Neighborhood Excitement

Oh, sure, everyone has those bouncy castle things in their front yard. Yawn.

A few doors down, at a recently "renovated" home that features such drastic architecture that I'm certain every square inch of space permitted by zoning laws has been taken, they have a bouncy castle thing. This monstrous, ugly structure (which doesn't fit in at all with the rest of the neighborhood) could only be enhanced by having no fewer than two dozen kids.

Actually, the kids are all right with me: their squeals are delightful. What's out of the norm, though, is the six foot tall Easter Bunny supervising them, especially this week, one week after Easter. Also, it's been a justifiably somber weekend, as well. Not much call for celebrating.

What made the scene so remarkable was the mother. I imagine she'd been banished from the house to enjoy a smoke, and was talking with the Bunny. Or he, if it was a he inside there, with her. It would have been quite a picture, but I didn't have my camera with me.

And, less we think it stops there, on the front yard of the next house is a cheap-ass petting zoo. A small, knee-high enclosure containing several chickens, a black lamb, and a cute baby goat. Strolling nearby, a pony.

WIDIWAP

"Widdy-Wap" was one of my favorite answers at work when people would ask for something ridiculous. That may have counted toward my dismissal, especially when higher-ups requested something. It's an acronym, of course, and comes from here.


People have been talking about having to look up words when they read. I used to be baffled (and humbled) by reading a commentator for Central European Review, figuring he'd somehow amassed the largest vocabulary this side of Shakespeare, but he must have been replaced in their acquisition. I wonder if I can recall his name (I'm poor at remembering names sans vowels).

But that's not the point.

Before I got on my "colloqueal" kick, I wrote a piece for a workshop I was attending. When everyone was giving me their valuable feedback, the most attractive girl in the class complained. She'd been reading my work in the bathtub, and all us males took a moment to reflect on the picture. Smiles and sighs everywhere. Her complaint, however, had nothing to do with the bath but rather by her inability to look up the words she didn't understand.

To my relief, the instructor gently let us (me?) know, that wasn't the author's fault.