My Logophilia

The other day I was discussing tattoo ideas with a friend. I have always wanted a tattoo for as long as I can remember. However, there has never been any image that has strongly resonated with me to the point I'd permanently put in on my body. I'm not an image/symbol type of person. The only symbol that I've felt close to is the symbol for the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense from the Hellboy comics.

I started reading those comics during my horrible transition form Cedar City to Provo. Those comics struck a chord with me. I had the symbol made into a sticker for my car. But other than that, no real image has ever been significant to me.

However, I do admit I am a logophile. A logophile is a lover of words. I love how every word has a precise definition & meaning and how you can convey your feelings or ideas with exactness by using one word over the other. There are millions of words in the English language and using the rules of grammar, we can communicate with others. There are some of us who are able to use the same words & rules and string them together to create beauty. Using the right words in the right order can make someone laugh or cry or think or just stand in awe. I love it.

So I wanted to share with you some of my favorite words & their meanings. I know not all of you are logophiles like me but I hope you enjoy this rich accumulation of awesome words.

pejorative: expressing contempt or disapproval.

unwittingly: not done on purpose; unintentional.

inadequate: not adequate; lacking the quality or quantity required; insufficient for a purpose.

genuine: truly what something is said to be; authentic; (of a person, emotion, or action) sincere.

lie: an intentionally false statement; used with reference to a situation involving deception or founded on a mistaken impression.

liar: a person who tells lies.

uncomfortable: causing or feeling slight pain or physical discomfort; causing or feeling unease or awkwardness

disparage: regard or represent as being of little worth.

inalienable: unable to be taken away from or given away by the possessor.

megalomaniac: a person who is obsessed with their own power; a person who suffers delusions of their own power or importance.

requiem: a Mass for the repose of the souls of the dead; an act or token of remembrance.

vain: having or showing an excessively high opinion of one's appearance, abilities, or worth; producing no result; useless; having no meaning or likelihood of fulfillment.

insinuate: suggest or hint (something bad or reprehensible) in an indirect and unpleasant way.

gregarious: (of a person) fond of company; sociable.

deism: belief in the existence of a supreme being, specifically of a creator whodoes not intervene in the universe.

pretentious: attempting to impress by affecting greater importance, talent, culture, etc., than is actually possessed.

rogue: a person whose behavior one disapproves of but who is nonetheless likable or attractive.

ideology: the ideas and manner of thinking characteristic of a group, socialclass, or individual.

hyperbole: exaggerated statements or claims not meant to be taken literally.

collude: come to a secret understanding for a harmful purpose; conspire.

assiduous: showing great care and perseverance.

fastidious: very attentive to and concerned about accuracy and detail; very concerned about matters of cleanliness.

yuppie: a well-paid young middle-class professional who works in a city job and has a luxurious lifestyle.

hipster: a person who follows the latest trends and fashions.

sabbatical: a period of paid leave granted to a college teacher for study or travel, traditionally every seventh year.

hiatus: a pause or gap in a sequence, series, or process.

propaganda: chiefly derogatory information, esp. of a biased or misleading nature, used to promote or publicize a particular political cause or point of view

disillusion: disappointment resulting from the discovery that something is not as good as one believed it to be.

innocuous: not harmful or offensive.

capricious: given to sudden and unaccountable changes of mood or behavior.

tempestuous: characterized by strong and turbulent or conflicting emotion.

rapture: a feeling of intense pleasure or joy; thetransporting of believers to heaven at the second coming of Christ.

savvy: know or understand; shrewd and knowledgeable in the realities of life.

depraved: morally corrupt.

misogynist: a man who hates women.

misanthrope: a person who dislikes humankind and avoids human society.

Love you.
Mean it.

There I Go Using That Word Again.

Hey,
It's me again.
Of course, who else would it be?

I spent last week in Cedar City. I needed to get away for a bit so I went home. And yes, I do consider Cedar City my home.

I got to see Gus. He came to the party Sean was having. You remember Gus, right? I dated him after Greg, who was after Sage, who was after you. I faintly remember you two having a class together. Was it philosophy? I don't remember. Gus is smart, wicked smart. (I also faintly remember writing these exact words to you before.) We have the same kind of conversations that you and I used to have, although you two couldn't be more different. Gus is a legit bohemian. I'm dead serious. He's unemployed, spends his days writing, painting, drinking wine or whiskey out of a mason jar. There's something about that kind of lifestyle I can't help but find attractive. Do you know the poet Charles Bukowski? I've been reading a lot of his stuff lately. He once said, "A free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it--basically because you feel good, very good when you are near or with them." That's how I feel about Gus. He's a really good guy. He's one of the very, very few guys who "gets" me, who understands me. I really shouldn't have let me go. Religion & Russia were the causes of our end, though more the former than the latter. Looking back, religion has cost me more loves in my life than anything else. So it goes.

