Abrasion

Abrasion [noun] (uh brah zuhn)

1. The process of wearing down or rubbing away by means of friction.

--

Irene has transformed into an abrasion on my soul.

I was set to settle into my Sunday, lounge and eat and read and (check work e-mails) and enjoy this day of rest the way I usually do.  I was set to fill up my tank with 5-cent off gas and maybe, just maybe take my car to get washed. I was set to let the hurricane-hype roll off my back like water on a hurricane-battered window. 

I bought extra batteries yesterday. 

Foolish, I know. I like to think of myself as fairly independent in my decision making – don’t wait for me to follow the trend, you’ll be waiting a long , long time – and yet, here I was on a Saturday, waiting in line with my mom at Lowe’s to buy a 10-pack of D batteries “just in case.”  Foolish is a kind way to describe my actions.

I’d like to blame herd mentality, media swarming, and well-over a week of consistent water cooler chatter about Irene and the Chaos She Will Bring.  Of course, even I can’t believe my actions are completely devoid of personal fault.  I was there, after all.  The aforementioned list of perpetrators succeeded in getting under my skin and festering in the one area that my reptilian brain loves to loathe: fear.  In the battle between fight and flight, the latter was never an option and former would be silly (“Hey, Irene! Put up your dukes, put ‘em up!!!”). 

But I could do something in between – something small and seemingly insignificant, but still something.   I could go out and prepare to power my radio in the event that we lose power.  I could do that. 

Still, the purchase was foolish.  I have batteries at home: AA, AAA, C… but no Ds and my radio needs Ds.  To be specific, that radio needs Ds.  I’m sure I could dig through the closet and find a radio that runs on AAAs in the event of an emergency, but I had it set in my mind that this large blue boombox with a broken CD player from ’99 needed to be powered.  It needed it. 

Or maybe I did.  Just in case. 

As I reflect on my jaunt to find portable power at Lowe’s, the wind is wailing and the trees (thankfully flexible and resilient) are swaying like dancers warming up.  The batteries are upstairs in the office cabinet and I have settled back into my Sunday, typing, lounging, and channel surfing for a good movie.

I suppose if a little bit of a foolish, impulsive, societal-pressure of an action can give me back my Sunday routine, it couldn’t have been that foolish.  Not really.  

 

Contrite

Contrite [adj] (kuhn triet)

1. Deeply sorrowful and repentant for a wrong

--

Irish yogurt.  An unappreciated breakfast item.

I love yogurt.  Creamy. Tangy.  Smooth.  It's a constant companion in the form of a small, nourishing, dairy-laden snack.  The curious thing about yogurt is that no matter where I've been, it remains a simple, tasty treat that simultaneously reminds me of home and gives me a sense of where I am.

China?  Yak-milk yogurt – heavy-bodied, silky, sweet!

Home? Light and Fit – fruity, smooth, 80 calories! 

Ireland.  Er, yes, Ireland.  That does throw a wrench in my theory.  Irish yogurt proved to be a cross between sour cream and cream cheese.  Thick, rich, and sour with a distinctive aftertaste that can only be described as cloying.  The only saving grace of this breakfast item was that it came with granola to mix in.  Of course, the so-called fruit syrup at the bottom of the cup almost made the granola's pretense null and void. 

If that yogurt could speak, I have no doubt it would have been quite contrite.

Accretion

Accretion [noun] (uh kree shuhn)

1. A growth in size; an increase of amount

--

Source

X-Men: First Class makes its US theatre debut on June 3, 2011.  At this time, I'll be traversing the wonder and delight of the Emerald Isle, but make no mistake: the fact that I can't be in line for a midnight showing in the States doesn't change the accretion of my affection for this movie.

I love X-Men.  The 90s television series on Fox was one of my favorite Saturday morning shows - the fantasy, the action, the drama!  Even the sociological aspect of the plot struck a cord with my pre-adolescent brain: Why are the mutants discriminated against?  What makes this prejudice okay in society?  How does one fight a government that is against ones very existence?  How can I get a cool hair streak like Rogue?

