Lexicon, Take Three

It’s been a while since I last updated the LaLa Lexicon. Parts one and two available here. This latest version is mostly brought to you by the letter H, though I’m not sure exactly why.

“A yittle or a yot?” Clarification. A favorite quote from one of my nephews, whose relationship with the letter L is somewhat tenuous. (To him, I am Aunt YaYa.) This question is a very useful way to address matters of scale.

Cosmic particles. Noun. Remember back when something coincidental would happen and people would hum the ‘Twilight Zone’ music? The phrase ‘cosmic particles’, when uttered with wide eyes and a knowing nod, conveys the same consciousness of fate’s twists without anyone having to fake half-sing in public.

Fross. Adjective. When something is really gross, it's fross. Courtesy of my nephew Caden-4yrs, who employs a cavalier approach to certain consonants. Example: If you go outside and accidentally step in dog poop, your shoes will be fross.

Herfing. State of being. Word to describe the feeling you get after eating food that you know is bad for you (like Doritos or in Australia certain very dodgy looking meat pies). This word was coined by a friend while we were traveling in Tasmania on Anzac Day, which is a national holiday. We found ourselves out and about with no open restaurants or stores – and we were very hungry. We had to make do with some sort of cheese+meat+beer+shoes pies from a filling station. Example: After eating those pies we were herfin’.

Hoh-kay. Pronouncement, laced with sarcasm. A form of agreement that implies complete disagreement. The more ‘ho-ho-hos’ you include before the ‘-kay’, the more obvious it becomes you don’t agree. For example, Person A says “Gee, I don’t think the American presidential election lasts long enough. Blink and you’ll miss it.” Person B says “Ho-ho-ho-kay” and walks off, shaking her head.

Hork. Verb. To throw up a big ol’ hairball, usually in the middle of the night. A form of onomatopoeia.

Hormotional. Adjective. Favorite new word from Ugly Betty, used to describe the crazy and wildly varying mood swings sometimes attributed to an overabundance of hormones. Note - Men, use this sparingly. It could get you in trouble. Example: Alternately raving, sobbing, and giggling, she displayed a textbook case of hormotional behavior.

Hotpants. Nickname, gender-neutral. ‘Hotpants’ is what I call you when our paths cross and it becomes instantly clear that you are in your 20s, and are convinced that you will always look like that, that you were born knowing more than all the rest of us, and that the rest of us should feel truly fortunate that you chose to condescend so kindly in our direction. One day, Hotpants, you too will be 35. Just remember that.

Hot-umn. Contraction = hot + autumn. First day of fall here in Dallas, high of 90°F. Definitely hot-umn.

Huh. Noncommittal commentary. Usually uttered as a stand-alone comment devoid of gestures or facial expressions. Surface meaning: I’m listening to what you’re saying. Actual meaning: I totally disagree with you but am not about to get into it. Example: Person A says, “I think OJ Simpson is just misunderstood.” Person B says, “Huh.”

Sensuous. Contraction = since + you + wuz. “Sensuous up, could you get me a drink?” Courtesy of my friend Nooch, who collects Southern contractions the way some people collect Himmel figurines.

Stampede mode. Noun. That feeling you sometimes get that makes it seem like if you don’t get up and run around really fast right now you just might explode. Admittedly, I don’t feel like this very often, but I used to, and my cats seem to feel it every night around 10 pm. Also known as ‘the rip-snorts’ or ‘the evening crazies.’

Through the looking glass. Descriptive phrase. Courtesy of Lewis Carroll, used to describe that feeling you get when something totally bizarre seems to have happened but no one else seems to have noticed.

W :0 W. Commentary + sign language. This one involves using your hands, and was learned from a few weird girls I met at summer camp during my high school years. (Note level of maturity of the source of this gesture, and use accordingly.) Make ‘W’s’ with both hands (you know, backward '3's), hold them up on either side of your head and say “Wow” in a melodramatic fashion, using your head – or the big O of your mouth – to be the middle of the word. This reaction is usually only prompted by something truly amazing.

Little Blue Heart

I’ve had the same keychain for 11 years. Everyday I pick it up and carry it around many times but most of the time it’s grown so familiar that I don’t see it - probably once a day I'll actually focus on it and see it for what it is. It’s a mirrored blue heart made of scuffed-up plastic with the words ‘Patriotism swells in the heart of the American bear’ engraved on it. It fits just perfectly in the palm of my hand.

