excerpt from courtney's journal...

...complete with original spellings. ;o)

June, 29, 1986

Iam at Church right now. And I have been thinking about something. Amanda and I were at Grandma Wegers house. We wanted to play the Piano. But most of the Key's would'nt Play. Then we said the Piano would'nt Play. Grandpa then took his 22 Gun out of the Piano so that we could Play it. And that was so funny!

_______________________________

Present day: At the risk of sounding self-aggrandizing ;oD I have to say I find this completely fascinating from a linguistic standpoint. At age 9, it seems I was regularly applying German spelling rules to English words--hence all the capitalized nouns. But the one English noun that's phonetically almost identical to its German counterpart (house -- Haus), I spelled correctly.

Why I capitalized the verb "play," I have no idea. Maybe I was thinking "play" as in something you watch onstage--which would be a noun.

I love being a TCK. :o)

crazy english redux

Originally blogged April 9, 2006; decided to unearth it for entertainment purposes.

No languages were harmed in the making of this blopgost. CAVEAT EMPTOR: The use of adverbs abounded.

The following bits of great literature came into being on the Oklahoma Christian University "Singing Campaign" of June 2001. Several of us were playing a language game in which each player contributes a part of a sentence without knowing what the other players are contributing. As in:

Player A contributes a subject ("The handcuffs"),
Player B contributes a verb ("gargled"),
Player C contributes an object ("pimentos"),
and Player D contributes an adverb ("symbiotically").

Players may add other adverbs, adverbial phrases, adjectives, and so forth, as long as the structure of the sentence remains intact. Here are some sentences that came together in strange ways on that starlit night so long ago:

A blunt elephant awakens delicately.

4,000,362 slimy heifers bebop coke repeatedly.

The juicy squirrels rang manure radically.

Some magical Martians snorted river cautiously.

Your mama’s shrunken sludge dances vomit lovingly.

The Saran-wrapped amoeba strangled fever blisters.

Its unwilling dough wore pimples authoritatively.

Mike’s infected Thumbelina impaled puppies slowly.

My swollen blue suede shoes defecated coconuts.

April’s peanut butter jar beheld toxic waste creepingly.

With blackest moss, the other Deutschmark stabbed Romanoffs with ease.

Thy radical snot gulped hamsters alluringly.

Rupert’s clairvoyant slug plucked tongues boldly.

Satan’s slutty cheese cake slurped turtles on the highest rooftops.

Surprisingly enough, our milky busts curtsied pustules right on task.

Tomorrow, flamboyant lace will flatulate kabobs happily.

Russia’s flat hairballs created toilet tingling.

The parole violators’ amazed horny toad blew rafters with great linguistic skill.

On the poop deck, our objective booty crushed dried linguini like a goose in heat.

Eight crunchy handkerchiefs serenade egg drop soup like redneck Olympics.

With the absolute possibility, spoonlike cowboys cut snot rockets while smelling like a stinky tube sock.

Unbeknownst to us, many underground headless horsemen slammed bellybutton lint so well, it would’ve made you cry.

Like sands in the hour glass, strikingly handsome mold slaughtered jazz hands while dancing like a 5-year-old on purple crack.

--April Wooldridge Everhart, Courtney Cantrell, Matt Barger, Mike Antwine, and others, June 2001.

hi, my name is courtney, and i'm an introvert

"Oh, for years I denied it. After all, I have good social skills. I am not morose or misanthropic. Usually. I am far from shy. I love long conversations that explore intimate thoughts or passionate interests. But at last I have self-identified and come out to my friends and colleagues. In doing so, I have found myself liberated from any number of damaging misconceptions and stereotypes. Now I am here to tell you what you need to know in order to respond sensitively and supportively to your own introverted family members, friends, and colleagues. Remember, someone you know, respect, and interact with every day is an introvert, and you are probably driving this person nuts. It pays to learn the warning signs."

--Jonathan Rauch
in "Caring For Your Introvert"

Read the full article here. However, caveat emptor: If you're an extrovert, you might not appreciate the tongue-in-cheekiness. ;o)

Thanks to Aaron for pointing this one out.

rednecks and philosophy

"A philosopher is a blind man in a dark alley, looking for a black cat that isn't there.
"A theologian is a blind man in a dark alley, looking for a black cat that isn't there, but he thinks he has found it."

