inspired. Now grab your favorite pen and get to scribbling…

]]>