Somewhere out shopping this weekend, the expession “Jeezalou” struck.
I was probably looking at the price of something. Or maybe the sodium levels. You ever check out the sodium levels in processed foods? Some of them offer eighty percent of the recommended daily intake in one small serving. Jeezalou. Likewise some sugars levels. Holy Jeezalou.
Voices and personalities are stuck to the term. A previous boss and dear friend, Laura D, used it often. A co-worker, Paul, also used it. Both were from New Jersey, almost the same neighborhood. I wondered if it was a local thing.
I also wondered about its origins. Also, it’s correct spelling. After wondering these things, I know; I’ll do a search on the net.
Clever me, right? Sure.
Initial sources suggest it’s ‘loo’ and not ‘lou’. No sources told where it came from. Some people wonder if it’s Canadian, because they’ve heard Canadians use it. I do remember it being used on Canadian television shows, but also the show, Everybody Loves Raymond.
I speculate it’s related to people exclaiming, “Jesus.” That’s frowned upon for religious reasons in some places and times, so it was flavored to be non-religious by adding the ‘aloo’ part. Just speculation.
My wife agreed with that idea. She remembers using “I swear” and being chastised by religious relatives. She then switched to “I swain”, which also drew criticism.
Jeezaloo, those were gentler times, weren’t they?
The word is given
we gotta go
through that door
either quick or slow
We think we know what’s up
think we know it’s time
though we’ve been wrong before
we keep swallowing the same lines
so on we go, on our way
it’s the same game
by another name
Walking après writing yesterday, I was thinking of words and their meanings. Words’ meanings, especially when used in expressions, often lose their original meaning or intentions. Sometimes they’re literal for some while they’re meaningless to others.
“Thoughts and prayers” jumped into that category. Politicians are often saying, like a jerk reflex, “Our thoughts and prayers are with” some victims of murder or disaster. It seems like an expression they can use without thinking or doing anything else. Meanwhile, thoughts and prayers are powerful to others.
“I love you” also jumped into my thinking. I was reminded of a sitcom called King of Queens. It was on for a while years ago. While it ended production, the show can probably be seen in syndication. I confess, I’m a sitcom addict. Most make me wince but I still watch them, hoping for one that’ll satisfy. Admittedly, I watch less of them now than a few years ago. They’re too insipid. While I’m fond of shows like The Kominsky Method and Grace and Frankie, I’m instead turning to darker comedy like Barry, The Boys, and Stranger Things.
But there was one episode that came to mind from the King of Queens. The main characters were Doug and Carrie, a married couple. Carrie worked for a boss for a while whose name also was Doug. Once, when she was saying good-bye to him to end a phone conversation, she said, “Okay, Doug,” and then, saying Doug, automatically added, “I love you. Bye.”
“I love you,” became the pivot for my thoughts. That finally brought me to today’s music. “More than Words” by Extreme (1991). The song is a ballad about wanting more demonstration of a woman’s love than just the words, “I love you”. When I first heard the song on the radio, I wondered who was singing it, and was really surprised to learn it was Extreme. Later, I saw the video, and enjoyed how the bass and drum players are just sitting to one side, variously reading books, holding up lighters, etc., since the song doesn’t require anything on their part. That cracked me up.
So, here it is at last. Sorry for the long intro. Cheers
Everything’s so blurry
And everyone’s so fake
And everybody’s empty
And everything is so messed up
Pre-occupied without you
I cannot live at all
My whole world surrounds you
I stumble then I crawl
You could be my someone
You could be my scene
You know that I’ll protect you
From all of the obscene
I wonder what you’re doing
Imagine where you are
There’s oceans in between us
But that’s not very far
~ ‘Blurry’, by Puddle of Mudd, 2001
I have a good life when you consider everything but it sometimes still gets all blurry about how good things — and how bad it could be. ‘Blurry’, though, is about emotions. Emotions care little about a situation logic, something often forgotten during passionate discussions and angry debates.
