Forsooth adv. INDEED-often used to imply contempt or doubt
Well, check this out. There's only 3 words separating forsooth from fornication. Well, in my dictionary anyway. Maybe more if you have one of those giant, library dictionaries...you nerd.
I know I'm a honkey. No need to assert otherwise, when you're a honkey you know it. What brought that on, you ask? I was noticing how things are and how they're described. You know, the restaurant had a Manhattan meets the Swiss Alps vibe going on. Or, he had a real edginess about him, a dangerous vibe. I ain't got no vibe. Vibration, yes. But vibe? No. A vibe is a lot like a rythm, I would suppose. I've never been accused of being rythmic either. Ergo, I am a honkey. Next subject.
I was born in Raleigh, NC just 23 days after the Sixties began. (Figure it out, Johnny Quest, and start sending birthday cards.) I was born at or near North Carolina State College. That's what I am told. NC State is a University now, but I am talking about then. Dad says I was born during his senior year, when personally I believe he really should have been studying. I suppose I believe him since he should know. I really can't remember all that much, so I could have been born before. I don't think so, but I could have. At least that would go a long way towards explaining why I feel a whole lot older than they say I am. Hmmmm.
Dad was studying to be an engineer and even at a few months old I thought that was the coolest. I had visions of growing up free, just me and the family, riding the rails. We'd eat stew cooked over an open campfire, have fights over whiskey, and I'd play the harmonica like a natural born fool. And then...."Earth calling Eddie. Come in Eddie." What do you mean not THAT kinda engineer. What other kind is there? And that, friends, was the first of what would prove to to be many disappointments in life. I love my father dearly, but have never completely forgiven him for dashing my hobo dream.
Eventually, my non-train driving father graduated college. We moved...oh, the HORROR!...north. Really, what good could possibly come in the frozen lands north of the Mason-Dixon? And what's worse, we moved to a place that no normal human can spell. Schnectady, NY. What the hell does Schnectady mean, anyway. Sounds Dutch for "I need a hanky". Stuff happened there. They must have kept me drunk or something, because like many a trip to N'awlins, I don't remember much. I remember watching The 3 Stooges and I remember watching Mighty Mouse. That's about it. But luckily, we moved aftrer a year or so.
Dangit! We didn't go home, we went to Erie, PA! C'mon dad, get with the program. Do I look like a Yankee to you??? Again, I believe I was drugged or something because the only things I can remember are snow, more snow, lake effect snow, stepping into a snow drift and sinking in over my head, snow flurries and a ride one day in a convertible. Maybe red, I'm not sure.
So we were now prepared to move back home. But, what I didn't know at the time, was that my folks dang near ruint me with those little northern excursions. How? Well, what happens when you're a toddler? Parents live for it. No, I didn't graduate and move out of the house. I learned to talk. In New York and Pennsylvania!! I'm moving back to NC, a native son, and I talk like a Yankee. I knew that I had a shunning coming.
Yep, I started kindergarten and only the ugly, otherwise friendless kids would talk to me. My teacher had to keep the other kids from holding me down and scrawling "I (HEART) NEW YORK" on my butt in crayon. My Papaw would say to my mom, "Charlotte, what's this boy saying? He talks so fast I can't unnerstan' him." Eventually I regained my natural speaking cadence, and I drawl along with the best of them now. But it was real touch and go for a while there. Then...
In Florida, as a high schooler (emphasis probably shouldn't be on schooler) my two best friends were both from Wisconsin. Guess who found his speech unexpectedly speeding up and yankeefying ? Yes siree, yours truly. Well, that's my sad, sad story. Next topic.
I guess I'm just screwed. First Bank of America lost a bunch of personal data to hackers and I get a letter telling me I'm one of the "lost data boys". Now Citicorp went ahead and lost 3.9 Million more people's personal data. Well, they blame it on UPS and that's cool. I don't really care who is at fault. It's still gone. You can't un-lose it. I'm just gonna sit here and wait for the letter to arrive.
Bushido, out y'all
Travelin' Ed
I know I'm a honkey. No need to assert otherwise, when you're a honkey you know it. What brought that on, you ask? I was noticing how things are and how they're described. You know, the restaurant had a Manhattan meets the Swiss Alps vibe going on. Or, he had a real edginess about him, a dangerous vibe. I ain't got no vibe. Vibration, yes. But vibe? No. A vibe is a lot like a rythm, I would suppose. I've never been accused of being rythmic either. Ergo, I am a honkey. Next subject.
I was born in Raleigh, NC just 23 days after the Sixties began. (Figure it out, Johnny Quest, and start sending birthday cards.) I was born at or near North Carolina State College. That's what I am told. NC State is a University now, but I am talking about then. Dad says I was born during his senior year, when personally I believe he really should have been studying. I suppose I believe him since he should know. I really can't remember all that much, so I could have been born before. I don't think so, but I could have. At least that would go a long way towards explaining why I feel a whole lot older than they say I am. Hmmmm.
Dad was studying to be an engineer and even at a few months old I thought that was the coolest. I had visions of growing up free, just me and the family, riding the rails. We'd eat stew cooked over an open campfire, have fights over whiskey, and I'd play the harmonica like a natural born fool. And then...."Earth calling Eddie. Come in Eddie." What do you mean not THAT kinda engineer. What other kind is there? And that, friends, was the first of what would prove to to be many disappointments in life. I love my father dearly, but have never completely forgiven him for dashing my hobo dream.
