a real egg's play

 A real egg's play






     Greg and I both absorbed much of our father's slang learned from the American experience during the depression. Unfortunately, many of these euphemisms and local lingo have died out with the old maestros.  Yet, we loved them and put them to good use in our trip through the LA landscape. It may have been time in the U.S. Army or my father's long stretches on the streets of New York  City but the linguistic turns were delightful for us, even if we had no idea where they came from. We have already discussed humpton as a swiss army knife of language but I am reminded of a subset that was all about being dismissive without being rude. John and Ben were certainly accomplished men who lived in the real world but when another guy was a square or a wimp they used the word "egg." This may go back to vaudeville with the term "a good egg" or "bad egg" that described a person you were fond of or a person whose reputation was dubious. In the case of our Dad's usage,  the term transmogrified into just a plain "egg" that was not good or bad but just clueless, lame, uncomplicated, or a rube. The term expanded to describe anybody whose opinions were simple-minded. "What an egg?" "Some egg," "this guy is a real egg." They also would describe a foolish decision as "an egg's play." We youngsters took the egg and rolled it a bit. When we bought a carton of eggs when we were on our own the carboard container said "Farmer's Gems." Therefore if a guy we knew was really a dumb ass or awkwardly bent we referred to him as "a real farmer's gem." Being an "egg" was a bad thing to be called but a true egg would never even realize he was being demeaned because he was "an egg." This term is in the tradition of a few other words whose etymology was never explained. Anything that was cheap or lame or unwanted would be described as "Tom" and the opposite of acceptable and wanted was "George." All part of the privilege of having smart men in our lives who may not have had PhD after their names but were no eggs.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Paul Knowlton's White Lotus

Image
 Paul Knowlton's White Lotus \      It is ironic that this post is titled something that means nothing to the protagonist. Paul, Zeke, "the Prince," "Senor Suerte" or the Snail (I never called him that.) My old pal just created a memorable vacation on the island of Oahu where the mean old world was a far off nightmare and the closest thing to stress was choosing which kind of massage you would request. Paul was the second friend in my life and we grew up about a block away from each other. We were Catholic boys and loved sports that created a bond lasting seventy years. This connection continued from grammar school to High School, to Community College to University. We were roomates from 1968 to 1972 and our families had a solid respect for one another. Paul grew up in a family of nine kids at a tract house in South Gate when the common man lived the American dream. Then again with 11 mouths to feed the American dream can only stretch so far. It is a cliche but ...
Read more

alright mother

Image
  alright mother- “You can find poetry in your everyday life, your memory, in what people say on the bus, in the news, or just what’s in your heart.” —Carol Ann Duffy  Greg was always delighted by a story told by his mother in law about a "sortie" dinner party attended by a Doctor "Putty" Putnam who had been forced to attend an opera by his wife. When asked by a clueless guest if he enjoyed the opera, his response was  "fuck you!" When I was visiting Bear Cove and sitting next to the matriarch Greg goaded her into telling the tale. But a rum n' coke had loosened "Minnie's" tongue and when she got to Putty's answer she blurted a rather hard FUCK YOU!  Roy, hearing his bride curse thusly said across the table "Alright mother!"
Read more

Athletic Club Flower shop

Image
  Athletic Club Flower shop      This phrase is actually the telephone greeting at Greg's uncle Johnny Tassano's flower shop at 808 W. 8th street near Flower street in downtown L.A. Greg loved the place and culled many a story and line from his experiences at a place he worked and visited fondly. Even when he wasn't employed he drove around with cousin Kent (Kevin Smith) and they had a ball observing the absurdities of modern living in the Southland. The phone was answered by different employees and each had a unique turn of "Athletic Club...flowershopppp" There was owner John Tassano, right-hand man Ronald P. Lord, "Speed," a delivery man, and Carmen who cut flowers and told odd anecdotes such as the origin of pizza. I believe Greg and Kevin could go on for weeks about the people they met on their deliveries as they set forth across the city of the angels to spread floral joy. This might include places to eat, fascinating neighborhoods, cemeteries, lone...
Read more