P.J. Colando's Blog, page 5

Up or Out Your Wazoo

When a person has problems that threaten to overwhelm them, sometimes an unhelpful friend says they have issues “up the wazoo.” Or they might use the alternative phrase out the wazoo. In either case, wazoo is slang for the butt, and the poor person who’s being talked about has a dilemma that is either up their posterior or coming out of it

Crass, but also quite descriptive, where did this saying come from?

Let’s start with wazoo. According to the Oxford English Dictionary(OED)—which remains an authority on words both pleasant and profane—wazoo’s origins are hard to pin down. One theory is that wazoo may be related to kazoo and its variant, gazoo, which both entered the lexicon in the 19th century to describe the buzzing instrument.

In the 1960s, all three words gained traction as slang for one’s butt or anus/asshole, perhaps because it also makes unpleasant noise. Wazoo first saw print in this context in 1961, when a Cal Berkeley humor newspaper suggested readers “run it up yer ol’ wazoo.”

My husband often adds, “And out your yin-yang.” He’s a colorful guy.

Eventually, up the wazoo and out the wazoo eclipsed their kazoo and gazoo counterparts—and even other wazoo phrases, including pain in the wazoo. Per the OED, both phrases mean “in great quantities, in abundance, to excess.” For some, out the wazoo means “to excess,” while up the wazoo has a more negative connotation, meaning “full up, as much as one can handle, to excess; all over the place.” So if one has an issue up the wazoo, it means the problem has multiplied and gotten out of hand.

If a situation has been described as going out the wazoo, then the excess isn’t necessarily a problem. One could have money out the wazoo with no complaints. Bills up the wazoo, however, would be a different story.

In all instances, a writer or speaker can communicate a crude meaning without running afoul of manners or editorial guidelines, which may help explain how the word wazoo caught on in the first place. Even The Wall Street Journal was an early champion: One 1971 article stated that golf “is quite safe, the greatest risk being the possibility of a long drive plunking some poor fellow in the wazoo.”

2025 has begun as a troubled year for me – holy crap!

When there was a Will next door

When my husband and I moved into our upscale neighborhood in August 1986, we were the young ‘uns in the cul-de-sac. A terrier lived next door; as other neighbors described her, She was a woman of great will with a stern countenance.

She was difficult to get to know, but my husband and I were an affable pair, and so we were invited to cocktail hours in their home, gin and tonics all around. Until she cleared the booze from their house, tacitly acknowledging that he was an alcoholic. No wonder he’d been an argumentative man, hell-bent on winning and being in charge.

We learned her husband had been the powerful owner of an industrial heating and cooling company that had done loads of work on the casinos that populated Las Vegas. She’d been his secretary, but neither divulged details – nor did we ask. Partying was a major component of their lifestyle. A laissez-faire kinship evolved, fostered by the occasional postal carrier lapse in delivering one of their bills to our house and vice versa.

One year, when we didn’t plan to travel to the Midwest to visit with our families for Thanksgiving (our Christmas trip was only a few weeks away), Betty invited us to their small family feast. Perhaps we were the buffer between their disparate children, neither of whom was married. I don’t recall the context, but wise-cracking comes easily to my husband and I… Betty exclaimed in reply to one remark, “Larry, you’re out of the will!.” There was a twinkle in her eye as she said it and he immediately laughed. The remark was so out of character that the entire table chortled.

Years passed. When her husband died, my husband and I were among the dozen at the service. It wasn’t unexpected; she said, “So many of our friends have passed.”  Eventually, she tired of living alone – “of doing dishes for one”, she said – and moved into a retirement village.

She died a year ago without fanfare, certain that all of her friends were dead and few family members remained, All true, but her legacy in my life lives one – every time I water and feed our sweet violets.

Betty Will: where there was a will, there was a way… to be fondly remembered.

 

Seeking Peace and Joy

Purpose of this group: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds!January 8 question – Describe someone you admired when you were a child. Did your opinion of that person change when you grew up?I’m glad the blog hop’s question is optional because I couldn’t mine my memory and then elaborate well, so I chose to write about reading, my first, best, and most lasting hobby. Its place in my life hasn’t diminished, altered, or refined. It’s a refuge, a learning experience, or an existence elsewhere – and elsewhen – whatever one needs it to be.Immersing yourself in a deep read brings a certain peace. When one reads, one can ignore the angst of diminishing health, the uptick in angry politics, the escalation of war in the world, and even the large and small upheavals that regular life can bring forth. Happiness can be achieved within the pages of a perfect book.

Here’s my Goodreads review of the ebooks I read in 2024, a service similar to Spotify’s wrap of your most downloaded songs. It’s important to state that I read hardcovers, too—those purchased at an author’s signing event at a local bookstore are prized.

