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How About "Antidisestablishmentarianism?"
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
Having a good command of language is important if you want to be a writer. Painters use paint, musicians use music, woodworkers use wood, writers use. . .well, words, but you get the idea. Words and language are essential tools for a writer's craft. So knowing how to have words good is important to be a gooder writer for making stories and stuff.
I was interested in the 2004 list of banished words from Lake Superior State University in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan. Every January 1st, since 1976, they have published the "List of Words Banished from the Queen's English for Mis-Use, Over-Use and General Uselessness" to help generate publicity about the university.
LSSU (official motto: "Hey, we're over here!") accepts nominations from around the world for words and phrases that are improperly used, overused or just plain annoying. And this year was a banner year.
The 2004 Lake Superior linguists' list included such words as "metrosexual," which refers to an urban male who spends a lot of time focusing on his appearance and fashion. When I was in college, they were called "panty-waisted nancy boys," but that was too hard to yell after a few beers.
The list, thankfully, also included "bling-bling" which, according to LSSU's website was ". . . once street slang for items of luxury." It is now so overused that "(everyone) has incorporated it into their vocabularies."
Well, maybe not everyone. Since I'm as unhip as one can possibly get without wearing shorts, dark socks, and sandals to a John Tesh concert, I never knew what "bling-bling" was until last Spring. Now I hear it all over the place. According to list contributor Todd Facklas, ". . . your mom might say it. Nothing could kill the mystique of a word faster."
Personally, I think it's stupid-stupid.
Thanks to the war in Iraq, "shock and awe," "captured alive," and "smoking gun" also made the list. "Shock and awe" is Washington-speak for "peed their pants with fear and/or surprise." "Captured alive" means "we didn't capture him dead." And formerly a staple of murder mysteries, "smoking gun" is now the term politicians use to mean "evidence" to try and look cool.
Apparently the Washington elite aren't happy enough controlling the fate of the nation. Now they also have dreams of being a detective from a Raymond Chandler novel. So they decided they were tired of the "stooge" with the "moxie" and went searching for the "smoking gun." But they were "shocked and awed" when the "pigeon" was "captured alive" in an underground "flophouse," after he "cheesed it" to an unknown hideout for several months.
Happily, "companion animals" finally made the list. This was a word created several years ago by PC animal rights activists who didn't like the idea that people "owned" animals. Did they think that by calling them "companion animals," the animals would have a higher sense of self-esteem?
Forget it. My dogs are my pets; I own them. I paid for them. I feed them. I clean their "shock and awe" off the floor. They eat bugs and lick themselves. They don't care what I call them.
Other banned words included "shots rang out" (shots don't ring, they "go bang"), "sweat like a pig" (pigs don't have sweat glands), sanitary landfill (they're not), and "hand-crafted latte."
"To apply 'hand-crafted to the routine tasks of the modern-day equivalents of soda jerks cheapens the whole concept of handicraft," said contributor Orin Hargraves.
The 2003 list included the oft-used "weapons of mass destruction." Unfortunately, I don't think the media read that list, because they continue to beat it into the ground. It's been so overused that variations of it have met with little or no success.
Weapons of mass construction,weapons of mass distraction, weapons of dysfunction -- if you can end it with "-ction," you can put "weapons of mass" in front of anything and turn it into a punchline. I just hope the makers of Viagra don't stumble onto this little marketing gem.
LSSU will soon begin accepting nominations for their 2005 list at their website (lssu.edu/banished), and will release the new list on January 1, 2005.
I'm already working on my own nominations for next year. My first choice is anything with "izzle" in it, as in. . . well, I've thought this was stupid enough to never learn how to use it correctly. But I've seen Fran Drescher use it in those "Old Navy" commercials, so I'm sure it's on its way out.
I just hope my nomination wins a prize so I can get a little "bling-bling" before my "brizzle" gets in a "frizzle."
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of January 2nd, 2004)
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Today is Opposite Day, Nyah Nyah Nyah!
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
Erik is out of the office this week, so we are reaching w-a-a-a-y back into the files and reprinting a column from November 1997, after he upgraded and improved it, of course.
Every kid has their favorite day of the year. And being greedy little capitalists, they're usually Christmas and birthdays. Kids also have their least favorite days, like the days after Christmas and their birthdays.
When I was a kid, my least favorite day was Opposite Day.
You remember Opposite Day. That was the day the class jerk declared so he or she could be nasty to another kid, usually me.
The class jerk would say to a kid, "You know, Bobby, you're one of the smartest kids in school. You know what else? It's Opposite Day." Then he would burst into gales of laughter at his own wit.
