Chewing Words

noun. verb. adjective. adverb…they're all tasty in my book

Archive for the ‘Blog’ Category

Day In A Sentence

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I like this idea, one which I may have to use on occasion when I am feeling underwhelmed by the idea of daily blogging, like now, with sleep-deprivation nipping away. My poor heels.

I found Pedals & Pencils through Hippie Cahier, who reminded her readers today to check out Alicia’s post on “Day in a Sentence.” Though I had read it earlier this week, I had got so carried away by the video in the post, I quite forgot the assignment until Hippie nudged a reminder and I read Alicia’s blog again today:

So here’s the task for this week’s Day In A Sentence: write a sentence about the beauty you love and how you manifested that today.

Indeed! Well, alright.

I dig in the dirt of my soul, of my garden, the black half moons beneath my fingernails reminding: hard work purifies spirit & body; and my tears became the rain for the seed of hope I planted today.

6/359: PostADay


Written by cr8df8

January 6, 2011 at 11:37 pm

The Art of Guffaw, Unabashed

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Language for a New Breed

There are so many talented bloggers out there. I mean, SCADS. And then there are also some bloggers who ought not. Some of these are the bloggers who believe a blog post is just a bigger version of their Droid screen, a place to give a shout out in textese x 1000 to…I don’t know who. It’s painful. Fortunately I don’t have to read them and don’t. Instead, I read some of you people and I seriously get all verklempt. The humor and honesty and intelligence and creativity. And did I say humor?

I’m a sucker for a humorous blog. The kind where there is thought behind the funny. It can be tight and sometimes elegant, wayward, foxy (and occasionally kinky), lazy-seeming but intentional. I love laughing out loud, by myself, sitting at my desk at home. Or in the office, with my employees sitting at their desks, all diligent and professional, while I’m snickering behind the latest Insurance Journal, sneaking a read on a blog over the top edge of the magazine. You can fire up your computer, hop on-line, and in a matter of seconds, find yourself immersed in the stories of Kazakhstan fortune-tellers or a voice recording artist in Beijing.

The vastness of the blogosphere can be daunting, but somehow I’ve always managed to find blogs that I can sink my teeth into. There are a few I still follow from the old days (pre-iPods) that are actually still writing. Many of those old links are defunct, but a handful have kept the flame alive. More recently I’ve found blogs that are new to me, but which have been going strong for years. I don’t mind coming into their world in the middle of their blogourney so long as they don’t mind picking me up so I can go along for their ride.

Carrie rocks the Manolos

Years ago,  I was looking for a pair of shoes, specifically a pair of Manolo Blahníks. For those not so enthralled by women’s footwear, Blahníks were(are?)  super-fantastic in the most sexy sense of shoes, made into THE thing for awhile with their regular appearance on the feet of the denizens of  HBO’s Sex and the City. Searching, though, I could find nothing that made me want to spend the kind of dough necessary to own a pair of these shoes that would, in Manolo Blahník’s words, “help transform a woman.” I wanted to be transformed, but didn’t have any extra cash burning a hole in my bank account for one of his classic shoey masterpieces. Putting Le Sigh behind me, I search-engined some more, and stumbled across The Manolo. At first I didn’t know what was going on. But as I kept reading, it just didn’t matter. The Manolo wrote on every subject imaginable and wrote with such a hilariously adept humor, I had to cross my legs whilst reading & howling to avoid having an accident.

And Covetous Behaviour Ensued

Manolo the Shoeblogger wrote about lovely shoes, stupid people, used cars, goatees, high fashion, more shoes, Cornholio, super fantasticness, romance novels, lots more shoes, Arnold, and one of my all-time favorites, Ponchos. In fact I have sat tonight (still childless thus indulging in Spudditism) reading through the archives of a blog I’ve followed since 2005. It is utter camp, with a relentless humor and voice that makes me just about die. This is the kind of blog I can come back to, again and again, and never tire of it.

The Manolo is most skilled in repartee. The Manolo is intelligent. The Manolo is well-read. And the Manolo flat out makes me guffaw, unabashed.

4/361: PostADay

Please to Me No Habla Español

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Yo Ti Quiero

I took Spanish in high school. Then my junior year I went off to Norway for a year. And I forgot every word of Spanish I had ever learned. Except for the Spanish of that irritating little dog, the ubiquitous “Yo quiero Taco Bell“ism that everyone could parrot and did. Mrs. Somebody-Or-Other who taught me high school Spanish would have been very disappointed because she always gave me A’s. And it’s sad I can’t remember her name, because she really was nice in spite of the way she said “‘kay” after every sentence, short for “ok.” I can also picture her clear as day. I just can’t hear any Spanish words coming out of her mouth as I picture her. Except “Yo quiero Taco Bell.