Think about the books you’ve read in 2024. Imagine them all around you, covers closed, titles on top. What do they tell you about the year you’ve just lived? What do they say about your state of mind, life stage, desires and needs? If it’s easier, imagine a friend coming upon you, surrounded by these books, looking at each one and then at you. What would they say the books reflected about you?

Would they be surprised?

P.S. Here’s a tidbit to tally—a reassurance of how easy it is to achieve desired peace and joy via reading. It’s gleaned from a reliable source: Michael Castleman’s new book, The Untold Story of Books. “Last year (2023), 2.7 million books were published by publishing houses and self-published authors.” For further perspective, he cites this: that translates into 74 releases per day or 308 per hour, five every minute. It could be one per genre, to please every taste.

To my mind, there’s no reason not to read.

 

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Disclaimer: This is a second-hand tale brought home from the gym by my favorite treadmiller, my husband, Larry. I’ve done my best to recount every breathless detail, using the first person to remain faithful to what my eidetic memory remembers. Read on –

‘Twas the day before Christmas, and the gym was packed. A thirty-something dude was sweating his best alongside me, attempting to shed those extra holiday pounds.

Me, too, I thought. But I kept my head in my book, not eager to engage.

Suddenly, a shapely brunette dressed in a casual jacket and jeans rushed up to him and said, “Mom and I are leaving for Europe tomorrow, and I can’t find my passport. I think it’s in your safety deposit box. I need you to go get it.”

“Now?” said the dude, incredulous at the invasion. “I come to the gym to work out the angst of my hectic schedule, and you bring me this mess to solve?!”

“Well, you could go in an hour, I suppose. But I’m packing now.”

“But the bank is in Huntington Beach, and I’m not headed that way. I have stuff to do in South County, I thought you cleared the box of all your stuff when the divorce was final.”

“No, Garrett, you never gave me the key. I’m sure that my passport is in the safety deposit box. It’s only been used once, for our honeymoon trip.”

“Pouting about the past won’t help your case, Sara. There’s no way I can go today. My boss expects me to put in a half-day.”

With that, the troubled couple became aware of my presence and moved away so my eavesdropping was curtailed. But, my imagination has already surmised a solid reason for their divorce…

What do you think happened next, writer readers? Would you tell her, “Bah, humbug,” or barter her passport for a ____?

Will he or she or both have a happy ending? (wink-wink)

 

 

 

 

Life as a Miracle: EMG Test

Last Monday, December 16, I received a Christmas miracle. The date was the fourth anniversary of my ill-fated visit to the local hospital’s ER. While I’d been experiencing involuntary muscle twitches during massages in the previous month, on that day, my right leg was kicking it overtly. When my physical therapist witnessed the ‘jerks’, he suggested that I go to the ER.I knew it was a bad idea when I saw the medical yurts stationed outside the entry doors. I’d seen them on the news coverage about the Covid-19 crisis in New York. While California, because of a high burden of cases, had been on lockdown since March 19, the disease had ravaged other areas of the highly-populous state.Holy crap, the disease had arrived in Orange County.Because of the COVID-19 admittances, I remained in the ER all day, surviving on water, half of a protein bar, my cell phone, and an iPad loaded with good books to read. When I wasn’t ignored, I was treated poorly by the staff. I left without a diagnosis, though I did receive a half-assed apology. One of my worst days ever…Several medical people have helped me tremendously to countermand the rough, ill-considered actions of others. Recently, a specialty neurologist recogmmended an EMG test, but the first availed appointment was a year away.An EMG test is a medical procedure that measures the electrical activity of muscles and nerves. It helps diagnose various neuromuscular disorders and provides clues to the origin and best treatment for my myoclonus. That diagnosis hadn’t produced any answers, nor did it comfort me. I was sick and tired of being a cool jerk.

Back to the call, the momentous call, which I answered on my Apple Watch. There’d been a cancellation in the once-monthly EMG test schedule, and I could be seen!

The test is done – yippee! Renewed hope has arrived in my life.

 

 

New Words and Definitions Added to Merriam-Webster.com

This is not original content written by yours truly, but a cut-paste so I can recall the hundreds of new words added to our ever-evolving lexicon – 2024 was a year like no other. Read on –

From arts and entertainment we get freestyle, “an improvised performance, especially of a rap,” and the jazzlike sounds of a jam band. More bookish beach read, “a usually light work of escapist fiction (such as a thriller or romance.)” You can also lose yourself in a dungeon crawler, a video game “primarily focused on defeating enemies while exploring a usually randomly generated labyrinthine or dungeon-like environment.”

