The English language is evolving as we speak. In fact, that’s one of the ways that it evolves. Some old words don’t quite fit new concepts, and some carry unnecessary baggage (see Tselphisch Tovarisch for amplification.) When the need arises, we create new expressions.
Some of the following are my own invention, some are not.

Confabulation — Well, actually, I didn’t coin this word, but I thought I did, just as I thought I’d discovered the Binomial Theorem in senior juniorhigh. Turns out someone beat me to it. Anyway, the psychology types got there first and decided it’s some sort of detailed delusion. Sure. But when the “Editorial I” wanted to hype The Kree-Skrull War and wrote, “This Cosmic Confabulation has it all! Rockets! Robots! Romance! Rick Jones!” I thought it meant a story created by collaboration. So that was one attempt.

Cyberlogue — The language of IT weasels. It sounds a lot like English, the grammar and syntax, particularly, but the vocabulary is heavy with acronyms and a veritable Niagara of neologisms of their own.

Seriagraphy — Serial Pictures. “Sequential Art” says Will Eisner. “Graphic Novels” say the effete. “Comic Books” or “Panel Art” say most, and “Illustrated Stories” say some. I prefer Seriagraphy.
Serigraphy (“seh rig ruh fee” with just the one A) is silk screening.
Seriagraphy (“sear ee ah gruh fee”) would be the process. A seriagraph (“sear ee uh graph”) would be the finished product. “Comic Books” is a slur to many of us, as the medium is so much more than Richie Rich and Archie. Many “comix” are far from comical. And Graphic NOVEL? Sometimes, sure, but not always. Even Eisner’s own A Contract With God, hailed by many as [“the barrier shattering graphic novel that brought the funny pages out of the ghetto“], wasn’t a novel at all. It was an anthology with four separate (albeit thematically linked) can-stand-up-all-by-themselves stories. So nothing wrong with “graphic novel,” if it’s a novel, or “graphic anthology,” if it’s an anthology, but in general, “Seriagraph.” Practice saying it with me.

Softsmith — Programmer, a writer of software products.
That’s just elegant! (as The Girl in the Kaufmans’ Apartment would say.) I’m surprised no one’s beaten me to this, it just seems so obvious. A silversmith creates things out of silver, so… “Programmers” on the other hand might put together “mix tapes” for their friends, or book entertainers for cruise lines. It’s a little too broad, I think, like “Federal Agent.”

Unteamly — How I behaved at every school I ever attended and on every job I ever held. Although I may be often told that Together Everyone Accomplishes More, I know that Trite Euphemisms Are Meaningless. Of course, when I was actually engaged in a sporting activity with friends or classmates (baseball, volleyball, football, or real football), then I WAS a team player. Because we were PLAYING. If I have to be paid in order to do it, it’s not “playing.”

Swipe and hash tag — Neither of these are mine. In fact I reject them both. What idiot decided it was a good idea to encourage people to “swipe” things in a retail establishment? Sure, we all want to get paid, and submitting credit or debit data is one helpful way to get that done, but… To “swipe” means to steal, to pilfer, to kype, or to snatch. Do you really want your customers swiping stuff? Fortunately for the sane and the humane among us, the word “slide” already exists, is only one syllable, and ALREADY DESCRIBES THE ACTION! “Hash tag” is worse. “Hash tag” is an abomination. The # has existed for several decades (preceding my involvement in typography) and for all that time it has been known as the pound or the number symbol. Why invent a two syllable word to substitute for an already existing one syllable word? Who has so much extra time that doubling the work load seems like a good idea?

When did “No, thank you” become impolite?

Maybe somewhere along the time visible bra straps became not tacky?
I don’t know. It went like this:

“Er… a, eh, SHAW!”
“God bless you.”
“No thanks.”
“No thanks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I do like to acknowledge an intended kindness, but if what is offered is something I can’t use, I also think it’s courteous to let you off the hook in my case. Thanks very much.”
“What? You don’t want the blessings of God?”
“Sounds great, but, well… I also might like to ride through the skies of Metropolis in the arms of Superman. I’m just not into incantations and magic spells is all. Again, thanks very much.”

And of course I heard about it later.

I suppose I could have let it go at “God bless you,” just as others could let it go at “No thanks.” I think they’re both benign reflexes. Frankly, I’ve got nothing against mystics, generally. There are many, in my own family and out, whom I respect enormously. In fact, I envy them. I expect it is a great comfort to believe in immortality. If I could disable that part of my brain that illuminates silliness I think I just might be tempted

Perhaps it’s best from here on out if I just turn it into white noise.”

I AM too lazy for E-Prime.

It IS cumbersome and while it has a certain utility for reflection and analysis, it IS usually too much of a hassle to try to retrain the brain to reject the law of identity. (“A is A?”) I may be well-versed in Binary and Quartal arithmetic and in the Interlac and Anglo-Mandarin orthographies, but those are simply symbol substitution exercises, and do not involve any painful syntactical distortions. E-Prime is just too much work for me.