Okay, so maybe the last question wasn't exactly sociologically motivated.

Although the only time I picked up the actual comic was when my parents would bring me a few issues when I was sick (say it with me, "Aw!!!"), I never felt out of the loop with the characters or the progression of the series.  I felt like I understood these outcasts because weren't we all like them more than other superheros?  I was not an altruistic alien like Superman.  I was not a millionaire with a vendetta like Batman.  I wasn't a masochistic nerd (...geek: yes.) that was bitten by a radioactive bug like Spiderman.  But I was a little lost, a little on the edge of clicks at school, and a little bewildered at my own brain, let alone the status quo and how it seemed to be stacked against like me.  I was an X-Men.

What this love-fest comes down to is that I am excited about First Class.  The first and second X-Men films* made me extremely happy, so to have this prequel about the beginning of my favorite duo - Charles and Magneto - emerge is truly exciting.   If I could pull it off, I'd find a theatre in Ireland to view the film, like I did with Terminator Salvation in China.  But I don't think, for some strange reason, that is in the planned itinerary.  Bummer.  Therefore, I insist on geeking out over snippets from this film - and even fan-made ones like the title sequence below.


X-Men: First Class Title Sequence from Joe D! on Vimeo 
This is what the opening credits for First Class need to be:  First Class!  A ode to the decade, an ode to the long time fans, and ode to the source material  Is this what you're envising for the style of the opening? 


*And no: We do not talk about X-Men 3. 

Aver

Aver [verb] (ay vehr)

1. To declare positively

--

I must aver that I woke up at an ungodly hour for a sabbath day this morning.  I'm a morning person, but even I have to curse at the sun when confronted with the fact that while I traversed desolate streets, hundreds of others were tucked into bed, relishing the Sunday lull.

Bitterness: it happens.

Of course, my wake-up call did have a purpose.  A purpose that made complete sense at the time of conception, but when juxtaposed to sweet, sweet slumber seemed rather obtuse.  While questioning why in the world I used words like "conception" and "obtuse" at such an hour, I hopped on the highway, free of traffic, and got off three exits down.


It was all for Eggs Benedict.


Velvet hollandaise, with just a enough lemon juice to make your taste buds twinge.  Perfectly round poached eggs, with bright yellow yokes. Seared Canadian bacon, with just enough snap to let you know it cares. And then the English muffin, homemade and grilled, not toasted.

This was the gastro-treat that tore me from my bed.  This was the petit dejeuner that called to me like a siren.  This was what compelled me to get out of the house in time to be at the restaurant at 8:00 a.m. to avoid the infamously long line.  And this is the breakfast that is sitting in my stomach as I prepare for a Sunday afternoon nap.

It was worth the effort.  But I won't be duplicating said effort next week.

Hapless

Hapless [adj] (haap luhs)

1. Unfortunate
2. Having bad luck

--

Won't someone help this poor, hapless Lego® man?  What Lego man, you ask?  This one.

Toys R Us in NYC, November 2010

Don't you see him? Okay, how about now?

Lego (jumper) Man, Toys R Us, NYC, November 2010

Yes, that Lego man, the one teetering on the edge of that very tall skyscraper.  Thankfully, even in this position, he has a weather-controlled environment, interlocking feet, and a low center of gravity in his favor.  However, one good bump from the unruly herd of remote controlled car/helicopter/My Little Pony-wielding 9-year-olds below will send Monsieur Lego to a carpeted grave.  Or tiled grave.  Or laminate.  I don't remember the exact flooring treatment, to be honest.  In the end, there were hundreds of little feet scurrying around the toy store when these pictures were taken, so it's unlikely that the Lego man survived with all of his plastic limbs (or hairpiece) intact. 

Knowing of the fate this precariously posed toy likely faced, I suppose the real question is not whether anyone will help him, but rather if someone will help the poor, hapless sales representative who set-up this display?

Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?  

Aggrandize

Aggrandize [adj] (uh gran dahyz)

1. To make greater, to increase, thus, to exaggerate.

--

Barnum and Bailey may claim to have, "The Greatest Show On Earth," but I have to think they're aggrandizing more than just a little.  Tigers, tightrope walkers, and clowns are all well and good, but does their synergy compel you to travel across the country, sit 4-rows from the back wall on the farthest tier, and then scream/dance/bond with random strangers once the curtain rises?

If you answered, "Yes," to that question, well ... good for you!  Have fun with those clowns and sticky seats!

In my case, I just witnessed The Greatest Show On Earth, and it was put on by Michael Bublé.  

No - stop that!  Stop making that face!  The only reason you're doing that is because you're sick of hearing your loved ones swoon over this crooner, but let me tell you: He is the Best Living Entertainer and you will love him.  The boy sings, jokes, and swears - how could you not embrace that?

I'll be honest: My expectations were high going in to this concert - "Everyone says he's amazing.  He must be amazing.  Please let him be amazing!"  Nonetheless, I was still blown away by this performer's energy, pizazz, and personality.  This was, hands down, the best concert I have ever attended.  Bublé is not only an exceptional singer - because, really, the boy can sing -, but he truly enjoys performing and connecting with the audience.  My seat was on the back wall of the Verizon Center but I felt like I was in the front row, with only a bodyguard and a guardrail between me and the pure, unadulterated musical bliss.

And I'm not even aggrandizing. 

Impervious

Impervious [adj] (ihm purh vee uhs)

1. Impossible to penetrate
2. Incapable of being affected

--

My memory is far from impervious, but there are certain things that seem to stand the test of time.  Specific events become ingrained in the mind -  they evolve into more than just a passing thought and become a building block of personality and whim.  Like one afternoon in the third grade. 

It was most definitely a Friday.  The herd that was my third grade class was bouncing off the walls.  Pencils, paper airplanes, and multicolored erasers flew through the air to a chorus of high-pitched giggles. Unlike the moody teenagers we all would become in a few short years (lucky us), our excitement was not due to the close proximity of the weekend (ah, almost within our grasp!), but rather because our teachers had gathered us with the promise of something "fun" to do.  Insert montage of glee here.

With a flourish only known to one who has 50 pairs of doe-like eyes focused on them, a teacher emerged from the A/V room with a TV and VHS player in hand (or, you know, cart).  She put in a tape, pressed play, and welcomed 90-minutes of calm into her afternoon.  And an introduction to Ireland into mine. 

Through The Secret of Roan Inish, I traveled to the shores of Ireland.  I felt the pebbles of the beach massage (and prick) my feet, the wind chap my face, and the salt of the sea crust my hair.  I let the native brogue saturate my ears, the music lift my feet in rhythm, and the weight of the land's myths and legends imprint my soul.

Now, after almost two decades, the wee lass that once sat transfixed by a film on a Friday afternoon will actually set foot on the Emerald Isle.  Thanks to Champlain College's Office of International Education, I'll join my fellow alumni to Discover Ireland for 10-days next summer.  With a jam-packed itinerary, there are few stones left unturned  - from the must-see sights, to Irish pubs and dance, to Champlain's Dublin campus, and even Northern Ireland.  Maybe I'll even see a selkie (or, you know, jump into the sea and go in search of a few). I'm sure it will be a whirlwind - but the kind that will leave you breathless with the marvels you've seen.

Next year, I'll finally meet the real land of Roan Inish and that's something I'm not likely to forget.

Enervate

Enervate [verb] (ehn uhr vayt)

1. To reduce in strength.

--

When it appears that all in world is set to enervate you, you need to reset the world.

Or, you know, reset a smaller version.  Ah, the cathartic value of Monopoly.  

