Reading is fundamental. Often, after the fundamental part wears off, it's hard to keep at it. I like the idea of reading. In fact, I like most bits about reading, except for when I'm actually reading and I drift off to sleep after only reading 4 pages. Then I start feeling bad about myself. I want to be a reader. I want to read everything I can get my hands on and actually remember it all. I want to know things. And sure, I know some things, but there are just so many things out there to know; I want to know more of them.
A typical way to get an improv show started is to ask someone to shout out a word. From that word, themes are cultivated and scenes unfold. I was at a show the other night and the word that was shouted out was irrigation. Ah, what a great word. Irrigation.
Irrigation is one of those things we learn about when we're in school at some point--5th grade maybe. But then we don't irrigate much, save for a wound or two, and we tend to forget the specifics of it. We know it's how farmers water crops. We can picture sprinkler heads and long lengths of pipe. Irrigating up a hill is probably a thing. It's probably difficult, but the irrigation engineers figured out how to overcome it. Other than that we don't think much about it, so we tuck it away in our brains.
Of the 8 people on the improv team, I would guess about 5 of them were irrigation experts. How the hell did they remember all of that about irrigation? A reservoir? Catching overflow? What the hell? There is a chance they were completely bullshitting, but I actually don't think so. Not everyone on the team offered new irrigation information and the information seemed specific enough to be completely accurate. It was unreal. It made me want to read a book about irrigation so I wouldn't be caught off guard for when it comes up again.
I don't really want to read a book about irrigation. I can't imagine how long it would take me to get through since I'd be reading it a page at a time between 8 hour naps. This is because I think a book about irrigation would be very very boring. However, I would like for all the information I do read to stick in my head. That way if I'm ever in an improv show and someone shouts out "ornithology," I'll have a think or two to say about puffins and ostriches and the study thereof.
Showing posts with label Words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Words. Show all posts
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
The N Word
No, not really. I am not actually going to write about the N word. I'm listening to Camp today, and it comes up sometimes. That's all I really have to say about it. I just didn't have a good title for this post, so I was trying to shock people just enough to get them to keep reading.
Or you know what, maybe I will talk about it a little bit. As I started thinking about not writing about it, I had a few more thoughts on explaining why I wouldn't write about it, which lend themselves to being written about. The N Word is an offensive word. That's why we call it The N Word. I won't use it. It's not in my vernacular. Sometimes when I hear it, I'm surprised. Other times, though, not as much. For example, when I hear it in music, I'm not shocked. When I hear someone screaming it down the street, well, I'm slightly taken aback. When I hear white people say it? I'm embarrassed.
I'm not easily offended, even(or especially) by words that are supposed to be offensive. The C Word is another one. I don't mind it at all. At the same time, I know a lot of people do. If I'm attempting to become friends with someone, I will lead into the use of the word. For example, I'll say "he described me as pertaining to The C Word." If their response is "cunty? cuntly? cuntish? cunteriffic?" then we'll probably be besties. On the other hand, if they just walk away, then I know it wasn't meant to be. It's a good boundary test.
Or you know what, maybe I will talk about it a little bit. As I started thinking about not writing about it, I had a few more thoughts on explaining why I wouldn't write about it, which lend themselves to being written about. The N Word is an offensive word. That's why we call it The N Word. I won't use it. It's not in my vernacular. Sometimes when I hear it, I'm surprised. Other times, though, not as much. For example, when I hear it in music, I'm not shocked. When I hear someone screaming it down the street, well, I'm slightly taken aback. When I hear white people say it? I'm embarrassed.
I'm not easily offended, even(or especially) by words that are supposed to be offensive. The C Word is another one. I don't mind it at all. At the same time, I know a lot of people do. If I'm attempting to become friends with someone, I will lead into the use of the word. For example, I'll say "he described me as pertaining to The C Word." If their response is "cunty? cuntly? cuntish? cunteriffic?" then we'll probably be besties. On the other hand, if they just walk away, then I know it wasn't meant to be. It's a good boundary test.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Monologist
I just enjoy saying the word monologist. Who's the monologist tonight? Anybody want to be the monologist? We're doing a show and we have to have a monologist. Yes, we need someone to tell a story. A story we call a monologue. Hence, we need a monologist.
My improv team, who is being shoved from being a practice eff around group into an actually performing troupe, is adopting this monologue opener format. It serves us well since we have a short performance time- only 10 minutes. And rather than having a dedicated monologist, any one of us can step forward and take on the role.
