Word of the Day Saturday, February 27, 2010
supplicate
\SUP-luh-kayt\ , intransitive verb;
1. To make a humble and earnest petition; to pray humbly.
transitive verb:
1. To seek or ask for humbly and earnestly.
2. To make a humble petition to; to beseech.
"I don't know, what do you think?" Dr. Lkarsak asked.
"This one has shown surprising resourcefulness. It has shown remarkable abilities in cunning and evasion. It took our security forces almost four months to capture it," Dr. Znlruc mused.
"Why did they keep it alive?" Lkarsak asked, wrinkling his nostrils in disgust.
Znlruc shrugged, "We have disposed of over 100 of them with our biochemical analysis and autopsy. I guess it was decided that we should learn more about the behavior of this particular species. Since this one seems particularly resilient the assumption is that it will provide large quantities of data before succumbing to insanity."
They both peered into the cage. The alien was on the floor, arms out-reached to the ceiling, its mouth open, yelling, supplicating to what they could only assume was the light fixture.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Mulct
Word of the Day Friday, February 26, 2010
mulct
\MULKT\ , noun;
1. A fine or penalty.
transitive verb:
1. To punish for an offense or misdemeanor by imposing a fine or demanding a forfeiture.
2. To obtain by fraud or deception.
3. To defraud; to swindle.
"So, what are we doing here? We only come here when you have bad news," Diane said.
He had taken her out to Marco's, the most luxurious steakhouse in town. They had gotten their wine and appetizers, and Marvin still hadn't had the nerve to break the news to Diane. "Damn," he though, partially relieved, "she knows me way too well."
He took a sip of wine to delay the inevitable a second or two longer.
He took a deep breath, "Yeah, you're right."
She stared at him a moment as if she couldn't believe her worst intuitions were coming true.
"Well….what is it? Just tell me and get it over quickly," she replied. Her beautiful face had grown hard in just seconds, and his only wish was to soften it again.
"It is that fucking shrew Maribelle Duncan. She is blackmailing me," he spat out.
Diane's face drained of color. "I'm just going to ask you this once Marvin," her voice a sharp hiss, "Are you cheating on me?" She had gotten that fierce look in her eyes that Marvin knew she was steeling herself for a fight.
"No! No, not at all! Christ, Diane, it is about the busness," Marvin replied, shocked that Diane had even considered the possibility of infidelity.
Diane visibly relaxed, "Is that all?" she asked with a slight laugh.
Marvin gaped, "This isn't a good thing!"
"No, of course not, but that is better than you cheating on me," she replied with a little smile.
He smiled back; his beautiful wife. He didn't deserve her and her simple priorities. Him and the family first, the money a far distant priority.
"So, what exactly is the problem with the business?" she asked.
"Let's just say that she has dirt on some business dealings that occurred when my grandfather was running the business that will cause our worth to plummet if it were to come out now. Something about art dealings with the Nazis, I mean, I can barely even believe that could be true, but she has all these documents and receipts. Apparently my Pops was as meticulous with his record keeping as the Germans were."
She frowned.
"The art dealings were just a tiny part of the business, basically a side hobby, but the scandal will scare investors right out of town with the atmosphere the way it is now. She is going to mulct me dry in the meantime," Marvin continued, rubbing his forehead.
Diane's frown deepened and she took a of wine, "Isn't it sort of a delicate balance for her? If she exposes you she'll lose her position of strength with the blackmail, if you have no money she can't get anything out of you."
"Yes. I don't know. She claims some of the paintings were stolen from her family. I think in the end all she wants to see is the downfall of someone in the family. Revenge, I don't know. You know, these paintings were sold before I was even born!" Marvin exclaimed.
"What did you tell her?" Diane asked, she had that calculating look and Marvin could tell her mind was churning but he couldn't tell where she was going with all of this.
"I bluffed and blustered," he replied helplessly.
Diane was quiet a moment, chewing over a piece of Brie.
