thank you, surprisingly funny NYer cartoon

i expect to learn some new words in the New Yorker from time to time, but usually in the articles, not the cartoons. so i was pleasantly suprised by a cartoon in last week’s Style Issue, which not only had a new word in it, but was also pretty obviously funny in the way that most NYer cartoons just aren’t.  and here it is:

the new word:  itemia.  as in, (the catalogue god says) “a young man of thirteen dwelleth in abode 11-N!  let him receiveth a bounty of skateboard itemia!”  unfortunately, this is a new-word-fakeout.  itemia isn’t a real word.  but i like it, and i don’t think its fake word status should stop anyone from using it.  let’s say it means “advertising and information about a particular object”  shall we?  also, in attempting to hunt down this elusive fake word, i found an even better real word: ischemia: oxygen deficiency in an organ due to restricted blood flow.

not as easy to fit into your everyday parlance, but possibly good to know.

it’s enough to make a girl take the GRE

I found out recently that there is a word that basically means, “to thingify,” and I am pretty psyched about it. 

reify:  to treat or regard (an abstraction) as though it had concrete or material existence

Discovering this new word was bittersweet, of course, since I am nearly 2 years out of college and there is absolutely no reason to ever use “reify” outside of school.  I have to say though, just the thought of dropping this juicy little number in an essay or, to be really over the top, in a class discussion, is almost enough to make me pursue an advanced degree in the liberal arts.  Which liberal art isn’t even that important, though I think something in the English/Lit/Art area would probably work best. 

Is that a bad reason to go to grad school?

this book is excellent, and it makes me feel inadequate

Beasts of No Nation, tells the story of a child soldier in West Africa.  Although you never learn lots of the standard details about the narrator (like his exact age, or his nationality) you finish the book having seen intimately through his eyes.  The story is a compelling and harsh look at a part of the world that I, for one, know almost nothing about.  It deals earnestly with a really gruesome topic without being corny or preachy.  The language is beautiful and strange, and amazingly adventurous, especially for a first-time novelist.  And, while the book is strange, and harsh, and difficult, it also somehow manages to be a page-turner.  All in all, it’s just excellent.  Which brings me to my second reaction to this book, my massive feelings of jealousy and inadequacy. 

Uzo Iweala, the author, was in my class in college.  Since we graduated, I have gotten an entry-level job.  Uzo has published this gorgeous, important novel.  I now have a pet kitten.  Uzo now gives readings alongside Zadie Smith where he is (respectfully! movingly!) introduced by Jamaica Kincaid.  Well done, Uzo.  Your book is excellent, and you deserve every accolade and every success.  But let’s not pretend I’m not jealous.