makes me rather tired

Ma is famous for gifts of random miscellany. On a recent visit she left me this garage sale find:

A New Self-Teaching Course in
PRACTICAL ENGLISH
and Effective Speech

comprising
vocabulary development, grammar,
pronunciation, enunciation,
and the fundamental principles
of effective oral
expression

by
Estelle B. Hunter, Ph.B.

It's a box of 15 lesson booklets published in 1938 by the Better-Speech Institute of America. Apparently, they made quite a killing with these courses. In the "personal message to you from the author," Estelle states that while "[a]t first your efforts to avoid mistakes and slovenly speaking may cause you to speak with a somewhat studied expression," one should not be discouraged because "in due time your speech will be both fluent and correct."

Each booklet ends with exercises. Here's Exercise 9 from Lesson 2:

Correct all the mistakes in the following paragraph:
What kind of a time did you have at the club last night, or wasn't you there? I saw Jones, and he sez, "The new club don't seem homelike, but you can't blame it on me--I'm not the House Chairman." Those sort of remarks make me kind of tired. He most always complains, but he don't take a hold and help. He's dark-complected enough to be a Russian or Italian, but he sez he ain't.

Answer:
What kind of time did you have at the club last night, or weren't you there? I saw Jones, who said, "The new club doesn't seem homelike, but you can't blame me--I'm not the House Chairman." That sort of remark makes me rather tired. He almost always complains, but he doesn't take hold and help. He is dark-complected enough to be Russian or Italian, but he says he isn't.

What the...?!?
Never mind fluent and correct if your speech is daft and dull to begin with. What kind of non sequitur is that last statement?

I think I'd rather hang with Jonesy. But don't mind what I sez, I ain't the House Chairman.

chronic introspection, ca 1999

[Embarrassing, yes, but I do like pieces of it.]

another pint-sized ton
again burdened by another
conflict or confrontation
friend or foe
so brash and bold
I shy away
retract, fold
into my cave of contemplation
my home
my traveling companion
blocking, locking out light that
might project through the
prison
prism
scatter the image some
more perspective
under the scope
examined at every scale
dissected and multiplied
compounded
crazy thinking, thinking
maybe too much
p.s. had it right
wise? in sight
can drive a gal
in sane

what did i do was it me
no of course
not sure
it was as always
mountains and valleys, ravines to
mole hills and furrows, creases
and back
dispense with the
discourse within
could I do without?
god please stop and
someone else start
do me that favor
but beware
I'm told
of those red angles
paradoxes perching, lurking
lurching from dark corners
and bright expanses
seek comfort from the wise
they are as confused as I
view scattered image fragments
through compound eyes
what am I to be?
stay strong or
bend or both
the hub and the spoke

I give up
you go ahead
take a snap shot
try to sum it up
this picture's worth
more than a thousand
million single words
phrases, cliches, ambiguities
run-ons
incompletes
sentences.
fragments
take a shot
if I can't do it
of course you can
of course you can
see so clearly
and me, sure
oh, me too
nice and neat
little package
me up of course
you can
Box me in
label sin
wash, rinse, repeat
again burdened by another
reflection on reflection
chronic introspection

qp

Or, questionable provenance. My code for "stolen books". The dirty secret's out. I am an honest woman, a reformed woman (in that respect, anyway), but in my personal library thing, there exists a handful of books obtained through dishonest means.

These ill-gotten items are a remnant of a spell in my mid to late teens (I was a minor, for those of you thinking of calling the po-po or five-o...or homeland security for that matter). I have no justification for my thievery, but I've thought a lot about why I took the books. I used and loved libraries (a few of the books are from libraries) so it's not like I didn't understand the free borrow and return, reusable community resource concept.

Out of curiosity, I did some shallow digging about commonly stolen books. Common, of course, is relative. I'm unfamiliar with all but three of the authors commonly lifted from b&n. Public libraries commonly lose how-to books. Dictionaries and poetry books are the first to disappear in correctional facilities (followed by the how-to's). Folks steal "immoral" books to keep them out of the hands of others. How moral. I wonder if they have ties to the Bible nabbers--another hot title.

Some of my bibliobooty probably registered in my mind as "cool old books", but the majority fall in line with the how-to's and poetry. My motivation was hardly lofty or meant to impress. I see these books as mementos. Anchors. I know that life back then felt incredibly impermanent, and one thing that I felt semi-solid about was writing and appreciating those who did it well. I also had a great English teacher who loved literature and writing. His criticism was constructive, and his praise was hard won, but deserved. He had high praise for Sheridan Baker (RIP).

So, there you have it. Think of me what you will.

[Ha! There are two mentions of stealing in the Amazon customer reviews of The Practical Stylist! ]

why don't you stay?

Wow. One could read into why this struck a nerve. I chalk it up to raw emotion. You don't have to live something to feel something. Not having experienced such a tragedy in my life, I easily well up just listening to La Momma Morta.
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12/8/07, ETA :
Blerg. This has been pulled from YouTube by the corporate empire. Here's a link and here's a link to sanctioned videos which I cannot embed. Yes, I do see the irony: "Ask the corporate music factory why."
++++++++



She wrote this pre-Sugarland--or at least at its very beginning stages. It's on this live recording (2003) and this live recording (2004) . She'd heard Reba McEntire's "Whoever's in New England" about a woman waiting faithfully for an unfaithful man and thought, "Screw that." This is her fresh twist on a tired story.

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For comic relief...here's one I could embed:

what bwings us togevah today

...that bwessed awangement...that dweam wivin a dweam.

As of this Saturday past, I'm wiving the dweam.

elements of a successful fake camping excursion

If one's fake camping trip is to be a success, I recommend (at minimum) the following items, pictured clockwise from top left:

1. Strawberry mojito
2. A kickass campfire
3. Night vision binoculars
4. Miracle Eyes Jesus

These are recommendations. There is only one requirement: a first class girl posse.

Codspeed and good camping to you.

fusala erin

Not really a shoe hound. Nor do I play soccer. But I love my new Pumas. The name reminds me of the Seinfeld episode. Trust that these babies will not meet the same fate as the pasta effigy.


[Is it Fusala or Futsala?]

This is not political. This is grammatical.

"One person is not a troop." Thank you, William Saffire.

That individual soldiers are being referred to as "troops" has been secretly irking me for some time.

"...American presence of more than 160,000 troops in Iraq." New York Times
"...the addition of some 30,000 U.S. troops since February..." USA Today

Since finally vetting this, I'm relieved to know that my agitation is justified. (The scratched itch: what we all strive for in life. Am I right? Can I get a "Hells yeah!"?)


Troop, fighter, warrior, soldier...let's call the whole thing off.
Ok, that part was political.

This part, too:
An additional thank you to the Onion for its hard-hitting piece: "Bush Commits One Additional Troop To Afghanistan"