Eleven years ago I lived in Melbourne and hadn’t been back to the States to visit friends or family in almost 3 years. Just as I was thinking I really needed to get back for a visit an Australian friend of mine – someone I knew socially but not that well – called me up and asked if I wanted to go traveling with her. She was ready for an adventure and thought I might be interested. Clay (that’s the friend) suggested Europe but I told her I was itching to visit the States and she agreed that that would be fun. So we spent some time arranging an itinerary and that November we spent a month traveling all around the States.

First we visited some of her family and one of my college friends in San Francisco. Then we flew to New York and enjoyed what I later referred to as an international summit of my friends – we stayed with some of my college friends, and my Favorite Tiny British Friend flew over from London for the week to visit too. It was the first time my Australian, British and college friends had met.

We had a grand time – we went to the top of the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building, we visited the Met and the Statue of Liberty, we ate bagels and soup from diners, and of course we saw ‘Rent’ on Broadway. (Hey, it was 1997.) We spent many hours talking and laughing and walking around the city. It was such a good visit.

One of the highlights of the visit occurred one night when we decided to stay in. We were staying with my college friend Moon-Fig at the time. Don’t ask about the nickname. To be honest, I can’t remember much about how he got it, except that Clay gave it to him. Oh, and Clay and Moon-Fig are married now. One of the fateful results of that ’97 visit! But in November of 1997 they’d just met. Clay and my Tiny British Friend and I were camping out in Moon-Fig’s apartment and one night we decided to stay in and watch movies. We chose ‘The Muppet Movie.’ Now, it was Moon-Fig’s tape, Moon-Fig’s remote control and totally Moon-Fig’s prerogative to keep stopping and replaying all his favorite funny bits but after a while I have to admit the rest of us were like, “Enough already! It’s the Muppets! They’re hilarious! Let’s keep watching!” He wanted to make sure we fully appreciated the comic genius and we did, sure enough, but we also really wanted the movie just to keep going.

So later in the movie there’s a sequence of shots that shows the majesty of the American landscape – gorgeous panoramic views of the glorious mountains and plains and canyons. Over these scenes you hear Fozzie Bear singing ‘America, the Beautiful.’ He’s so sincere. So… Fozzie. The last shot in that sequence the camera pans back to a vast and lonely highway somewhere in an empty but beautiful landscape and stops on an old station wagon, barreling down the road straight at the camera. Fozzie Bear drives the car and every cubic inch of space in the rest of that car is crammed to bursting with very irritated looking Muppets. Every one of them is directing a Glare of Death at Fozzie and it is instantly apparent that a) the angry Muppets have chosen not to sing with Fozzie in protest and b) Fozzie has probably been singing for a LONG time. Fozzie finishes his song, heaves a big sigh of oblivious contentment and then says happily, “Ah, patriotism swells in the heart of the American bear.”

At this point Clay, Tiny British Friend and I completely lost it. All three of us simultaneously burst out laughing so hard that we were doubled over, gasping for breath, tears streaming down our faces. And Moon-Fig sat there watching us, looking utterly puzzled. We made him stop and replay it. Again and again and again. And he could not for the life of him figure out why to us that was the funniest thing we’d seen all night when he’d so patiently showed us all the other bits of the movie that were so much funnier. And of course the fact that he didn't get it made it that much funnier. Poor boy.

So later that week we three girls were out being tourists again and Clay and Tiny British Friend decided they wanted to go see the World Trade Center. I had had quite enough of heights so I agreed to meet them elsewhere later. When we met they gave me a keychain, my own blue heart with Fozzie’s line on it – and they each had one too. They’d gotten to the World Trade Center too late to make it to the top but on their way out had stopped by one of those souvenir carts and asked a guy to engrave them for us.

They’re still in my life - Clay, Moon-Fig, Tiny British Friend, and others we visited that month - though so much time has passed and we now live on three different continents. That trip was wonderful and the start of so many things. So that’s why I carry my little blue Fozzie heart with me everywhere – to keep those important people and places in my hand and mind daily, when they’re too far away to be here themselves.

