Word: Hokum

  

hokum

\ HOH-kuhm \  , noun;

1. out-and-out nonsense; bunkum.

2. elements of low comedy introduced into a play, novel, etc., for the laughs they may bring.

3. sentimental matter of an elementary or stereotyped kind introduced into a play or the like.

4. false or irrelevant material introduced into a speech, essay, etc., in order to arouse interest, excitement, or amusement.

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              Adam knocked on the door, trying not to show the fact that his nerves were frayed and worn.  He had everything he needed.  His script was good, and the man he was meeting had already shown an interest.  He knew he had nothing to fear.  Even a rejection at this point wouldn’t be such a bad thing, since it meant h needed to improve the script more.  And yet, it took all his willpower to put on a calm, collected appearance. 

                “Come in.”  Said a thick, heavy voice from the other side of the door.

                Adam entered the office and took the briefest moment to take in his surroundings.  The office wasn’t as nice as he expected.  He had expected rich furniture, expensive artwork and the like.  Although the office was impressive, to be sure, it wasn’t quite as lavish as he had thought it would be from a man who was known for his expensive tastes like George Miller.

“Have a seat.”  Mr. Miller said.  The man pointed to a plush chair in front of the desk.  Adam sat down and got himself ready.  Mr. Miller’s chubby face seemed to bob up and down as the TV executive looked Adam up and down for a moment.  “Let’s see, you’re…Keller, right?”

“Yes, sir.  Adam Keller.”

“Mm Hm, I knew it was something like that.  Now you have a script for me, don’t you?”

“Yes I do.  It’s right here.”  Adam slid the thick bundle of paper across the desk. 

Mr. Miller started reading as soon as he had it.  He went through the pages faster than Adam would’ve thought from someone so large.  He just hoped Mr. Miller wasn’t just skimming.

“Let’s see if I remember.  You’re pitch was interesting enough.  It’s a cop show, right?”

“Yes, sir.  It takes a new spin on the genre by having the main character be a mobster going undercover into the police.  I used the standard NYPD, but that can be changed if you want.”

Mr. Miller stopped reading halfway through the script.  That was fine.  It didn’t mean anything.  Adam knew the whole thing probably wouldn’t be read during the meeting.  In fact, it was a good sign that Mr. Miller had even read anything.  Or at least skimmed it.  It was all Adam could think of to keep himself planted in the chair.  And his skin.

“Yes, it’s certainly a novel concept.  But you’ve already given that pitch, and we’re looking at the script.”

“Yes, sir.  We are.  And, uh, how is it?”

“Well, from what I read, it’s a load of hokum with no real merit to the viewing audience.  Almost nonsensical slapstick humor designed to appeal to the lowest common denominator, and loose, thinly veiled plots that any idiot could see through if they’re even half awake.  It ridiculous, and completely without value.”

“Oh.  So does that mean you won’t buy it?”  Adam asked, crestfallen.  He had worked hard on the script.  He knew rejection was a possibility, but it still hurt.

“Are you kidding?  Haven’t you heard a word I said?  It’s exactly the kind of thing I’m looking for.  It’s perfect for the evening lineup.  Of course, some things will have to be edited and changed to better suit an audience.  You know, add some things that’ll trick them into thinking the show has merit.  It’s doesn’t actually have to, they just have to think it does.  That’s how you get ratings.”

“R-really?  Yeah, I can do that.  No sweat.  I think I even have some ideas.”  Adam said.  Mr. Miller’s words had improved his mood considerably.  In fact, it was no taking all his willpower not to run around the office in joy.

“Excellent.  That’s what I like to hear.  If the rest of your material is like this, I can see this show running for three, maybe even four seasons.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do.  You’ve got an eye for what the viewers want, and I expect you to give it to them.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Naturally.  Now then, we’ll have to meet again with our lawyers to draw up a good contract.  In the mean time, send this to the editing board.  They’ll iron out some of the kinks.  Oh, but don’t worry, it’s your script, and any changes made will have to be run by you.  I always include that in the contract.”  Mr. Miller said, winking at his last statement.

