Gastronome

Word of the Day Friday, February 19, 2010

gastronome

\GAS-truh-nohm\ , noun;

1. A connoisseur of good food and drink.

She was desperate. That was all there was to it. She was 34 without a serious boyfriend, let alone a husband, in sight and she was desperate for a baby. The men she dated could sense it, maybe even smell it on her even though she never mentioned marriage or children. She figured it was only equally desperate men who actually signed up for speed dating, so here she was.

The bell rang and she then had five minutes to convince a new man she was interesting enough to spend more time with. She had started to notice that everyone had created their own litmus test of sorts. "Do you speak a second language?" "What is your favorite book?" "What polysyllabic word best describes you?"

"Um," she had replied starting to list off words in her head.

"Ehhh," he had buzzed, "Sorry Contestant Number 8. 'Um' is a one syllable word. Thank you for playing."

She had sat there stunned for a moment. Then smiled brightly, "Got me there!" she said pointing a finger at him playfully. "Let me guess what your word would be, you know, for the losers bracket."

He laughed, "Sure, I'll let you try," he leaned back and crossed his arms arrogantly.

She pretended to squeeze a buzzer like on Jeopardy, "What is a sanctimonious prick," she curtly replied.

His mouth tightened into a firm line. He waited a beat and then buzzed again, "Ehhh, too bad Contestant Number 8. Sanctimonious prick is two words. Tough break," he replied his arms still folded tightly..

"Well, I found I just couldn't encompass your essence in just one word," she answered a smug smile creeping across her face. She looked at her watch.

They still had four minutes left.

They sat there in silence for a moment. "Gastronome," she said out of the blue.

"Excuse me?" he asked leaning forward an inch.

"My polysyllabic description. Gastronome," she answered.

She could see him rolling this around in his head for a moment. "Do you eat milk chocolate?" he asked casually.

"Of course," she immediately replied, not thinking twice about the answer.

He barked out a honking laugh, "You've got to be kidding me! What self respecting gastronome eats milk chocolate?!? Personally, I never eat less than 70% cacao. God!" he continued to chuckle.

She let a bemused smirk spread across her face although she said nothing. "What?" he finally asked. "It is cute really. But just so….passé. I only eat dark chocolate," she replied in a stuffy voice mimicking him. He bristled, "What do you know about it? Are you looking forward to Cadbury Eggs this Easter?" he asked harshly.

She stared at him for a long moment, "I know plenty about it. I work for Rober Linxe. After this miserable evening I'm leaving for Paris to help develop his line of gourmet milk chocolates," she replied never dropping eye contact.

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.

"You know, I'm really starting to like you. You're feisty. Do you want to exchange numbers?" he asked.

She looked at him, for the first time really taking in his appearance. He was handsome, dark hair, square jaw, a nicely built chest, coordinated nice clothing. Everything she had been looking for.

"You know, I don't think so," she told him with a friendly smile.

He snorted, "You're what, 34 almost 35? And you desperately want kids, right? How many chances do you think you've still got?" he asked.

The buzzer went off and she glanced down the row of remaining speed daters. Almost as if to prove his point she saw that there were only a couple of men left to talk to.

"So, what do you say?" he asked, standing up and inching towards the next table.

"I say that, yet, I am desperate for a family. But not desperate enough to date you," and then turned to the next man approaching her table and flashed him a large smile. "So," started off after he sat down, "What polysyllabic word best describes you?" she asked with a coy smile.

Duplicity

Word of the Day Thursday, February 18, 2010

duplicity

\doo-PLIS-i-tee, dyoo-\ , noun;

1. Deliberate deceptiveness in behavior or speech; also, an instance of deliberate deceptiveness; double-dealing.
2. The quality or state of being twofold or double.

"Marvin, I danced one slow dance with you already. A second would be inappropriate," Diane hissed as him as he refused to let go of her hand.

The band was starting up another ballad and more couples were floating onto the dance floor now that Marvin and Diane hadn't started a yelling match while they had been dancing. Which secretly everyone was hoping to see.

"Diane, please. It has been such a beautiful night, I just want a couple more beautiful memories," he pleaded.

"Marvin. She is here you know," Diane breathed.

Marvin felt his face tighten. "Of course, I know she is here. All the more reason to say yes," he replied as lightly as he could. "Besides, I miss dancing with you."

Diane scrutinized his face with a hard stare, trying to detect any duplicity.

"Ok, one more," she relented.

Marvin slipped his hand around her waist a second time and started to twirl her across the dance floor.

"I'm really glad that Abby decided to have a spring wedding. I can't think of a better way to celebrate a marriage than to have it doused in daffodils," he murmured in her ear.

"Ah," Diane replied, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, "That was my idea."