"I think I may have plan, but let me ask you this, do you trust me?" she asked, a slight gleam in her eyes.
mulct
\MULKT\ , noun;
1. A fine or penalty.
transitive verb:
1. To punish for an offense or misdemeanor by imposing a fine or demanding a forfeiture.
2. To obtain by fraud or deception.
3. To defraud; to swindle.
"So, what are we doing here? We only come here when you have bad news," Diane said.
He had taken her out to Marco's, the most luxurious steakhouse in town. They had gotten their wine and appetizers, and Marvin still hadn't had the nerve to break the news to Diane. "Damn," he though, partially relieved, "she knows me way too well."
He took a sip of wine to delay the inevitable a second or two longer.
He took a deep breath, "Yeah, you're right."
She stared at him a moment as if she couldn't believe her worst intuitions were coming true.
"Well….what is it? Just tell me and get it over quickly," she replied. Her beautiful face had grown hard in just seconds, and his only wish was to soften it again.
"It is that fucking shrew Maribelle Duncan. She is blackmailing me," he spat out.
Diane's face drained of color. "I'm just going to ask you this once Marvin," her voice a sharp hiss, "Are you cheating on me?" She had gotten that fierce look in her eyes that Marvin knew she was steeling herself for a fight.
"No! No, not at all! Christ, Diane, it is about the busness," Marvin replied, shocked that Diane had even considered the possibility of infidelity.
Diane visibly relaxed, "Is that all?" she asked with a slight laugh.
Marvin gaped, "This isn't a good thing!"
"No, of course not, but that is better than you cheating on me," she replied with a little smile.
He smiled back; his beautiful wife. He didn't deserve her and her simple priorities. Him and the family first, the money a far distant priority.
"So, what exactly is the problem with the business?" she asked.
"Let's just say that she has dirt on some business dealings that occurred when my grandfather was running the business that will cause our worth to plummet if it were to come out now. Something about art dealings with the Nazis, I mean, I can barely even believe that could be true, but she has all these documents and receipts. Apparently my Pops was as meticulous with his record keeping as the Germans were."
She frowned.
"The art dealings were just a tiny part of the business, basically a side hobby, but the scandal will scare investors right out of town with the atmosphere the way it is now. She is going to mulct me dry in the meantime," Marvin continued, rubbing his forehead.
Diane's frown deepened and she took a of wine, "Isn't it sort of a delicate balance for her? If she exposes you she'll lose her position of strength with the blackmail, if you have no money she can't get anything out of you."
"Yes. I don't know. She claims some of the paintings were stolen from her family. I think in the end all she wants to see is the downfall of someone in the family. Revenge, I don't know. You know, these paintings were sold before I was even born!" Marvin exclaimed.
"What did you tell her?" Diane asked, she had that calculating look and Marvin could tell her mind was churning but he couldn't tell where she was going with all of this.
"I bluffed and blustered," he replied helplessly.
Diane was quiet a moment, chewing over a piece of Brie.
"I think I may have plan, but let me ask you this, do you trust me?" she asked, a slight gleam in her eyes.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Gregarious
Word of the Day Thursday, February 25, 2010
gregarious
\grih-GAIR-ee-us\ , adjective;
1. Tending to form a group with others of the same kind.
2. Seeking and enjoying the company of others.
Shawn rolled over in bed and morosely stared at the ceiling. The incessant beeping of the alarm clock still reverberated in his head. Just eight more minutes he thought to himself, closing his eyes and trying to coax his body into going back to sleep.
He was just tired. Worn out. Run down. If I can just sleep in a couple extra hours he always thought to himself. But for some reason he always slept in better on weekdays, it always seemed like when Saturday rolled around, he would clear his morning schedule to accommodate a late morning in bed, and he always found that he slept fitfully all night and his back started to ache by7:00.
It wasn't really like him. Always the gregarious little brother, always in the middle of things and organizing one event or another with friends and family.
That is the problem, he thought to himself, is that I never stop. His calendar was booked four months in advance and once one party or activity was over he was searching the event calendars for the next thing to do. Snow-shoeing, science lectures, events at the library, a happy hour here, a night playing Rock Band with the family there.
