Originally Published in The Stranger October 12, 1992
DISTINCTLY, SPARKLINGLY, CRYSTALLY clear; I recall how pleased I was when I wrote the last word article, because I didn’t quibble in the least about selecting a term to expound upon. I picked mama and mama picked me and we rolled ‘cross the page quite happily.
But now it’s kinda like, remember how you had to do a book report about Louisiana in the fifth grade, so you thought and thought about Louisiana, until one day you woke up and the rumpled blankets on your bed were shaped just like Louisiana, and so was the pool of milk in your cereal bowl, and when your family said “Good morning” it sounded just like “New Orleans?” You know how things seem to happen like that? Well, I’ve been noticing the hell out of words. It is really starting to appear to me that for the same reasons I have deep reverence for words, Big Daddies who own Big Chunks of America see the power of words with the interesting and paradoxical aplomb, recklessness and disrespect that they regard everything else magical.
And so.