Merriam-Webster Online asked what people’s favorite non-words are, and I’m beyond thrilled that confuzzled is number 2.
Their definition of lingweenie is “a person incapable of producing neologisms.” This naturally led me to look up neologism on that same site and I’m loving definition 2:
1 : a new word, usage, or expression
2 : a meaningless word coined by a psychotic
Can we say “Boofle“?
It seems that comments can be left, but not viewed under my preferred layout. I’m working on this — will let us all know when it’s better.
(And, as a side note, I got my first comment today. Woo-hoo. And not even from someone I know. Yeah, baby.)
Update: Comments are back. I’m slowly feeling a little studlier about my ability to edit WordPress themes.
(All names have been removed because, well, one day this kid will grow up and I’d like for her to continue to speak to me.)
KID: How old are you, Grandma?
GRANDMA: I forget. How old do you think I am?
KID: It’s easy to tell — just look at your knickers. Mine say 5-6 on them.
Day 11 was spent just slugging around the house, reading and playing with the dogs and packing.
I thought that instead of summarizing that, I’d summarize the whole trip.
The English are much friendlier than I remember, though their accents are much harder to understand than on tv. (It turns out that they don’t all sound like Judi Dench.) English television still sucks, though they’re now up to 5 channels.
Warm English beer is better than warm American beer. Actually, a punch in the nose is better than warm American beer.
In some respects, I think that most Englishmen are better drivers than most Americans. The very narrow roads force them to have a much better sense of the size of their vehicles than most Americans have to have. Roundabouts are still a bad idea.
I haven’t said anything about my family, and won’t for reasons that I’ve explained before. I will include only one fact related to my family:
My aunt owns several Blue Crowned Pigeons. This is the one who lives indoors, known as “Pidge.”
The only thing I’ll add is that the camera isn’t giving him red-eye — that’s exactly what he looks like.
We made the hour-and-a-half drive down to Brighton, a nice little seaside town which is supposed to be quite gay. The first stop was the Toy Museum. It’s very nice, but a bit small and heavier on the model trains than I might like.
As we wandered through town, I figured out what Brighton reminds me of — it’s a cross between Castro Street and Haight Street. There were certainly more gay folks there than I’d seen anywhere else, but it was crossed with a very strong hippie vibe. I remember passing the “Vegetarian Shoe Shop” (no leather or animal products). Mostly it felt like a lot of people determined to believe that they’re better than everyone else just because they don’t fit into the mainstream. Wow — just like the Haight and the Castro, then.
We went down the hill (through the rain) to the Royal Pavillion. It’s staggeringly gaudy. Indian and Chinese decor taken to never-before-seen degrees. If I understand right, it was George IV’s summer cottage while he was running the country and pretending that his father wasn’t that crazy. The best bit, and the only bit that wasn’t cringe-worthy was seeing Queen Victoria’s WC. I had expected the royal throne to be more impressive somehow.
Then back to Richmond, where I managed to catch the overtime of the FA Cup in the pub.
– Wrapup —
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