Favorite Neologisms from the Last Decade

2000
witches’ knickers (Ireland) shopping bags caught in trees, flapping in the wind
get corrugated ankles (UK campus) to get drunk
glomp (US campus) to jump and hug someone from behind
drink-link (UK campus) a cash dispenser

2001
goat heaven (Caribbean) a state of unfettered freedom, enjoyment, indulgence evoking both bliss and excess

2002
cuddle puddle (New York) a heap of exhausted ravers
trout pout (UK) the effects of collagen injections that produce prominent, comically oversized lips resembling those of a dead fish
urbeach (US) an urban beach (a trend that began with the Paris Plage 2002)
barbecue stopper (Australia) an issue of major public importance, which will excite the interest of voters

2003
smirting (New York) flirting between people who are smoking cigarettes outside a no-smoking building.
meh (US, from “The Simpsons”) boring, apathetic or unimpressive
pumping party (Miami) illegal gatherings where plastic surgeons give back-street injections of silicone, botox etc
croggie (UK schools) a ride of the crossbar or handlebars of another rider’s bicycle

2004
flairing (Sydney) the action of bartenders balancing, catching, flipping, spinning or throwing (bottles, glasses, napkins, straws) with finesse and style
glass ball environment (US intelligence) of the weather in Iraq being often conducive to collecting images from above
sandwich generation (Canada) those caring for young children and elderly parents at the same time (usually “baby boomers” in their 40s or 50s)
huburb (US) its own little city within another city
zhing-zhong (Zimbabwe) merchandise made in Asia; cheaply made, inexpensive or substandard goods
wardrobing (US) buying an item and then returning it after wearing it
spange (street talk) for “Spare change?”
pudding ring (Florida) facial hair made up of a moustache and a goatee
J.Lo (Wall Street) the rounding bottom in a stock’s price chart

2005
cougar (Canada) an older woman on the prowl, preferably for a younger man
elevens the creases between one’s eyebrows from squinting or frowning
California licence plate (US) a tattoo on the lower back
milkshaking (Kentucky) bicarbonate loading which slows fatigue in a horse
Picasso porn (US) the scrambled signal of a pornographic cable channel as seen by a nonsubscriber
Faye (UK) a bright light placed at eye level, in front of the performer, which helps to hide wrinkles (in honour of Faye Dunaway, who is said to always insist on one)
fogging (UK) children showing minimal reaction to or agreeing with the taunts of a bully
slippage (US) the percentage of people who get a cheque and forget to cash it
set-jetter (UK) someone who goes on a holiday to a particular place simply because he’s read about it or seen it in a film or on television
swoop and squat (Washington) to drive and pull in front of another vehicle and slam on the brakes, deliberately causing an accident to collect the insurance money
helicopter mom (US) a mother who micro-manages her children’s lives and is perceived to be hovering over every stage of their development
ghost ridin (US) jumping out of a moving vehicle – usually stolen – and letting it smash into another car, home or business
roider (US) someone who injects illegal steroids to enhance his body
open the kimono (US) to expose or reveal secrets or proprietary information
nom de womb (US) a name used by an expectant parent to refer to their unborn child
sequencing (US) delaying your career until your children are in school
goose father a father who lives alone having sent his spouse and children to a foreign country to learn English or do some other form of advanced study
twixters (US) fully-grown men and women who still live with their parents
dog-whistle politics (Australia) to present your message so that only your supporters hear it properly
doughnuting (UK) a carefully created seating plan which places an ideal group of MPs (women, photogenic, ethnic minority etc) around a leader for the ideal television shot

