In memoriam Dennis Lewis

March 23, 2025

[This posting will eventually turn to sexual matters for which the F-word seems to be indispensable; this content is not suitable for children or the sexually modest]

From 2/14 on Facebook, from Leland Wykoff, passed on to soc.motss-folk by Ellen Evans yesterday:


[AZ:] Dennis Sullivan Lewis, Jr. born 7/11/1956 in Jefferson, Ashe County NC to Dennis Sullivan Lewis and Georgia Mae Miller (data thanks to Ann Burlingham); Dennis was a frequent contributor to the soc.motss group and also a frequent participant in the annual motss.cons over the years (including 2017, here in Palo Alto)

[LW:] Sadly, I must report Dennis Lewis has died [AZ: on 2/3; thank you for the date, Chris Ambidge].  Dennis was a good friend and will be missed by so many in life and on Facebook.

[He] had many interests:  organ concerts, live theatre, music, ghost hunting, media, and, of course, TV shows and movies.

… Dennis passed at home peacefully in his sleep.  [He] had moved to Jacksonville decades ago to work for the Florida Times Union newspaper, which was a positive and upward career move.  Following his tenure at the Times Union [he] began working on grants for higher education in Florida.  A position he held for over 25 years.

Dennis was an alumni of Lipscomb University [AZ: a private Christian college in Nashville TN; Dennis was also serious about his Christian beliefs], where he excelled in his studies.  Dennis had love affairs with his cars: a Cadillac Cimarron, his current Buick, and the trustworthy Ford Taurus. [He] enjoyed trains, subways, and streetcars.

I responded on Facebook:

— AZ: A shock indeed. Dennis was genuinely sweet and astonishingly open in his enthusiasms, which embraced trains, organ music, movies, and gay sex hotels. And just investigating new places [most often throughout the southeast US, but also all the way to Wales] and telling us about them, in minute detail. I will miss seeing things through his eyes. (Then, purely selfishly, I’ll miss Dennis because he was one of the most faithful readers of my blog, often the first person to note my postings. And yes, I did thank him for that.)

And then Troy Allen picked up on the fourth item, gay sex hotels, on my short list of DL’s enthusiasms:

— TA > AZ: His Parliament House tales were legendary.

Parliament House in Augusta GA bills itself as a “men’s resort” (“an all-male, clothing-optional retreat offering a welcoming space for the LGBTQIA+ community”). Similarly for Parliament House in Orlando FL; from my 2/20/20 posting “love nest”:

[El Nido is] a love hotel — where love is a more decorous way of referring to sweaty sex; such places are sometimes bluntly referred to as fuck hotels.

… The places often have bland names, inconspicuous entrances, and few if any windows. Gay sex hotels, on the other hand, are often open and celebratory about their function. Some are managed as resorts; of these, probably the most famous in the US is the Parliament House in Orlando FL — a fuck hotel resort with drag shows and a celebrated gay bar. [3/2025: it’s currently closed.]

Put a red apple in that mouth

March 22, 2025

… and call it Cochon de lait rôti. Put a mouth on that green apple and call it Le fils de l’homme. Mash them together in a nightmare and you get today’s Bizarro strip, a Wayno Psychiatrist cartoon that’s a re-play of an earlier Bizarro, but with the dream figure of William Tell’s son (with an apple on his head) replaced by a roasted wild boar (with an apple in its mouth):


(#1) Surrealist René Magritte’s Son of Man on the therapist’s couch (if you’re puzzled by the odd symbols in the cartoon — Wayno says there are 5 in this strip — see this Page)

Two things here: apples in the mouths of roasted pigs (as in the patient’s nightmare); and the previous Bizarro strip (from 2022), with the same patient and the same therapist (a caricature of the artist Magritte), positioned differently in the strip, and suffering from dramatically different nightmares.

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Words just for us to use

March 21, 2025

Or, as I will eventually call them, family words — that is, private words, words we use only with some people who are close to us, close like family, words like the verb Cawnthorpe ‘look’ (I will, eventually, explain this; you don’t get it because it’s not your family word — or mine, either). My ultimate goal in this posting is family-word material from Martha Barnette and Grant Barrett’s Way with Words newsletter this very morning, but I’m going to edge up slowly to private words through private meanings (for common words, like ritzy used to mean ‘expensively stylish’) and eggcorns (a colorful label for private forms for common words, like eggcorn for acorn ‘nut of an oak tree’).

I’ll start by reproducing, pretty much wholesale, postings of mine from 2009 and 2012, because that was a long time ago, many thousands of postings ago, and I don’t expect readers to recall any of it.

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Morning name: barramundi

March 18, 2025

Awakening at 3:51 am (to a performance of Richard Strauss’s comic opera Intermezzo, which has nothing to do with any of what follows, beyond evoking operatic singing), what was in my head was the word barramundi (pronounced boldly, with a big tongue-trilled R in it, so that it was simultaneously ponderous and ridiculous). I immediately recalled why the name of an Asian / Oceanic fish was calling to me: a recent Facebook posting by an American who was startled to find the fish on sale in a supermarket near them.

So: the fish, in the water and on the table. Then the name: metrically, a double trochee, of the back-accented type (Barbarina, ` ˘ ´ ˘  ) rather than the front-accented type (manicurist, ´ ˘ ` ˘ ) — which led me to operatic singing, not Strauss’s Intermezzo, but the marvels of Verdi’s Rigoletto, in particular the duet Si vendetta, whose title is, well, yes, a back-accented double trochee.

