Aggrandize

Aggrandize [adj] (uh gran dahyz)

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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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"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?"

Encomium

Encomium [noun] (ehn koh me uhm)

1. Warm praise

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I can show nothing but encomium for the food vendors at the fair.  Through rain, wind, heat, and snow (hey, it is Vermont), they stand in their aluminum and neon booths, smelling slightly of fried food and onion, ready and waiting to serve.

 

Hamburgers, fries, ice cream, pie, corn dogs, kettle corn, giant eclairs - they offer their specialties with a smile, but what they really serve-up are memories.   To this day, my recollections of the fair are slathered with smells, tastes, and "Mmms."  The ice cream from the UVM Dairy Barn.  The chili cheese pie at Dizzy Donuts (Note: I was disheartened to find that this delectable bowl of chili lined with a tortilla chip crust is no longer available.  Please bow your head in a moment of silence.)  The fresh apple pie from Allenholm Farm.  The maple bread from the Maple Shed.  And, of course, the warm, crunchy fried bread dough...

Please note the "Maple Iceing" (sic) that I found and enjoyed last night.

All of these food vendors create happy, food-saturated memories that tie into the greater joys of my annual childhood trip the the fair.  Of course, memories are often more joyful than the reality of today - say, for instance, the general increase of commercialism eating away at the agricultural merit of the fair - but the entire institution still holds a warm place in my heart.  

 

And my taste buds.

Frenetic

Frenetic [adj] (fruh neht ihk)

1. Frantic
2. Frenzied

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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."