Words to Bring Back, etc.

Things I do when I'm stuck in a rut and don’t want to read the news, dwell on my shitty health or that of my sweet, precious middle-aged baby cat, and it’s raining AGAIN (I know, I know. We totally need the rain but ...). I peruse the thesaurus and look up the history of words.

Yes, yes, I AM in fact just a thrill a minute. You guessed it!

Here are some interesting words for “cool” or “excellent” from the The Historical Thesaurus of English with the approximate dates they were first recorded (unless otherwise noted, these originated in England):

1560: jelly (Scots)
1609: twanging
1613: topgallant
1666: spanking
1757: daisy (U.S.)
1762: immense 
1776: ripping 
1794: dandy (U.S.)
1802: smick-smack I like this one. (Let's bring it back!) Geez Jen, that new painting of yours is really smick-smack!
1827: pure merino (Australian) Audrey, that new haircut is pure merino.
1828: supernacular I'm telling you, that caprese sandwich was absolutely supernacular!
1838: lummy (originally probably/maybe a variation on "Lord love me")  
1846: ripsnorting 
1866: up to dick (I'd really like to know the etymology of this one!)
1872: spiffing 

1879: fly (U.S.) 
1882: all wool and a yard wide (I imagine this one would go big in knitting circles even now.)
1901: v.h.c. (very highly commended) – totally textable, eh?
1915: bobby-dazzling (I'm confused. Does this mean that you've impressed a cop with some glittering display of some sort? Slipped the cuffs while juggling sparklers, perhaps?)
1919: snodger (Dunno, this sounds more like what you do to empty out a stuffed up nose than a synonym for excellent. Maybe that's just me?)
1953: ridgey-didge
1962: bad-assed
1964: radical
1972: superstar
1976: bodacious (U.S.)
1980: stonking
1989: kicking

In the not-so-cool realms is bummer.

Bummer began in 1850–55, probably from the German word Bummler – “to take a stroll, dawdle, loiter.” In the U.S it somehow became synonymous with drunks and vagrants.

 "(obsolete, historical) A forager, especially in Sherman's March to the Sea of November to December 1864"

"(US, slang, dated) An idle, worthless fellow, without any visible means of support; a dissipated sponger” (source) 

Somehow, in the ‘60s, bummer’s meaning morphed into slang for a bad trip. Now we say any old nasty thing or experience is a bummer (no off batch Orange Sunshine or Blue Cheer required). i.e., These pancakes didn’t have nearly enough blueberries. Bummer, man.

Does anyone still say bummer? Just us ancient relics?

AND … here are a few cartoons with commentary on some of the news of the week. You’re welcome. 

Bill Bramhall

Nick Anderson

Pedro X. Molina

David Horsey

Before you take a bite ...

The Tower of Blue Horses, Franz Marc

... understand that it may not be what you think it is.  

Yesterday Pedo announced that he scored 300,000 metric tons of foreign ground beef that he’s going to have imported from unnamed sources (fell of the back of a truck?) without the “out of quota” tariff. I’m figuring that last bit refers to the tax levied on us, the consumers, which is what Trump’s tariffs are. He says he’s committed to ensuring the imported beef would be sold at 25% below current market rates. This ought to make U.S. cattle ranchers real happy!

This beef buy is to make up for our current cow meat shortage. WHY are there fewer edible cows in America right now? WHY is the Prez panicking?

Did all the coos emigrate to Canada and Mexico because, like other sane Americans, they despise Pedo and could see that, without voting rights or opposable thumbs, they were, pretty much, fucked? Nope. Banjaxed Brained MusKKK’s teenaged dimwit DOGE squad chainsawed the programs that watched out for and controlled little devastating things like screwworm infestations. Those boys, whose balls undoubtedly haven’t dropped yet, decided those programs were fraud and unnecessary.

Beef prices have risen in recent months due in large part to a severe cattle shortage, one exacerbated by the recent screwworm infestation that has threatened Texas ranchers – and, by some critics, blamed on the Trump administration for having terminated USAID-funded screwworm monitoring programs operated by the UN Food and Agriculture Organization. (source) 

The Yellow Cow, Franz Marc

By the by, this magical meat purchase coincidentally comes on the heels (hooves) of the reports that herds of wild horses are being rounded up by helicopters and slaughtered.

