Writerly Wednesday: Or not

Disclaimer: The following blog post is one of the most insanely idiotic things you will ever read. At no point in my rambling, incoherent writing am I even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in who reads this will be dumber for having read it. Feel free to award me no points, and may God have mercy on my soul.

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Due to unforeseen circumstances (Of course it's unforeseen. What do you think I am? One of Dionne Warwick's psychic friends.), I will not be posting a Writerly Wednesday blog.

Unless, of course, you consider it a post that I posted I'm not going to post.

Then there is a Writerly Wednesday blog post. It's just not about being writerly. Well, I did include that thing about the unnecessary usage of the word "unforeseen."

When you think about it, it's not even unnecessary usage.

The word itself is quite useless because, like I said, all things are unforeseen.

Technically.

Maybe I should have said, "Due to circumstances beyond my control..."

That's still off though.

I mean, no one is really in control. Control is an illusion.

We may think we have control. We can take control of plans. We can form an idea of what we'd like to have happen.

But something -- you know, like Mother Nature throwing a bowling ball-sized hailstone at your house or the pizza delivery man showing up at your door with anchovies when you ordered pepperoni but you ate the anchovies anyway and realized later that you're allergic to fish and ended up in the hospital being treated for anaphylactic shock -- can always mess up those plans.

By the way, that didn't really happen.

I am allergic to fish, but I'd send the pizza delivery boy back to get the pizza I ordered before I'd touch an anchovy.

And bowling ball-sized hailstones?

Yeah, that's not going to happen.

At least, I could never see that happening.

I guess that would be unforeseen. Maybe that word isn't so useless after all.

Levity is for the birds

I knew something was wrong when my husband walked through the door, dropped himself into a kitchen chair and let out a sigh of frustration.

"What's going on?" I asked apprehensively.

With his elbow on the table and his cheek pressed against his fist, Dana followed me across the room with his eyes and waited as I sat down. After a long moment of tension-building silence, he finally spoke: "I got picked up on the way home from work."

"By the cops?" I asked. (Hey, someone else could have picked him up. Personally I think my husband is hot.)

"Yeah."

"Why? What'd you do?"

He tossed his head back and groaned. "It's a joke. I mean, it really is. I was driving along on the highway, and this pheasant came out of the ditch and flew right in front the truck."

Of course, it had to be something convoluted. It's never anything simple like speeding or failure to yield with him.

"I couldn't stop in time," he continued. "I hit the pheasant and its carcass flew up in the air, over the top of the truck and landed on the police cruiser's windshield."

"And they stopped you for that? It's not like you did it on purpose."

"The officer didn't see it that way. He gave me a ticket."

"A ticket? For what?"

Dana looked away, pursing his lips until a smile, and then a laugh, pulled them apart. "For flipping him the bird."

I guess I should have listened when he told me it was a joke.

And the winner is...

And the winner of Kathi Lipp's "The Marriage Project: 21 Days to More Love and Laughter" is....

Lydia Kang! E-mail me at katharris92@aol.com and let me know where to send it.

*applause applause*

Thanks to everyone who have left comments or have become followers.

Your kind words, thoughts and encouragement is always greatly appreciated!

And the winner is...

Doreen McGettigan!

Doreen wins my copy of Lisa Harris' new release Blood Ransom.

E-mail me at katharris92@aol.com with your address so I can get your prize to you.

Thanks to everyone who commented.

Check back next week for another giveaway!

IKHO's Top III Sexiest Songs of All Time: What tunes make your list?

By now I'm sure you've heard that Billboard released its rankings of the 50 sexiest songs.

Olivia Newto-John's 1980 hit "Physical" topped the list, followed by Rod Stewart's "Tonight's the Night." Boyz II Men's ballad "I'll Make Love to You" rounded out the top three.

Oddly enough, the word "sex" isn't mentioned in any of the song titles until No. 10, which is another Rod Steward Classic -- "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?"

The list was based on popularity of songs from 1958 until January of this year.