2006
ant hill family (UK) the trend whereby children move back in with their parents so that all work together towards group financial goals
New York rain (Hong Kong) water that drips annoyingly from air-conditioners onto passers-by
chair plug (2006) someone who sits in a meeting but contributes nothing
banana fold (North Carolina) fat below the buttocks
chubb (North Carolina) fat around the kneecaps
hail damage (Minnesota) cellulite (from its pitted appearance being similar to the effects of hail)
throw a series of notes (Illinois) to perform a back handspring with no hands
black spider memo (UK) notes, mostly hand-written, in which Prince Charles enthusiastically details his beliefs on particular political topics
rubber arms (California) surfers who turn to catch a wave, making all the paddling movements, but never really go anywhere
push present (US) an expensive gift given to a woman by her husband in appreciation for having recently given birth
Harry Potter a poker hand containing a Jack and a King (after JK Rowling)
Anna Kournikova when an Ace and King are held (allegedly so called because it looks a good hand but in fact rarely wins anything)
flashpackers (Australia) intrepid, but comfortably-off travellers
glamping (UK) glamorous camping (prompted in part by celebrity-studded festivals like Glastonbury)

2007
menoporsche (UK) the phenomenon of middle-aged men attempting to recapture their lost youth by buying an expensive sports car
gate fever (UK) terror at the prospect of release from prison
hippo’s tooth (US) a cement bollard
fox hole (UK) the area beneath desk where telephone calls can take place peacefully
puddle (US) a heap of clothing an actor steps into and is quickly zipped inside during one of those split-second costume changes that dazzle audiences

2008
goldfishing (UK) one politician talking inaudibly in an interview (you can see his lips move but only hear the reporter’s words)
twuncing (UK) when walkers drive two cars to the end point of their walk, and then ride together in one car to the starting point; after the walk they drive together to the starting point to collect the other vehicle
shock and hee-haw (US) explosive devices under satchels on donkeys
ham (UK) legitimate email messages (as opposed to “spam”)
mattressing (UK) the term used by other traders and bank managers to hide their results
flusher (US) a volunteer who rounds up non-voters on Election Day

2009
generica (US) features of the American landscape (strip malls, motel chains, prefab housing) that are exactly the same no matter where one is

from: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2009/dec/15/best-words-of-the-decade

New Denver Music Fall 2009

As has been our blessing for the last five/six years in Denver – new bands are constantly surfacing. 2009 is no exception. Here are our picks for up and coming and new talent in town that has floored us:

(Please click on band name to visit their site)

Churchill

The Outfit

O’Holloran

Paean

Lifeboat Etiquette

Victor Grimm

Green Typewriters

Petals of Spain

Josephine and the Mousepeople

Ever laughed and danced and cried at the same time?

www.myspace.com/josephineandthemousepeople

Photography courtesy of the amazing Brian Carney:

josephine & the mousepeople

My Ghost Has a Name

Since my adolescence there has been a ghost in my house. Even stranger than this possible delusion is the dizzying, but altogether, real fact that this ghost committed suicide last week.

Really, this ghost wasn’t a literal and ethereal wisp of an apparition so much as she was a thing, an object, an abstract construction. But really, and to be completely honest: more than any conceptual amalgamation of the mind my ghost was a real person – existing somewhere out-there, in the world. What’s more, she had a name. She will always have a name: Laurel.

Laurel was my high school girlfriend. And like so many that came into contact with me as a youth, I handled her with the most profound sense of irresponsibility. For my adolescent infirmities were pronounced – the pockets of greatness in my growing body, yet-unrealized.

As any reasonable human would do: Laurel broke-up with my high school self. She dumped me into the education of deserved emotional turmoil. And then, as quickly as it came: high school ended. I left. She left. And so it has been that, for the last fifteen years this girl I once knew as Laurel simply became an apparition. An airy wisp that stood as a testament that I existed at all; proof that I was as horrible as I really was. Laurel’s ghost was something that followed me. Something that hovered. A cloud of intelligence that I secretly looked up to.

Once her actual human form had completely dissipated from the reality of my life, she grew large; and lived in the unreality of my life – in the dreamstate of my waking life. She became an idea. A drive. An impetus. She became that thing which I measured much of my growing sense of everything against. She became my silent, unrelenting inner turmoil: That puzzle which, if I somehow solved – I always knew that I would, in-turn, solve myself.