“Yes, sir.  I promise I won’t let you down on this.”  Adam said.  He was already standing and collecting the script.  Mr. Miller made no protest to the act.

“Good.  Now get out of here.  I’ve got work to do.”  Mr. Miller said.  He turned towards the high-end computer on his desk, and just like that the meeting was over.  In fact, it seemed to Adam like the large man had all but forgotten his presence.  That was fine.  Adam was already thinking of ways to improve the script, as well as future episodes.  He walked down the hall of the large network headquarters with his head in the clouds, not caring who stared at him as he went.  

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I cans see a show like this being put on.  In fact, I'm almost surprised it hasn't, really.  I'm almost tempted to give it a try.  Then I remember what kind of writing I specialize in, and anything like a script I write probably won't turn out very well.  Oh well.    

Word: abecedarian

 

abecedarian

\ ey-bee-see-DAIR-ee-uhn \  , noun;

1. a person who is learning the letters of the alphabet.

2. a beginner in any field of learning.

adjective:

1. of or pertaining to the alphabet.

2. arranged in alphabetical order.

3. rudimentary; elementary; primary.

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                Mary held her squirming child on her lap in front of the large picture book.  The baby boy seemed much more interested in his mother’s hair than the colorful pictures laid out in front of him.

                “Hold still Petey.” Mary said as she tried to untangle her hair from his fingers.  Eventually she managed to pry his attention from her hair and to the book.  “Ok, see this?  This is an A.  It goes Ah.”  She pointed to a large, colorful picture of the letter next to an illustrated apple.  Peter patted the fruit, grasping at it and babbling.

                “What in the world are you doing?”  Said Alex, Mary’s husband.

                “Oh, I’m just teaching Pete here the letters.”  She replied while still trying to maintain her son’s tenuous focus on the book.

                “Seriously?  The kid doesn’t even know what his feet are for yet and you’re teaching him to read?”  Alex said with an amused grin on his face.

                “No, not reading.  That comes later.  For now, just the letters will do.”

                “Right.  You know he probably doesn’t even know what language is yet, right?  I mean, he’s not even a year old.”

                “You can never start too soon.  At this age he’s absorbing everything he hears, even if he doesn’t understand what it means yet.  So, the sooner we get started on this kind of thing, the better.”

                “Where’d you hear that?”  Alex asked.  He knew kids took in just about everything, but he also felt this was pushing it a bit.

                “It’s all over the net. All the experts say to get started on your kid’s education early.  It helps improve overall intelligence.  You do want him to be smart, don’t you?”  She asked slyly.

                “Well, yeah.  Of course I do.  But you know better than to believe everything on the internet.  Besides, I don’t think those experts  meant trying to teach a newborn about the alphabet.  I think they probably meant wait till they can walk first at the very least.”

                “I’m sure they did.  But the way I figure is, if that age is good, younger would be even better.”

                “Not sure it works that way, hun.”

                “Well, what do you suggest then?”

                “Just get him some baby books and read to him.  Right now it’s best if he just hears the sounds.  That way he still learns something, but it’s not being forced down his throat.”

                Mary considered his words.  She looked down at Pete, who was trying to lift up one of the thick, cardboard pages so he could put it in his mouth.  He soon gave up and went back to Mary’s hair.  She did want to help him get a head start on an education, but she also had to admit that Alex had a point as well.  Still, she could at least try.  Maybe it would end up working.  At the very least, she could finish the book.

                “Alright, fine.  We’ll try it your way.  But not right now.  I already started reading this one to him.  I might as well finish.”

“Yeah, sure.  I’m just saying take it easy on him.  He doesn’t have to be a genius right away.”

“Just right away?”

“Well, yeah.  Once he’s a bit older we’ll see what we can do to get his IQ over 150.”  He said. 

Both he and Mary couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

                Alex made his way to the couch and sat next to his family.  Mary resumed reading to Peter, with Alex making comments every now and then.  Peter, for his part, was now greatly interested in his parent’s wedding rings.  