Personally, I've never liked these lists. More often than not, they include songs that have received so much radio airplay I'd rather stab my eardrums out with icepicks than hear them again. (Hmmm...I've used that line before. Haven't I?)

This list, in particular, makes me cringe because it is based on popularity and content of lyrics.

That doesn't seem right. I mean, just because something was popular doesn't mean it was sexy. Just because something talks about "gettin' it on" doesn't mean it's going to put anyone in the mood.

Am I right?

In my opinion, a song should be defined as "sexy" based not on the content of lyrics or popularity, but the overall mood set by the music.

So I have decided to compile The IKHO (that's In Kat's Honest Opinion) Top III Sexiest Songs of All Time. It's not based on popularity (in fact, one was never released as a single), nor is it based on the content of the song's lyrics.

The 2010 IKHO Top III Sexiest Songs of All Time are:

3. Boardwalk Angel by John Cafferty & the Beaver Brown Band. This is an unreleased song from the 1983 movie Eddie & the Cruisers. The saxophone helps boosts this song into my top III.




2. Beautiful Mess by Diamond Rio. DISCLAIMER: I'm not a fan of country music at all. But this band surprised the heck out of me when they released this little ditty in 2002.



1. Wicked Game by Chris Isaak. No surprise here. This song is -- without a doubt -- the sexiest song ever recorded. (Again, IKHO). Just listen for yourself.




What songs are on your Valentine's Day Sexiest Songs of All Time List?

A haunting in Nebraska

I have reason to believe my house is haunted.

I haven’t seen any ghostly apparitions floating between bedrooms. Nor have I heard rattling chains or disembodied voices.

But these ghosts have left evidence of their presence. Lights burning in vacant rooms. Dirty dishes cluttering the counter. Newspapers scattered on the table. Clothing strewn about in my children’s rooms. (They especially like my teenager’s room.)

What’s worse is I believe my children have seen these specters and have talked to them. They know their names: “Not Me,” “I Didn’t Do It,” and “I Don’t Know. Don’t Look At Me.”

My youngest told me about the first ghost one afternoon when I walked into the bathroom and found an empty toilet paper roll hanging on the holder.

“Who used all of the toilet paper and didn’t replace the roll?” I asked.

She replied: “Not Me.”

Last summer, I’d frequently come home from work to find an empty Cheetos bag in the living room. My kids couldn't have done this. They know food belongs in the kitchen.

I’d ask: “Who polished off the Cheetos and didn’t throw away the bag?”

They’d answer: “I Didn’t Do It.”

The other day was the last straw. I found hundreds of Legos spread across the living room floor. Now, I remember boxing these Legos up last summer. I couldn’t understand how they got from the attic to the living room floor all by themselves, so I asked my daughter: “How did these Legos get on the floor?”

She replied: “I Don’t Know. Don’t Look At Me.”

So I’m trying to decide. Do I hire a team of paranormal investigators? Or do I bring in the heavy artillery and contact an exorcist?

I won't cross that bridge when I come to it

When I was a teenager, I had a recurring nightmare about a bridge a mile from my parents' house.

Sometimes I would be behind the steering wheel of my car. Other times I would be walking.

Always, I would approach the bridge to find that the raging waters beneath had swept away the concrete decking. I would end up in the middle of the flood, watching the ground break under my feet.

The dream occurred so often and bothered me so much I started taking different, longer routes to my destination. And I would never, ever, ever drive over it at night.

At that time, I had not yet delved into dream interpretation. I figured the nightmares were perfectly normal for a girl who fears both driving and heights. I also figured the story about that bridge's roll in a gruesome fatal accident years earlier might also have played a roll in starting the dreams.

Eventually the nightmares stopped. I started driving over the bridge again and even became comfortable enough to cross it at night.

Then last weekend, as my husband drove to my folks' house after a day of Christmas shopping, we happened upon a "Road Closed" sign that cut off access to that road. Farther down, we saw a bright orange fence barricading the bridge.

Curious, Dana and I ventured beyond the sign and this is what we found.