Mustang advocates say a New York Times report proves horses rounded up from the range in Wyoming and other states have been sent to slaughter. An advocacy group is now asking Interior Secretary Doug Burgum to shut down all sales of wild horses. (source) 

(I’d link to the NYTimes article but it’s paywalled. I don’t have subscription from which to link a gift article. While the Times does have good reporting … there’s enough capitulation to the regime that I don’t want to give them my dough.)

All this is to say that unless you’re RFK jr. or share his gastronomic tendencies, I’d stay away from what’s labeled as “beef” until maybe the next president is in office.

Now might be a great time to become a vegetarian … unless you live in the U.S. where there’s a massive, multi-state shit geyser outbreak still going on. This has been brought to us by Trump mega donors, Taylor Farms.

More than 9,400 cases associated with this outbreak have been reported in 17 states, per the FDA: Arkansas, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Maine, Massachusetts, Michigan, Missouri, Nebraska, New Hampshire, North Carolina, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia. 
~~~
Only three states have reported zero cases since May 1: New Mexico, Montana and Hawaii.

The true number of cyclospora infections in the U.S. is likely higher than the numbers currently being reported — that’s because many people recover on their own and never get tested for cyclospora, per the CDC. (source) 

Oh but wait, now there’s not one but TWO salmonella outbreaks! One is from, again, Trump’s pals Taylor Farms. This time it’s jalapeños. 

As of Monday, 15,716 cases of the stomach bug had been confirmed in 47 states and Washington, D.C., the CDC reported. That’s up by 1,821 from its last update a week ago. (source)

The other salmonella case is courtesy of Indiana based Midwest Poultry Service. The states where the bad eggs were shipped to were Louisiana, Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, New Mexico and Mississippi but …

At least 98 people in 17 states have been sickened, with 26 people hospitalized. (source) 

Since Brainworm Bobby gutted the Food and Drug Administration, his idiotic, uneducated, control freaking, fever dream fantasies of how he thinks ALL Americans should eat and live is playing out real, gosh darn swell, ain’t it? 

Top to bottom, this is THE Dunning-Kruger presidency.

🚨  Just in! 🚨

RFK jr. suggests we all eat roadkill (as he does) until all this salmonella and shit geysering passes. That ought to be … what? 2030 or so? After the next administration is in and has had half a chance to rebuild some of the country?

Just kidding. Brainworm Bob’s more apt to recommend we all go on a 60 day fast and swim in the sewers. 

Stuck In My Head

Okay, four days later and I’m still on this song. I’ve got bones to pick with those first two lines though.

Love is but a song we sing
Fear's the way we die
You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry
Though the bird is on the wing
And you may not know why
~ The Youngbloods, Get Together 

Love is but a song we sing

I don’t know what Chet Powers (AKA Dino Valenti) meant when he wrote this line but, to me, it comes off like he’s saying love is some ephemeral wisp of a thing. No, no man. I got to disagree. Love is some heavy duty, bullet proof, muscular shit. Sure, sure, there’s the hearts, flowers, and dreamy frosting-like delirium but that’s really the least of it. Honest!

 Love is The Amazing Bob, Jen, Celeste, and Oni sitting with me in the pre-op cubby before I was wheeled down to one of my big-ass brain surgeries. We were laughing, cracking wise with the dark humor. TAB was stashing boxes of rubber(?) gloves into his backpack for me for later (I was the glaze chemist and mixer at a group ceramics studio back then. Gotta glove up before handling that toxic shit and it costs!) He (57) and I (40) were giggling like little rugrats over what us sneaky kids were getting away with.

It was 6AM and surgery would last at least 12 hours. Coming out with hearing was unlikely (but, that one last time, I beat the odds).

Love is sitting with TAB in his hospital room during the last couple days of his life, talking baseball, with a boombox playing Monk and Miles in the background. TAB was hallucinating that he was on a pitcher's mound. I followed his focus to the far side of the room where the batter was prepping at home plate waiting for the next pitch. I asked TAB if he was going for his knuckleball or if he was just gonna throw heat. We talked about the batter – what they might expect. In hospital room world, TAB was nearing the end. On TAB's baseball field though, he was still in the game and the very least I could do was stay with him until the last out.

