Chamblee54

What follows are selections from The Devil’s Dictionary, by Ambrose Bierce. Many things could be said about Mr. Bierce. TDD began as a newspaper column, and was later published as The Cynic’s Word Book. TDD is a dictionary, going from A to Z. Today’s selection covers E – G. More selections are available. A – D Pictures today are from The Library of Congress. This is a repost.
EAT, v.i. To perform successively (and successfully)
the functions of mastication, humectation, and deglutition.
ECONOMY, n.
Purchasing barrel of whiskey that you do not need for price of cow that you cannot afford.
EDIBLE, adj. Good to eat, and wholesome to digest, as a worm to a toad,
a toad to a snake, a snake to a pig, a pig to a man, and a man to a worm.
EGOTIST, n. A person of low taste, more interested in himself than in me.
ELOQUENCE, n. The art of orally persuading fools that white is the color that it appears to be.
It includes the gift of making any color appear white.
EMOTION, n. A prostrating disease caused by a determination of the heart to the head.
It is sometimes accompanied by a copious discharge of hydrated chloride of sodium from the eyes.
EPICURE, n. An opponent of Epicurus, an abstemious philosopher who, holding that pleasure should be the chief aim of man, wasted no time in gratification from the senses.
EPITAPH, n. An inscription on a tomb, showing that virtues acquired by death
have a retroactive effect. Following is a touching example:
Here lie the bones of Parson Platt, Wise, pious, humble and all that,
Who showed us life as all should live it; Let that be said—and God forgive it!
ERUDITION, n. Dust shaken out of a book into an empty skull.
ETHNOLOGY, n. The science that treats of the various tribes of Man,
as robbers, thieves, swindlers, dunces, lunatics, idiots and ethnologists.
EULOGY, n. Praise of a person who has either the advantages of wealth and power,
or the consideration to be dead.
EVANGELIST, n. A bearer of good tidings, particularly (in a religious sense) such as assure us of our own salvation and the damnation of our neighbors.
EXCOMMUNICATION, n.
This “excommunication” is a word In speech ecclesiastical oft heard,
And means the damning, with bell, book and candle,
Some sinner whose opinions are a scandal—
A rite permitting Satan to enslave him Forever, and forbidding Christ to save him.
EXHORT, v.t. In religious affairs, to put the conscience of another upon the spit
and roast it to a nut-brown discomfort.
EXISTENCE, n.
A transient, horrible, fantastic dream, Wherein is nothing yet all things do seem:
From which we’re wakened by a friendly nudge Of our bedfellow Death, and cry:”O fudge!”
FASHION, n. A despot whom the wise ridicule and obey.
FEAST, n. A festival. A religious celebration usually signalized by gluttony and drunkenness, frequently in honor of some holy person distinguished for abstemiousness.
FIDDLE, n. An instrument to tickle human ears by friction of a horse’s tail on entrails of a cat.
FLOP, v. Suddenly to change one’s opinions and go over to another party.
The most notable flop on record was that of Saul of Tarsus,
who has been severely criticised as a turn-coat by some of our partisan journals.
FORK, n. An instrument used chiefly for the purpose of putting dead animals into the mouth. Formerly the knife was employed for this purpose, and by many worthy persons is still thought to have many advantages over the other tool, which, however, they do not altogether reject, but use to assist in charging the knife. The immunity of these persons from swift and awful death is one of the most striking proofs of God’s mercy to those that hate Him.
FRIENDLESS, adj. Having no favors to bestow. Destitute of fortune.
Addicted to utterance of truth and common sense.
FUNERAL, n.
A pageant whereby we attest our respect for the dead by enriching the undertaker,
and strengthen our grief by an expenditure that deepens our groans and doubles our tears.
GALLOWS, n. Whether on the gallows high Or where blood flows the reddest,
The noblest place for man to die— Is where he died the deadest.
GENTEEL, adj. Refined, after the fashion of a gent.
