Word: Gallimaufry

gallimaufry

[ gal-uh-maw-free ]

noun, plural gal·li·mau·fries. Chiefly Literary.

a hodgepodge; jumble; confused medley.

a ragout or hash.

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               “That is not art.” Walt said.

               “Sure it is.” Becky replied.

               “No, it’s a bunch of random stuff stuck of a piece of paper.”

               Sure enough, the canvas hanging from the gallery wall did appear to be a jumble of items.  Bits of cut up plastic, scraps of paper, chunks of metal, pieces of wood and more were all arranged seemingly at random.  There was no paint, no planning, and no meaning.  At least none that Walt could see.

               “It’s modern art.” Becky said, stressing the second word.  “Just because it’s not a painting or a sculpture doesn’t mean it has any less artistic value.”

               “Becky, a five-year-old could’ve done this.  It’s not art.”

               “Well, that’s just not true.  A ton of planning and thought goes into a piece like this.  No way a little kid can do that.”

               Walt looked from his girlfriend to the canvas.  He tilted his head from side to side.  He could see no meaning in it at all.  It did not suggest an image, and it did not evoke anything resembling emotion.  Well, maybe annoyance, but that was not directly because of the piece of so-called art.

               “What planning?  The guy probably just dumped a bunch of glue on the canvas and threw whatever he had lying around on it.  Seriously, most of it’s junk.”

               “No way.  This is planned.  Deliberate.  The artist chose every item and carefully placed them, all to create art.”

               Walt huffed and crossed his arms.  He still did not believe it.

               “Okay, what’s it mean?”

               “Mean?”

               “Yeah, what’s it mean?  Art should have a meaning behind it, right?  So what does this one mean?”

               Becky looked thoughtfully at the piece of modern art.  She held her chin and hummed in thought. 

               “I don’t know.” She admitted.  “But it’s also not my place to figure it out.  That’s what art appraisers and critics are for.”

               “Doesn’t work like that.  Art, good art anyway, should carry meaning even for laypeople like us.  We should see it and be able to interpret it, even if our interpretation isn’t the same as an expert’s.  When I look at this, all I see is a big mess.”

               “Well, maybe that is the meaning.”

               “What?”
               Becky moved a step closer to the item and looked at it from different angles.  “It’s meant invoke a mess.  A jumble of things to represent our chaotic lives.”

               Walt blinked and looked at her for a moment before responding.

               “You just made that up because of what I said.”

               “Yeah, but so what?  It’s meaning.  And by your definition, that makes it art.” She said triumphantly.

               Walt opened his mouth to say something, but no words came.  She was right.  He had basically given her free reign to call this travesty art.  And he hated himself for it.  But, he was at least capable of admitting it.

               “Okay, fine.” He said.  “Maybe, just maybe, this can be considered art.  But that doesn’t mean it’s good.”

               “I can live with that.  Especially since we’re buying it.”

*****************************************

 I wouldn't be surprised to see something like this in a modern art collection.  There's already some really weird stuff.  I've seen piles of glass, chairs, string, and a bunch of squares.  And that's just scratching the surface. 

Word: Turophobia

turophobia

[ tur-uh-foh-bee-uh ]

noun

an irrational or disproportionate fear of cheese.

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               Lucy and Jack walked hand in hand down the busy city streets.  The young couple barely noticed the crowds that accompanied them. 

               “So, where should we go for dinner on this fine day?” Lucy asked.

               “You’re asking that now?  After we’ve already left?”

               “Yes.”

               Jack sighed with a smile on his face.  “Doesn’t matter.” He said.  He waited for a moment before continuing.  “Well, it does, but there’s too much for me to choose.  How about this:  you give an option and I’ll let you know if I have some deep opposition to said choice.”

               “Okay then.  Let’s see.” Lucy said, stretching the word out.  “I’m thinking Italian.”

               Jack stiffened and his gait became halting.  “No.” He said quickly.

               “No to Italian?  Really?  I thought that was the big always good.  Okay, how about Mexican?”

               “No!” Jack barked. 

               “Seriously?  Not to two of the most delicious types of food out there?  What’s wrong with you that you don’t want either of them?”