I will admit that Wilson’s example about electrons (wave or particle?) is apt for students studying quantum mechanics. But what physicist or electrician would ever say such a nonsensical thing as “an electron is…”? A physicist wouldn’t attempt to tell you what an electron is without assuring himself of your extensive mathematical background first, and an electrician probably doesn’t think much about it at all. They could both readily describe how they seem to BEHAVE, however.

* * * * * * advertisement * * * * * *

Alex (Swamp Thing) Olsen, Linda Olsen, Shvaugn Erin, & Jan (Element Lad) Arrah, are all properties of Detective Comics and Warner Communications.  Their images are reproduced by Piracy Press for purposes of analysis and scholarship.  If anything, their use here constitutes free advertisement for DC‘s properties at the considerable expense of Piracy Press and Greigh Area Associates.

Stories are selected with the greatest of discrimination, but even numbered issues of Daring Love are specifically edited with the prurient interests of atavistic fanboys in mind.  Reader discretion is advised.

Salute and Thanks to Tom Woods (who still gives me WAAAAAAAY too much credit.)

September 23, 2017

Five minutes, he says.  Just five minutes and I’m supposedly blogging.  About an hour into this trauma and it’s still not fun.

update 170925:  Into day three of my “five minute” ordeal.  Obviously I can get in and edit, and probably even post, but still only through the handy e-mail portal that bluehost sent me.  And roundaboutly at that!  However, I still cannot get in through the site itself … lower right of the screen …  META …  Log in…  you’d think that’s where they’d take my e-dress & (ridiculously complicated) passcode …

Heavy sigh …

update 171112:  Posting again..    After six weeks, I’ve finally cracked PART of the secret code; I can now get in other than accidentally, albeit through bluehost’s “convenient” e-portal.  Remote access is still a no go.   I may have to suffer the “help” desk again.  And graphics?  That could be years away…

Also, Tom, by explicit contextual definition, since I have not yet monetized this trauma, I remain a schmuck.  (Maybe the reason “nobody ever does anything” is because “nothing ever works.”)

I hope you’re bearing with me.  I have long been challenged by syntactical disciplines.  It began, I am told (by parents and an older brother who were all there), with the English language.  I did not speak for well past the expected period, and folks were beginning to wonder, “Is there something wrong with that boy?”  As it turned out, there was.  Nevertheless, one day at dinner I suddenly I spewed forth both proper grammar and genteel table etiquette  (“Please pass the potatoes.”)

The painfully embarrassing cognitive debility extended to junior high French also, constituting my single scholastic failure, as well as to Les Mysteres Cybernetique.

Striving ever on….
Work hard, rest easy, laugh often, love endlessly,
Your humble servant,
LG Greigh

update 180115: Composed and drafted an “About page” (sober complement to my “The Greigh Area…” description post), and while I sent the (implicitly) requested text and link to you, I still can’t figure out how to make it appear without loading “an about page” into the handy “Search” window. I suppose it doesn’t count if I don’t touch third base…

update 180119: WOW! I somehow tripped over the graphics switch, and after several hours of thumb-fingered fumbling, I now have illustrations!

I am tempted to find an unflattering photo of you, Tom, to post at the top of this rant, but I doubt that any exist.

My anger and frustration lie squarely on me. I’m sorry if I’ve allowed my careless wallowing to splash any of it out of my trough.

Oh! And look! I seem to have an “Installed Plugin.”  Where did that come from?  Or was it always there?  How did it happen?  Did I trip over some new switch… ?

Back to biz…….
Pristine Gene

update 180216:  In fact, as far as I can tell, Professor Woods has delivered everything he’s promised.  All flaws rest with this miserable troglodyte, who continues to struggle, as arcana mystify and confrontation confounds…

update 180218: So was that remorse I detected in Tom’s voice? Or consternation or exasperation or impatience or pique? Irritation? I wouldn’t blame him. I suppose we can be a bit of a trial — but he asked for it! As a consequence of his trauma he deserves every scintilla of attention we’ll offer and every milliray of mammon he can collect.
Nevertheless, I for one, remain grateful and resolve to go back to the end of episode 1095 and listen to Tom’s intro to my poor efforts, and DIGEST. EVERY. WORD.
Then go back to those intimidating tutorial videos again.
Then maybe into my time machine so I can make a better first impression.