Observe with care, my son, the distinction I reveal: A gentleman is gentle and a gent genteel.
Heed not the definitions your “Unabridged” presents, For dictionary makers are generally gents.
GHOUL, n. A demon addicted to the reprehensible habit of devouring the dead. The existence of ghouls has been disputed by that class of controversialists who are more concerned to deprive the world of comforting beliefs than to give it anything good in their place.
GLUTTON, n. A person who escapes the evils of moderation by committing dyspepsia.
GOUT, n. A physician’s name for the rheumatism of a rich patient.
GRAVE, n. A place in which the dead are laid to await the coming of the medical student.
GUILLOTINE, n. A machine which makes a Frenchman shrug his shoulders with good reason.

Lately, I have been walking to the gym. It is about 1.4 miles one way. I go there, do my workout, and walk home. One consequence is not riding the stationary bike, and listening to podcasts. When it is a good story, this can be transformative. It is an magical escape from one place, into another.
Today, I chose to listen to a story while walking home. The story was Rainbows, by @JosephONeillx. It was one of the good ones. By the time I went through the railroad underpass off Peachtree Road, my pace had grown even more glacial than normal. I did not want to miss a single detail. It did help that I was off the busy main road, whose loud traffic drowned out the action.
Listening to a story, as opposed to reading it, is a different path for the information. The author’s voice telling the tale is a more intimate connection that reading dead tree text. In this story, the reading author is a man. I assumed the lead character, Clodagh, was also male. When a Aoife, the daughter, appeared, and a husband named Ian, I just thought this was just the trendy New Yorker. It wasn’t until much later in the story, that it dawned on me that Clodagh might be female. The gender is never confirmed one way, or the other.
The story is rather disturbing. (Spoiler to follow) Aoife is being sexually harassed at school, and files a complaint. The boy who gets metooed is the son of a laundry owner. Clodagh Nolastname is a VIP customer. (This all happens in New York. Clodagh is not poor.) The Chinese laundry lady tells Clodagh to take her business elsewhere. Clodagh is mortified that it was not handled family-to-family, but through the authorities.
I continue to walk through a glorious October afternoon. The election is in two weeks, and we will see what becomes of the anti-christ POTUS. The story ends when I get into the house, and I listen to the credits. Theme music is by North American Plastics, which somehow sounds as New Yorkeresque as not knowing whether mom is a man, or a woman. This is a repost.

There was a link on facebook to a rather wonky article, Mansplaining 101: How to Discuss Politics and Feminism Without Acting Like a Jackass. The concept is that men sometimes do not show women adequate respect when talking to them. The Urban Dictionary has entries for both mansplain and womansplain. Neither entry is complimentary. This is a repost. Many of the links no longer work. The pictures are more entertaining.
The policymic feature is a few months old, and apparently was the scene of a lively comment debate. Unfortunately, Some people flagged a bunch of the comments. Little is left. This is the top comment: “Feminism doesn’t need to make room for men, men need to make room for feminist ideas in their spaces.” In one sentence you managed to discredit your entire argument. Who wants to argue with someone who thinks any opinion from the opposite sex isn’t worthwhile? “
When you google mansplain you are referred to a tumblr, Academic Men Explain Things to Me. This is supposed to be an authority on mansplaining. As this post is written, the top three posts are a boss who mispronounces a name, a grandfather who tells girls how to shave their legs, and an eavesdropping customer who tells a woman how to get to sleep better. This is not especially helpful.
Blank splaining seems to be a versatile label. It seems to be a way of attacking the messenger, instead of dealing with the content of the comment. It is true that the tone of comments can be troublesome. People often come across as condescending, especially when they are. It just seems to this observer that little is gained by putting a label, like mansplaining, on this phenomenon.
PG has been in many discussions where he was spoken down to. Jesus worshipers are notorious for not respecting people who don’t agree with their ideas about religion. There is also the possibility that people use this attitude of superiority as a weapon to cover up uncertainties about their position. Human beings are funny animals. We are not always the fair, logical creatures we think we are.