               Jack’s eyes darted around nervously.  “Uh, I…I just don’t like them, that’s all.”
               “How do you not like Italian and Mexican?  They’re awesome.”

               “I just don’t, okay?  Just…just drop it and choose something else.  Something without…”  His voice petered out and he looked away from his girlfriend.

               “Without…what?”

               “Nothing.  Nevermind.”

               Lucy thought hard about what those two genres of food had in common.  There was only one

Big similarity.

               “Without cheese, maybe?”

               Jack nearly tripped over his own feet.  “Yes, without cheese.”

               “Don’t like cheese, huh?  Why not?  I know you’re not lactose intolerant.  You eat ice cream way too much.”

               “There’s no such thing as too much ice cream.  And just drop it okay?  Just no cheese.”

               “Oh, now I have to know.  Why won’t you eat cheese?  Your reactions are too strong for it to just not like the stuff.  Besides, there’s so many different kinds that there’s bound to be at least one you like.  No, this is something else.  What is it?”

               “It’s…it’s nothing.  Just drop it, okay?  Please?”

               “Nope.  That ship has sailed, man o’ mine.  Come on, tell me.”

               “Tell me or else the next time I make dinner, it’ll be a nice big mac and cheese.”

               Jack looked at her with wide, panicked eyes.  “Please don’t.  It won’t end well.”

               “Well why not?  I mean, it’s crazy.  You’re acting like…” A slow realization came to her mind.  “Like you’re scared of cheese.”  Jack turned a deep shade of red.  He fidgeted and looked anywhere other than at Lucy.  “Oh my god, you are, aren’t you?  You’re scared of cheese?”

               “I-it’s not funny!  It’s a real thing.”

               Lucy was too busy laughing to say anything else. 

               “I’m serious.” Jack continued.  “It’s called turophobia.  I looked it up.  And it’s not funny.  Whenever I see cheese, I freeze up.  I can’t breathe right, I can’t stop shaking, and all kinds of other things.  My body practically shuts down. It’s not something to laugh at.”

               “Wow, that must suck.  I mean, cheese is everywhere.  How do you keep yourself from panicking whenever you see someone eating pizza on the street?”

               “You know how horses have those blinders to keep from getting spooked by stuff?  Well, I kind of do something similar.  I just hold my hands up by my eyes whenever I pass an Italian place or a pizzeria or anything else like that.  And whenever I go grocery shopping, I get around it by shopping online.”

               “Got it.  So I shouldn’t give you a cheese platter for your birthday, huh?”

               “Don’t even think about it.”

               The two of them walked in silence for a few feet before Lucy said something.  “Sorry for laughing.  I know being badly phobic is a serious thing.  It’s just that, it caught me off guard, since it’s something so ridiculous, you know?”

               “Yeah, I know.  Everyone laughs when they find out.”

               “If it helps, I’m phobic too.  Not badly, but still.”

               “You are?”

               “Yup.  Ophidiophobia.  Snakes.  I…I can’t deal with snakes.  And it’s not just getting freaked out by them, like normal people.  A lot of the things you said that happen to you happen to me.  Maybe not as bad, since I’m not completely paralyzed with fear, but still.”

               “Good to know.  And hey, at least yours is justified.  Mine just makes no sense at all.”

               “Yeah, it really doesn’t, does it?  And even you have to admit, it is kind of funny, even if it is a serious mental condition.”

               “No.  Okay, maybe a little.  But still, no Italian for dinner.  Ever.”
   ***************************************
Man, there's a phobia for everything, isn't there?  Like, EVERYTHING.  Seriously, look up just how many phobias there are.  It's crazy just how many things a person can be cripplingly terrified of.

Word: Lilliputian

Lilliputian

[ lil-i-pyoo-shuh n ]

adjective

extremely small; tiny; diminutive.

petty; trivial: Our worries are Lilliputian when compared with those of people whose nations are at war.

noun

an inhabitant of Lilliput.

a very small person.

a person who is narrow or petty in outlook.