Wouldn't it be nice just to have someone else take care of all those things, just for once? he thought to himself just as the gauzy haze of sleep started to wash over him.
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP
His eight minutes were up.
gregarious
\grih-GAIR-ee-us\ , adjective;
1. Tending to form a group with others of the same kind.
2. Seeking and enjoying the company of others.
Shawn rolled over in bed and morosely stared at the ceiling. The incessant beeping of the alarm clock still reverberated in his head. Just eight more minutes he thought to himself, closing his eyes and trying to coax his body into going back to sleep.
He was just tired. Worn out. Run down. If I can just sleep in a couple extra hours he always thought to himself. But for some reason he always slept in better on weekdays, it always seemed like when Saturday rolled around, he would clear his morning schedule to accommodate a late morning in bed, and he always found that he slept fitfully all night and his back started to ache by7:00.
It wasn't really like him. Always the gregarious little brother, always in the middle of things and organizing one event or another with friends and family.
That is the problem, he thought to himself, is that I never stop. His calendar was booked four months in advance and once one party or activity was over he was searching the event calendars for the next thing to do. Snow-shoeing, science lectures, events at the library, a happy hour here, a night playing Rock Band with the family there.
Wouldn't it be nice just to have someone else take care of all those things, just for once? he thought to himself just as the gauzy haze of sleep started to wash over him.
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP
His eight minutes were up.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Arcanum
Word of the Day Wednesday, February 24, 2010
arcanum
\ar-KAY-nuhm\ , noun;
plural arcana \-nuh\
1. A secret; a mystery.
2. Specialized or mysterious knowledge, language, or information that is not accessible to the average person (generally used in the plural).
"Um," he said, his eyes searching the ceiling as he thought.
"You know that last guy actually had the balls to tell me 'um' was a one syllable word when I did the same thing," she told him leaning forward conspiratorially.
"That guy over there?" he asked nodding to the next table.
"Yeah, like he was on a game show," she added with a laugh.
"Wow, I wonder if that is part of the arcana of the Toxic Bachelor," he mused giving the other guy a closer second look.
"Oooh, Toxic Bachelor, eh? You sound well versed in your Sex and the City episodes," she added with an eye brow arch.
"You know, that was going to be my clever opening question….which Sex and the City character are you the most like? But then I realized that I don't come off as the, err, most masculine date with that sort of question," he said with a hapless shrug, "Unfortunately, I didn't realize that until about three speed dates into this thing."
"Hmm, yes, I can see that. But I'd have to say Miranda with a smidge of Charlotte," she replied, "You?"
"Definitely a Steve with a splash of Burger," he answered promptly.
"Burger, eh?"
"I like the dry, sarcastic wit. And by the way, are you Canadian or something? What is with al the ehs?" he paused a moment, "Wow, that sounds like a bad Wheel of Fortune joke or something."
She giggled, "You're close, a bad habit I picked up from a Canadian friend I used to work with. But I don't know, sometimes a statement just needs an eh."
He nodded, "I can see that."
They were silent a moment.
"So, what was his polysyllabic word?" he asked with a smile.
"You know, we never got that far. Although I guessed sanctimonious prick," she answered and found herself twisting her shoulders into her flirty pose. She was really enjoying this guy.
"Ah, good one. Although…." he trailed off the sentence.
"Yes, I know. Two words. He was sweet enough to point that out as well,"
He burst out laughing, "Oh christ, you've got to be kidding me. Well, I think I have found my polysyllabic word. Enamored." he said with a shy smile.
She grinned, "Very cute."
"What can I say, I'm a sucker for an exotic Canadian accent."
She looked at her watch, "We still have one minute and 14 seconds left."
"Hmm…in that case I better give you my number now while I still have time," he said pulling out a pen and a business card.
"Absolutely," she murmured.
arcanum
\ar-KAY-nuhm\ , noun;
plural arcana \-nuh\
1. A secret; a mystery.
2. Specialized or mysterious knowledge, language, or information that is not accessible to the average person (generally used in the plural).
