May I Have A Word With You?

It's over. My one-man crusade to replace the word "awesome" with the word "rousing" has failed. At least it was a sensational experience. Truly thrilling. Fantastic even. Maybe even awe ...... inspiring.

What’s my point, you ask? What an awesome question. I mean… thanks for the astute query into my openly obsessive fascination with words. Let me start over. 

Hello, my name is Alan and I am a word-aholic. My life is fueled, informed and generously flavored with the love of language and playful pursuit of using words in fresh and engaging ways. I don’t always succeed, but somewhere in all the mud is bound to be a golden nugget or two. Allow me to have a word with you…   

* The Word Of The Day is “Dilly-dally.” Don't dilly-dally, DeeDee - I'm done at the deli and ducking into Dunkin' Donuts before my date with Danny downtown.

* Some feel that "sorry" is the hardest word to say. But I've had more trouble with "acetaminophen."

* FUN FACT: I was the originator of the phrases "Stay safe" and "Be safe" and receive 17 cents every time someone posts those words on social media. In the last three days I've made 36 million dollars. Thanks everyone! And be safe.

* And now a word from the National Council On Potato Literacy: Confused about going with a Po-TAY-toe or Po-TOT-toe pronunciation? It's Po-TAY-toe. It's always been Po-TAY-toe. No one in their right mind says Po-TOT-toe.  Are we done here? I think we're done here.

* The Word Of The Day is "Hankering." Example 1: Elmer had a hankering for Helen's homemade sweet potato pie. Example 2: Charlie had a hankering for Helen's homemade banana cream pie. (Editor's Note: Helen makes really good pies that people tend to have a hankering for.)

* I saw a sign outside a Panera Bread that read "Now Hiring - Energetic and Enthusiastic Associates!!!" Lazy, negative candidates take note: The words "energetic" and "enthusiastic" coupled with the three exclamation points means you'll really have to step up your game.

* Life is a mystery, love is a riddle, hi diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle diddle. (Sorry about that, but once you use the word "riddle" in a poem you've pretty much unlocked the door to diddle.)

* The Word Of The Day is “Ping Pong.” Used in a sentence: Ooo eee, ooo ah ah, ping pong, walla walla bing bong.

* Say the word "gown" enough times and it starts to sound really strange. Go ahead and say it out loud several times in quick succession - gown, Gown, GOWN, GOWN. See? It almost sounds like you're speaking a foreign language. What fun!

* A number of words just sound weird. “Overzealous,” for example, sounds bizarre. And “bizarre” sounds goofy, too. Funny thing is, "goofy" sounds fine to me. Are we done here? I think we're done here.

* The other day I caught myself using air quotes in conversations three times, the last time to underscore the words "graham crackers." I have no idea why.

* The Word Of The Day is "Lackadaisical." Alan did not care for the brain surgeon's lackadaisical attitude, but gave him points for his steady cutting technique.

* People use to say "hassle" all the time. "What a huge hassle." "We got hassled by the cops." "She kept hassling me to join her cheese of the month club." I miss hearing hassle pop up in everyday conversation - it was a good all-purpose word for life's numerous aggravations. But it would be a pretty big task to try and revive it. In fact, if you ask me, it's just not worth the hassle.

* The word passion can be used in a wide variety of contexts. "Wes has a passion for backpacking." "Leslie's poems are filled with passion." "Ken and Gwen shared a night of passion." "Alan has a passion for beating a word to death. Case in point: Passion." Are we done here? I think we’re done here.

* While reading an article about fishing I ran across the phrase "fish officials." Maybe it's because I'm a word guy, but the inadvertent wackiness of that phrase gave me a cheap thrill I'll savor for days. (No disrespect to fish officials intended.)

* The Word of the Day is "Fancy-Schmancy." Alan bought a fancy-schmancy $10 bottle of wine to impress his happy hour friends.

* "Waste not, want not" are still wise words to live by. Much better than "Cross the river, eat raw liver."

* Just wanted to mention all the drama and tension at the 35th annual rhyming convention.

* Let my tombstone offer these parting words: "Here lies a man who was quite the kidder and, until now, was not a quitter."