As I’ve delved into this mission of mine to take seriously the commitment I made to post daily, I’ve been trolling around a blajillion other blogs. Reading and reading and commenting and reading. There was a time when I was too scared to comment, especially on blogs that are popular and well-trafficked. But as I’ve aged (like a fine wine…), I’ve acquired this Damn the Torpedoes mentality in many areas. I now enter into a blog as though I could give a hoot and comment as though I’ve been there since the start and have every right to give my “IMHO.” In actuality, the complete opposite is true because I really do give a hoot, and know I’m a newbie and thus a possible intruder, and will often angst for ages over how to respond to someone I’ve decided I already really like reading.

This weekend, in that Damn the Torpedoes attitude I sometimes wear at home when I’m childless and have nowhere to be and don’t feel like walking outside in the cold to empty my counter-top compost binette, I sat, for hours, and read blogs. I knew I should get up and vacuum, but Damn the Torpedoes, no! Sometimes I’ll read a book. Or I’ll watch a cheesy romantic comedy. Or I’ll find archived episodes of Gordon Ramsay spouting off at the peons who have no Michelin stars to his 3. I used to knit and listen to audiobooks until the numbness in my hand made that too uncomfortable. But this weekend I chose Blog Road.

CLICK! HERE! NOW! if you want to see the (now defunct) New Breed of couch & computer potato delights.

It’s what I call being a Spuddite (I thought I came up with that word, but I should know better; there are persons who are younger and swifter than I out there). Admittedly, I’m only partial Spuddite; I don’t totally ban the technology of computers. Because though I am hopeless at computer games  (my thumbs simply can’t go that fast) and keeping up with all the Twittering and Facebooking and SMSing (w’s^, qt? r u kewl 2 go 2 *$?),  and the fact that I should (but don’t) increase my gigs so I can download movies and videos and porn in HD, I still love sitting on my hind end, hours on end, reading blogs. I love the immediacy, the often raw and unpolished postings that capture a moment in some stranger’s day. And then, when you’ve read for awhile (whether it’s over months or the whole 6 year blog in one day), there’s that phenomenon that occurs where these people who take the time to blog become unStrangers. Many times I don’t know them or their names. Often I’ve never seen them except, perhaps, for a digital look into their world. But reading them and the blogness of them becomes a pleasure that isn’t verboten or weird (well, not too weird, I hope). It’s acceptable and usually harmless.

So I was damning the torpedoes this weekend, getting all warm & fuzzy from finding all these kinshippy blogs, and I found one that had the most amazing photos. The blogger had illustrated his year in pictures with photos he had taken in 2010. He’s 23 and shoots with some sort of Canon. Beautiful work. I mean, impressive (I’m not a photographer and for those of you who may be more knowledgeable than I, I shall defer to you as to all the technicalities of photography). All I can say is his photos made me stop. I looked at each one and then I moseyed over to his Flickr page to have a look at more. I just had to tell him how beautiful I thought his photos were, that looking at them was like receiving a gift. Except for the small problem that his whole blog is in Spanish (you wondered when I’d get back on point, didn’t you?). I had no idea if he understood English and I didn’t want to be presumptuous. I wrangled with it in my head for awhile, actually. “At 23 he may have been to university or had some schooling where he’s learned English. But he lives in Guatamala, and I have no idea what schools are like in Guatamala. He could be from El Petén and speak Mopan or Itzá. But he looks like an American kid with his t-shirt and spiky hair and slightly fuzzy photo. But what if I’m wrong?

I knew I could simply respond in English and be done with it, not my problem. But something about his photos made me all conscientious, like I needed to at least TRY. I mean, after all, Mrs. Somebody-Or-Other gave me A’s every semester, there had to be something in my head, somewhere. Yo quiero Taco Bell. Not quite what I was angling to say. Yo ti quiero. A slight improvement, but also not what I was after. I began reading through some of his Spanish-language photoblog and realized I understood a lot. Inspired, I began Spanishing out my comment. Except it kept coming out in bits of Norwegian and Italian. In frustration, I went to a translation website and entered what I wanted to say in English. It spit it back out in Spanish. However, knowing the propensity for those sites to spit out “murderer” when you’re really trying to say “I heart Muggles!” I checked and rechecked my mostly Spanish comment and am fairly confident I at least got across the correct sentiment. I’m sure grammar and usage were a tad off, but one half hour later, I had my 6 sentence commento en español, complete with tildas and accents. Success!

Oscar the Spanish-Speaking Blogger replied to my comment via his blog. He said, “Thank you so much!! It means the world for me!! … you have given my 2011 a sweet start! Happy new year for you!” In ENGLISH.

Lesson? A 23-year old with a Canon who photoblogs like he does will almost always speak English with better accuracy than my translating gymnastics are going to help me speak Spanish. But hey, my silver-lining: at least there’s more Spanish in my head now than that Taco Bell lovin’ chihuahua.

3/362: PostADay

Written by cr8df8

January 3, 2011 at 4:53 pm