Nuclear Family Warhead

Welcome to the Thursday edition of Big Word Wednesday.  Hopefully this won’t become a habit.  One of our resident Wordsmith’s, Tom from Being Michael’s Daddy contributes our first word in this week’s edition of Big Word Wednesday: cromulent.  It means fine, acceptable, normal.  It is used quite frequently on The Simpsons.  Homer used it once, but that doesn’t mean he knew what it meant.  He probably thought it was some new kind of donut; or the new villain on Battlestar Galactica.  Principal Skinner uses it more often and seems to have a handle on it’s usage.  Our second word this week is eukaryote.  The definition is about 12 sentences long, but in layman’s terms, they are organisms who have complex cell structures enclosed within membranes.  Click here for more info.  Why the science slant, you may ask?  Well, as some of you may recall, I wrote this post and in it I mentioned that I had a lurker at Iowa State University.  She de-lurked and left me a comment and we exchanged a couple of e-mails.  In one of those e-mails I suggested that perhaps she should become a blogger.  Fast forward a few weeks and Karen has started My Microscopic Life, a blog that will chronicle her adventures as a Microbiology Grad Student.  Please stop by and welcome her to the blogosphere!  I’m a closet science nerd and even though I did poorly in High School chemistry, it was mainly due to the teacher, not the material.  He didn’t like me, I didn’t like him.  We had no chemistry whatsoever, thus; no chemistry grade.  Well, not a grade that I could take home, anyway.  Don’t forget to visit the BWW Home Page for a listing of all of the verbal organisms.

I am 4 posts-well, 3 now, away from my 100th post.  I know, I know, hard to believe.  Alert the media and call my Web Host, I could get dozens of hits.  I’m trying to remember exactly what it is I’m supposed to do for my 100th post, other than turn cartwheels in my underwear, and I’ve already pre-warned the Nukekids to not eat breakfast until that portion of the celebration is over.  Am I supposed to make a $100 donation to my own PayPal account from my own PayPal account and see how long it takes for them to catch up with me?  If I make it past 100 hours, do I get a prize?  Am I supposed to watch the last third of the movie 300?  Do I need to go out and murder 1 Dalmatian?  Subscribe to Billboard magazine?  Host a Centennial parade down my street?  I think you get the picture.  Here I am without my bus pass (Clue or Short, take your pick), am I supposed to list 100 things about me; interesting or otherwise?  Cuz if that’s the case, then I should have done this back around number 31 or 32; Barbara Walters material I am not.  If the answer is yes, that I in fact DO have to come up with at least 100 things (interesting or otherwise), then I’d better get busy.  Look for me to post twice before Friday, then come back in October, maybe I’ll be done by then, if the aneurysm doesn’t get me first.  Please advise; I’m dyin’ here.      

George Washington.  Paul Revere.  William Wallace.  The 300.  Nukegirl.  Each of these are examples of people who will live throughout history as being the bravest of the brave.  Those who when faced with adversity and challenge rose to the occasion and said; “I’ll do it”, who stood steadfast in the shadow of fear and said; “Go bug someone else, I’m not afraid anymore”.  Well, I guess Macaulay Culkin said that in Home Alone too, but I didn’t buy it.  Nukegirl, on the other hand, didn’t say anything except; “Oooh! Oooh! I want to hold it! Can I Daddy, please?”  The 14 year old Volunteer working the ridiculously over sized insect table had already mocked the Nukeboys into shame; Nukegirl was the last chance to return honor to the family name.  “So, just the little girl wants to hold the TOTALLY LIVING, CRAWLING 9 inch Giant African Millipede?”, he said.  Jerk.  “Are you sure you want to hold it honey?” I asked from across the room, under a chair.  “Yes Daddy, I think he’s cute!”  Cute.  Not the first emotion Nukeboy1 felt before he fell to the floor and curled up into the fetal position.  “It tickles!” she said as Nukeboy2 retreated to find a paper bag to get his hyperventilation under control.  I ventured out from the sanctuary of the chair long enough to snap these two photographs.  Proof positive that the largest amount of testicular fortitude in our house resides in a 4 year old little girl.  Burglars beware.

