From Clintington: A League of Their Own

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Great post about a great movie.

There were so many GREAT movies in the 90s, some of them snuck past me. As much as I loved movies, I was busy. My first love was soccer and I had to make varsity and letter all 4 years. That doesn’t happen without obsession and practice. “A League of Their Own” was one such […]

via “Are you coming? See, how it works is, the train moves, not the station.” — Clintington on Film

 

I didn’t write this!

Featured Photo by: Stephanie Pombo

Portmanteau: When Used For Ill, Not Good


Portmanteau

A portmanteau is typically a pretty good time. Some can be pretty fun to say and they’re almost always fun to create. There’s just something about taking two words and cramming them together so hard that a few of letters from each respective word just shoot out to the side never to be heard from again.

Sexting, jazzercise, slanguage, Bennifer are all great examples of portmanteaus. With the exception of the last one, all are a guilt free good time to say. That last one however reminds me of dark times. People should never know that much about Ben Affleck or Jennifer Lopez, or was it Garner? I can’t remember.

Occasionally the power of creating a portmanteau becomes too much to responsibly handle. When that happens the portmanteau may not have the best environment to grow up in. Sometimes a portmanteau goes bad. Grows a ponytail and refuses to maintain it’s eyebrows. Basically, it becomes Steven Seagal. Subsequently, much like Steven Segal, it also quits being fun.

Portmanteau, I Want Your Gun And Your Badge On My Desk!

Also, like Steven Seagal – who is the constant good cop who’s gone above the law- when portmanteaus go bad, we need to demand they turn in their gun and badge. While Portmanteaus don’t actually carry guns, there is a metaphor here. For portmanteaus, their gun is that pop they provide when said. The way the tongue and mouth seem to move a bit differently and the brain calls you on it.

As for the badge, a little known fact is portmanteaus all come with a certificate that the creator can display on their wall with pride. A greater known fact is that people who create portmanteaus never have anyone over to see said certificate. Not just for the occasion of seeing the certificate, just in general. It’s sad*.

Even if they did have people over, sometimes that pride wouldn’t be deserved. Occasionally, some overzealous wordsmith goes too far in the creation of a portmanteau. Perhaps they think it sounds funny. Maybe they just got tired of saying two clunky ass words together. Whatever the reason, they’ve gone above the law.

The 1947 Incident

It was 1947 and three types of people were tired of saying two clunky uncomfortable words, funeral directors, cremation folks, and government types. After boozy lunch – like the kind seen in Mad Men – they took it upon themselves to create a portmanteau so foul and opposite day of all other portmanteaus, that it was the direct antithesis of what a portmanteau should be. This one isn’t a rogue cop, it’s a gawhddamn satan spawned evil entity! Like other portmanteaus, it intrigues people to say it. Which is the cruelest part. Yet, it’s dark subject matter and more than likely poorly timed usage turns one’s sense of humor against them at a vulnerable time.

Remains + Cremation = Cremains

Cremains, you can’t help but catch the intrigue, feel that slight giggle. Even after the initial encounter. The elation in your heart as a portmanteau is used. Oh, it sounds funny and seems like it would be fun to say. At the same time, some soft spoken guy has just handed you a bucket and said, “Here are your father’s…”

That’s when one might think, “Did I hear that right?” After hearing cremains another twenty times in the next week, there will be no doubt. It’s a fucking terrible portmanteau. Cremains, turn in your gun and badge. You’re through and will never work in this town again.


Hey, on a lighter note, you may think WiFi is a portmanteau. You’re wrong!

 

*I feel that’s it’s critical to note that this entire paragraph is not true. Except for the part about not having anyone over.

Shrugs: Why Do I Go To The Gym?


Shrugs, Proof That Humans Don’t Know They Are The Punchline

Shrugs are a silly exercise that requires humans to grab far more weight than they can comfortably lift and then proceed to repeatedly shrug. As if to answer the questions they silently ask themselves, “Why did I grab so much weight, why do I do this to myself, and wait, do I make that face during sex?”

In Order To Look Good, You Have To Look Stupid

This is essentially the gyms unspoken mantra. In order to look good, you have to look stupid. Cross your arms and fold in half! Squat then explode up while thrusting your pelvis forward. Heck, just lay on your back, put a weight on your hips, and thrust, thrust, thrust.

Things that come up, must come down. Something is always coming in or going out. Such is life at the gym. Shrugs are absolutely no different. If one does shrugs in front of the mirror, which surprise, everything is done in front of the mirrors – except for treadmills because gym owners don’t have an intentional sense of humor – one is in for a life-altering experience.

