From the Crow’s Nest
by CLINT YOUNTS
As most of you aficionados of this here sporadically published (dare I say “irregular”?) column already know, I do have a way with words. Not many journalistic scribes are as gifted with the language of Red Neckish as this suds-sippin’ scholar of senseless scribbling, perhaps because I have a much larger thesaurus than most, and I’m not afraid to use it. Yessirree, Bub, I have an acute ability to articulate in arcane asininity and proud of it.
This literary flair of mine did not come naturally, although my DNA is coded with an extra vocabulary chromosome, perhaps explaining why my humor is as twisted as the Watson-Crick DNA model. Maybe writing is in my blood, but to expertly mold the broken English language into a manuscripted masterpiece requires what I refer to as the “Three Ls”: learning, lager and lunacy. I was once told by an English professor that I was a gifted writer, except he used fancy language that stuffy old professors like to toss around. I believe he said I was “one peculiar simpleton,” but I don’t know what a simpleton is. I think it means “artist”.
I’d like to believe that I have a good grasp on the English language, not to mention a few choice words in Spanish and even a couple of German words I learned from Sgt. Schultz and Col. Klink. I don’t know hardly any French except “wee wee” and “Lady Gillette” which I don’t think many French women use either. I can interpret medical jargon to common folk. I can write with a southern accent or use improper English like they do up past the Mason-Dixon Line. I regularly complete a New York Times crossword puzzle without the aid of Noah Webster or Al Gore’s internet, and I’m not bad at guessing the puzzles on Wheel of Fortune. So when it comes to the English language, I guess I would call myself an “idiot savant.” Maw even calls me that a lot, although she often leaves off the savant part.
Just when I thought I had mastered the language of America and New York City, some goofball publishers of the top English dictionaries added a mess of new words to our vocabulary. Words that I have never heard of and doubt I’d ever use, unless I am writing a column about those words. Words like “locavore” and “microblog.” What in the New World Thesaurus is going on here? How can I keep up with new words when I have a hard enough time retrieving old words from my cranial crypt? There are words lying around beneath my cracked skull, drawing social security, rarely coming out for a walk along my keyboard. Sometimes I remember a certain word, but before I locate its first letter on the keyboard, I’ve forgotten it. Now a bunch of dwellers of Cyber City insist that we add their lingo to our glutted glossary and it has deposited a prickly envelope of a fruit beneath my girthed leather seat upon a horse.
Here are a few examples of new words recently placed in our dictionaries:
Bromance: a close platonic male relationship. I don’t really understand this word or the term “platonic” but I will stick to the term “buddy,” as in “poker buddy” and “drinkin’ buddy.” You will never hear me use the word “bromance” unless it is in a sentence like “Thar’s no way I’ll ever say bromance in this bar.”
Friend: as a verb. I’m sorry, but “friend” is a noun and should stay that way. Apparently, if you add someone to your list of associates on Facebook, you “friend” them. We shouldn’t turn nouns into verbs. No telling what trouble this could lead to. How would the noun “cowpoke” look as a verb? See what I mean!
Pimp: to make something more showy or attractive. Excuse me? I attended high school in inner city Memphis, TN and I know firsthand what a pimp is and what he does. And it’s definitely not attractive.
Staycation: Vacation spent at home. Hey, I live on a working ranch and own rental property. Staying at home is no vacation. Now plop me on a sandy beach with a frozen margarita in each hand, that’s a vacation. To whoever came up with the term “staycation,” stay right there while I plant my foot up your behind.
Turducken: Roast of a chicken inside a duck inside a turkey. Do cooks really do this? It sounds like something that might air on Hell’s Kitchen around Halloween, but really? Out here on the ranch, “turducken” occurs when some jokester tosses a dry cow patty at you.
Tweet: We all know what “tweet” and “Twitter” is, but I don’t know how to do either. I can barely friend folks without freezing up my computer screen.
Flash mob: brief gathering for a common purpose. I thought this was something done by a group of dirty old men in trench coats.
And the words I previously mentioned, “microblog” and “locavore.” A microblog is a verb meaning to post very short entries on a blog, not a small chunk of fat causing a stroke. A “locavore” is one who primarily eats locally grown food. Here in Texas, we call them poachers.
Do we really need all these new words added to our dictionaries? My Webster’s college dictionary is so thick now I have to get checked for a hernia every time I lift it off the shelf. Luckily, I have a bromance with a fella who claims to have been a doctor once, so getting a hernia exam is free. I think we have enough words in our vocabulary. If you all disagree, then let me know. I’m sure with an ample supply of the “3 Ls” out on the Crow’s Nest I could come up with some new words.
Clint Younts spent his summers as a child turducken at Old Mountain City. Now he works at a veterinary clinic while running cattle on his property.
