Friday, Nov. 8, 1952
Good old Friday
afternoon! This has been a hectic
week, what with the election and post-election hullabaloo (two l’s in
hullabaloo? or is it hulaballo?
No, that’s obviously wrong. Just a
minute and I’ll look it up….Ah, yes, hullabaloo, a loud and confused noise,
uproar, tumult.). Well anyway,
what with the election out of the way things are beginning to simmer down a
little, almost as if people were not at each other’s throats three short days
ago. The losers are accepting the new
order of things with surprising grace and beginning to appreciate the fact that
they can enjoy the fun of criticism.
The winners are beginning to lose the smugness from their faces now that
they realize they, or rather their party, must now deliver, and that when it
fails to they become the ready targets for their Democratic friends. Indeed, the position of His Majesty’s
Loyal Opposition is not without its advantages.
Here’s a nice word—nestled
in close to hullabaloo: hugger-mugger.
It means 1. Secret, sly. 2. slovenly.
Here’s another: Hudibras:
burlesque, heroic. Isn’t that an
odd one? Sinclair Lewis once said
that if he must choose one book to carry with him on the proverbial desert
island it could only be a Webster’s Unabridged dictionary and you can easily
see why. Besides all the
fascinating facts and bits of odd information, things like this happen: here is
on this same page the name Huassar, an Inca of Peru (1495-1532) who was put to
death by his brother Atahualpa.
Looking up Atahualpa we find this:
‘Last Inca of Peru, put to death by Pizarro, 1533.’ He wasn’t the last Inca very long, not
longer than a year after he assassinated his brother, Pizarro came swarming in
and put him to death. We could go
on easily and quickly piece out the whole picture of the time. We can get information about Peru,
about Incas, about Pizarro and each of these words will give us other key words
and so we can continue on until we have formed a story and an era like piecing
together some fascinating puzzle.
What fun it is to be alive!
We are going to Luby’s
house tomorrow night to eat some wild duck, shot by Gene [Poddany] on his last
hunting trip. I dread it in a
way. Wild game sort of leaves me
cold. But what the Hell, it gives
them pleasure and I don’t suppose it will kill me. I hope not. As
Mark Twain once said when he narrowly avoided death, “I wasn’t killed that time
and I never found cause to regret it.”
Tonight we are going out
to Maywood to dance at the opening of a gigantic service station, for god’s sake. Just why we should do this I do not
know. Square dancers may be nuts
but this seems over the limit.
Your loving sire…..