It is indeed a beautiful day in these parts. Perfect for sitting outside with a book.

Later.

Elisson wrote a terrific post about made up languages, which as is often the case with Elisson’s stuff, is both informative and hilarious. Here is a snippet, which deals with a very specific made up language, namely Klingon (Whe knew?):

And, of course, there’s that perennial favorite of Trekkies: Klingon, created and designed by Mark Okrand, a linguist hired by Paramount Pictures. There have been books published in Klingon, including at least one Shakespeare play; furthermore, there are people who are able to carry on entire conversations in Klingon, generally in the context of trying to get laid at Star Trek conventions. A more futile quest is hard to imagine.

Read it all (but only after you’ve finished reading the rest of this most interesting post).

Elisson also noted that there are made up languages that are spoken by one person or only a few (even fewer than the number who speak Klingon, methinks), and such a languages is known as idioglossia.

The idioglossia stuff triggered a bunch of memories from my days as a yoot, when it was not uncommon to use made up words. Similarly, other words, while not made up by someone I actually knew, often would not have been understood beyond a couple dozen miles from where they were regularly spoken.

Here are s couple that I remember:

1. ”Dewemplin”. One of my favorites is the term “dewemplin,” as in “You’re a dewemplin!! (pronounced “doo-EMP-lin,” or sometimes con brio as “doo-EMMMMMM-plin”).

Defining the made up term “dewemplin” is particularly interesting, because it requires a two-cushion lexico-shot. You see, before you can define the term “dewemplin,” you first have to know what a blivit is. (Definitions within definitions – lawyers love that shit.)

A blivit is, “Ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.” (I was surprised to see that the term has made it into the Urban Dictionary.

Sooooooo, the definition of a “dewemplin” is, “One who stuffs blivits,” or a “blivit stuffer.” At least that’s the technical definition of the made up word, although it came to be used to describe a feckless douchebag of a person.

2. Kerr. I think the same kid who made up the word “dewemplin” (Let’s call him Frank) also coined the term “kerr.” “Kerr,” was the made up term for “dog shit,” but wait, it gets better.

Frank and his buddies (all of whom were more than a bit twisted) took delight in flinging dog shit at people they thought warranted it Their criteria for who would get “splattayed” (“spla-TAYED” as they would say it) – are lost to history, but I am happy to say that I was never a splatayee.

What made it even more weird was that the shit flinging was very ritualistic, which brings me back to the word “kerr.”

When Frank and his buddies decided that someone was deserving of a “splattay,” they would use bits of paper to pick up the dog shit, and when they flung it they would all shout, “Kerrrrrrrrrrrrr forrrrrrrrrr yeeeeeeeeee!” (pronounced with rolling R’s).

I booshit you not.

Clearly, Frank and his minions were all dewemplins.

Turns out, I now have internet service. WTF?

First, I would like to thank the Wiseass Jooette for posting the PSA. She may be from Brooklyn (the Godforsaken Place), but she’s good peeps for helping out a fellow Blown-Eye.

DISCLAIMER: Anything in the previous paragraph to the contrary notwithstanding, the author reserves any and all rights in future posts to assert that Brooklyn is a shithole and that the Jooette is indeed a Wiseass. Further, nothing contained in the previous paragraph shall operate, by way of estoppel or otherwise, to prevent or limit in any way the author from making such future statements.

Here’s the deal.

As of this morning, I had zero internet connection. Of course, I freaked. Instant sweats, big time. I’ve been there before when it took TEN DAYS for Comcast to send someone over to swap out a dead modem. That wait was followed by a nastygram to the President of Comcast, which, in turn, resulted in some free internet service.

Still, this time I didn’t want free internet service; I just wanted INTERNET SERVICE, dammit.

I checked Mr. Modem. It was blinking away just as it should. I decided to use the handy on/off switch to turn it off and then on again.

No lights, some lights, (the modem is getting its shit together), then all the lights. It was blinking just right.

Problem – still no internet connection.

More sweat.

Check connections. Lots of spaghetti back there, but the wires were cool.

Move modem to check the back connections.

