Idiom Savant

There's Only 61 Posts In Me, And I Just Wrote The 62nd

Stuff I've thought about writing about recently, but haven't:

•  They Might Be Giants, 9/11, and Pickett's Charge. This is what happens when you (or when I, anyway) watch Gigantic (on loan from Pinky; thanks again, Pinky) during the same time period that you (or I) are (or am) reading Don't Know Much About the Civil War. In some scenes of the movie, we see They Might Be Giants in and around New York City as they get ready for the release of their album "Mink Car" in the late summer/early fall of 2001. As the movie progresses, the dates get closer and to the release date -- Tuesday, September 11, 2001. (Very matter-of-factly; there's no flashing doomsday countdown clock on the screen or anything.)  One of the last scenes is of John and John performing at a release party at a Tower Records in NYC on midnight, September 10 -- what Sarah Vowell, in the DVD commentary, calls "the last happy night of our lives."  And of course, they play "New York City." The film doesn't mention what happens nine hours later; you don't need it to.

Meanwhile, reading about Gettysburg in the Civil War book reminded me of William Faulkner's passage from Intruder in the Dust: "For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it's still not yet two o'clock on that July afternoon in 1863 ... and it's all in the balance, it hasn't happened yet, it hasn't even begun yet, it not only hasn't begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin..."

I'm not sure what this parallel means, or even if there is much of a parallel, outside just longing for a time when it hadn't happened yet. I didn't write about it because on reflection it seemed to veer a little too close to being melodramatic, and I didn't want to risk whatever jaded, glib, world-weary hipster indie cred I might have.

•  Jot. Anybody else remember this little guy?

I have extremely vague memories of seeing these cartoons on TV back in the early '70s. I had forgotten about Jot's adorable Southern accent, however. Whatever your opinions are about the Southern Baptist Convention, you must admit that they do a pretty good job of depicting what your conscience looks like when God is mad at you. Moral: If you're going to steal cupcakes, don't lie about it. I didn't write about this because this blog (not to mention my life in general) is in danger of becoming an endless stream of YouTube videos, in a desperate attempt to recapture my misbegotten childhood.

•  Not having anything to write about. I'm afraid I might have "hit the wall" with this blog, having run out of interesting things to say. Having a blog for me has been like having an exotic pet that I'm not quite sure how to care for; I hear its cries as it slowly starves to death in the terrarium, but I can't bring myself to open it up, and every day I wait it only gets worse. Didn't write about this because it's way too self-pitying and recursive, even by my standards.

•  The cheap rhetorical trick of mentioning things you weren't going to write about, and then writing about them anyway. No way would I ever write about that.

Everybody Knows That A Burrow Owl Lives. In A Hole. In The Ground!

Huh.

I did not know until this moment that there actually was such a thing as a Burrowing Owl.  I thought it was just something the Dead Milkmen made up.

Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick!

You know what, Internet, I like you.  You're not like the other publicly accessible networks of computer networks, containing huge amounts of information and facilitating rapid communication, here in the trailer park.

I Am The Champions, My Friends

It's just a normal evening over here at stately Idiom Savant Manor.  I just had a little dinner -- a sliced turkey and cheese sandwich, all cooked up nice and warm and melty on the Geo. Foreman.  Some potato chips, a little Diet Sprite.

Oh... and a side order of the sweet ambrosia of VICTORY.

Because I spent some of this afternoon at the laundromat, doing battle with my legendary (yet still unseen) nemesis, Douche.  I did not know when I woke up this morning that this day was to be my day of glory -- yet that it was.  For on this day, I have wiped Douche off of the face of the High Scores screen on "Trivia Whiz."

So, now three of the "Trivia Whiz" categories (General, Music and Entertainment) are my turf.  Every high score on those three screens on that one machine -- they're all Your Mom's property.

And I think it's time to retire my jersey.  Mostly because I don't think I have much of a chance at the other categories, one of which is Sports, which is my Kryptonite, trivia-wise.  Clearly, I now need to go back and either steal or destroy that machine, just to preserve my total high-score domination of those three categories.  Although the scores are pretty high, I can't risk my citadel of obscure knowledge being sullied again by Douche or his ilk.

Am I jubilant?  Sure.  And yet, I'm reminded of a scene in "Patton," when Patton says:

"For over a thousand years, Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of a triumph -- a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters and musicians and strange animals from the conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children, robed in white, stood with him in the chariot, or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror, holding a golden crown, and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting."

Pfffft.  Yeah, whatever, Patton, ya nancy-boy.  I Am A Bad Ass.  J-Dog out.

Self-Loathing: A Love Story

I am tired and punchy today -- moreso than usual, even, because I had to get up at ass-o-clock (or "O-dark-30," take your pick) to take Beige Thunder in for some servicing (at least someone around here's getting serviced!  Hey-oooh!).  And, man, I'm here to tell you that I'm ready to not have to drop bags full of cash on automobile-related matters for a while.  That is what I am here to tell you.  That... and my answers to this week's Friday Five!

