Sunday, December 13, 2009

When Hopportunity Knocks

I watched "Confessions of a Shopaholic" this morning and learned a new word, which I love doing, learning new words, that is, not watching romantic comedies without Hugh Grant in them. The word was "hopportunity." Without so much as going to Urban Dictionary, I was able to surmise its meaning: the opportunity to have something you had hoped for. Or, for you grammarians, the opportunity to have something for which you had hoped. Or, for you urban hipsters, hope+opportunity. For you recent college graduates, (see nopportunity.)

I was recently asked by a columnist I admire tremendously to submit three as-if, trial, auditionary columns to her editor who is on the hunt for what you might call "new talent" if you could do so without hurling.

I had always kind of hoped for my own column, and now that hopportunity has presented itself, the wave of nausea accompanying it has brought up a new word, yeep. As much as I might have wanted to say "yes" I have found myself terrified, paralyzed, and able only to gasp for air. With the remnants of a vestigial 'yes' on my lips only one sound is able to emerge, the humble yeep. Picture it as a yes with a barf back.

While considering my choices--submit three columns, or Q-tip the baseboards--I administer my morning ritual. Not stretches, and yoga and sit ups. Oh my. No, I employ the long held tradition of many a writer, the brain-bath. I and my fellow wordisans (word+artisan) use coffee for this. There's something about coffee that transports me from a useless life form (a reality show star) to an alive and awake person (the star of The Lori Show, starring Lori!).

This "awakening" we'll call it, prepares me for the day's demanding duties. Standing. Walking. Sitting. Flushing. Pouring more coffee, and of course, the ritual morning toast, "To toast! May it hold the butter of the udder like no ot'er."

Back in the sack, I begin my mediatation. No need to adjust your dial, you read it right. The word is mediatation: the deep transformative state you reach when you gaze motionless at the television, not even turning your head when the ShamWow commercial comes on, not averting your eyes when the camera takes you through the magic of television under the human toenail, where you are introduced to the dancing fungus elves who dwell there. You, in your open-minded, suggestible state, offer nary a grimace aside from an almost imperceptible raised eyebrow when you consider if this toe elf would make a good match for the Mucinex snot demon.

As your mediatation deepens, you are able to ponder the greater mysteries of life. If I make the fifteen minute call can I save 15% or more on my car insurance? Must I be an actual diabetic to have diabetic supplies delivered free to my home? And, other than their propensity for performing certain bodily functions in the woods, why choose bears to sell toilet paper?

Oh, good, "Gilmore girls" is back on. I must have blacked out for a second. Wow, those commercials are almost hypnotic. Thank goodness the shows aren't trying to sell you something.

(Lori singing along) ~If you're out on the road, feelin' lonely and so cold, all you have to do is call my name and I'll be there...on the next train. Where you lead. I will follow. Anywhere that you tell me to. If you need, if you need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead I will follow, any anywhere that you tell me to, if you need, need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead.~


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