The Star "Spangled?" Banner

I was thinking about the word "spangled" the other day. What does "spangled" mean? I did not know. I had to look it up. It turns out that "spangle" can take various forms:

Verb. To adorn or to cause to sparkle. "Dude, check out how the light has spangled the skyline."
Noun. Something that sparkles. "Dude, check out those spangles of sunlight."

Outside of the context of the star "spangled" banner, does anyone say this word? Not that I am aware. I can't remember the last time "spangle" showed up in a conversation. I thought about breaking it out at the next party (get-together and/or social engagement), but I'm sure it would attract odd reactions:

"'Spangled?' Did you just say 'spangle'? What does that even mean?"

or

"'Spangle?' Isn't that the brownish, green mucus that comes out of your nose when you have a cold?"

or

"'Spangled?' Isn't that a verb that means 'to adorn or to cause to sparkle'?"

or

"'Spangle?' Is that similar to 'throat corn'?"

Gene: It's in the same family.

Oliver: Exactly.

Oblong Blog

You know what really "chaps my hyde?" It's phrases like "chaps my hyde." These colloquialisms are a bit outdated and thus unnecessary in my opinion (opine). Can anyone even describe to me what "chapping" looks like? I know what "chaffing" is. Is that the same as "chapping"? I know when my lips are chapped. Maybe that is what it means.

Therefore, I think the expression should be altered a bit. It should be: You know what really "chaps my lips"? Now, that is an expression people can identify with. People will be like - Oooh, I know the feeling of a chapped lip. That is not pleasant. This guy is about to tell me something unpleasant. I can dig that. I can't want to hear what this guy is about to say about what is chapping his lips, metaphorically.

But you go to that same person and say: You know what really "chaps my hyde," they will be confused. That person will be like - Hmmm. I am a bit confused. He is about to tell me something about how something has chapped his hyde. I have experience of hyde chapping. I'm not even sure what chapping is in this context. I don't know how to prepare myself for what this guy is about to tell me. Is this good news? Is hyde chapping a good thing? Or is this a bad thing? Does he not want his hyde chapped?

You can see how confusing such a phrase is. I'm going to start a facebook group: People who want to change "chaps my hyde" to "chaps my lips." (Or should "lips" be singular: "chaps my lip." That has a bit more zip to it if you ask me.)

Will you join?

An Inter-Planetary Copernican Revolution

Why does the stomach grumble (gurggle?) when it is hungry? No other body part that I can think of is audible when it is empty. It's not like the liver starts shrieking. It's not like the kidney hums. So why does the stomach grumble (grabble?)? Why this involuntary audio?

It's not like the bladder sizzles. And it's not like the gallbladder rumples. So why does the stomach grumble (gumple?)?

And why is there a bladder and a gallbladder? They couldn't name the gallbladder something original? They think that just by sticking the name "gall" in front of the pre-existing "bladder" that this was doing justice to the nomenclature of this organ. No sir. Not in my book. I think the gallbladder should have a completely unique identity apart from its connection to the bladder. And I think it should rumple when it is empty.

This goes back to my complaint about the naming of grapefruits. There is clearly already a grape...that is a fruit. So we couldn't come up with anything more original for grapefruits? There are really that many fruits out there that we totally exhausted every name available? We had to start dipping back and recycling old fruit names? No sir. Not in my book.

And it's not like the heart hisses. And it's not like the gallbladder waffles. So why does the stomach grumble (garble?)?

The Awkwardness of "Awkward"

The other day I found myself trying to spell the word 'awkward.' And my first attempt spelt ("spelt"....now that is awkward too) it this way: awkard. My indication that something has gone horribly wrong was the red squiggly line that appeared underneath it - always an alerting red-flag that changes are needed. So I stepped back and looked at this word: awkard.

"Are there really 2 w's in this thing?" So I took another stab (grab). a-w-k-W-a-r-d. And there it was. Awkward. And the more I looked at this word, I realized that its form embodies its definition. Just look at it for a second. Awkward. It is weird looking. What other words do you find the back-to-back combination of "wkw"? The word itself looks like a bird trying to get off the ground, but can't, due to one defective wing.

You know what else is an awkward word? Spelt.

Comb Over to My Place

At what point in the baldness process does one decide to start doing the comb over? Because this is not a neutral commitment. This requires at least two things from you: 1) to stop grooming your hair as you have been, 2) to start growing out one specific area of your hair longer than all the others so that it can start to function as the comb-over strip. This is a big decision. This requires much of you.

So, what does this conversation look like with the barber? Do you request this of them? "Yeah, give me a trim all over....except for this one little area right here. I'm growing that spot out."

Does the barber intuitively pick up on this strategy? He has to. You can't hide that. And furthermore, what does one do with this long strip of awkwardly grown hair before it is long enough to accomplish its task? Is it just sticking straight up - obviously longer than the rest of the hair? Does one try to prematurely press it over the bald area - only to have it stretch out and cover about an inch of fully bald area?

Ever seen one of these elongated strips of hair get snagged by the wind going the other direction? It's not pretty. It can easily lift off of the bald portion of the head, flip around, and slap the person on the cheek. It's that long. It's kind of creepy actually. It's like old-man-goth or something.

What do you call this long comb-over strip? Is there a term for this? The "built-in-toupee?" The "half-wig?" I'm not sure.

But I am sure of one thing. If my hairline continues to regress at the rate it is, these are going to be very relevant questions for me, I'm afraid.

Joe. (6 Pack)

I got to thinking about "Joe" today. Not Joe the Plummer. Not Joe 6 Pack. Not even Joe Manwich. I was thinking about "Joe."

"Joe" is shorthand for something longer, namely "Joseph." But why is this? Is it because the first syllable of "Joseph" is literally "Joe"? Or is it because the first two letters of "Joseph" are J and O?

Now on the one hand, if it is simply because the first syllable sounds like "Joe" then this is a bit unfair for Jody and Job and Jomamma. Not cool, Joe. Why do you feel so entitled to that name over against everyone else with a first syllable that sounds like "Joe."

On the other hand, if it is "Joe" simply because the first two letters are J and O, then this is quite unfair for Jordan and Joshua and Jocular. Not cool again, Joe.

Either way you look at it - "Joe" is stepping beyond the bounds of what it should. It assumes too much. It discriminates against names like Job and Joshua. It belittles names like Jope and Joliphant. It is puffed up and proud, slinging its tater-tot-loaded weight around in the playground of nicknames, presuming to wear a crown that only belongs to nomenclatures of Joseph alone. Sola Josepha.

But no.

We say no, Joe. Got to get tough, yo Joe.