We can get to some wonderful places from just one word. The word was penguin. A teammate stepped forward and told a story about a penguin who got lost on its way to Antarctica and ended up in New Zealand. And we were off. We spent a great deal of time in a scene in 1963 Germany. A few of us (me) didn't really understand the history of the time. We ended on my personal crowning moment with the line "first let's see if the pie is moist, then we'll work on you."
We were given the word precipice. I stepped forward simply to announce it was one of my favorite words but I don't get to use it often enough. Sometimes I stand on the street and say "I'm on the precipice of this curb."
For the word rainbow, Abby stepped forward to tell a story about a wonderful poem she wrote as a 2nd grader and how all of the colors were just too beautiful and as a 7-year-old, she couldn't decide on just one. By the end of the scene, I was writing acrostics in a card factory that employed 1-year-olds, the division Abby was relegated to for being too stupid to make a poem from the word orange. Somewhere in the middle was a wonderful tag-out game where David couldn't choose between ten different things.
He was given the choice of ten cereals and he said "I don't want to choose, I want all of them, mixed together, in one bowl, mix them all together." Colleges: I don't want to choose, I want to go to all the colleges. Wives: I want to be Mormon, I don't want to choose, I want them all. Caskets: I don't want to choose, put me in all of them. Circles of hell: I don't want any of them.
We spent a lot of our rehearsal working on monologues and mining themes from them. I prefer the monologue opener because 1. it provides more fodder to mine from and reach a theme and 2. it doesn't get the audience so stuck in their heads about the one damn word they said. I've been to shows when people walk out saying "the word was pumpernickel, and they hardly talked about pumpernickel at all." But honestly, if you had just watched 30 minutes of people talking about pumpernickel, you kind of would have wanted to scrape your face off, no?
This is why themes are important, and why I like having a monologist so much. You can pull so much from the story, as well as the way the story is being told. Even if it's just a small tale about a lost penguin.
My improv team, who is being shoved from being a practice eff around group into an actually performing troupe, is adopting this monologue opener format. It serves us well since we have a short performance time- only 10 minutes. And rather than having a dedicated monologist, any one of us can step forward and take on the role.
We can get to some wonderful places from just one word. The word was penguin. A teammate stepped forward and told a story about a penguin who got lost on its way to Antarctica and ended up in New Zealand. And we were off. We spent a great deal of time in a scene in 1963 Germany. A few of us (me) didn't really understand the history of the time. We ended on my personal crowning moment with the line "first let's see if the pie is moist, then we'll work on you."
We were given the word precipice. I stepped forward simply to announce it was one of my favorite words but I don't get to use it often enough. Sometimes I stand on the street and say "I'm on the precipice of this curb."
For the word rainbow, Abby stepped forward to tell a story about a wonderful poem she wrote as a 2nd grader and how all of the colors were just too beautiful and as a 7-year-old, she couldn't decide on just one. By the end of the scene, I was writing acrostics in a card factory that employed 1-year-olds, the division Abby was relegated to for being too stupid to make a poem from the word orange. Somewhere in the middle was a wonderful tag-out game where David couldn't choose between ten different things.
He was given the choice of ten cereals and he said "I don't want to choose, I want all of them, mixed together, in one bowl, mix them all together." Colleges: I don't want to choose, I want to go to all the colleges. Wives: I want to be Mormon, I don't want to choose, I want them all. Caskets: I don't want to choose, put me in all of them. Circles of hell: I don't want any of them.
We spent a lot of our rehearsal working on monologues and mining themes from them. I prefer the monologue opener because 1. it provides more fodder to mine from and reach a theme and 2. it doesn't get the audience so stuck in their heads about the one damn word they said. I've been to shows when people walk out saying "the word was pumpernickel, and they hardly talked about pumpernickel at all." But honestly, if you had just watched 30 minutes of people talking about pumpernickel, you kind of would have wanted to scrape your face off, no?
This is why themes are important, and why I like having a monologist so much. You can pull so much from the story, as well as the way the story is being told. Even if it's just a small tale about a lost penguin.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Synecdoche, New York: A Quasi-Review
I admit I had to look up the definition of the word synecdoche. But knowing what that word meant really helped me understand the movie and what was going on and the motivation behind everything. There are plenty of pieces that are non-linear, as we can expect from any Charlie Kaufman film. It's funny and heart-breaking, at the exact same time.