Eventually, my non-train driving father graduated college. We moved...oh, the HORROR!...north. Really, what good could possibly come in the frozen lands north of the Mason-Dixon? And what's worse, we moved to a place that no normal human can spell. Schnectady, NY. What the hell does Schnectady mean, anyway. Sounds Dutch for "I need a hanky". Stuff happened there. They must have kept me drunk or something, because like many a trip to N'awlins, I don't remember much. I remember watching The 3 Stooges and I remember watching Mighty Mouse. That's about it. But luckily, we moved aftrer a year or so.
Dangit! We didn't go home, we went to Erie, PA! C'mon dad, get with the program. Do I look like a Yankee to you??? Again, I believe I was drugged or something because the only things I can remember are snow, more snow, lake effect snow, stepping into a snow drift and sinking in over my head, snow flurries and a ride one day in a convertible. Maybe red, I'm not sure.
So we were now prepared to move back home. But, what I didn't know at the time, was that my folks dang near ruint me with those little northern excursions. How? Well, what happens when you're a toddler? Parents live for it. No, I didn't graduate and move out of the house. I learned to talk. In New York and Pennsylvania!! I'm moving back to NC, a native son, and I talk like a Yankee. I knew that I had a shunning coming.
Yep, I started kindergarten and only the ugly, otherwise friendless kids would talk to me. My teacher had to keep the other kids from holding me down and scrawling "I (HEART) NEW YORK" on my butt in crayon. My Papaw would say to my mom, "Charlotte, what's this boy saying? He talks so fast I can't unnerstan' him." Eventually I regained my natural speaking cadence, and I drawl along with the best of them now. But it was real touch and go for a while there. Then...
In Florida, as a high schooler (emphasis probably shouldn't be on schooler) my two best friends were both from Wisconsin. Guess who found his speech unexpectedly speeding up and yankeefying ? Yes siree, yours truly. Well, that's my sad, sad story. Next topic.
I guess I'm just screwed. First Bank of America lost a bunch of personal data to hackers and I get a letter telling me I'm one of the "lost data boys". Now Citicorp went ahead and lost 3.9 Million more people's personal data. Well, they blame it on UPS and that's cool. I don't really care who is at fault. It's still gone. You can't un-lose it. I'm just gonna sit here and wait for the letter to arrive.
Bushido, out y'all
Travelin' Ed
That's what I'm about. Ramblin' Ed at 4:23 PM
6 comments:
If you cannaw unnerstan', I'll 'splain it to ya... :)
The same thing happened to Jimmy Hamrick on the Vinny. When we met him he had this thick southern accent, which disappeared after a couple months on the boat, but he still would speak quite slowly. Then he gets 30 days leave during the crossdecking routine on the way to Japan. He comes back all screwed up again, so it takes another 2-3 months to straighten him out. Now, southerners have the accent and northerners speak correctly, because, when the two parties mix it is the southerners who lose their accents instead of the other way around.
Slidin' parts on the pavement, Pipedragger
Konichiwa, Pipedragger-san.
Jimmy Hamrick, huh? Well, then I'm in good company. I went to see him once after he got out. He was living about 7 miles from my Mamaw and Papaw, right smack in the middle of where I grew up.
I'm gonna leave the whole accent - speaks correctly thing alone, since I could really go on about that. You do have a point, however slight, though.
Drop your bike? Or is that just an extension of your pipe draggin' persona? If the former, well it seems you're OK. If the latter, pretty cool, it's got "an edginess to it, a dangerous vibe".
Ed
Talking Yankee fast. :-) That all rang a small bell here. I did about close to 20 yrs up there around Dayton OH. Then moved back here about 6 yr ago, so I slowly got back into an East Kentucky twang and drawl, still not there yet, but getting there. But the point of this - my 30 yr son is still up there, basically he grew up, up there, and when he talks to me on the phone, I have to slow him down, I can't understand half of it anymore.
So I understand where you coming from, Ed.
See I'm not so sure Mr. Pipe is correct in his logic. (No offense sir I am just one for logic myself) When I am planted up Boston way I pick up the accent pretty good and loose the cultured Western PA flavor that I love so much but I never lose the words that are particular to home. I will always say pop, shoot gumbands across the room, and watch out for slippy places. But then as soon as I come home my accent rushes in around me like a warm blanket. I think it might be more that northerners are stubborn and southerners are more accomodating or something like that. Thats my thought for the night anyways. Take it or leave it.- Jn
Jn,
Slippy places, huh? I think we would say slickery here. Not saying you're wrong....exactly.
Gunner,
I'm so glad you were able to re-twangify yourself. I fear, however, that your son may have been permanently de-twanged by now. Damn that Dayton, OH. She is truly a hasrh mistress. (Too melodramatic? Sorry. And apologies to Bobby Heinlien.)
Pipedragger,
Forgive her, she doesn't know any better. I will let her know that only Mr. Dragger or Dragger-san are acceptable. She's young, let her live.
Travelin' Ed
I like that statement about the Southerners perhaps being more accommodating. That might be the best explanation.
Nope. Haven't crashed. But this year I got tired of dragging footpegs and the muffler on the pavement during racing events, so, I invested in better suspension components which keep the bike off the pavement through the fast corners.
Pipedragger
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