Today is National Dictionary Day, which is celebrated every year on the birthday of Noah Webster.  This week has started to catch up with me, so, I’m using a re-run, a story I wrote in honor of this day exactly 10 years ago. It was a story I wrote before the move to yahoo groups, and it has not been repeated since, which means for most of you, it is brand spanking new.

Today’s Word:

bloviate

As in:

The year was 1828. Noah Webster was about to publish his first dictionary of American English, and the momentous occasion was going to be celebrated with a ceremony at which he would give a speech. “Surely,” thought Webster, “I must expound upon the enormity and significance of the language and succinctly prognosticate to the purveyors of American education that the putative modes of communication, in their tyrannical and star-chambered origins, are soon to be made wholly extinct by the neoteric evolution of the language. My new dictionary obviates those lingual dependencies, and, despite possible tergiversation, and lexiphanic obnubilation, I will, without doubt, eschew obfuscation.”

Webster, who had a tendancy to bloviate, was never asked to speak again. Instead, he decided it was time to start a college, where no one could prevent him from speaking ever again.

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Admittedly, it’s a short tale. I’m not going to define the other words used. That’s why you have a dictionary. I will say I’ve used these in Word of the Day stories before, so you may yet see them again.

bloviate / blo – V – ate / to speak or write verbosely and windily. This word didn’t enter the language until 1897, so, admittedly, it never would’ve been applied to Webster during his life. It’s Webster that we have to thank for including in his dictionary and documenting the truly American words like “skunk,”  “squash,” and “chowder.”

Tomorrow is Boss’s Day, which is the inspiration for this story. To be more than perfectly honest, I had no real notion that it was Boss’s Day until my sister said she needed to go to get gift cards for her bosses. Apparently, she has six. Ridiculous.

Anyway, I might be giving away too much before I even get to…

Today’s Word:

prolocutor

As in:

The protesters were out early this year. They met, as usual, at the biggest building in the city, where more than 500 employers had offices. Their protest was an annual occurrence, but, no one knew exactly why they bothered. After all, what power did the people in this typical office building have to meet their demands? And why were they the focus of the anger? No one in the building had done anything to create the object of their discontent.

Signs reading “Everyday is Boss’s Day!” and “Death to Holidays Mandated by the Man!” waved on the shoulders of “business casual” garbed protesters.

A prolocutor with a megaphone, voiced the slogans towards the normal office workers going to work. “Who makes Boss’s Day? Bosses. Does anyone feel that a gift to the boss comes with no strings attached? And who is the first person to be overlooked for a promotion? The person who failed to get the boss a card. This is harassment, pure and simple, folks! It’s time to take away the “Boss’s Day!”

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Besides my sister’s trip to get something for six bosses, she has a friend who works at a law firm, where the office secretaries had planned a lunch for the employees to buy for the bosses. Each employee’s share was $40, $20 for the employee, and $20 toward the bosses’ lunches. My sister’s friend had to go through some hoops to get out of the lunch, because she couldn’t afford it, and the social stigma associated was not insignificant. I type it again: Ridiculous.

prolocutor / pro – LOHK – cue – tor / Spokesperson.

Look at the time! The day has caught me by surprise, and so, you’ve been waiting patiently all day for this little story, and I was keeping you from it. If it makes you feel any better, the story was eluding me, too.

Today’s Word:

noctivagant

As in:

For almost two centuries, gardens of the world have been harboring malevolent entities. These creatures are welcomed at first, and lie in wait until the evening comes when they can begin their noctivagant mischief.

Under the cover of night and a guise of harmless joviality, the creatures awaken to bring terror to unsuspecting communities. Rage drives them to attack members of their own kind. Spite drives them to damage car tires. And, when the moon is full, no household is safe.

Pets have gone inexplicably missing, sometimes appearing days later, maimed in horrible fashion. Beyond physical injuries, they will no longer venture into the garden, by night or by day.