Basically, whatever you said on Opposite Day, the opposite was true. If you complimented a kid, you actually insulted him. And, if you insulted him, you actually complimented him.
I thought Opposite Day was stupid, and the people who observed it were jerks. After all, it was a paradox. But since I was only nine, I didn't know what a paradox was, so I couldn't explain it. I just knew it was stupid and they were jerks.
The Paradox of Opposite Day goes like this: If you say it's Opposite Day, and the opposite is true, then it's NOT Opposite Day.This means that any compliment you received was a real compliment, and not an insult, like those jerks meant it to be.
I actually tried to explain it one time to a couple of my classmates, but they had made themselves stupid by eating too much paste and probing too hard when they picked their noses. At least that's how I remember it, not that I'm bitter or anything.
The Opposite Day master of my third grade class was a girl named Stephanie, who knew how to take the fun out of any accomplishment. If you got back a math test with an A and a smiley face, she would say, "Wow, that's really good. You're pretty smart in math." Then, as you beamed with pride, she would walk away and sing out, "Opposite Day!"
Eventually some of the kids started taking Opposite Day way too seriously. They formed an Opposite Day committee, held secret high-level meetings, and decided when their holiday of insults would be observed. However, in order to be jerks, they didn't tell anyone else.
I finally realized that Opposite Day was not held on days when someone else "OD-ed" them first. But if they managed to zing another kid first, then the committee declared they had called Opposite Day at their last meeting.
Fortunately, we grew out of Opposite Day. But there are some days when it could be useful. Imagine what life would be like now if you could call Opposite Day whenever you wanted. I think the last week's Democratic presidential debates would have been pretty interesting.
Howard Dean: "I think my opponent is very competent, would make a great president, and would not lead this country into financial and moral ruin. Oh yeah, today is Opposite Day."
Joe Lieberman: "Oh yeah? You're not a poopyhead! And it's still Opposite Day."
Dick Gephardt: Mr. Conan, they're calling each other names!
Opposite Day could also be used at work. Imagine you have to fire one of your worst employees. Opposite Day would make this much more enjoyable, because you can make the poor sucker feel good about himself/herself, before deflating their ego like a balloon hit by a lawn dart.
You: Pat, I called you in here to say I think you're one of our most valuable employees. You're always on time, you have great ideas, and your work ethic is beyond reproach.
Pat: Thank you very much. I appreciate that.
You: By the way, did you see this memo that said today is Opposite Day? You're not fired!
Overall, I still think Opposite Day is pretty stupid. And I have a few bad memories about the kids who played it. However, as an adult, I've grown up and moved on. I don't have to be bitter or call anyone names. After all, they were just kids who didn't know any better.
Jerks!
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Erik Deckers
(published week of January 9th, 2004)
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What DOES $%&*! mean?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
"This is really, really f---ing brilliant!"
Bono, lead singer of U2, caused a national uproar after using the F-word at the 2003 Golden Globe Awards. Citizen groups were outraged, politicians were apoplectic, and Jerry Falwell was reportedly found curled up on his living room floor, sobbing hysterically.
But despite the outcry, the Federal Communications Commission, which is made up of two Democrats and three Republicans, voted 3-2 not to fine television stations for airing Bono's little slip.
Their reason? Bono used the F-word as an adjective, not in a sexual context. As a result, it didn't measure up to the FCC's standard of indecency, which gave broadcasters the green light to push the envelope a little more.
That's why Nicole Richie, of Fox's "The Simple Life," said "Why do they even call it the 'Simple Life?' Have you ever tried to get cow s--- out of a Prada purse? It's not so f---ing simple," at The Billboard Awards show last December. Fox failed to bleep out Richie's f---ing language, despite the fact they were on a five-second delay to catch these verbal gaffes.
"Hey, we're only f---ing human," whined a Fox spokesperson. "What the h--- do you want me to do? I can't deal with this s--- right now!"
The FCC has yet to act on Richie's statement, but given the outrage expressed by many conservative and family groups after the Bono decision, they may hit Fox with a double-whammy.
Besides, Richie should know not to put cow s---- in a f---ing $1000 purse in the first place!
Bono's slip-up, and the FCC's failure to lop off his head, prompted Congressman Doug Ose (R - CA) to take action. According to the San Francisco Chronicle, Ose, and Congressman Lamar Smith (R-Texas) introduced a bill to remove obscene language from the airwaves. HR 3687 lists the latest "seven dirty words" they want banned from TV and radio.
The list includes "verb, adjective, gerund, participle, and infinitive forms," as well as "hyphenated compounds" of the words ----, ----, ----, ----, --------, -----------, and --------------. (Clever readers shouldmake their own jokes about "dangling participles" to see if they can get on Ose's list.)