(retroactive) update 180222: Bluehost has locked me out again. This is very frustrating. It’s difficult enough to learn this stuff without having chaotic cyber tricks giving me different results, even though I KEEP. DOING. THE SAME. THING.! “Five minutes,” Tom? “FIVE MINUTES?” Look, it’s been almost FIVE MONTHS, and while I’ve managed to get a little text up on the screen (the whole point of this exercise in anguish), I still don’t know how to get in and out reliably. When it permits, I get in through the portal that was provided in September, but I still have no clue as to how to get in remotely. Presumably through the “META“ function, which solicits a “user name or e-mail address, which I provide, then it asks for the ridiculously cumbersome and difficult to remember passcode Bluehost requires (instead of the easy convenient one that I can remember), which I provide. Instead of letting me in, it rejects my efforts. Also, it would be nice to “stick” my “about page” somewhere near the top of the file, or at least give it a recoverable label so new visitors can readily call it up.. That would be nice.
Dang! I think I’m going to actually have to talk to these people. Please let the next one actually speak English, instead of Cyberlogue, which only sounds like English I’m also going to have to wait to post this diatribe until I can get back in, so it waits on “Word” until I can wake up “wordpress.”

update 180228: Aaaaaaand back in! Just in case I am banish-ed from your in-box AND you happen to glance here, Dr Woods,
You have been very gracious. I appreciate your enormous patience. (Perhaps I am the beneficiary of your training with five daughters.)
I am pleased that you’ve seen fit to post a link to my site even though some of my vocabulary is inconsistent with your “family-friendly” philosophy (as I understand it), so thank you for the extra-contractual kindness.
As if you haven’t done enough for us, I have two additional requests (although one might be convolved enough to count as more).
Because I am a dithering fool I’ve lost the link to the twenty-five tutorials which you were kind enough to send me lo these many months ago. May we refresh the link or am I out of luck? I have managed to get a little text up on the screen, and somehow tripped over some of the secrets of graphics. But now I am locked out again (as of 2/18?), so I’m actually going to have to talk to these people. At least so I can get back in, maybe even remotely. Then to study study study…
May I know your advertising criteria? (Bucks per time increment — prerecorded v Tom’s recitation, and whether the phrase “…and I’m only saying this because he’s paying me to” would require any premium beyond the time it takes you to read it.)
I remain eager for your response, a loyal fan, and hoping that I am not damaging our relationship with my clingy neediness or embarrassing ineptitude.
Yer (potential) pal,


“SORTA” working for it?

Is it because politicians are tone-deaf and don’t realize how upsetting it is for tax victims to see their stolen money squandered? Or is it because our dear leaders realize how complacent we are that they believe they can reward failure (again) to the tune of a 17.5% salary hike for the bumbling bureaucrat who “SORTA” works for it? (“Amid problems, streetcar leader gets big raise” — Enquirer 18 February 18)

I’m gonna have to go with confident in our complacency. No one could be that tone-deaf or stupid. Except voters. After all, we keep reelecting Repucrats and Demoblicans, even though sober, rational, and viable Libertutionists and Constitarians appear on the ballot just about every election. But we can’t vote for them, because “they can’t win.” And why can’t they win? Because we only vote for Demoblicans and Repucrats, of course. It’s a tidy circle, and it is the rhetorical equivalent of the child’s “just because.”

(Alissa Rosenbaum’s RENT)

We went out to see RENT the other night, and we had a simply wonderful time. No, we didn’t get into it with the other (likely leftie) theatre goers. We were all there just for the exuberance and the music and the joy.
Still, the “other side” must be heard…
So now I wonder, should I write this?

It is…RANDT ( –or– “Ayn Rand’s RENT” )

The valiant struggle of heroic property owners to capitalize their assets, stimulate the productive sector, and enrich all of humanity, in the face of fierce opposition by moochers, second-handers, the aesthete, and an authoritarian collective enforcing its corrupt notions of “renters’ rights.”

Plot: Ellsworth Mouch and Wesley Toohey are a progressive couple living in a rent controlled loft. She is an architectural critic writing for the New York Boast, and she is a social worker at the Dept of Family Services. They are five hundred twenty-seven thousand forty minutes (It’s a leap year!) arrears in their rent.

Building owners and business couple Howard Galt and Dominique Taggart want to evict the squatters and clear out the tent city in their adjacent lot so they can sell out to real estate brokers and business couple Frank Hedon and Dagny Francon, who intend to flip the property to GunCo, who plan on developing a manufactory and firing range.

Complications ensue when Dominique’s and Dagny’s old romance flairs up again while Ellsworth and Wesley struggle with the City to get the property declared a Homeless Sanctuary Organic Garden Child Care AIDS Clinic.

Featured numbers include:
No A, but is A” — “Take Me or Make Me” — “La Vie Agore” —
Today 4 I” — and — “The Tango Francon

Adventures in Bad Lyrics, volume four

I’ve been struggling to make this song sound right.
But every line I write is tiresome, weak, and trite.
Perhaps I’ll pack it in, and maybe say “Good night.”
But as I check my work, there dawns a stunning light.

How many lines do you think I should end with “you?”
Do you think that ten is a bit too few?
Should I check my thesaurus and find a clue?
Or scrap this mess and start anew?
What’s a lad to do, when nothing rhymes with “you?”
It’s a task I rue, ‘cause nothin’ rhymes with “you.”