"Um," he said, his eyes searching the ceiling as he thought.
"You know that last guy actually had the balls to tell me 'um' was a one syllable word when I did the same thing," she told him leaning forward conspiratorially.
"That guy over there?" he asked nodding to the next table.
"Yeah, like he was on a game show," she added with a laugh.
"Wow, I wonder if that is part of the arcana of the Toxic Bachelor," he mused giving the other guy a closer second look.
"Oooh, Toxic Bachelor, eh? You sound well versed in your Sex and the City episodes," she added with an eye brow arch.
"You know, that was going to be my clever opening question….which Sex and the City character are you the most like? But then I realized that I don't come off as the, err, most masculine date with that sort of question," he said with a hapless shrug, "Unfortunately, I didn't realize that until about three speed dates into this thing."
"Hmm, yes, I can see that. But I'd have to say Miranda with a smidge of Charlotte," she replied, "You?"
"Definitely a Steve with a splash of Burger," he answered promptly.
"Burger, eh?"
"I like the dry, sarcastic wit. And by the way, are you Canadian or something? What is with al the ehs?" he paused a moment, "Wow, that sounds like a bad Wheel of Fortune joke or something."
She giggled, "You're close, a bad habit I picked up from a Canadian friend I used to work with. But I don't know, sometimes a statement just needs an eh."
He nodded, "I can see that."
They were silent a moment.
"So, what was his polysyllabic word?" he asked with a smile.
"You know, we never got that far. Although I guessed sanctimonious prick," she answered and found herself twisting her shoulders into her flirty pose. She was really enjoying this guy.
"Ah, good one. Although…." he trailed off the sentence.
"Yes, I know. Two words. He was sweet enough to point that out as well,"
He burst out laughing, "Oh christ, you've got to be kidding me. Well, I think I have found my polysyllabic word. Enamored." he said with a shy smile.
She grinned, "Very cute."
"What can I say, I'm a sucker for an exotic Canadian accent."
She looked at her watch, "We still have one minute and 14 seconds left."
"Hmm…in that case I better give you my number now while I still have time," he said pulling out a pen and a business card.
"Absolutely," she murmured.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Fructuous
Word of the Day Tuesday, February 23, 2010
fructuous
\FRUHK-choo-uhs\ , adjective;
1. Fruitful; productive.
She tightly gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on staying out of the rain filled ruts in the freeway.
It had been a bad week. One miserable event after another was erupting onto her daily landscape and it was all she could do to feel like she was keeping her head above water and not floundering. The incessant rain wasn't helping to shake the feelings of drowning.
The spray from the cars ahead of her blurred the windshield and she adjusted the wind shield wipers a notch higher deciding that she would just have to put up with the scraping squeak it made with every pass.
Squeak…..squeak…..squeak…..squeak.squeak.squeak.squeak.
At the beginning of the month she had actually had high hopes for a fructuous month. Work was going well, her new exercise routine was still fun and motivating, life at home was pleasant and filled with joy and fun.
It must be something about the month of February. Like because it is the shortest month it demands its pound of flesh with deeper cuts to make up for the fact that it has less time to collect payment.
Work had quickly become overwhelming, a triage of the projects that were piling up on her desk. The exercise routine left her leaving blah. Running made her feel fat and slow, cycling caused the sciatica to flare up. And as for home, when exactly did nine year olds affect the attitude of teenagers? Wasn't that supposed to happen at, like, age 10?
And now here she was, concentrating with every fiber of her being to make sure didn't fuck up while driving because she had so many people around her that would be so pissed off if she added another headache to the pile.
fructuous
\FRUHK-choo-uhs\ , adjective;
1. Fruitful; productive.
She tightly gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on staying out of the rain filled ruts in the freeway.
It had been a bad week. One miserable event after another was erupting onto her daily landscape and it was all she could do to feel like she was keeping her head above water and not floundering. The incessant rain wasn't helping to shake the feelings of drowning.