Putting the labor back into Labor Day

I don't know how you all spent your long weekend, but Dickens and Wilkie worked really hard.

Dickens working on his abs.
















Putting their heads together.
















Veeeeery sloooooow acrobatics...

News from the Natural World

Okay, so before I tell you news of the animals in my neighborhood, let's wrap up the Karl Malden question.

Frankly, good ol’ Karl remains something of an enigma. A few of you knew exactly who he was – remind me never to play Trivial Pursuit against you! But the majority of you were like me: ‘Karl Malden’ sounds familiar but we can’t picture him and we have no idea why we know who he is. He’s a perfect example of why I’m daily grateful for the invention of Google.

Enough of the mysteriously famous Karl Malden. Let’s talk animals. Today when I got home from work I was greeted with the sight of an artistic yet clearly critical editorial comment from the cats. Message: I have not decorated to their taste. I know this because one of them (or perhaps both, working together in what would be a surprising display of teamwork) somehow popped the lid off one of the plastic storage bins under my bed (WITHOUT THUMBS, mind you) and used the 1” opening to liberate a 4” ball of blue wool. Then the kitties used the yarn to decorate the apartment – the result looked like a yarn version of those old ‘Family Circus’ comic strips where you could follow Little Billy through the labyrinth of his day. Modestly, neither claimed credit for this accomplishment. Also, neither rose to the bait when I accused them of being clichéd. Huh.

In the much more disgusting animal encounter of the day, I had a surreal moment with a squirrel. I was talking on the phone to my sister, idly looking out the window, when I saw a squirrel walking around on my apartment balcony, just on the other side of the window from me. I tried to get my cats interested, “Look! Kitties! It’s a SQUIRREL!” They heard me and looked very closely at my pointed finger, but missed the bigger picture. So I picked up Dickens and put his little pink nose to the glass. I’m standing there with the phone against one ear, holding my cat up for a better view, when the squirrel sees us.

And then…

Only 5 feet away from us, perched on the edge of my balcony, MAKING EYE CONTACT THE WHOLE TIME, the squirrel peed on my balcony.

Then he ran away. Dickens went off to investigate his dinner bowl. And my sister and I discussed the fact that my neighborhood squirrel is a pervert. I gotta tell you: my opinion of squirrels is at an all-time low.

What Does Karl Malden Mean to You?

I'm taking a quick poll. Quick, if you've ever heard of Karl Malden, please raise your hand.

All right, now if you know WHY you've heard of Karl Malden, please keep your hand in the air.

If you know anything about Karl Malden's claim to fame - WITHOUT LOOKING HIM UP - please enlighten us in the comments section. No sneaking away to Google now. This is a pop quiz, no reference materials allowed.

*

You may be wondering, 'Why the sudden obsession with Karl Malden?' (And if you aren't, please check the pulse on your ol' sense of curiosity.) It all came about because this week at work I had an allegedly professional, completely sidetracked, highly amusing conversation with colleagues in which Karl Malden suddenly came out of nowhere and took over the discussion. It was a conversational ambush. I still get tickled just thinking about it (seemed a lot like my recently-explained-but-for-so-long mysterious childhood fascination with the Norman Luboff choir) and was inspired to conduct this poll.

So please leave a comment: what does Karl Malden mean to you?!

I really can't wait to hear it.

In a Nutshell

Who am I kidding? I couldn’t summarize the past month in a nutshell even if you broke open the biggest coconut in the world and gave me both halves. But I’ll give it a shot.

I’m in Texas! It’s taken a month to get partially settled and I suspect it will take a full year to begin to feel perfectly home-like. There have been a few things to adjust to, chiefly the fact that it’s been over 100 degrees almost every single day since I got here. Walking outside you get a very clear idea what it must feel like to be a hamburger when the cook uses a spatula to squish it into the grill. Squeezed by heat on all sides.

Also it’s taken a full month to get my new apartment wired for television and internet. For a while there it was like I moved to the past – I never had any idea what was going on unless someone else told me. There was an earthquake in California? Oh. Did not know that. I’m finally connected again and believe me, if I thought they’d appreciate it, I’d have given both my television and laptop huge hugs of welcome. I sure missed them.