And if the truth needs to be told: I am no different than you, dear reader. We all have our ghosts that push us onward. Forward. If we listen to them, or see them at all…

Now, the sad and true fact is that: Laurel is an official ghost. Beyond the land of the living. Last week, Laurel killed her self. She committed suicide. She passed-on. She died. She’s not with us anymore…

It has been nearly, exactly – fifteen years since I last saw Laurel’s human face. Sure, she has visited me in dreams – the only place I’ve really seen her at all. And after years and years of this; she has lost her face to the ghostly apparitions of ideas and abstract concepts. Still, I know our time was real as my proof resides in a couple of photographs still held in the annals of my youth.

For most of these fifteen years, Laurel lived in the same world that I did. And really, not very far from me. There were reported sightings in public. We may have even stood in the same room without knowing it.

Then, in one mysterious twist of technological fate, I saw her face on my computer – on a social networking site. My breath ceased. And for many moments, my body stopped altogether. Her face, once again, for the first time in fifteen years, was before me. I couldn’t resist, and so: I wrote. Only much after my greeting did I even realize what I was saying; the complications of making this kind of unsolicited contact at all.

After staring at my words for many laborious minutes – I sent the email off. And then a near-eternity passed wherein she did not respond. Really, and as I knew: I did not expect a response. I did not deserve a response.

Then, a couple of months later and, for some strange reason, she responded. She said that we had both attended the same social engagement the week before. From what I was told, we missed one another by mere minutes. Again, she moved by me in the winds of life. Yet more proof that she existed at all. Yet more proof that she was, in fact, the ghost of my life: Her breeze left in the summer night as a wake to the possibility of ever seeing her face again.

Laurel’s correspondence was mixed with a height of emotion and the lack therein. Where she pronounced her successes in life, she also muddled them with the void of lacking, of wanting, of desiring, of unrequited ambition. Her words struck me to be such a puzzle that I actually shared them with a friend. I was begging for the deciphering code; another perspective. And what I was told by my friend: that it appeared there was some kind of backhanded invitation to meet. In the least, to bump into one another. To this end, I smiled. I wished nothing more than to complete my profound apologies with a handshake, an actual sighting. A hug.

But this wasn’t to be.

And now, I’m afraid that, more than any future hauntings or this supreme sadness that has washed over me in the heaviest of manners – I’m afraid that I’ve lost a piece of the identity that I’ve known for all these years. For it was she, Laurel, that has always been that kind of presence which has served as a mirror for all my life’s pursuits, dreams and functions. For it was her that I would have my secret conversations with: About my worth, my progress, how far I had come; and also about my retribution, my penance, my struggles that I knew something like karma had afforded me.

For the last fifteen years, I have always looked to her visage, her ghostly image, her airy wisp, her as the idea (THE idea) – for confirmation that I was not alone. That something like God was watching over me afterall. The simple fact that I knew she was out there, somewhere provided that kind of solace which shouted: you are being looked after. You have a judge. This call said: care for yourself. Grow. Bellow. Exalt. Know Thy Self. Care for your self and for everyone else in all the ways that you never cared for her; couldn’t care for her.

In all honesty, maybe I am a bit terrified that the time has come where Laurel truly can perform all of these mystical functions that I have probably only imagined, hitherto. Maybe the time has come – maybe the time always was going to come where she could really and truly – alas! Look over my shoulder and appear in the dead of night, around the corner of my closets. For fate is always determined in the end times; the history of everything is determined by its past and those which gaze upon it.

R.I.P. Jeff Hanson

We have terribly sad news to report:

Kill Rock Stars singer/songwriter Jeff Hanson was found dead on Friday, June 5 in what his label calls “a terrible accident.” He was 31.

It has been widely reported that Hanson most likely died from a fall onto the concrete floor of his new apartment, which he had just moved into days earlier. His parents found him in his apartment. It appears he fell and hit his head.

Portia Sabin, president of Hanson’s label Kill Rock Stars, said, “Jeff was only one of two people we have ever signed from an unsolicited demo tape. We get hundreds and hundreds of tapes, and for us to have been so captivated by him is pretty impressive. He was a terrific songwriter with beautiful melodies. The icing on the cake was his incredible voice.”

A 2005 Paste magazine review wrote that Hanson’s idiosyncratic voice was an “angelic falsetto, a cross between Alison Krauss and Art Garfunkel that is often (understandably) mistaken for a female contralto.”

