1.) Awkward: adj.: Lacking dexterity or skill; lacking ease or grace
The National Spelling Bee concluded the other day. The dirty little secret of the typical English major is that none of us really know how to spell. (See: Spell-check Gone Rogue.) Sure, we read a lot, but none of us can spell a lick. If the word is polysyllabic, there's 75% chance any English major will throw a misbegotten vowel in there just to jazz up the word a little.
That's why English majors often look dumbfounded at the National Spelling Bee kids. All of these kid contestants say they want to become doctors, scientists, physicists--any profession that requires a complete lack of imagination along with a six figure income. Despite their mastery of spelling, none say, "Gee, Bob, I want to be a writer some day!"
Each kid always seems a little socially awkward up there as well. No matter how hot and bothered I might have gotten over some Sir Gawain and the Green Knight action, I can happily report that neither I, nor any other English major, has passed out from the moment like this kid.
Look at this kid go down! Joe Frazier hit the mat with more grace after Muhammad Ali cocked him. Down goes Fraz--AH! Down goes Fraz--AH!! And no fellow spelling bee friend even moves from their seat to help him. Those kids are cutthroat. They'd cut you in a dark alley for your lunch money with that kind of mindset. (I'll give the kid credit. He spells the word after getting back up. Apparently his fall jarred the letters loose in his head.)
I'm also happy to report that if any English major started sucking wind like this kid, one of our fellow chums would have come over and lend a hand after we took a dive.
2.) Mustache: noun: The hair growing on the human upper lip, especially when cultivated and groomed.
Another great mystery with the spelling bee is the sheer number of 12 and 13 year old boys sporting mustaches. I wasn't sporting that much facial hair at 21. Yet these kids look like they're just a few years away from doing a Just For Men commercial. I couldn't have even tried to grow a mustache at 13. The sparse hairs on my face that remotely qualified as peach fuzz needed seven coats of shoe polish to thicken and darken them to make out a shadow of facial hair.
I'm not suggesting there should be drug-testing in the spelling bee. I'm just saying some of them are juicing, and I don't mean a V-8. 'Roids, my friends. I'm saying the kids are on mental 'roids.
3.) Militant: adj.: Very active or aggressive in support of a cause.
These spelling geniuses also have another thing going for them that many English majors do not: militant families. English majors by and large come from much more independent minded families. We're the hippies of education. We revel in the free love of books and writing. The libraries are our communes. College is our Woodstock. Whether or not we choose to dabble in tie-dyed shirts is another matter, but we English majors rarely frown on it.
But these spelling bee kids come from the Fascism school of thought. Forget Mussolini making the trains run on time, these families demand perfect memorization of giant 10,000 page dictionaries. Your friends want to play with you? Stop your foolishness! These families demand the child memorize the binary etymological route of words in the cold encasement of the family office, far from sunlight or human interaction.
The only emotion many of these kids come across is when they see the word "love" in the dictionary. And even then it's a foreign premise to them.
4.) Defeated: noun: A bringing to naught, frustration.
The moment of truth for 99% of the contestants is when they finally spell a word wrong. It's a quick walk backstage to their parents, who are not waiting with open arms half the time. You usually only see this kind of cold rejection by family on an episode of Montel Williams.
Here, again, is where English majors differ. If you write a crappy essay or story or poem (or blog post!) as an English major, someone will tell you they like it and love you. There's always someone--anyone--to tell you you're special. English majors only learn this type of defeat and rejection when publishers and editors rip your latest manuscript apart. But until then? You're always loved.
And it's not just a word you see in a dictionary.
The National Spelling Bee concluded the other day. The dirty little secret of the typical English major is that none of us really know how to spell. (See: Spell-check Gone Rogue.) Sure, we read a lot, but none of us can spell a lick. If the word is polysyllabic, there's 75% chance any English major will throw a misbegotten vowel in there just to jazz up the word a little.
That's why English majors often look dumbfounded at the National Spelling Bee kids. All of these kid contestants say they want to become doctors, scientists, physicists--any profession that requires a complete lack of imagination along with a six figure income. Despite their mastery of spelling, none say, "Gee, Bob, I want to be a writer some day!"
Each kid always seems a little socially awkward up there as well. No matter how hot and bothered I might have gotten over some Sir Gawain and the Green Knight action, I can happily report that neither I, nor any other English major, has passed out from the moment like this kid.
Look at this kid go down! Joe Frazier hit the mat with more grace after Muhammad Ali cocked him. Down goes Fraz--AH! Down goes Fraz--AH!! And no fellow spelling bee friend even moves from their seat to help him. Those kids are cutthroat. They'd cut you in a dark alley for your lunch money with that kind of mindset. (I'll give the kid credit. He spells the word after getting back up. Apparently his fall jarred the letters loose in his head.)
I'm also happy to report that if any English major started sucking wind like this kid, one of our fellow chums would have come over and lend a hand after we took a dive.
2.) Mustache: noun: The hair growing on the human upper lip, especially when cultivated and groomed.
Another great mystery with the spelling bee is the sheer number of 12 and 13 year old boys sporting mustaches. I wasn't sporting that much facial hair at 21. Yet these kids look like they're just a few years away from doing a Just For Men commercial. I couldn't have even tried to grow a mustache at 13. The sparse hairs on my face that remotely qualified as peach fuzz needed seven coats of shoe polish to thicken and darken them to make out a shadow of facial hair.
I'm not suggesting there should be drug-testing in the spelling bee. I'm just saying some of them are juicing, and I don't mean a V-8. 'Roids, my friends. I'm saying the kids are on mental 'roids.
3.) Militant: adj.: Very active or aggressive in support of a cause.
These spelling geniuses also have another thing going for them that many English majors do not: militant families. English majors by and large come from much more independent minded families. We're the hippies of education. We revel in the free love of books and writing. The libraries are our communes. College is our Woodstock. Whether or not we choose to dabble in tie-dyed shirts is another matter, but we English majors rarely frown on it.
But these spelling bee kids come from the Fascism school of thought. Forget Mussolini making the trains run on time, these families demand perfect memorization of giant 10,000 page dictionaries. Your friends want to play with you? Stop your foolishness! These families demand the child memorize the binary etymological route of words in the cold encasement of the family office, far from sunlight or human interaction.
The only emotion many of these kids come across is when they see the word "love" in the dictionary. And even then it's a foreign premise to them.
4.) Defeated: noun: A bringing to naught, frustration.
The moment of truth for 99% of the contestants is when they finally spell a word wrong. It's a quick walk backstage to their parents, who are not waiting with open arms half the time. You usually only see this kind of cold rejection by family on an episode of Montel Williams.
Here, again, is where English majors differ. If you write a crappy essay or story or poem (or blog post!) as an English major, someone will tell you they like it and love you. There's always someone--anyone--to tell you you're special. English majors only learn this type of defeat and rejection when publishers and editors rip your latest manuscript apart. But until then? You're always loved.
And it's not just a word you see in a dictionary.
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