A Lovecraftian View of The Seven Faces of Orgasm, Yours Specifically

It’s like looking into the pit of madness itself. If you truly love yourself and are not in love with yourself keep reading. If this doesn’t fit your description, perhaps you should stop. You may not possess the mental and emotional fortitude to survive.

As any good narcissist can tell you, looking at yourself in the mirror during sex is interesting. Although, most of us don’t find it interesting in the same manner a narcissist does. Something also tells me that many of us don’t finish while looking our mirror-selves dead in the eye.

That’s why shrugs were invented. Faces change with each subsequent shrugging of shrugs. Like a skateboarder doing a different rad trick each time they come out of the halfpipe. All of the expressions you make during sex are there and you don’t know about a single damn one:

  • The Macho Teeth Grit
  • The Whimsical Smirk
  • The Look To The Left
  • The Ho-Ho-Ho, What’s This (interrobang)
  • Open Mouth McClosed Eyes
  • The Meaningful Tilt
  • The Hey There Lassie, or Laddie.
  • The Eyebrow Raise That’s Reminiscent of The Rock
  • The Eyebrow Raise That’s More Common and Reminiscent of Eugene Levy
  • The Very Special Episode
  • The Nyuck-Nyuck-Nyuck
  • And The Wakka-Wakka

While, in the heat of the moment, these expressions may pass quickly and can be easily missed. Mistaken for a trick of the eyes. All of your lovers have caught glimpses of them. Now, each expression is completely explorable and can be broken down on each agonizing shrug. If one isn’t driven mad and has an ounce of humility, surely, they will laugh. Then the biggest challenge is not dropping a weight or pulling something.

 


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SEO Made Me Do It: New Words For The Year


SEO – Search Engine Optimization

SEO made me do it! SEO makes a lot of people do a lot of things. Good things, mostly weird things, always narcissistic things that reek of desperation. It’s the reason why people create web pages devoted to lists. SEO causes people to make punchy sans-article titles and sentences. There’s also all those calls to action. Basically, SEO is why you hate people that share posts that read “37 Ways Banana Cream Pie Catches Fire: What Lactose Intolerant Cat Does Next Is Amazing!”

That is SEO at work. Notice the lack of articles and the silky smooth tone of a late 1860’s snake oil salesman. In fact, no stop words show up until after the colon or as people in the super sexy search engine optimization biz refer to it as, the call to action. That title is so silky smooth, machines could crawl the shit out of that page and properly catalogue it.

The Future Was Yesterday and The Machine War Far Less Theatrical Than We All Expected

Essentially, SEO has made some human bend the knee like the machines have already risen and won the damn war. That human has gone on to create lots and lots of content on the internet. Of course, so many other humans are doing the exact same thing and they’re all desperate for hits. Trying to find the right words. Unique things that stand out in the subset of unique yet broad subjects.

Now, Onto The Original Topic (Go ahead and scout scroll, but it’s not much longer)

If you’ve been around recently, you will have noticed that I’ve been going on about toiletfires. If you are a super astute wordsmith or at least a diligently astute breaker downer of word parades. You may have noticed a difference between this post and this one.

I’m sure you’ve clicked those links and either refreshed yourself because you previously read both posts, or are crackling with the afterglow of having read one of those posts for the first time. Perhaps even both, you scandalous thing.

Did You Notice The Difference Between The Posts?

It happened while finishing up the second post. The previous post had been more about 2017, or something other than a fiery toilet. I have no recollection what my SEO keyword was. However, when it came time for the second post I was faced with a dilemma.

I typed toilet fire into the keyword area and the little circle went orange. I tried it a few more ways, but my free version of Yoast wasn’t having it. It was then that I took a bold step forward for humankind.

Somebody Get Webster’s On The Phone. At The Very Least Urban Dictionary.

It was in that moment, wanting to get that dang post up on the blog and not wanting to spend ten dollars a month, that my hand was forced. Forced to turn my previously open compound word toilet fire into the closed compound word toiletfire.

I felt like a real rebel! Not even Urban Dictionary has been so bold as to combine the words toilet and fire. To be honest, there’s something exhilarating about putting two words through the holy matrimony ringer. To step out in front of the humanity and become a representative of literary population. “You know what, these words belong together. Like peanut butter and chocolate! Like Ross and Rachel! Everyone can see it, just that no one’s done it yet!”

Much like an uber driver after popping a Vicodin or a child on coke and pop rocks, no one could stop me. That little circle went from orange to green. I hit publish before any crawl-bot 6000 thought otherwise.


When Grammarly told me toiletfire should be toilet fire, I added that to the dictionary. You’re welcome!

Everybody’s Hugging Everybody: The Great Unification of 2018


Everybody’s Hugging Everybody.

