whatever happened to ed?

Ted Rogers passed away. I’m shocked. His first name is actually Edward!?! Since when is Ted short for Edward?

Apparently shortening of names is not the only way to get a nickname. There was a trend for rhyming nicknames and swapping of letters.

“There was a trend of creating rhyming nicknames (arbitrarily changing the first letter) in the 13th and 14th centuries. That's where we get all these surprising forms like Dick (and Hick!) from Richard, Polly from Molly (for Mary), Bob, Dob and Hob from Rob (from Robert), Bill from Will (from William); and Hodge from Roger.” WikiAnswers

There is a great sense of history when examining linguistics.

“Nicknames of this sort are among the oldest parts of language still used. Jack remained a nickname for John for centuries after its original connection and lost. Until the 20th century, one could still find Neds and Nans for Edwards and Anns, again, although the original connotations have long since past. Some connections are so old that we do not really understand how it happened, as in Peggy/Margaret or Polly/Mary or Billy/William” Edgar’s Namebook

Fascinating.

No really. I’ve always been interested in names. I’ve been buying baby name books since I was in public school. Even though I never knew the Ted/Edward connection it shouldn’t have surprised me so much. I knew about Bess and Elizabeth and Dolly for Dorothy. And those seem just as odd.

Ah Ted Rogers, posthumously stimulating the masses with sociolinguistics. Is there anything you can’t do?

words that make me giggle

crampons
pew bows
ball-peen hammer

I'm sure there are more but I just read ball-peen hammer somewhere and giggled. Then that made me think of pew bows and crampons. Hee hee.

prose before hoes

How can I keep going to this place? Am I really such a beast? So ruled by hormones and chemicals? Such a fine machine, the human body. An impulse, a spark and the system reels. How can you recover from it. There is no starting over, try again. Sorry better luck next time. How about a rematch? I’ll choose my weapons more wisely this time. Promise. Promise I will do better. Try harder, be tougher. Tough skin, tough shell. Hard hard hard. No breaking me down. I probably won’t even notice you, buzzing around. So insignificant you will try to bite and I won’t even flinch. In the meantime, the wind from your tiny wings is ripping my skin. Too delicate for words. The weakest. Just a small imbalance and then chaos. So poorly designed. Whose idea was this anyway.

feeling the love

Must be some friendly thoughts or angels flocking my way because I feel good today. Well I just had a wave of love, not from me but like somebody sent it my way. Thanks, whoever you are (it might even be Jesus! Yay!).

I’ve been a bit down, just a general blueness. I can attribute it to a lot of things, and it happens now and again but this was bad enough that I had to bust out The Wedding Singer, my sigh and feel good movie. It is in my opinion the perfect romance. Ah l’amour.

It’s come and gone by now, but like any good thing it brings hope. It’s so easy when you are down to forget what feeling good is like, even if it was only yesterday that you felt that way. And you know logically that you won’t feel this way forever; it’s just so hard to envision yourself any other way. So fickle the heart is…Or perhaps I should say how fickle the mind is. Well that’s a whole other debate the likes of which I will not enter into at this time. There’s only so much philosophy I can take before noon. I haven’t even had a cup of tea yet.

...le sigh.....

Melancholy. That bittersweet sensation washes over me. So achingly familiar, I feel we are old friends who though years have passed can pick up right where we left off. Le sigh is right.

I had a dream last night. It was bizarre; there was a rigid futuristic society. Walking off the beaten path could get you, well beaten. I was making a painting about two women in love (with each other) and it was beautiful but drawn without great skill (as my paintings are, what they lack in talent they make up for in exuberance). But I hid it, as I hid my escape route (naturally I had one in case the soldiers/thought police whatever came – which they did).

I can’t remember too much more. I do know I had a friend, who was helping me but he disappeared. I can’t remember if he got caught or betrayed me, all I remember is running. Running and hiding. At one point I was at a graveyard and the mud was so deep I could barely walk.

It’s one of those dreams I can’t shake. When your mind has a moment to drift it goes there, though you try not to think about it. It fades, as dreams naturally do, and you feel bereft. It puzzles you, because you are missing something you never actually had. All you can do is heave a sigh and hope you forget faster, even though you awoke vowing to remember.

Le Sigh, ubiquitous Lord of the Sighs.

issue #1 - collectors edition!!

We all know that calcium is an important factor in regulating the body���s electrical system, and we all know that my body can���t hold onto calcium like the rest of you, due to some surgical misadventures.

What we all did not know, is that when my calcium is low I seem to be more susceptible to static electricity. This has presented most recently in a bout of low calcium. Subsequently I am terrified to open my filing cabinet. After living in fear and without any files for a few weeks I���ve come to the realization that I���m having a major moment in my life. This is the moment I realize that I���m special and have "super" abilities unlike anyone else. This would be the premiere issue of my comic book.

Naturally the first thing I have to work out is a costume. Done (note the socks, very necessary). Name ��� done. Behold The Great Statica!

Now I just have to figure out if I���ll be a Villain or Hero. Either way I will be ridding the world of bad doctors through MASSIVE STATIC CHARGES THAT EXPLODE THE HEART!!!

And I���m sure I���ll do other stuff too...

Update* Jeremy has pointed out that electricity powers generally mean Super Villain. So I guess I am The Great and Terrible Statica.

