Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts

Mar 18, 2017

Bending Phrases

Bending Phrases by Deb Graham


I taught my granddaughter to read. Not long afterwards, we came to A Big Word.

"Honey, do you know what that means?"

She sounded it out. "Flex  ibble. That means all bent out of shape."

I like words. I like their origins, their usage, their colloquial twists, the twists they take with various dialects across America. Region phrases, such as “fair to middlin” or “catty-wompus” delight my ears. Some words baffle me.  I fly often (more than I’d like!) and always puzzle over de-planing at the end of a flight. Never have I  de- bus-ed, de-boat-ed, or de-car-ed.

I’m always on the look-out (listen-out?) for a new way to express a point. I find myself irked at too-often repeated phrases, including A Lot On Her Plate, Out Of The Box, and Take It To The Next Level. They’re rendered meaningless by overuse.

I like the ways English can bend to make a thought clearer. But I admit I keep a running list of abuses, found in print, as if somebody’s editor was asleep at the time. English is flexible, but not that much. Still, they’re good for a smile.

 Here are some of my favorite abuses of words:

In a published novel, a character said she was “full to the gunnels.” Gunwales has a fine history, and the fact that it lost a few letters in pronunciation on the way from England is not the problem. It’s not “gun whales”, either, which I’ve also seen in print. Whales are unarmed. (Hint: if it’s a trite phrase, yet your spellchecker flags it, and you can’t find the word in a dictionary, you might need another’s opinion as to the spelling, instead of making up your own.)

He raced down the hill at breaknet speed. Now, that’s a good idea; if you’re tearing down a hill, get a net.

In a magazine article, a writer alluded to “that trite old phrase, ‘there is no mayonnaise in Ireland.’” It took me several moments to figure out she meant “No man is an island.”

I’ve read about how “gossip spreads like wildflowers.” I like that one; especially if you’re spreading something good somebody did, wildflowers is a lovely image. Wrong, but lovely.

A newspaper article referred to a man who’d won a “pullet surprise.” Was it a chicken dinner?  Oh, wait...Pulitzer prize!

I think “self phone” makes total sense, albeit wrong...many people are totally tuned into self only with the ubiquitous things.

Somebody wrote me a letter telling me they’d been trying to reach me by curtsy call, and unable to do so, had resorted to the letter. A what? A curtsy, like at the end of a stage performance? No; a courtesy call!

In a novel, “two men ran down the street, their cloaks bellowing behind them.”  Can’t say I blame them; if my outerwear began shouting, I’d run, too.

I read a note saying she needed to “reign in her enthusiasm.”  Wonderful—that’s the only way to rule!

A mother admonished her kids to “stay within earshout,” which makes total sense.

  In a report on hurricane recovery, a reporter wrote, “a Katrina survivor said that he’d lived in FEMA trailers, tents, and Kwanzaa huts for the first year after the storm.”  Kwanzaa huts? A whole year of celebrating Kwanzaa? What fun!

In a mystery, the author insisted her character was a “bonnified Scotsman.” I think she meant bona fide, but who am I to argue? Later on, this man with the bonnet became “embroidered in battle.”  Perhaps he did need the bonnet.

I’ve read several instances of “pealing paint,” but mine just sits silently on my walls, never ringing out at all. Sigh.

Did you know the difference between humans and other mammals is “a posable thumb”? It’s a funny image, to think of thumbs, posing like models.

Several times, I’ve read “her eyes shot across the room.”  That’s gotta hurt. Glad my eyes are better anchored than that!

“It’s not my first radio,” insisted a character in a novel. Perhaps this is why I’m more comfortable writing nonfiction; I don’t have to keep track of how many radios one owns, or what that has to do with the character’s ability to solve a mystery.          
   
Somebody insisted her mother was “lack toast and intolerant.” Perhaps she was grouchy because she was hungry. Give the woman some toast, already.

Several times I’ve read in a book this phrase: “a shutter passed through his body.” I don’t care what was happening previously; now we have a death at hand.  “Udder despair” is another common error; the heroine is sad, and suddenly, she’s thinking about the business end of a cow.    Why?
 

“Lawn force meant agencies” are not immune. A police report read a man was charged with “wreckless driving.” I thought that was the goal. The report continued, “...then chaos insured.” Oh, good. Chaos can be expensive to repair.

In a book, a police officer “upholstered his gun.” We all need a hobby, right?

An interview quoted a rock musician as saying his shirt was “from my hippy dipping days.” They don’t like that much.                           

