All poetry, all the time.
blog sitting idle
like Twain, my demise rumors
ses•qui•blog•ten•ni•al : a 150th blog posting or its celebration
— sesquiblogtennial, adjective
Sesquiblogtennial. It’s a nice word, rolls off the tongue smoothly. Has a certain…je ne sais quoi, no? When the fine folks at Oxford English Dictionary add their new words to next year’s volume, I’m hopeful this one makes the cut – though it may be a more likely 2013 candidate; I mean, ‘OMG’ and ‘LOL’ just made the cut for 2011, and they’ve been kicking around a few years now.
Sesquiblogtennial is a good term that should find widespread acceptance and usage in this day and age of ubiquitous blogs and bloggers (and when did those two make the OED cut, hmm?) and I hope someday to see it in the OED – though I would be just as happy if the fine folks at Merriam-Webster or American Heritage adopted my new concoction.
That’s right, it’s my word. I coined it, and I am unveiling it today here on my blog, in honor of my 150th blog post.
It’s a dandy word. Feel free to use it and pass it along. When the OED folks do finally call, remember – you heard (read) it here, first!
150. Post number one-five-oh. Seems like I should have some sort of random profundity to share for the occasion, but I got nothin’. Or maybe I could dive into the Marchives for an old chestnut of some sort, but that seems like cheating. Maybe it’s just a good time to share a few stray tidbits from the ol’ scrap folder in my head.
Let’s just roll with that premise. Humor me. That ‘150’ thing, you know?
# # #
My 15 year old, high school freshman son Will attended his first official ‘Sweet Sixteen’ party the other night; fourteen girls and their families got together to throw a big, three-hour bash at the Louisiana Children’s Museum. Very nice party dresses for the girls, guys in suits or vests, hats – the whole nine yards. Whole thing oozed ‘class’ – not your typical backyard barbeque situation Will would be more in tune with.
I picked him up when the party ended at 11:30, and as he sat down in the van he said, with a deep exhale, “Boy it feels good to get off my feet.”
“Busy night?” I replied with a smile.
“Just standing around a lot.”
“I don’t dance, dad!”
“What did you do? Walk around and look at the museum stuff?”
“No, dad. I stood around and talked.”
Will said he didn’t dance once, had one chip to eat (the ‘one chip’ seems a bit implausible, but okay) and that he had a great time. He rattled off a long list of girls that he talked to, plus threw in the names of a few boys he allegedly spoke with.
At this point, Will is less party animal, more social critter.
At least he is more at ease with the intra-gender stuff than I was at that age. He probably will not have to master my most the oft-repeated school years dance/party phrase; “Say, let’s go get some punch!”
# # #
My mother is 78, has been retired for years, but is still pretty handy with a keyboard. She has produced newsletters and various correspondences for a number of groups that she still works with like her homeowners association, church groups and high school alumni association, among others. She has long been an avid emailer and has been on Facebook for a couple of years now – all of this with an aging (eight, nine year old) Dell computer that, even with DSL, allowed you to go refill your coffee mug or bathtub while you waited for a page to load.
Until last week.
With the help of her ‘computer guy’ Tim, she recently purchased, and he set up, a brand-spankin’ new Dell. He also threw in some tutorial time on Windows 7 (better him than me!) and she was off and running to a much different cyber world than has been her experience this century.
The other day I pop open my Facebook, and there is a post from my mom. And a comment on someone else’s post from my mom. And another. Annnnnnnd another.
I counted 12 different Facebook posts for one day with her new computer. Two weeks ago that would’ve taken her twelve hours. Yesterday, I logged on and there were ten – ten – posts IN A ROW from my mother – all from one of those ‘answered a question about ________’ apps.
On the plus side, she has yet to ‘ROTF’ or ‘BTW’ me.
She is 78. Has a slick, fast new Dell and knows how to use it; you have been forewarned. Friend her at your own risk….like the villagers would friend Frankenstein and then send him an ‘event’ post to their torch lighting party.
# # #
When the clock radio kicked on this morning, the song Rikki Don’t Lose That Number by Steely Dan was cranking away, and the chorus caught my attention:
Rikki don’t lose that number
You don’t wanna call nobody else
Send it off in a letter to yourself
At first I thought, ‘yeah, that’s a bit antiquated’ – was a girl in 1974 really going to write down some dude’s number in a letter, and then mail it to herself?
Lyrical hyperbole – or they were way ahead of their time.
Who hasn’t been pounding away on something at work and thought of something that they wanted to remember later, so they quickly send themselves an email or a text to be saved for later. Who hasn’t called home to leave an answering machine message (sooooo 2003) or voice mail for themselves?
Steely Dan is still rumbling around the tour circuit; maybe they should rewrite this for modern times: Rikki could text herself via Blackberry and then follow herself on Twitter and…
For what it’s worth, find me any girl – anybody – who has or desires to only have one number in their Blackberry/Droid/iPhone/iPad…¡Ay,caramba!
Antiquated song, to be sure, but some damn funky bass riffs.
# # #
The fine folks at AARP have been very attentive since I started to sneak up on the half-century mark, even more so once I actually joined.
Of the three pieces of AARP mail I received today, two of them involved some sort of life insurance offer. (I swear the folks at AARP bribe my mail carrier to intersperse AARP mail with the other stuff in a specific order.)
The AARP one on top was in a small envelope, the next, further down the stack in a slightly bigger one…with bigger type; the third was on the bottom of the stack in a large, brown envelope which featured a massive-point, all caps, IN BOLD font proclaiming MEMBER LIFE INSURANCE INFORMATION ENCLOSED.
Note to AARP: No need to shout in all-caps Arial to make me worth more dead than alive. I have good glasses and no need for a hearing aid – despite what my wife might tell you. She will also tell you I respond much better to a more subtle, Comic Sans approach…though she occasionally has to resort to a change in timbre by speaking to me in (italicized) Book Antigua.
I’d better stop now. My mom might LOL, TUVM.