Word: Juvenilia

juvenilia

[joo-vuh-nil-ee-uh, -nil-yuh]

plural noun

1. works, especially writings, produced in one's youth:

His juvenilia were more successful than his mature writings.

2. literary or artistic productions suitable or designed for the young:

publishers of juvenilia.

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               Jill rushed into the living room where her husband, Greg, was sitting watching TV.  She waved a few sheets of paper excitedly as she made her way towards him.

                “Look at this.” She said, flapping the papers around.  Her excitement was practically tangible.

                Greg took the papers and gave them a quick glance.  They were filled with the large, clumsy letters that he knew to belong to their eight year old son, Henry.  “What is it?” He asked.

                “It’s something Henry wrote.”

                That much was obvious, but Greg did not ask any other questions.  The non-information was given to mean he should find out on his own, rather than asking her.  Greg muted the TV and started to read.  It was story about a boy who lost his favorite ball, and went out to look for it.  The story was filled with spelling and grammar errors, run on sentences, and the story telling was clumsy.  But, given how old the author was, such mistakes were not only forgivable, but expected.  Greg did his best to ignore the mistakes of youth and focused on the story itself.  It was far from perfect, but it was a far better story than any eight year old had a right to create.  Not only that, but it was three pages long, which was impressive for a child that age.

                “I think our Henry might be a literary genius.” Jill squealed with delight.  “He’ll grow up to be a world famous author, I’m sure of it!”

                Greg sighed and lowered the short story.  “Now, Jill, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  He’s a smart kid, sure, but that doesn’t mean—“

                “Oh no, I’m positive.” Jill interrupted.  “You should’ve seen him writing that.  His little eyes just lit up so brightly.  Oh, oh, we need to sign him up for advanced English courses.  Maybe there’s a program to promote young writers in the community center.”  She was bathing in motherly pride, to the point where just about any arguments would be lost on her.

                “Jill, he hasn’t even hit double digits yet.  Let’s not put any ideas in him yet.”

                “Are you saying we shouldn’t encourage our son?” She said.  Her expression did a complete 180.

                “No, of course not.  I mean, sure, this shows he could have some talent as a writer, and we should definitely encourage that.  But let’s not put any pressure on him to become the next Dickens or something.”

                “But…but…”

                “Honestly, will it matter if he becomes famous or not?”

                “Well, no…”

                “Exactly.  We should be encouraging him, not putting pressure on him.  Let him dream, but don’t force it on him.  Otherwise he’ll grow up to hate writing.”

                Jill looked horrified.  “Oh, oh no.  That’d be terrible.” 

                “Exactly.  So let’s, you know, let’s not sign him up for all that.  I mean, if he wants to, sure.  But let’s not make the decision for him, okay?”

                “Okay.” Jill relented.  “But I’m still hanging the story up on the fridge.”

                “Naturally.” Greg handed the papers back to his wife.  He did not even try to suppress a grin as he continued, “After all, that’s the first story he ever wrote.  When he’s famous, people are going to want to see it.”

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Parents, always remember to encourage your kid's artistic endeavors.  You never know what kind of future you might open up for them if you do, and what you'll be shutting down if you don't.

Word: Frowzy

frowzy

or frouzy

[frou-zee]

adjective, frowzier, frowziest.

1. dirty and untidy; slovenly.

2. ill-smelling; musty.

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                   As soon as the door was open, Todd was hit with a wall of stink that was every bit as painful as running head first into a brick wall.  He cringed and held his nose in a vain attempt to ward off the smell.

                “What is that?” He asked.

                “What’s what?” Kevin replied.  He entered the apartment like nothing was wrong.

                “That smell.  What in the world is that smell?”

                Kevin sniffed the air.  “What smell?” He asked.  He looked perfectly sincere when he asked it.

                “What smell?  What do you mean ‘what smell’?  How can you not smell that?”

                Kevin shrugged his shoulders and gave a non-committal grunt.  “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

                “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever smelled.” Todd said as he slowly entered the apartment. 

                He was not lying, nor exaggerating.  He had once been sprayed by a skunk, and he had once thought that was the most horrible scent he had ever been exposed to.  Now that he had experienced Kevin’s apartment, he would have taken the skunk spray any day.

                “I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” Kevin brushed the comment off.

                Todd slowly entered the apartment, and the smell only got worse.  One glance around the place and it was obvious why the place smelled so bad.  Kevin’s apartment was filthy.  Clothes lay strewn about the floor and furniture, and were covered with something that Todd did not want to even try identifying.  Old, unwashed dishes covered every surface that was not occupied by dirty clothes, and often times covered places that were already occupied by something else.  Flies buzzed around the dishes, and when disturbed they moved on to another dish.  Sometimes they even found actual food, or at least something that had once been food.  Bottles and other garbage were just as prevalent as everything else, so much so that Todd was unable to tell where the floor ended and the trash started.  It seemed like the floor was made out of old chip wrappers and empty beer bottles.

                Todd let out a string of incoherent sounds, unable to think of actual words in the face of the most potent mess he had ever seen.  He eventually found his words.  “How?  How do you live like this?”

                “What?  Oh, right, the stuff.” Kevin said.  “I know it’s not the cleanest place around, but it works just fine.”