I watched the trailer, and it was compelled to watch the movie again. I already mailed it back though, and it's over 2 hours, so I probably won't. But I really did like it in that way one loves Charlie Kaufman movies. They tend to feel bigger than everything else. I suppose that's why it was called "A Miracle Movie."
P.S. So you don't have to go searching on your own:
Synecdoche (play /sɪˈnɛkdəkiː/; from Greek synekdoche (συνεκδοχή), meaning "simultaneous understanding") is a figure of speech[1] in which a term is used in one of the following ways:
Part of something is used to refer to the whole thing (pars pro toto), or
A thing (a "whole") is used to refer to part of it (totum pro parte), or
A specific class of thing is used to refer to a larger, more general class, or
A general class of thing is used to refer to a smaller, more specific class, or
A material is used to refer to an object composed of that material, or
A container is used to refer to its contents.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Personal Plan of Actions and Milestones & LA! LA! LA!
Today I started working on a personal plan of actions and milestones, also known as a POA&M. POA&M (also written POAM when we're too lazy to add the ampersand) is pronounced po-am. It's a fancy term for a list of shit that has to get done and dates you need them done by.
I remember the first time someone explained to me what a POAM was. A task was at hand; it was a fairly large task that needed to be broken down into parts. I was told to write a POAM.
"Do you know what a POAM is?"
"No."
"A plan of actions and milestones."
"-"
"You know what actions are, right?"
"Yes, of course I know what actions are."
"And you know what milestones are?"
"A douchey word for goals."
"So a plan of actions and milestones lays out all of your actions, or tasks, and your milestones, or goals, and assigns dates to them, so you can track your progress."
"You mean it's a to-do list, with a douchey name."
"A POAM is not douchey."
A POAM is actually quite douchey. It's just a to-do list, usually with dates on it. I suppose the dates are what pushes it over the edge from just a to-do list to a POAM. There must be another term for it, but it has been so ingrained in me now I refer to a lot of my to-do lists this way. I'm not saying it to be douchey though, I'm just saying it because now, it's what I'm most familiar with. I want to make some changes in my life, I want to set up some goals and deadlines for myself, so I'm going to put them in a POAM.
Also, as a side note, those who really take these things seriously will actually say P O A and M, every time they talk about it. Recently I was assigned a very simple task and given a vague due date. I was then told to come up with a "P. O. A. and M." for it. The confused look on my face prompted the person making the request to assume I didn't know what a POAM was. A similar conversation to the one above ensued, though if you can imagine it, it was even douchier. It may have included the history of POAMs and graphical representation of milestones. Rest assured, the confused look was because you don't need a POAM with two items on it.
Anyway, that not withstanding, I am in the process of writing my own POAM for those aforementioned reasons of changing my life. For me, a POAM will prevent chaos and stave off living in a box for a few months. I appreciate that about them. Plus, I'll probably get to make it into some sort of PowerPoint presentation with triangles and diamonds and stars and timelines. That sounds awesome, doesn't it? And by presentation I mean I'll hang it on my wall with tape.
Part II: Zero days to LA! Woo! I'm counting down the hours until I'm in the sky flying towards the land of angels. LA! LA! LA! I hope the Beach Boys were right with all the wonderful things they say about California. (I've actually been to California before. A decent amount. I don't know why I'm acting as though I've never left this cubicle.)
One more non sequitur: since it's a holiday, there will be no new Oliver on Monday, so there's something else I need to say before I go on vacation. When you take charge of something, say, a group of people or a meeting, what are you doing? Leading. You are a leader. Currently, you lead. What if you did it yesterday? What is the past tense of lead? Led. L-E-D. Led. Yesterday, you led the meeting.
What is a main-group element with the symbol Pb and atomic number 82? What is a soft, malleable poor metal? Lead. Lead, the element, and led, the action, are different. If you have graduated high school and now hold a high-paying government position where you lead meetings and write emails about them, you should know the difference. I have now lost all confidence in you over one small typo. Powerful, huh?
I remember the first time someone explained to me what a POAM was. A task was at hand; it was a fairly large task that needed to be broken down into parts. I was told to write a POAM.
"Do you know what a POAM is?"
"No."
"A plan of actions and milestones."
"-"
"You know what actions are, right?"
