The Life and Times of a Logophile

englishsnow:

{ old books ♥  }

 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

(via bookporn)

vintagebreeze:


Happy Easter!

vintagebreeze:

Happy Easter!

(via corilicious)

carlosofthecosmos:

carlosofthecosmos:

unimpressed2chainz:

samuel l. jackson is so adorable on twitter look at these old ppl selfies 

I can’t fucking breathe holy moly

I wanna take all my selfies like the one on the right. I wanna channel this energy all the time

(via corilicious)

Stamp out that cliché – How clichés and jargon can ruin your writing

amandaonwriting:

Today we’re going to start the weekly blog with a philately lesson. In traditional stamp making, a cliché was an individual unit consisting of the design of a single stamp, combined with others to make up a printing plate. Clichés as we have come to know them are the kiss of death for good writing.

Jargon, another word with French origin, derives from a phrase meaning the chattering of birds. Meaningless jargon is another cause of death for your writing. It is the kind of stuff politicians use or what we see in brochures.

We fall into these two hollow literary traps for three reasons.

1. Lack of passion or laziness. If we don’t feel connected to our writing or we’re in a hurry to meet a publishing deadline, we tend to go for the first phrase that pops into our head.
So we say: I envied Ilse. She lived in a luxurious penthouse in Hyde Park. Instead of: Ilse’s white tiles blinded me, as did her taste in fake Picassos and flokati rugs.

2. No first-hand knowledge. Sometimes when we don’t understand our material – either because we have no intimate knowledge of it or we have not researched it deeply enough – we stay with safe and acceptable description.
So we say: The average temperature in subtropical Phalaborwa is 35 degrees Celsius as the incoming troops were told in their orientation brochure. Instead of: Don’t expect shade in hell. That’s what the sersant was screaming at them. Benjamin was just a troepie – he didn’t know if he was going to throw up or pass out.

3. Caution or timidity. When we don’t wish to upset a group of people – sometimes known as polite society – or are too scared to be bold and fearless, we use innocuous and politically correct language that says nothing.
So we say: Deborah did not care for her son’s lifestyle, but made allowances for it as best she could. She was worried about the December holidays. Instead of: Deb’s son was buying his’n’his Chihuahuas with someone called Kyle. This was going to crap all over her Christmas seating plan.

When we use jargon or clichés, we create fuzziness around the image or emotion we’re trying to get across. Be as specific as you can be and authentic as you can be. Every word must have your blood in it – anger, irony, admiration, etc. Don’t make it look like everyone else’s.

by Anthony Ehlers for Writers Write

redvelvetcakeofseduction:

muchadoaboutmusicals:

The Original Broadway Cast of Disney’s The Lion King


Mufasa :: Sarabi :: Young Nala and Simba :: Simba :: Nala:: Rafiki :: Pumba and Timon :: Zazu :: Scar :: The Hyenas (Ed, Shenzi, and Banzai)

This was one of the most amazingly costumed Broadway shows I’ve ever seen.

(via foreverasongbird)

ϟ The Magic Begins Challenge: A Scene You Really Wanted To Be In The Movies, But Wasn’t

Have a biscuit, Potter.

(via foreverasongbird)

(Source: jess-miller, via k8elynn)

thefox-andthehound:

A heartfelt goodbye to Mickey Rooney, the voice of Tod, who passed away today at the age of 93. His talent will be missed on and off the screen.


HE DID SO MUCH MORE THAN THE VOICE OF TOD… Bye bye Mick

thefox-andthehound:

A heartfelt goodbye to Mickey Rooney, the voice of Tod, who passed away today at the age of 93. His talent will be missed on and off the screen.

HE DID SO MUCH MORE THAN THE VOICE OF TOD… Bye bye Mick

(Source: disneybroughtmehope, via foreverasongbird)

insertunnecessarygeekiness:

yesterday no one was answering a question correctly in class and my teacher became so incredibly depressed at our lack of potential that he just

image

right out the window

(via kili-ofthelineofdurin)

(Source: tortallmagic, via emaleeee)

Did you know

that since I went to college I have discovered my blog heading is indeed incorrect?

Logophile is not a word. The correct word is “philologist,” which unfortunately also happens to be an occupation.

I don’t want anyone to get confused. I am not

  1. One who studies literary texts and written records, establishes their authenticity and their original form, and determines their meaning.
  2. One who studies (especially in older use) linguistics, especially historical and comparative linguistics.