Sister Stacey Sent The Best Birthday Card Ever: 

And on the inside:

And From Mom:

 Inside:

Of the two words we picked this week, one you will be able to use in everyday conversation, the other will be one that will win you points in a trivia game.  Our goal is to help you increase your vocabulary, and most of the words we’ve featured so far can do that.  Some of them, though, are just good for when you want to show off a little.  I’m sure I won’t have to identify which word is which, but if I do, send me a message through the contact page to avoid public ridicule from your fellow students.  Word number one is; efficacious; which means; producing or capable of producing a desired effect.  It is a derivative of effective or effect. 

The second word this week is a contribution from my sister Stacey.  Wasn’t that a TV show; My Sister Stacey?  No?  Well, it should have been.  The word she contributed is trichotillomania; which is the compulsion to pull ones hair out.  Being a teacher, I can see where she gets it from.  I have three kids, and, at times, a genuine compulsion to become a trichotillomaniac, but since I’m already follicly challenged, I’ve learned to maintain.  Edgar and Ethan, the two stalwart follicles who are holding their own about 6 inches north of my eyebrow ridge, thank me for it.  They know they are only weeks or perhaps days from being washed down the shower drain anyway; they certainly don’t need any harassment from me.  Check out the BWW Home Page for missed assignments, and let’s get those overdue words in; other people are waiting to check them out.

On the occasion of my birthday, I thought it proper to let my Mom know that I get it now.  All those times when she said; “Wait til you have kids of your own” now take on a new meaning.  Getting run over by a Mack truck would have been more subtle, but, I get it now, Mom.  I SAID I GET IT!  Or rather; when you said; “You’re going to get it”, I didn’t fully appreciate what you meant.  I appreciate it now.  Boy Howdy, do I appreciate it now.  So in honor of my Mom and Dad, and all parents everywhere who scoffed at their parents when they said things like; “You’ll see” and “Just you wait”, I give you “The Nukiesburg Address”.  With apologies to Mr. Lincoln, and the disclaimer that this is in no way meant to dis-respect the power and nature of his great speech, I submit for your approval:

The Nukiesburg Address:

2 score and 4 years ago my father (and mother) brought forth on this continent, a new child, conceived in Texas, and dedicated to the proposition that all children are created equal (mostly).

Now we are engaged in a great civil turnabout, testing whether that child, or any child so conceived and so dedicated, can take as good as he gave.  We are met on a great battle-field of that turnabout.  They (Mom & Dad) have come to transfer a portion of that field, as a new resting place for those (me) who here gave their lives that that child (grandkids) might live (not if they don’t start listening!).  It is altogether vengeful and proper that they should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not evacuate–we can not disintegrate–we can not keep it clean–this ground.  The brave parents, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to control or contain (the kids).  The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, because kids never listen anyway, but it can never forget what a mess they made here.  It is for us the living (allegedly), rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who parented here have thus far so nobly advanced.  It is rather for us to be here resigned to the great task remaining before us–puberty–that from these honored dead we take increased caution to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of independence and wealth–that we here highly resolve that these dead parents shall not have died in vain-that these children, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom (college)–and that discipline of the children, by the parents, for the children, shall not perish from the earth.

The actual transcript of The Gettysburg Address; one of the greatest speeches ever written, can be found here.

Love Drive, Loving You Sunday Morning, The Zoo, Blackout, No One Like You, Big City Nights, Rock You Like A Hurricane, Still Loving You. Recognize those? Some of them? They’re all songs by the German rock band Scorpions.  This was the band who’s lead singer learned English by SINGING it.  No lie.  That’s why you can still hear; on Rock You Like A Hurricane, the line; Waaahhhk Yu Lie-ka Ho-a-cayne, Baybay!  He sounds like Shultz from Hogan’’s Heroes: “I saw Nut-ting! I saw Nut-ting!”  Can you tell I was never a really big fan?  Oh, sure, they’ve got some decent songs; Big City Nights has a great guitar intro, for instance, but I never went all goo-goo over them.  Maybe it was my aversion to their namesake insect that pushed me away. 

