from the Archive.
Wednesday, September 04, 2002
I was in a writing course once and the instructor asked people for their favorite word. Felt like a freak once the others opened their mouths, but that’s okay, because everybody there, from the buzzcut lesbian to the grannies with their eyeglasses on decorator chains claimed that their favorite words were “love” “hope” “peace” etcetera. Ad nauseum. Mine was “wallapalooza” which is as far as I’m concerned as fine a word as you will find anywhere, although nauseum gives it a run for its money. I got it from Oprah, which is indeed a fine lineage for a word.
To his credit, the instructor’s face fell. Oh dear, you could see him think, one of THOSE groups. The cat ladies. He immediately dropped his usual references to Greek tragedy and substituted what he could remember of Agatha Christie, James Herriot, and, stretching a bit intellectually, Jane Austen. This was before Chick Lit, you understand.
I still like WALLAPALOOZA better than “hope!”