TEMPUS FUGIT

by Steven Steinbock

Your mirthful missivist is feeling languid after a long, busy week. Tempus tends to fugare, as the face of my clock reminds me. And it’s already time for further adventures in word play.

Are there any words that you never seem to remember? The kinds of words that you feel are moderately common, highly useful, but when you need them they flutter away just like time. The harder you try to remember them, the farther away they go. And it’s doubly frustrating because when you want that evasive word, no other synonym is capable of doing the job quite so well.

Exploit is one of those words for me. It’s the verb I’m referring to, and not the adventurous noun. When you want to describe the act of selfishly using someone or something for nefarious gain, no other verb quite does the trick. I can’t explain why I always forget this word. It may be that on some level I realize that the word itself was never intended to carry such a negative meaning. Exploit and it’s offspring, exploitation have gotten weighted down with negative value to the point that their actual (i.e. original) meanings are lost. To exploit is to use, as one would use a toothbrush. But if I said I wanted to exploit a toothbrush, you would probably look at me funny.

I never have trouble remembering manipulation, which has suffered the same negative valuing. Like exploitation, it once had neutral meaning, in this case, the act of handling something, or modifying something by hand. In the world of prestidigitation (sleight-of-hand) manipulation is a very positive word. But everywhere else it seems to have been twisted (even manipulated) into the legal meaning of “to change by artful or unfair means” or “to affect artificially in order to deceive or mislead.”

Flank is another of those words that tends to fly from my consciousness whenever I need it. A few weeks back I was trying to write a caption for a photo in which I was standing with William Link on my right, and Mary Higgins Clark on my left. What did I want to say? That I was bracketed by William Link and Mary Higgins Clark? No, that wasn’t right. That I was bookended by them? Urgh. That they had me surrounded? Way too strong. Flanked is the right word for the job, but I couldn’t remember it then, and I often forget it when I need it most. I think this may be because I think of the word flank, first and foremost, in its anatomical and culinary usage. A flank is a cut of meat. Just as a shank is a lamb’s leg, a flank is a loin of beef. (It’s funny that one never finds lamb flank or beef shank on a menu). If I’d had a better education in military history, I might have an easier time remembering flank.

As it is, I now have flank and shank jumbled in my mind, and can’t rid myself of the image from “Blade Runner” of Daryl Hannah with her thighs wrapped around M. Emmet Walsh’s neck. The poor guy was flanked by her shanks. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad way to go.

BLOODY WORDS

Next week I’ll be traveling to Toronto for the aptly named Bloody Words Convention where I’ll be moderating a panel on the short story (“Short & Sweet, Fast & Deadly”) and will be handing out the Dashiell Hammett Prize.

Time isn’t the only thing flying these days.