1. What about you makes you unique?

Besides the fact that I am a darling precious angel sent down from Heaven by Jesus to scourge the wicked from the Earth, not much.  I honestly can't think of a single characteristic I have that would not be shared by at least one other human being; thus, none of them are truly unique.  I guess the combination of characteristics is unique -- but whatever the recipe, there's no new ingredients in here.

Although I have had two different women compliment me on the skillful use of semicolons in my personal ad, so maybe that's unique.  I had no idea semicolons were considered that difficult to use properly.  Here, I've been tossing them around casually like a Benihana chef tosses knives.  Of course, the other day, a helpful soul let me know that in the ad I had mispelled* misspelled -- of all things -- "bemusement."

2. What aspect of your physical appearance do you think makes you stick out from the crowd?

Depends on the crowd, mostly.  Does "prodigious sweating" count as an aspect of physical appearance?  Um, let's see... height, nerd glasses, and a thick, matted coat of fur.  I also have an enormous neck, and I have no idea why.  I've done nothing to earn it.  It bugs me, frankly.  I'm sure it's bugged some of you.  All I can say is, I'm sorry.  I know how you feel.

3. What do you always have with you while out in public?

Fear, resentment, and lip balm.

4. Is there anything about your body that you think isn't normal?

My torso has kind of a weird... bend to it.  It's hard to describe.  I think I might have spinal problems.  Also, when I was a youngster, I had this recurring dental anomaly -- after some of my baby teeth came out, there would be two permanent teeth waiting.  I had to have at least two surgically removed.  Oh, and when I had dental X-rays done for the first time in a while a few years ago, the dentist said, "well, we may have to remove these wisdom teeth before too long," and I was all, like, "whaaaaa?" because I had all my wisdom teeth taken out when I was in college, so it looks like I went and grew new wisdom teeth, which just pisses me off.  C'mon, body!  I can't use that shit!  Why not grow extras of something useful?  Like... kidneys!  I could sell those!

5. What are you complimented on (looks, smarts, anything) the most? Why do you think that's the case?

People have told me on more than one occasion that I smell pretty good.  See, this is a thing about me: I'm uncomfortable around compliments.  I always appreciate them, I really do, but I always instinctively feel like they don't actually apply to me.  So I handle a compliment pretty much the same way I used to handle the basketball in PE: I'm stunned for a while, then I try to pass it off to somebody else as quickly as I possibly can.  Thus, when people praise my smell, I give all the credit to Speed Stick.

(NB: The title of this post is mostly a joke.  I do not loathe myself.  All the time.  Necessarily.)

* Dammit!!

In Which I Express Gratitude

Thank you, pretty ladies of the greater Triangle area (you know who you are) for being so pretty.  I know you’re not necessarily (or even probably) doing it just for my benefit, and my even saying this may seem offensive and/or creepy, but I'm much obliged just the same.

Thank you, Dad, for teaching me the term "much obliged."  Or was that Andy Griffith?

Thank you, everybody who has ever turned me on to something good to listen to, read, or watch -- from my big brother right on up to and including random people on the Internet.  Thanks especially to my big brother for having all those cool records and books that I would sneak into his room to listen to and read when he wasn’t around.  Also, thanks to my big brother for not getting mad if he’s just now learning that I did this.

Thank you, Dickie Lee and George Jones, for rhyming “cheer” and “idear” in the song “She Thinks I Still Care.”

Thank you, They Might Be Giants, for your oeuvre.  But thanks especially for writing, performing, and recording “Shoehorn With Teeth,” and including a little “ding!” sound in between some of the verses, giving me a chance, when we were listening to the album “Lincoln” at my old job, to send an instant message to my friend and co-worker Vanessa, consisting only of the word “ding!”, and time it so that it popped up on her screen at the exact instant the “ding!” happened in the song.  Thanks also to Vanessa for not getting annoyed at me for doing that -- we listened to that album a lot back then.  But she’d always laugh, so I guess she was OK with it.

Thank you, all the bodies of water of the world, both natural and man-made, for not drowning me, even though I am not a very good swimmer.

Thank you, barbecue, for existing, in all your regional forms.  I haven’t gotten around to all of you yet, but I promise I will.

Thank you, UNC-TV, for providing the only television programming that I can receive clearly with my TV’s rabbit ears.

(Speaking of the above two points, I have to say that Bob Garner, barbecue correspondent for "North Carolina Weekend," is a goddamn genius.  I don’t care if you agree with his food criticism -- and he never has seemed to visit a restaurant he didn’t like -- the man has figured out a way to eat barbecue on TV and, presumably, get paid for it, or at least get the barbecue paid for.  If that’s not the American Dream writ large right there, I’m in the wrong country.)

Thank you, honeysuckle, for being one of my two favorite smells.  Thank you also, fresh coffee, for being the other one. 