Inexorable

Inexorable [adj] (inh ehk suhr uh buhl)

1. Inflexible
2. Unyielding

--

I don't believe many pride themselves on being inexorable.  It's doubtful that there's a single human being in the world who wakes up daily thinking, "Gosh, how completely proud I am of my inability to be flexible.  How I would so enjoy a slice of wheat toast with huckleberry jam."  I would even find it hard to believe that during a busy afternoon one may think, "Ah, I have stuck to my guns once again.  How glorious is the invention that is me.  Oh, is that a penny?"   

My point - the act of bullishness is not a trait one actively cherishes.   

Sure, we may find pleasure in getting our way by remaining unyielding in our position. We may enjoy the fruits of such steadfastness from time to time.  But everyday?  No.  To remain inflexible from dusk to dawn from birth to death is to fight against the universe.  And that's one battle you're destined to lose.

 Chicken crossing the road...at a chicken crossing.  Ironic and educational.

Perhaps it's my millennial spirit getting in the way, but the thought of working against the flow, the universe as a whole, is unsavory.  I want to adapt, to toggle between one opinion and the next before making a decision befitting of the situation.  Like the chicken who crossed the road, I just want to get to the other side - if someone has a better way to do that, why chafe against it?  Why not contribute to that method and help with improvement?  

When I wake up tomorrow morning, I plan to embrace flexibility, to banish the unyielding and judge each situation with an open mind.  And I hope that plan is fairly inexorable.

Penury

Penury [noun] (pehn yuh ree)

1. An oppressive lack of resources (as money)
2. Severe poverty

--

 

"You know, if this keeps up we're only a hop, skip, and a jump from penury."

"Doubtful."

"We can't sustain this sort of...extravagance.  Changes need to be made."

"Fine, fine."

"Don't just brush this aside."

 

"I'm not.  Here, put this in the cart."

 

"You're changing the - Hey, put that back - that's...gosh, that's $10 a pound?!"

 

"It's local."

"Than it should be cheaper. Less airfare to get it here and all of that."

"Airfare? I'd hate to be on that plane - I hear livestock always drive for the mini-bar.  Grab that bag, please?  The organic one?"

"You get my point though - this is all well and good but it's not cheap. We can't keep buying like this. It's just not sustainable."

"Uh-huh.  Cheese?"

"And for that matter -- huh?"

"Cheese.  You know, for that whine you have going?"

"....how much is it?"

Frenetic

Frenetic [adj] (fruh neht ihk)

1. Frantic
2. Frenzied

--

I tend to read at a frenetic pace, the kind of pace that leads to eyestrain, paper cuts, and barely used bookmarks.  It's an ill-conceived reality, I admit - devouring books.  The idea itself is sound: read quickly so you can see what happens.  Implementation, on the other hand, always leaves a gaping hole in your chest.  Just imagine: The book of which you coveted for so long, anticipated for months if not years, is now here.  Then, in a day, you've turned all of its pages, revealed the plot and its twists, and now you're left on your couch, staring at book cover thinking, "Now what?"

Unfortunately, that hollow, post-literary feeling never seems to sink into my long-term memory.  I still read like the Seven Horsemen of the Apocalypse stand outside my door (when, in fact, it's just that old lady from down the lane in search of her marmalade cat named Snowball).  Take, for instance, my latest dive into a bestseller - Susanne Collin's final volume of The Hunger Games trilogy, Mockingjay.

I picked up this series not a month ago and proceeded in my normal, high-octane fashion.  The Hunger Games, book one, was completed in a dedicated six-hour session on a rainy Sunday afternoon.  Catching Fire, book two, was a step in the right direction: this book was devoured in four nights, as a 9-5 does get in the way of my typical pace.  And then, Mockingjay hit the stage this week.  I hightailed it to my go-to bookstore, Bridgeside Books, during my lunch break and prepared to savor Katniss Everdeen's last stand against the Capitol.

