When I was a little kid I spent a lot of mental playtime trying to think up word combinations—my favorite was "who dog think martian wait"—that I was reasonably sure had never been uttered by anyone else in the world.
Now I spend my lots of time thinking up word combinations, for Google searches, that have been uttered by others.
This irony occurs to me, and I type into Google, "who dog think martian wait."
And a blog entry comes up. To my relief, it's an entry I wrote a couple of years ago.*
I wonder, though, what's more mentally and emotionally healthy: A life spent searching for original phrases, or a life spent trying imagine how others have described the things I'm searching for?
* I wrote it on another blog that's now captained by Hal Gordon, so my entry has his mug on it, much to Hal's embarrassment I'm sure.
Comments (35)
One possibility:
What you did as a boy was pure CREATIVITY.
What you do now is COMMUNICATION (finding that mind-meld, that way to say things that others can understand--or, in this case, already have understood).
And when you manage to do both things simultaneously--well, it's called BLISS.
Posted by Jane Greer | December 10, 2007 10:31 AM
Posted on December 10, 2007 10:31
But that pure creativity sure was more exciting, wasn't it?
It was the hopeful expression of the motto my dad attributes to every human being:
THERE WILL NEVER BE ANOTHER ME.
Posted by David Murray | December 10, 2007 11:16 AM
Posted on December 10, 2007 11:16
David,
Thank you for giving me a platform from which to push some of my own creativity. I invented a word, but Merriam Webster says they can't include it unless and until the word is in widespread use. So I am appealing to your blogness to help me "spread the word."
Vomitaceous (my word, so I'll spell it anyway I like): making one want to vomit. Example: "Murray's blog is overall OK, but some folks contribute some really vomitaceous material."
Will
Posted by Will Daniel | December 10, 2007 11:25 AM
Posted on December 10, 2007 11:25
I'll do my part, Will, but you might do more by starting a blog:
"Vomitaceously Speaking."
Posted by David Murray | December 10, 2007 11:30 AM
Posted on December 10, 2007 11:30
Oh, that's a vomitaceous idea. Thanks!
Will
Posted by Will Daniel | December 10, 2007 11:33 AM
Posted on December 10, 2007 11:33
My mother's expression was, "When they made you, they broke the mold."
Followed by a discreet "Thank goodness."
Posted by Diane | December 10, 2007 11:41 AM
Posted on December 10, 2007 11:41
Will - I'll join your crusade if you join my crusade to bring the word "blimey" into the states. I love that word with my whole being, and I can't seem to make it catch on.
Are you in?
Posted by Eileen | December 10, 2007 11:48 AM
Posted on December 10, 2007 11:48
Count me in, mate! Blimey!
Will
Posted by Will Daniel | December 10, 2007 12:03 PM
Posted on December 10, 2007 12:03
David,
Thank you for blogging about the bane of my existence as a corporate web editor.
I’m doing professionally what you do for fun.
The only way to thicken the Google mana on your site is to saturate the hell out your pages with the words that you think people are using to find your product.
Not only is it a difficult exercise in trying to hone in on those words, but then you have the added joy of integrating them into copy with the precarious balance of not using the words so much you get banned by Google as a SPAMr, but using the words enough time so your page doesn’t show up on the 14th O of the great G.
With doing all of this, I don’t really have the time to see if my own word of Taint Beard has been coined by another crazy person.
Posted by Rob Patey | December 10, 2007 12:33 PM
Posted on December 10, 2007 12:33
Rob--
That sounds absolutely terrible. I find it somehow depressing just thinking of "metatags" to put at the end of my articles. It's going to get worse for me before it gets better, isn't it?
David
Posted by David Murray | December 10, 2007 12:39 PM
Posted on December 10, 2007 12:39
I'm not sure where we got into Mom's favorite expressions, but my mother used to announce (by way of explaining why I talked so much) that I was "vaccinated with a phonograph needle." I haven't googled that phrase yet, but I might. The only problem: In the digital age, I'm not sure anyone will get it anymore.