"Yes, of course I know what actions are."
"And you know what milestones are?"
"A douchey word for goals."
"So a plan of actions and milestones lays out all of your actions, or tasks, and your milestones, or goals, and assigns dates to them, so you can track your progress."
"You mean it's a to-do list, with a douchey name."
"A POAM is not douchey."
A POAM is actually quite douchey. It's just a to-do list, usually with dates on it. I suppose the dates are what pushes it over the edge from just a to-do list to a POAM. There must be another term for it, but it has been so ingrained in me now I refer to a lot of my to-do lists this way. I'm not saying it to be douchey though, I'm just saying it because now, it's what I'm most familiar with. I want to make some changes in my life, I want to set up some goals and deadlines for myself, so I'm going to put them in a POAM.
Also, as a side note, those who really take these things seriously will actually say P O A and M, every time they talk about it. Recently I was assigned a very simple task and given a vague due date. I was then told to come up with a "P. O. A. and M." for it. The confused look on my face prompted the person making the request to assume I didn't know what a POAM was. A similar conversation to the one above ensued, though if you can imagine it, it was even douchier. It may have included the history of POAMs and graphical representation of milestones. Rest assured, the confused look was because you don't need a POAM with two items on it.
Anyway, that not withstanding, I am in the process of writing my own POAM for those aforementioned reasons of changing my life. For me, a POAM will prevent chaos and stave off living in a box for a few months. I appreciate that about them. Plus, I'll probably get to make it into some sort of PowerPoint presentation with triangles and diamonds and stars and timelines. That sounds awesome, doesn't it? And by presentation I mean I'll hang it on my wall with tape.
Part II: Zero days to LA! Woo! I'm counting down the hours until I'm in the sky flying towards the land of angels. LA! LA! LA! I hope the Beach Boys were right with all the wonderful things they say about California. (I've actually been to California before. A decent amount. I don't know why I'm acting as though I've never left this cubicle.)
One more non sequitur: since it's a holiday, there will be no new Oliver on Monday, so there's something else I need to say before I go on vacation. When you take charge of something, say, a group of people or a meeting, what are you doing? Leading. You are a leader. Currently, you lead. What if you did it yesterday? What is the past tense of lead? Led. L-E-D. Led. Yesterday, you led the meeting.
What is a main-group element with the symbol Pb and atomic number 82? What is a soft, malleable poor metal? Lead. Lead, the element, and led, the action, are different. If you have graduated high school and now hold a high-paying government position where you lead meetings and write emails about them, you should know the difference. I have now lost all confidence in you over one small typo. Powerful, huh?
Monday, May 16, 2011
When I'm Not Exaggerating
I enjoy a good hyperbole. I even appreciate when it goes awry. Sometimes I hear myself going way too far and I attempt to undershoot it and it ends up not being hyperbole at all. For example, if it's particularly hot in a room, I'll start to say that it's 86million degrees in there. As I'm saying it, I decide that 86million just sounds too over the top.
"Man, it's like 86 degrees in there!"
"Oh, is it? That seems about right. I have a fan going."
Hyperbole fail. There's an appropriate over/under to consider when using hyperbole, and a 5 to 10 degree difference is not it!
On the other end, however, is when I'm very much not using hyperbole. I am not exaggerating, yet people still assume I am.
"What did you do this weekend?"
"Not much. I stayed in on Saturday."
They think I mean I just didn't go to a party, or that I spent a quiet evening in with pizza and a movie. No. I do not mean this. What I mean is that I spent Saturday assing around. I ate one meal that consisted of Cheerios and I snacked on Reese's Pieces. I didn't walk any farther than to my bathroom. I stayed in my pajamas all day. I did not shower. That is what I mean by not doing much and staying in.
It was about 77 degrees in my room and I did have a fan going. There was really no need for hyperbole.
"Man, it's like 86 degrees in there!"
"Oh, is it? That seems about right. I have a fan going."
Hyperbole fail. There's an appropriate over/under to consider when using hyperbole, and a 5 to 10 degree difference is not it!
On the other end, however, is when I'm very much not using hyperbole. I am not exaggerating, yet people still assume I am.
"What did you do this weekend?"
"Not much. I stayed in on Saturday."