The bravest of these will peer into windows of their sleeping captors, starring for long hours before they slip into the house and murder the inhabitants in their sleep before making their escape.

When the police arrive on such scenes, they know that they will never bring the killers to justice. Too many times have they seen such violent attacks, and in each case, the tell-tale signs prove the identity of the guilty, whose identity won’t be believed. A chip of ceramic, a smear of transferred paint in a primary color, all-too common clues left by the remorseless perpetrators.

After a lifetime of cleaning up and covering up these crimes, police detective Laura Klein, remarked, “You know, my dad had one of them in his garden. Thought it was cute. That was, until we found one lurking over the body of his favorite cat. He smashed that fat, smiling, piece of crap that very day. No more Gnomes in his garden after that.”

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This story occurred to me after my brain somehow came up with the phrase “gnome-on-gnome violence,” but, obviously, that didn’t fit with the story as it developed. So, I’m mentioning it here, so, you can enjoy it too.

noctivagant / noct – EH – vague – ant / wandering by night

The specter of Monday the 13th looms dangerously over today’s story. I thought of this story over a week ago, but, it was resigned to circle my brain while I was in Boston for work. What’s clear to me is that perhaps, it is good that it got delayed until today, because it does seem to be a Monday the 13th type tale.

Okay. I’ve procrastinated long enough now. It’s time to reveal…

Today’s Word:

logodaedaly

As in:

The quarterly marketing meeting was well underway. The head of marketing was going over his agenda, while his translator provided the usual clarification.

“We’ve got to upsizzle our widgets. Totalimundo’s been downinated for 4 cycles.”

“We need a hot new product. Our sales have been down for the last year,” came the translation.

“Hand-n-yak some ideantions at me. We’re eyeballing some serious tightbeltinating, and pinkslippering.”

The translator looked around uneasily, then clarified: “Any suggestions? We’re looking at serious budget cuts and layoffs.”

“Well, we could focus on improving our customer service and making our current products the best they can be.”

Silence fell on the room. The head of marketing looked expectantly at his translator, who, said nothing.

The idea was repeated, in a slightly different fashion, in hopes that rephrasing would render it more comprehensible. “We could provide exceptional products and remarkable customer service.”

Again, silence followed.

The translator looked around helplessly. “I can’t translate that. Don’t you have any buzzwords or could you do some sort of logodaedaly to make this easier? There’s just no way to communicate those concepts to him.”

Everyone else looked around the room uneasily. “But, that’s just it. The idea is just that. No buzzwords, just plain, simple, quality and excellence.”

“Quality? Excellence? I can’t tell him that! There are some things that simply can’t be said to most marketing types. Can’t you just come up with something else?”

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I don’t think there’s anything more to be said about that.

logodaedaly / low – go – DEE – dally /   Arbitrary coinage of words

As I prepare to go to a conference of my own, I was reminded of this story which I’ve had tucked in the corner of my brain for a good long time. It’s a sad, sad little corner, but, it’s the only thing I have for…

Today’s Word:

claudication

As in:

It looked like any conference. Ordinary people in casual clothing, with name tags hanging from lanyards milled about the convention center. Some consulted the schedule, others talked with new acquaintances, and still others walked around staring at room signs looking lost.

The only hint someone from the “outside” might have that there was anything unusual about the gathering might come from studying the signs posted outside doors, or making a study of the schedule.

Sessions titles ran the gambit of much needed, but highly specialized skills and research in one of the world’s oldest professions. Highly anticipated sessions included “Picking the most Profitable Signs, Maladies vs. Social Soft Spots,” “Choosing your Territory, Foot Traffic, Curb and Shoulder Space,” and “Maintaining your Persona: The Key is Consistent Claudication.”

In these sessions, attendees learned which cardboard signs tended to earn the holders the most cash from passersby. Does a misspelled sign earn more cash? Does a “Homeless Diabetic” find more sympathetic and generous benefactors than a “Homeless Single Mother?” Does honesty “sell?”