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Not sure if I got the kid's behavior right.  I'm not really an expert on how babies act at any given age, but that's not too important for this one.  And I'm sure there's at least a few parent's out there who try and do something like this with their kids, with mixed results, I'm sure.

Word: Ad homiem

 

ad hominem

\ ad HOM-uh-nuhm -nem, ahd‐ \  , adjective;

1. appealing to one's prejudices, emotions, or special interests rather than to one's intellect or reason.

2. attacking an opponent's character rather than answering his argument.

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Jamie felt her eye start to twitch.  The poster gave her an inexplicable urge to hit something hard enough to break the bones in her own hand.  Of course she wouldn’t actually do something like that, but she wanted to. 

                The poster showed a picture of a wild party that had probably been held at one of the frats on campus.  A bunch of her fellow students were drinking, dancing, and ultimately making fools of themselves.  And the center of attention was one girl who had had one drink too many.  So many that she had felt it was a good idea to start removing articles of clothing.  The picture was taken just before anything really ‘interesting’ was shown, in that all the girl’s undergarments were still hidden.  But the action of removing her shirt was very clear.  It was the girl’s face that made her eye twitchy.  It was her own face, contorted into a goofy expression.  Under the picture was the slogan “Is this who you want as your next president?”

                The problem with the picture was that Jamie had never gone to such a party.  In fact, she hated parties like that.  She much preferred small social gatherings to booze fests like the one in the picture.  It was an obvious photoshop job made by her competition, albeit a very good one.  She had to look very closely to see any evidence of digital tampering.  Most would see nothing wrong with it. 

                It was a blatant lie designed to attack her character instead of her policies.  On the one hand, it was a good thing, since her opponent had to resort to a smear campaign in order to have a shot at winning.  She took that to mean the guy had no confidence his platform would hold up under hers. 

                But on the other, attacks like this were distressingly effective to the right people.  She would need to prove the picture was fake to debase the attack.  She could do that fairly easily.  She recognized the expression her photoshoped doppelganger was making.  It was a silly thing made in a photo booth on a whim.  In fact, she wasn’t even alone in the original, as several of her friends were there making similar expressions.  One of them must have scanned the picture and posted it online.  She knew it was something that could happen, but she hadn’t minded until now.  Fortunately, she had the original hardcopy, as did most of the others in it, so it wouldn’t be too hard to prove the forgery.

                She knew even if she proved the poster’s photo was fake, her opponent would try and come up with something else instead.  Another attack on her person instead of her policies.  She mentally went over the possibilities.  She could do the same and try a more emotional method of gathering support, or she could stick to the solidity of her platform and hope people saw the strength in that. 

                Her thoughts were interrupted by a group of students chuckling quietly behind her.  Once again, she felt her eye start to twitch.  She whirled around to see a group of students looking at the poster and laughing at her.

                “It’s fake, damn it!”  She shouted, a bit louder than she had wanted to.

                “Uh huh.  Sure it is.”  Said one of the guys before the group went off, laughing amongst themselves.  

                “No really, it is!  Don’t be blinded by baseless accusations and slander!”  She shouted after them.

                The corner of her mouth started twitching along with her eye.  A small, almost menacing laugh started to form deep in her throat.  If her opponent wanted to play dirty, she could play that game just as well.  He had made a critical error.  He had put out a smear poster without covering his tracks.  It would be all too easy to call his bluff.  And from there, well, everything he said would be cast under the suspicion of a liar.  She could use this to her advantage.  No, she would use it.  The election for student president would be hers, and she would come out of it without a stain from his mudslinging.  She would make sure of that.  She even had an idea on how to do it.

                She would have one single attack on her opponent.  That of refuting the fake picture and calling him a liar.  Then she could use a pure emotional appeal.  She would simply play the victim, and wait for the sympathy to roll in.  Yes, if she couldn’t win with policies, she would win by tugging at the campus’s collective heartstrings.  She smiled wickedly, already planning just what to say and when to say it.  This was going to be fun.    

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Kinda says something about our society when the first thing that comes to mind with this word is politics, doesn't it?  At least I used the college version instead of the national version, right?  That probably would take an entire novel just to get to this point or something.  