Hanson recorded three albums under Kill Rock Stars (2003 Son, 2005 Jeff Hanson, 2008 Madam Owl), the label that also supported Elliot Smith.

On May 15, Hanson opened our Meadowlark outdoor stage for the summer, here in Denver. As with most of the venues Jeff played on his last tour, he held the audience in his grasp for the entire set.

Jack Kerouac’s Fantasy Baseball Leagues

Unbeknownst to his close friends, one of my literary heroes – Jack Kerouac invented a fantasy baseball game and played it for most of his life.

[Kerouac's game charted] the exploits of made-up players like Wino Love, Warby Pepper, Heinie Twiett, Phegus Cody and Zagg Parker, who toiled on imaginary teams named either for cars (the Pittsburgh Plymouths and New York Chevvies, for example) or for colors (the Boston Grays and Cincinnati Blacks).

He collected their stats, analyzed their performances and, as a teenager, when he played most ardently, wrote about them in homemade newsletters and broadsides. He even covered financial news and imaginary contract disputes. During those same teenage years, he also ran a fantasy horse-racing circuit, complete with illustrated tout sheets and racing reports. He created imaginary owners, imaginary jockeys, imaginary track conditions.

Don’t miss the slideshow of some of Kerouac’s notebooks and publications related to his imaginary sports.

Yesterday. Was Beautiful.

Ghosts of the Queen City

“Denver is a square, proud, prompt little place, surrounded by immensity.”–Demas Barnes (Denver visitor, 1865)

Denver has a rich history, a haunted history, and at times – a nearly invisible history. Many are unaware of the men and women that served as histories characters in the formation of the city: William Green Russell, John H. Gregory, William Jackson, William Byers, Soapy Smith, Colonel John Chivington, Silas Soule, Horace Tabor, Mamie Eisenhower – for these names are primarily of the nineteenth century.

However, natives may remember some of the dead establishments of the Queen City: Muddy’s Coffeehouse, City Spirit Cafe, the old Skylark, Celebrity Sports Center and Cooper Theater, the old viaducts that pocked the city.

If the history of Denver intrigues you, several notable local contributors have collaborated and put together a great blog called Buck Fifty: www.buckfifty.org.

James Joyce and his (farting) Fuckbird.

In 1909, while away in Dublin on business trip, James Joyce makes a pact with his wife that they will write each other erotic letters. The letters of his wife disappeared, but the ones he wrote were published in 1975 as the “dirty” letters of James Joyce to his wife. Here is one of these (deliciously) filthy letters.

Many more appear in this upcoming, May issue of syntax.

Dublin
8 December 1909

To NORA

My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.

You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope you will surprise me some time when I am asleep dressed, steal over to me with a whore’s glow in your slumberous eyes, gently undo button after button in the fly of my trousers and gently take out your lover’s fat mickey, lap it up in your moist mouth and suck away at it till it gets fatter and stiffer and comes off in your mouth. Sometimes too I shall surprise you asleep, lift up your skirts and open your drawers gently, then lie down gently by you and begin to lick lazily round your bush. You will begin to stir uneasily then I will lick the lips of my darling’s cunt. You will begin to groan and grunt and sigh and fart with lust in your sleep. Then I will lick up faster and faster like a ravenous dog until your cunt is a mass of slime and your body wriggling wildly.

Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier.

JIM

Denver Music. New. 2009.

Here are some new tracks from Denver artists that have caught our attention:

Alan Alda: “Red Sky Morning (A Sailing Song)”

Tyler Despres: “Paradigm”

Speakeasy Tiger: “Speak Long, Dream On”

A Mouthful of Thunder: “From on High”

Cody Crump: “I’ll Be There”

Jesse Nesbitt: “015 Gracious Fact Check”

Victor Grimm: “Gary New Duluth”

Six Months to Live: “Spin a Top”

Dirt Circle Dogs: “Autobahn Pub”

The Don’ts & Be Carefuls: “Color TV (demo)”

The Build-Up: “The Violin Song”

(click on names to listen to songs)