Said one attendee, who refused to give her name, “I’ve learned so much at this conference! All of the speakers are so knowledgeable, and so generous with their experience. I’ve learned how to invest all the donations I receive, to retire comfortably, and I now know what to put on my sign to increase my earnings by 30%!”

Many attendees shared that they are worried about the storms of economic woes sweeping across the country.

“If the foreclosure crisis continues, I’m worried that competition might seriously cut into my bottom line. I don’t know if I can compete with people who are *actually* homeless. Some of these people really do have children! They might bring them on the job. How can I compete with that?”

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Is it wrong of me to think that this story might actually reflect more truth than any of us is willing to admit? My sister and I used to ponder many of these very questions after watching the guy who “worked” a very busy intersection on our route to work. He wasn’t out everyday, but, his “limp” switched to the “upstage” leg as he paced up and down the shoulder of the road. This story is dedicated to him, whose sign was stored from a curl in the guardrail with several others. He occasionally had a different sign if someone had gotten there before he did. Most of the time, he was simply “Homeless Diabetic.”

claudication \ clod – ICK – a – shun\ the quality or state of being lame: limping.

Our story today was inspired by true events. In the TV world, “Inspired by true events” is often a signal to change the channel as quickly as possible. On the internet, it means read every word very carefully and tell your friends all about it. Well, that’s what I think it means.

Today’s Word:

desipience

As in:

No one would claim the glass of wine which sat in the fridge for long weeks. It had been poured, half drunk, and then placed on the bottom shelf to remain chilled until an errand or task was completed. And then, forgotten, the wine remained and faded beyond conscious memory.

As it stayed there, no one knew to whom it belonged, no one remembered to whom it owed its current station, and none would removed it for fear of facing the wrath of the unidentified owner of the glass and its contents.

And, as the tenure of the glass on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator lengthened, those who opened the fridge would continue to insist that the presence of the wine had meaning. “Certainly,” all thought, “someone would claim the wine. Surely someone would miss it if it were moved.” And no one was willing to test the attributed value of the tiny glass, whose contents had long since turned to vinegar and had started to become cloudy with life.

And because of the convergence of meaning attributed and responsibility forsaken, the life, growing in the chalice, clouding the once bright liquid, had been born a new creature. The wine was no longer wine, it was something greater, something more. And within those cloudy depths could surely be found the secrets of the universe. All could be discovered in the microcosmos of activity evolving in the cool, pleasant place of the bottom shelf.

And then, defying the sacred Mystery of that which the wine had become, thinking it not a matter of transcendence, but rather a matter of desipience, someone finally asked, “Whose wine is this anyway? Can I throw it out now?” And, in a splash, the universe, once created, was gone.

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desipience: / des-SIP-ee-ance / foolishness, silliness. 2. Relaxed dallying in enjoyment of foolish trifles. Like the WoD itself, eh?

After the story about the return to school for all the boys and girls, I had this pleasant thought about leaving the working world and returning once again to the safety of the ivy-covered walls of learning. I can almost smell the office supplies.

Today’s Word:

hebetate

As in:

It was a dark and stormy night. Lurking in the shadows of an eerily immaculately maintained greenbelt and obscuring the portal of an immense and foreboding building, was the nightmare of the waking world. It guarded the threshold between the world of light and the world of dark, and its existence was to serve but one purpose: to assure that all who passed wore the mark.

The bearers of that mark were subject to the laws of its domain and the penalties of disobedience were severe. Many of those that entered that black domain, its vastness filled with rows of partitioned spaces and machinery, its air filled with the stench of despair and desolation, would begin to allow themselves to hebetate, and in so doing, would lose the edge of sanity and intelligence that once they knew. The rules that governed this dimension often held no corollary with those outside, and all political boundaries became warped beyond recognition.

For you see, this place is no realm of fantasy, it is real, it is: The Office Building. And the warden of this domain is none other than the evil more commonly known to many of us as: The Student Loan Officer.

