anodyne

This is one of those slippery words that I think I know but when pressed can’t actually define.

Definition of anodyne:
“adj. Capable of soothing or eliminating pain.
n. A medicine, such as aspirin, that relieves pain. A source of soothing comfort.” (answers.com).

Where I ran across it:
8/29/08 Time Magazine article about the recent Democratic convention in Denver, “The Convention: Redefining Change” by David Von Drehle.

“…Left on the altar of the anodyne was a much more interesting convention that might have been.…”

My two cents:
We’re in the thick of it now, children. It’s drama drama drama in American politics, and it’s riveting. It’s historic. It’s head-spinning one-upsmanship at its highest and best.

An unprecedented extravaganza that was the Democratic convention just concluded in Denver. There were surprises: Obama’s VP pick, unveiled in a pointedly new-age way via text message and email, is the affable, yet older, wiser, and better connected Washington career politician, Joe Biden. How this squares with the buzzword du campaign, "change," I have no idea.

There were speeches: Hillary took the high road. An ailing Ted summoned the Kennedy strength to deliver a rousing oratory. Michelle didn’t put her foot in it. Thankfully, Jesse didn’t speak at all, but his son did. Now that was a change for the better.

There were cheers and tears: Obama’s acceptance speech, delivered on the very anniversary of Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, was moved to Mile High Stadium to accommodate a crowd of over 75,000.

There were amazing visuals and there was music. There were fireworks, and people like Cheryl Crowe and John Legend performed. The soaring set, with its Doric columns, was so grand it was dubbed, “Barackopolis.” The stage boasted an expansive staircase of concentric circular steps carpeted in brilliant, Presidential blue.

It was the political version of an all-out Vegas spectacle, minus the dancing showgirls.

Lord, what drama.

And there was something else no one saw coming. No sooner did Barack Obama have us all "up in that," the very next morning John McCain grabbed the drama flag and ran with it. In a spectacularly stunning display of stop-the-presses one-upsmanship, McCain announced his choice for his Vice Presidential running mate: a woman. A young woman. With big hair and 5 kids. Governor of Alaska, no less (How does she do it? How will she do this?). They made their announcement the old fashioned way, at a podium with a microphone. No text messages or emails for ol' John the Luddite who admitted to a reporter that he had gone on the internet for the first time last week, and had no idea what Google was. But while a grinning, crazy-like-a-fox McCain displayed near-perfect comportment standing at the young and dewy Sarah Palin’s side (was he, or was he not, checking out her derriere?), deep down he must have been doing the happy dance, thumbing his nose at the Democrats, and laughing his ass off. All this, and the Republicans have yet to convene.

But wait, there's more. Snatching the drama flag from McCain's very grasp and upstaging everybody is a nasty villain named Gustav, a Cat 3 hurricane heading straight for New Orleans.

Lord, Lord, the drama. Pass me an anodyne, and give us all strength.

manque

Never heard this word in my life.

Definition of manqué:
adj. (män-kā´)

Unfulfilled or frustrated in the realization of one's ambitions or capabilities: an artist manqué; a writer manqué. Synonym: would-be.” (answers.com).

Where I ran across it:
8/10/08 NYT op-ed piece by Maureen Dowd, “Keeping it Rielle,” a spot-on assessment of Democratic candidate John Edwards and his recently revealed sexual misconduct.

“…The president manqué gives Rielle Hunter, formerly Lisa Druck, more than $114,000 to shoot vain little videos for his Web site …”

My two cents:
Once again, Maureen Dowd brings it on: a new word for my vocabulary, and a fabulous article to boot.

I’m so sick of politicians who cheat on their wives. The latest stupid political man-pig is John Edwards. I don’t even know where to start with him. I'm so exasperated, I'm positively speechless. I need a chill pill.

Fortunately, Maureen Dowd’s column says it all so perfectly that I need not even try to gild the lily here.

So, go read. It’s just too good to miss.

lemniscate

This is a new word for me.

Definition of lemniscate:
“In algebraic geometry, any of several figure-eight or ∞ shaped curves, of which the best known is the Lemniscate of Bernoulli. It is also sometimes used to refer to the ∞ symbol used in mathematics as a symbol for infinity” (answers.com).

Where I ran across it:
8/8/08 NYT opinion article, “Crazy Eights,” in which illustrator Ben Schotts delivers a lot of useless (but interesting) information about the number 8.