...must....obey....

A few people now have mentioned lolcats to me. I finally sauntered over (and by sauntered I mean click click), it was alright. I wasn���t immediately grabbed and would normally have ended the perusal right there but the recommendations came from trusted humour sources so I spent some more time clicky clicky. I was ready to leave when I saw this:

Gasp! Could this be a feline version of my own beloved Hypnotoad? Oh it be. It be. So I shall continue checking out lolcats, for future funnies. Also because the Hypnokat says so. All hail Hypnokat���

who put the bop in the bop she bop she bop...

I had a piece of banana bread this morning. It was delicious.

However it only served to remind me of the best banana bread I have ever had. The Holy Grail of banana bread as it were. This epitome of flour and banana was composed, kneaded and baked by none other than my dear departed Boppy.

I realize I’ve only mentioned my grandfather briefly before but he was truly a remarkable man. He dedicated his life to peace, traveling around the world to help others.

Of course my memories include an iron-like grip on your upper arm as he dragged you to meet your 4th cousin twice removed and explain the genealogy between the two family trees. Or the time he was cleaning out hornets nests from underneath the Adirondack chairs and when one particularly angry hornet came out to investigate he tried burning it with the lighter he was holding. That was hilarious. Both man and hornet survived unscathed. Last but certainly not least, the memory of warm chocolate banana bread.

After my Grandmother passed away my Grandpa eventually took over the role of family baker. Sure there were some trial and error pies but he ended up a great cook. Some may say his berry patch pie was the best, some will argue for the cherry cheesecake. I for one absolutely adored his chocolate banana bread. It was a thick, dark springy loaf that delighted the senses. I would cut huge cube like pieces and slather butter on it, still warm from the oven. Sigh. So delicious.

The moral of this story? Savour your family members as much as you do their cooking, you never know when you will be cut off.

I have no doubt in my mind that when I die and head down that long tunnel towards the light there will be a great big slab of chocolate banana bread waiting for me, still warm from the oven.

i had a dream last night

It was bizarre. Terrible and wonderful, it (like so many of my dreams), made me feel that waking pulled me from another reality. And no I was not on drugs. When I have these I am certain I am supposed to write them down, which I do, but I don’t finish them. I don’t flesh them out, adding details and depth. I’m hoping to change that. There is no urgency once I have recorded the basics; if I have notes I can recall the dream, the story and the feeling it wrought.

My dream last night had me shifting perspectives (as usual) and when I jotted down the details to help me remember, they became a poem of sorts. Strange I know but the whole thing struck me in such I way that I felt I had to share. Though it is hardly my best work.

It was very sad. But so beautiful, I wish I could give you more details than the poem reveals. Mayhap in time I will finish this story.

Notes on a dream, night of May 30, 2007

First I was the mother,
Choosing men over my child,
Sending him away, alone.

Then I was the child –
My own friend, playing with ants
And imagining armies.

Then I was the woman,
Childless, finding my family in a lonely boy,
Loving him as his mother never could.

Finally I became the observer,
Watching the sweet and sad reunion of
True mother and child mistakenly born to another.

nantucket

Well I can't let a Friday the 13th go by without commemorating it in some fashion. So here you are you lucky things.

There once was a fellow named Jason
Whose pastimes included girl chasin,
It's not what you think
It wasn't his dink
But a machete that gave them affection.

ode to a curl

Oh sweet and sumptuous curlicue,
How doth you spiral so?
I long to bite your springy depths, and gnaw you like some dough.

You hide, so perfect and serene, ���neath piles of tired locks,
Why must you bury yourself, veiled at the nape ��� oh a pox!

Lean on your sisters, teach them your form,
Bring about a new dawn, lest they be shorn!

Ah mine little curl so true, How I do love you so

I will cherish you forever, maybe even mo'
Though I may sell you on ebay, if I���m ever that po���

yay! oh wait...

The other day I told someone I was 26 and they were surprised. She thought I was 23. Nice I know. But after a minute my pleasure dimmed as I realized something. I’m now old enough to be happy when someone thinks I’m younger than I am.

4 years ago someone said I looked 28 and I was thrilled.

We spend our youth trying to look older; at what point do we swing the other way?

Apparently at age 26. Le sigh.

The Headset

Once upon a Wednesday dreary, while I spaced out, dim and bleary,
Over many a plodding and tiresome call of irksome dorks,
While I answered , nearly snapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone slowly tapping, tapping on my shoulder, bored.
"What the eff?" I turned, "tapping on my shoulder, bored—
                       Free at last, and phones no more."

equality

We all know what a camel-toe is. Great intro I know.

Well I’ve been wondering – what do you call the male version? Camel-ball? Well that just suggests that it looks like a camels and frankly I don’t even know what that looks like. I can imagine but, no…let’s not go there. Ball-toe works I guess, but somehow it lacks the spirit of the female terminology. You can see I’ve given this some thought. I asked Jeremy what he thought the best name was but he declined to discuss it. In fact he seemed horrified that I would blog about such a topic. Well it is a bit tasteless perhaps, but it’s not like I asked him to pull his pants up really high and take a picture of his junk so I could post it to illustrate my point. That would be crossing the line. Besides I think if women have a nickname for this phenomenon then men should too. Because it happens, and not just to old men who pull their pants up to thier chin. You watch. You’ll see.