Hypnagogic

Word of the Day Wednesday, February 17, 2010

hypnagogic

\hip-nuh-GOJ-ik; -GOH-jik\ , adjective;

1. Of, pertaining to, or occurring in the state of drowsiness preceding sleep.

Eric scratched at the back of his neck and squished a small insect between his fingernails. He could smell his own dirty, stale smell. He couldn't remember the last time hie had bathed, his whiskers had long ago turned into a beard that was now matted against his throat. The only thing that stood out on him were the whites of his eyes and he tried to keep those down-turned as much as possible. Although he was sure that by now they were probably blood shot and no longer stood out in the dark.

It had mostly been luck that he had survived this long. At first he thought it had been fantastic bad luck that their ore extraction mission had been so grievously miscalculated. The planet actually being occupied and all. No one had seen that coming apparently. All life on the planet lived under ground off of sulfur vents just like in the very deepest depths of the ocean on Earth. Only they had full-fledged societies living here.

But the more he thought about it, the more he decided that it could't have been a mistake. The commission put together to advise the project had spent years researching the planet. How could they have missed a very sophisticated, well-armed population? The only answer he could come up with was that they didn't miss anything, he just couldn't figure out what the motivation for continuing their own, very poorly defended, mission.

They had stood no chance against the weapons the native population wielded. They had been designed to enact damage on the unbelievably tough shell that the local populations grew. The slightest graze from their weapons caused unbelievable damage to human tissue. The teammates that Eric had found alive after the first attacks he had ended up killing himself purely to put them out of their misery. If he hadn't already known the fate that was waiting for him at the end of one of those weapons he would have stopped running and hiding a long time ago.

But he also had no reason to keep running. He had seen the space dock leave orbit the day after the initial attack. Leaving twenty-three surface teams stranded. It wasn't surprising though. The odium on board the dock was worth a thousand times over the worth of the lives of the 230 people they had stranded.

And so he dug in. And had survived. For now.

He felt his eyelids close and struggled to hold onto the last shreds of hypnagogic consciousness. This was always the most dangerous time.

Inexorable

Word of the Day Tuesday, February 16, 2010

inexorable

\in-EK-sur-uh-bul; in-EKS-ruh-bul\ , adjective;

1. Not to be persuaded or moved by entreaty or prayer; firm; determined; unyielding; unchangeable; inflexible; relentless.


I got on the light rail and as I made my way through the crowded aisles I noticed an unspoken restlessness among the passengers. Uncertain about what was causing the agitation I took my seat and pulled out my pad of paper to jot down my to-do list for when I got home.

"OHHHH! OOOHHHH! OH JESUS!"

I lifted my head up at the sound of the woman yelling half a car down from my seat.

"OOOH GOD! OHHH GOD! AAAHHHHH!"

It was really bizarre. I couldn't tell if this woman was doing a Meg Ryan impersonation, giving birth, in excruciating pain, highly distraught, or was just crazy.

People were not even being discreet about looking towards the back of the train where she was yelling, heads craning all around me to get a better look at what was going on. Since I had just passed her on my way to my seat I felt like everyone was looking to me to roll my eyes or make some sort of comment about what was going on back there. Instead I tucked my head down and continued scribbling at my pad of paper fighting the urge to turn around and gawk.

However, the inexorable moaning from the back of the car was slicing into my thoughts like a cleaver. My pen remained raised above my pad of paper for a good several minutes before I could remember what I was trying to write down.

"AAAAHHHHH! JEESUS! OH GOD! OOOHHHHHHH!"

In between all the yelling and cursing she would either laugh, with an edge of hysteria, or mutter to herself. About the time she shouted out, "A SIGN OF THE DEVIL!" I decided she was just crazy and probably off her meds, and tried to decide if it would be a good idea to get off of the train just in case she were to get really out of control.

Finally I heard her say, "No, I'll be fine thank you," and assumed a fellow passenger had gotten the balls to ask her if she was alright. After this she seemed to quiet down, almost as if she realized she hadn't been doing all of her screaming in her head like she thought she had been doing.

Not surprisingly, when the train pulled up in front of the Kaiser Permenante the screaming started up again, "I'M GETTING OFF HERE! EXCUSE ME! I'M GETTING OFF AT THIS STTOOOOPPP!"

All the heads at my end of the train swiveled around towards the window on the door opening to the platform, everyone waiting with bated breath to catch a glimpse of the crazy woman, barrel-chested with short graying cropped hair, run-walking her way into the out-patient clinic.

Vivify

Word of the Day Monday, February 15, 2010

vivify

\VIV-uh-fy\ , transitive verb;

1. To endue with life; to make alive; to animate.
2. To make more lively or intense.

Marvin slouched down further in his seat and struggled to keep his eyes open. The lecture hall was overly warm and stuffy, and Professor Hilldebrand was droning on in his usual monotone creating a perfect atmosphere for a nap. Marvin had always figured that if he made it to the lecture for his classes he would probably glean at least a little bit of knowledge for the effort, but as he looked down at the notes in front of him it was apparent that he had perfected the art of taking notes on autopilot. Luckily he was taking the class as a GPA buffer.