“…Representing infinity with an elongated and rotated figure 8 is credited to the mathematician and cryptographer, John Wallis, who first used the lemniscate symbol in 1655…”

My two cents:
That old math deficit keeps returning to haunt me. Had I not been busy developing a nervous condition from trying to pass high school algebra and geometry, I might have learned the word lemniscate. I don’t remember learning much (if any) algebra from those days, but I remember my algebra teacher. He had a withered arm and was, I thought at the time, very old. He was probably no more than 50. At 16, 50 is very, very old. Now that I’m over 50, not so much. Although there are days when I seriously wonder…

Speaking of old, today’s NYT article about the number 8 is pretty interesting, with lots of references to ancient history, archaic origins, and customs surrounding that number. Example: tonight’s opening ceremonies for the 2008 Olympics in Beijing will begin at 8:08pm because in China, 8 is a lucky number.

Maybe I’ll get lucky in my old age and remember to tune in.

carapace

Wish I could say I know this word, but I can’t, ‘cause I don’t

Definition of carapace:
1. “Zoology. A hard bony or chitinous outer covering, such as the fused dorsal plates of a turtle or the portion of the exoskeleton covering the head and thorax of a crustacean.

2. A protective, shell-like covering likened to that of a turtle or crustacean.

3. The ultimate thick skin: if you've got one you're protected against sticks, stones and name-calling.” (answers.com).

Where I ran across it:
7/18/08 NYT movie review,“Showdown in Gotham Town,” by Manohla Dargis, about the new Batman movie, "The Dark Knight."

“…In and out of his black carapace and on the restless move, Batman remains, perhaps not surprisingly then, a recessive, almost elusive figure. …”

My two cents:
While the movie is technically the “star” of Manohla Dargis’ review, there’s another contender: the review itself. This writer is on my short list of favorites. Go read her stuff and you’ll see why. Thing of beauty. Girl can flat turn a phrase.

And the word, "carapace" is really playing with me. See Definition 3. I’m suddenly grappling with the gentle reminder that there’s a world of difference between pretending to have a thick skin, and actually having one. So while you’re reading Ms. Dargis’ review, I’ll be busy searching for a clue, and a carapace.

Something tells me I won’t find them on ebay or craigslist. Damn.

desultory

I know this word, but I never use it. Probably because I keep forgetting it exists, not to mention forgetting what it means. That’s sad. Gonna fix that.

Definition of desultory:
1. “Having no set plan; haphazard or random.”
2. “Moving or jumping from one thing to another; disconnected: a desultory speech.” (answers.com).

Where I ran across it:
7/13/08 NYT article, “Happy Birthday, Milton” by Stanley Fish

“…Milton’s poetry never lets you relax . Even when one of the famous similes wanders down what appears to be a desultory path of mythical allusions and idealized landscapes, it always returns you in the end to the moral perspective that had only apparently been suspended.…”

My two cents:
I’ve been aware of the word, “desultory” since the 60s when I was a budding boomer and Simon and Garfunkel were strumming away, singing “A Simple Desultory Philippic (Or How I Was Robert McNamara’d Into Submission).” Man, those were the days. They just don’t write ‘em like they used to. Where have all the flowers gone, anyway?

Stanley Fish’s column in yesterday's NYT is his report from London’s Ninth International Milton Symposium, where a bunch of professional John Milton-ophiles gather every year to whoop it up and have a rockin’ good time with 17^th century literature. Woh. Maybe this crowd, and Fish's column, are just a tad over-the-top-cerebral, but that's ok. They made me realize I didn’t know much about Milton, and I don’t recall ever reading his epic poem, “Paradise Lost,” (remember, Art School vs. Harvard?). So, I’ve just been on a merry lark of my own at PinkMonkey.com to read the annotated version. Really interesting. Milton is pretty deep. And wide. Heaven and Hell and Eternity and all that. Dante’s got nothin’ on this guy.

Fully edified, I then skipped off to research my boys, S&G, and their curious song from my nostalgic past. Check out what I found at Random House’s Word of the Day website (quoting here):

“In Roman times, a desultor was a skilled horseman who could vault from horse to horse mid-gallop--a fitting image for a conversational ‘leaper’ who flits from topic to topic.

A Philippic (spelled with one l and usually capitalized) is a spoken or written diatribe against whatever it is you feel that strongly about--be it a person, an idea, or a course of action, although the term Philippic was originally confined to a denunciation of a person. It comes from Demosthenes’ 4th century B.C. orations against Philip, the king of Macedon (who was the father of Alexander the Great), delivered to the men of Athens.

