I haven’t had any for awhile. Have you?
How do people come up with titles for their blog posts? There is definitely an art to it. I suppose it depends upon whether one wants to cast a large or small net for potential readers. Being outrageous does garner a certain amount of attention. Being weird can also be helpful. Then there’s always the weirdly outrageous, and the outrageously weird . . .
My favorite for today (chosen randomly):
(Great blog, BTW. Think robot toilet-paper holders.)
But seriously, speaking of flapjacks . . . aren’t flapjacks so much better than pancakes? Anyone out there know the etiology of the word “flapjacks”? When I think of pancakes, I think of wet inert circles of batter in a skillet. When I think of flapjacks, I think of a crazy-ass athletically-oriented golden and tasty foodstuff that’s gonna high-kick its way onto my plate (hmmm, am I channeling Jack LaLanne?) to the theme from Rocky. Absurd? That’s how I like my food. Feisty. Defiant. Not ready for prime time.
Where am I going with this? I just like words. I remember falling in love with specific words when I was a child. Many of them are associated with a set of Childcraft children’s books that included two volumes of poems. They were wonderfully illustrated in bright colors, and I was also smitten by the images associated with the poems. There was “The Quangle Wangle’s Hat,” “The Sugarplum Tree,” “Cocoa and Animals,” “The Butterbean Tent,” and hundreds more. Favorite words (which I like just as much now as I did then):
crockery mittens pieman crumpled
frocks supper butterbean sarsaparilla
parasol fizzy crumpet cruffin
crescent crisp pipkin gossamer
thistledown agog tumble taffy
Weird, yes. And is a cruffin an actual thing? It just feels good rolling across my tongue. Same thing with crumpled, but better because there’s that little bit of lip action involved when you say it aloud.
When I get bored with flapjacks, there’s a variation that I like: flapson jackson. Pure silliness. Or as I like to refer to some of my own less than stellar poems, sheer pottery.
Oh yeah, and I can’t stand supercalafragilisticexpialadocious (or however the hell it’s spelled). Never did. Freakin’ upstart of a word.
So that’s all that’s fit (or unfit) to print on art or evidence? today. Join me next time when I expound upon my primitive and visceral reaction to earwigs.