He looked out the window and saw that they drizzly Seattle morning had cleared up into a beautifully clear afternoon. Blue skies in February in Seattle was one occurrence that Marvin always felt extremely grateful for. Waiting out the long winter months of overcast skies and rain always started to seem like a mandatory sentencing, an unexpected preview of summer always felt like a winning lottery ticket. Of course, most of his classmates had decided not to go tot class that day, and considering that he easily could have taken his nap outside in the sun surrounded by the freshly bloomed daffodils, he forlornly wished he was skipping class as well.

The thought of enjoying a preview of spring and the return of the greenery in Seattle landscape had a vivifying effect on him, and instead of being rudely awaken at the end of the lecture he was one of the first students to scramble his papers together and bolt out the door. In his haste he neglected to notice the tall, slim, blonde girl coming around the corner finishing up the couple of notes to her Comparative Religion class and he collided into her creating a grandiose spillage of paper across the hallway.

A frown creased the girl's pretty forehead and Marvin immediately started to babble his defense. "What exactly is the emergency?" she interrupted his rambling impatiently. "I, uh, I need to go take a nap under the daffodils," he blurted out. A hint of a smile peaked at the corner of her mouth, "Really?" she asked skeptically. "Oh you know, 'In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.' " he repeated with a crooked smile.

The frown on the girl's forehead had melted completely and had been replaced with a smile, "My name is Diane, and I'd like to go see this daffodil napping place of yours."

Billet-doux

Word of the Day Sunday, February 14, 2010

billet-doux

\bil-ay-DOO\ , noun;
plural billets-doux \bil-ay-DOO(Z)\
1. A love letter or note.

"Whatcha doing honey?" Diane asked approaching Marvin from the driveway.

Marvin looked up, he was knee deep in dirt with mud smudges across his forehead. Two-thirds of the yard was dug up, and a large pile of bulbs sat piled up next to the pick-up truck.

"Hey baby!" he replied cheerfully looking up at her.

"I'm doing really well….honey, why is the yard all torn up?" Diane continued.

"It is my billet-doux to ou," he replied sweeping his arms wide.

"Really? Did you really need to tear up the entire yard?" she asked.

"Of course! I have $1500 worth of bulbs over there, I have to put them somewhere," Marvin replied picking up his trowel again.

"$1500?!?" Marvin! We are supposed to talk about money issues, you know plan our finances together!" Diane exclaimed.

"Honey, I'm going to make bazillions of dollars and we'll retire at age 35. However, this is important. You'll just have to wait a little bit to see why," he replied with a wide smile.

….

Five months later, the first of the daffodils had been poking through the winter flower beds for the past two weeks, splashes of gold against the dreary winter sky. The dancing daffodils bounced lightly in the wind and from the attic window Diane smiled upon $1500 worth of daffodil bulbs sweetly proclaiming "With Love".

Cupidity

Word of the Day Saturday, February 13, 2010

cupidity

\kyoo-PID-uh-tee\ , noun;

1. Eager or excessive desire, especially for wealth; greed; avarice.


He propped his elbows up on the bar and settled into his seat. A red vinyl covered stool, hooking his boots into the rungs. He had taken the gig as music reviewer for the money. He could write a scathing, snarky review without knowing a whole lot about music, and he quickly found that if he used enough polysyllabic words the masses seemed to respect his opinions even more.

The bartender brought him his whiskey, he nodded his appreciation and turned his stool around to face the stage. He made a couple of notes about the atmosphere, or lack there of, and the dreariness of the bar. Generic, uninspired, not geared towards music but towards the propagation of mainstream ideas. Blah blah blah, his usual Ivory Tower tripe.

He sighed and took another sip off his whiskey. He couldn't imagine continuing this gig for much longer, he was starting to disgust himself with the bullshit he spewed out. He liked tearing people to shreds and all, but this wasn't even challenging. He spun the stool from side to side slightly. Okay, well, what would be challenging? Ha, trying to selling this place as actually hip he thought with a bitter laugh.

But then he stopped laughing. That would actually be kind of an interesting challenge. To give this place a review that wouldn't ruin his reputation as an honest reviewer, but to take a place that wasn't special and try to turn it around purely by his review alone.

He relished his own hubris, seeing it for exactly what it was, a cupidity for power bubbling underneath him like a stew coming to a boil, but not really caring how arrogant it made him. Someone had to tell the rest of the world what to think about things, why not him? And so he started to scribble furiously into his notepad deciding with a quick look around the bar that this place would now be the hangout of choice for the urban cowboy at heart.