A Loss for Words

New words come into our language, and are added to the dictionaries: staycation, jeggings, LOL, tweetup, unfriend, roadkill. And some are inevitably lost or listed as archaic, obsolete, etc. I can think of one perfectly good word which is neither archaic or outdated in meaning, but is hardly ever used any more. The word is "frightening." Whereas the word once was used to describe a harrowing or unsettling experience or scenario, anything formerly considered frightening is now referred to as "scary." A scary tsunami, the scary prospect of nuclear fallout, a victim of a dreadful assault as having lived through a scary experience. Once scary was used in relation to little children and Halloween sights, or for a little animal character in children's literature being lost in a scary woods. Sure, frightening has 3 syllables instead of scary's 2, and 11 letters instead of 5, but is it worth sacrificing the dignity of language for the minimal savings of time or print? Personally, I find it somewhat incongruous and a little humorous when a dignified-looking spokesperson for some agency or another labels a major threat to our economy or world peace or survival of the planet as being "scary." BOO!

Where the sidewalk ended

I was walking along the sidewalk in my town, near the big yellow house across from what used to be the Catholic church, but now in business as "The Brick Elephant." I was looking down briefly at some cards in my hand, when I suddenly fell into a pit where the sidewalk had been taken up, ostensibly for repair, but a lot of time had passed. The orange warning cones had been removed, if indeed they'd ever been placed there. The hole was deep, several feet, and I landed on my feet. I felt a shock in both ankles and a feeling of pressure in the back of my head, but otherwise was unharmed.

Swimming to Fishphobia

There were fish in the room, all over the room, apparently swimming in air, medium sized fish they were. Also, one small yellow kitten. Signs were posted around the room, from all points of view. "Don't look," they warned. I looked anyway of course, although out of the side of my eye. The kitten was being swallowed by one of the fishes, hardly big enough to swallow it all at once, but working on it.

Just plain lost

Question: Do you know anyone named Lynn, who graduated in 2009? I found a set of keys with that info on the ring.

Reply: Yes, I know a girl named Lynn who graduated from HS in 2009. She drives and lives in the Village.
Day later : Did the keys belong to her (above)?

Response from Questioner: No, they weren't hers. We brought them to Lost & Found.

Charley and the Hoarders

I watch "Hoarders" and Charley Sheen interviews: I know I'm not that messy, and I'm pretty sure I'm not quite that crazy.

Not Me.

There is a public relations spot on TV directed against drinking while driving. I hate it. A father who has lost his little daughter in a devastating drunk driving accident lashes out from the screen---"Could you live with yourself if you killed my daughter?" His face and voice are filled with anger and hatred, while his heartbroken wife echoes his grief. But who is the raw anger and hatred directed at? Understandable, if at the drunken driver who did kill his daughter, or even if aimed at anyone who would even contemplate drinking and driving. But his horrible grief and deep rage reach out to everyone in TV land-----teetotalers, non-drivers, little children, others who have endured similar losses and may be trying to heal. But as the sponsoring organization would undoubtedly maintain------"If even one life is saved," the collateral damage is of no consequence. Personally, I don't believe that such advertising is likely to save even one life: people don't drink and then drive with intent to kill. Other, less dramatic, efforts must be made to get the message across.

Why Charley?

It seems the entire country is attuned to the words and actions of Charley Sheen. What's the attraction, since if you walk the streets of any city, you can hear the same kind of talk from those who wander the sidewalks talking to themselves. Not on a cellphone; they were there long before cells were invented. They mutter sometimes indistinguishable gibberish, but at other times speak with crystal clear logic and insights unbroachable by those of us who live in our politically correct climate. Do we really believe that public relation spots on TV or in the newspapers are really put out there by some caring paternal (or maternal for that matter) entity who truly cares about us? Do all those organizations and self-help societies really help the individuals or is their main purpose to perpetuate themselves as an industry. We who are obsessed by Sheen's manic ravings must see some shred of reality in all the artifice surrounding us. The illusion of life where everyone is trying for perfection is impossible where humans are tainted by self interest. So we live in the cocoon of pretense while living out our baser selves through Charley Sheen. We do not have the intestinal fortitude to drink tiger blood.