We continue our story today, not from where we left off, but from a place nearby. Sounds intriguing, does it not? This particular segment has actually been written *twice* but the first time I sat to accomplish the goals of my outline, everything was wrong, and getting worse. However, it turned out that the problem was simply a matter of perspective, and changing it. Therefore, I dedicate this story to my friend Sheila, who is one of the contributors at the Melt-Ink Pot blog. 

On another note, today in Denver, we had sun, hail, lighting, rain and graupel until it finally settled on snow. I got home to phone and Internet connectivity issues, and have had outages of all those things. I’m hoping I can get this thing posted.

Today’s Word:

gnathonic

As in:

The obviously named “Council of Elders,” was concerned about a great many things, but not one of them was what they were called. There were eight members, each a representative of one of the eight races of the Mouka. While “Council of Elders” may’ve been a bit “on the nose,” it conveyed exactly what the author, (or village) intended, which is all that really matters.

On today’s agenda was yet another flare-up of tensions between the unicorns and the dragons. They were keeping an uneasy peace, which meant the arguments between Liana and Devron had achieved the status of a thunderstorm trapped under a tin can. It was, at least, manageable. The two longtime rivals had managed their ongoing animosity, but the situation threatened to tip the tin can, and Samson was determined to keep them from falling into an outright war.

Before the Council met on its own, they allowed citizens time to bring matters before them at the meeting hall, another place with a highly literal name. The council took their places with Devron standing on one end of the specially designed table, and Liana took her place at the opposite end. The hall was more crowded than usual, and Samson noted a few surprise attendees. He nudged Cornelia, “Isn’t that Hector and Marshall?”

Cornelia looked, and then glanced at Liana. “It must be. Liana seems to have gone a bit pale. Well, as pale as her kind gets.”

The Council called the meeting to order. Marshall, encouraged by Hector, stepped forward. He tripped, and rolled toward the great table. His face grew more fiery than ever.

“G-ggreat and wise Council. While at the river today, uh, a strange thing was found. We, uh, I, wish to seek your, uh, wise council…”

Devron neighed, a derisive sort of whinny. “He’s no great speaker, is he, Liana? Has your son learned to fly yet? If so, I will need to warn my bird friends. They might be in great danger of injury, either from an airborne collision, or from laughing themselves silly!”

Liana grimaced. “And what of your son? A bit undersized, isn’t he? I’m sure he’s to blame for dragging my son into this mess. What has he to say for himself? Or can he not speak? Perhaps he is a coward, like most your kind. Step forward, and make an accounting of yourself, runt!”

Hector slowly emerged from the crowd. “We did find the shiny sticks together, Marshall and I. We’d like to know what to do about them. And, if you don’t mind, you can keep your commentary to yourselves, and act like leaders for once. Just because I’m not quite as gnathonic as the rest of these creatures, doesn’t mean I am a coward!”

The Council took the shiny object from Marshall, and Liana, after carefully studying it, agreed with his translation. The Council deliberated. In the end, all thought it was best to send the pair off to return the sticks. It got them out of the realm, possibly, permanently. It was for the best, after all. They were a nuisance, with their friendship, and unfortunate short comings. It was the best way to deal with all of the problems at hand, and not actually have to deal with any of it.

The Council returned to give their decision. Samson spoke.

“Hector and Marshall, it seems you have been given a test. It was you who discovered this mystical bundle, and you who intuited the importance of this gift, and the markings on the flag. You shall embark upon a great quest. You shall find this Magic Mountain. You shall return to it its own. A mountain of magic shall surely greatly reward such brave travellers who have endured great hardships to return its magical sticks. Leave this very day, and proceed with haste, to whatever fate has been left for you.”

**********************
Originally, I had started exactly where the previous story ended, and Hector and Marshall marched gloomily to the Council, and it stalled. It was horrible. I stuck this whole thing on ice for months, that’s how bad it was. And then, I realized what was really needed for this bit.

