Okay, dear reader, it’s time for your daily dose of linguistic debauchery. Today’s word is diffident.  I used it late last night in reference to some rather limp-wristed whiskey.

Diffident (adj) means shy, reserved, or lacking in self-confidence—like a wallflower at an orgy who’s too scared to grab the lube.

This little gem comes from the Latin diffidere, meaning “to mistrust” or “to lack faith,” from dis- (apart) and fidere (to trust). Picture some toga-clad Roman stammering in the Forum, too chickenshit to ask Cleopatra for a quickie. It slunk into English in the 15th century, and we’ve been using it to describe spineless bastards ever since.

So there’s this diffident fucker, Larry, at the bar—sweaty palms, shifty eyes, the whole pathetic package. He’s been eyeballing this tattooed goddess with a rack like a Renaissance painting for an hour, but does he make a move? Hell no. He’s over there nursing his fifth PBR, muttering to himself about how she’d probably rather bang a cactus than his scrawny ass. Finally, his buddy Dave—six-foot-four and built like a Viking on a bender—drags him over, slaps him on the back, and yells, “Oi, Sheila, this shy little boy wants to buy you a shot!” Sheila smirks, downs the tequila, and says, “Grow some balls, Larry, and I might let you lick the salt off me next time.”

Don’t be Larry, dear reader.  Fortune favors the bold, and so does Sheila and her ilk.  And that’s it—diffident: the word for when your spine’s on vacation and your libido’s crying in the corner.

N.P.: “She Is Beautiful” – Andrew W.K.

Does your life lack unrestrained indulgence?  Do you gaze wistfully at people with silk sheets, wine cellars, and a suspiciously large collection of imported cheeses?  Well then, dear reader, it’s time to add the word “sybaritic” t your vocabulary arsenal.  Not because it will fix your life, but because it’ll make you sound sexier than that guy at the party who can’t shut up about his artisanal olives.  Dig:
Sybaritic (adj):  a love for sensual luxury or pleasure. Picture decadent feasts, velvet robes, and candlelight champagne baths.
Imagine someone lounging in an infinity pool atop a private  villa, sipping champagne, while a butler fans them with palm leaves.  That’s sybaritic.  Now imagine the rest of us eating instant ramen while staring at an Amazon cart full of shit we can’t afford.  That’s…well, not sybaritic.
This gloriously decadent word comes all the way from Sybaris, an ancient Greek city in southern Italy whose inhabitants were famous for living it up like rock stars in toga form.  They were all about good food, good wine, and the general art of treating yoself.  Tragically, the city was eventually destroyed by their very, very un-chill neighbors.  But did they die with regrets?  Probably not.  They were too busy eating grapes off a golden platter.

Last Friday night, my friend Miranda invited me to a “wine and charcuterie experience” at her downtown loft.  Naturally, I assumed this was code for “two bottles of Yellow Tail and a block of sweaty cheddar.”  I wasn’t ready for what greeted me when I stepped through the door.
Imagine chandeliers dripping with crystals (real, not Ikea).  A man in a bowler hat playing the violin for no apparent reason.  Trays of hors d’oeuvres I couldn’t pronounce (am I supposed to eat caviar with my fingers, or will I get arrested?).   Every square inch screamed, “Welcome to a lifestyle you will probably never be able to afford.
I should have bowed out gracefully and gone home to Netflix and stale pretzels, but no.  Like an idiot, I stayed.  By my fourth glass of fancy red with a name longer than my rent contract, I was feeling great.  Until, of course, I made the questionable decision to sit on the Moroccan couch.  You know, the $10,000 centerpiece that you look at but don’t touch?  Yeah, I touched it – with a glass of Malbec in hand.  One clumsy elbow later, there was a rather artistic wine stain sprawling across the pristine fabric.  Miranda’s jaw dropped so hard, I thought it might crack on the marble floor.  “Are you…serious right now?” she hissed, her voice thick with barely suppressed rage.
“What can I say?” I slurred with a self-deprecating shrug.  “The sybaritic life style may not be for me.”
She did not laugh.
The moral is, of course, that some of us are meant for a world of wine and luxury, and some of us should just stick to boxed rosé and Netflix.  Know your limits, dear reader, and keep your accidental chaos away from $10K couches.

