Tag: your daily word prompt

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Annoy

I’ve found that growing your vocabulary can irritate. So try some new vocabulary item out, without explanation, on someone you are eager to inflame and watch the reaction. “You know Michelle; it was plangent and skookum watching your performance. You have a talent for fatuous redundancy in your art.”
It hardly matters that you might be complimenting her on something. But the manner of saying it fans the fires.

To achieve being annoying like this, you need some assistance. Unfortunately, a dictionary will not do. So instead, I use word prompts on the WordPress Blog and a screensaver that picks words out to flash on your monitor with their definition every day.

If you have a mission to annoy, there also has to be some repetitive element. Use the words in conversation with people you dislike, remember to be skookum ( excellent and impressive), don’t omit a bit being plangent (loud and resounding), and of course, always be repetitive.

Remember, success is the culmination of many small things done well. Have Fun.

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Froggie

There was a tinge of green, right around where gills would be if the Teahead had been a fish. But of course, the Teahead of the August Moon was a fully mammalian human, and the concoction on his face was the latest attempt to correct an unfortunate complexion that periodically oozed zits.
His beauty advisor on all things dermal was his girlfriend Andrea. She got the gook at the Filene’s beauty department, and it was, of course, the very best. The Teahead felt conflicted; he loved and trusted Andrea, but going about the house in green face seemed too much like wearing make-up. The other roommates’ snickering and me composing a song about a giant green frog were almost too much to take.

Looking in the mirror, he sighed and asked, “why me?”

When the phone rang, it was work, “Get in here pronto. The Sargent account is about to blow up any minute.” So into his suit and out the door in a flash, he had one thing and one thing on his mind only: the Sargent account, his first big account at Harpoole, Amstel, and Marston. So ignoring the pleas of roomies and Andrea, he slipped down the street.

He only paused to reflect when he noticed the snorts, wheezes, and funny faces on the platform at the Park Street Station—reaching up; he began to wipe away the green mask covering his face. “Why me,” he asked again.

A stop on the way to work at the Harvard Coop provided a new shirt, but after putting the Sargent account to rights, his boss sent him home, insisting that he looked a bit ill and greenish.

That evening the Monk, our chef and culinary forager extraordinaire, provided a green pea soup and Key Lime pie. All the jokes were off-color. The Teahead swore off cosmetics, scrubs, masks, and all flimflammery, “it’s better to put up with a few zits, damn it!”

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The Green Can

Most cats do not scintillate as conversationalists. Then there are the Carreras cats. They’ve been asked their opinion so often that by the time they reach feline adulthood, you wish that they’d shut their traps. There is certain jeopardy involved in asking Xenia ( Empress of all she surveys) about what she wants for supper. She’ll shoulder her way into the cabinet where the cans are kept, blocking your view, and declaim loudly about the low stock and lack of choice.

Variety and the avoidance of fish other than salmon, she claims, is a requirement. “please avoid that awful brand in the green can you bought last week. It tasted of sardines. I hate sardines.” The lecture continues becoming shriller and more petulant. The preponderance of the evidence she lays out is the usual stuff. Humans are incompetent, unable to complete basic tasks without oversight by cats, and next to dogs, the universe’s most imperfect creature. The shrieks and meoowrs continue until the last of the food (from the green can) are consumed.

“There,” you say,” was that better.” “purrrrrrrrr, meop!” ( you got it right, idiot!). I block her view of the can of “sardine tasting” food as I move carefully dispose of the empty. Just once in a while, you get to pull one over a cat.

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Misspent

I have not always been a paragon of good taste, sensibilities, or behavior. Emphasize behavior, please. You could have described me as a cad, inappropriate, and always a sinner. I understood the feelings of Saint Augustine when he stated that “…it was wicked, but I loved it.”
Yup, it was wicked, and I loved it, especially when I met a young lady who was similarly inclined. Innocence is pleasing, but a sassy attitude, ahh sublime. No algid, chilled, or cold receptions wanted.
Just to keep things clear, the unwilling, uninterested, or ineligible were not my targets. I did curl my moustachio ends, which were waxed to points, of course, but only as an indication to the willing that I was ready to engage.
So like two ships of the line, we would move to engage, first firing shots off the bow, then coming in for broadsides, and at last boarding. In a proper engagement, victory was mutual. And worth cycling through time and time again.