It's difficult to gauge depth from this photo, but that's the river's edge below the rebar.

Those are my husband's feet. He wears a size 11-1/2 shoe, so that should tell you how big that hole in the decking is.

Coincidentally, my nephews work in bridge construction, and their company received the bid to repair (not replace) this bridge.

Heh. It's not that I don't trust my nephews' knowledge or abilities when it comes to bridge construction. But I don't think I'll be driving over this bridge again any time soon.

So she got me

While sitting in church with my family on Sunday morning, an idea for a new story popped into my head.

When we got home I announced the sudden burst of creative genius that had hit.

My teenager quickly stomped out my pride, however, as she narrowed her eyes and asked: "And why weren't you paying attention to Father?"

Ah, touche, my dear daughter. Touche.

Take me to your leading lady

Random stupid fact about Kat: I know the lines from the first three Star Wars movies by heart.

Now, when I say first three, I mean movies 4, 5 and 6 -- A New Hope; The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi.

I know of very few who grew up in the 70s and 80s that hadn't seen those flicks at least once. I mean, they're such a staple in our culture, it's difficult to imagine life without them.

So, here's a bit of trivia that rocked my world when I heard it.

Robert Englund -- the guy who played Freddy Krueger in A Nightmare on Elm Street -- talked Mark Hamill into auditioning for the role of Luke Skywalker. Englund, himself, had auditioned for the role and was turned down.

Not only that, but it's been said that actors Nick Nolte, Al Pacino, Christopher Walken and Burt Reynolds were all considered for the role of Han Solo.

Can you imagine?

Thank goodness they discovered Harrison Ford or the Millenium Falcon may have been adorned with a black and gold bird on its hood, huh?

Other actors have turned down or been turned down for famous roles in other movies as well.

For instance, Will Smith was considered for The Matrix's Neo.

John Cusack was considered to play Johnny Bender in The Breakfast Club.

Darryl Hannah as Vivian in Pretty Woman?

Sean Connery as Gandalf?

I don't know about you, but the very thought of replacing the actors who were cast in any of those roles just blows my mind.

Then I started thinking about my ultimate dream. One day, I'd love to see one of my stories make its way to the big screen.

But who, oh, who would play my leading roles?

Although, JK Rowling demanded that the principal cast of Harry Potter be British and pretty much got her way, I doubt authors have much say in it. But that's okay because I haven't found anyone yet that would suit those roles.

That being said, Isla Fisher (whose mother, coincidentally is a novelist) might make a decent Heather.

Other than that, I'm at a loss. Nevertheless, it's a fun thing to think about.

What about you? Have you ever lost yourself in a reverie about who would play your leading roles on the big screen?

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Courtesy Photos

Yellow Banks

I wanted to show you so much more from this picture.



Really I did.


But Mother Nature ruined my expectations, as well as the lookout point for what I believe is one of the most beautiful places in Northeast Nebraska -- the Yellow Banks Wildlife Refuge.


Funny thing about Yellow Banks: Throughout all of my life my grandparents owned a farm less than five miles from the refuge. (In fact, you can see sections of their land from the road leading out there.)

But I never knew about Yellow Banks until I was in college; my husband -- who grew up in Sherman County -- told me about it when we were dating. I was 18 years old the first time I hiked the trails and enjoyed the beauty of nature at the edge of the cliff there.

I remember thinking: "Wow! How did I not know about this place?" The view of the river and valley took my breath away, and there was a nice little clearing at the cliff to sit and enjoy the scenery.

How could any nature-loving Nebraskan not like this place?

Unfortunately, neither my husband nor I had a lot of time to enjoy it. Before either of us realized, years had passed since we had last hiked those trails.

Then last weekend we decided to talk a walk.

In honor of our 15th wedding anniversary -- which is today, btw -- he and I drove out to the Yellow Banks and started hiking the trails. I brought my camera, intending to snap some pictures of the gorgeous view.

