I’m a word nerd. Words kill me (in a good way). Like bamboozle. I like to say it. “Don’t bamboozle me, baby!” I wish I had a better vocabulary—like maybe in a former life I was Mr. Webster’s editor and I retained all that wordiness. Bobbydazzler! That’s an expression of awe—like “Wow!”—that my main character Percy says in the books I wrote about him. It’s a real expression as two words, but I made up the new meaning as one word—which is the fun part about writing fiction—you get to invent words.
I’ve collected words for years—words I like the sound of, like pulchritudinous (and its cousin pulchritude, which was the $1000 answer on “Jeopardy” this week). OR pusillanimous (the opposite of a FuchsiaWoman). You don’t want to be called this as it means marked by contemptible timidity. I don’t think anyone would mind being called pulchritudinous, meaning physical comeliness. Let’s say your hunky boyfriend didn’t defend you at a college football game when a boorish buffoon threw his beer on you because you cheered for the opposite team. You could say to said BF, “Honey, you may be pulchritudinous, but you’re too pusillanimous for me. So buh-bye!” Would get your point across.
I’ve also collected words I’m not familiar with, like daedal (complex or ingenious in form or function; skillful, artistic) OR tyro (a beginner in learning; a novice). I used to jot down the words in a journal and try to memorize them, which was a great idea until M.A.M.L. settled in (Middle Age Memory Lapse).
Now I rely on dictionary.com to help improve my vocabulary. This site sends me a new and interesting word everyday. I look forward to opening the email to see if I already know the word, which happens about one-third of the time. Another third of the time I kinda know the word; and the other third of the time I have no idea.
Last week was a terrific week at dictionary.com. On 10/10/09 the word was reverie (a daydream; state of dreamy meditation or fanciful musing). Who doesn’t like to have reveries?
On 10/09/09 the word was convivial (merry, festive, or fond of feasting, drinking and good company). Who wouldn’t want to have a convivial day everyday? This word is used in my all-time favorite musical, Camelot. The song is “The Simple Joys of Maidenhood.” The lyrics by genius lyricist Frederick Lowe are:
Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?
Are those sweet gentle pleasures gone for good?
Shall a feud not begin for me?
Shall kith not kill their kin for me?
Oh, where are the trivial joys?
Harmless, convivial joys?
Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?
(Where are they indeed!)
On 10/07/09 the word was foofaraw, a noun with 2 meanings:
1. excessive or flashy ornamentation or decoration;
2. a fuss over a matter of little importance.
I had never heard of this word before, but now I totally love it. Here’s how I am going to remember it:
I have a museum-size collection of Converse All-Star tennis shoes (the kind with the white rubber toes) in solid colors and prints. On all of them I have added shoe clips—mostly the kind that are supposed to adorn bridal shoes—white lacey/white pearly/white sequiny/white pom-pom kinds of things—that I attach to the shoelace at the toe of the shoe. Why? To make the shoes snazzy and unique!
From now on I’m going to think of my Converse tennies as having foofaraw.
For definition #2, that’s easy to remember as it reminds me of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing (great play and great movie starring Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson). In this instance, people who don’t think adding shoe clips to tennis shoes is a worthwhile endeavor could say, “That’s a foofaraw about foofaraw.” (I really must work that sentence into a novel someday.)
On 10/08/09 the word was titivate, a verb which means:
1. to make decorative additions to;
2. to make oneself smart or spruce).
How about this sentence: I’ve titivated my tennies with foofaraw. (I like it.)
So let’s here it for words. They can titivate your life. And that’s no foofaraw!