Well, if you decide to misspend a youth, you owe it to yourself to do it well.

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Folly

Folly has gotten a bum rap. I mean, take a look at all the advice people get about the joyful misadventures of youth, “that was just folly; you should have known better.” But, of course, if it weren’t for folly, the studious types would have to petition the heavens for relief from maudlin regrets because their lives were so dull.
Much joy results from folly. And that’s not mentioning much of the unplanned population of the world.

Without a bit of folly, there would be less discovery, less mature reflection on the folly of youth – with a wistful grin on the face.
I’d go so far as suggesting that if there were a severe deficit of folly, it would be imperative to encourage it. Just think of a world of people who were serious and thoughtful all the time. Comedians, brewers, distillers, and rock musicians would be out of work. We’d all listen to the works of Mahler, drink weak herbal tea, only wear sensible clothing, and eat modestly. Oh, and go to bed early and rise at dawn.

I’m not sure about you, but I couldn’t take it long.

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Diatribe

It’s important to know when to lie low. For example, not engage in an argument.
Actually, I guess it’s not even an argument -if you don’t listen to the other side. It’s a lecture.
” But this is not an argument. We’re just discussing this.”, the other person will say. Calling it a discussion when only one side gets heard is not a discussion; if you are continually talked over, it’s an assault. So there is a restriction placed on who gets heard and who is listened to.

You don’t have to be amenable to the downright ridiculous; learn how not to be drawn into someone else’s need for instant gratification. It’s not a discussion, it’s a diatribe- an angry critical and abusive speech.

Refusing this type of contest is not losing; it’s winning.

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A Winter Evening

A rainy day

Mixed precipitation in coastal New England means that the rain changes from rain to freezing rain to snow and back again. Oh, Joy! Little matches the thrill of oncoming disaster as you lose traction and sail towards the cold waters of the cove. If you are lucky, the plow driver sanded the roadway, and you skid into a guard rail. Not the water.

Later you call one of the Selectman and complain about the plow operator, but know that there is little to be done; it’s his brother.

Around this time, the power goes out, and the family fetches the candles out and the old Alladin kerosene lantern. Dinner is prepared in the semi-darkness and eaten by the woodstove.

After dinner, The Cap’n and Cora, your in-laws, proclaim that it was time to play your least favorite game – cribbage. You get drafted to play with the Cap’n. The rest of the family gossips about what’s happening in town these days. From what little can be gleaned at the store, and gas station, it seems that Earl Gray will run for Selectmen again. You mutter about the damn plow operator under your breath.
You are badly beaten at cribbage by the Cap’n. You are perplexed; everyone knows that you hate cribbage. So why are you always the one to play with the Cap’n? Especially since he gets mad that you play so badly.

Meanwhile, under the table, your cat stalks tapping toes and idle feet but gradually gets lured to the spot he loves in front of the woodstove.

The lights come back on at nine o’clock, and everyone goes off to bed. Joining the cat in front of the stove, you wonder what’s going on in Boston or New York. Looking out the window not a light is showing in the houses below. All that can be seen are the navigational lights of a vessel offshore.

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Specialty work

I have a protocol for handling people with outrageous projects and complex designs. It’s all cash upfront, paid design time at a high rate, and all change orders in writing. It wasn’t that I was out to fleece my customers; it was to render moot speculative projects that would never go anywhere. Most projects like that were efforts that I’d wind up spending time on for a return in frustration and little or no money. When I first started as a nautical carver, I’d chased a few of these.

Most people who’d been considering a transom banner or quarterboards would walk up and just state, ” I’m interested in a banner for the back of my boat with the words – too loose to trek – on it.” Then, I’d ask what make and style of the boat it was, and we’d start discussing specifics of cost, style, and anything special that they needed. Then, I’d later quote them a price to consider from my notes. It was a pretty straightforward part of my business.