We should have known the old cliff wouldn't be the same when we entered the brush and saw the dead tree that had fallen over the path. We should have known when we saw the trails veer off in several new directions. We should have known not to continue on when a swarm of blood-thirsty mosquitoes attacked us.

But we pressed on, only to discover that the bank had eroded several feet. The clearing where we'd once enjoyed the scenery was gone and a treacherous drop off was all that remained.

Dejected, we returned to our vehicle, dodging worm-length garter snakes (ick) and suspicious stares from the locals who drove by.

Thankfully, the whole trip wasn't wasted.

As the old saying goes, getting there is half the fun. For me, that's truly the case when I travel the gravel in Nebraska.

Shipwrecked

Here's the deal.

Pirates have attacked your cruise ship.

They leave you sitting on the beach of a deserted island with only your laptop. . .no internet connection.

You only had time to download five CDs, five movies and five books.

Which ones do you pick?

Here are my picks:

CDs

1. Pink Floyd's Pulse

2. Lennon Murphy's Damaged Goods

3. Todd Agnew's Reflection of Something

4. Metallica's Symphony & Metallica

5. Chris Isaak's Heart-Shaped World

Movies

1. Forest Gump

2. Walk the Line

3. Stand By Me

4. The Green Mile

5. Rose Red

Books

1. The Bible

2. Boy Scout Survival Guide

3. The Book of Jewish Wisdom

4. The Quran

5. Norton's Anthology of English Literature

(Obviously, I'm looking to gain knowledge -- not entertainment -- from the books.)

What would you choose?

Pirates of the Caribbean: At Wit's End

I love movies.

If you ask me, there are few things better than hunkering down in front of the TV and getting lost inside a good story. (Of course, getting lost inside a good book is one of those few things that are better. But I digress.)

I have my favorites actors and actresses: Tom Hanks, Adam Sandler, Mel Gibson, Orlando Bloom, Johnny Depp, Drew Barrymore and Lea Thompson.

I have an eclectic taste in movies: Forest Gump, Billy Madison, The Green Mile, Die Hard, Braveheart, The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Back to the Future trilogy. I'll give any good horror movie a shot, and I've seen the original Star Wars movies so many times I have them memorized.

Unfortunately, I've realized that there are certain movies out there I was never meant to see.

When I was in college, my husband (then boyfriend) and I tried to watch Maximum Overdrive five different times. But before we could get halfway into it, I fell asleep . . . each time.

We tried watching it again several years later, but the same thing happened. (I've come to the conclusion that the movie contains a subliminal hypnosis element that allows me to fall into that deep sleep.)

I'd really like to know how Maximum Overdrive ends. I mean, Dana has told me how it ends, but I'd really like to watch it.

Ya know?

Last night, I discovered another movie that I'm destined never to watch. I'm pretty angry about it, too, because this particular flick is the last in a trilogy I'd really like to see. I need closure.

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End

I've had the DVD in my possession for more than a year, but every time my family sits down to watch it, I'm either heading to bed or busy working or just not in the mood to watch a movie.

I've caught snippets of it. I've laughed at the scenes I've watched. I'm excited about seeing it all the way through, but I haven't had the time to watch it . . . until last night.

After my 13-year-old finished scaring her friends with The People Under the Stairs at her Friday the 13th party, Dana and I decided to commandeer the living room and finally watch At World's End.

Conditions were perfect. Elizabeth had gone to bed. Molly and her friends were doing what 13-year-old girls do at slumber parties (I learned this morning that I can't divulge to the male species what really happens between teenage girls at slumber parties. Giving away this secret just might disrupt the space-time continuum. Or it just might ruin the fantasy of teenage boys everywhere. Again, I digress.) and we had the room to ourselves.

Guess what? Not even fifteen minutes into the movie, I fell asleep.

So, go ahead. If you've seen this movie, spoil the ending for me.

It's pretty obvious I'll never get to see it.


Have a great weekend everyone!

Traveling for a year

The good news is . . . yesterday I found Jesus.

Literally.