See you tomorrow, which is looking more and more like it will be a snow day. Yay!

gnathonic / na – THON – ick / obsequious, toadying. Flattering and deceitful.

It’s been a good many years since I did a five-part story, and so, I thought I would try and do one for you this week.

Today’s Word:

lethe

As in:

Our story begins at Niagara Falls, where an employee of the Six Flags corporation has decided to end his employment permanently. A ride operator for the company’s Magic Mountain amusement park in California, he was inspired by the awesome power of nature, reached into his bag and threw his access keys, polyester uniform, and “team member” mug into the frothy, violent falls. It was highly therapeutic.

Unbeknownst to anyone, the keys didn’t simply fall to the bottom of the river to find lethe. Instead, they found one small crack, where, like Marshall, Will, and Holly, it plunged to an altogether different world, at the bottom of a quiet stream.

At the moment our wad of keys arrived through the chaos to the still stream, along came Hector. It was his coffee break, and he bent his long head to the stream to gulp some cool water. The still water reflected his silver white coat, long mane and single horn. He thought he looked ridiculous.

Just then Hector heard a huge splash coming from a few feet away. Barely looking up, he spoke. “Marshall? Did you fall in again?”

Looking up from the shallow river bottom, Marshall, with his small wings, red and gold scales, and fierce-looking talons and teeth, grinned an embarrassed grin.

“Heya, Hector! If you are such a good friend why don’t you help a fellow out?”

“Marshall, how are you going to ever fly unless you use your wings once in a while?”

“Just help me, will you? I think I’m stuck in some mud.”

As Hector helped Marshall out of the stream, he spotted the discarded keys. Hector had never seen anything quite so peculiar as a loop of shiny sticks strung together. Stranger still was how they didn’t float, as sticks ought, and how they reflected so much light even under water. He stabbed at the loop with his horn, catching the collection of sticks on it.

“Marshall, look at this!”

Marshall stared at this heap of pointed things until he came to a flat, square bit that had markings on it.

“I think this is writing”

“Well, Marshall, read it! Aren’t dragons supposed to know all sorts of languages?”

“Aren’t unicorns supposed to be solitary and keep their horns out of other people’s business?” Marshall said, more hotly than he’d intended. Without waiting for Hector to reply, he tried to make sense of the markings.

“Eye-ff ‘found, Puhle-se Ree-turn. Of course! It says, “If found, please return to Magic Mountain!”

**********************
Stay tuned, fantasy fans, as tomorrow, our intrepid heroes figure out what to do with the shiny sticks….

lethe / LEE – thee /  forgetfulness; oblivion. From the river in Hades whose water caused forgetfulness for whomever consumed it.

We’ve had a chicken army and a chicken with a turkey as a best bud, but we’ve never seen chickens quite like we do in today’s tale, which not coincidentally, coincides with National Poultry Day. Have a drumstick on me, and tell them I sent you…

Today’s Word:

colluctation

As in:

Lucy Talmidge had two passions. The first was ballet. She loved the music and the way the dancers moved, and even the acres and acres of tulle. She had spent her life teaching the fine art of the dance, and working to promote the art everywhere she went.

Her second love was chickens.

It was a strange thing to admit, even to herself. Ballet was acceptable and within certain normal social conventions. A love of chickens was downright odd. She could’ve told people she enjoyed bird watching, leaving out the specificity of her appreciation, but, she didn’t, and endured the awkward glances.

The glances got a good deal stranger if she dared mention her current project.

Lucy was training chickens for the ballet.

It was a very difficult proposition. Chickens resisted training. They also tried to wriggle out of tutus, and could not be bothered with shoes made for humans, much less pointe shoes. She despaired that she’d ever see a chicken dance en pointe.

Another challenge was lifts. Chicken wings were woefully underdeveloped, and didn’t seem to be good for anything other than a spicy sauce and ranch dressing. Yes, she did know they were flightless birds, but, couldn’t they have just *tried* a little? Would it kill them to exercise those puppies the tiniest smidge? True, without hands, it was possibly a moot point, the hen being lifted tended to panic and flap frantically and futilely, crashing into the rooster in a cloud of feathers and loud squawking.

