Week 573: An Elegy For a Friend and the A to Z of Adjectival Slight

A friend from my youth died recently. His name was Kim. We were close through our twenties until he moved to Japan (due to marriage). The only contact we had for decades was the occasional Facebook “happy birthday like” (I fell out of using Facebook fairly quickly; too many ads and idiots, but the premise is a good one). I considered writing letters, which I (without modesty) am pretty good at writing. Maybe I should have–but to paraphrase James Taylor “I didn’t know where to send them to.”

All the Editors and several friends of the site have experienced losses recently. We lost two fine writers last year, Ed N. Norton and our all time story leader, Tom Sheehan. And although Ed was close to ninety and Tom gave a hundred a great run, it is still sad to think we will not be speaking anymore–at least in this earthly dimension. The older you get the greater number of losses we incur. Makes sense, but commonality and abundance does not make anyone less important–if so, I say we just shut down the mess and hope that whatever it is that is responsible for the Universe gets it right next time.

My friend Kim was a funny guy and the last of nine children. And by last I mean by a long way too. The first eight were born within twelve years of each other, Kim came along as a “surprise” baby eleven years after number eight appeared–twenty three after the eldest of the gang. I met his parents once. Nice people but being that they were nearly fifty when he was born there was a bit of a generation gap, which was underscored by the fact that Kim was an uncle to a child two years older than he was. Still, he takes only the silver as far as such strangeness goes in people I know. I had a stepsister who was a mother at sixteen, a grandmother at thirty-two and a great grandmother shortly before her fiftieth birthday. I say “had” not because she is dead (not that I know of anyway) but because along the line of my mother’s many marriages I acquired and lost something like ten step-siblings and picked up two half-brothers (one is dead for certain). For the record, she and I are the same age and have always despised each other.

Live long enough and you begin to notice that the old gang first gets heavier, grayer, balder, reluctant to post photographs of themselves and a hell of a lot less fun upon discovering church and/or twelve step programs. Just the way it goes. But Kim’s loss bothers me because he never changed much. He still conveyed a similar reckless sense of humour whether it be at twenty-five or fifty. Upon George Romero’s death (he of the Night of the Living Dead), Kim posted a suggestion that someone ought to keep an eye on the body for a day or two, “just to be sure.” That was good to read. You see it is not the legs or eyes that go first, it is the sense of humour.

One of the key aspects in being a decent writer is to know whom and what to quote when you feel that your own words are not up to snuff. Nearly two-hundred years ago, Lord Byron said it best, thus I dedicate it to Kim and all others who have passed from the collective soul of our gathering (Animals are greatly included; I recall a bar hopping Dog named Teddy):

“So, we’ll go no more a roving

So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving,

And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,

And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause to breathe,

And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,

And the day returns too soon,

Yet we’ll go no more a roving

By the light of the moon.”

Anyway, let that be my tribute to a funny, sometimes befuddled friend who always stood his round. I think that is as good a thing as we can say about any of the women and men and Cats and Dogs and Gila Monsters we share our times with, and, perhaps, about ourselves.

The Week That Was is another tribute to this ongoing mystery called life.

Susan DeFelice set Sunday on fire with Channeling Rick James. Popularity is a strange thing and people who need to use other people (usually famous) to make a point of some kind are almost always useless. Susan explores this and she brilliantly separates the art from the creator, while “Cheri” is stuck on rejecting dogma by writing her own. Right or wrong I recognized people I know in Cheri, and they all are a drag. First rate and super freaky.

Monday brought Death to the Dean by first time contributor Linda P. Rose. This is top shelf office butchery and makes you wonder why the Powers That Be unerringly place sociopaths in positions of power. The final paragraph is a neat turn indeed. All the stories this week rate checking out, don’t let this one or the others get by you.

I went to special pains to keep the title Bananenbuigerij by return writer Michael Smith stored in my mouse because there aren’t enough useful brain cells left in my head to memorize its spelling. Regardless, Michael once again points out the constant gush of little idiocies that exist in life for no justifiable reasons. The proper interpretation of the bend of a banana, for instance.

Mark Twain once stated that irregular German verbs can take lives; although neither German nor a verb (I think) there is great danger in this title, which would probably depopulate a spelling bee faster than a dose of the Andromeda Strain.

Antony Osgood returned for a second, well, return this week ( a current return, he has many great ones from before) with Nothing Else That I Would Ask For. Antony’s beautiful prose often summons poetic words to mind, such as eliagic. There’s always a sense of loss in Antony’s prose, as though there is a ghost in the margins mourning the inevitable loss of the active characters. Antony has appeared to have gone away again, but we know he will return. Writing books is a time eater, but we know he will return with his singular voice.