Foodies who avoid ultra-processed fare can instead enjoy burrata, “mozzarella formed into a ball-shaped casing that contains curds and cream”; capicola, “a seasoned Italian pork that is cut from the neck and top shoulder”; and street corn, a grilled variation “coated with a creamy spread (such as mayonnaise, sour cream, or crema) and garnished with toppings (such as lime juice, cotija cheese, and chili powder).”

From science and nature comes heat index, a value “derived from a calculation using air temperature and relative humidity,” and – now invading the dictionary – the dreaded spotted lanternfly.

Social media fuels shadow ban and touch grass, “to participate in normal activities in the real world especially as opposed to online experiences and interactions,” and For You page (or FYP), “a social media feed that contains personalized content based on the user’s interests.”

Informal words and slang entering the lexicon include the British term snog, and the colorful acronym IDGAF (not defined here, because politeness exceeds badassery).

Other notable additions include nepo baby, “a person who gains success or opportunities through familial connections,” cash grab, creepy-crawly, and the political terms MAGA, far left, far right, classical liberalism, and late capitalism.

“Our lexicographers monitor a huge range of sources to select which words and definitions to add,” says Peter Sokolowski, Editor at Large for Merriam-Webster. “From academic journals to social media, these give us a very thorough view of the English language.”

“The one constant of a vibrant living language is change,” explains Gregory Barlow, President of Merriam-Webster. “We continuously encounter new ways of describing the world around us, and the dictionary is a record of those changes.”

California Writers Save Christmas

The elf raised the wooden stamp as high as his bruised elbow allowed. He paused, scrunched his eyes, and listened intently, hoping that someone, something, anything, would intervene.His heart ached as much as his arm. It kerthumped in his chest. A chest that didn’t rise or fall—because he couldn’t breathe, because insight paralyzed him.

That was it! Personal paralysis was the only prevention. He’d freeze in place, his body a willing sacrifice for the children of the world. Please, Lord, take me now. Don’t let my arm fall to the paper, to rubber-stamp the end. He’d turn to stone, a monument that people could adorn with flowers and lighted candles each year to acknowledge his intercession. He hoped teddy bear tributes would abound, and he could scoop them up and save them in bins so he’d have less work in Santa’s Workshop next season.

He’d earnestly tried to promote and preserve the rite, that all California Writers Club members would take part in the club’s annual oral read but few rose to the occasion. In addition, many neglected to participate in NaNoWriMo.

So Santa refused to accept the members’ applications to be good girls and boys. Christmas was in crisis.

Earlier, Mrs. Claus had tried to sweeten Santa with more cookies, tea, crumpets, Makers Mark, and juicily tender roast beef. But Santa insisted. He wouldn’t fly the sleigh around the world in a mere 24 hours lickety-split. He was down for the count. Their word count.

As a result, meteorologists predicted blizzards in Africa, famine in Brazil, and animals released from all zoos roaming freely and wreaking havoc. Cotswold cottages would zoom up to skyscraper height, while Wilshire Boulevard, LA’s Golden Mile, would be cut to a half mile.

Already, rivers flowed backward, and grapes shrank without a whimper or whine to decimate California’s wine industry. The moon’s cycle shifted days forward, then back again.

The California Writer’s group members were writing and rewriting until their fingers bled. But the truth couldn’t shift with a flick of the return key. The truth was not stranger than fiction—the truth was worse.

Members could only write shitty first drafts.

By nightfall, Rudolph’s red-lighted nose flickered off, and all the reindeer unhitched themselves from the sleigh. Santa shed his suit and plodded upstairs.  soon his snoring resounded, and then all was calm. There was nothing to be done.

At midnight, the elf retrieved the dreaded stamp from its triple-locked box at the back of the toy closet. He sighed, his shoulders sagged, and he slogged as if through drifted snow without boots. He stamped the document on Santa’s desk. Made millions of copies to send around the world, saving one for the archives. He stuffed envelopes, licked stamps, posted online notices assured to shatter children’s dreams, and drained the Makers Mark.

It was over, finished, no more. Santa made plans for a vacation on the California coast.

We humbly implore a writer to come forward – someone who is a word nerd to the max – to willingly write and then read aloud. Any audience will do. The world can not allow this calamity to stand –

Someone must save Christmas – will it be you, Constant Reader?

Follow-up to Thanks-Giving Vibes

Behold half of our merry gatherers for our Friendsgiving this year. The couple across the table from my husband and I are longtime friends who’ve hosted us for Thanksgiving for a dozen years. They allowed us to reciprocate because they’d recently returned from three weeks vacationing in South America. Pisco Sour, anyone?

Nope, we drank wine.

There were other folks at our gathering, though they’re not pictured – and I delivered meals to a friend whose husband had been hospitalized until recently. Our congenial group had a grand time. Conversational topics were eclectic and sometimes humorous, but never about politics. It was an all-around good vibe.

