Tag Archives: Writers

Counting Down to Our Burns Night Supper, Part Two: The Toast

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A great advantage of throwing an annual themed party is that you have the opportunity to tweak some of the components, adjusting for both so-so elements and after-the-fact brilliant ideas. Knowing that you have a do-over approximately 365 days in the future eliminates any post-party regret. Probably the biggest addition to our 2013 Burns Night Supper is the Toasting Contest. The Chef came up with the idea; he’s a smarty, that one.

All toasts must be original compositions. A bottle of Scotch goes to the winner. Am I puckish in hoping for a bunch of tipsy, off-the-cuff entries? Alcohol often breeds strange, unexpected eloquence in tongue-tied speakers, so it is a possibility. That’s entertainment, folks! Does it sound like I plan on plying my guests with drinks in order to promote a more interesting Toasting Contest? That is not my intention. No, not at all. Nothing to see here.

The Chef has prepared a back-up toast, in case no one else enters the contest. That would be awful, and would mortally wound our sensitive feelings. At least we’ll have a bottle of Scotch in which to drown our sorrows. We hope that this newest delight pleases our guests. If not, there’s always next year.

The Chef's Toast-in-Progress

The Chef’s Toast-in-Progress. Instagram.

 

A Year in Books/Day 227: Swearing

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  • Title: Swearing A Social History of Foul Language, Oaths and Profanity in English
  • Author: Geoffrey Hughes
  • Year Published: 1991/This Edition: 1998 (Penguin Books)
  • Year Purchased: 2003/2004
  • Source: A bookstore in Buffalo
  • About: A book about swearing sounds titillating, eh? Actually, the word titillating sounds titillating, but that’s another train of thought. If you think that this book is just an excuse by the author to use words like piss and fuck with impunity, like some naughty school-boy, you’re wrong. (You didn’t really think that, did you?) Swearing by Geoffrey Hughes is one of the many books that make up a larger-than-you’d-expect canon on the subject of the history of impolite language. This late 20th century work is one in a long line of books that date back hundreds of years. It’s a fairly sedate entry, but it offers a fascinatingly detailed history of the origins and subsequent variations of bad words in English. You don’t have to be word mad to be entertained by the fluid nature of profanity. It makes for seriously fun reading, even if the scholarly tone isn’t your normal cup of tea. The best part of the book revolves around religious oaths and how they have become bastardized (ahem) and watered down over the centuries. If you come across this book, it’s worth taking a gamble on; the worst thing that can happen is that you will have a more measured understanding of the words and phrases you use, and a richer vocabulary to inflict on the people around you.
  • Motivation: Words. I love them, in all of their magical, maddening, changing variety. I like to get to the bottom of why things are as they are, and discover, if at all possible, how or what they once were.
  • Times Read: 1
  • Random Excerpt/Page 22: “It might be useful to bring into play at this point two observations which raise swearing above the prosaic. G.K. Chesterton commented that ‘The one stream of poetry which is constantly flowing is slang.’ (From The Defendant 1901, cited in Partridge’s Slang (1960), p. 24). Louis MacNeice comes closer to our themes in his poem ‘Conversation’, 1929. ‘Ordinary men, ‘ he writes, ‘Put up a barrage of common sense to baulk Intimacy, but by mistake interpolate Swear-words like roses in their talk.'”
  • Happiness Scale: 9

Daily Diversion #84: Charming Gardeners

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I was sick for two weeks. After a couple of days of gingerly poking my head out of the gopher hole to check on the state of the real world (was it as I remembered, or had it been transformed into an alien other?), my best friend yanked me into the sunshine of this beautiful, sunshiny January day. We were, for a few glorious hours, carefree Ladies Who Lunch. And shop. And laugh. It was blissful. Here’s Nikki, looking lovely.

The drinks are not as large as they seem.

The drinks were not as large as they seem.

“Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”-Marcel Proust

Counting Down to Our Burns Night Supper, Part One: The Poetry

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A poetry-filled party might not sound like a lot of fun to some people, but it is the heart of any good Burns Night Supper. Without love for the famous Scottish poet, there would be no laughter and whisky-fueled merriment. It would be just another run-of-the-mill party with bland finger food and men in pants. Who wants that, when this lovely alternative is at hand? Any takers? Nah. That’s exactly what I thought. The Chef, in addition to being highly skilled at his craft, is a charming, idiosyncratic speaker. He can rock the shit out of any poet’s words, from Emily Dickinson to Allen Ginsberg. (Don’t even get me started on his ability to declaim Shakespearean monologues from memory.) In other words, even though I am a stage trained thespian and real-life professional writer, I leave the Burns Night performance-poetry up to him. If you’re wondering at this point exactly what my contribution to the evening is, other than being stunning eye candy, I won’t blame you. The Chef, he cooks. He recites poetry. What, then, does Maedez do? For starters, I help select the Robbie Burns passages that will be incorporated into the festivities. If you’re keeping score, that’s one check on my side of the ledger. Continue reading →

Pleasures Are Like Poppies Spread*: Counting Down to Our Burns Night Supper

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This year, Burns Day/Night falls on a Friday. Every 25th January, The Chef and I host a big, crazy, slightly debauched, energetic, delicious Burns Supper. We live to entertain but are often impeded by our schedules, so when we throw down we do it in a big way. This event is the star of our calendar, and friends old and new come from near and far to enjoy the night with us. Who doesn’t enjoy a literary-themed shindig, one bursting with amazing food, Scotch, poetry, a toasting contest, music, laughter, conversation, spiffy ladies, and gents in kilts?

Since this party is book-related, I thought I would share with you some of the preparations that go into celebrating one of my favourite nights of the year, as well as the result. Does that sound like fun, or a great bore? I’m doing it either way, so I hope you will take a chance and join me on this raucous ride!

* “But pleasures are like poppies spread,/You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;/Or like the snow falls in the river,/A moment white-then melts forever;”-Robert Burns, Tam o’ Shanter

The man who inspires one helluva celebration.

The man who inspires one helluva celebration.