Posted by Amy | December 10, 2007 1:25 PM
Posted on December 10, 2007 13:25
My mother said, "Tough gazzots." (Sp.?) I have never heard any other person say that and I've asked speakers of Yiddish and they don't recognize it. Anybody?
Posted by David Murray | December 10, 2007 1:29 PM
Posted on December 10, 2007 13:29
When I have nothing better to do, I mull the painful phenomenon of falling in love. I mean, it's fascinating, hilarious, heartbreaking, grotesque, huge and yet inconsequential, and nearly impossible to describe--thus a challenge for a word dog like me. Other people have tried to invent a good word--for example, "limerence" (Google it)--but that doesn't quite do it for me. So far, I've come up with TORMOIL, but that leaves off the happy part. TORMOISTACY gives a little too much information, if you know what I mean. But I keep plugging away at the problem. :-)
Posted by Jane Greer | December 10, 2007 3:53 PM
Posted on December 10, 2007 15:53
BTW, I Googled "tough gazotz" and got one hit.
Posted by Jane Greer | December 10, 2007 4:11 PM
Posted on December 10, 2007 16:11
Amy -- I was repeating my mother's equivalent of David's father's "There will never be another me." With her editorial commentary included as a bonus.
Posted by Diane | December 10, 2007 4:53 PM
Posted on December 10, 2007 16:53
Jane—
And it's a car reference! And my mom was born and raised in Detroit!
What?!
David
Posted by david Murray | December 10, 2007 6:10 PM
Posted on December 10, 2007 18:10
>>> I mean, it's fascinating, hilarious, heartbreaking, grotesque, huge and yet inconsequential, and nearly impossible to describe...
Aw, c'mon, Jane -- it's easy to describe: vomitaceous.
Will
Posted by Will Daniel | December 11, 2007 7:45 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 07:45
I don't remember any of Mom's expressions, but I sure remember one of Dad's:
- I'm gonna kick your ass clear into next week.
I miss the old fart.
Will
Posted by Will Daniel | December 11, 2007 7:54 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 07:54
My mom used to say that something was "wopperjawed" if it was totally messed up. Anyone? Anyone?
Of course, David and Amy, if our mothers truly made up these words/phrases, that means we simply grew up with pioneer women for mothers. Their take was: I'll just make up my own damn word!
Posted by Eileen | December 11, 2007 8:19 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 08:19
Carol Murray:
• To settle disputes between sister and I over whose turn it is to do dishes: "It'll all work out in the great cosmic wash."
• "The fuckin' fucker fucked." (Her writing lesson, her proof that you could put together a pretty darned good sentence just with the word "fuck." She said a World War I ambulance driver, maybe it was Hemingway, used this sentence to explain that that his machine had broken down.)
• "Well fuck _____ if he can't take a joke." Her attitude toward anyone who felt wronged by her and might be expecting an apology that was not going to come.
• "Your father wouldn't say shit if he had a mouth full of it."
• To diffuse debates between me and my sister over whose skinned knee hurt worse: "It's not a contest."
There are more. She was a novelist. There are MANY more. But most of them aren't this salty, and who wants to hear about a mother who called her kids her lambs and made up baby songs with names like "Ah goo Means I Love You."
If we want to remember our parents we must remember their words, because their words—the carriers of wisdom and humor—are all that we can meaningfully pass on.
Posted by David Murray | December 11, 2007 8:35 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 08:35
Eileen: I grew up in a tiny Mississippi River town in extreme southeastern Iowa, and we all said "wopperjawed." My grandmother also used to gently "souse out" her delicate underthings in the bathroom sink.
Posted by Jane Greer | December 11, 2007 9:16 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 09:16
Yes! Vindication that I wasn't brought up in a totally isolated wopperjawed family. Jane was too!
It must be a midwestern thing.