The spray from the cars ahead of her blurred the windshield and she adjusted the wind shield wipers a notch higher deciding that she would just have to put up with the scraping squeak it made with every pass.
Squeak…..squeak…..squeak…..squeak.squeak.squeak.squeak.
At the beginning of the month she had actually had high hopes for a fructuous month. Work was going well, her new exercise routine was still fun and motivating, life at home was pleasant and filled with joy and fun.
It must be something about the month of February. Like because it is the shortest month it demands its pound of flesh with deeper cuts to make up for the fact that it has less time to collect payment.
Work had quickly become overwhelming, a triage of the projects that were piling up on her desk. The exercise routine left her leaving blah. Running made her feel fat and slow, cycling caused the sciatica to flare up. And as for home, when exactly did nine year olds affect the attitude of teenagers? Wasn't that supposed to happen at, like, age 10?
And now here she was, concentrating with every fiber of her being to make sure didn't fuck up while driving because she had so many people around her that would be so pissed off if she added another headache to the pile.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Fractious
Word of the Day Monday, February 22, 2010
fractious
\FRAK-shuhs\ , adjective;
1. Tending to cause trouble; unruly.
2. Irritable; snappish; cranky.
Joe and Martin quietly worked together in the sand box building a Match Box car sized city. Joe's dad had drenched the sand with a hose and they had pulled all of their summer time sand castle building molds out of the basement to construct a real city.
They hadn't put together a cogent plan, however, both of them being eleven, or both of them being boys, or both having the same idea about city planning and engineering, whatever it was, the city grew around them quickly and without the usual committee caused building delays.
Their towers dried in the warm spring sunshine and metamorphosed into glittering, golden towers looming erect and proud over the clean streets free of Match Box sized traffic jams. One half expected King Arthur to appear and smile down upon this Golden Age of child's play.
Joe had just finished carving windows into the Tower for Peaceful Activities when Martin addressed him, "I think it is time," he said. Joe nodded, and pulled out his cell phone. "Hi, Becky? Martin and I were just wondering if you would like to come over and play City Council with us? Great, we'll see you in a little bit," and hung up the phone.
They continued quietly to smooth out the paved streets of their golden city until they heard the back gate open and slam shut. They both looked up, caught each others eye, and smiled.
"Hey Becky!" Joe called out, discreetly starting a stop watch in his pocket.
"Hey guys! Wow, great city!" she exclaimed making her way over to the sand box.
Both boys smiled broadly, still tickled with their own cleverness. See, Becky was the most fractious person in their class. It didn't matter what game they played, it almost always ended up with one of their toys being smashed against the wall or underfoot in one of Becky's angry outbursts at Martin and Joe not following along with how she wanted to play the game.
What was how Martin and Joe came up with the game of "How Fast Can the World Reach Utter and Complete Destruction?"
"I get to be mayor!" Martin exclaimed.
"No you don't! It has to be put up to a democratic vote," Becky immediately interjected.
"All in favor of me being Mayor say aye," Martin said promptly raising his hand and saying aye. Joe quickly followed suite.
"That isn't fair! You are just voting that way because I'm a girl," Becky whined.
"Ooh," Martin said turning to Joe, "We've never had an EEO complaint before." Joe wiggled his eyebrows. "Fine, you can be mayor," Becky said pouting, "But you only won because of an unfair smear campaign against me," she added.
"I don't know," Martin said, "I heard it was true about you farting in math class yesterday."
Becky's eyes flashed in anger and it one fluid motion she kicked over the three tallest sand buildings and had turned on her hell on her way out of the yard.
Martin pulled the stop watch out of his pocket. "I think that is an all tie world record. One minute 36 seconds. I don't know if we'll ever beat that one!" he said gleefully.
They happily proceeded to play Godzilla with the rest of their golden city.
fractious
\FRAK-shuhs\ , adjective;
1. Tending to cause trouble; unruly.
2. Irritable; snappish; cranky.
Joe and Martin quietly worked together in the sand box building a Match Box car sized city. Joe's dad had drenched the sand with a hose and they had pulled all of their summer time sand castle building molds out of the basement to construct a real city.