He looked good. Handsome. Healthy. His eyes are still blue. Really blue. Trustworthy blue. The best goddamn blue eyes God ever created.

I'm starting to forget the color of your eyes. I mean, yeah, I know they're brown. But what kind of brown? Coffee brown? Dark Chocolate brown? Mischievous brown? Sinister brown? I don't remember what I felt when I looked at them. I always felt safe when I was with you. Was that because of your eyes? I don't remember. I desperately want to but I can't.

I ended up going home with a guy who wasn't Gus. We'll call him Jack. I've gone home with him before. He's in the military. He keeps everyone at a distance nearly all the time, even me for the most part. He has let me in a bit but only when we're alone in bed.

Jack believes in God. He believes in God and in prayer and that God listens and answers prayers. Of all the people on this planet who have a good reason to not believe in God, Jack is right at the top. Yet he believes in Him. Fervently. He and I talked about God before we went to his apartment. I told him I do believe in a God, in a divine creator of everything but I don't think he gives a shit about any of us. We can pray all we want, he's not going to do anything. He's deistic. The only way anything changes in this world is if we go and do something about it ourselves. But Jack just laughs at my cynicism. He doesn't try to change my mind. He just believes and doesn't question.

My editor/friend, Andy, referred to Cedar City as my Mecca. I like the association, though Mecca isn't exactly the right word. Mecca is a holy place, a center of religious pilgrimage. Cedar City is more like my asylum, a place offering shelter & support to the mentally ill. That's me and that's Cedar City. It's my refuge, my sanctuary, my home.

There I go using that word again. Home. You're probably laughing at me, thinking I'm silly for calling Cedar City my home. You and I know I've spent 80% of my life in Provo. But that's not home for me anymore.

Home is Cedar City, Utah in a shitty three bedroom house rented by my Numero Uno. I had friends & lovers and no reason to be anything but myself. And I can never get that back.

I miss you.
I hope you're doing well.
Thanks for listening.

Love you.
Mean it.

One Last Hoorah

barefoot the entire night
I have shoes
but this night calls for freedom
and a short ruffled skirt
and a white flowy top
I feel infinite
and this night is mine, mine, mine.
a night that brings old jokes
and old lovers
and a suffocating reminder
of how my life used to be.
but I don't want to think about that.

Yet in walks a part of my past
disheveled brown hair
familiar half smile
and the bluest eyes
how could I forget those?
he greets me the way he always did,
a simple, sincere
"Miss Cannon."
and I'm reminded how good I once had it.

And I know this night
that is still mine
won't end in those eyes
in those arms
with the only guy who has ever
"got" me.

it will end in the indifferent arms
of a warm body
who smells like cigarettes & stale beer.


love you.
mean it.

Rear Window, Twelve Years Later

I was ten years old when I saw my first Hitchcock film.

It was a Sunday afternoon in late spring. Church was over and my family had just finished dinner. My dad was flipping through channels when he called me over.

"Come watch this movie with me."

It was Rear Window.

Sitting there, I became engrossed in the film. My ten year old mind was hard at work absorbing the plot and characters. It was visually fascinating. The neighbors all had their little sub-stories to understand without the help of dialogue. All I could rely on was body language and subtleties.

As the plot progressed, my anxiety increased. It was the first time I could remember feeling true tension in a film. I was "on the edge of my seat," if you'll forgive the old cliche. I concentrated with the attentiveness of a practiced detective. As the stakes got higher, my anxiety increased. I kept looking at my dad for help, for reassurance that everything would be okay. Whenever I did, he'd raise his eyebrows and his eyes would get wide as if to say he didn't know what was going to happen either.

Vividly in my mind I can remember watching Grace Kelly looking around Thorwald's apartment and seeing Thorwald walking down the hall to his apartment. He would catch her and there was no way of warning her. I was in a panic. I wanted to yell or throw something or do anything to warn Grace Kelly. But like our protagonist, I was helpless.

After the movie had finished, I sat in awe. I never knew movies could be like this. I was used to Disney animated musicals with wisecracking woodland creatures, magic, and pretty princesses. But this, this was something different.

We went over to our neighbor, Kent & Sara Nelson's house to visit. Kent & Sara had been my surrogate grandparents for as long as I could remember. The entire visit, I would talk to my dad, to Kent, to anyone who would listen about this awesome movie. Of course, Rear Window was not new. It had been made 33 years before I was born. Hell, it had been made six years before my dad was born. But I could not believe how different it was. The way the movie was told, it was new, exciting, engaging. I had discovered the secret to great film and everyone needed to know.

Now, 12 years later, I watched Rear Window again. I had not watched it since that first time when I was ten. Since then I had seen hundreds if not thousands of movies. I knew what I liked and what was shit. I had seen more films by Hitchcock, my favorite being Psycho. But it was like nothing had changed. I was still spellbound, captivated, intrigued. I was again caught up in anxiety and sheer panic for Grace Kelly, even though I know how the movie ends. I fell in love with it all over again.