My nativity scene had been buried under several inches of snow in my front yard since the weekend before Christmas. Recent warm weather melted all of that snow and allowed me to take down my outdoor decorations.

The bad news is . . . Northeast Nebraska is set to receive anywhere from five to nine inches of snow tomorrow.

Goodbye front yard. I'll see you again in a few weeks.

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There's a birthday this week that I almost forgot to acknowledge.

My blog turns one year old today!

Yay!

It's been an interesting year.

There's always been an element to blogging that brings forth anxiety in me. What if I say something wrong and look stupid? What if I make someone mad? What if no one likes me?

But my I-march-to-the-beat-of-my-own-drummer-anyway attitude pretty much annhiliates that anxiety.

Anyway, for those of you just tuning in, here's a wrap-up of the highlights from my first year of traveling the gravel.

My first post, I am, explains a little about my own "Long Road to Heaven."

Perhaps one of my favorite childhood stories is one of which I write in, A source of entertainment. (More than 25 years later, I'm still laughing about this.)

In June, my then-6-year-old provided entertainment by telling me the real definition of the words state patrol and frotler.

Also, in June, I unveiled the video and song Dana and I wrote for "Long Road's" soundtrack.

In August, I posted an interview I did with screenwriter and Hollywood legend Joe Eszterhas.

In October, I posted an interview with Christian musician Sara Groves and posted several "deleted scenes" from my manuscript.

Gwendolyn Stewart gave me an idea to write about a good day for writing in November.

Denial was the name of the game when I posted Yes, Elizabeth there is a Santa Claus in December.

And we had a lot of fun playing Six Degrees of Separation in January.

I've had a lot of fun blogging this year. I've met a lot of cool people. I think I've learned more about writing in the past year than I had in the past 15 put together.

Thanks to everyone who regularly stop by and comment. I look forward to reading them.

I can't wait to see what year No. 2 brings.

Seven girls, fifteen feet, one big fall

As this balcony collapsed, six of my
friends and I plummeted to the ground.

This morning, aspiring author Lynn Rush percolated some old memories when she blogged about falling out of a tree.

Her story ended with a ride to the hospital and some bruised ribs. My story about falling ended in the birth of a phobia.

Twenty years ago this week (Dec. 9 to be exact), an incident that started 15 feet in the air planted the seed of my debilitating fear of heights.

That Friday started out in a depressing fashion. Mourning the death of my kitten, Sagorski, I went to school wishing the weekend had already started. My day became worse at noon when I discovered that one of my "so-called" friends had planned a party at her brother's apartment but had not invited me.

(This was one of those "I'm not friends with her today, but I will be next week" kind of stories you might remember from high school.)

By the time gym class wrapped up, my emotions felt so raw that the slightest remark pushed me over the edge.

And it did.

In the locker room, I exploded at Cami for having the audacity to lie to my face about the party.

"What are you talking about? I'm not having a party." She told me.

I ended up in the guidance counselor's office bawling my eyes out because of my cat, because of my frenemy drama, because I thought my life was going to hell.

When I climbed into my dad's truck after school, Cami and Susan had felt a change of heart and decided to invite me to their party anyway.

But since Cami lived with her brother in a small apartment above one of the old buildings along Main Street in my hometown of 25,000, my mother told me, "Absolutely not! I just don't have a good feeling about that." (Being 1988, cruising Main Street was a huge source of entertainment for a lot of kids who were up to no good -- and almost every other kid, too.)

I begged. She caved and let me go.

Cami's apartment could only be accessed from the outside of a two-story brick building. A metal fire-escape staircase and balcony led to both of the doors, and I remembered Susan and Kristin telling me how scary the stairs were.

"You can see through the floor, and it feels like you're going to fall," one of them said.

I wasn't too worried about it. Not much scared me at the time.

Arriving at Cami's apartment, we dropped our duffel bags in her room and returned to the balcony to watch the cars cruising up and down main.