Love is Ten being here for me every damn day, helping me walk up the stairs, get into the car, changing the sheets on the bed twice a day when poor Cake had a UTI, doing endless laundry, and, worst of all, driving me to all my doctor appointments through always awful Boston traffic. Ten makes me laugh and laughs when I crack wise. The man’s a fucking saint, I tell you! Also, he knows a lot about rocks, geologic shit, and climate stuff – I like that in a man.

Love isn’t all great sex and the completeness you feel when that person's near. It’s handling what life throws you with your best friend(s) by your side.

The song’s next line:

Fear's the way we die

Much more than that – caving to fear is the way we die.

When I’m afraid, (which, let’s face it, is a daily happening) I think, what’s the worst possible outcome. Is there anything I can do to prevent or mitigate this worst thing from happening? If yes, what’s that look like and let’s be creative, fer fuck's sake. If no, I figure I’ll just have to see how things roll out and go from there. Scary but I don't see a lot of other options on the damn menu.

Certainly my surgeries scare me. I try not to live in the fear zone. It doesn’t help — anxiety serves no purpose so I stuff it away somewhere, somehow. I suppose it leaks out in other places — being short tempered, hyper critical, easily fatigued, excessively snackish. 

//shrugs// Chips, guac, grilled brussels sprouts, salsa, cake, and cookies were invented for a damn good reason, ya know! If I believed in gods, I would consider carrot cake from Fratelli's bakery proof thereof. (Yes, I just had some leftover birthday cake for breakfast!)

Life is scary. It's also relentlessly pissing me clean off. This whole planet is just plain nuts. I’m talking about people – they’re strange and frightening.

People are strange
When you're a stranger
Faces look ugly
When you're alone
~ The Doors, People Are Strange 

Caving to fear is how we begin to die.

Oh, Please!

This is such a minor thing but OH so typical and utterly infuriating. 

The Right Wing Noise/Distraction Machine – in their latest attempt to cover for their lord and master, Prez Pedo’s myriad crimes, blatant incompetence, mind-bending narcissism, and stupidity that would put Larry, Moe, and Curly to shame – are really scraping the bottom of the old barrel. 

What is it? The big carnivalesque hoochie coo they’re performing is all about Jon Ossoff dropping the Crimer in Chief’s Executive Stalker's name into a sentence containing actual serious criticisms which should not be glossed over.

“He golfs and trades stocks. See, he doesn’t want to do the job. He wants to build his ballroom and travel with Natalie on their apparently defenseless flying palace gifted by the emir of Qatar.”  (source)

That’s it. That’s his only mention of Natvanka.

Complete Bozos like Megyn (I had a respectable career once!) Kelly, Meaghan (DO YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS) McCain, Eric (the dumb one, not the cokehead) Trump, Steven (deformed conehead) Cheung, etc. have been shrieking SEXISM (???) and accusing Ossoff of implying they’re having an affair.

OH COME ON – as if!!! There can’t be a single sane person on the planet who believes that obviously unwell 80-year-old sack of way too many greasy Big Macs, fries, Diet Cokes, and backed up fecal matter has the functioning hydraulics to get it up anymore. No one thinks an affair is happening and no one's making the implication.

Natvanka is just Pedo’s emotional support blonde and she's clearly emotionally unstable (to put it ever so kindly). All the noise, as usual, is to distract from the the real horrors that Pedo and his crew are up to.

In other news …

Russia’s still murdering people in Ukraine because Putin is a soulless bastard and hasn’t yet run out of bombs.

Israel has expanded it’s genociding to Southern Lebanon but that’s not new news is it? Yesterday, the Israeli army rigged and detonated the reservoir in Mansouri, Lebanon. This was the only freshwater source for the town. BTW, demolishing civilian infrastructure? That's a war crime and an act of genocide. 

I only mention it.

Also, Israel’s far-right national security minister, Itamar Ben-Gvir, is filled with absolute glee as he anticipates using his new “gallows complex." This is where Palestinians who’ve been convicted of terror offenses will be hung. Check out his "gallows cake" at the link. //shudder//

How absolutely medieval of him.

In ICE news, Minnesota is suing Texas to make Governor Abbott extradite an ICEhole (Christian Castro) who shot Julio Sosa-Celis through his front door and then made up a whole fairy tale ass story about why he just HAD to do it. Trump suck-up, white supremacist, immigrant killer and total dickhead Abbott says Castro will be sent north for trial but, waddya know, two months later Castro’s still safely tucked away in Texas. He’s probably being served steaks and martinis while he cools his heels. It’s a little vacay for Christian, eh?