Are we done here? I think we’re done here.

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Burnt Meadow Boys

Occasionally someone will ask me where I'm from, anticipating a short answer like "Boston," "Denver," or "over by the Dairy Queen."

I wish it were that simple.

To truly understand where I’m from you have to picture a time in America where small towns were everywhere. In the 1960s and 70s, you didn’t have to go too far out of your way to be in the middle of nowhere. 

Welcome to West Milford

West Milford, the rural town I grew up in, sits in the heart of the New Jersey Highlands region, about 40 miles northwest of New York City. It’s home to over 100 miles of hiking trails, nearly 40 lakes, four state parks, and our house on the unpaved, off-the-beaten path Burnt Meadow Road.

My brothers Bob and Jim and I lived on a mountain surrounded by woods and played outside every day from dawn to dusk. It was like we were The Waltons, only without all the sisters and homemade clothes. Despite our remote location, we managed to have a relatively normal childhood consuming seven boxes of cereal a day, playing backyard whiffle ball in the presence of ball-eating horses, and calling each other nonsensical names like “Dinglehiemer” and “Herk-A-Merk." 

Hoops On The Rocks

We would shoot hoops for hours on end in our gravel driveway, stopping only when the ball would carom wildly past the house, down a hill, and into a muddy swamp 50 yards away. 

“It’s your turn to get it,” one brother would say to the other, hoping he would embrace the opportunity to take a romp in the swamp. 

“I quit,” was the other brother’s top comeback. Game called because of ricochet.

For the record, if the NBA played its games on gravel we probably could have turned pro, but hardwood floors ended our hopes of having a Larry Bird-like rise from Hicksville to Hall of Fame.

Whiffle World

When my brothers and I weren’t shooting hoops, we were playing whiffle ball. My dad kept horses in a backyard barn and anything over the corral fence was a homerun. Coincidentally, anything over the corral fence was also our cue to go buy another whiffle ball.  

My brother Jim was the big homerun hitter, earning the nickname “Jumbo Jimbo.” If there was a Whiffle Ball Hall of Fame, he would undoubtedly be enshrined and featured in an exhibit wing entitled “Backyard Fence Busters.” I, on the other hand, took pride in my defensive game, patiently waiting out balls that Jim would hit into trees, eventually catching them before they hit the ground. 

Bob, for his part, was always the designated pitcher, cleverly absolving himself from any share of victory or defeat. His final childhood won-lost record was a perfect 0-0, an incredible achievement considering he pitched in over 400 games.

Story Time

Growing up in a rural town that offered minimal distractions, I was pretty much destined to become a writer. I spent a substantial portion of my adolescence in my room crafting stories of profound insight and starling originality. Just kidding. I mainly directed my efforts at writing stuff goofy enough to get one of my brothers to blow milk out of their nose. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, I knew I was fulfilling my purpose.

While I was busy playing with words, Bob and Jim pursued other passions, from music to motorcycles to the kind of mischief that leaves no serious scars but makes for good stories later. We live different lives in different parts of the country now, but one thing never changes: Whenever we get together we tell the same tales from our childhood and alter certain details to make our respective roles look more attractive.

Who set fire to the woods behind our house? It depends on who you ask.

Who broke mom’s jewelry box and tried to cover it up with a clumsy rearranging of the pieces? Round up the usual suspects.

Who kept putting food in our dog Winky’s dish even after he disappeared for two weeks? There are competing narratives.

Who kept sneaking into the kitchen at night for a snack and leaving only one cookie in the bottom of the bag? Okay, that was me.

Boyhood Unplugged

Looking back, I cherish the way my brothers and I grew up in that simpler, low-tech time. Boyhood was filled to the brim, running and biking and bouncing along, connected to the natural world, each other, and our friends and family. No digital distractions in sight.

Though I've gone on to each new home away from home, part of me will always be that country boy living on Burnt Meadow Road, shooting baskets in the gravel driveway, scribbling ideas and jokes on pads, and wondering where life would take me. 

Today it takes me back, to that time, that town, and the Burnt Meadow boys that I’m glad to call my brothers.

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