Ok, for starters, and to get out in front of any Star Wars nerds that might be reading, I know I mixed metaphors in the title. But I couldn’t make anything witty out of Revenge of the Sith, whereas A New Hope seemed to fit my style. You don’t like it, write your own damn blog.
Now on to today’s literary potpourri. One of the things that B2 and I do throughout the spring and fall is go to baseball games. Specifically the games played by the 11 year old twin grandsons. They play on a local travel team (which as I write feels like an oxymoron, but it’s accurate. The team is local and they play travel ball). Moving right along. For the most part the games are within a 90 minute drive and usually within 45 so it’s not too demanding on us, no overnights, etc. They’re both good ballplayers and they really enjoy the game. That enthusiasm makes it so much easier to invest our time in their efforts. Geez that sounds harsh. We love the boys and we love baseball, how’s that? It’s a great way to spend time each week. All that to say I noticed something at the games this past weekend that got me thinking. If you’ve spent any amount of time here, or if you know me IRL, you probably just shuddered. It’s ok, you should be used to that by now.
Due to idk what, somebody on the team had to miss the weekend. Maybe it was an illness, maybe a prior family commitment, maybe the soon-to-be-mentioned kid happened to be available. All I know is the boys’ team had a “guest” player last weekend. If you’re unfamiliar with travel baseball, this is apparently kinda common, down here at least. Their team has had guest players before and I know of at least one occasion when the boys both guested on another team. At any rate, the guest player’s name was Ty. Nothing unusual about that, right? Many of you may know a Ty. Some of you may even be a Ty. It’s, well, I wouldn’t call it ubiquitous, but yeah, it’s a common name nowadays.
But this was what caught my ear and sent me spiraling down a bit of a rabbit hole. The name Ty, in the southern dialect, is pronounced Tah. Which, by logical conclusion leads me to believe that tie dye is, of course, pronounced TAH DAH (all caps to encourage your brain to read that with the appropriate sound of fanfare). Now, to be faaiir, I haven’t tested this hypothesis with my local (very local) native southern speaker, but I’m pretty confident I’m right on the money here.
Ok, here’s a brief editorial comment. Apparently I need to apologize for at least one and possibly two things here… A quick look at the top of this gem will show I chose Episode 3 for part of the title. I did that because in thinking I had written about Southernisms before I wanted to check back to confirm my thoughts. I quickly found a post titled Southernisms – The Sequel from a few years ago. Now, if you’re like me, seeing the word “sequel” in that title would lead you to assume that a prior edition of Southernisms existed. You, like me, would be wrong. Because I just spent 20 minutes looking for the original Southernisms post without success. So I’m sorry I don’t know how to count and you’re welcome for not having to fight the urge to look up the nonexistent original. Also I’ve already forgotten the other thing I may have wanted to apologize for, which leads me to my next entry on the topic of Southernisms. After all this confusion I’mma throw a duck fit.
Yes, you read that right. Duck fit. It’s a polite way to say lose your shit. Don’t bother asking, Idk the origin. It occurs to me I should really have B2 here next to me when I write about things like this, so I’ve got a quick reference handy. Although I’m not sure she knows the origin either. If I find out before I hit “Publish” I’ll let you know. Don’t hold your breath.
Lastly, at least until I compile some more (which will also probably be mis-titled)(just sayin) distinctly southern expressions, I’ll drop this one on you. What do you call the headwear, typically worn in the winter? You know the one; knit, usually snug fitting, possibly with a fluffy ball on top. Canadians call it a toque, but I’ve known it as a stocking cap, or a beanie. Here in this part of the country they are known as toboggans. I know, I know. I asked the same thing. They call them sleds. Even when they’re toboggans. Not the hat the sled. I hope you followed that one, I think lost myself. In summary- if you wear it on your head it’s a toboggan. If your butt sits on it as you slide down a snow covered slope, it’s a sled.
Lastly Lastly as I hammered away at this one I listened to some early Bob Dylan. I read a long form article on Dylan’s early days this morning on Mojo. I have to admit although I knew a lot of his early (ie early 60’s) work, I didn’t know a lot more of it. B2 and I went and saw A Complete Unknown in the theater last winter, shortly after it came out. I couldn’t tell you the last movie I saw in the theater, it had been quite some time prior to that. But we were both blown away by the film. It’s available now on Hulu if that’s an option for you. I highly recommend the movie. Unless you’re trying to write something at least theoretically humorous. If you don’t know Dylan’s songs from that era they were mostly either political or dark and sometimes both. Maybe I should go back to just listening to instrumentals while writing.
Peace
PS- because, well, you know… B2 wasn’t sure of the origin of “duck fit” she thought it might be a family thing. So of course I had to fire up the Google Machine because my curiosity got the best of me. And because I care about your education dear reader, here is the definition/origin of duck fit according to Wiktionary, which I’m sure is a highly reputable resource and clearly highly citable. You’re welcome.
Again,
Peace