When we lived in El Paso, Scorpions were everywhere.  In the lighting fixtures, under the dresser, under the couch cushions; and on AOR radio stations.  We moved into a house that had been vacant for a year before we bought it.  During the clean up before we moved in I counted 54 dead scorpions.  FIFTY FOUR!  Guess how many were still living there to torment us?  I lost count at 60 or 65.  I crawled through the 130 degree heat in the attic laying out insecticide as I retreated back to the attic stairs.  There’s no such thing as a ”walk-in” attic in El Paso; in fact, a lot of the houses are Southwestern architecture and are flat roofed anyway.  This trip to the attic was necessary due to the fact that as Nukeboy1 lay asleep on the couch one night (he was a year and a half at the time), NukeMom and I witnessed a scorpion crawl out of the couch about 2 inches from his head.  The freak factor on that is 11.  Why didn’t we just make our freak factor bigger and make 10 the biggest freak?  Because our freak amplifiers go to 11, that’s why. 

These weren’t the deadly kind of scorpions, but any scorpion sting is going to hurt; and if you’re a little boy who is only a year and half old, you’re definitely going to remember the experience.  We got him off of the couch and got the scorpion before he could run and hide, but God, I hate those things!  I don’t hate them with a jump-on-a-chair-and-scream-like-a-girl-hate, I hate them with that deep down furious anger hate.  That: “If I see one I’m going to smash it with my shoe until there’s nothing left to smash” hate.  Then I’m going to burn the shoe.  Then I’m going to mix the ashes in concrete and drop it in a lake.  After the concrete has set, of course.  That’s some serious bug-hate.  I’d come home from work and see one hanging on the ceiling.  I’d kill it, sit down on the couch to watch some TV, then while stretching see another one on the ceiling.  Right.  Above.  My.  Head.  Try watching Six Feet Under with that.  It took us almost a year to get it down to where we would only see one or two a month, but that’s still too many in my opinion.  To answer your question; hell yeah I checked my shoes everyday before putting them on!  Six months later we moved to North Carolina and our scorpion days were over.  Or so we thought.

Here is a picture of what crawled out from underneath my refrigerator yesterday.  This is a borrowed photo from the Internet because there is nothing left for me to photograph myself.  Remember that shoe-wielding furious anger hate I told you about?  The SOB just walked out, right in front of me, Nukeboy1 and Nukegirl.  Like he was the opening comedienne on a 3 man bill coming back out to introduce the headliner; “H-h-heey!  Alright folks, give it up again for Dash Quagmire!  What a funny guy!  Don’t forget to take care of your cocktail waitresses….” I mean, the ‘nads on this guy!  What did he think was going to happen?  Was he expecting food?  Like we were going to fillet and saute some spider for him or something?  He just darted out, sat there, waited for the shoe and then disappeared in a cornucopia of obscenities and shoe pummels.  Sorry Nukegirl, Nukeboy1, God.  Oh, and NukeMom (I don’t think Nukegirl will remember any of those words, and Nukeboy1 is a 5th grader; he’s already heard most  of them).  I’m still not sure if he was a native North Carolina scorpion, or a hitchhiker from El Paso that had survived for 7 years under our refrigerator living off of pet dander and attitude.  I didn’t have time to buy him a beer and chit chat.  I looked it up online, they have no clue how long these things can last.  Next to cockroaches; scorpions are the insect least likely to obtain domestication status in my home.  Call PETA on me, I don’t care.  Have Pamela Anderson throw fake blood on me; won’t do any good.  If I see ‘em, they’re dead.  End of story.  Where’s my shoe?

Nukeboy2 won a drawing a week ago. The prize was 4 tickets to the local ballpark to watch Minor League baseball at it’s finest. He was also designated to throw out the first pitch. Being that the only thing he has ever pitched with frequency and efficiency is fits, we went to work directly. We borrowed Nukeboy1’s baseball mitt and went outside to practice. He got the hang of it pretty quickly, but then, like most things in childhood, cockiness took over and the balance of the afternoon was spent either chasing baseballs thrown over my head or covering my crotch with my glove.  I didn’t mind at all; the look of determination and excitement on his face was contagious.  We practiced all week.

Game night was last night.  We arrived at the field early for some pre-game warm-up in the bull pen, but were turned away because the pro’s needed it, or some stupid reason like that.  I packed his arm in ice after pulling his coat up over it, rubbed his shoulders and called him names like: killer and slugger and champ. 

