Tag Archives: pretense

Deco

Deco: (adj) of, relating to, or suggestive of art deco design

You can’t have one without the other.

This was a lyric from a song entitled “Love and Marriage.”

The contention of the writer was that some words are just meant to be together—and when you separate them, they turn on their heel and frightened to death, run back toward each other.

I don’t know if this is true or not.

But I am certain that if I were in a room with anyone who started talking about “art deco,” I would start looking for an excuse about a pet I had at home which needed my immediate attention.

Yet worse would be if this individual felt that “art deco” was too common a phrase and decided to just proclaim it “deco.”

The children would be shivering in the corner.

And I with them.

As I often say, pretense walks in the room and I walk out the back door.

And if there is no back door, I will make one.

 

Daiquiri

Daiquiri: (n) a cocktail of rum, lemon or lime juice, and sugar,

It should be our greatest concern.

Of all our fears, apprehensions and iniquities that may abound within our human heart, we should certainly avoid being phony.

You can get by with twice the sin normally tolerated if you’re willing to admit your oddity instead of trying to argue it in the form of a question.

In other words:

“Are you asking me if I did this?”

“Don’t you believe me when I say I didn’t?”

“You know me better than this, don’t you?”

I went through a stage in my life when I was convinced that I lacked cool, sophistication and originality because I didn’t drink alcohol. When I was a very young boy, I battled bronchitis and was given many concoctions to clear my tubes so I could breathe.

All of these tasted like the alcoholic beverages that have ever been set before me.

I don’t drink alcohol—because it makes me feel like I’m sick. It tastes bad and I just don’t care for it.

But because I felt under pressure, I tried drinking wine with dinner, and when I went out with friends, would order a drink.

Nothing strong. Nothing that came out of a bottle of its own.

No, I nursed along mixed drinks.

And a daiquiri was one I found I could tolerate—as long as it had a sweet, fruit flavor.

I never finished one. I left that to my wife or another nearby friend.

But the ice was kind of nice—similar to a Slushee. Yes, a bitter Slushee with a strong after-kick.

I felt stupid about the pretense.

Finally, one night I ordered a daiquiri, and someone laughed at me, saying it was a “girly drink.”

It landed in my brain with a thud. I was trying to do this drinking to make myself seem relevant and manly but failing miserably because I wasn’t prepared to take in the hard stuff. (Captain Daniels, the scotch.)

That night, in that moment, I turned to those at the table—at least a dozen of my closest—and said, “Behold, a goddamn phony. I despise alcohol. I have no intention of drinking it again. You may feel free to pursue it without my condemnation, but I will no longer act out the part of an adult by having a drink in my hand.”

I was surprised to discover that there were three people at the table who were drinking because they saw me do it—and even though they hated it, they thought it was important to do because of my imbibing.

This was my last daiquiri.

I have not missed it.

And I must warn you that sometimes your footprint is what the person behind you is using to try to walk straight.

Anchovy

dictionary with letter A

Anchovy: (n) a small shoaling fish of commercial importance as a food used for fish bait. It is strongly flavored and preserved with high amounts of oil and salt.

The dangerous thing about knowledge is that it rarely accentuates your pleasure, but rather, puts a pin in your balloon and leaves you with the reality instead of the misrepresentation.

There are many examples, but on this day, they seem to be embodied in the tiny anchovy.

Little did I know that they were bait.

Even though many of my friends like anchovies on their pizza (a taste, I have explained to them, which could just as easily be achieved by dumping a salt shaker on the crust) I really don’t think any of them know they’re eating fish bait.

But it should be obvious. Don’t the little things have hairy legs?

Now, I have on occasion eaten a pizza with anchovies because I was surrounded by individuals who thought it was a status symbol to prefer the little boogers on their Italian delight.

I have even pretended to enjoy it. Even though I pride myself, to some degree, in being a candid-type fellow, I am not without my pretense. And the specter of being the only person in the room objecting such a refined pizza-topping choice has left me succumbing to the mob mentality and participating in eating what I now know is fish bait.

  • I suppose I shouldn’t make the point that we wouldn’t eat night crawler pizza.
  • Anyone up for minnows and onion?

But truthfully, I have no problem with anyone who has a certain taste, unless they have selected it because they think it makes them more refined and sets them apart from the sausage servants and pepperoni paupers.

Now, if I run across one of them, I will inform them that they’re hooked on what belongs on a hook.

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

Ab Initio

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Ab initio:  1. adv. from the beginning (used chiefly in formal or legal contexts): the agreement should be void ab initio 2. adj. starting from the beginning: he was instructing the ab initio pilots.

Do you know why I like big words? Part of the time they make little problems seem more important and the rest of the time, if you’re avoiding a solution, they can help you appear to be doing it more intelligently.

Take today’s word, for instance. If you were going to break up with your girlfriend and you wanted to do it as kindly as possible, you could say, “From the ab initio of our founding, I realized there were certain discrepancies in the gelling of our auras…”

You have to admit, that sounds a lot better than, “You suck.”

Big words are great–especially when people around you don’t know them and they’re struggling for context clues, and in the midst of the struggle you can beat a hasty retreat.

I don’t know if I will remember to use ab initio, but it would be very powerful, especially if you were talking about God and creation, and you referred to that time as the “ab initio of the Divine nature.”

You would just ooze with pretense, education and arrogance. Wait–that’s NOT good, is it?

Sometimes I get confused because I live in a world where really bad attitudes are extolled temporarily because we want to use them.

I guess we’re on the ab initio of a change.