Hyperbole — pronounced high-purr-bow-lee. Hyper (exaggeration, overstatement, magnification, amplification, puffery, above, beyond, super) plus bole (the trunk of a tree.) Hmmmm…..so, an exxagerated tree trunk???? That makes no sense unless one is talking about a giant sequoia. So maybe, rather than hyper-bole, it should be hyper bowl (pronounced high-purr-bow-l). Hyper (super) plus bowl (stadium for a sporting event). Super Bowl. Aha!! That’s more like it!!….
Today’s Word(s)…time warp
“Time” — the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole. “Warp” — buckle, twist, bend, distort. So…time warp is a distortion of the progress of existence? Sounds good!
Representative of that definition is the “Time Warp” song and dance from “The Rocky Horror Show”.
Let’s do the time-warp again
Let’s do the time-warp again
It’s just a jump to the left
And then a step to the right
With your hands on your hips
You bring your knees in tight
Let’s do the time-warp again
Let’s do the time-warp again
As I gets older and time warps, I find, in attempting to do The Time Warp, that I have become dyslexic (or maybe that’s dysmorphic…or certainly dys-directional, disorganized, and disoriented) both between left and right AND between up and down. (Sigh….) But we had a great time! (And there will be a story at some point in the near future about the first time I ever went to The Rocky Horror Picture Show many years ago…to be included in an embarrassing moments segment of the Motorcycles, Monkeys, Mischief, and My Life category.)
Schultz, PomPom, and How a Toy Gun Stopped the Violence….
It all started with the school bus. Well, that’s not entirely true. I guess it all started with the cat. A gray and white, straggly, bedraggled Persian-ish cat appeared on our back porch one winter day, looking hungry and forlorn. When we tried petting him, we discovered that his backbone was configured rather like the Alps as, despite the fluff, there was very little substance to him. We realized that, had he had a home, he would most likely have been in it. So, of course, we fed him and brought him into the house. He was a handsome fellow with a long, leonine face and pale grey ghostly eyes. However, the resident dogs immediately began to assess the situation (Schultzie, the boxer: “Wait a minute! Two dogs, two cats! Wrong ratio,” Chickie, the hound: “Yeah. We were already put-upon to let Gimpy live here. This is not okay!”) So we immediately hustled PomPom (my human son, then 8, named him) off to the master bedroom, the only room in the house that had a door that would actually stay latched. But the dogs knew he was there. They knew.
Well, the following day, the school bus dropped off a neighborhood full of kids, mostly boys, and a gleeful snowball fight began…which evolved into an ice-ball fight. The 9-year old strong man, the best little league pitcher around, had an ill-advised moment with he grabbed an icicle and heaved it toward my son. Who caught it. With his temple. I was at work, blissfully unaware of the chaos until I got the phone call from my panicked friend who was there to watch my son after school since dad was out of town. So I frantically rushed home and we frantically rushed to the hospital where he (after massive protests) received 10 stitches on the outside and, reportedly. 10 more on the inside as the deep wound miraculously did not quit reach his eye. Home we went, under instruction to have a quiet, restful evening so as not to disturb the wound.
But this was our house we were returning to. “Restful” was an unlikelihood. Having situated my son on the sofa, I had to retrieve something from my bedroom and went upstairs, followed by Chickie and Schultz…who knew were PomPom was stashed and trotted up with me, spoiling for a fight. (Chickie was often the instigator; Schultz, the muscle.) When I emerged from the bedroom and tried to close the door, it wouldn’t shut, so I turned to see PomPom’s head sticking out with the door closing on his neck. Well, not wanting to choke the cat we had just rescued, I let the door open slightly and went to nudge PomPom back in with my foot. But PomPom, quick for an ailing fellow, vaulted over the foot and landed nose to nose with Schultz.
A moment of tension-filled silence ensued, all of us frozen. Then Schultz, with his floppy boxer muzzle, began to sniff the cat, apparently figuring he’d give him a chance. Sniff-snuffle-sniff — VAP!! Lightning cat claw slap across the nose!! Stunned, Schultz looked up at me as if to ask, “Can he do that!” Then, trying again…sniff-snuffle-sniff — VAP!!! Cat smack!!! Schultz took a half a jump back, and then it was one-two-three GO! and the horrible tussle ensued. Boxer jaw clamped around cat middle; four clawed cat feet embedded in boxer face. Bounce bounce bounce around the floor. Me, yelling! My son bounding up the steps. My friend coming to try to help. In desperation, she grabbed a toy plastic rifle and bopped Schultz on the nose. Surprised, he let go just long enough for the cat to make a dive under a rocker-recliner that was close by. With PomPom’s rear end sticking out, Chickie took advantage of the opportunity to nip at the exposed posterior…which got the cat all the way under the rocker. Sigh….. Time to check for damages. Schultz had some scratches on his face. We pulled PomPom out from under the chair, and he hung so limp that we were convinced he must be severely injured and dying. As it turned out, he was just exhausted from the melee.
For quite some time, there was a very cautious truce. Schultzie and PomPom would plaster themselves to the opposite wall from one another when having to pass on the house. PomPom took up residence on top of the clothes dryer which was located in the kitchen. Schultz, who could have easily gotten to the cat, preferred to pretend the cat did not exist. Ultimately they actually became friends.
And none of the pets in the household EVER challenged Mo, my second monkey child.