Posted by Eileen | December 11, 2007 9:39 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 09:39
You're right, Eileen. It must be a midwestern thing. I spent the first 8-1/2 years of my life in south central Iowa (as opposed to Jane's southeastern Iowa) and wopperjawed is a word I'm quite familiar with.
Posted by Colleen | December 11, 2007 11:17 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 11:17
I thought it was a hillbilly thing. Lots of my relatives in West Virginia used that word.
Will
Posted by Will Daniel | December 11, 2007 11:21 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 11:21
Which makes sense, Will, since my mother's entire family are hillbillies from W.V. What a legacy, eh?
Posted by Eileen | December 11, 2007 11:46 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 11:46
I've got nothing to contribute on the whole "wopperjawed" thing, but I do have an affinity for David's Mom's approach, perhaps because I was raised just across a river from Detroit in the Canadian auto manufacturing capital.
I also have a healthy roster of "salty" words, as my friend Eileen can attest. I'm almost certain I can feel her eyebrows raise when I forget (or am too lazy) to edit and use naughty words in emails I send her.
While I hate to offend, there is just something so very satisfying about using the word "Fuck" when no other word will really do. David's also correct about the versatility of the word - it can be a noun, a verb, and adverb, nearly anything you need it to be!
Posted by Kristen | December 11, 2007 11:53 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 11:53
Amy - look what I found on Google!
"Say! You haven't stopped talking since we got here! You must have been vaccinated with a phonograph needle!"
Groucho Marx in "Duck Soup"
What a vomitaceous thing for your mother to say to you. Blimey!
Posted by eileen | December 11, 2007 11:58 AM
Posted on December 11, 2007 11:58
Listen to our bad selves!
Posted by Jane Greer | December 11, 2007 12:10 PM
Posted on December 11, 2007 12:10
Jane, I'm laughing hysterically at your last comment, picturing you a la Huggy Bear from Starsky and Hutch (now I'm REALLY dating myself).
Or maybe we should start calling you "Super Fly"
"Our bad selves" Ha ha ha ha ha!
Posted by Kristen | December 11, 2007 12:21 PM
Posted on December 11, 2007 12:21
This would be the point in the discussion where I've lost total control of my blog.
Posted by David Murray | December 11, 2007 12:59 PM
Posted on December 11, 2007 12:59
Yeah, David, might as well just shrug your shoulders and say, "Fuck it." Blimey.
Will
Posted by Will Daniel | December 11, 2007 2:05 PM
Posted on December 11, 2007 14:05
David - That's what you get for having a bunch of whopperjawed readers who were vaccinated with a phonograph needle (or maybe a pen nib). - Amy
Posted by Amy | December 11, 2007 2:08 PM
Posted on December 11, 2007 14:08
David...consider your blog hijacked. YOu can thank us later.
Posted by eileen | December 11, 2007 2:39 PM
Posted on December 11, 2007 14:39
We had "skeehawed" and "caterwampus" for things out of alignment. My grampa pulled a "toad" behind his tractor to pile stones from the field onto, where my dad used a "stone boat" in his field. I catch all kinds of crap when I ask for a pop instead of a soda (in Michigan, it was all pop: orange Nehi, preferably). Geez, I'm gonna have to sit down and think through all the stuff my great aunts and uncles used to tell me. Of Danish and British Isles extraction on the maternal side, German and Swedish paternal--you can imagine the mix of terminology. But sitting here in this cubicle, all I can think of is farm equipment. Sigh... Sounds like a good excuse for a glass of wine, a CD of Christmas music, and a quiet evening with pen in hand.
Posted by Joan | December 11, 2007 4:34 PM
Posted on December 11, 2007 16:34
David, you need to start a second blog:
"Words We Wish We Could Hear Those People Saying To Us Just One More Time"
Posted by Jane Greer | December 11, 2007 4:41 PM
Posted on December 11, 2007 16:41