 

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               Dave had no idea how he got to where he was.  Oh, he knew the mechanics and the events, but they still confused him to the point that he had no idea what to make of things.  One moment he was with his friends, having fun on some small island, and the next he was in a courtroom surrounded by people that did not even reach his knees.

               Dave and his friends had been ambushed, and tied up by a literal army of the little guys, and was now facing some kind of judge.  What their crime was, he had no idea.

               “Your honor,” Said one of the tiny people in a British accent.  “Our histories tell of an invader named Gulliver.”

               “Wait, Gulliver?” Whispered Kristy, one of the captives.  “Like Gulliver’s Travels?  Isn’t that a really bad movie?”

               “It was a book first, Kris.” Dave whispered.

“This man was of enormous stature,” The Lilliputian lawyer continued, “and could easily destroy our entire nation.  However, our armies were able to drive him off.  And now, centuries later, they have returned for revenge with an army.”

“Six people is an army?” Another member of the group, Ryan, asked quietly.

“To people this small, yeah.” Harriet, the smallest member of the group, said.  “I mean, even I can step on them.”

“Your Honor, you must see these invaders executed.” The lawyer said.  The gallery clapped and cheered.

The last member of the group, Jim, stood up as well as his binds would allow.  “Uh, Your Honor, do we get a lawyer for this trial?”

“No.” The judge said.  “You are foreigners.  You have no rights on our lands, and so you must defend yourselves.”

Dave stood next.  “Okay then, how about this.  We’re not invaders.  We didn’t even know you guys existed.  Seriously, That Gulliver guy you mentioned?  We thought he was fictional.  Hell, I don’t think any of us have even read the book about him.  So yeah, we have no intention of invading or destroying or anything.  If you just let us go, we’ll go back to our boat and never come back.”  All the members of the group smiled and nodded vigorously.

“Lies!” The lawyer cried.  “How can we believe such blatant lies, Your Honor?  They come to our shores with weapons, tools of death and destruction.”

“No we don’t.” Dave said.  “Seriously, what did we have that could even be remotely confused for a weapon?”

“Bring in the tools of death!”

Dozens of Lilliputians pushed a large cart into the courtroom.  On it was the cooking equipment that the group had brought with them.

“That stuff?  None of that’s a weapon.” Ryan said.  “Well, unless you’re a hot dog or something.  Seriously, it’s for cooking.”

“More lies!  These things make great flames that can burn our cities to the ground!”

“Only if everyone here hold really still for like, two, three minutes.  And the grill?  How’s that going to burn anything?  You’d have to literally be standing on it while we lit it, and then even longer for it to heat up.”

“Who do you believe, Your Honor?  These invaders, or a trusted councilman?  It is clear these giants mean us harm.”

“Um, would it help to say that I’m a pacifist?” Harriet said.  “I get squeamish at the sight of my own blood.”

“It’s true, she does.” Dave said.

“We have no proof of any of these claims!” The lawyer said.

“Hey, uh, judge guy?” Kristy said.  “If this lawyer guy wants to talk proof, then he doesn’t have any either.  We just got to shore and unpacked our stuff.  We haven’t done anything to you guys, right?  I mean, if anything, you attacked us.”

“Is this true?” The judge asked.

“Well, I mean, yes, Your Honor, but we were just ensuring the safety of our lands.” The lawyer said.  The tiny man shifted uncomfortably as he spoke.  The judge sighed.

“Very well.  In light of this new evidence, I will release the invaders, on the condition that they immediately leave our island and never return.”

“We agree.” Al of them said together.

“Very well.  Release the prisoners and show them to their vessel.  However, it should be noted that if they cause any amount of death or destruction, accidental or not, this offer will immediately be rescinded, and the prisoners confined to prison for the rest of their days.”

The judge banged his tiny gavel.  Lilliputians ran around, scrambling to carry out the judges orders.  When their binds were cut, the group of five stood carefully and followed their diminutive escorts.

Dave looked to the rest of his friends as they were lead out of the court house. “Guess, uh, guess we’d better be careful where we step, huh?”    

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I've never read Gulliver's Travels, or watched any of the film adaptations.  Never really occured to me to read it or anything.  Maybe someday I will.