Welcome to the website woven for wordaholics, logolepts, and verbivores. Carnivores eat meat; herbivores eat plants and vegetables; verbivores devour words. If you are heels over head (as well as head over heels) in love with words, tarry here a while to graze or, perhaps, feast on the English language. Ours is the only language in which you drive in a parkway and park in a driveway and your nose can run and your feet can smell.

humor

 

Thanksgiving is a delicious time of year to nibble on a spicy, meaty, juicy honey of a topic that I know you’ll savor and relish. I’m not talking about small potatoes here; I’m talking about food for thought and the whole enchilada.

Feast your eyes on the veritable banquet of mushrooming food expressions that grace the table of our English language and season our tongue. As we chew the fat about the food-filled phrases that are packed like sardines and sandwiched into our everyday conversations, I’ll sweeten the pot with some tidbits of food for thought guaranteed to whet your appetite.

I know what’s eating you. I’ve heard through the grapevine that you don’t give a fig about me because you think I’m nutty as a fruitcake; that you’re fed up with me for biting off more than I can chew; that you want me to drop this subject like a hot potato because I’m a spoiled-rotten weenie; and that you’re giving me the raspberry for asking you to swallow a cheesy, corny, mushy, saccharine, seedy, soupy, sugarcoated, syrupy topic that just isn’t your cup of tea.

Okay, so you’re beet red with anger that I’m feeding you a bunch of baloney, garbage and tripe; that I’m making you ruminate on a potboiler that’s no more than a tempest in a teapot; that I’ve upset your apple cart by rehashing an old chestnut that’s just pie in the sky and won’t amount to a hill of beans; that you want to chew me out for putting words in your mouth; and that you’re boiling and simmering because you think I’m an out-to-lunch bad apple who’s out to egg you on.

But nuts to all that. That’s the way the cookie crumbles. Eat your heart out and stop crying in your beer. I’m going to stop mincing words, start cooking with gas, take my idea off the back burner and bring home the bacon without hamming it up. No matter how you slice it, this fruitful, tasteful topic is the icing on the cake and the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Rather than crying over spilt milk and leaping out of the frying pan into the fire, I’m going to put all my eggs in one basket, take potluck, and spill the beans. I’m cool as a cucumber and confident that this crackerjack, peachy-keen feast that I’ve cooked up will have you eating out of my hand.

I don’t wish to become embroiled in a rhubarb, but your beefing and stewing sound like sour grapes from a tough nut to crack — kind of like the pot calling the kettle black. But if you’ve digested the spoon-fed culinary metaphors from this meat-and-potatoes disquisition, the rest will be gravy, duck soup, a piece of cake, and easy as pie — just like taking candy from a baby.

Hot dog! I hope you’re happy that this souped-up topic is a plum, not a lemon, the berries, not the pits. For all the tea in China, this cream of the crop of palate-pleasing food figures is bound to sell like hotcakes. I’m no glutton for punishment, but if I’m wrong, I’ll eat crow and humble pie.

I’ve lived beyond my salad days to a ripe old age, but I’m also a smart cookie who’s feeling my oats and who’s full of beans. I may be wrinkled as a prune, but I’m a salt-of-the-earth good egg who takes the cake, knows his onions, makes life a bowl of cherries and is the apple of your eye and the toast of the town.

So in a nutshell, it all boils down to the fact that every day, especially on Thanksgiving, we say a mouthful and eat our words.

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If you wish to find elegantly turned and learned allusiions, go to the sports pages. This past Sunday, veteran sports columnist Nick Canepa included two sporty references in his popular feature:

  • “The first baseball player to steal a sign was Noah, tipped fastball weather was on its way.” Nick is alluding to the biblical story of Noah and the flood.
  • “Something wicked that way went. Something good can come back this way.” Here Nick is echoing the three witches in William Shakespeare’s Macbeth chanting, “By the pricking of my thumbs,/ Something wicked this way comes.” The columnist is hoping that the Chargers’ shameful bolting from San Diego will be repaired by a return.