Thank you, Montebello Brands of Baltimore, for producing your Vladimir Vodka with the thrifty consumer in mind.  Similar thanks also to Vendange Wine Cellars.  Also, thanks for not making me go blind.

Thank you, Garner’s Modern American Usage (no relation to Bob), for giving structure to my life.

Thank you, John Shelton Reed, for writing interesting and thought-provoking things about the South.  Although I tend to disagree with your politics, you are very funny and wise.  Thank you also for teaching me about the different Confederate flags (e.g., the Stars and Bars, the Stainless Banner, the Naval Jack).  As a Southerner and armchair vexillologist, I find them interesting.  But I think -- and Professor Reed mostly agrees -- that it's probably not a good idea to have them up over any state houses.  Not to get into a whole thing here, or anything.

“Ding!”  Hee, hee.

Thank you, A Former Girlfriend, for giving me a sock monkey.  Things didn’t work out that great between us, and that was largely (okay, completely) my fault.  But I’m still fond of you, and I’m still fond of that sock monkey. 

Thank you, Another Former Girlfriend, for giving me a Smokin’ Baby for my birthday.  Unfortunately, I broke his head off accidentally.  I have not been a good father to Smokin' Baby.

Actually, thank you, all Former Girlfriends, for at one point being Current Girlfriends.  I guess that’s not something I’d really have to thank somebody for -- ideally, being in a relationship like that is not like you’re doing the other person a favor -- so I guess what I mean is thanks for sharing good times with me.  And there invariably were good times.

Thank you, everyone -- former girlfriends, family members, friends, employers, co-workers, casual acquaintances, law enforcement officials -- who has ever had to put up with my general shiftlessness, laziness, procrastination, fecklessness, and half-assedness. 

(This all sounds kind of portentous, doesn’t it?  Like a note to be discovered by the Authorities, after the fact?  I’m fine, I promise.  It’s just that on my walk tonight, it occurred to me how grateful I am that pretty ladies exist, and it kind of gained velocity from there.)

Thank you, anybody who’s taken the trouble to read this far.

And finally, thank you in advance for not quoting Alanis Morrisette lyrics in the comments.

Bipolar Girl Rules the World

Hey.  Y'all go check out Dawn's blog, Bipolar Girl Rules the World.  Because she's awesome, and an excellent writer, and her blog will Make You Think.  About stuff.

I'll Just Have to Stay Out of Dallas

It's Friday, and I really have nothing to say to you people. Time for... another filler buffet!

You Are 24 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

This is a pleasant surprise.  An ex-girlfriend once told me that she and her therapist had decided that, emotionally, I was about 14, which actually sounded generous at the time.  Apparently, I've matured.  Good for me.  ("Excited about what's to come"?  Well, I guess anxiety is a sort of excitement...)

You Belong in 1963

If you scored... 1950 - 1959: You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in! 1960 - 1969: You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too. 1970 - 1979: Bold and brash, you take life by the horns. Whether you're partying or protesting, you give it your all! 1980 - 1989: Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You're colorful at night - and successful during the day. 1990 - 1999: With you anything goes! You're grunge one day, ghetto fabulous the next. It's all good!

What Year Do You Belong In?

Yay, drugs!  But if I'm actually 24, and I belong in 1963, won't I get drafted in a few years?  Also, I don't like the fact that I'll have to wait three years for Revolver, thirteen years for the Ramones, and over twenty years for the Internet.  And you know who else was age 24 in 1963?

You are 47% Scorpio

How Scorpio Are You?

Although I will welcome you into my lair like the nobleman welcomes his guest, with free dental care and a stock plan that helps you invest.  And you know who else was almost a Scorpio?

Hey, Baby, It's the Fourth of July

From all of us here at Idiom Savant, a safe, happy and fun-filled Day of Observance of Independence in the United States!  If your cravings and dietary habits allow for such, please take time to enjoy a "hotted dog," the traditional North American delicacy you see pictured to the left.

I wanted to include an inspirational passage from the Declaration of Independence in this post.  I actually have the Declaration, along with the Constitution, in a very thin paperback somewhere on my bookshelf.  I can't find it right now, though.  So, here is an inspirational passage from the equally thin Tops in TV: Top Shows on the Three Major Networks (copyright 1970, American Education Publications, Book Club Edition), which was sitting in about the same place on my bookshelf where I thought the Declaration was:

"Pete (MIchael Cole), Linc (Clarence Williams), and Julie (Peggy Lipton) were drifters and constantly in trouble with the law.  Then, they met Police Captain Adam Greer (Tige Andrews).  Captain Greer won them over to his side and put them to work.  They became special agents for the police department.  Their special unit is called The Mod Squad. The members of Mod Squad are 'cops with soul.'  Their job is to find the criminals who prey on young people.  These agents know what it means to be in trouble and try very hard to help the teenagers they meet."

We hold these truths to be... solid!