Actually, the San Francisco Chronicle tried to helpfully list the words: "S -- ; piss; f -- ; c -- ; a -- h -- ; c -- s -- and m -- f --" (and yes, that is exactly how the list appeared). However, they didn't use the appropriate number of dashes, so don't count them to figure out the words. You'll have better luck figuring out what $%&*!, *@#(, and #&^@$ mean.
Like most people, you're probably dying to know what the offending words are. If so, visit thomas.loc.gov and enter the bill number, HR 3687, to see the list in its entirety.
As a responsible journalist and mature adult, I decided to read the bill, and made two very important observations. . . after my giggling fit subsided.
First, the very words that offended Ose are the same words he spelled out, letter for letter, in a Congressional bill. And, if the bill gets passed, these words will become a part of the US Code, where they can be seen by any impressionable child with access to federal law books.
Second, Ose's list very nearly matches George Carlin's "Seven Dirty Words You Can't Say on Television." However, Ose added "a--h---," and removed "t---s," thus avoiding any copyright infringements.
In other words, if Ose's bill gets passed, it's a T-word free-for-all on television.
The original "seven dirty words" grew out of a 1978 Supreme Court decision (FCC v. Pacifica Radio) that upheld the FCC's authority to ban them, after Carlin's original monologue was played on Pacifica Radio in 1975.
But his list never contained "a---h---." Ose's new word may have been inspired by President George W. Bush calling New York Times reporter Adam Clymer "a major league a--h----" during the 2000 presidential campaign.
But the protests and lobbying may be having an effect, as FCC Chairman Michael Powell is seeking support from two other commissioners to overturn the previous Bono decision. They would also increase the fines for violations of obscene language.
As a journalist, I'm opposed to censorship and violation of the First Amendment, regardless of whether I'm offended by the language or not. Instead of letting the government decide what our children, and ultimately we, can watch, we should leave that decision up to the parents. As parents, we're responsible for feeding our children, educating them, and giving them a safe and loving home.
So we should also be responsible for the s--- they watch on TV.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of January 16th, 2004)
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Look, Up in the Sky! It's Super Erik
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
Kids have great imaginations. They fight pirates, fly through outer space, and travel the ocean floor in their own submarine, all from the safety of their own bed.
I was no different. When I was three years old, I had an imaginary friend. Actually, I had dozens of imaginary friends, all of whom I met watching Saturday morning cartoons.
I hung out with Scooby Doo and his teenage friends, and we would solve crimes around the house, like "who stole the cookie" and "where did my blanket go?" And because I was stronger, faster, and smarter than any of Scooby's team, I was in charge.
I had previously dethroned Fred and his sissy neck scarf, in a knock-down, drag-out battle for control. And after making him cry like a two-year-old girl, I assumed the mantle of leadership, which only looked like a neck scarf. But I still let Fred drive the Mystery Machine, because I was too short to see over the dashboard.
But I didn't limit myself to the Scooby Doo gang; I was also the co-leader of the Superfriends. I say "co-leader," because I shared the responsibility with Superman. After all, since Aquaman could only communicate with fish, and Batman was just a guy in tights, Superman was the only one with real powers.
And because I was only three, neither of us were able to actually defeat the other in a battle for leadership. (If I had been four, it would have been a completely different story). So, we agreed to co-lead the Superfriends, and had a grudging, yet hard-earned respect for each other.
I used to race around the house, my cape flowing behind me, taking care not to rip it, since I would need it for my bath later. I would call the names of all my superhero friends and talking dogs, and tell them to follow me as we chased the bad guys.
If you had heard me, it would have seemed the house was too filled with crimefighters to actually do any running, but we all managed to get around without bumping into each other.
However we were pretty awful crimefighters -- I guess I wasn't much of a superhero leader -- because we never actually caught any bad guys. We just ran after them for hours, from room to room, never actually catching anyone.
My daughters, on the other hand, don't have the same imagination I did. I fought supervillains and chased ghosts. But my oldest daughter has all the heart-wrenching melodrama of a made-for-TV movie on the Lifetime channel. She gets her inspiration from the saddest and most depressing parts of every Disney movie ever made.
I'll occasionally overhear the stage directions she provides her younger sister about their little melodrama.
Older daughter: Okay, you're an orphaned puppy whose parents were tragically killed when a gorilla started a stampede of wildebeests through the palace and they crushed Cinderella's glass slipper and the pieces of glass killed your parents and now I have to get medicine for you because you're very sick.
Younger daughter: No, I want Mommy!
Older daughter: You don't have a mommy. You're an orphaned puppy. Daddy, she won't be an orphaned puppy.