Not only did she face daily the challenges brought on by teaching an ill-suited creature to a demanding task, there was colluctation from animal rights groups, who felt this was probably one of the cruelest plans ever concocted.

One member of the ASPCA noted, “Ballet dancing is cruel to humans, why would anyone wish to inflict such a thing on herself, much less an innocent animal who can’t chose? I might enjoy *seeing* ballet, but, have you seen these dancers’ feet? Or seen how little they eat, or seen all the the health risks and injuries associated with professional dance? Waterboarders have nothing on most Ballet Masters.”

************************************
I had in my collection the word “chyrme” which looked perfect for today’s story, but, the last word in the definition, in my notes, I couldn’t read, as it was squashed into the edge, and I abbreviated it, I think. Since it’s been at least a decade since I added it to my list, I went to search for the word, to see if I could clarify the note. Alas, it is not listed in any of my sources, including checking my large unabridged dictionary (“unabridged” doesn’t mean that words no longer in common usage are kept. This isn’t all that unusual, since words come out of the language all the time.) I didn’t note my original source, and since I couldn’t find any other reference to it, I abandoned it. I am sad.

However, now you know that I do work to make sure the words I use are, in fact, words.

colluctation / col – LOOK – TA – shun / strife; opposition

I don’t know about you all, but this has been a very odd week, and the weather isn’t the weird part. Today the high was in the mid 60s, and tonight we have a winter storm watch, and could even have a snow day, which really is Colorado in March. Even weirder, I’m not entirely sure I want to have a snow day tomorrow, since I’ve got to wrap up a huge project by tomorrow afternoon, after I already did it once. So, regardless of the weather, that’s what I’ll be doing tomorrow.

Discombobulation of the time change and other challenges of the week aside, I hope your week has been ok.

Today’s Word:

abstruse

As in:

When Fred Barton, tax man, purchased Rock Band for his Play Station 3, little did he know it would change not only his life, but the lives of his 3 best friends.

The old gang of friends started meeting weekly to play the game, and soon, it was all they thought about, and all they cared to think about. Soon all of them had mastered their roles, Max on drums, Kenny on lead guitar, Marvin rocking the bass, and Fred took the role of front man, owing to the fact that it was his game, and he spent some time in the church choir, so, he was more likely to find the melody and maintain his pitch.

After Marvin lost his job as a baker, because the late nights “rocking out” with the band made it impossible to get up in time to make the donuts, the band made a crucial decision: they would all quit their jobs, and become a real rock band.

The first part of the plan was to trade in their game controllers for actual instruments. Kenny especially noted that playing a read guitar was “way harder” than it looked, and he was sure that after achieving maximum scores on all the expert levels, he’d be a few days away from international superstar. “I thought it would be a cinch to translate my *awesomeness* to the real thing. Turns out, it’s sorta hard.” Kenny found it exceptionally abstruce that his video game prowess didn’t directly translate to the real thing. He says he was misled by the video game industry as a whole. “You always see on the TV that kids learn how to shoot from violent video games, and then they do tons of damage shooting up their schools, so, I figured, this would be exactly the same.”

After a few months of dedicated full-time work, the band felt they were finally ready for a three-song set. Feeling more confident after selling out the venue at the local Pup ‘N’ Taco, they set up to entertain the standing room only crowd.

The crowd seemed more confused than amused, but, the band was not giving up. While Marvin noted “it’s much harder to know how well we’re doing without a screen flashing feedback, but, I think it was pretty cool. We all finished at the same time and everything.”

Max noted, “I really had to guess when to put it into ‘Overdrive.’ I think I did okay, but, since “Believe It or Not” (aka the theme song to “The Greatest American Hero”) is not available for Rock Band, so, I had to guess where it should be used.”