                “Not the—man, this place isn’t unclean.  This place is the very definition of a mess.  I mean, come one, do you just sit on the garbage instead of chairs?  Do you even own any chairs?”

                “I have chairs.  They’re, uh…” Kevin looked around, trying to find an actual piece of furniture.  “Somewhere.” He said once he gave up. 

                “You have got to clean this place up.  This is not cool.  I mean it, it’s not just bad.  It’s unhealthy.  You can get sick from all this stuff.  I’ll be surprised if I don’t get sick after being here.  I mean, it smells like death and looks just as bad.”

                “It’s not that bad.”

                “I bet the only reason I haven’t seen any rats yet is because there’s so many places for them to hide.”

                As soon as he said it, Todd swore he saw something looking at him from under a discarded shirt.  It disappeared too quickly for him to identify, but it was obvious what it was.

                “Look, I will help you clean this place up.” Todd said.  “But you have to promise me that if I do, you will never, ever let it get this bad again.”

                Kevin looked at Todd like he was giving the deal some serious thought.  “Alright, fine.  I guess I can do that.” He said slowly.

                “Great.  Now, let’s go.”

                “Where?”

                “To get supplies.  I know you don’t have any in this place, and we’re going to need a lot of trash bags and air freshener.”

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Don't let your place of residence get like this.  It's just not good.  I'm not the cleanest person in the world, and even I wouldn't let it get this bad.  Seriously, if you keep on top of cleaning, it's not that hard.  It's only tough if you let the mess pile up for awhile.

Word: Obdurate

obdurate

[ob-doo-rit, -dyoo-]

adjective

1. unmoved by persuasion, pity, or tender feelings; stubborn; unyielding.

2. stubbornly resistant to moral influence; persistently impenitent:

an obdurate sinner.

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                 “Don’t do this, please.” Lora begged again.

                “Sorry, but I have to.” Eddie said while checking his equipment for the third time.  It was exactly the same as it had been the previous two.

                “No, you don’t.  There’s plenty of options.  Like not robbing a bank.”

                “We need the money.”

                “But that doesn’t mean you have to steal it.  You can, I don’t know, get a job?  I real job.”

                “I tried doing that.”  Eddie set his shotgun down next to a bag that would eventually, hopefully, contain enough cash for the two of them to live off of for several months.  “It didn’t work out.”

                “You didn’t try hard enough.  Just please, try again.  For me?”  Lora placed a hand on his arm, trying to transmit all her feelings about him not getting arrested into the touch.  Eddie sighed and looked away from her.

                “I’m sorry, but there’s just no jobs for guys like me out there.  This is the only thing I can do.”

                “No, it isn’t.  The whole idea is wrong, and you know it.  Committing a robbery like this?  It isn’t just wrong, it’s stupid.”

                “I know, I know.  But the guys have a plan.  A good one.  One that can work.  We get in, do the job, and get out with the money.  Nobody gets hurt, nobody see my face.  It’s all clean.”

                “Except when has that ever worked for anyone?  They’ll find you and they’ll take you away.” Lora was on the verge of tears.

                “Then they take me away.” Eddie said solemnly.  “You get the money and hide it.  It’ll last one person longer than it will two.”

                “No!  No I won’t do that.” Lora shouted.  She slapped Eddie’s shoulder hard.  He flinched from the blow, but did not stop his preparations.  “Look, if you do this, I’m leaving you.” She said after a moment’s thought. 

                Eddie stopped.  “Baby, no.  No, you can’t do that.  I’m doing this for you.”

                “Right, so if I leave, there’s no point in it, right?” 

                Eddie worked it over in his head.  If he did the job, she would leave.  But he needed to do the job for her sake.  It was not an easy thing to think about.

                “Look, I’m sorry, but I have to.” He said.  “I already told the guys I would, and they’re counting on me.”

                “Forget them.  Let them get arrested.”

                “If they get put away because I bailed, I won’t be able to live with myself.  I’m sorry, but I have to go now.”

                Eddie put all the supplies he could into the bag and headed towards the door with his head hung.  Lora stuttered, trying to find something she could say that would make him change his mind.  She unconsciously placed a hand over her stomach.  She knew what she had to say.  She had been hoping to save it for a special moment, but this would have to do.

                “I’m pregnant.” She said.  Eddie froze.  That was the one thing he could not ignore.  “Don’t you dare leave me.  Leave this child.  I will not have it growing up without its father, just because you were too stubborn to listen to reason.”

                  Eddie’s hand was on the door.  He no longer had any idea what he should do.  He would need money to raise a child, and this was the only way he could see to get it.  But, Lora was right.  Even if he and his cohorts pulled the heist off successfully, there was a strong chance he’d be doing a lot of jail time.  But, then again, there was still the chance, however slim, that he could get away with it.  And if he had money, he could use it to get what he needed to get a real job.  But first, he needed the money.

                “I…I’m sorry.” He said.  “But it’s…it’s the only way.”

                  He left the small apartment.  He could hear Lora wailing as he closed the door behind him.

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Robbing banks is bad.  You probably shouldn't even try.  They're also pretty secure.  At least most of them are.  It's generally seen as a bad idea overall.