Another label to be put in front of splaining is white. The urban dictionary says this about whitesplain: “The act of a caucasian person explaining to audiences of color the true nature of racism; a caucasian person explaining sociopolitical events and/or history to audiences of color as though they are ignorant children.” Contrast this to the word on blacksplain: “Explaining things pertaining to African American history and culture, to someone who is racist or racially ignorant.” The white person is always wrong in this scenario. Pictures today are from The Library of Congress.

“Before you judge someone, walk a mile in their shoes. Then, who cares? They’re a mile away and you have their shoes.” This item turned up on my facebook feed recently. “Walk a mile …” is a metaphor. You should consider a person’s life experience before judging them. Nobody expects you to actually put your foot in their sneakers. If you do, please make sure your feet are clean.
Recently, I got to walk a 200 yards in someone else’s shoes. There was at an event, where people took their shoes off. When getting ready to leave, I saw a pair of basic black jogging shoes. I put them on, and they fit. I walked to my cabin, and went to sleep.
The next morning, I put these shoes on, and went to the dining hall. A man, who I will call Tom, told me that I had his shoes on. I looked under the table, and did not see the under armor logo on my feet. Tom said we could go to his vehicle after breakfast, and get my shoes.
What did I learn about Tom by walking 200 yards in his shoes? He wears the same size shoe as I, and his feet don’t stink. He handles a potentially embarrassing situation with kindness and tact. If I had to judge Tom, after walking 200 yards in his shoes, I would say that he is a cool dude. Pictures for this size twelve morning are from The Library of Congress.

This is a repost from 2020. … James Lindsay still thinks 2+2=4. There was another conversation. @ConceptualJames talked about a conversation with one of “my actual right-wing friends.”
“I was talking to one though, and this guy’s like you know old school, and super super right-wing … so he said the word racist doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, at all, if somebody calls me racist it doesn’t mean anything, however … I know what the word racist means for me and i’m going to continue not being racist by that definition.”
@ConceptualJames has a lively twitter feed. Yesterday brought “Critical race theory in a single image.” The picture was from another youtube show, Ashleigh Shackelford gives a presentation on Racism. Someone is standing in front of a group of white people, with a sign that says “all white people are racist.” The lady is “Hunter Ashleigh Shackelford (she/ they) … Black fat cultural producer, multidisciplinary artist, nonbinary shapeshifter, hood feminist, and data futurist”
“all white people are racist so I put this up because I really want any white person in the room to know up front that this is what we’re dealing with, that it’s not going to be this coddling of white tears … we’re not going to discuss oh maybe some of us have work it out no you’re always going to be racist actually so even when you’re on your path to trying to figure out how to be a better human being … I believe that white people are born to not be human … instead of people of color and black folks being dehumanized that actually everyone is human … within white supremacy that y’all are born into a life to not be human and … y’all are taught to do to be demons so in this particular way white people are all racist so I just want y’all to know that it’s wrong”
Pictures are from The Library of Congress.

PG found Classic Television Showbiz while reserarching a recent feature about the late Sherwood Schwartz. The site is a treasure, with youtubes of classic tv shows, and interviews with “entertainers”. Somewhere in the sidebar was a link to a story about Tubby Boots. This is a repost.
Charles “Tubby” Boots was born around 1926 in Baltimore MD. He was a nightclub comedian. Mr. Boots weighed 375 pounds, had bleach blond hair, and often performed without a shirt. He wore pasties on his boobs, and would twirl them simultaneously in opposite directions.