They think I mean I just didn't go to a party, or that I spent a quiet evening in with pizza and a movie. No. I do not mean this. What I mean is that I spent Saturday assing around. I ate one meal that consisted of Cheerios and I snacked on Reese's Pieces. I didn't walk any farther than to my bathroom. I stayed in my pajamas all day. I did not shower. That is what I mean by not doing much and staying in.
It was about 77 degrees in my room and I did have a fan going. There was really no need for hyperbole.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
The Indignity of Slang
I am not hip. I do not keep up with young-people's speak or trends. By the time things work their way down to me, they're usually on their way out. Sometimes I say "totes," and that's about as hip as I can get. Usually, I use it ironically anyway. Or on accident when I'm typing.
Years ago, I was initiated into a sub-culture where people very often used the word "jacked." They used this to mean something was wrong. Often, they said "jacked-up," to indicate it was messed up. If you were fucked, you were jacked. If your hat was on crooked, your hat was jacked. If you accidentally wore a long sleeve T-shirt over your short sleeve T-shirt, you were jacked-up. Your pants not inline with your shirt? Jacked. You enjoy mustard on your fries? Jacked-up. Basically, any detail slightly out of place or considered out of the norm was classified as jacked or jacked-up. It was the only adjective we used.
Shortly after this initiation someone from outside this sub-culture told me "I'm so jacked." I was concerned. Oh no, what could be wrong? Apparently, this guy was excited, pumped up, generally enthusiastic about the events about to unfold. I really didn't get it. An argument ensued about the proper way to use the word jacked.
I would later come to find out that jacked can be both good and bad, and there's really no way to know the difference. You have to use context clues, or just know what the fuck that asshole is actually saying. In a sentence such as "I am jacked" or "you are jacked" or even "Bill is so jacked," context clues don't help much. According the the Urban Dictionary, jacked has five separate definitions. To summarize: 1. robbery, theft, misuse, seizure, possession. 2. very strong, huge muscles. 3. fucked up or messed up 4. To get robbed, mugged, rolled or beaten up by someone. 5. stoked or pumped or excited. How was I to know?
I had understood certain reappropriation of words to mean their opposite as a way to ... confuse parents, I guess. I had Bad on vinyl, so yeah, I got that bad was good, as was wicked and a few others that have faded from memory. Shortly after this whole jacked incident, I was faced with another slang indignity.
The impudence of being shamed into not knowing the many seemingly appropriate definitions of jacked as well as how all synonyms for illness mean great things has only increased my level of unhiptitude. As does does using words like unhiptitude.
The thing about youth culture is I don't understand it.
The indignity of slang is that it can mean anything at all, even the opposite of what you just said it meant, whenever you want it to mean that for no reason what so ever. Come on slang, have some dignity. Totes.
Years ago, I was initiated into a sub-culture where people very often used the word "jacked." They used this to mean something was wrong. Often, they said "jacked-up," to indicate it was messed up. If you were fucked, you were jacked. If your hat was on crooked, your hat was jacked. If you accidentally wore a long sleeve T-shirt over your short sleeve T-shirt, you were jacked-up. Your pants not inline with your shirt? Jacked. You enjoy mustard on your fries? Jacked-up. Basically, any detail slightly out of place or considered out of the norm was classified as jacked or jacked-up. It was the only adjective we used.
Shortly after this initiation someone from outside this sub-culture told me "I'm so jacked." I was concerned. Oh no, what could be wrong? Apparently, this guy was excited, pumped up, generally enthusiastic about the events about to unfold. I really didn't get it. An argument ensued about the proper way to use the word jacked.
I would later come to find out that jacked can be both good and bad, and there's really no way to know the difference. You have to use context clues, or just know what the fuck that asshole is actually saying. In a sentence such as "I am jacked" or "you are jacked" or even "Bill is so jacked," context clues don't help much. According the the Urban Dictionary, jacked has five separate definitions. To summarize: 1. robbery, theft, misuse, seizure, possession. 2. very strong, huge muscles. 3. fucked up or messed up 4. To get robbed, mugged, rolled or beaten up by someone. 5. stoked or pumped or excited. How was I to know?
I had understood certain reappropriation of words to mean their opposite as a way to ... confuse parents, I guess. I had Bad on vinyl, so yeah, I got that bad was good, as was wicked and a few others that have faded from memory. Shortly after this whole jacked incident, I was faced with another slang indignity.