However, philology can also be defined as:

  1. The love and learning of literature.

I do that.

Alas, I will stick with the word I coined in 10th grade, so as not to confuse anyone.

That’s all she wrote or will ever write on the subject.

So, I’ve always prided myself on not having enemies or frenemies or what have you, right? I mean, there were a couple times where relationships cooled, but it wasn’t battlefield material. 

I have a lot of feelings just chilling. They’re all floatin’ around inside my torso, occasionally bumping into the walls or an organ. And that is when I have the urge to express them. 

BUT I CAN’T because I’m not a text-fighting, subtweeting, drama queen. Gotta keep up the image: calm, cool, and collected. Pretty sure my boss follows me on twitter. 

You can’t have your boss see your tweet fight with your (best friend?) over the appropriateness of yoga pants.

And on THAT note: is this when it becomes acceptable to elect a frenemy? Is it when one of your best friends (who you admittedly haven’t talked to very much since you broke up with your boyfriend of 3 years) SUBTWEETS you about YOGA PANTS?! 

Oh the humanity! Oh the infantility! 

Furthermore, who chooses who gets to be happy, but doesn’t make sacrifices to be so? 

Who decides which sacrifices are appropriate for whom?

Who decides who gets forgiven for making said sacrifice and who doesn’t? Who decides who even NEEDS forgiveness? (This is where my mother would say Jesus).

In all honesty, I totes bigotes own up to the fact that in seeking my own happiness, I diminished someone else’s. However, in my defense, I don’t think that it was my fault that this person’s happiness depended entirely on me.

And when you pour your heart and soul into a….(well, we’ll say goldfish) and the goldfish is grateful, but doesn’t exactly reciprocate, you eventually exhaust the fish food supply. Am I right?

And what if you were also a goldfish and you were sharing this food supply? 

Perhaps you tried to tell your goldfish buddy what was going down. Perhaps you moved one bowl down the block once or twice to salvage what you had left of your food. Maybe you realized that the other fish really needed you and you came back with food in tow.

Food’s getting low, man.

I tried to explain to the goldfish that it was perfectly capable of obtaining its own sustance.

After all, it’s a pretty smart fish.

We all know how it ends. You get to the end of the line with the food business and something’s gotta change.

Unfortunately, in my case, everything had to change. 

I guess if everything had ended at this point, I might not be dealing with all this frenemy business. 

Because I did a no-no. 

I went and got another goldfish. 

A really nice goldfish (with his own food flakes and everything).

I wish I had figured out a way to do things by the book. Was there one? I don’t know anymore. I still would have wanted to end up in the same place. Does it matter how I got there?

I live about 15 miles away from most of my friends (who all live within 1-5 miles away from each other). I’ve kinda been in my own little corner since this went down. I thought everything was chill. I guess it was naive of me to think that. 

I’m scrunching up my nose in confusion even at this moment. Like…what?

People are mad? At me? 

People I’m happy to see aren’t happy to see me?

It’s so sick that I just kinda dove back into the bowl heart-first like “friendship is beautiful and camaraderie is my lifeblood and I love you guys!” 

"And you love me, right? Right? ……right?" 

I would like to say something that’s been j-chillen in my torso much longer than the rest of the previously mentioned feelings.

I care. 

Like, for real.

Anytime it looked like I didn’t, I did

Anytime I looked like a stone-cold bitch, I felt like warmed up, runny pudding. And not any of the yummy flavors, either! I was like…tapioca. Everywhere. I was pudding so runny that I got loose all over the floor and I sunk down into cracks. No matter how hard you try, you ain’t gonna get that pudding back in the bowl.

But, you can use it for something else. Maybe to moisten a cake. 

Anytime anyone wanted to make me jealous or angry or disappointed or sad or cry IT WORKED. I CRIED. I WANTED TO BE THERE WITH ALL OF YOU. 

ARE YOU HAPPY? You wanted to make me all red-faced and puffy and snotty and rock-bottomy? Congrats. 

Sorry. I’m a victim of nothing.

None of us deserves anything. I don’t deserve apologies, nor does anyone else. I don’t deserve repaired relationships with all of my aquatic acquaintances.

I will say, however, that my heart hurts sometimes when I think about certain pals of mine. I miss my pals.

I love friendship. I’ve been in love with it since I was in 9th grade. I love how it motivates people.

I feel like a desert, yet it’s always raining. What a paradox, man.

 

I miss my fellas.