--Author Unknown

...

"A redneck is a blind man in a dark alley, looking for a black cat that isn't there, but he thinks he has found it, and he's gonna shoot it with a deer rifle."

--Alan Robertson


AMEN Retreat 2002
Chiemsee, Germany

i do dumb things sometimes

This time, I tried to light a match. Which, under ordinary circumstances, would not be a dumb thing to do. But I had just smeared lotion all over my hands, making my fingers too slick to get a good grasp on the match. So, instead of doing the smart thing and wiping the lotion off, I...

...tore the match out of the matchbook with my teeth,
clamped the head of the match between the front and back flaps of the matchbook,
and pulled really hard.

It did not occur to me that this would result in my holding a burning match in my teeth, with the flame about half an inch from my face.

I was startled enough to let go of the match, which obeyed the law of gravity by dropping to the floor. Some other natural law--having to do with combustion and chemistry, I suppose--also went into effect, keeping the match burning as it fell. Fortunately, I regained my presence of mind quickly enough to stamp out the flame before it could catch the carpet on fire.

So, dear children, the moral of the story is: obvious.

There's now a little stinging spot on my lip--not a burn from the flame itself, but from the spark as the match lit.

*sigh*

gogg-gogg-goggle at this

"Officials have agreed to correct spelling errors in road signs pointing to a central Massachusetts lake with a 45-letter name. Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg in Webster has one of the world's longest place names. It's been spelled many different ways over the years. Some locals have given up and simply call it Lake Webster."

Full article here. This really swings my verge. ;o)

dream #75, revisited

As I herumgestöbert in my blog with its new template, I came across something that made me laugh. Posted on December 27, 2005, "dream #75" was one of the dreams I translated via the online translator, with what were, to me, hilarious results.

My favorite part is that the spider "would not become squoosh." I really, really hate it when spiders--and/or ticks--refuse to become squoosh.

So once again, just for fun, here is "dream #75" in all its weirdly translated glory:

dream #75
recorded June 27, 2005

For your reading pleasure I give you once again peeps in the foreign world of dreams and on-line translators. Find below please the 75-th dream which I registered in my dream magazine first on English then in German. The translations into both languages are complaisance of that. Enjoy!

Back Pain and Hallucinations

Last night I dreamed that a spider on my left arm crept. I tried to squoosh, but it would not become squoosh. When I understood that it was not about to die, I looked at it closer and understood that it was a tick! I continued to hit my arm, to smoosh the tick trying, but it would also not become smoosh. My only execution was to do my arm pain. So, in the end, I smooshed it between my thumbnails.

I thought that I was now o.k., but then I saw that there was a bump behind my left hand. I bumped after the bump, and something moved in it. I started being earned gross, but I seized a knife and began to cut in the skin at the back of my hand. The skin was really thick and meaty: I did not cut deeply enough even to hit bone, but I cut open 1 inch thick fabric from the back of my hand. I unloaded the fabric on the table. Blood and flaps of the meat were everywhere. I saw, in the end, that the moving thing was a spider in my hand. His legs were long and thin, and when I drew them, the spider glided directly from the back of my hand. This was still alive.

Me turned Ed and to speak me tried ones, but nothing would come out. I could not believe that I had cut just in my hand like this, and that a spider had lived under my skin. Ed it was earned just absolutely gross. The spider did weak, twitching movements on the table. Then there ended the dream.

When I woke, my whole left arm was a sore place, from my finger points the whole way in my shoulder and highly back. I think that I slept wrong on my left side, and my brain translated pain into the weird spider and discs of sharp images. YUCK!

a young existentialist, sort of

This poor, dentist-drugged kid is asking the questions that plague most of us at some point in our lives:

Is this real life?

Why is this happening to me?

Is this gonna be forEVER?

I don't know if this video is funny or sad, but you can see it here.

typing woes

My computer does a weird thing when I write comments on people's Facebook pages: As I type, the words take a loooooooong time to appear on the screen, and they appear one slow letter at a time. So, as I'm typing away, I can't see what I'm actually writing until the computer catches up to my fingers. This has some odd results, including the following tidbit:

themv lnbt uIdknwhow to g bolengtkin ovunerbindincy argeale...

I don't even know what I was trying to say!

*sigh*

What's funny is when you make coffee, and the whole pot of water has run through, and it's only then that you realize you didn't actually put any coffee in.