Younger daughter: WAAAAH! Daddy, she said Mommy was dead!
My wife and I don't know where she gets these ideas. Ever since she was three, her imaginary playtime has always involved deep tragedies, like small children who are gravely ill, puppies who have been stolen from their families, and people who are attacked by gruesome monsters for no apparent reason.
We've tried to get her to play something less heart-wrenching and more upbeat, like when Bambi's mother got shot, but apparently this isn't tragic enough for her.
In addition to sick children and puppies, my daughter also loves a good romantic tragedy. She acts out stories that would win a Daytime Emmy if the networks ever hired her.
Whitney: Lance, please! Don't take the jewels. They were my mother's. She was killed by a flying shard of slipper glass.
Lance: I have to Whitney. I need them to buy medicine for a sick puppy.
Whitney: BUT I L-O-O-O-VE YOU!!
Lance: Oh. Okay, here you go.
In a couple years, it will be my son's turn to create his own imaginary adventures, fight his own bad guys, and team up with his own heroes. I'll watch him run around the house with his bath towel flapping behind him. And I'll remember what it was like when the fate of the world rested on my own three-year-old shoulders.
Maybe he'll catch the bad guys for me.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of January 23rd, 2004)
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Put Your Left Leg In
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
Erik is out of the office this week, so we are running a column from 2001, which he still insists was the first year of the new millennium.
I've been married for seven years now, and my wife and I have learned to compromise on many issues. But there's one where we refuse to budge. She likes to dance, and I don't.
I'm not talking about any kind of dancing. I'm talking about ballroom dancing.
I've been able to avoid this bomb, although there have been some close calls, like when Championship Ballroom Dancing is on PBS.
My wife: Look how graceful they are. Why don't we ever do that?
Me: Because I'm more of the big lumbering type. I can't swish my hips like he does.
My wife: You'd be a pretty good dancer.
Me: By "pretty good," you mean "really stupid," right?
My wife: I'm going to see if we can take lessons.
Me: (Whimper)
Happily, nothing ever materialized, and I was able to avoid the whole issue entirely, until this past Valentine's Day. That's when I, the big lumbering doofus, was going to have to dance in public. And not the high school kind, where dancing meant wrapping your arms around your date and moving around in circles. This was with steps, diagrams, and names that don't include "funky" or "chicken."
Our local American Red Cross chapter was hosting a formal ball, and my wife was attending so she could present an award. And since I was married to her, I was also expected to attend.
And dance.
She assured me I'd do fine, and gave me my first dance lesson.
"It's easy," she said. "You'll love it." She showed me a diagram of a basic swing step.
"Why do I have to learn to swing dance?" I asked.
"Because the theme is swing dancing."
"Why can't the theme be wrapping our arms around each other and moving around in circles?"
She ran through the basic steps, counting the rhythm and showing me where to put my feet, like not on top of her feet. Then I tried.
I was awful.
But my wife has the patience of a saint and feet like iron. She kept coaching, and I kept trying.
After 15 minutes, I finally started to get it. After another 10, I could do it without counting out loud. Eventually, I could do it without counting in my head. And even though trying it with actual music threw me, I learned that as well.
"You realize we won't be able to dance that much," I said.
"Why?"
"Because it will look like I only know one dance."
"You do only know one dance."
The big night finally arrived, and after faking a seizure, I gave up and went to meet my fate. When dinner was over, the band started playing. I gripped my wife's hand in my sweaty palm and shuffled out to the dance floor, like a prisoner meeting the firing squad.
As we began, I realized, "Hey, I'm doing it! I'm dancing!" It was a proud moment for me. I was dancing with my wife, just like she had taught me, in a room full of people who all knew the fine art of ballroom dancing. Then I looked closer.
These people weren't dancing at all!
They had just wrapped their arms around each other and were moving around in circles.
There were only two other couples who actually knew how to dance. I felt a little smug. I knew a big secret, and here was my big chance to show it.
I was disappointed when the song ended and the band started playing Kool and the Gang's "Celebrate."
"I can't dance to this!" I shouted over the music. "You never taught me how!"
She urged me to try, but it was no use. After being stepped on and bumped into by people who were worse than I was, I gave up. My wife thanked me for trying, and danced with her sister, who had been similarly ditched by her husband seconds earlier. I watched from the safety of my table for the rest of the evening. They never played another swing tune all night.
But I was happy. Even though I died a thousand deaths before I finally did it, I actually danced in public without any humiliation, and I was able to maintain my dignity.
I'm just glad the theme wasn't "The Funky Chicken."
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Erik Deckers
(published week of January 30th, 2004)
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