friable

\FRYE-uh-bul\

adjective

: easily crumbled or pulverized

According to Merriam-Webster, the word FRIABLE is often used within the context of discussing asbestos. The FRIABLE nature of these commercially exploited silicate minerals* renders them perilous to our porous lungs. I remember learning about the dangers of asbestos in grammar school—I mentally grouped it with other such foreboding threats as scoliosis, bathtub electrocution (via blow-dryer), and head lice.

My immediate associations with asbestos are with ceilings, and rightfully so. A textured decorative finish known as Artex was produced with trace amounts of white asbestos until the 1980s, bringing the fashionable toxic substance into many American homes. While tearing out the (likely) sixty-or-seventy-year-old rotting sheet rock ceiling from the room above our garage, my eleven-year-old self spotted some discoloring and thought ASBESTOS!, quickly holding my breath and scurrying outside for some fresh air. I did not realize I was looking at mold, also not so great for my lungs, but this incident speaks to the important facts left out of elementary school scare tactics, i.e. asbestos, like head lice, is not always visible to the naked eye.

For more information about the time bomb that is asbestos, look here.

On a random note, I could see the word FRIABLE making it into a break-up conversation:

I feel like our relationship is going to be pulverized at any moment—we're just too...FRIABLE. It's not working out.

*I can thank Wikipedia for that one...

hobson's choice

\HAHB-sunz-choyss\

noun

1 : an apparently free choice when there is no real alternative

2 : the necessity of accepting one of two or more equally objectionable alternatives

HOBSON'S CHOICE—responsible for allowing us to embrace our spurious liberty of judgment.

You are free to do as we tell you.

parlay

\PAHR-lay\

verb

1 : to bet in a parlay

2 a : to exploit successfully b : to increase or otherwise transform into something of much greater value

To elaborate, a traditional PARLAY move is when one bets the original wager plus all the winnings. A wager of confidence or recklessness or luck. Nothing to lose; everything to lose. Interestingly, the first definition implies the act, while the second suggests success.

So, which is it? Perhaps it's a paradox—to successfully PARLAY is to assume success, while success must be proceeded by the act of the PARLAY—an act of blind faith, so to speak.

Apparently, the word PARLAY holds significance within the world of pirates—at least, according to Pirates of the Caribbean, which I would say is the authority on modern pirate culture. The word has something to do with the "pirate's code;" here is the context:

"PARLAY! I invoke the right of PARLAY! According to the Code of the Brethren, set down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew, you must take me to your Captain!"

Okay. The "right of PARLAY." Still a bit vague; I take PARLAY to mean either a) take me to your captain, or b) a sort of get out of jail free card...? Perhaps declaring such a right is a gamble of sorts. I mean, I guess anything declared to a bunch of pirates would be a gamble.

(More about pirate codes here.)

Regarding the Pirates of the Caribbean series: I went to one showing of the first film in a $3 theatre and ended up fooling around with my date the entire time. What was I PARLAYING? A reputation (if I had one), the future of my relationship with this fellow, and my $3. Or, rather, his $3. And I would say we PARLAYED that $3 into way more than its intended worth.

poetaster

\POH-uh-tass-ter\

noun

: an inferior poet

It turns out the suffix -aster means "second-rate." Hence words like POETASTER, which I initially read as "poe taster." (Huh?)

I think this word and others like it are pretty useless. It's just a means for snobs to verbally insult people via throwing a Latin suffix onto the end of a word and hence sounding more learned. What a joke. If I ever actually heard someone saying the word POETASTER I would punch him in the face.

I did, however, discover some other -asters that were interesting:

mathematicaster - minor or inferior mathematician

logicaster - a petty logician

and my favorite...

usageaster - self-appointed and conservative language usage expert.

Wow.

For a more comprehensive list, look at THE PHRONTISTERY, aka "a thinking place"—another website devoted to "spreading the joy of the English language." Most of the definitions on the list imply the idea of a petty or mediocre version of someone more talented, serious, or true. Phrontistery's web-m(aster) notes that these words are little used today.

Why? Because one could bypass all the -asters and simply say "you suck."

tactile

\TAK-tul\

adjective

1 : perceptible by touch

2 : of, relating to, or being the sense of touch

Words like TACTILE and tangible make pretty frequent appearances in my vernacular. Both derive from the Latin tangere, to touch. There is a definite security wrapped in the idea of TACTILITY, a place where I find a fair amount of comfort—

here it is, the floor underneath my feet, a key unlocking a door, a note scribbled on a scrap of paper crumpled in my pocket.

