The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book, The Word I'm Thinking Of: A Devilish Dictionary of Difficult Words, which will be out later this fall from Zabriskie Street Press.
zarf (noun)
A holder for a hot coffee cup
"The coffee, as thick as chocalate and sweetened with honey, reminded her of home and the odor of boiling sugarcane.... With a flourish, she removed her thumb, and balanced the zarf on the tip of her index finger...."
--Barbara Chase-Riboud, Valide
Those little cardboard thingamabobs they put around your coffee cup at Starbucks are technically called "zarfs", although they'll try to tell you they're called cup sleeves (boring!). Whenever I forget my ceramic coffee mug at work, I have to use a paper cup, and they're too damn hot to hold -- life is tough. There are no zarfs there, so I make my own, putting one (hot) paper cup inside another (cool) one. Resourceful! It does make it a bit harder to sip, though. Like I said, life is tough.
(Wasn't there some cartoon alien named Zarf?)
Sunday, October 07, 2012
Thursday, October 04, 2012
Photo of the Week
You probably think my name really is "Gates". Ha! Actually, my last name is Crankshawtapper. I chose "Gates" as a pseudonym in honor of this lovely wrought-iron portcullis outside my ancestral home, the Crankshawtapper compound deep in the picturesque Adirondacks of Upstate New York.
Actually, I just made that up. My name is Gates*, thanks to a forebear back in medieval England who was a keeper. This gate exists in one of the tonier areas of Jersey City Heights, a couple of blocks from my more downscale abode. Click the pic for a closer view -- and to be transported to a more genteel time when intruders were barred with a bouquet of metallic flowers.
~~~
*No relation to Bill (or too distantly related for it to do me any good). I usually tell people that he is my cousin, though, if they ask.
Wednesday, October 03, 2012
Random Acts of Poetry
Slippery Season
There is no place for draining.
A solid sky, water licking
dark under sidewalks,
translucent silks of rain,
like sheer drapes convulsing,
but every window shut.
The distant smokestacks
dissolve like an ancestor's
faded reminiscence. Shapes
drift away, vacating dreams.
But from the stony bottom
a face rises, a garnish of seaweed
like a headdress,
more slime from the sluice gate.
What's that the rain hisses?
Ssssh. A slippery season.
Tuesday, October 02, 2012
Random Sequence
[random phrases (from here) worked into a story]
The Gladiatorial Solicitor
After the contretemps with a seemingly moribund stranger at the cocktail lounge, when Malcolm lost his temper over yet another stupid lawyer joke, he had to admit it: He was a pugilistic failure, complete with a blackened eye. Consequently, he signed up at the downtown gym with one request for the personal trainer: "Teach me to fight!" When he told his friend Bob about this new obsession, he was greeted with an unappreciative gasp. "What are you, the gladiatorial solicitor?" Bob asked. "indubitably," said Malcolm as he proceeded to shadow box with the ficus plant in the corner. He looks like the swirliest wombat, Bob thought. "Buy a gun, Mal," he advised. "Just don't buy any bullets."
[not to be continued]
The Gladiatorial Solicitor
After the contretemps with a seemingly moribund stranger at the cocktail lounge, when Malcolm lost his temper over yet another stupid lawyer joke, he had to admit it: He was a pugilistic failure, complete with a blackened eye. Consequently, he signed up at the downtown gym with one request for the personal trainer: "Teach me to fight!" When he told his friend Bob about this new obsession, he was greeted with an unappreciative gasp. "What are you, the gladiatorial solicitor?" Bob asked. "indubitably," said Malcolm as he proceeded to shadow box with the ficus plant in the corner. He looks like the swirliest wombat, Bob thought. "Buy a gun, Mal," he advised. "Just don't buy any bullets."
[not to be continued]
Monday, October 01, 2012
The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Way I Feel
Surprised. I took a relative with me to the Landmark Loews Jersey Theater last weekend to see two movies: Alfred Hitchcock's psychological thriller about a female kleptomaniac Marnie and the first James Bond film, the somewhat comic-bookish Dr. No. I expected him to dislike the former and favor the latter. Just the opposite. (I like both, for different reasons.) Maybe I shouldn't make assumptions.
Queasy. Transferring an old family video from VHS to DVD recently was not a foray into sweet nostalgia. Some of the people, including my father, are no longer with us. And watching myself from decades ago made me worried for, uh, him, knowing what was coming, both good and BAD.
Damned with faint praise. Don't bother.
Queasy. Transferring an old family video from VHS to DVD recently was not a foray into sweet nostalgia. Some of the people, including my father, are no longer with us. And watching myself from decades ago made me worried for, uh, him, knowing what was coming, both good and BAD.
Damned with faint praise. Don't bother.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Word of the Day: ostrobogulous
The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book, The Word I'm Thinking Of: A Devilish Dictionary of Difficult Words, which will be out later this fall from Zabriskie Street Press. (It's currently in the proofreading stage.) Once the print edition is published, I hope to also create an audiobook version, if I can find someone to narrate it -- preferably someone who has narrated a similar book.
ostrobogulous (adjective)
Something weird, bizarre, unusual or pornographic
“Kristin Baybars' ostrobogulous toys -- the even more famous owl, the bird, the hedgehog and the goose... have established her as our leading creative toy designer.”