Getting to Texas was an adventure. My friend MKA (hereafter known as Nooch) deserves haloes, trophies, treasure and accolades for driving with me the 2000 miles from Boston to Dallas. In 4 days. In a 12-foot banana yellow Penske truck filled with all my belongings. With 2 unhappy cats in the cab with us. While I had a never-ending summer cold. That made me hard of hearing. Seriously – someone buy the woman a drink.

The first day we were a little giggly with the novelty of it: look at us! We’re driving a big yellow truck! You’d better get out of our way! Here comes The Big Yellowness! We figured out how to get our ipods to play on the truck’s radio (believe me, it took figuring out) and we enjoyed the singing-at-the-top-of-our-lungs aspect of the road trip. (The cats really didn’t seem to appreciate that part at all. You’d have thought they might find it comforting, but no.)

We were also really into reading the names of funny towns and snapping pics of funny signs. (We did all the snapping with Nooch’s camera or I’d show you some of them here.) That first day we drove through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania (which is huge and has a sign on EVERY SINGLE BRIDGE that says ‘Bridge may be icy’. Every. Single. Bridge.), Maryland, and finally stopped in West Virginia. We were definitely a *little* ambitious that first day.

Our first night in a pet friendly motel – um. Perhaps I’ll spare you the details. The cats were frantic. The place smelled a little moldy. But we slept and were able to shower in the morning. Count it a success, if not a monument to aesthetics.

The second day we felt like old pros. Also, we were motivated by a goal: we were headed to Pigeon Forge, TN. That’s right: DOLLYWOOD!!!!!! Having that as our goal made the day’s driving bearable. Virginia is a big beautiful state to drive through and Tennessee was very green. Turning off the interstate to head to Dollywood, Nooch and I were amazed by the succession of incredibly tacky billboards and crazy stuff we kept seeing. Every new thing on the strip left us gaping slightly more than we were before. It was a truly amazing combination of gorgeous green natural scenery and the tackiest entertaining crap ever put up by humans. Amazing.

Another night in a pet-friendly motel. Not a bad place. Certainly had a challenging parking lot for people driving a large heavy truck. There were some perilous moments in reverse on a steep incline that neither Nooch nor I ever really feel like we need to re-live. We were just glad to get through them that one time. And then in the morning we left the kitties in the room while we went to Dollywood.

What can I say about Dollywood? It made moving more enjoyable, that’s for sure. We loved it. The rhinestones, the red-white-and-blue, the singing, the pink and purple stuff – it was all just awesome. The best part was the museum of her life story. You could see many of the costumes from her movies, reproductions of the cabin she grew up in, lots of photos from her early days as a television performer – it’s all there. Even the tiny little coat of many colors her mother made for her – it’s so little! Plus videos of Dolly and recordings of her voice telling you what things are. I tell you. It was fantastic.

So after Dollywood things were less enjoyable – perhaps we should have seen the let-down coming. It’s not like a 4 day road trip in those circumstances is just going to keep getting better and better. And in fact, it did not. Day 3, driving through Tennessee, was just hell. If you look at a map, Tennessee is a very short state to drive through if you’re going north to south. But if you’re driving from the top-most eastern corner to the lowest western corner it is a VERY LOOOOOOONG green boring state. Oh dear heaven it is boring. Not many signs. 10 million trees on your left side. Another 10 million trees out the right window. Always the same. After a few hours it’s enough to make a girl homicidal. Unfortunately the two of us were tired already so it made both of us homicidal. Looking back I’m just grateful we didn’t kill each other. Day 3 was a low point.

About this time Nooch and I reached some conclusions about American highways and truckers. 1) Truckers tend to be creepy and weird. 2) Proof: one trucker drove by us with a rubber penis on his nose just to see how we would react. Ew. 3) In the cities highways belong to people who live there but interstates belong to truckers. Cars are just there on sufferance. 4) A 12-foot truck, while huge to us, was really just a pipsqueak to the real truckers. 5) Nooch and I started referring to ourselves as ‘baby truckers’ when we realized we weren’t anywhere near the same league. 6) It may have been small by truckers’ standards but that yellow monster ate gas like we breathe oxygen. We must have stopped for gas a thousand times in 4 days. Sheesh.