The band is thinking about going on tour, but, they’re still thinking of a name. Fred felt pretty sure that Marvin’s original idea of calling the group the PS3Ps (Playstation Three Players) would get into a copyright battle with Sony, which would pretty much end all their plans.

The band agrees that before the do go on tour, they might need to start writing some original songs, or try more than three chords. They tried “Believe It Or Not,” because it added the challenge of adding a few extra chords on the chorus, which made for a challenge, but, Marvin figures his first song writing attempt, a song he called “Satan Hates My Fax Machine,” probably needs work. He glumly admitted  the song “lacked a good hook, and the lyrics were sorta crappy.”

*******************
I’m going to make a shameful geekly admission here, and say I’ve never played Rock Band myself. I’ve seen people play it though. Does that count?

abstruse / ab – STROOSE / difficult to comprehend

I believe the tentacled time-thief has been messing with me, as mornings haven’t settled back to normal for me. So, I’m hoping to be back on track tomorrow.

Today’s Word:

recrudescence

As in:

Greenlighting a sequel is never an easy or clear-cut decision. Those in control of the purse strings usually want to have some guarantee, or sense that the second round will be worth the risk, and that the huge investment will reap some hint of a tangible reward, and provide some positive economic gain.

Naturally, the performance of the first production weighs heavily into the decision. Did it turn a profit? Was it more successful in the secondary markets? Does it have an active base of support, and brand recognition? Does it garner positive support in polls or surveys?

Other factors can influence the process. Perhaps the project is drawing big-name attention from A-listers absent in the original production? Maybe there is significant positive buzz surrounding the development and pre-production process?

Possibly, the most important aspect facing the producers of this particular property is the state of the economy as a whole. Would it be worse if they did nothing to move the plans forward? Was inaction better than the huge investment of time and money? Could the signs of recovery be too tenuous? Could we all be looking at a recrudescence on the horizon, one that will make matters worse?

And, it could be that the situation will turn out to be the very thing that sparks the decision. In a moment of extreme crisis, will those in charge pull the trigger? Could it be, at long last, the ignition of “TARP 2: Too Small to Succeed?” Or maybe it’ll just be called “TARP 2: The Guilty Continue to be Funded While the Victims Continue to Pay,” or “T2:TGC2BFWVC2pay” for short.

**********************
This might be another one you go back and re-read.

If there is a TARP 2, perhaps the trailer will start something like this: “Just when you thought is was safe to enter the investment market…” or maybe “In a world were people are not held accountable for their greed and arrogance….” 

recrudescence / ree – kroo – DESS – uns / to break out anew after a dormant period. Usually refers to disease or war.

Miss me?  Today is the day after Pi Day, which is the Ides of March. It is also the anniversary of the death of H. P. Lovecraft. It is also the Monday after the time change. All of these facts come together in the wonderful story which showcases…

Today’s Word:

rugose

As in:

I write this, knowing that I have but a brief window of lucidity before the madness overtakes me again. My best hope is that someone reads this record, and understands it for what it is, and does not dismiss it as mere rantings of a madman.

For mad is how I appear, and for the greatest part of my existence, I know neither the time nor the date. I cannot claim that my appearance in those dark times is anything other than insanity. Were I as I once was, before I did see the evil that lurks hidden in unnameable places, I would not believe one such as myself, so I can do nothing but implore you not to make the same mistakes I would have myself. I leave this testimony as a warning. May wisdom prevail over fallible instinct.

It was the second week of March, and I was about my usual work as the Curator of Artifacts for Miskatonic University, when I happened upon an item I had never before spied. The item was rather like a locket, ovoid in shape, with a hinged covering fitted into the front. The covering had tiny scratches over the surface, in regular increments but however, try as I might, I could not prise it open. It had the unmistakable trappings of great age, and despite having a few characteristics in common with fathomable human artifacts, it felt singularly alien.

Not finding any record of this object in the catalog of holdings, I immediately summoned Dr. Francis Morgan of the Archaeology Department. He has great experience with eldritch oddities, and perhaps he would offer some insight.