--Corin Hughes-Stanton, Design Journal, "A Shop with High Standards"
I’m going to try to use this word at Thanksgiving dinner sometime. There’s a certain ostrobogulous casserole dish my mom makes that may provide the opportunity.
ostrobogulous (adjective)
Something weird, bizarre, unusual or pornographic
“Kristin Baybars' ostrobogulous toys -- the even more famous owl, the bird, the hedgehog and the goose... have established her as our leading creative toy designer.”
--Corin Hughes-Stanton, Design Journal, "A Shop with High Standards"
I’m going to try to use this word at Thanksgiving dinner sometime. There’s a certain ostrobogulous casserole dish my mom makes that may provide the opportunity.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
The T&T List
Boot-Sep
Pete Williams
the C57BL/6NTac mouse
Nagorno-Karabakh
nanomembranes
Hamamatsu City
Sauconys
Popigai Astroblem
White-Juday Warp Field Interferometer
Pen-Ek Ratanaruang
Tune Drop
geomorphology
~~~
Meanwhile....
Create a jellyfish aquarium
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Much Ado about NOTHING
Strangers on a Train
On the train, heading home, I sit across from a middle-aged Asian woman wearing some kind of blue pantsuit. She's speaking emphatically, in a foreign language, into her phone and seems mildly upset. She watches me winding the cord on my headphones, but i sense she isn't really seeing me at all. In her mind's eye, she's seeing whomever she's talking to.
To her left, two seats away (the seats between are empty because the train isn't very crowded) sits a blandly handsome twentysomething man with a head of fluffy brown hair, dressed in a navy-blue business suit. He stares unsmilingly at his phone and keeps snapping a blue rubber wrist band, as if restless. There's some kind of white symbol on the band that I can't make out -- crossed hockey sticks? He occasionally looks up and glances at me, but it's as if he's looking through me.
To my left, two seats away, sits a middle-aged guy with a crew cut, dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, both blue. His arms are folded and he stares out the train window with an angry expression. He looks ex-military. I take it he's thinking about something that bothers him. He ignores me as I sit there in my blue jeans and blue stripped shirt.
I glance back and forth between these three traveling companions, feeling like the invisible man, as I listen to my sad book through my headphones. I often think I look odd, or at least out of place, but none of these people seem to think so. I'm part of the scenery to them, like a background extra on a movie set. I know they won't remember me five seconds after I step off the train, but for some reason I've remembered them here. We had something in common, though they didn't realize it. We were all wearing blue. And probably feeling that way too.
On the train, heading home, I sit across from a middle-aged Asian woman wearing some kind of blue pantsuit. She's speaking emphatically, in a foreign language, into her phone and seems mildly upset. She watches me winding the cord on my headphones, but i sense she isn't really seeing me at all. In her mind's eye, she's seeing whomever she's talking to.
To her left, two seats away (the seats between are empty because the train isn't very crowded) sits a blandly handsome twentysomething man with a head of fluffy brown hair, dressed in a navy-blue business suit. He stares unsmilingly at his phone and keeps snapping a blue rubber wrist band, as if restless. There's some kind of white symbol on the band that I can't make out -- crossed hockey sticks? He occasionally looks up and glances at me, but it's as if he's looking through me.
To my left, two seats away, sits a middle-aged guy with a crew cut, dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, both blue. His arms are folded and he stares out the train window with an angry expression. He looks ex-military. I take it he's thinking about something that bothers him. He ignores me as I sit there in my blue jeans and blue stripped shirt.
I glance back and forth between these three traveling companions, feeling like the invisible man, as I listen to my sad book through my headphones. I often think I look odd, or at least out of place, but none of these people seem to think so. I'm part of the scenery to them, like a background extra on a movie set. I know they won't remember me five seconds after I step off the train, but for some reason I've remembered them here. We had something in common, though they didn't realize it. We were all wearing blue. And probably feeling that way too.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Photo of the Week
What happened, dollface?
The last time I was at Newark Liberty International Airport, I snapped this picture of a china doll the TSA confiscated from the luggage of -- what turned out to be -- a guy in a burka. They cracked her open (the doll, I mean) and out fell street-value $1 million worth of (irony alert) pure China White. I felt sorry for the sad-faced little moppet, an innocent pawn in a nefarious plot.
Actually, I just made that up. This is a photo I took of an antique doll at the Bouckeville Antiques Festival in August. The cracks in her wistful face give her character, I think. She kind of looks the way I feel after a 10-hour workday.
