tridecalogism

"Tridecalogism" is a thirteen-letter word that means "thirteen-letter word."

I just finished the first two books of the "Midnighter" series by Scott Westerfeld. A sci-fi fantasy story targeting young adults, the source of good magic is the number 13, and good guys in the story name their weapons with tridecalogisms.

To name a few:

blamelessness

backscratcher

justification

gravitational

lexicographer

irresponsible

individuality

Our heroes are highschoolers (oh, that's a tridec!). Not to give too much of the story away, they use common household objects containing metal alloys as their weapons. They wield these weapons to kill dark, evil creatures like flying panthers. Reading about kids swinging a tire iron at a leathery vulture is one thing; when that tire iron is named "Unjustifiable Deliciousness," it brings the whole scene into three dimensions.

I loved this story for the plot, the characters, the mythology--it was a fun read. But even more than that, I loved learning all these tridecalogisms. I didn't even know there was a word for that! How scintillating! Now I instinctively count the letters in long words to see if there are 13. Twelve is just so...even, and uninteresting, and disappointing.

So tomorrow during the Boggle Battle, don't worry. Even though I am armed with a dozen tridecalogisms, it's unlikely that I'll find them on the 16-letter Boggle board. That would leave just three unused letters, which is next to impossible (gosh, is there a tridec for that?).

Overzealously yours, call me--

"Instructively Serendipitous Groundbreaker"

Brave New World

Hold onto your hats. I'm doing something I've only dreamed of, why, I'm doing something that couch potatoes around the world dream of. I am writing this blog with a small laptop (netbook, I think) on my lap, as I relax on the couch in front of the TV. Yes, I can be a couch potato (a role I was born to) AND spend time on the computer SIMULTANEOUSLY. I know what you're thinking. This is nothing special; people have been doing this for years. You are correct. But this is a new world for me. I have my cumbersome desktop computer lodged stodgily on my desk upstairs. One old computer upstairs. One television downstairs. Once upon a time (the day before yesterday) I had to make a choice. I could check my email OR watch "Glee." I could check on my friends' status updates on FB OR watch "Big Bang Theory." I could play a game of Spider Solitaire OR watch "Lost." Now I can do it all! No more choosing between my many recreational activities that involve as little aerobic exercise as possible (except my fingers, baby; they are busy typing on this wee and wonderful keyboard!).

Right now, I'm watching the Dodger game as I giddily type. I don't think life can get much better than this.

There is a dark side to this wonderful new world. This computer is just a loan; Gina was kind enough to let me use this delightful device for the summer. At the end of August, Gina will wrest this tantalizing technology from my hands. The horror, the horror.

Tut, Tut

Tut , tut, Mac! Don’t worry about the Boggle tournament with my fourth-graders. I know the three-letter-word handicap seems daunting, but I’ve changed my mind. You can have your three-letter words. To level the playing field, I have a different plan. I’m going to arm my kids with words like these:

keb: a ewe that gives birth to a stillborn calf

mon: a Japanese family crest

orf: a viral infection of sheep

mor: a humus layer formed by slow decomposition in acidic soil

fid: a conical wooden pin used to splice strands of rope

lac: a dark red transparent resin used to make shellac

tej: Ethiopian honey-mead

yex: to hiccup, belch, or spit

zho: a cross between a yak and a cow (I’m surprised it’s not a “yow” or a “cak”)

They can pore through online dictionaries finding these gems, make lists, study them if they want. Heck, they don’t even have to memorize the words. All they have to do is guess, and we can just check online when we’re adding up points. See—they have a distinct advantage over you and your vast vocabulary. Since they know so few words to begin with, they won’t selectively perceive only the words that make sense, because they learn new words at school on a daily basis anyway. Instead, they’ll make a stab at it, even if it’s unfamiliar, and go on to the next word. You, on the other hand, will automatically eliminate three-letter-words that seem unfamiliar. Ironic, isn’t it?

So you can climb an ivi looking for keds, walk through a col looking for ceps, or wrap yourself in a kip until you’re in a kef.

The three-letter-words belong to ewe.

Mind-Boggling

My friend Gina teaches 4th grade. One of the activities the class enjoys is playing the game Boggle. That's where you have a board with a bunch of letters in random order, and you create as many words as you can using the letters that are next to each other, in a set amount of time. Gina has told her class tales about a legendary hero who can out-boggle anyone; this amazing being can write down words faster than a speeding bullet; leap over other players with a single bound . . . you get the idea. So the class decided to challenge this superhuman boggle player to a game. The problem is, tales of the legend have been exaggerated. How do I know? Because, like Neo in The Matrix, it is I. I am The One.