He walked to the mound with purpose, head cocked slightly to the left.  He eyeballed the crowd as they cheered his arrival.  When the ball was handed to him he tossed it roughly in his glove, just to show it who was boss.  He shook off the first signal.  And the second.  Finally, he got signaled a pitch that he liked; one that he knew well, one he had practiced for hours the previous week; The 14 mph one-hopper.  No wind up; he delivered from the stretch.  He didn’t even bother to check the runner at first, he just brought the heat.  The ball hung in the air for what seemed like minutes; then, right before it reached home plate, it dove into the ground and one-hopped into the waiting catcher’s mitt.  Success!  His tireless training and off-season diet plan proving resourceful once again. 

He collected his ceremonial ball from the catcher and cooly sauntered back to the gate by the dugout.   Mom and Dad followed at a distance.  Can’t let the groupies know that the posse includes the parents.  He had also received a ball autographed by the entire team.  As he settled into his seat for the opening pitch, I spied the smallest of smiles emanating from the corners of his mouth, growing bigger with each autograph he read from the ball.  By the time he finished reading them, he was beaming.  

The game was less than successful for the home team, but Nukegirl got to belt out the words to “Take Me Out To The Ball Game” with gusto, so she was happy.  She brought her brand new pink baseball glove to the game and found a matching souvenir bat and squishy ball in the gift shop.  She is now the total baseball package.  Nukeboy1 got his first taste of live music when BarlowGirl took to the field for a post game concert.  A month and a half into his electric guitar phase, he was enthralled.  I’d never heard of them, but they were quite good and churches from miles around came to see them.  In the parking lot when we were leaving, there was row after row of 15 person church vans, many of them with “BarlowGirl” shoe polished on the windows.

A full 9 inning game, concert set-up and 6 songs were enough for the Nukekids.  Nukegirl was now just tapping her foot as the rest of her body was shutting down.  Nukeboy2 was chin in palm, elbow on armrest by the 2nd song.  Nukeboy1 would have stayed all night, but we decided to go before we faced the very real possibility of having to carry 2 sleeping children the 1/2 mile back to the car.  My name isn’t Nukepony.  All in all the night was a great success, Nukeboy2 being especially proud that he was able to take his family out to the game for a night of fun.  Way to go Nukeboy2, way to go. 

Cool!  I’ve been asked to be a contributor over at scrivel.com.  It’s a humor website that has a collective of writers.  Kind of like the Borg, but without all of the annoying electronic body mutations.  I am presently 22 of 22.  My number will change as we add to the collective.  Assimilate or die!  Resistance is futile!  Sorry, went off on a tangent there.  Drop by and check out my debut post; it’s all about the dangers that can be found lurking in the aisles of your local Dollar Store.  Don’t laugh (well, yes, PLEASE laugh), they’re out there!  Stop in and check out some of the fabulous writers.  Formerly Fun just came on board and she has a great post on airline etiquitte and what happens when there isn’t any of it.  Suzy Soro (She’s been on Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm) writes about the effects of learning that an old flame has married an ugly person.  Also appearing are; Dorky Dad, That Chick from Jason. For The Love Of God, The Offended Blogger, Mimzie from Mimzie’s Muzings and Emma from Mommy Has A Headache, among others.  They are all talented and funny writers; which makes me wonder why they asked me to join.  Over-medication is the only thing I can think of.  Take a look and let me know what you think.

Quick edition today.  Tara over at If Mom Says OK suggested our first word this week.  It is omphaloskepsis; meaning contemplation of one’s navel as part of a mystical exercise.  If you’re into Yoga you would do this.  However, in today’s vernacular it has translated itself into describing someone who is self-absorbed; a navel-gazer.  Hollywood making a movie about making a movie in Hollywood would be an example of omphaloskepsis.  If you’re going to use it, use one of it’s variants: omphaloskeptical if you’re feeling self-absorbed, or omphaloskeptic if you’re calling someone a “navel-gazer”.  Click the audio button for pronunciation help, every time I try to think of something I conjure up a vision of some rare tropical skin rash.

This weeks second word is sycophant; meaning a self-seeking, servile flatterer; fawning parasite.  You can also use Toady, Yes Man or Flunky to the same effect.  Picture Dwight Schrute fawning over Michael Scott in The Office, or Bill Clinton in his new role as Hillary’s biatch.  The pronunciation is “Sicko” rather than “Psycho” fant.  Everybody has known one at some time in their lives; the person who is so good at kissing ass that they actually list it on their resume under Skills Acquired.  I worked for a few and thankfully all but one of them got what was coming to them.  Check out the BWW Home Page for the full list of verbaliciousness.