The good Dr. Morgan, with one glance at the object, advised me to cast it into the ocean, and pretend it had never been seen. A fear like I had never before encountered seemed to overcome Dr. Morgan’s features, and I admit, though it frightened me, I did not fully apprehend the significance of such terror. His calm returned only when I put the item away, and promised to destroy the item.

How I wish I had listened to him.

I took the item, in my ignorance, to my house, to study it further. As I changed my clocks in preparation for Daylight Savings, I felt a chill, and heard a thrumming sound from the artifact which I had put in my pocket. Convinced I was simply tired from a long week, I fooled myself into believing the sound to be a trick of my imagination.

I retired to my bed, with the locket on my nightstand, where my sleep was troubled with dreams of a many-tentacled creature. Its rugose skin dripped with a thick mucous. The monster pounced onto a a large deer, and rent it into pieces with its claws.

I awoke with a start, and when my eyes focused, the creature stood in my room, the thrumming noise surrounding it, and blood dripping from its claws.

It pointed to the object, and the room started to shift, as if being spun, with the object as its center. The room spun faster, and faster, with flashes of colors blinding me. This continued for uncountable minutes, and then finally, the room came to rest. Everything appeared as it had when the spinning began, except that the horror-figure had disappeared, and the sun had risen outside.

I ventured outside, and the morning paper announced that five days had passed. The tentacled beast had stolen five days from my life!

The creature returns every fortnight. With a flick of its claws my room zips forward in time, or backward in time, and I am no longer able to track where, or rather, when, we have landed. Thinking myself mad, I checked into this sanitarium, however, the visits have not ceased. I have enclosed the object with this missive, and I trust you will destroy it. I only hope it will free me, and prevent anyone else from having to endure this fate.

May God have mercy on my soul. Beware the Ides of March.

*********************
I hope you don’t mind the shift in tone for today. I hadn’t entirely expected it. It’s probably nothing to worry about.

rugose / ROO – goes / having many wrinkles.

It’s Friday! I say this because you’ll might want to appreciate that fact because the following story is one that you may want to forget.

Today’s Word:

prosopopoeia

As in:

About a decade ago, it was announced that a Finnish academic plans to record the songs of Elvis Presly — in ancient Sumerian. Jukka Ammondt, who is well-known for his translation skills and penchant for translating Presly’s songs into “dead” languages, has already put a set of the songs of “The King” into Latin.

The trick this time, given that Sumerian died out around 2,000 BC, is figuring out how to pronounce the cuneiform words. It is rumored that Dick Clark is being asked to help with this endeavor, given that, likely, he is the only living being who possibly remembers the sound of this ancient Semitic language.

And, it seems that Ammondt has lined up a singer with significant lingual ability to croon the hits of the 50s in the language of the 2000s BC. This singer, in fact, may try to add prosopopoeia into his act, dressing as Elvis, and crooning, not only in Sumerian, but in Cantonese.

His name is Barry Cox. He’s an Englishman, one as white as Prince Charles. Cox speaks Cantonese, and has made quite a name for himself as a singer among the Chinese immigrants in England. The difficulty of Cantonese, with its distinct and challenging tones, and Cox’s brilliant mastery of this language, give him a distinct advantage over other would-be Sumerian singers. Cox’s popularity among the Cantonese speaking has left him the recipient of many awards, and quite a large fan base. Says one fan, “We think he’s gleat. Yeah, you know, he’s pletty fry — for a white guy.”

***********

I told you you’d probably want to forget this one. But when it occurred to me, I laughed out loud, and I must say, that indicated to me that it had to be done. So I did it. It’s a long story to set up one punchline, but we sacrifice a lot for our respective arts, and this is no exception.

prosopopoeia: / pro-SOH-poh-POH-ee-ah / 1. A figure in which an absent, dead, or imaginary person is represented as speaking. Each of those adjectives describes Elvis.

