Bootless! Search Fruitless

Not technically, of course, as the search was for boots (see previous entry).  A nice Royal Gala would not go amiss at this particular moment, though, now that I think of it.  Or a good Bosc pear.  But, I am straying off topic.

 

No, the tiresome trek from store to store and mall to mall with my tireless buddy, Carin, proved to be nothing more than a waste of time and gas (of the automotive variety).  Oh, sure, I had the excruciating experience of easing numerous pairs of not-even-close-to-what-I'm-looking-for boots over my extremely painful foot joint but the fun was short-lived.  In every single case, I limped out of the store empty-handed and un-booted.  In the shoddiest sense of the word.  Or would that be in the least shoddy sense of the word.  No matter. Bottom line - I was unsuccessful.  Blows.

 

Now if only I were in Montreal - wait while I twitch my nose.  Nothing.  An incipient sneeze, maybe, but nothing more.  Still here.  Still without boots.  Well, boot shopping in Montreal has now officially been entered on my 'to do' list, though I will waive my rhapsody until such time as the excursion takes place. 

 

There are some more hideous grammar manglings but they will have to wait.  It's not as if they are going to disappear.  Sadly.

 

I blog off, then, sans boots.

 

Have I missed me?

Let me count the ways, or waylay a count, or count on my family for moral support (must rest for a moment; stomach hurts from laughing at this last bit).

Seriously, if that's possible, I feel the need for some excitement and, maybe, a bottle of wine to share with friends. A nice bottle of Australian Shiraz sounds perfect. Combined with the aforementioned excitement, this would then make for some Shirazamatazz. Perhaps I should be getting paid by the word. Yes, I think I should.

My project for this week, or until I am successful, is finding a pair of black lace-up, unlined, leather and leather-soled, boots, with a one and half to two inch full heel. Preferably Brazilian ( no wax jokes, please). Unfortunately, or stupidly, though I prefer the former, I lost a pair of these boots during my last move. Had had them for years, even walked over vast expanses of Southern Wales and much of London in them, and had them lovingly re-soled twice.

Now they're gone, and my feet request a break from high fashionable heels and low sensible shoes. Where oh where, cry my feet, are the boots which constituted the middle road, the Zennest path? Where are the boots which sit on the fence overlooking function on one side and beautiful form on the other?

I have a newsflash for the complaining peds - no boots, thus far, of this description, to be found anywhere. I have spoken.

Wishing myself good hunting, I blog off now, to look for boot-filled pastures (or stores), where the boots I need recognize me and come home with me to be cherished forever (much like my pets, who were previously unwanted or unappreciated). And re-soled on a regular basis. Unlike my pets, who live a life of ease and comfort, with their original soles and souls.

I've sent out the booting pigeon and must await its successful return. Unless that means something unpleasant. In which case, I will have moved again.

'Give' & 'Take' - Has Grammar Disappeared Completely?

The rampant mangling of the English language continues unabated. Worst of all, incorrect spelling and grammar have come into common (and that would be the correct word to describe it) usage. Public figures and, it pains me to say it, prominent writers and authors, regularly take chainsaws to the forests of our written and spoken words and turn the trees into toothpicks.

Three common manglings spring instantly to mind. First of all, check the spelling of the word 'mischievous'. Is there an 'i' after the 'v'? Nope. Yet this impish word is mispronounced all over the place. There is no word 'mischeeveus' and never will be.

Secondly, the word 'unique' stands alone. Either something is unique or it isn't. There is no 'very unique', neither is there 'totally unique' or even 'kind of unique'. I shudder, I truly do.

Thirdly, 'myriad'. It means 'many of'. It is not possible to have 'a myriad of' anything. Not possible. A clearer example of the mis-usage might be 'I have a multitude of of excuses for being a bonehead'. Thus, there are 'myriad stars in the sky' and 'myriad examples of bad grammar usage' and let's just leave it at that.

New to the maceration of language scene is the inversion of the the words 'bring' and 'take'. How this came to pass, I have no idea but it is rampant. I repeat, rampant (and, yes, I know this is the third use of the word; necessary without question).

"Bring me the bottle of wine to drown the pain of bad grammar" is correct usage; "Did you bring that money to your crack dealer when you visited him?" is incorrect usage.

Similarly, and even more commonly heard; "Take the dictionary with you to your room and learn some words" is correct, while "I'll take your ugly sweater back to you later" is howlingly incorrect. Fast-food from a restaurant is called 'take-out' and not 'bring-out'. You 'take' the food out of the restaurant and, when you get home, you say to your spouse or your cat or dog "Honey, I am now 'bringing' dinner into the family home".

It's so simple. "Bring' is toward something or someone; 'Take' is away from something or someone. For some unknown reason, these words have been (seemingly deliberately) reversed in their meanings and are aggressively used in this bizarre and hideous fashion. It gives me a headache.

Mental(ly in) Harmony

Sometimes, I like to pretend I'm a barbershop quartet (and not just because there would then be four men and myself). 

 

For example, when I leave the traditional 'Happy Birthday' song on friends' answering machines; I hear it as "Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday - Happy Birthday!" in four-part harmony.  It's more celebratory somehow.  And we all sound pretty good, I must say. 

 

Not that the loud, red and white striped jackets with accompanying straw boaters aren't attractive (to some, I'm sure).  I just prefer to hear it mentally rather than see it mentally.   If this places me firmly in some mentally challenged category, then bring on the duel.

 

No, wait.  Duel is only two, and I had this internal audio of four.  Okay, bring on two duels, and may the best pistols win.  Isn't that always the way?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Egad, wherefore is my inspiration?

Ah, it's inside my head. What a good place for it. And how handy. I have only to reach my hand in and rummage around for a week or so and - voila! - something falls out and rolls onto the ground.

Not that I'm feeling Shakespearean, really; it's just that there are so few occasions to use the word 'egad' in general conversation. And the tendency to get carried away is hard to avoid. It's part of that whole stream-of-consciousness thing that makes some people so difficult to follow in conversation. Well, not the like-minded individuals but some people. You know who you are.

It's like rhyming things unintentionally. You feel that you are speaking in an especially coherent and articulate fashion when, suddenly, you notice listeners falling about with hilarity, and realize you've adopted a certain cadence in your speech that harkens one to the Dr. Suess School of Reading. It can be demoralizing but it is necessary to carry on, to remain strong, to be up and gone. Crap. It's unavoidable.