Some bent phrases seem more believable than the intended words. Here are some other good ones:

turn into a new leaf (that would be fun to see)
it’s a doggy-dog world
she balled her eyes out (that’s gonna hurt)
it’s a mute point (oh, good; we didn’t want to hear about it anyway)
Flamingo dancer     (well- trained birds!) 
he’s in intimate danger (another good reason to group date)
two sense worth  
hammy downs  (is this outgrown clothing, or lunch?)
a look of otter confusion
 in the mist of a project (that explains the lack of clarity; a brain-fog)
a fine tooth-comb  ( I brush my teeth, but never comb them)
mid-evil style of dress (can’t you just see it?)
 not aloud to say a word  (shh)
  she let out a grown (like growing pains?)
an outer body experience
I want to speak my peace (but they never do)
for all intensive purposes
Wreaking haddock through the store (hmmm...fish are generally not ill-behaved)
 “His doctor sent him to a specialist, a eurologist.” If he’s sick, geography won’t help)
from the gecko (get-go I understand, but who listens to lizards?)
It was a pigment of the imagination (of course! Imagination should be in full color)
“Whoa is me,” she sighed. (stop, already)
He acted like a bowl in a china shop (pretty inert, if you ask me!)
She’s on maturity leave.


And finally, “Be polite to the wizard, or he’ll wave his hand and your toast.”    Just unhand my breakfast! 

Jul 23, 2016

All The World Is A Stage

by Deb Graham


 What was a shy, middle-aged Mormon mother doing, standing in a spotlight in a legendary comedy club in downtown Seattle, in front of a packed house of half-drunk critics, confidently wielding a microphone? In the vernacular, Killing It Dead.

A few years back, I hit a rough patch. In a fit of I’d-Better-Do-Something-Drastic-ism, I rashly signed up for a stand-up comedy class at the local community college. A couple of evenings a week spent laughing would be a healthy way to push back the walls, to do something just for me, right? Imagine my shock in the first class to learn that it was a participation course, not the spectator variety. Class members were expected to take turns on stage! For a set period of time!  No Stage Left until the light flashed!

Husband encouraged me, reminding me Mom didn’t raise a quitter.  “What have you got to lose?” 

I spent the week desperately seeking something– anything – funny. I came up with a few “bits” (the technical term; after all, this was a college course). My inner child shrieked in terror. What was I thinking? Who was I to even attempt standing on a real live stage before strangers, let alone say something giggle-worthy?

Tuesday arrived. The heavy microphone shook in my sweaty hands.  Forgetting all I had tediously rehearsed, I blurted, “I’m scared. I was talking to my husband at dinner. I knew it’d be my turn first tonight. I said, ‘What if I can’t do this? What if I faint on stage? What if they laugh at me?’” 

The outburst of sincere laughter startled me. Taking a breath, I reached into my blouse front for my note cards. They weren’t where I’d tucked them, minutes before!  In a panic, I dug deeper, muttering, “I know I had two in here a minute ago...”

As the laughter rang out, I felt an unexpected wave of the Holy Ghost's influence wash over me. Incongruous, at best; was a usually dignified Mormon woman supposed to be cracking jokes in a room full of “Gentiles” instead of at home, tackling the three page To Do list? For that moment, this one was. The Spirit testified that this was exactly what I needed to push back the walls, to regain my sense of Self that threatened to wash away under grief and loads of laundry, Cub Scouts and Girl Scout leadering, Primary Presidenting, supporting a husband who worked ten hour days and raising a boy so accident-prone the ER staff knew us by name, and a mentally ill son who made every day an adventure and the garden and... all of it.
 
 I made it through the rest of my time until the bright light flashed. Shaken by the performance, I stumbled to my seat.  Applause filled the small theatre. I heard a man behind me exclaim, “I’ve been to a lot of comedy clubs, and I’d pay $20 to see her again!”

  Me?

To wrap up the story: That class, and the three subsequent ones, changed my life. I was invited to perform at Comedy Central in Seattle, a couple of scouts demanded interviews, I performed on television, I was clearly on the rise as a stand-up comedian. The Circuit beckoned.

But wait...was that my goal? Not really. After a year, I stepped off the stage. Oh, I still emcee the ward talent show, but that’s about it.  However, that experience changed me. It drew out a confidence I lacked, from somewhere deep inside me. I learned I can make people laugh, be it a crowd of two hundred drunks  or a twelve-year-old on the verge of a come-apart. I’m lighter, myself.  I can see the funny side of just about every situation, sometimes even in the middle of it. I’m no longer intimidated by microphones or spotlights. I can improvise a talk or lesson easily. I found my voice: I can handle rejection.  I felt the Spirit encourage me as I developed this peculiar talent.

This is a writing blog, and I didn’t forget that. It just looks like I did. A few years ago, my husband encouraged me to write a book. “Just do it. You have the skills and the knowledge. Just write.” 

As I shook my head, I again felt the Holy Ghost nudging me forward, onto a stage where strangers would look at me,  my thoughts, my ideas, my concepts. They might turn away, they might laugh, they might reject me or love me, but I had to try. So my first book was birthed. I’m currently working on Books #11, #12, and #13.

Yes, three at once. What have I got to lose?


What steps have you taken to develop a talent you didn’t know existed? When daily life threatens to crush the light out of you, how do you push back? I’d really love to hear from you, and I promise not to laugh. Probably.