I’ve been considering putting together a collection of the Word of the Day stories  for all the Oscar nominated films for the last decade.  I have stories for 1998-2004, and have a few drafts for 2005 (which no one ever saw) and so, this book would have both new and collected content.  I’d probably put it up on Lulu or a similar site.  Would anyone be interested in such a collection? Drop me a comment!

Today’s Word:

hank

As in:

It has been a decade since  several physicians announced the completion of the first hand transplant from a dead donor. The case was a groundbreaking one, as, hands have long been considered “non-vital” organs, and as such, doctors have questioned the wisdom and risks associated with such surgery.

Doctors are far more convinced that the surgery would be less controversial if the hands were fitted with accessories that would make them more useful, in a general sort of a way, than the traditional “finger-laden, soft and exposed” versions that most people are born with. Instead, doctors feel that they can “build a better hand.”

These better hands will be fitted and equipped with a metal poly alloy coupling into which the lucky amputee can fit a wide range of handy attachments. Doctors have suggested  tools such as scissors, egg beaters, vacuum cleaners, shovels, post-hole diggers and chain saws in addition to the traditional prosthetics such as hooks and finger-laden models. For sailors especially, the notion of a hook-handed pirate will be a thing of the past as doctors have included special attachments to carry a wide variety of hanks, including a separator to organize wooden and metal hanks from a rope hank.

Some people have put in requests for these researchers to investigate the problem of adding additional hands with attachments, for those people who want to improve their ability to multi-task.  One lady was hoping to have a dedicated hand for texting and using her cell phone, and another eager hand-thusiast was wanting to use the additional hand to play piano duets by himself.

***********

Isn’t technology wonderful? Ash will no longer be the only one with a prosthetic chain saw for a hand. And, before you ask, the answer is no. There will there be only one Edward Scissorhands.

hank / HANK / 1. a loop or coil of something flexible. 2. a specific length of coiled thread or yarn (a hank of worsted yarn contains 560 yards) and in nautical terms, a hank is a ring of wood, metal or rope on the edge of a staysail, and slides on the controlling stay.

It’s Wednesday, and I’ve had the Star’s Hollow High fight song running through my head for many hours. Yes, I know the Star’s Hollow High fight song well enough for it to get stuck in my head.

Today’s Word:

bathetic

As in:

The advances the information age, it seems, are not confined to the world of the human being. The blending of cultures and ideas has led to a more sophisticated and refined individual, and, interestingly enough, this sophistication has not been confined to the human world.

Apparently, bears at Yosemite National Park have gained an appreciation for imports.

Sadly, long gone are the days of Yogi and Boo-boo, “smarter than average bears” whose intellect has become less than average since the dawning of our technology driven age (of course, though these bears could talk, their extinction could have been predicted by their constant mispronunciation of “picnic” to the dreadful, and, admittedly, occasionally charming, “pic-a-nic”).

Today’s bears have gone ahead of those bathetic basket burglars. Yes, when today’s bears select probable targets, they chose small sedans. But not just any sedans. No. Today’s bears are of a far superior breed. They prefer Hondas. And, occasionally, Toyotas.

Bears are especially fond, it seems, of imported chocolates and cheese, taking only the finest Swiss confections and aged cheeses. Unacceptable now are cheese-flavored food products and inferior junk foods campers at one time packed. The cultured bear of the information age is selective, ripping apart only imported cars to heist imported delicacies.

Unfortunately, say park officials, the bears’ new found sophistication has led them to lift their noses at drinking from the rivers of the park. These bears only drink bottled Evian. Trout is far too ordinary for the “smarter than the smarter than average” bear, and salmon is the only acceptable  fish, and it must be served, grilled to perfection, in an exquisite lemon-dill sauce.

Some park rangers are concerned that these bears, with their exclusive palates, will avoid commonplace and traditional bear food and will, in their snobbery, starve in large numbers, thus polluting the park with their “superior” corpses.

*****************
Yeah, the fight song is still in there.

bathetic / BATH-e-tic / extremely commonplace or trite.