La la la....

pamcake puns--not for the faint of heart

Conversation during last weekend's Infamous Saturday Pamcake Breakfast at Sullivans', The Oklahoma Files:

Courtney: The older I get, the sicker I get anytime I go on amusement park rides. I used to love them, but now I can't handle them anymore.
Jennifer: That's because your vestibular system changes as you get older.
Courtney: My what?
Jennifer: Your vestibular system.
Courtney: I have a vestibular system?
Joel: Do you feel self-conscious now?
Courtney: Yeah, I do...I don't know if I want people looking at my vestibule.
Jennifer: Not vestibule, vestibular.
Pam: Is that Ferris's brother?

;oD

i've been blogging this in my head since 7am

Dear Traffic Hazards,

While watching you today, aiming snarky comments at you in my head--or aloud, when I was alone in the car--I decided that the time has come, as the walrus said, to let the you-relevant snarkiness leak from my mind, ooze down through my nervous system, trickle out of my fingertips, gush into my keyboard, and spawn its way onto my blog, where you may gnash your gnashing teeth over it in impotence. That said, here are the points I've wished all day that you might see fit to ponder:

1. The manufacturer of your car, law-abiding and foresightful individual that s/he is, wisely equipped your car with headlights. Yeah, if you could turn those on when it's dark outside....ummmmm.....that'd be grrreaaaat.

2. The aforementioned mountain-top-guru-esque manufacturer also built into your car a couple of nifty gadgets called turn signals.
     a. Some of you are using turn signals as a method for asking permission to change lanes, instead of using them to announce your intention to change lanes. Asking permission is not only a misuse of the turn signal (a misuse which should, I might add, be a federal offense, like tearing the tag off of a pillow--yeah, they know who you are, you delinquent pillow-tag-tear-offers!), it is also dumb.
     b. Some of you aren't using the turn signals at all. This is not only dumb, it is also stupid, because you are begging me to run into you because I don't know where you're going.

3. Entrance ramps are not parking lots. Please to be noticing the difference. Thank you.

4. Random Breaking Syndrome* is a disease. Seek help before it's too late**.

5. When I am abiding by the speed limit of 25mph and you, in your culturally-induced haste to get from Point A to Point Z so fast it threatens to tear the skin off your face, run up behind me and begin trying to push me to break the speed limit, the law of cause and effect comes into play.
     a. The effect might be that I simply ignore you, because I am in a good mood and not susceptible to your wily speed demon ways; stay thee behind me! Pwned!
     b. The effect might be that I actually slow down because I am annoyed (and you are not a droid, which is unfortunate, because it would make you more interesting). You are SO not swinging my verge, here.
          --> The cause of these effects is you, so do not gnash your teeth at me, or the effect will be that I purchase and apply to my car a bumper sticker that reads "I might be slow, but I'm ahead of you."

Cause-and-effect-really swings my verge.

6. I'm sure there's another point of severe snarkiness, but ruminating about you has kept me up long enough past my bedtime, so I think I'm going to go to sleep now.

Yours Truly,
The Chick in the Ancient Red Nissan

*Random Breaking Syndrome (RBS): the illness which causes vehicle drivers to slam on their brakes without warning and for no discernible reason, seeing as how there are no cars in front of them, much less cars that are braking. The braking of a car in front of you, by the way, is indicated by the glow of two brake lights at the back of the aforementioned car. Or one brake light, if you are in Oklahoma. Or no brake light at all, in which case we move on to the condition of the breaking of the car in front of you, which occurs when you run into said car because it is rapidly decelerating and not bothering to inform you of the fact.

**In this case, "late" would be a condition occurring, for example, when you begin using the entrance ramp for a parking lot.

keeping the joy alive

And, speaking of geekdom, here's a little something I just have to re-post every few years. I share it because this guy, whose name I believe is Gary, just makes me really happy. Every time I see this, I smile...

...and I sing and dance along. Huzzah!

"Gary" sings "Dragostea Din Tei".

a conversation from today

Courtney: Does your stomach still hurt?

Ed: It comes and goes.

Courtney: Your stomach?

Ed: Yeah.

Courtney: I bet that feels kinda funny.

linguistic amusement

Someone might notice that I updated my links list today. (See far right column.) Among those links is now a link (how word-well-wielding is that?) to Thesaurus.com, which I reference multiple times an hour as I write.