‘Blurry’ also show us that emotions can help us overcome ‘logic’:
There’s oceans in between us
But that’s not very far
I might be adding layers and insights. They’re clearly writing about love and a tumultuous relationship. I see more. That’s the point of art, including literature and music, isn’t it? The composer, writer and artist are drawing their vision. Their vision, though, remains unique to them because it must be shared with others through the filters the viewer brings upon the scene. And these individual, personalized interpretations of words and intentions can make it all seem very ‘Blurry’.
Hope this all comes out properly. It’s relatively colder than usual outside (17 F). Google Chrome apparently has some problems when it’s cold.
I dreamed I was going backwards last night.
It wasn’t a bad feeling, going backwards, although I was in a car, actually occupying the driver seat, and it wasn’t my car, but belonged to my late father-in-law, and it was a Prius, which I think is beyond what he would own. He was a Jeep man, fond of hunting and fishing.
But let’s step back to the dream.
I dream a lot. I don’t know the averages for people. Dreaming is a self-reported matter. According to people who study people, people aren’t reliable about self-reporting matters, and those are the people who would know.
My pa-in-law died in December of 1991, an intelligent, personable man from southern WV. A friend recently died, prompting me to think of friends, pets and relatives who have left one plane for another, but I don’t think that’s what this dream was about.
I was visiting him at his home, which, being a dream, wasn’t the home where he usually lives. I think dream experts tell us that dream houses represent ourselves. So do cars.
Which brings me to the car. Visiting my in-law, Jim, I gathered I was to drive his silver Prius (not the latest generation, but the last generation of car…an interesting side-bar, which could merit more inspection for its meaning in the dream), following a person driving another Prius that belonged to Jim (and, huh, also silver, it WAS the latest model). I thought we were going fishing. Fishing with Jim was a relaxing, meditative pastime, and a favorite. I miss fishing with Jim.
So I’m sitting in the Prius driver seat, waiting for the other fellow, when the car starts rolling backward. Jim and the others notice, frantically motioning for me to stop it. Of course, that’s what I want to do, but I’m unfamiliar with the car and don’t know where the brake is.
Can you believe that?
I think that confusion over something as simple as braking a modern car could be something to ponder.
Meanwhile, the car rolls down the driveway and into the street as I attempt to figure out what to do. Then, it stops.
That was enough for Jim. Like a TV sitcom, the next scene shows me being driven in the other Prius, indignant about being stripped of my right to drive another’s car. And then I arrive at a business and discover that I’m to intern there. Mildly astonished, I’m dressed in the sort of California Silicon Valley business cas that I wore for years so that’s not a problem. I also brought another pair of shoes, so I can take off my Nikes and put on something dressier, which I do. Wow, what strange forethought.
This isn’t a start up but a plush and modern office space. A guy is there, playing with a radio controlled electric car, racing it over the carpet. I watch him for a few moments before deciding I need to pee. Going to the first bathroom, I realize that their symbols for the bathroom’s sex are foreign to me (and they’re symbols, not letters). After looking at one, I go to the other restroom. There, I hear someone urinating. I think it sounds like a man so I begin entering. Two women exiting the restroom jokingly re-direct me. One knows who I am and why I’m there, and tells me she’ll inform HR that I’m there.
An HR woman arrives and tells me to go with her. But I can’t, I want to get my shoes, and also, where are my sunglasses? Ah, my shoes are on my feet and my sunglasses are in my hand.
A dream trend is developing.
I apologize for being there, explaining that I didn’t know that my father-in-law was going to set me up to intern, and get ready to tell my work history – twenty years in the USAF, a few years with different medical device start-ups, and then NetworkICE, ISS and IBM that culminates in another twenty years of work. The HR woman asks if my wife is coming. No, why would my wife be coming? She’s hoping she was because she liked her the last time. What? There’s discussion about my wife and her name and when she was there. That’s when the dream slides out of my awareness.
And now I see it all. The dream is about my confusion. What confusion? I’m not certain. See, the essence of being confused is that you’re unclear ’bout what’s going on.
I bet why I’m confused will come to me later, after I sleep on it.