Everybody’s hugging everybody. Champagne and other alcohol fly in every which way. Little pieces of paper descend from the sky. People turned to gravity and said, “Hold my nachos.” Whether people were shockingly disappointed or super duper excited, people dropped whatever they were holding and clung to one another. The Eagles won, or so I’ve heard, the internet wouldn’t lie would it?

Not That I Care.

I didn’t watch the game. In fact, I wasn’t even planning to capitalize on the trending beast, then I had a thought. America loves football, a lot. Either people love those teams outright or hate one of them enough to root for the other. If nothing else, people like snacks and need something to talk about between throat lacerating fistfuls of Doritos.

Then I Had This Thought.

At some point in time last night, a Republican and a emocratD unwittingly treated one another with the decency that is given to everyone. I’m not talking about people who know how each other voted. I mean strangers at bars and at parties. Those people who just joined in comradery or be a contrarianism. Who chose to hate or love one of those teams at some point in their lives. Whether it was fifty years ago or two weeks, they were unified.

In those final moments, they consoled one another or tossed a cold one the other’s way. That had to happen somewhere in the 9.8 square kilometer* of country. People left the MAGA hats and the “I Watched Hamilton and All I Got Was A Boner.” t-shirts at home.

I Could Be Wrong

That is of course unless every democrat chose to cheer for the deep state establishment called the New England Patriot. Not only would that be typical, that would mean that there were a lot of green jerseys and red hats. I have to admit, that sounds very festive.

#DrainTheSwampEaglesDrainTheSwamp

Err.. I mean.

#FLYEAGLESFLY!


*google the miles.

I Bought A Mouse And Gained A Kindred Spirit Acquaintance: Chad


I Bought A Mouse.

I bought a mouse over the weekend. After six years, two of which involved a lot of false double clicks, I pitched my Razer Naga and bought a Logitech M720 A.K.A Triathlon. I realized that I wasn’t so much into gaming mice anymore. While I do play games on my PC, I don’t think I necessitate a mouse devoted to gaming. Basically, don’t require a mouse that resembles dung beetle Transformer named Shithouse* that was living proof that a disco ball fucked an Atari.

The Technobabble Was Free.

Back to my new sweet wireless mouse that has the unifying receiver and Bluetooth connectivity. First, the unifying receiver allows me to hook up six compatible devices to one receiver. That’s more than I need, but the ability to free up USB ports is always welcome. Then there is the Bluetooth which allows the mouse to be hooked up to three devices at the same time. With the simple push of a button, the active device is switched out and the cursor jumps to the next device’s screen.

The real kicker, files can be copied from device to device with the mouse. Make it active on one device, grab a file, hit the button, and hit paste on the next device. Done!

Then There He Was…

When I walked into the store I had two mice in mind, the Triathlon and the Marathon. Both were wireless and had years on one battery charge. The Marathon didn’t have Bluetooth, but it was cheaper. I found them both out on display where I could see how they felt and looked. I’d managed to check-out both before hearing, “Can I help you.”

My soul rolled it’ eyes. I figured it was some kid who didn’t really care what I said next. His manager had probably forced him to talk to me and was watching him. I turned around and there he was, Chad.

At Least That’s What His Name Tag Said.

Chad was excited and super helpful. He knew everything about the two mice in question and many things about everything else in that aisle. It should be noted that Chad knew all of this even though he broke his wrist and was now relegated to the exclusive use of mice with trackballs.

How do I know that he broke his wrist by falling down some stairs and that his brother sustained less severe injuries from a car accident? Do I really need to spell it out for you? Chad and I kindred spirits acquaintances on the same journey to find the input devices that best suit our needs!

Will We Meet Again?

While I don’t think Chad and I will ever meet on top of the Empire State Building at midnight with our favorite input devices** or anything. I think there is a chance that we will meet again.

You see, I think keyboards and mice are the bee’s knees. Out of those two, keyboards are the bee’s knees-i-est. I have several keyboards that I swap out from time to time.There’s my eleven year old main one from The Source and the gaming one. Plus a few randos, because you never know.

While looking at mice, I have to admit, I also stole a peek at keyboards. Chad told me all about them as well. Until the gentle nudge of a text saying, “Where are you?” brought me crashing back into reality from an input device euphoria.

I love my wife and my eleven year old Centrios keyboard, but man, those wireless, waterproof, multi-device Logitech keyboards sure did intrigue me. See you soon, Chad.

 


To my wife, I apologize. Not for Chad, but for wanting to buy another keyboard. Never for Chad.

*In all honesty, Shithouse would have been a Go-Bot.

**Hootie-hoo!