While Kristin, Lori, Cami and Susan stood at the north edge of the balcony, I leaned against the yellow stucco wall and looked down through the ornamental decking of the metal balcony.

I remember thinking, "Man, it's a long way down."

Out of the corner of my left eye, I saw my friends Susan M. and Angie approaching from the other side. That's when we heard a loud pop! pop! pop! and the one of my friends screamed, "The balcony is collapsing!"

This is it, I thought, there's no way we're going to survive this.

Miraculously, we all did. I awoke several minutes later in a garden of mulch sitting next to a pine bush. Still overwhelmed by shock, my eyes closed again. The next thing I remember was standing in the middle of the parking lot asking Steph, a high school classmates who hadn't attended the party, (by now several people were milling around the scene) if I had a scratch on my back. She flagged a paramedic to help me.

Turns out, I'd slid all the way down the stucco and didn't have a stitch of skin left on my lower back. Another one of my friends, Kristin, had chipped a bone in her elbow and required surgery.

I spent the night in the hospital. Kristin spent several days in the hospital. The rest of my friends were treated and released.

And I think Susan M. got a scratch and tore her coat.

Two days passed before we could get access to the bags we'd left at Cami's apartment. More than a year passed before I could muster the courage to step onto the back deck at my parents' house; it's only about six feet in the air.

To this day, I shudder at the thought of walking over bridges, balconies and on staircases in tall buildings.

Maybe I should have listened to my mother.

You have good news for you

Not to be a downer or anything, but not only is it raining and cloudy (here)…

Not only did the ear-splitting thunder rob many of us of precious sleep last night (here) …

Not only is it Monday …

It’s also the first day of autumn, and from now until the end of December, the daylight hours will be brief and fleeting. The nights will be long and cold.



BUT there is a reason to be happy.

It’s up to you to decide what that reason is.

Oprah Winfrey often talks about the importance to keeping a gratitude journal on her show. The idea behind the journal is to spend time at the end of the day reflecting on the blessings in your life – perhaps ones that occurred or mattered most that day – for which you are grateful.

I figured it might be a good thing to try on a soggy, Monday, first-day-of-autumn, especial since I feel so lethargic.

So, besides the obvious family and friends, here are the five things for which I’m grateful today.

1. Football season. It makes the coming cold so much easier to bear.

2. My dog. No matter how many times I kick Bruizer out of bed, he’s still loyal.

3. Love-Hate relationships. Like the ones I have with food and my elliptical. They kind of balance each other out.

4. Golf carts. They make the frustration of the game worthwhile.

5. Writing. Escaping into someone else’s world to tell a story is the best form of therapy around.

Wow, that third and fourth one just came out of nowhere, but I think that’s the point – to appreciate the things we don’t otherwise think about.

So you try it. What random blessings are you grateful for? French toast? Coffee? Sidewalk chalk? The smell of fresh-cut grass?

Anything goes.

Housekeeping?

Curse me and my endless tinkering.

I used to laugh every time my paper's publisher came to our end of the building and told our news editor we needed "bump up a half point" or "tweak this and that." I wonder how many of our readers actually notice.

I've gotta give our publishers props. He knows what he's doing. He's been in the biz since the day he was born.

So, in honor of my boss, I did a little tinkering of my own to my blog. Did you notice?

I moved some things around and, most importantly, added a blog roll containing links to some of the blogs I visit most on the Web.

A vacation from my vacation

I'm officially back from my vacation.

Refreshed. Relaxed. Ready to right, er, write. And that's what I'm doing at work this week -- catching up on the writing I missed last week.

Some wonderful things happened last week while I was gone. Another writer with whom I've been corresponding became agented.
Every now and then you get a feeling that something huge is going to happen for someone in the not-too-distant future. When I started corresponding with JC, I started to get that feeling right off the bat. Just from the small excerpts I've read of her novel and from her blog, I can tell she definitely writes from the soul.

Congrats JC Lamont on finding an agent! Yea!