The parts in blue are borrowed from Classic television showbiz. Tubby’s parents were a vaudevillian dance team called Boots and Barton. At the age of seven this youngster was clocking in at an astounding two hundred pounds, a constant target of ridicule in his Baltimore schoolyard….During his childhood, Tubby managed to witness a performance by comedy’s greatest cult icon, Lord Buckley … Tubby Boots recalled shortly before his death, “[Lord Buckley] was like a father figure to me. I met Buckley when I was seven years old when I was working at the Hippodrome in Baltimore, Maryland, and I was in awe of him. I saw his act every time he would come back to play the theater … I would sit in the theater all day and watch the shows. I’d stay out of school for the whole week – my mother would pack me a lunch – she knew what I was doing because I wanted to learn about show business. Buckley would do his hat-switching act. Every other show he would get me to do it with him. I’d hang out with him backstage, we’d go out for lunch or dinner, he’d sneak me back into the theater and I’d watch the whole stage show again. I started working nightclubs when I was eleven. I weighed 250 pounds and passed myself off as twenty-one. I got arrested in a strip joint and the police said: ‘We’re not going to throw you in jail but you’re not going to work in this town again – you’re too notorious.’ So they actually put me on a train and said ‘Where you wanna ticket to?’ I said, ‘New York.’ I didn’t run away – I was forced to leave. So when I got to New York I called Buckley and, pretending to sob, said, ‘My mama died in a car crash…my father was with her…’ Unbeknownst to me, he called my mother and told her, ‘He’s with me.’ So he got me a job at The Three Deuces, passing me off as twenty-one.” The Three Deuces was one of Manhattan’s major jazz holes in the thirties and forties, regularly featuring Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker. Lord Buckley was connected to the jazz world for most of his career, performing in their clubs and utilizing a great deal of the Black hipster vernacular in his act.”
Mr. Boots got a job as the emcee for burlesque shows, frequently in traveling carnival shows. He was doing well, when Lord Buckley called him from Hollywood. Supposedly, there was a movie job waiting for Mr. Boots. When he got to California, he found out otherwise. “Tubby became affectionately known as Princess Lily. “He used to call me Princess Lily but Prince Charles of Booth was my title. Buckley used to say: ‘Lil! You had the misfortune to be born with the beautiful body of a woman in the ridiculous body of a man!””
In 1959, Mr. Boots was in a bizarre accident. He was taking a bath, and the controls for the hot and cold water were in another room. Lord Buckley was handling these controls, and poured scalding hot water into the tub. Mr. Boots was stuck in the tub, and was badly burned. He spent a week in the hospital, and was not friends with Lord Buckley later.
After he recovered, Mr. Boots moved to Miami Beach. He performed in motel lounges for many years, and developed a following. Comedy albums were becoming popular, and Mr. Boots contributed “Thin my be in but fats where its at”. The albums were sold at his shows. The legend is that no copies exist that were not autographed.
The various search engines are sketchy about Tubby Boots. The Lady Bunny tells about going to see Mr. Boots in a supper club on Long Island in the eighties. Reportedly Mr. Boots did well during the comedy club explosion of the eighties.
PG saw a show by Tubby Boots. It was December 1974, at a dingy Atlanta bar called The Cove. PG was hanging out with someone we will call McClain, who liked the drag shows at The Cove. The bar was a former electronics warehouse, with a sign for Ballantines Beer by the front entrance. Ballantines had not been sold in Georgia for a long time, but the sign stayed. This was on Monroe Drive, behind Piedmont Park. Tubby Boots was a friend of somebody, and did a show at The Cove one night.
If you can stand to look at the embedded video, you get an idea about his show. Forty years later, PG can remember a few of the jokes. There was a one liner about an *African American* who took a shit, and thought he was melting. There was a routine based on the role Katherine Hepburn played in “Suddenly Last Summer”. My boy is not queeyer, he’s carnivorous. After a while, the shirt came off, and he twirled pasties from his boobs in different directions.
After the show, PG talked to a black friend, who did not want to meet the comedian. Meanwhile, Tubby Boots and McClain were making out. Before long, McClain came over to PG, and said he wanted to go somewhere else. McClain died in July, 1992. Tubby Boots died in August, 1993. Pictures are from The Library of Congress.