Can we also find out where the government has Jonathan Ross, Jesus Ochoa, Raymundo Gutierrez, and Brian Palacios stashed? Let’s get them charged, extradited, put the fuck on trial.


How about some motherfucking justice for all of us, hmmmmm?

Bubblegum Life

Last night I dreamed that my beloved friend Kevin (who died 35 years ago due to Bush I’s Gulf War) was on the USS Lincoln. I was heavily stressing about how he was doing – so much so that I went in to the local Navy office to get information and, just generally, kick up a fuss. My tantrum was tamped down by the fact that the official at the desk was an old coworker of mine of whom I was quite fond. I didn’t want to go full metal Donna on him.

Where did this dream come from? 

The Little World of Liz

Yesterday was my birthday. I was feeling old and thinking of all those I’ve loved and outlived. I’m also, of course, stressing my ass off over the news.

Kevin was a Hebrew and Arabic linguist for the Navy.

The official at the desk who was a former coworker? In real life his name is Israel.

I wish all my dreams were so easy to figure out.

How did I spend my big b-day?

Well, Ten made my favorite breakfast – blueberry pancakes with spinach. He and Cake brought them to me while I lounged around in bed, blogging, doodling, and being a basic slug (one of my better innate talents). Later, I went over to Jen’s – she had picked up fish and chips from our local pub. We watched the final four (count ‘em four!) episodes of Resident Alien. OMG! I’m sorry the show came to an end BUT they wrapped it up in the best possible way. NO spoilers here!

Okay, just one. They FABULOUSLY placed The Youngbloods song Get Together. When the lyrics came up on the screen, I was stunned – I mean, it was perfect! I was immediately transported back to a naive, happier, hopeful time. I think I was 9 or 10 when the song came out. 

I actually had a friend that year (until my family moved away to the alien midwest). She and I listened to 45s on her older sister’s record player – things like Incense and Peppermints by Strawberry Alarm Clock, Simon Says by 1910 Fruitgum Company, and Pleasant Valley Sunday by The Monkees. 

I wonder what Julie’s doing now. She wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up. Her dog was named Tippy. My parents were friends with hers so, years later, I heard some news about the family. One of Julie’s older brothers committed suicide on the night of her senior prom. Her father went into the dance to tell her and bring her home.

What was his reason for deleting himself? I never heard but it was implied that it had something to do with him having moved to Boston and that not working out. Not long after returning to rural Western Pennsylvania he did the deed. So, he felt like a failure? Dunno.

A few years later, when I told my folks that I was moving to Boston, my mother freaked. For the first time that I could remember, she expressed actual concern for me, my plans and safety. She wanted me to know that I could always come home. Two things:

1. With my violent, wackbrained brother, anyfuckingwhere on this planet (or any other) was safer than home. 
2. I’d just come off the road from my final season with a scuzzy Midwest carnival where I’d encountered a whole ass variety of insane dangers and I survived. Go me, eh?

I'd already been hit with some pretty solid shots. All it did was piss me off and make me more determined to get the fuck up, out, and on my own. Which I did. 

In any case, I’ve tried doing a search for Julie – no luck. I'm not looking to reconnect. Much more I’d just like to know if she became a vet or what other path her life might have taken. Did John’s suicide, just a few months before she was due to leave for college, derail her? Did she get help to understand, process and cope?

Last night I could clearly hear Get Together in my head and, yeah – you bet – my eyes got all watery.

Love is but a song we sing
Fear's the way we die
You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry
Though the bird is on the wing
And you may not know why

Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now

If only life was that simple. Bubblegum pop did not prepare me for the harsh realities of life.

Whoosh!

One day you’re young confused, angry at the world and everyone in it. You’re struggling to find your place socially, job-wise, artistically. All while suffering the slings and arrows of a rare, outrageous neurological disorder. 

Then a whole bunch of years whoosh by.

You may ask yourself, "What is that beautiful house?"
You may ask yourself, "Where does that highway go to?"
And you may ask yourself, "Am I right, am I wrong?"
And you may say to yourself, "My God, what have I done?”