We stayed that last night on the road in Memphis. Apparently without even trying we found the sketchiest part of Memphis and stayed there. Lots of uncomfortable surveillance (on our part and by the people who watched us driving our in our conspicuous yellow truck). Memphis is also the place we made a startling discovery: of my two cats, the one always thought to be kind of the dumb one is actually the smart one. We found out like this.

Our last morning on the road we were pretty cheerful. Wohoo! Let’s get out of Memphis! Let’s get to Texas!! But as I finished getting ready Nooch came up to me with the Big Eyes and the Quiet Voice (never a good sign) and said, “I can’t find Wilkie.” I wasn’t too worried at that point because neither of us had left the hotel room. Wilkie had been there when I went in to take my shower. She couldn’t get out. She was probably hiding because she recognized the signs of departure and didn’t want to get back in that truck. (We could hardly blame her.) So Nooch and I started searching everywhere. Dickens lay on the bed and watched us. Wilkie wasn’t to be found. Then we started poking around under the beds. Being a pet-friendly motel the box springs had been laid on solid metal frames – they looked like a box and were meant to ensure that no animals could get under the bed. Ah but Wilkie was desperate. She REALLY didn’t want to get in that truck again. So she’d ripped a hole in the gauze on the bottom of the box spring and climbed up into the bed in order to hide inside the metal frame. Nooch and I had to take apart motel beds (wordless shudder of horror at the memory) in a pet-friendly motel (extra layer of horror) in order to find her. Two beds – she was hiding in the second one.

Once found we scooped her right into her travel bag – she was swearing and crying the whole time. And Dickens just watched with this look on his face like, “Huh. Wonder what’s going on there. Sure glad I’m comfy on this bed. Hey, what are you doing? Not the BAAAAAAAG!!!!!!” And then he was surprised to find himself in the truck again. Wilkie had seen the pattern. Dickens did not.

As we left Tennessee (shouting hallelujahs of gratitude) we crossed into Arkansas. Did you know that the motto on the Arkansas license plate says ‘The Natural State’? I was afraid there would be a lot of nude Arkansans but thankfully no. Just a lot of very grim billboards about not committing adultery, usually right across the highway from the numerous XXX stores. (Again, truckers are creepy and weird.)

So we finally got to my dad’s place, north of Dallas. Where Wilkie promptly buried herself inside the guest room bed. (We had to take it apart to get her out when it was time to move to my apartment.)

The rest of the story involves settling into my new place, but I’ll tell that one later. I’ve run out of room in this nutshell.

A Dream Come True

And NOT in a good way.

Any of you out there completely freaked out by creepy-crawlies? Name your poison: ants, bugs of any stripe, spiders, worms, snakes, mice, etc.

All of those are my poison.

So have any of you had that dream, that – shudder – nightmare, the one where something icky is crawling on you and you can’t get it off?

That happened to me yesterday. I got on the T, sat down, opened my book, and proceeded to join the rest of the 70 people on the car in our game of mutually ignoring each other. (It’s actually more polite to ignore each other on the T in the morning than it is to try to be friendly. Striking up a conversation with a carload of Boston non-morning people is a MAJOR faux pas.)

As I looked down at my book I realized there was a beefy looking ant crawling around on the neckline of my blouse. Ew. Not a fire ant, thank goodness, but still. Not a welcome passenger. So I brushed it off and kept reading. About five minutes later – when I had truly forgotten the incident, how sad is that? – I was shocked to find the ant was STILL ON ME. Crawling around this time UNDER the neckline of my top.

What I wanted to do: jump to my feet, shrieking and swearing, throw everything in my lap onto the floor, jump up and down and shimmy, take off all bug-infested clothes and put on all new bug-free ones, shower, and proceed with my day.

What I had to do because I was on the T: bug my eyes out, not scream, try to find the little vermin without a) sticking my hand inside my clothes and b) alarming other passengers, try not to give in to the hysterical conviction that under my clothes my skin was literally crawling with a thousand bugs, try to resist the temptation to look inside my clothes for hives and bites and stings, and try to press down really hard on my clothes with my hands so if there were bugs in there they were now carcasses.

It was an exhausting 5 minutes of pure hysteria, let me tell you.

And for the guys across the aisle who watched the whole thing I’m sure it was one of their favorite morning floor shows ever.