Words I Hate by Curmudgeonly Kip

Over-used scholarly words that I hate:

Robust

Rigour

Thick

However

Evocative

Gushy words used to describe serious work that I hate:

Amazing!

Fantastic!

Awesome!

Epic!

Made-up touchy-feely words that I hate:

Mindfulness

Embodiedness

Indepthness (Just saw this one in a title!)

[I once gave some Phenomenology Zealots a list of 2874 pre-existing perfectly fine words ending in –ness. They couldn’t be bothered.]

Some examples of usage of the words that I hate (totally made up):

“This report contains thick description”. 

Means: “There was so much data that I didn’t’ know what to do with it”.

“The project took a rigourous and robust approach”.

Means: “We couldn’t think of anything specific to describe our method”.

“However, the moon is made of cheese”.

Question: However, what? Where are we? What preceded this grand theory? Can you really bounce a meatball?

“Her statement was evocative of other states of mind as well”.

Means: “The interviewee really confused me, but I probably wasn’t listening”.

 

Words that I like:

Steadfastness

Substantiate

Précis

Nonetheless (as a salve for ‘However’)

Provocative

“Oxford Comma, 4 a.m.”

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“Oxford Comma, 4 a.m.”

When I write, I.

When I write dreams, I write poetry.

When I write us, I write script.

When I write before, I write biography.

When I write sensation, I write philosophy.

When I write place, I write history.

When I write love, I write chances.

When I write truth, I write fiction.

When I write poetry, I write religion.

When I write, I.

When I write, I.

When I write.

"The sweat on their bodies” Redux

I was introduced to live musical theatre at the Valley Forge Music Fair. It was summer stock for New York actors, singers and dancers performed in a tent on the East coast of Pennsylvania, outside of Philadelphia.

I lived my simple, country boy life about 30 miles to the west. It was at Valley Forge that I saw shows like Pajama Game and Damn Yankees and, for the first time, fell in love with live musical theatre.

Theatre in the round and being so close to the sweat on the dancers’ bodies made me believe that there was a possibility of connecting somehow. As a teenager, these theatrical encounters were a part of my growing-up world of serious sexual awakening. I had put aside my childish desire to be Robin to Batman or follow Flash Gordon around in his lamé hot pants. These new experiences were comprised of all the senses; but mostly, it was the smell of the greasepaint mixed with the dancers’ sweat. I was breathless from the experience.

Every summer I would look forward to these performances under that tent, the actors in such intimate proximity, darting up and down the aisles, making their exits and entrances. The tension of wanting to reach out and touch them was palatable.

I would hang around the parking lot after the shows, hoping that one of the cast would come along and say hello. I lie. Come along and take me away with them. I wanted to join this musical circus; I wanted to fall in love and get laid. I still get these three things mixed up.