Only, see, I'm not. I mean, maybe in my younger days, when I spoke so quickly that only hummingbirds could understand me, and finished essay tests in school before my fellow classmates had picked up their pens, I could jot down quite a few words in a friendly game of Boggle. But now I'm like an old gunslinger, not so quick on the draw. And those kids have been practicing Boggle all school year. I haven't played for years.

Until tonight. My son Dustin brought out the game, and I played against him and his girlfriend Dani. I won the first game. But then, for game 2, we weren't allowed to use 3-letter words. This is the same handicap Gina has proposed for me when I face her class in the Boggle Battle.

I valiantly scribble all the 4-letter words I could find, as the grains of sand in the hourglass quickly fell. At the end of the round, I had . . . lost.

So yes, I'm scared. Those kids very well might crush me. What would Mr. Anderson think?

Appealing revision

First--GOOD FOR YOU, MARJORIE! (that's me jumping up and down and cheering)

I knew you could do it! Now that wasn't so hard, was it?

Let me preface this by saying that I had written this whole blog post, and then when I clicked on the publish button, I lost everything to my on-again-off-again router ("you are not connected to the Internet"---arghhhh!). So here I go trying to reproduce some spontaneity. I'm saving it in a Word document first, though. Don't test the gods--I'm not sure they like me anyway.

My first thought was, who are these "Portable Elephants" and how were they able to commandeer Marjorie's email to invite me to be a blogger? Oh, yeahhhh....it all came back. Of course, Portable Elephants is absolutely perfect, and as usual you came up with it. You are so cute and clever! But that's your job, isn't it?

The seeming randomness of portable elephants reminded me of other randomly put together phrases, like rumble fish. I decided to come up with more examples using a noun and verb generator online. Here's what Mr. Internet and I created:

Crying courtesy: I suppose the opposite of crying shame

Oscillating homesickness: I'm having fun...wait, I miss my mommy...wow look at that!...wahh!

Crooked psychiatry: redundant

Clumsy openness: my favorite kind

Chipped curfew: kind of like chipped beef, it's when you come in a few minutes late and it's really good on sourdough toast

....and my favorite,

Appealing revision: what this blog will probably never experience.

Anyway these phrases are completely random but seem to carry so much more meaning than portable elephants, which seems much more random but actually has more meaning. I just wanted to say that Portable Elephants is perfect. Seems random, but has meaning (more taste, less filling?).

Oh and thank you for all those embarrassing kind words. I wasn't planning on saying anything nice about you--I'm saving that for my other blog which nobody will read.

And now? I'm not watching Friends. I am watching House. And I should go 'cause I'm working on another blog. And maybe saying some nice things about you.

:^)

Blog Virgin

Okay, here goes . . . my first blog. I'm not sure, blogs are so cool and trendy. And I really don't know anything about blogs. I don't visit many blog pages (is that what they're called? blog page? I don't know the lingo. I'll be kicked out of the blogosphere! Everyone will know I'm a fraud!)

So the next question is (wait, did I ask a first question? Oh yes, there are at least two questions in my parenthetical statement above), why am I writing a blog? Well, it's like this. I was standing over there, rusting for the longest time. Wait, no. Let me try again.

I'll tell you about my friend Gina. When we were in high school, I described her as someone bursting with love and hugs for everyone. Well, she's also bursting with brilliance, energy, and creativity that is breathtaking. She suggested that we share a blog. I'll write, she'll write. We'll brutally edit each other's blogs. Now I'll be honest. While Gina is busy writing songs, pounding out tunes on the piano, teaching her fourth grade class, reading, writing, creating art (pant, pant, pant), taking care of her ever growing menagerie, travelling with her 11-year-old son Santino to Europe, fighting the good fight at her school, I'm . . . I'm . . . probably watching an old Friends episode on TV. So the idea of sitting down and writing a blog is somewhat daunting for me. (Well, the sitting down part sounds okay; I'm really good at that.)

But I'm going to give it the old college try. I even figured out today how to set up this blog. I considered stopping with that. I mean, I don't want to overdo it on the first day. But it occurred to me that creating a blog and then never actually writing something would be rather sad.

So I'll be back. (Hmm, I'd rather quote the Tin Man than the Governor. Have you noticed how much I like parenthetical phrases? I really do. I think they're very fun; I also like semi-colons a lot. How about you?)