There were twists galore, however. The hollow back on transom banner for stowing what I don’t know, but I can make an educated guess; or The ground ashes incorporated into the lettering on one job. I’ve also done some reasonably weird stuff for inside boats, Small signs, and symbols that got incorporated into the hull for “luck.” 

It must have gotten out that I’d do that sort of thing, so for a while, I had a clientele that asked for runes carved on ash, oak, and rowan. As long as I was not invited to the ceremony installing their talisman ( and I have a vivid imagination!), I did not care.

Lettering work for boats dried up due to vinyl lettering and Robo-carved boards, but this trade in specialty items did not. It seemed that these needed to be hand-carved to be effective. I was asked by a few why I accepted these pagan jobs but turned down political work. I stated that the pagans were only interested in calming the seas, pacifying storm elementals, honoring Neptunas Rex, and creating an avoidance of certain misfortune. Folks who wanted “Let’s go, Brandon,” Hurray for Lenin,” or other political sentiment were trolling the waters for trouble. I wanted no part of the misfortune they’d get when the opposing side rammed them. 

I have a clean record with the Coast Guard Auxiliary and don’t want any trouble. Besides, messing with the sea deities is much worse than pissing off some crackpot politician. One will sputter and call you names; the other might sink you and send you to Davy.

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Footloose

At a certain period of my life, I was a known peripatetic –cosmopolitan brother of the road, nomad, itinerant, and just plain unsettled. I was told by several willowy slender beauties that my inconstancy of abode was a significant issue in forming and maintaining relationships. Nevertheless, the itchiness of my foot continued until I settled into life as an undergraduate.

Like most renunciates, I fell back into old habits when needed.
But I tended to stay put. It’s hard to gad about for thousands of miles by the thumb when you have art and carving supplies, books, and more clothes than will fit in a pack – The clustering of possessions impedes rapid travel.
The cat, too, preferred to have his blanket and toys unpacked and placed in a favorite location. You did not delay the GreyMenace’s pleasure too long unless you were willing to donate your O negative blood. He had a temper.

So the skein of my life grew too complicated for road adventures. And I developed other interests.

But, with one exception – (my beloved wife!) I did not find myself swamped by the presence of willowy slender beauties. Sigh.

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Focus

I have to be careful this time of year. It is neither prudent nor provident to allow myself to become fixated on one thing. Winter has a lot to do with this. January is my usual month to sit in the office, cogitate, plan, imagine, and create new fancies from whole cloth.
Regrettably, with all that desk time, I gain weight. So get thee behind me, chocolate bars!
So how does this relate to not becoming fixated on one thing? I tend to research and explore projects a bit too thoroughly sometimes.

It’s been long years since I tied anything more complicated than a bowline. But I’m considering some boat portraits on oval backgrounds. The framing around them will be a manila rope gusset, neatly done to size.
The last time I did some of these, I knew a marlinespike artist who did the gussets for me. Right now, I’m on my own.

Easy you say? Well, a simple gusset can be laid up by anyone with basic marlinspike knowledge. But for me? My desk is spattered with five books on marlinspike, half-finished gussets, forms, and bits of rope. To most, it might seem that I have a somewhat scattershot approach to this, but it’s more of hyperfocus on one area. I have five or so other things that I have to accomplish. Then, when the sun starts warming the carving shop to a tropical fifty-five in February, I return to carving. By then, I have to have this and other issues resolved.

I can’t afford to spend all my time on one particular project. So How do I snap myself out of this hyper-focus? The easiest way is an afternoon at a museum. Within an hour’s drive is one of my favorites, the Peabody Essex Museum, and if I’m up to a long drive, I can visit Mystic Seaport. At either, I can see marlinespike work all over. But I can also see incredible art, diverse exhibits and have my mind stimulated in new ways.

For me, it’s a maritime museum by interest. On the other hand, it might be a more conventional museum if you have a similar issue to mine. In either case, the effect is that It exposes you to a diversity of new thoughts.
I come away with new ideas for interests and projects, and my current project slips into perspective with others.

This has not been a paid announcement for museums. It’s free. They can be good for what ails you.