But then, of course, three nights passed and Mockingjay was done.  In three nights, I watched as Katniss became the Mockingjay, discovered that the rebel leaders were just as bad as the Capitol, and that, in the grander scheme of things, she was a pawn in ways she could have never imagined.  In just three nights I was left with a hollow contentment that sat alongside overflowing sadness.  The contentment came with the fulfillment of a series, of a jaw-dropping adventure complete with thrills and chills and Buttercup the cat.  The sadness came not from my typical, "Now what?" but with a *SPOILER* "The Girl on Fire is now just a wisp of smoke...that's just so....wrong." 

This is all due to the frenetic need to read and read quickly.  So now, I sit with Mary Roach's latest novel, Packing for Mars, and hope that I won't race to the end this time.

Emphasis on "hope."

Peccadillo

Peccadillo [noun] (pehk uh dih lohl)

1. Minor sin or offense

--

 

Without a shadow of a doubt, I consider my inactivity in the blogosphere - and this blog, in particular - to be much more than a mere peccadillo.  I consider it an offense; an offense to my goals (365 words in 365 days - yeah, that's a goner), my brain ("OMG - is that did Patrick Stewart get knighted? We love Patrick Stewart! We should write about that!" my brain cried. "...yeah," My hands retort. "Maybe later." "You know, sometimes, I hate us."), and most importantly, anyone who took the time to read "Forever In Tangent."  It's fairly obnoxious to find myself deserting my own intentions, but it's darn right rube to do the same to yours.

While I cannot say I will be spilling my somewhat noxious musings in this HTML enabled tome, I can  say that I will be here more often than not.

 

And that can't be that bad.

Fallow

Fallow [noun] (faa loh)

1. Dormat
2. Unused

--

The last word I would ever use to describe Austin is fallow. It is not idle; it is not inactive.  It is not unseeded or unused.  It is alive day and night.  The enthusiasm that exists on the streets around midnight is contagious - even when Daylight Savings steals away another hour of our rest in the next morning.

The only time I have felt fallow in this town is during conference panels - but that's a good thing.   While the city vibrates with energy and excess, I can sit in my panel on user experience or unplanning your business or using cartoons to find innovative and just ...  think.  And learn.  And - dare I say? - mellow?  

Instinctively, the (blurry) picture on top looks more exciting than the one below.  Instinctively, you're wrong - if this were the Neolithic era, that wild boar would have maimed you.  The left is equally exciting as the right, if not more.

Austin may be known for its active lifestyle, but the silent, quiet underbelly is just as appealing to this Green Mountain gal.

Wraith

Wraith [noun] (rayth)

1. A ghost or spector
2. A ghost of a living person seen just before his or her death

--

When death knocks upon one's door, it is said that that person may appear to those most important to them in life as a wraith.  To wish them farewell, to bid them warning, to whisper secrets that had always meant to be shared but somehow laid dormant: These are things those on deathbed come to tell the living.

These are also things one's luggage would tell its owner as an apparition before it disappeared from the airplane cargo - swept into that world the airlines call "lost baggage."

As I flew into Austin, Texas on Thursday evening, I hoped beyond hope not to receive a vision of my dear Maurice (AKA the China bag the size of Vermont).  I had seen Maurice board the plane to O'Hare by chance, but through the next 4 hours, not a single vision was spotted.  This could only be good news, as I feel Maurice would try to contact me if he were to be forgotten on the tarmack.  

 

Upon descending into the baggage claim area, a parade of baggage floated through my mind's eye.  Beneath the guitar-dazzled carousel, black, blue, yellow, Army, beige, and pink bags flew by and then, suddenly, there was Maurice - not his wraith but the mesh-and-thread reality.

Maurice made it to Austin.  I made it to Austin.   Time to unpack and enjoy the show.

Wily

Wily [adj] (wie lee)

1. Clever
2. Deceptive

--

Not feeling wily today - working away from work is proving to more difficult than initally imagined.

Where's an ACME bow and arrow/100-ton weight/rocket-powered bicycle when you need one?