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
Into the blue again, into the silent water
Under the rocks and stones, there is water underground
~ Talking Heads, Once in a Lifetime

And then, one day, you wake up and you’re old, a little less confused but still angry at the world. Maybe anger is your/my normal state – sort of like resting bitch face? I’m no longer struggling with jobs and careers because I’m retired. Socially? I’ve accepted, after giving the Party Person/Social Butterfly persona a real solid go for decades, that I’m a bit of an introvert. Not completely but really!

Artistically? While, physically, I can’t do the big canvases anymore and working in clay isn’t logistically possible, I’m still finding ways to be visually creative. Having gallery showings would have been awesome but making art has never been about sales, attention, and adulation (though I surely wouldn’t have turned any of that shit away had it come a knockin’). It's always been about the work, the act of creativity. 

Picasso said, “We don't grow older, we grow riper.” I’m ripening like a pumpkin, left on the porch rail too long after Halloween. Interesting from a biologist's point of view perhaps. Otherwise? Ewwww.

And meanwhile time goes about its immemorial work of making everyone look and feel like shit.
~ Martin Amis, London Fields

Yes … well. I hope that I will soon begin to feel better, rejuvenated even, as I recover from this long-ass foot horror show. Meanwhile, there ain’t nothing that can be done about my lopsided visage (facial paralysis – aftereffect from brain surgeries) or my scalp that resembles the tracks in busy train yard more than a human head. Sure, sure, there’s cosmetic surgery and wigs but that shit costs $$$$$$ and $.
 
Most people don't grow up. Most people age. They find parking spaces, honor their credit cards, get married, have children, and call that maturity. What that is, is aging.
~ Maya Angelou

I hope to hell I’ve matured, at least a little bit, over the years. I *think* I may have. I’m kind but not the nicest person you’ll ever meet. I have firm boundaries.

Certainly not everyone’s cup of tea/coffee/adult bev of choice – I wouldn’t want to be.

We're all fools," said Clemens, "all the time. It's just we're a different kind each day. We think, I'm not a fool today. I've learned my lesson. I was a fool yesterday but not this morning. Then tomorrow we find out that, yes, we were a fool today too. I think the only way we can grow and get on in this world is to accept the fact we're not perfect and live accordingly.
~ Ray Bradbury, The Illustrated Man

Rainy Days and Mondays

That song, Rainy Days and Mondays by The Carpenters came out in 1971. It played incessantly on my little transistor radio that didn’t pick up the 70 long mile away cool FM stations from the city. 

What could I hear when I got my hands on a better radio? The Doors, Riders on the Storm. Led Zeppelin, When the Levee Breaks and Stairway to Heaven. Rolling Stones, Brown Sugar and Wild Horses. Marvin Gaye, Mercy Mercy Me and What’s Going On. The Who, Baba O’Reilly and Won’t Get Fooled Again. Gil Scott-Heron, The Revolution Will Not Be Televised. Maggie May, Rod Stewart. Ain't No Sunshine, Bill Withers. Sly & The Family Stone, Family Affair, Cat Steven AKA Yusuf Islam, Peace Train.

I had just turned 13 but even I could tell the difference between Hallmark card, corporate pablum and art. 

I was stunned when, years later, people whose options I truly respected seriously claimed Karen Carpenter was an underrated drummer and praised her vocal abilities. But … but … their songs were nothing more than elevator music, grocery shopping and dentist office soundtracks. They were torpid, beige, approximations of life and NOW you’re praising her? Mes amis, Karen was no Terry Bozzio, Steve Gadd or Elvin Jones – she was no Tina Turner, Julie London or Annie Lennox but sure, yes, she definitely had talent. 

I only mention it BUT you can have angelic, high functioning pipes and fab abilities but if you lack verve – if you can’t tap into the juice of life – your music, art, writing, whatever, won’t have soul. Without soul, it will NOT live. DEAD TUNE WALKING! At best you've got something that's gonna start reeking if you don't bin it soon! I'm tellin' you.

I just read Carpenter’s Wikipedia entry. She died in ’83, a month shy of her 33rd birthday. Her long battle with anorexia nervosa finally did her in. Anorexia won.

Two years later, the coroner told colleagues that Carpenter's heart failure was caused by repeated use of ipecac syrup, an over-the-counter emetic drug often used to induce vomiting in cases of overdosing or poisoning.
~~~
Carpenter's friends were convinced that she had abused laxatives and thyroid medication to maintain her weight and felt that the problem had begun after her marriage began to fail. (source) 

