If you read this blog in the past two weeks, you might have noticed that I am a fan of colorful language. And by colorful I mean rude. And by rude I mean naughty. And by naughty I mean werty dirds. (Fargo, there’s no good way to spell that phonetically.)
As I mentioned in a previous post, my dear wife has pointed out to me that due to the visibility of this little dumping ground of mine (and I mean that as an entendre), i.e. that anybody could see it, not least of which my students (fear for the future), I should perhaps be a bit more conscientious of what I post here.
In my head, I argued that conscientiously, I choose virtually every word I recreate here with love and care, and every word which I write here is exactly the word which I meant to write, unless I happen to be posting from the tablet, in which case all bets and all syntax are out the Goldfinger window.
I also feel that a good epithet is the spice of not just language but maybe also life itself, and by that rationale, saying, for example, that a particular sandwich was “a great sandwich” just doesn’t mean the same thing as “a great Fargoing sandwich,” no matter how much we want it to. Maybe you like some smoked gouda on your burger, and maybe I don’t – but that doesn’t mean that the gouda has to come off the menu. Gouda, after all, has only the power we give to it and no more.
However, I also know that my dear wife is smarter than I am, so the rational side of me got my foamy-mouthed writer half in a headlock and eased him gently into sleep for a little while. And by eased him gently into sleep, I mean clubbed him with a DonDraper two by four to lay him out, and hit him once more for good measure once he was down. Seriously, that guy hasn’t had his shots. Keep your distance.
So while the unchecked-stream-of-consciousness-happy id-writer Me was napping, world-conscious, livelihood-conscious Me (Goldfingerit, there are so many DonDraper mes crashing around this joint) did a bit of reprogramming and spruced up the place. To be specific, I stole a page from John Green and crew at CrashCourse and made some substitutions. John cleverly uses the names of well known authors to stand in for his favorite unsavories; I like movies. And characters. And nonsense. So I’ll use my own code.
So when you’re browsing through these halls of egotism, and you come across a word that sticks out, that just isn’t like the others, fear not, it’s simply the word fairy hard at work keeping this place semi-presentable. She’s got a lot of Fargoing work to do, though, because I keep a pretty high level of Sharknado flying around this place at all times. But we can keep it between ourselves, dear reader, you and I. YOU know what I’m talking about.
Goldfinger it, THE WORD FAIRY, that’s brilliant. I need to write that down. Nobody touch that, I’m totally going to use it later.
Anyway, the words may have changed around here, but the feeling won’t. I write at my best when I let it all hang out, even if it is thinly coded. I have to say, though, that there is a certain liberation to cutting loose and letting all the gouda bounce off the walls. Without actually calling it gouda, I mean. Sharknado, I think my metaphor’s gotten convoluted.
Aaand now I’m hungry.
2 thoughts on “A Word About the Words”
I’m not going to lie… I think this might be even funnier. But then again I am a Bond fan… So your word choices have appeased me. You may continue now. Also enjoyed the “me” talk again in this one. I am not sure if that will ever get old for me.
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I don’t know why I have to keep approving your comments.
It will probably disappoint you to know that I was thinking of “Goldmember” but wrote “Goldfinger” instead. A pretty egregious mistake, but I will stand by it.