As for my own work, I missed my own self-imposed deadline. I wanted to get my novel rewrite done before I left for the Hills last week. I'm about 20,000 words from the end. I think my deadline was pretty unrealistic to begin with. But...I've got a lot of work to do in the next few days.

Anyway, as promised, I made a video from my trip. If you'd like to watch, click on the top panel on the right.

Run to the Hills

Countdown to vacation:
Six days -- less than 50 hours -- at work.
Ten days until I run to the Hills, the Black Hills.

According to weather.com, it's been in the mid-70s most of the week out in Custer State Park. I pray to God it stays that way when we're there.

I'm hoping to put together a series of video blogs to post when I get back. We'll take a drive on Iron Mountain Road, hike to Harney Peak and bike the Mickelson Trail.

I was hoping to get my rewrite done on Long Road before I left so I could proof it during the 5-hour drive from Sioux Falls. My cousin just told me she's 95 percent sure she and her husband are staying this weekend at our house, so I'm not sure if I'll get anywhere near done with it now. I'm soooo close.

Oh well.

It'll do me some good to get away.

My desire for more time to get my manuscript done for editting before vacation and my desire for time to speed up for vacation has made this continuum a paradox.

Crazy life.

Word: a thing you dissect

One of my favorite movie scenes ever is in the "Black Sheep" starring Chris Farley and David Spade. They're driving a county-mountie patrol car to the governor's acceptance speech with plans to crash (pardon the pun) the party with news that the winner of the race cheated her way into office.

On the way, the nitrous tank in the back seat ruptures, and funny fumes start infiltrating the car. Farley and Spade's characters are overcome by the gas leak without realizing it. At one point, the characters start pulling apart words and laughing at them for the way they sounds.

"Roooo aadds." "Roaaaads." "Roooooooods."

"That's a funny word."

I've had this conversation -- honestly, no alcohol or narcotic was involved in the preparation of this blog post -- regarding funny-sounding words in the English language. It's funny how certain words affect people.

Here's a list of the ones I find strange:

Giggle: Def -- To laugh with repeated short, spasmodic sounds.
My mother called me a giggle box when I was four years old. Something about the sound of those two "G" sounds followed my an "L" hits my funny bone with the force of the desk corner. I can't help but laugh when I hear this word.

Scooter: Def -- From the word "Scoot," to go suddenly and speedily; hurry.
I never found this word strange until my husband dissected it one night while we watched Ren & Stimpy in college. Ever since then, I can't help hearing the strangeness of scooter.

Avarice: Def -- Immoderate desire for wealth; cupidity.
I don't find this word funny. I find the idea of this word as a noun and its definition funny. This word would be so much better if it were an adjective, and it's common use should include way more than the desire for wealth. Could you imagine what it would be like if someone could have "avarice thoughts" about another? Wow.

Quasquicentennial: Def -- a 125th anniversary
Not only does this word sound funny, it's nearly impossible to spell without a dictionary. It's also pointless to use in a sentence because no one really knows how many years are in a quasquicentennial and it's more character spaces than typing 125th anniversary and it's a heckofalot more difficult to say.

Colloquialism: Def -- a local or regional dialect expression
Another impossible-to-spell word that just sounds funny.

Those are a few of mine. How about you? Are there any strange words out there that just get you going?

Call it what you want

Am I a Yankee or a Dixie?
A co-worker of mine sent me the link to a test to give me the answer to the question about which only people in the Midwest would probably be curious.
Take it here.
One of the questions was about how people refer to soft drinks. Is it soda, pop, Coke?
The question reminded me of the arguments my sisters and I used to get into with my cousin Scott from Belleville, Ill., about what to call soft drinks.
He insisted it was soda.
We called it pop.
It turns out no one was wrong, but it was the first introduction I had to how different cultures can be within a relatively short (500 miles) distance. I remember watching the "Shasta" commercials on television with the jingle, "I want a pop, pop, pop, I want a ...Shhhhhasta."
My sisters and I would laugh at how Scott would react to that commercial if he saw it.
Funny thing is...now that I'm older, I call it soda, too.