Oh man, Friday is sick.Ahh, that cleared it up. Clearly, I was the moron. Something was sick. Should we help it? Does it need a doctor? Admitting I didn't know it cause Douchebag Max to call attention to my ignorance. He actually called a small group of people over to stare at the unhip freak who didn't understand what sick was, and why the further explanation of ill didn't clear it all up.
What?
It's sick, man.
Are you saying 'sick'? Fri-day is ... sick?
Yeah, it's sick.
I don't know what that means.
Sick. You know. Like ill.
The impudence of being shamed into not knowing the many seemingly appropriate definitions of jacked as well as how all synonyms for illness mean great things has only increased my level of unhiptitude. As does does using words like unhiptitude.
The thing about youth culture is I don't understand it.
The indignity of slang is that it can mean anything at all, even the opposite of what you just said it meant, whenever you want it to mean that for no reason what so ever. Come on slang, have some dignity. Totes.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
My Trouble With Words
I have trouble with words sometimes. When trying to describe something, words just won't come out. I flail my hands around in an attempt to spit the word out. It's not because I don't know what I'm talking about, it's just because the word isn't right there. I think more conceptually. I think in shapes and abstract ideas and it takes me a little longer to translate those abstract things into words.
One of the best examples is from a few years ago. There's a decent amount of back story, but I'm going to try to just give the bare bones of it. A friend of mine had applied for a job and interviewed with my boss. After the interview I asked my boss about the whole ordeal. She told me that it had gone well and she passed the application on to The Steaming Kettle. The Steaming Kettle was a location I wasn't familiar with but from the tone in her voice, I should have been. When she said the name of it, it conjured an image in my mind.
Later that day, or the next day, my friend asked me if I knew anything. Yes! I do! "She really likes you and passed your info on to another store. Uh, the smoking cauldron I think she said." The exact details of the rest of that conversation are a little hazy, but I know we were in the pool at the time, and I almost drowned from laughing so damn hard. My friend was pretty sure I was mistaken.
A day or two after that my friend confirmed she received a phone call- from The Steaming Kettle. "That's pretty much the same thing." I said. We never let it go. We used to refer to it as The Smoking Cauldron all the time. I tried to explain what happened in my head. My boss said the words steaming kettle. I pictured what a steaming kettle might look like. My image of a steaming kettle was slightly askew. When asked to recall what my boss said, I conjured up the steaming kettle image and then tried to name it. I named it a smoking cauldron. It made sense to me.
Sometimes people really think I don't know what I'm saying, or what I'm talking about. I need to practice being able to get to words faster, especially if I want to go anywhere in improv. I tend to have a go-to of potatoes, because even though the picture in my head is of an old woman stirring a cabbage-based Irish stew, all that comes out is "POTATOES!" Great. My scene partners are a little fed up with potato scenes.
Here's another example of the searching-for-the-word phenomenon. I was in line for tickets to the Top of the Rock Observation Deck. I got to the front of the line and approach the counter:
Perhaps I should invest in flash cards. I'm not going to change my way of thinking, it has come in handy when tackling calculus and rocket scientry. But I would like to combat that glazed over look in my eyes when asked to describe that thing on pipes that holds them together and kind of looks like a donut. Yes, a flange. Exactly.
One of the best examples is from a few years ago. There's a decent amount of back story, but I'm going to try to just give the bare bones of it. A friend of mine had applied for a job and interviewed with my boss. After the interview I asked my boss about the whole ordeal. She told me that it had gone well and she passed the application on to The Steaming Kettle. The Steaming Kettle was a location I wasn't familiar with but from the tone in her voice, I should have been. When she said the name of it, it conjured an image in my mind.
Later that day, or the next day, my friend asked me if I knew anything. Yes! I do! "She really likes you and passed your info on to another store. Uh, the smoking cauldron I think she said." The exact details of the rest of that conversation are a little hazy, but I know we were in the pool at the time, and I almost drowned from laughing so damn hard. My friend was pretty sure I was mistaken.
A day or two after that my friend confirmed she received a phone call- from The Steaming Kettle. "That's pretty much the same thing." I said. We never let it go. We used to refer to it as The Smoking Cauldron all the time. I tried to explain what happened in my head. My boss said the words steaming kettle. I pictured what a steaming kettle might look like. My image of a steaming kettle was slightly askew. When asked to recall what my boss said, I conjured up the steaming kettle image and then tried to name it. I named it a smoking cauldron. It made sense to me.