Man, I thought she’d died in the late ‘70s. I guess that was just her career.

What brings this up today? It's Monday. It's raining and I'm a little down. Possibly my minor sad is because tomorrow's my birthday and I really thought I'd be a LOT farther along on my recovery path at this point. I blame my stupid, asshole toe.

Weird trivia for the day – Karen and I were born in the same town and in the very same hospital, eight years apart. Weird.

Strange Fruit

Black people do NOT hang themselves.

More to the point – Black people do not lynch themselves.

The cops would like us to believe differently. Of course. The authorities are ultra quick to dismiss these as suicides.

Look how many come up in a quick internet search. This is hardly comprehensive.

Tasia Fortune, 29-years-old – August 3, 2026, Jackson, Mississippi 
Jerard Jackson, 28-years-old – June 30, 2026, Rothbury, Michigan 
Justice Kai James 21-years-old – June 21, 2026 Albany, Georgia 
To’Nea Miller, 27-years-old – June 18, 2026, Miami, Florida  
Cedric Tahuye, 36-years-old – June 6, 2026, Harrisburg, North Carolina 
Juliana Nzita, 16-years-old – May, 8, 2026, Charlotte, North Carolina  
Kyle Bassinga, 21-years-old – February 18, 2026, Marietta, Georgia  
~~~
Earl D. Smith, 58-years-old  –  June 18, 2025, Albany, New York 
Trey Reed, 21-years-old – September 15, 2025, Cleveland, Mississippi 
Javion MaGee, 21-years-old – September 151, 2025, Vance County, North Carolina  
Torrance “Tory” Medley, 39-years-old – November 13, 2025, Brookfield, Wisconsin
~~~
Dennoriss Richardson, 39-years-old – September 28, 2024, Sheffield, Alabama 

Trevonte Jamal Shubert-Helton, 29-years-old – February 21, 2024, Hiawassee, Georgia
~~~
Yolna Lubrin, 31-years-old – September 28, 2023, Orlando, Florida
~~~
Omari Bryant, 18-years-old – December 5th, 2020, Homerville, Georgia 
Robert Fuller, 20-years-old – June 10, 2020, Palmdale, California 
Dominique Alexander, 27-years-old– June 9, 2020, NYC, New York
Malcolm Harsch, 38-years-old – May 30, 2020, Victorville, California
~~~
TeTe Gulley, 31-years-old – May, 2019, Portland, Oregon 

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
~ George Santayana

 I realize that the billionaire class needs to keep those of us in the lower echelons fighting amongst ourselves. If we're battling over the color of our neighbor's skin or their religion or who they like to knock boots with or what they have in their underdrawers, then we're too busy to see that these Richie Rich motherfuckers are robbing us blind.

Those mutant moolah maggots want to return the U.S. to a gilded age when slavery was legal, women were the property of their fathers or husbands, before Native Americans were considered U.S. citizens, and it was illegal for us all to vote. You know, back when rich white assholes owned the playing field and made all the rules.

They already have their damn mansions, yachts the size of aircraft carriers, golden monuments to themselves, hot and cold running servants, and blow up doll wives. They also need us dead? Who's gonna shake up their fresh Watenshi gin martinis? They might sprain an eyebrow if they try doing it on their own.

 Rather shortsighted of these twats wouldn't you say? 

Strange Fruit, Billie Holiday