Word: Flit

flit

\ flit \  , verb;

1. to move lightly and swiftly; fly, dart, or skim along: bees flitting from flower to flower .

2. to flutter, as a bird.

3. to pass quickly, as time: hours flitting by .

4. Chiefly Scot. and North England . a. to depart or die. b. to change one's residence.

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The boy stood on a deck chair and gripped the side of the railing.  His eyes were forced wide open as he watched the red tube of translucent plastic with baited breath.  He had been standing there for at least an hour, and in his young mind, that was a long time.  He was starting to worry nothing would happen.  Then he heard it.  A low hum from nearby.  He turned to find the source of the sound, and is eyes soon fell on the small hummingbird that had come to investigate the feeder.

                The small bird flitted around the feeder, as if it didn’t know whether or not to make use of it or not.  Soon though, it darted in and stuck its long, thin beak into the decorative yellow flowers at the base of the feeder.  It moved its body in and out several times, taking short drinks each time.  The boy watched the bird drinking happily.

                “Mom, mom, they’re here!”  He shouted.  The hummingbird darted off at the sudden outburst, but soon returned to its meal.

                The boy’s mother walked onto the deck, not sharing her son’s enthusiasm at seeing the small, energetic birds.  She supposed it was only natural.  Not only was he only seven, and so still fascinated by every little thing, he had also helped make the sugar water used in the feeder.  She could only think that he felt he had a personal stake in whether or not the hummingbirds liked the mix.  She had thought the boy had used far too much sugar.  But, seeing as how the bird kept coming back for more, it must not have minded the extra sweetness.  Either that or it didn’t see the bush of real flowers not twenty feet away.

                “See it, mom?”  The boy said. He grabbed his mother’s hand and pulled her towards the railing.  He eagerly pointed out the hummingbird.

                “Yes, dear.  I see it.”  She said.

                “Hey, look, there’s another one!”  The boy said as the droning hum of another hummingbird could be heard.

                The new bird went right for the flower bush, and so was largely ignored by the first.  The two birds went about their respective meals without worrying about the other.  That is, until a third hummingbird joined the feast.

                The newest addition delighted the boy, but not so the other birds.  As soon as it was in range, it made a beeline for the feeder, which caught the attention of the first bird.  It left its meal and flitted around aggressively, attempting to ward off the newcomer.  It chased the third bid around the yard, driving the intruder off before darting back to the feeder to continue its meal.

                “Mom, why are they doing that?”  The boy asked as the third hummingbird attempted the find its meal at the bush.  It was quickly chased off by the second bird.

                “Well, that’s just what hummingbirds do.”  The mother said.  She wasn’t quite sure what the tell her son about the hummingbird’s eating habits. 

                “But why?”

                “I think that hummingbirds don’t like sharing food very much.”

                “That’s not nice of them.  They should share it.”

                “That’s right, they should.  But I don’t think they feel the same way.”

                The boy looked up at his mother quizzically.  All of his short life he had been told its better to share things, even food.  But the actions of the hummingbirds was in direct opposition to that lesson. 

                “But sharing stuff is better, right?”  He asked.

                “That’s right, it is.  But the hummingbirds need a lot of food so they can fly around so fast.  That’s why they don’t like others taking it away.”

“Oh.  But, but there’s lots of food here, so they don’t need to do that.”

“We know that, but I don’t think they do.  Hummingbirds aren’t as smart as people are you know.”

“Maybe we should try showing them?  That way they’ll know that they can all have something to eat.”

“We can try, but I’m not sure if they’ll like that very much.”

The boy’s forehead wrinkled as he thought.  His mother could almost see the gears turning in his young mind.  She had to admire his dedication to the idea, but lamented that anything he could come up with was probably doomed to failure.  Still, it was best to encourage good habits like trying to teach others and sharing important things. 

“I think I have an idea.”  The boy said soberly.  His eyes were glued to the two hummingbirds that were still eating.

“Ok, why don’t you tell me what it is.” 

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Hummingbirds are fun to watch, but they can get nasty when there's more than one of them around.  They go after each other like crazy trying to get at some sugar water.