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Perhaps more frightening than funny.

hebetate / HE – bah – tate / : to grow dull or stupid.

I’d like you to thing of these stories as a welcome reprieve from the stories about the economy, or the election. I know that it’s a nice escape to write them.

Today’s Word:

siccative

As in:

Three ponds near a Peruvian town have come to international attention for their healing properties. The ponds, known as “The Twin Maker,” “The Miracle Maker,” and “The Enchantress” are said to grant healing and special benefits to those who bath in their waters.

The locals claim that the curative properties of this water are the result of alien intervention. The village, called Chileca, is known throughout the region for having a high incidence of UFO spotting and “extraterrestrial disturbances.”

A sign located on the outskirts of town even proclaims the area is “The Preferred Site for Interplanetary Ships and Beings.”

People who bathe in “The Twin Maker,” expect to increase their fertility. The muddy, sulfurous pond is also said to cure impotence. To take full advantage of the pond’s properties, visitor often sit in the mud, covering themselves with it. Some even find herbal siccatives growing nearby to quicken the process of drying, and create a “coat” of “miracle mud.” Several believe this regimen is the “Poor Man’s Viagra,” and since the time the comparison was made, visits to the area have increased markedly. Some claim that it is this dry, hardened mud and the herbs which provide the cure to fertility problems, rather than the water. Others strongly disagree, insisting that the powerful stench of sulfur in the dried mud could never increase the likelihood of having twins or curing impotence, and would, in fact, be a detriment instead.

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Like I said, I bet you were hoping for more at the end. So was I, but I’m happy to settle for *something* as opposed to *nothing.* Until tomorrow…

siccative: / SIK-eh-tiv / a substance that promotes drying; a drier. (related, of course to “desiccant”)

When I started this one, I’m not sure I knew what the ending was. But, eventually, I found it.

Today’s Word:

quaquaversal

As in:

In a town where time had no measure, and all was silence, a lone child set out to find something greater than all he had ever known. The basic sense of contentment and serene confidence that possessed this small town had never occurred to the youth, and he could never understand his community’s calm acceptance of all that was.

The youth wanted to know the source of everything. He wanted to know how everything worked and why the rain nourished the land and how people came to the peaceful valley at the bottom of the mountain, which his people held sacred. He wanted to know why the mountain was greater than his people, and why they accepted it as the center of all things.

So the boy set out from the village with but one thought: to climb the mountain. Such things were not done, his elders had all said, but when he asked them the simplest of questions, merely seeking to know “why” such things were not done, they could give him no good answer. And so, with determination, and little else, the boy began his quest.

As he climbed, higher and higher, struggling with the treacherous terrain and poor climate, he knew, that should he reach the top, he finally would find the answers to all of his questions. And then the summit loomed closer. Seized with anticipation of the fulfillment of his dreams, he forced himself to push for the top. And then, as he stood on the peak, with its quaquaversal vantage point, he saw, for the first time in his life, the world outside. And, in a flash, it came to him that while many of the things he had once asked were answered, the attainment of the summit only fostered more questions, and his hopes to find the same serenity as those in his village were gone.

As he stood there in near desperation, staring into the vastness of the world, he heard a voice. He turned, and standing not far from him was a man, strangely dressed, wearing clothing made of the smoothest ski imaginable, and seeming to the lad very discomforting. the figure wore trousers, which matched his overcoat exactly, and from his neck, there was a brightly colored piece of cloth, which resembled the tail of an animal. The boy laughed at such a thought, and then the man spoke again.

The man said, “You have come a great distance to find the answers to important questions. I will tell you that in your life, there will always be uncertainties. But, perhaps I can help. Have you ever considered purchasing life insurance?

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quaquaversal: / kwa – KWA – verse – all / pointing or facing in every direction. In relation to rock formations, the term specifically means sloping down in every direction from a more or less central tip.