LIGHTS ON MODEM GO OFF!!! Holy shit!

Call Comcast, NOW, because Mr. Modem is as dead as Jacob Marley.

Comcast answers with a recording

I press “1” for English (I fume).

I press “”2” for “Internet Service” as opposed to Cable TV.

Recorded voice tells me that I have to be looking at the computer (I was), then it tells me to say shit into the phone.

Recorded voice: “Do you see a red thing anywhere on your screen saying ‘re-install Comcast software?”

Me: “NO.”

Recorded Voice: “Did you say no?”

Me: “YES, I said “NO.” (I’m thinking this YES-NO business is an Alice in Wonderland experience)

Recorded Voice: “Are you doing a new installation?”

Me: “NO.” (I could have sworn Ms. Recordovoice had already asked me this)

Recorded Voice: “Have you unplugged and re-plugged your modem?”

Me: “Wait!”

Recorded Voice: (apparently waiting)

I freaked and hung up the phone. Realizing that I had used the on/off switch and had not actually unplugged the thing, I looked again at the dead unit and thought, “Plug? What plug?” At that point, I saw that the little round AC/DC thing in the back of the modem had become unplugged while I was checking out the back of the modem.

“Ah ha!” I thought. I plugged it in, and the lights on the modem did their predictable thing.

Yes! The lights were blinking just fine (although the plug in the back of the modem is EXTREMELY touchy. If you touch it just a LEETLE, the modem goes off. Still, the lights were on, and they were blinking just right. I figured I was good to go.

WRONG.

Still no internet connection.

Knowing that getting internet connection, albeit critical, is not as important as making a living, I bailed on the problem. I spent the rest of the day wallowing in self-pity, knowing that I would have to deal with Comcast after work.

From work, I got in touch with the aforementioned Wiseass Jooette and requested her assistance in letting the “sphere (at least, my miniscule corner of same) know that I had been again COMCASTRATED. She graciously agreed, and even did so without saying anything bad about New Jersey. I gather she sensed my deepening depression.

I came home fully ready (as ready as one can ever be) to call Comcast. I was prepared for another long internetless spell.

Mr. Modem was still blinking favorably, so, for the hell of it, I fired up the Raptor and pushed the “internet” button.

And, here I am.

Thank you, Comcast, for scaring the dogshit out of me.

P.S. I stuck the modem with the mondo fickle connection out of harm’s way, and if I happen to eat beans I will be sure to turn away from the modem.

Yo, peeps. Wiseass Jooette here.

A PSA I was asked to share with all of youse, Jimbo’s loyal readers. There is a slight possibility that our TTTB pal, Hairboy, might not be able to connect to the Internet this evening due to unfortunate Comcastic issues, which sucks mondo ’roids, because that may impact a post he was all set to publish this evening. Bummers. I was looking forward to reading it.

Had he told me about this, say, yesterday, I would have had a little more time to slap together my Photoshop masterpiece of his GFHâ„¢ on the heads of all the presidents on Mount Rushmore, a totally bril idea suggested to me by Randy Randy Fo-Fandy, the Secular Franciscan. It is definitely in the works, though. Stay tuned for that.

You’d think, once he upgraded to Mr. Raptor from Mr. Steam-Driven Computer, all would be just ducky in Cybersville for he of the House by the Parkway, but no such luck.

OTOH, there is a chance he will be able to connect, in which case, just ignore this. If not, however, should any of you fine peeps stumble across a Magic Lamp in the sand this evening, please, be generous with your three wishes and delegate at least one for the immediate rectification of his modem issues, because a day without a Parkway Rest Stop post is a day without a beautiful sunrise.

In the meantime, check out this old PRS post, which cracked my Brooklyn Jooette ass up when I first read it. I figure it was worth resurrecting in the event of major catastrophe we don’t get any sweet Jimbo lovin’ tonight.

Keep your fingers crossed, OK?

Great Googamooga! Here is the equivalent of a nuclear weapon to use in the endless war against the dreaded panty line.

Jeff at Side Salad (from whom I swiped the image) has the deets.