WORDS TO LIVE BY

     In my travels, I have been fortunate to come in contact with a wide variety of people.  Some were highly educated, some weren't.  Some held high paying jobs, while others appeared to flounder in every way.  Some I knew well, while others were merely acquaintances. But nonetheless, all of them had something to add to my life in some way. 
     One of the ways that some of the people that I've crossed paths with have enhanced my life is through something very simple.  Some folks have an uncanny ability to mispronounce almost every word they utter.  They are the ones who have impacted my life the most.  After all, who remembers someone they encountered that had a perfect command of the English language and their diction was flawless?  Do you get my point?
     This post will highlight some of the more comical pronunciations of normal, everyday words that have been uttered in my presence.
     Years ago, my family was friends with a family that lived close by.  They were very good people in every way, but for some reason, they simply couldn't grasp simple spoken words.  They provided many hours of entertainment for us by simply mangling the English language.  The following will most certainly drive spellcheck crazy.

Drivewalk:  "Neil, you just can't beat this kind of service.  I brought you right up to your drivewalk."  The term "drivewalk" was an attempt at reminding me that I had been brought home from baseball practice and delivered to my home's sidewalk.

Draggers:  "Man, be careful when you come through these bushes, they're full of draggers."  Draggers and briars are one in the same and should be avoided when squirrel hunting.

Lungpipe:  After an especially hard hit taken by the youngest son during a game of backyard football, he lay on the ground wheezing and moaned, "Why'd you hit me so hard?  I think you crushed my lungpipe!"

Pumption:  During a game of pickup basketball, we noticed the ball seemed to be losing air.  Upon attempting to reinflate the ball with a simple garage variety pump, and having no luck, the oldest son simply stated, "I keep pushing and pushing but the ball won't blow up.  I guess this thing has lost it's pumption."

Bon:  Years ago, there was a very nice gentleman who was league director of the baseball league that  I played in.  His name was Vaughn.  My friend's father who also served as my coach never learned the man's name as far as I know.  "I don't know what our schedule is, but I can ask Bon."

Bastardville:  The youngest son and I went all the way through school together.  One day in eighth grade English class, we were to stand before the class and give oral book reports.  The boy confidently stood before his peers and proclaimed, "today, I will give my report on The Hound of Bastardville."  Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would be proud.

BM Goodwrench:  The youngest son strikes again.  The summer after we graduated from high school, he and I worked for a time at the same place.  Often, we ride shared to save on gas.  One morning, I exited my house when he drove up and noticed that he had new tires on his old Ford Bronco.  "Do you like my tires?  I went with the BM Goodwrenches this time."  BM Goodwrench tires should not be confused with BF Goodrich tires.

Innergestion:  The whole family used this one.  Innergestion is usually associated with eating spicy foods, or could possibly be the result of a chronic condition concerning with the digestive tract.  Occasionally people refer to this condition as indigestion.

     In my forty-four years on planet Earth, I have held various jobs and of course was exposed to many people from various backgrounds.  On one particular job, I worked with an older gentleman who had a vocabulary all his own.

Brown Retussie:  We were cleaning out our shop early one morning when I noticed the man jump back and exclaim, "Giant spider!  I think it's a Brown Retussie!  Those things can kill you if they get a hold on you!"  It's possible that the spider in question was a long lost cousin of the Brown Recluse.

Cellar Phone:  During the time we worked together, portable electronic phones were just beginning to catch on.  One morning, my old friend entered our shop and proudly held up his new device. "Do you guys know what this is?  Well, it's a cellar phone."  I assumed that it was similar to a cellular phone.

Abarabadack Chair:  It is widely known that I enjoy woodworking in my wood shop at home when I can find the time to do so.  The gentleman that I worked with also shared my hobby.  One day, I was trying to decide on a type of lawn chair I was considering making.  "Why don't you build a couple of Abarabadack Chairs?  I already have the plans and would be glad to let you borrow them."  I think those particular chairs originated in the Adirondack Mountains of New York but apparently the spelling and pronunciation has changed over the years.

     On the same job, there was a very nice lady who also seemed to have a language all her own.

Trofical:  "I'm going to get me a huge fish tank with all them colorful trofical fish."

Interpretation:  One day while standing at a window and looking into the parking lot, the lady declared that one day she would own a car just like the one parked directly outside.  "One day I'm going to own one of those Dodge Interpretations."  The Dodge Interpretation should not be confused with the Dodge Intrepid.

Geritol Warts:  The company I work for made an announcement that they were going to begin manufacturing a new drug.  The lady burst into our work area and announced the great news.  "Did you hear the news?  We're going to be making a new medicine for women!  It prevents geritol warts!"  Maybe it could help with genital warts also.

Crevice Cancer:  The new drug I mentioned above prevents geritol warts, and according to my co-worker, also prevents the possibility of crevice cancer.  Hopefully it will help with cervical cancer as well.

     Last but not least, is the old fellow my brother often quotes from his days in the workplace.  At present only one mispronunciation comes to mind, but it is a rather comical one.