Don't be shy. Click the pic for a close up -- she won't bite.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Search Party
Here are a few recent search queries that brought seekers to this temple of scribomania. I seem to be a magnet for bored surfers engaging in weird, random, creepy googling when they should be working.
stone rolling down hill
Rolling stones UP hill is my thing.... They don't roll down again, but new ones keep appearing down below.
flash gordon conquers the universe
We would probably be better off if that happened.
meditation on the letter e
Easy eggs equal excellent eats on the edge of the equinox. Every essential edict evades erasure, even if egalitarian. Estimates evince evolutionary erudition, ever erratically. Endurance elicits equestrian effects, evidently. Earth entered elliptical error in the early enchantment era. Email eases enveloped, eclectic evenings like an enigmatic enema, eh? Exactly!
antique wooden leg
This is my photo -- but not my leg:
disturbing digital images erotic
Unless you're partial to wooden legs, this isn't that kind of site -- sorry to disappoint you. Why are you seeking to be disturbed, sir?
alabaster freak
Weird fetish? Odd sculpture? Excessive paleness? I'm not sure what you're looking for, but maybe this is it?
stone rolling down hill
Rolling stones UP hill is my thing.... They don't roll down again, but new ones keep appearing down below.
flash gordon conquers the universe
We would probably be better off if that happened.
meditation on the letter e
Easy eggs equal excellent eats on the edge of the equinox. Every essential edict evades erasure, even if egalitarian. Estimates evince evolutionary erudition, ever erratically. Endurance elicits equestrian effects, evidently. Earth entered elliptical error in the early enchantment era. Email eases enveloped, eclectic evenings like an enigmatic enema, eh? Exactly!
antique wooden leg
This is my photo -- but not my leg:
disturbing digital images erotic
Unless you're partial to wooden legs, this isn't that kind of site -- sorry to disappoint you. Why are you seeking to be disturbed, sir?
alabaster freak
Weird fetish? Odd sculpture? Excessive paleness? I'm not sure what you're looking for, but maybe this is it?
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Word of the Day x3
callithump (noun)
A riotous, noisy disturbance or parade
As a Broadway connoiseur, Helena thought of her apartment above 42nd Street as the realization of a dream -- though she dreaded the annual New Year's Eve callithump.
popinjay (noun)
A vain or conceited person
When Victoria discovered that Friedrich had a whole album of photographic self portraits, she began to think of him as a bit of a popinjay.
pinchbeck (noun or adjective)
Something cheap or counterfeit; an alloy of zinc and copper used to imitate gold
Magdalen was counting on the sale of Aunt Philomena's wedding band to finance her trip to the Azores. It was Mr. Dash's sad duty to inform her that it was nothing but a pinchbeck curtain ring.
~~~
Thanks to Leahcim Setag for the above quotations.
A riotous, noisy disturbance or parade
As a Broadway connoiseur, Helena thought of her apartment above 42nd Street as the realization of a dream -- though she dreaded the annual New Year's Eve callithump.
popinjay (noun)
A vain or conceited person
When Victoria discovered that Friedrich had a whole album of photographic self portraits, she began to think of him as a bit of a popinjay.
pinchbeck (noun or adjective)
Something cheap or counterfeit; an alloy of zinc and copper used to imitate gold
Magdalen was counting on the sale of Aunt Philomena's wedding band to finance her trip to the Azores. It was Mr. Dash's sad duty to inform her that it was nothing but a pinchbeck curtain ring.
~~~
Thanks to Leahcim Setag for the above quotations.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Much Ado about NOTHING
"Tastes Just Like Chicken"
Someone asked me recently what the strangest food was that I had ever eaten. I didn't have to think for long. Back in the days when I used to travel for work, I once tried sautéed bull testicles in Mexico; on another trip I had baked pigeon in Morocco. (I ate the latter, served with rice, with my fingers, which is how they eat dinner in Morocco.) I don't recall that either had a particularly sharp taste. I wouldn't have guessed that I was eating anything out of the ordinary from the taste alone. I'm not sure which of the two was the "strangest" -- probably the testicles, for the shock value. I'm more often reminded of eating the pigeon, though, since I don't often see bulls outside my window.
~~~
Meanwhile....
Street Mandalas
A collection of manhole covers from around the globe reminds us that there is a hidden world beneath our feet. They're varied and sometimes artistic, especially the covers from Ireland ("Gaelic") and Morocco.
Someone asked me recently what the strangest food was that I had ever eaten. I didn't have to think for long. Back in the days when I used to travel for work, I once tried sautéed bull testicles in Mexico; on another trip I had baked pigeon in Morocco. (I ate the latter, served with rice, with my fingers, which is how they eat dinner in Morocco.) I don't recall that either had a particularly sharp taste. I wouldn't have guessed that I was eating anything out of the ordinary from the taste alone. I'm not sure which of the two was the "strangest" -- probably the testicles, for the shock value. I'm more often reminded of eating the pigeon, though, since I don't often see bulls outside my window.
~~~
Meanwhile....
Street Mandalas
A collection of manhole covers from around the globe reminds us that there is a hidden world beneath our feet. They're varied and sometimes artistic, especially the covers from Ireland ("Gaelic") and Morocco.
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