Paul Simon’s 1966 lyrics for ‘A Simple Desultory Philippic, or How I was Robert McNamara’d Into Submission’ are a little different from his 1964 version, which is in the Paul Simon Songbook. That one has Lyndon Johnson in the subtitle, and is a little nastier. Robert McNamara - President Johnson’s Secretary for Defense, one of his three special advisors on the growing war in Vietnam and arguably the most disastrous of the trio - replaced Lyndon Johnson in the song’s lengthy subtitle on the 1966 Simon & Garfunkel album Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme.

Here are the first and last verses:

I been Norman Mailered, Maxwell Taylored.
I been John O'Hara'd, McNamara'd.
I been Rolling Stoned and Beatled till I'm blind.
I been Ayn Randed, nearly branded
Communist, 'cause I'm left-handed.
That's the hand I use, well, never mind!
...
I been Mick Jaggered, silver daggered.
Andy Warhol, won't you please come home?
I been mothered, fathered, aunt and uncled,
Been Roy Haleed and Art Garfunkeled.
I just discovered somebody's tapped my phone.”

Granted, Milton and his 17th century poetry are certainly a trip. But so are Simon & Garfunkel, and the 60s. Now those were the days, my friend. (But that's another song, altogether.)

And I think I just wrote a desultory blog entry. Why, yes, yes I did.

capo

I know this word only in the musical sense. Surprise.

Definition of capo:
“1. A small movable bar placed across the fingerboard of a guitar or similar instrument so as to raise the pitch of all the strings uniformly.
2. The head of a branch of an organized crime syndicate. [Italian, from Latin caput, head.”(answers.com).

Where I ran across it:
Frank Rich’s 7/13/08 NYT op-ed column, “The Real-Life ‘24’ of Summer 2008,” on Jane Mayer's scary new Washington tell-all book, "The Dark Side."

“…No wonder the former Rumsfeld capo, Douglas Feith, is trying to discredit a damaging interview he gave to the British lawyer Philippe Sands for another recent and essential book on what happened, “Torture Team.…”

My two cents:
OK, you watch The Sopranos. Or you know – or you ARE – one. Or your vocabulary is just better than mine. So you’re not surprised by definition number two. Badda bing, good for you. You. You got a talent.

Maybe you also already know what Frank Rich has to say in his fairly alarmist op-ed column about Jane Mayer's book exposing the wise guy tactics employed by the current administration. If so, score another one for you, pal. If not, maybe you should read the column, and Jane Mayer's book -- and weep.

Cue the mandolins and cross yourself. It ain't pretty.

trenchant

Thought I knew this word. Guess not.

Definition of trenchant:
adjective
“1. Possessing or displaying perceptions of great accuracy and sensitivity: acute, incisive, keen, penetrating, perceptive, probing, sensitive, sharp.

2. So sharp as to cause mental pain: acerbic, acid, acidic, acrid, astringent, biting, caustic, corrosive, cutting, mordacious, mordant, pungent, scathing, sharp, slashing, stinging, truculent, vitriolic.” (answers.com).

Where I ran across it:
7/9/08 NYT article, “Dreams of Laura” by Maureen Dowd, about “American Wife,” a fictionalized biography of First Lady Laura Bush etal.

“…Ms. Sittenfeld was not out to sensationalize but sympathize. The portraits of Laura and W. — known as Alice and Charlie Blackwell here — are trenchant and make you like them more.…”

My two cents:
I’ll admit right here I had this one wrong. I always thought trenchant meant something akin to relevant, germane, applicable, significant. Apparently not. And now I am flummoxed. Check out definitions 1 and 2 above. How does the same word have two so totally opposite meanings? What do you think about the possibility of being “sensitive” and “vitriolic” at the same time? Is that really achievable? Maybe it means that you are being sensitive to the fact that there’s some trash talk going on, and… you’re the one talking?? Clearly I need a clue on this one.

And apparently all it takes to avoid invading someone’s privacy, or worse, engaging in libel and slander, is to write stuff you know about people, make up the rest, assign them pseudonyms, and call the whole thing a fictional biography. Boom. Tom Wolfe did it with “A Man in Full.” James Frey did it but didn't admit it with “A Million Little Pieces”. Too bad for him. Shoulda woulda coulda. Fictional biographies certainly are successful these days, and I'm sure "Dreams of Laura" is no exception. Entertaining? No doubt. But, trenchant? Hell if I know.