Ruminum scrloop:  Apparently, on that particular job, passing out cups of ice was one of the many  requirements.  One of the workers had the knack of mangling almost every word he uttered.  But, one in particular stands out.  My brother and several workers were in the same area when the radio crackled and the old man spoke. "I'm up here ready to hand out ice.  Anyone know where I can find a ruminum scrloop?"  Although all of the guys had worked with the man in question and had learned to speak his language, everyone looked dumbfounded his request.  They called back and asked him to repeat his request.  "Ruminum scrloop, I need a ruminum scrloop!  What's wrong with you guys?  Don't you understand English!?"  Finally, they deduced that the man was requesting an aluminum scoop for the ice he was trying to remove from the ice machine.  Funny stuff.

     There are many more examples of words that have been mispronounced, mangled or simply invented by some poor soul who is simply trying to get their point across.  So at a later time, maybe I will compile another list.  Heck, for all I know, I'm the topic of someone's blog.  I have, in my time, also had some difficulty in with certain words and blurted out what I thought sounded right.  Surely, someone noticed and was polite enough to laugh at me behind my back.

So take notice.  Listen carefully to people and their diction, pronunciation, and invented words.  It's great entertainment, but be careful to deliver all your spoken words just as Webster would have you do, because someone is listening and you just might become the topic of an internet blog.



   

I AM MY DAD

     A strange and unsettling phenomenon has been taking place in my life for quite some time now.  I'm turning into my dad.  I'm turning into the man who drove too slow, the man that didn't have a clue about much of anything (at least to a teenager), the man that looked at me in during those teen years with an expression that clearly showed a mixture of bewilderment, anger and confusion.  I'm also taking on some of his physical characteristics.  My hair has gone southward from my head to my back, and my once honed abs have turned into something resembling  a sack of Idaho potatoes. I tuned forty-four years old in June, and suddenly I caught myself using one of my father's often used expressions.
     "They say that doing squats is one of the most surefire ways for a young athlete to ruin his back," I said to my thirteen-year-old son.  He had just returned home from working out with the high school football team and was giving me the rundown of the things they did during an especially grueling workout.
     "Who is they?" he said, while studying his phone for who knows what.  I remember my father and I having a similar conversation, only it involved me not thoroughly rinsing the soap off the dishes I was washing.
     "They say that residual soap can kill a person over time," he said, while studying the few remaining suds sliding off a frying pan that I had just washed. 
     "Who is they?" I said, without ever making eye contact.  I later surmised that the man simply didn't like the taste of soap suds.
     The 'they' is of no concern to the younger party in either conversation.  'They', simply means don't do too many squats, and please rinse the frying pan thoroughly.
     Apparently, I drive too slow for my two blabbering kids in the back seat.  Recently the family took a vacation the the Florida Keys for a week of snorkeling,  swimming and general relaxation.  We flew into Fort Lauderdale airport, rented a car, and drove South to the Keys.  This meant driving around the Miami metropolitan area before we could finish our journey.  Now, it should be noted that driving in my hometown area and driving around Miami, is akin to fishing in a bathtub and crabbing in the Bering Sea.  There are many lanes of very fast moving traffic, along with a myriad of ramps, exits, loops, etc. going in every direction.  Add in one driver who's unfamiliar with his surroundings, and a tropical downpour, and poof, the birds begin to fly.  No, not birds of the tropical kind,  But, birds of the finger kind. 
     "Dad, you just got flipped off again," Sidney, our eleven-year-old daughter chirped from the comfort of the back seat.  "Oh man, another guy just did it!"
     "What the heck is wrong with these people down here?  I mean why would they be giving me the bird?" I asked, while briefly looking at my pale, white fingers, which gripped the steering wheel tightly, and apparently didn't have any blood circulating through them.
     "Oh, I don't know.  Maybe it's because you just ran that guy into the median.  Beats me,"  Ryan growled.  "Dad, you're going to kill us!  You're going too slow!  If you don't kill us, then I think that guy beside us hanging out of the window yelling is!"  the boy yelled.
     "Look son, I'm in unfamiliar territory and I need to go a little slower so I don't miss our exit," I said, as I whizzed past our exit.
     Kristi, my wife, was unusually quiet.  I gave her a quick glace and noticed that her eyeballs seemed much larger than I had remembered.  The air conditioning was blasting, but she had little rivers of sweat running down her cheeks.  Or, were those tears?  Either way, she looked a little out of sorts and her complexion resembled my white knuckles.
     "What's wrong with you?" I inquired nervously.
     "Oh nothing.  I'm just worried about that lady behind us who keeps flashing her lights and laying on the horn.  I think she wants to kill us."
     "Dad, the streak is alive and well.  You've been flipped off in Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Maryland, Virginia..." Ryan said, with his head phones perched atop his head.
     We finally made it to our destination, and we obviously didn't get killed or kill anyone else for that matter.  We had a very enjoyable week and returned home without incident.
     Now, as I sit and ponder my life to this point, I can't help but wonder how I have evolved to the point that I have become my old man in a younger body.  He was often given the bird while driving in unfamiliar places and could never figure out why.  We kids slumped deeper into the back seat to save face.  He, of course could never figure out why people treated him so harshly for driving 20 miles per hour slower than everyone else.  I used to know the answer to that question, but for some reason, it escapes me now.  Oh well, I'm sure my kids will remind me.