The camaraderie was ineffably good.

My husband and I enjoyed leftovers for a couple of meals, so the holiday hasn’t ended… until now as I eat the final slice of apple pie to fuel my writing. There’s still plenty of pumpkin pie, about which my husband is ecstatic. It’s one of the few desserts he relishes. He’d eat it year-round if it was available.

I disavowed the Black Friday Amazon sales, though I did scour other online shops in search of extraordinary gifts for my loved ones. What buys I found! if my friends and family are half as excited as I am, they’ll be well-pleased with their gifts. Besides, there’s love inside each gift bag or box.

Love powers relationships.

It’s Gift-giving Tuesday, Constant Readers. Get out your wallet, checkbook, and/or credit cards. It’s time to extend the good vibes of Thanksgiving, flashing cash across the known universe. Worthy causes abound, both here and abroad. Jesus said, “The poor will be with us always,” and we are honor-bound to give from our abundance.

The giving need not always be monetary. Good deeds done well, appropriate to your friend or family member’s needs, suffice: pet-sitting, grocery-carrying, and anything you think or feel is relevant to fill another’s needs.

Extend the good vibes of giving throughout the world throughout the year.

 

I’m Thankful for Books

“Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors and the most patient of teachers.” – Charles W. Eliot, American academic and 21st president of Harvard University in his 1896 book, The Happy Life.

I came across this fabulous quote recently, Implicit in this rarified statement is its positivity, and you know how that suits me, Constant Reader. There’s no critique of the habit I prize.

The Lord bestowed a privilege by giving humans skills to read, write, listen, and talk. He wasn’t handing out Milky Way bars or Rieces Pieces (Halloween was recent…) when he invented our bodies with brains. Talking is nice and is how most humans control their lives. Listening is the better half of oral communication, though few of our friends, relatives, and acquaintances seem aware of this best practice. The caveat for each is that, except for learning environments, few communication partners take notes. Listening is fleeting, so every conversation is ripe for misinterpretation. That’s why gestures and tone of voice are needed.

This fact about our most used communication tools is why reading and writing, in which words are permanent on the page, can be better forms of communication.

Whaddayathink?

Reading makes us better thinkers by improving our critical thinking and problem-solving skills, as well as boosting our knowledge about people, places, and things near and far. Thus, it can boost one’s IQ.

Reading also boosts one’s EQ or emotional intelligence when we gain information and thus empathy for other human beings. Enhanced social skills form a benefit loop for all forms of human communication: reading, writing, listening, and speaking. Well-rounded people, we become immersed in the reciprocal cycle of a loving life.

Reading has reduced stress during recent weeks as I’ve buried myself in books rather than wallowing in worry or self-pity. What a waste of time and disrespect for the Lord’s power. I read to relax at bedtime or to bridge the gap if I awaken needlessly. Reading separates me from this world and its worries and eases the path to peaceful sleep.

Because of its inevitable vocabulary boost, reading likely slows age-related cognitive decline. It’s a bold claim, tinged with truth, that reading is the key to living longer.

After a good read, I feel nourished, like a great Thanksgiving feast satiates physical hunger. My mind and soul feel resurrected.

Life As a Miracle: Asics

I’m back in physical therapy. I likely qualify as a lifer because I rehab injuries as well as attempt to prevent stuff. Like knee surgery.

When I enter the large open therapy room, my PT stops what he’s doing – even treating another patient – to watch me walk in. It’s not that I’m fabulous – or a famous runway model – but I have a tendency to toe in.

Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t, dependent on the state of my hypermobile knees.

The next thing he does is scan my shoes. Always Asics. Always worn with orthotic arch supports inside each shoe. Always relatively new and purchased when Zappo’s has a sale.

The story of how Asics became my brand is another instance of God-incidence, another miracle that I feel privileged to notice and give thanks.

My Life as a Miracle.

After a stop at the Apple Store at a nearby mall, I hobbled a hundred feet and stepped inside the sporting goods store, which was nearly empty, though everything was on sale. A single man attended to the needs of a father and daughter. After they didn’t purchase shoes, he quickly stepped into the storage room to replace the shoes.

He didn’t return for a long while, yet I was determined to get a deal.

When he returned, he startled when he saw me standing in front of the running shoes. “Sorry. I thought you were with them.” (the black dad and daughter)

He took a tremendous amount of time to fit my foot. My sole stipulation was that the shoes were white and not the garish color combinations so popular in that era. Finally, the Asics pair was the perfect choice. “Though New Balance, which you wore into the store, is advertised to be the best shoe for women, Asics brand is your best fit. Remember this.”

As we chatted at the register, I learned that he was the store manager and the store was closing that day. A miracle – amen again.