Sycophant

Sycophant [noun] (sih kuh fuhnt)

1. A self-serving flatterer; a yes-man

--

 

I need a sycophant by my side when I pack.  While I swim amongst piles of shirts, shoes, toothbrushes (yes, you need more than one), chargers, powerstrips, books, and reservation print-outs, there are few things I want to hear more than, "You're doing well, kid."  

 

Even if I'm not.  

 

No need to worry- I'll figure out that I'm sinking into a bottomless pit of "over-sized baggage" (read: lots and lots of money) sooner or later.   Later if you tell me I'm doing it wrong and I feel a need to be right; sooner if you applaud my efforts, commend my folding technique, and listen silently to my diatribe about whether the floral print Wellies have more merit than the zebra pumps.

 

As a result of a rather patient sycophant, I have once again managed to pack my entire life into two pieces of luggage in preparation for a journey to South by Southwest.  It's a long trip from packing to conference, but worth it.  

Right? (Your response should be in the affirmative, FYI)

Erratic

Erratic [adj] (ih raat ihk)

1. Wandering and unpredictable

--

Time for a little lesson in erratic behavior:

Lesson one: Make sure it makes no sense.  

Lesson two: Never make sure it makes no sense. 

Lesson three: Ignore lessons one and two and make this instead:  Take one part Cool Whip and stir in two parts chocolate sauce  - preferably Fair Trade.  Enjoy the almost-mousse.

Sully

Sully [verb] (suh lee)

1. To tarnish
2. To taint

--

Does it sully the act of blogging to force yourself to blog?  When you come home late, hungry, tired, and generally lacking the creative spark, does the act of crushing thoughts into a keyboard for the sake of the act tarnish the purity of having a web log?

I wonder this as I continue my New Year's experiment - 365 Words, 365 Days.  Some days, I stare at this screen for minutes on end thinking, "What am I suppose to say?"  Occasionally inspiration strikes but more often than not I fake inspiration - "Oh, I had a salad for lunch.  Salad is crunchy.  So is snow - let's write about snowball fights!"  It's a sad, sad process, but it is mine.

Unless, of course, you'd like to take it on?  

In the end, I feel horrible crushing thoughts to the screen - but once I do it, I feel relieved.  I'm not sullying the blogging process - the art of self-reflection with a silent crowd - as much as I am perpetuating that process.  Blogging is not simple; it is a discipline, like any other. 

So, in that regard, let the tarnishing continue.

Lavish

Lavish [adj] (laa vish)

1. Extremely generous or extravegent
2. To give unsparingly

--

 

Sticky notes are not a lavish office supply.  In fact, one could argue that little yellow pieces of paper with a touch of adhesive on one side are one of the least extravagant things one could find in one's desk.

 

Sticky notes are not lavish - but there are things that serve the same purpose that are much less lavish  than they.

Take hands, for example. 

I write everything on my hand.  Reminders, phone numbers, my to-do list.  I do so with Sharpies or ballpoint pens - nothing too sharp or too light - and scrub my hands daily to erase my fleshy equivalent to a whiteboard.

"... but, why?  Ever heard of a sticky note?" they ask with a latent smirk on their faces.  Almost on a daily basis.

Yes.  Yes, I have heard of a sticky note.  But sticky notes, counter to their name, do not stick to me.  The ideas I write down on them drift away like so many leaves on the wind.  And, quite literally, the note itself disappears, whether it be in a pile, under shoe, or  attached to someone else's notebook.  

 

My hand, on the other ... well, hand, does not disappear and, as such, does not allow for me to forget.   One glance down and I remember to call the doctor, e-mail a reminder, or pick up Fluffy at the vet.

[Full disclosure: Fluffy is fictitious.]

Perhaps the next big office supply will be that which we all have: hands.

Or, you know, not.

Latent

Latent [adj] (lay tnt)

1. Potential that is not readily apparent

--

On occasion, latent potential reveals itself without assistance.  And, on occasion, it takes a creative engineering team, $150,000 from a large insurance company, and 60 takes to bring that potential to life.