Then came Fisheye by Jade Lacy. There are innocent mistakes in life that can lead to utter tragedy, but fortunately that was not the case in this story. But at the same time the innocent mistake in this tale spoke of something sad and beyond repair.

We see a lot of this sort of thing in submissions, and it takes almost heroic writing to get this sort of thing over. Jade delivered on all accounts.

The week closed with the return of Alex Faulkner. Anatomy of a Hare fooled me, almost got me twice. Alex has a great sense of quirkiness that is irresistible. You gotta be careful around this sort of writer, but not as much to guard your own whimsy. I highly recommend that readers check out Alex’s other works on the site, like Mr. Osgood he has a graceful style all his own.

There they are, one and all. And as it goes with good words, they are begging for your attention.

The A to Z of Adjectival Slight

There’s nothing better in one’s verbal slam bag than the perfect adjective. The subject and object are always needed, but the perfect defaming adjective can make any twist of the blade erudite and fancy. I do not know why derogatory adjectives rate higher in my heart than the sweet ones. Mainly, I believe that appreciation is usually better displayed by actions, and antipathy is safer when limited to words. Some of these words are not strictly adjectives, but all can be used as one.

Please feel free to add your own.

• Atrocious (Such a lovely word, always a perfect fit for other people’s children.)
• Barfy (Included in the nostalgic sense. I used it heavily from ages six to ten. Often prefaced by “Oh, gaaaag, how–”)
• Cunty (A vicious word. Maybe the meanest in the English language. Triple score points when used by a woman. A real show stopper, ain’t it?)
• Dolorous (Exists only in a thin band of insults, but effective on the Big Brain Brigade. Must caution the tongue to not auto-say Delores.)
• Effing-kiddin’-me (A phrase used greatly in the northwestern part of the United States. As in “that’s an effin-kiddin-me screw job if I ever saw one”–Hey, I didn’t promise you Shakespeare.)
• Frumpy (An old classic that I feel should make a comeback.)
• Gruesome (Easy to over-play, especially for those of us who’re fond of holding the first syllable–but dropping it once or twice a year is effective.)
• Hemorrhoidal ( sort of tautological when you refer to someone as “a hemorrhoidal pain in the ass,” but, please remember, this “study” is not on the curriculum at Yale.)
• Inconceivable (Wallace Shawn is this word’s best friend. I knew people who used it from 1987 on and never found out why they used it until I saw a clip from the movie on a TV show. The Princess Bride is one of those films I only know of from various clips– including the “prepare to die” bit and Andre the Giant standing beside Billy Crystal–who made another film with another giant–some guy from the NBA–alas yet another flick I have never seen.)
• Jackwagon (admittedly a noun until placed before a name or activity.)
• Knot-headed (“Whose knot-headed plan was this?” Often used by my grandfather when he knew children were around–as a replacement for “fuckin’” or “sonfofabitchin.’”)
• Lugubrious (I had the meaning of this one wrong for ages; thought it had something to do with flowers.)
• Microscopic (Another specific one. Best used during the description of an offending intellect.)
• Neanderthalic (A personal observation that I save for guys (uh huh, sexist on this one) whose fingers not only look like thumbs but behave thumbishly when they must do something graceful such as threading a needle or opening one of those plastic bags at the grocery store.)
• Orgasmic (Guaranteed to win over the twelve-year-old boy crowd.)
• Persnickety
• Queeny (Paul Lynde was as queeny as it got for me in childhood. Please see the clip yonder below.)
• Repugnant (People under forty are not allowed to use this word.)
• Supercilious (People over forty do not want to use this word.)
• Turgid (According to my late friend Kim, this is a favorite adjective in pornography.)
• Ugsome (my favorite word)
• Venal (Often crossed with venial.)
• Whorey (Yes, I know, yet another not honored by the great feminists of history. But, damn my soul, it makes me laugh when I hear it.)
• (Sadly, not much on the menu for X.)
• Yimmer-yammering (When ever my grandmother got annoyed with the
  TV, everyone on it was a yimmer-yammering fool.)
• Did you know that you can google “adjectives letter z”? Well, I did and I say it’s a toss up between Zesty and Zealous. The former has to be spoken sarcastically to work for me. I am going to ask about x but will not change my non-entery.)

Although not as Queeny as Paul got, here’s a good one from 1970’s TV

I close with one of Kim’s favorite songs. Best sung by a loud chorus of drunks at closing time, when the world was young and forever was a myth.

(Heaven bless the cardboard guitar!)

Leila