*

I've been slowly going through my belongings, trying to purge objects and accept that sentimentality is in my head, not inherent to whatever useless thing that seems to be communicating with me. Here are things I think about in the face of getting rid of stuff:

1) I haven't used/worn/thought about this _______ in a year, but WHAT IF I need it at some point?

2) Aw, this reminds me of ________; if I lose this I will inevitably lose the attached memory.

3) (Rarely) I spent $____ on this and I'm not sure I've yet gotten my money's worth.

4) I don't need this, but someone might want to borrow it at some point. And I want it to be here to lend.

The only objects I ever regret parting with are books, movies, and music—items whose revisitation value holds some intellectual merit. Otherwise, I have sent things on their merry way and never thought twice about their absence, mostly because I have a crappy short term memory and probably forget I even owned them in the first place.

An interesting item I hold onto is a nearly fifteen-year-old xerox copy of a page from a french dictionary. I do not keep it because I can learn something from what is written on the page, and arguably the above reasons don't apply to its value (while #2 comes close, it falls short due to the overwhelming presence of an idea I'm about to explore).

I've been thinking some about objects and the essence they carry (or, rather, that I tell myself they carry). I've read a bit about this idea in various places that I hope to have written down because I'm unable to recall. The idea that an object embodies the essence of a previous owner or a memory or an experience. What is valuable about the xerox is that someone important to me held in his hand. I sense this every time I touch it, as though the now creased and weathered piece of paper is some sort of connecting channel between us. Unlike other objects of sentiment, the xerox does not conjure a memory but a TACTILE feeling, as though by my holding the paper I am somehow holding his hand.

What will happen if I get rid of this object? Where does that essence go? After all, no matter what I do with that paper, it will still exist, in some shape or form. And the idea of the essence is already there, so like the paper it will simply change shape or weight or value, but it will go nowhere.

This is both comforting and disconcerting. Not to mention that it's 90 degrees, it's been some time since I've eaten, and I've just seen Inception at the Cinemagic theatre. Believe it or not, I started writing this before I saw the film.

garner

\GAHR-ner\

verb

1 a : to gather into storage b : to deposit as if in a granary

2 a : to acquire by effort : earn b : accumulate, collect

To start, granary : a building in which grain is stored, a.k.a. a GARNER at some distant and unknown point in English history. Noun becomes verb; place to store becomes the act of storing, accumulating, collecting, etc. And so on.

In North America the granary is called a "grain elevator." Figures.

So. GARNER. I kind of want this word to mean "covet," as I picture maniacal man—whose eyes consequently look in two different directions—rolling around in a massive pile of bulgar wheat.

If you don't have room in your modest backyard for a separate building in which to store your grain, FEAR NOT. According to organic-gardening-and-homesteading.com, one can store grain in a simple 5-gallon container purchased from your average paint supply store. While GARNERING into a granary would be ideal, it's not always practical, especially in the inner-city.

It's important to think about storing grain in case of an emergency; for example: ice storms, earthquakes, hurricanes, black outs, bioterrorism, nuclear warfare, tsunamis, Y2K, volcanoes, tornadoes, depression, and the Atkin's diet.

Get motivated, get prepared, and get GARNERED.

inenarrable

\in-ih-NAIR-uh-bul\

adjective

: incapable of being narrated : indescribable

In the next year I need to write a book about...something. Anything I want. And yet I still gravitate toward writing about my friend Brian's suicide—out of habit, out of empty obligation, out of a desire to finish the seemingly unfinishable. This is a topic I have written about for years, but as I really sit down and try to organize my thoughts and ideas, I feel overwhelmed, discouraged, bored, unattached, and lost.

I wrote a short piece on the subject for a personal narrative workshop. My professor psychoanalyzed, as she often does, and told me I needed to ask myself: Why have I held onto this for so long? Why is it a pain that hurts so good? What is it masking? I've thought a lot about this over the last couple months, forcing myself to figure out what's at stake in this story. What happens if I let go to something I've held onto for so long? Who am I when I let go?

This is a difficult subject to write about—not for the obvious reasons. It is difficult because it has been sixteen years since the event occurred, because it is about absence and not substance, and because I haven't yet figured out what happens if I let go.

Perhaps the absence is INENARRABLE. Or, at least, right now. Although I'm not sure what else can happen in order for me to fully realize its nenarrability.

I'm just making up words left and right. Why? Because I can.

One day I'll figure this out, even if it means figuring out there's nothing to figure out.