I know that while penning my first draft, I should ignore my Inner Editor and worry about finding synonyms later, but I can't help myself. I think I'm addicted. And the Inner Editor is more than happy to supply me with synonymical drugs.

Anyway....I was just indulging my habit a few minutes ago by looking up another word for "relentless." Thesaurus.com gave me "ruthless." Which led me to the following musings:

Why isn't relentful the opposite of relentless?

Relentless is related to the verb relent.
If relentless and ruthless are basically interchangeable, why can one not make a verb out of ruthless?

As in:

1. I no longer felt relentless, so I relented.
2. I am begging you to relent!

1A. I no longer felt ruthless, so I ruthed.
2A. I am begging you to ruth!

I'm so glad to have gotten this off my chest. I'm going to go back to my story now.

excerpt from Pippin's thoughts

"Hey, look! A _____________! I wonder if I could jump on that?"

mouth boogers, revisited

In my first post regarding this disgusting dilemma, I promised an update on the mouth booger / toothpaste situation. I've been telling myself recently that I really needed to write that update (since I know you're all dying to hear whether or not my mouth lining is still sloughing dead cells with such great abandon), but I hadn't gotten around to it yet.

However, two things have served to motivate me: first of all, the gift of German toothpaste from Sophia (THANK YOU!!!) a few weeks ago, and secondly, the email I received from Doreen today, in which she expressed an interest in how my mouthbooger-problem-solving is proceeding. (Übrigens, falls ihr beide dies liest: Ihr werdet beide bald von mir persönliche Korrespondenz erhalten, denn endlich funktioniert unser Emailprogramm wieder richtig! Hurra ! Und danke, danke, danke, daß ihr an mich gedacht habt!) (Auch ein großes Dankeschön an alle anderen, die mir in letzter Zeit geschrieben haben, die aber noch keine Antwort erhalten haben. Ich werde bald zurückschreiben!)

Okay, so here's the actual update: Since my original posted complaint, I have experienced no mouth boogers! One might think that the mouth boogers read my diatribe and made haste to depart....but no, it was not my well-wielded sword (i.e. the mighty pen) that drove them away, but, instead, two--count them: TWO--American toothpastes! *gasp!*

The Rembrandt Mint toothpaste I mentioned? Works brilliantly! And Val recommended Tom's of Maine Orange Mango, which not only works splendidly but also tastes yummy! Imagine my delighted surprise when I realized that my mouth-booger days are over!

At least, they're over for now. As I've mentioned before, sometimes I've used a toothpaste for quite awhile before my mouth suddenly rebels for unknown reasons. Against that day, I am saving the Elmex/Aronal that Sophia so generously donated to the cause. That way, if my mouth does decide to reject both Rembrandt and Tom's of Maine, I can whip out my trusty German toothscrubbing pistols and blast those mouth boogers back to the oblivion whence they came!

By the way, I took Excedrin earlier, which contains a lot of caffeine, and which bears sole responsibility for what I think is the rather amusing wordiness of this post.

Thank you.

a linguistic aside

Just a couple of minor points, and then I really am going to bed:

-- Why is it that when I take my desk apart, I dismantle it,
but I do not mantle it by putting it back together again?

-- The phrase "misty-eyed" takes on a whole new meaning when one knows that "Mist" means "dung" in German. ;oD

my secret recalcitrant side

I just read this phrase online somewhere, and I've decided that this is a good description of an aspect of my personality: a secret recalcitrant side. Of course, some might claim that it's not so secret; that they see this side of me quite frequently. And to those most learnéd souls, I must reply: You are absolutely right.

However, I also think that that to which you are referring is my occasionally self-revealing streak of obnoxious obstinacy.

My true, secret recalcitrant side? I don't think you've seen that yet. At least, most of you probably haven't.

There's really no other point to this post other than to say that I like that phrase and that I think it applies to me. I guess I could go into detail on just how my secret recalcitrant side manifests itself, but then it would no longer be secret, now would it? And then there really would be no point to this post.

how to kill a chocolate bunny

Funny.

Morbid.

But funny.

(Don't be fooled by my calm demeanor. I'm sitting in an empty house, totally cracking up.)

Find out how to kill a chocolate bunny.