Rear Window is why I love movies. Movies can be great in two ways. One, it has a great story. It's tragic how often Hollywood forgets this. The basis of a great movie should always be a great story. If this isn't an option, there is always the second way: is visually intriguing. Case in point, Avatar. The story is nothing new. It's basically a combination of Pocahontas, Star Trek: Insurrection, and a micro version of any chick flick. But holy crap, when you saw that movie on the big screen in 3-D, it was stimulation overload. It looked awesome! But when you take both those elements, good story & visual intrigue, (add some great acting a la James Stewart, Grace Kelly, & Raymond Burr) and they sync and harmonize, you get a great movie. You get a better than great movie. You get a film that will last, that is memorable. You get a movie that reminds us why we love watching movies in the first place.

Hats off to you, Mr. Hitchcock.

Love you.
Mean it.

Jenny Mocha Chip

Today my dog, Jenny, was put down. She's ten years old. Or I guess she was.

We got her as a puppy. She was so cute. A 10 pound chocolate labrador. We named her Jenny Mocha Chip. The chip was from a little patch of darker fur where her tail started. Whenever you called her name, she'd cock her head to one side, like she was trying to figure out what we were saying. Whenever she was tired, she would hide underneath our legged couch were we couldn't reach her.

She was such a scaredy-cat. She hated the vacuum, the broom, large boxes, loud noises, etc. But she was loving and caring. She loved us. We nicknamed her our great protector. Anytime the doorbell would ring, she would bark like crazy. She'd keep up barking until the person was inside. Then they were bestest of friends.

She loved to have her bum scratched. So she would stick her head between your legs, walk through them and stop at the perfect place for you to scratch her bum. It always freaked people out when she did it for the first time.

It'll be weird to hear the doorbell ring without her barking. A lot of things will be weird without her I guess.

She's my third dog to leave this world. First was Lucy then Charly. So I guess Jenny will have company until we can join her. They'll get along great.

R.I.P Jenny. Love you, pup.

Love you.
Mean it.

Name That Scent

This may sound silly to the rest of you.
But to me, this is very annoying.

You see, I started using a new deodorant the other day. The scent was called "Sexy Intrigue." How stupid is that? What could possibly be sexy or intriguing about deodorant? There was another one that was called "Mysteriously Romantic." WTF? Again these are deodorants. There is nothing mysterious or romantic about them. Their purpose is to keep me from sweating and smelling gross. That is NOT sexy. Period.

Who picks the names for the various scents us women can choose from? Are these names suppose to make us more likely to buy the product? I used to have a perfume called, "Twilight Woods." Were the advertising people just cashing in on the word twilight and hoping girls wouldn't realize it had nothing to do with the terrible books and movies? My current perfume and lotion of choice is "P.S. I Love You." Again, nothing to do with the movie. I guess if your boyfriend ever smelled it, he would think, "P.S. I Love You." I don't know if I buy that but whatever. There's also some that actually attempt to give you a hint as to what it might smell like. Like "Blushing Cherry Blossom," "Winter Candy Apple," & "Festive Vanilla Fig." I guess they have to add another random word in there.

Those are all from Bath & Body Works. Victoria's Secret likes to delve more into the obscure/innuendo type of names. My favorite scents are "Love Spell" and "Pure Seduction." So when guys smell me, they're suppose to fall under my love spell or be purely seduced. Trust me. It's false advertising.

In the course of writing this, I found out that I have an endless amount of bottles of lotions, body wash, body butter, hand creams, perfumes, body splash, etc. Do I really need this many options when it comes to what I smell like? And what happens if I use a different one for washing my body, putting lotion on, hand cream, and perfume? Would the combine to form an ultra-super scent that no human male can resist??? No, probably not. It'll just smell confusing.

Love you.
Mean it.

Just for the Record

This morning, I'm grateful I woke up next to Scotty Dog rather than that guy named Scott.

I'm grateful Josh has found someone. He deserves it.

I'm grateful Ali & Greg are moving out this week.

I'm grateful Sean is still my Numero Uno.

I'm grateful Andy gave me a chance to write for the Review.

I'm grateful my Babygirl still works after 6+ years.

I'm grateful my tumor is content with just chilling in my head and not causing problems.

I'm grateful John cares about me.

I'm grateful Jon found a job.

I'm grateful Cindy is in our family.

I'm grateful there aren't as many cats in the neighborhood so we can enjoy baby quail.

I'm grateful I had the chance to know Kristy. She's one of the greatest people I've ever met.

I'm grateful for the Zebra F-301 BP pens.

I'm grateful good books, good movies, and good stories.

I'm grateful I'm taking a trip to Cedar City in a week.

I'm grateful for my friends out there who know the real me and still love me.

What are you grateful for?

Love you.
Mean it.

p.s. Thanks to Andy for the idea.