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My books can be purchased as e-books for only $1.99. If interested, just click here: Books.
Match Play is a golf/suspense novel. Dust of Autumn is a bloody one set in upstate New York. Prairie View is set in South Dakota, with a final scene atop Rattlesnake Butte. Life is the Arbor is a children's book about Rollie Rabbit and his friends (on about a fourth grade level). The Black Widow involves an elaborate extortion scheme. Doggy-Dog World is my memoir. And ES3 is a description of my method for examining English sentence structure.
In case anyone is interested in any of my past posts, you can find an archive list at the bottom of this page.

Monday, April 29

Eether or Eyether and Hair

The Gershwins, in their “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off,” brought up the old pronunciation debate—potayto or potahto, tomayto or tomahto, eether or eyether, neether or neyether. It must be my Midwestern upbringing, but whenever I hear an actor coming out with “eyether,” I consider “eether” the actor or the director to be too stupid to realize how phony it sounds. I don’t know anyone from anywhere in this country who would normally say eyether, neyether, potahto, or tomahto. The English may do so, but any American who does so is simply affecting an English accent or trying to sound sophisticated. The other night on one of the many crime shows we watch, one scuzbag says to another, “I don’t do heroin,” and the other responds, “Neyether do I.” Oh, come on, guys, get real.
Throughout most of my later adult life (like since I was 40), I’ve fought a running battle with body hair. Not necessarily the hair on my arms, legs, chest, and back, although that too has been conducting skirmishes on me when I’m not looking. I’m talking about nostril hair, ear hair, and eyebrows. Way back when I was in Korea, one of my army buddies had hair growing so far out of his nostrils he might have considered braiding it. Disgusting image, isn’t it? Wouldn’t he notice how long they were? Wouldn’t they tickle? I don’t know. But I know he never did a thing about it. And I’ve seen old men here in Sun City West with dark hair growing out of their ears in such abundance I would think it would affect their hearing. They must even ask their barbers not to trim it. Why? In New York when I was there as a youngster just out of the army, I worked with a man in the Bulova Watch Company who had a hair growing out of the top of his nose that must have been at least as inch long. Wouldn’t he have noticed it whenever he looked in a mirror? Did he think it was too attractive to pull? I don’t know. And recently, in the Jackie Robinson movie 42, Harrison Ford in his role as Branch Ricky had luxuriant eyebrows, sort of like the ones John L. Lewis sported, brows like two wooly bears arranged above each eye, or Larry Hagman throughout his late career. Jeannie should have told him to trim them or made them magically disappear. His mother, Mary Martin, should have told him to trim them. But he never did. Did he think these hair bushes above his eyes were manly things to have? He always looked so proud of them whenever he glowered at anyone in Dallas. Maybe I should just throw in the towel and let the damned hair sprout wherever it wants. Maybe I’d have to beat off all the women who think such hair is manly. Or not.

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