The Little Post of Big Words vol.1 – Aberrant to Avuncular
In The Little Book of Big Words (and how to use them) – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Little-Book-Big-Words/dp/1905862032/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1256925087&sr=8-1 – author Andy Hughes comments that his book contains words that you might never use. Yeah, red rag to a bull, without question.
ABERRANT – that’s where we start I suppose. This is the first word listed, so where else? Chopping and mixing the order would be too damn easy – aberrant in fact. If I’m doing this I’m doing it in alphabetical order, no adjustments for best fit, nothing like Twitter Magnets. Don’t expect me to construct this thing like a haiku though, there’s no way I could be that creative. Or that poetic. I got no rhythm, even though I was brought up on Motown. An equal amount of Phil Collins undermined anything I could draw from that. Blame my mother, and her eccletic musical tastes, mashing up pure soul with pure hallibut. Still, good drummer. Although it’s said he’s a rather unpleasant character. Then again, you’d probably be a bit moody if you’d patently ruined Genesis. Perhaps even the Biblical one. I digress. Phil Collins got divorced. He paid £25 million in the settlement, and the union with Orianne Cevey was dissolved. An acrimonious and record breaking end to seven years of marital ‘bliss’. Yeah, I wouldn’t have married him in the first place either. Not that I’ve got anything against gay marriage, you understand, it seems to be a reasonable concept to me. No, I’d not marry Phil Collins because I’d be waking up next to this every blighted morning…
He looks a picture, don’t he? A picture of Yoda. But without the awesomeness. After over 2,555 days of that, I’d be demanding £25 million as well – it’s only £3,571,428.57p a year. Approximately. Even the easiest of lovers would be generous if they demanded anything less – it’s only equivalent to 45.5 million Snickers bars, which is nothing, I could polish that lot off in a coffee break. At least he’s got better hair than Simon Cowell though. I’ve been itching to have a dig at him for weeks and weeks. A Svengali worthy of the name I feel; savvy, blessed with top-notch business acumen, a tawdry garbage merchant, King of his own Castle, utterer of ad captandum critiques of starry-eyed, brainwashed kids who are has-beens even as they are-being. Do they grasp the awful truth that Cowell is using them for his own ends, and when their useful function to him has been served, and his money raked-in, he’ll discard them like Y-fronts full of excrement? And to cap it all off, he does it all with that haircut! Even Phil ‘Grumpy the Dwarf’ Collins has the decency to not have hair at all instead of a cut that looks like it’s been shaped with a set square and a plum bob. Weird enough that both of them receive adulation and millions of £££s for the verbal abortions that spout forth from their cakeholes. At least Phil Collins had a useful drumming ability. Cowell has fark all aside an ability to wrap the low-brow media around his little finger, and hock shite pop to eejits. Man is the King Fish in his own little pond. Funny how he can only dish it out in circumstances and settings of his own design, the odds loaded in his favour. The trickiest television interview he’s ever done was with Sinita on Cribs. Sinita – not much of an adversary I feel. In short, let me at him. I’ll go straight for the hair. Freak.
A SHORT encapsulation of all this: Motown is superior to Phil Collins, Simon Cowell and Sinita. An odd tangent I went down there. I’m a wanton tangentalist – which is the number 56 at the Golden Pan, incidentally. Ambidextrous then. What the hell am I supposed to do with ambidextrous? Juggle it into a non sequitir? Again? I can’t juggle that well quite frankly. It would help if I was ambidextrous. See – there – I did it after all. I was in severe danger of generating a major blog anomaly for one dangerous moment, but I pulled it out of the fire quicksharp. Had to remove the Fourth Wall in the process though. These things happen when moving furniture. I visualise ‘Ambitdextrous’ as a very large sofa… Okay, I seem to be losing readers here, move on, move on. Can’t have readers getting apathetic on me, shutting their laptops and ambling off to the kitchen to make a snack. If you are considering this however, I recommend trying peanut butter on toast. My sister has that all the time and she’s turned me on to it’s fiendishly enticing flavour. Not suitable to those with arachibutyrophobia admittedly, but I’d like to think that nobody reading this could even possibly suffer from such an irrational dread. Weirdest phobia around, if you ask me.
PHILIP K. DICK. He was a card. Aside from being hooked on Benzadrine, and having – oh – many, many things go wrong with his headspace over the years, he was chock full of phobias and neurotic log jams, probably none as mundane and pathetic as a fear of getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of one’s mouth. Dick had proper issues instead. Pretty well illustrated in the film A Scanner Darkly for the non-literate. Bob Arctor was – as I’m sure everybody is well aware – played by Keanu Reeves. Winona Ryder was in there as well. And yet, despite this casting ferrago, the film was actually really good, all credit goes to Richard Linklater there. Arctor. Philip K. Dick. Hmm… Oh yeah! That’s it – Dick’s short story The Little Movement which appeared in Dick’s anthology Beyond Lies the Wub featured a concealed war between sentient toy soldiers and an alliance of teddy bears and toy pandas beneath the very noses of their unwitting owners. I dearly hope that didn’t end up on the big screen as… You get the idea. In any case, teddy bears are collected by arctophiles, which sounds like Arctor. Coincidence? I have no idea. I’m not the Phil Dick argus I’ll have you know. I just collect tenously-linked conceptual fluff in my head. I’m stuffed with fluff. I’m not assiduous in the way I categorise my thoughts and ideas – I’m massively disorganised, though you can probably gather as much from the lurching flow of what passes for my narrative. My train of thought isn’t the easiest thing in the world to assimilate, I freely admit, though I’d protest that what it lacks in structural integrity it makes up for with it’s audacious spirit. Yep – that’s me blowing my own trumpet. I’m not often prone to such crowing, in person I’m rather more avuncular than this ‘ere blog might lead you to believe.
Annnnd I’m done. Sooner or later – probably later rather than sooner – I’ll do the Bs.
Look – it was either this or juggling on a unicycle. I got double-dared.