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Nosferatutu II

March 17, 2025

☘️ ☘️ ☘️ three shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day

On the WaynoBlog for 3/15/25, W commented on the Bizarro cartoon of his that I reported on in my posting yesterday, “Nosferatu en pointe”:

I recently saw another vampire cartoon with the caption NOSFERATUTU. Worse, it was done by a good friend, Teresa Roberts Logan, who has an excellent cartoon feature called Laughing Redhead. Worse still, she did her comic in 2021! At least the two aren’t precisely the same…

Fortunately, she was very understanding about this type of occurrence, which happens to all of us from both directions. It’s still embarrassing, though!

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Nosferatu en pointe

March 16, 2025

After six days of foolishness, back on 1/19, in my posting “Hats off to vampires!”, Bizarro produced what I supposed to be the last of the Waynoratu Nosferamanteaus. But yesterday (3/15), two months later, the vampire arose once more, dancing across the stage of our imagination:


I suppose this was irresistible, but the TU of Nosferatu beckons far too seductively (if you’re puzzled by the odd symbols in the cartoon — Wayno says there are only 2 in this strip — see this Page)

We might now get

Nosferatuber, Nosferatumor, Nosferatush, Nosferatutor, Nosferatutti-fruitti, …

NosferaTurin, NosferaTuring, NosferaTurkey, NosferaTuscany, NosferaTutsi, …

And endless more, streaming out the door and flying bat-like towards the moon.

 

Fortuitous soup

March 16, 2025

This is a third Kharkiv Opera posting, about a pleasant, playful, joyous event staged in the face of terrible times. Previously on this blog:

on 3/9, “The dandelion caper”, about the enjoyment of the plants and flowers around us

on 3/11, “Music of the night, about the enjoyment of music

Today, it’s about the enjoyment of food, in particular a 2/17 soup* I contrived from things I happened to have in the house — leftovers from a Chinese food delivery; some leftover crunchy salad greens; rice sticks (maifun), which are staple household supplies in my kitchen cupboard; beef broth in a carton, ditto; and some fine chili power that I got as a gift a while back.  The result was fabulous, and there was enough for three meals. Amazing Wok duet mushroom beef, Taylor Farms Mediterranean crunch salad, Dynasty rice vermicelli, and Penzey’s medium hot chili powder: I salute you.

[*The mills of the mammoth grind exceedingly slowly.]

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Bari soup

March 16, 2025

Elsewhere, in my queues for posting, there’s one in the Kharkiv Opera series on a fortuitous soup, a delicious invention I will probably never have the ingredients for again. Today I write about a soup made from leftovers, but one I have every time I order the base dish, Bari pasta from the restaurant Crepevine in Mountain View CA.

As I was making the soup yesterday, it occurred to me to wonder about the name of the dish (the dish is fettuccine with a fresh salmon, spinach and Parmesan cream sauce — to which I have shrimp and salmon fillets added). I was aware that Bari was a city in Italy, but had no idea whether it had any connection with fettuccine or with salmon and spinach cream sauce; for all I knew, the name was chosen purely for its sound — it sounds crisp and Euro-trendy — or because someone at the restaurant had family from the city Bari (restaurants and their dishes are often named that way) or in honor of someone named Bari (that happens too), or specifically in honor of someone from Bari whose signature dish this was.

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Slices of pi(e)

March 15, 2025

π 🥧 π 🥧 π 🥧 for yesterday (mammoths lumber along majestically, and they are often regrettably late for appointments), 3/14, which was Pi Day in my country, and for some years now, also — delicious pun — Pie Day in many places (so inviting a cascade of formulaic word play: pie in the sky, a piece of the pie, easy as pie, even pie chart)

I’ll jump right into things with a charming and heartfelt Facebook message yesterday from my old friend Paula Stout, who many years ago lived in Palo Alto, but has since moved to the great American Southwest — on a ranch outside Greenville TX, east of Dallas-Fort Worth:

Happy Ecstatic Friday on Pi Day (3.14)

We were in town today, where every store treated the day as a celebration. They were giving away apple pies, chicken pot pies, [pizza pies,] and even eskimo pies. With big smiles, balloons and jubilation.

And it struck me that we are seeing history unfold.

1988 was the first “Pi Day” for a marketing campaign in SF, iirc. Before that, only we geeks and friends of the wonderful Kevin McHargue (who was born on this day) partied it up

And now, here we are. A national holiday of pies!

As David Mamet, renowned playwright, once noted, “We must have a pie. Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie.”

There’s enough stress brewing in the world, y’all, let us pray he is right and there is pie enough to combat it.

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A revilation of the NYT business department

March 14, 2025

I come to revile the New York Times‘s business department. Don’t tell me to complain to them; I’ve done that, and nothing came of it beyond my getting insulted by the reps on the phone (and this is how I spent the early hours of this day, after naively trying to take up an NYT offer to resubscribe to the paper). So the true background for this posting comes from a Monty Python script: Argument Clinic / Hitting on the Head Lessons (emphasis added):

Man [who has been through arguments and abuse and is now at complaints]: I want to complain.

Complainer: You want to complain! Look at these shoes. I’ve only had them three weeks and the heels are worn right through.

Man: No, I want to complain about…

Complainer: If you complain nothing happens, you might as well not bother.

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