Sometimes people really think I don't know what I'm saying, or what I'm talking about. I need to practice being able to get to words faster, especially if I want to go anywhere in improv. I tend to have a go-to of potatoes, because even though the picture in my head is of an old woman stirring a cabbage-based Irish stew, all that comes out is "POTATOES!" Great. My scene partners are a little fed up with potato scenes.
Here's another example of the searching-for-the-word phenomenon. I was in line for tickets to the Top of the Rock Observation Deck. I got to the front of the line and approach the counter:
How can I help you?The lovely woman behind the counter thought I was a moron. To make matters worse, there are actually various tours you can take of Rockefeller Center. I almost ended up on a three-hour (I don't know how long it is) Art Decco tour of Rockefeller Center.
I'd like two tickets for the tour please.
What tour is that?
Nope. I did not mean tour. Uh, the top. The observation deck.
The Top of the Rock?
Yes please.
Perhaps I should invest in flash cards. I'm not going to change my way of thinking, it has come in handy when tackling calculus and rocket scientry. But I would like to combat that glazed over look in my eyes when asked to describe that thing on pipes that holds them together and kind of looks like a donut. Yes, a flange. Exactly.
Friday, April 22, 2011
East-what? Please Pass the Champagne.
I've been trying to learn new words. I miss the organic way I would stumble upon them in school, and it's been a bit of a struggle for me to really incorporate the words from my Vocabulary Builder into my everyday speech. There are two words that were in yesterday's lesson that I'm hoping I'll be able to use very soon: bacchanalian and dionysian. According to my Vocabulary Builder, the have the same meaning: frenzied or orgiastic. (I would also like to start using the word orgiastic.)
I have a pretty good weekend planned and I imagine being able to describe it in these terms.
I have a pretty good weekend planned and I imagine being able to describe it in these terms.
Here's the itinerary for the weekend in New York City. I think you'll find it's very bacchanalian.One may want to point out that having an itinerary wouldn't be inherently bacchanalian, but to that I say nay. You can plan for frenzied and orgiastic. Having a plan keeps you from sitting inside all day staring at the walls and recreating the scene from the Jungle Book with the vultures.
We have two options: we can go shopping on 5th Ave and catch a show later. Or we can follow this dionysian plan.See, it totally makes sense.
What's this blacked out part at the end of the schedule?Realistically, the weekend won't be completely bacchanalian or dionysian. I'm getting a little too old for that shit. But hopefully the bacchanalian plan will produce a weekend that is quasi-orgiastic, thereby deaming it demi-dionysian.
That's the orgiastic portion of the evening.
So you scheduled an orgy?
Yes. But I didn't want to use the word in the definition of the word.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Words With Two Meanings
o·ver·sight/ˈōvərˌsīt/Noun
1. An unintentional failure to notice or do something.
2. The action of overseeing something.I don't walk around thinking about how this word can be used in different ways, but it came up recently. Because not only does it mean those two things, it could also mean both. You could have been overseeing something, and not noticed something that happened.
"What happened here?"Hopefully, contextual clues help you out.
"The oversight happened under my oversight."
"Due to my oversight, the company made millions of dollars."That sounds good, so it's probably due to good supervision, not an unintentional failure.
"Because of my oversight, all the customers ate bad mayonnaise and got really sick."That sounds bad, so it probably was an unintentional failure.
However, consider if you were not trying to make millions of dollars, or if you were just a bad supervisor. Then those sentences have drastically different meaning.
"I was trying to lose tons of money, but because of an unintentional failure, the company made millions of dollars."
"I'm new at this job, so because of my supervision, all the customers ate bad mayonnaise and got really sick."This last one may be an example of using both meanings at once.
Consider an instance where context offers you nothing.
"He was responsible for the oversight of over 112,000 hours of testing."This is a real world example. I was concerned. Did he supervise over 112,000 hours of testing, or was it his fault 112,000 hours of testing didn't get done? One seems impressive, while the other a dismal failure.
Actually, I did have context, because this was for an award. I doubted anyone would be receiving an award for neglecting 112,000 hours of testing. It's not impossible he would get an award even if he had done that, but I didn't see him getting an award for doing that. Plus, it's not something people would bring up. I decided I wouldn't use the word oversight in award write-ups, due to the confusion. We don't want to start handing out awards for people's unintentional failures.
Intentional failures? Well, that's nonfeasance. We probably don't give awards for that either.
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