They hadn't put together a cogent plan, however, both of them being eleven, or both of them being boys, or both having the same idea about city planning and engineering, whatever it was, the city grew around them quickly and without the usual committee caused building delays.
Their towers dried in the warm spring sunshine and metamorphosed into glittering, golden towers looming erect and proud over the clean streets free of Match Box sized traffic jams. One half expected King Arthur to appear and smile down upon this Golden Age of child's play.
Joe had just finished carving windows into the Tower for Peaceful Activities when Martin addressed him, "I think it is time," he said. Joe nodded, and pulled out his cell phone. "Hi, Becky? Martin and I were just wondering if you would like to come over and play City Council with us? Great, we'll see you in a little bit," and hung up the phone.
They continued quietly to smooth out the paved streets of their golden city until they heard the back gate open and slam shut. They both looked up, caught each others eye, and smiled.
"Hey Becky!" Joe called out, discreetly starting a stop watch in his pocket.
"Hey guys! Wow, great city!" she exclaimed making her way over to the sand box.
Both boys smiled broadly, still tickled with their own cleverness. See, Becky was the most fractious person in their class. It didn't matter what game they played, it almost always ended up with one of their toys being smashed against the wall or underfoot in one of Becky's angry outbursts at Martin and Joe not following along with how she wanted to play the game.
What was how Martin and Joe came up with the game of "How Fast Can the World Reach Utter and Complete Destruction?"
"I get to be mayor!" Martin exclaimed.
"No you don't! It has to be put up to a democratic vote," Becky immediately interjected.
"All in favor of me being Mayor say aye," Martin said promptly raising his hand and saying aye. Joe quickly followed suite.
"That isn't fair! You are just voting that way because I'm a girl," Becky whined.
"Ooh," Martin said turning to Joe, "We've never had an EEO complaint before." Joe wiggled his eyebrows. "Fine, you can be mayor," Becky said pouting, "But you only won because of an unfair smear campaign against me," she added.
"I don't know," Martin said, "I heard it was true about you farting in math class yesterday."
Becky's eyes flashed in anger and it one fluid motion she kicked over the three tallest sand buildings and had turned on her hell on her way out of the yard.
Martin pulled the stop watch out of his pocket. "I think that is an all tie world record. One minute 36 seconds. I don't know if we'll ever beat that one!" he said gleefully.
They happily proceeded to play Godzilla with the rest of their golden city.
Bombast
Word of the Day Sunday, February 21, 2010
bombast
\BOM-bast\ , noun;
1. Pompous or pretentious speech or writing.
He pulled the yearbook across the table and flipped it open to the page dedicated to Homecoming. He briefly looked across the table at Stephanie Roger. She was preoccupied with some shenanigans across the room, not even paying attention to him. She must be one of those girls that wants to have everyone in the class sign her senior year book. That was the only reason he could come up with for her asking him to sign it in the first place. He hadn't been exactly embraced by his class ever since the Homecoming incident. Oh well, he thought, uncapping his pen. Here was his chance to bombast his version of the story, permanently, into Stephanie Roger's yearbook, for all eternity. He started it off with his favorite line of the year, "When I see you again in ten years…."
bombast
\BOM-bast\ , noun;
1. Pompous or pretentious speech or writing.
He pulled the yearbook across the table and flipped it open to the page dedicated to Homecoming. He briefly looked across the table at Stephanie Roger. She was preoccupied with some shenanigans across the room, not even paying attention to him. She must be one of those girls that wants to have everyone in the class sign her senior year book. That was the only reason he could come up with for her asking him to sign it in the first place. He hadn't been exactly embraced by his class ever since the Homecoming incident. Oh well, he thought, uncapping his pen. Here was his chance to bombast his version of the story, permanently, into Stephanie Roger's yearbook, for all eternity. He started it off with his favorite line of the year, "When I see you again in ten years…."
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