N.P.: “Captain Love” – The Winery Dogs

Word of the Day: sodden

1a :  dull or expressionless especially from continued indulgence in alcoholic beverages <sodden features>

b :  torpid, sluggish <sodden minds>

2a :  heavy with or as if with moisture or water <the sodden ground>

b :  heavy or doughy because of imperfect cooking <sodden biscuits>

On Valentine’s Day, after downing his seventh beer at the annual singles’ mixer, Jim sat there, sodden, with the expression of a mannequin that had seen too much of the world – his face as blank as a freshly wiped whiteboard, staring into the void with the enthusiasm of a sloth on a lazy Sunday. Around him, couples danced like they were in a rom-com, while Jim, lost in his own soggy contemplation, was more like a forgotten extra in a B-movie about loneliness. His only companion was the empty bottle in his hand, which he treated like a date, even giving it a little Valentine’s Day kiss before realizing it wasn’t reciprocating.

N.P.: “Hurt” – Steve Welsh

Word of the Day: doxy
noun
archaic
1. a lover or mistress
2. a prostitute
“He was pretty surprised when he thought her stage name was Doxy, but once he found out that that was her birth name, he knew her tornado-bait parents had doomed her to this life: she never had a chance.”

N.P.: “Holy Touch” – Foxy Shazam

One of the reasons I’m so excited about 2025 is that I can finally tell you about specific things going on as opposed to the boring vagaries we’ve been forced to deal in for the last decade.  I’ll be getting much more personal in the future.

A theme that will no doubt be annoyingly recurring will be that of Revenge.  My dear reader has no idea how significant Revenge is in my life.  In anybody else, it would be a problem.  Or at least an issue one should probably discuss with a mental health professional.  Fortunately for all concerned, I am not anybody else.  I work in revenge the way the Inuit work in scrimshaw.  Much more on this later.  For now, for today’s Word(s) of the Day, let us compare and contrast two words used for revenge, that are often used interchangeably, but actually have significantly different meanings and embody distinct concepts shaped by their underlying motivations and societal roles: Vengeance and Retribution.

Vengeance is deeply personal, rooted in emotion and often fueled by anger or a need for personal revenge.  It is characterized by a desire to make the perpetrator suffer as a form of personal satisfaction.  A classic example of vengeance is found in Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” where the protagonist is consumed by the need to avenge his father’s murder, which consumption is quite familiar to me.  This quest for personal revenge drives Hamlet to take drastic and often irrational actions, highlighting the emotional turmoil and chaos vengeance can unleash.  Fuck yes!  Love it!

In contrast, retribution is more calculated and objective, often emerging from a sense of justice.  It seeks to restore balance by ensuring that punishment is proportionate to the offense.  This concept is foundational to legal systems around the world, where retribution is achieved through structured penalties designed to deter future wrongdoing and maintain social order.  An example of retribution is the character of Javert in “Les Miserable.”  Javert is fixated on upholding the law and delivering justice, relentlessly pursuing Jean Valjean to ensure he pays for his past crimes.  His unwavering commitment to retribution underscores the Disneyesque principle of justice over personal vendetta.

These concepts not only populate literature but also permeate societal frameworks, where they influence how justice is perceived and administered.  Vengeance often leads to cycles of retaliation, lacking the fairness and balance that retribution seeks to uphold, and most societies regard this as a bad thing.  Retribution, while striving for justice, almost always becomes rigid and unyielding, as seen in Javert’s strict adherence to the law, which ultimately blinds him to the nuances of human morality.

I understand both sides.  However, as usual, in practice, I find the entire dichotomy between vengeance and retribution unnecessary: there is no need to choose either/or.  I’ve found that usually both are needed for true justice to be done.  At least that’s how I do it.  This was never a conscious decision by me…I just noticed a couple of years ago that this is how I handle people fucking with me.  I go for retribution first, for two reasons: 1) retribution usually involves time limits (things like statutes of limitation, time between an incident occurring and your reporting of said incident, et cetera, whereas vengeance has no such constraints), and 2) it will look better later if your vengeance lands you in hot water.  Retribution in most cases typically means calling the police or involving whatever civic authorities are appropriate, then allowing them to respond and mete out justice as society sees fit.  Because the society in which I live is run by incompetent cowards, the results of this will always be pathetically weak and lacking.  In my experience, this has been the case 100% of the time.  At best, you can expect half-assed, pusillanimous, and insouciant gestures rather than any actual justice.   So then one must turn to good ol’ meat-eating, whiskey-drinking, I-will-wear-your-fucking-skin-and-dance-around-my-house vengeance.  Vengeance has no statute of limitations, no real limitations of any kind, really.  The only guidance I take regarding vengeance comes from Sun Tzu: Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.

N.P.: “The Devil You Know” – Blues Saraceno

In these stupid and ludicrous times when the dumbest amongst us are far too comfortable making up words to describe obscure and obscene sexual preferences, I’d like to mention a big one of mine, today’s Word of the Day: sapiosexual.

It is a word, intelligent reader, that quite simply dances on the tongue like a fine wine, matured in the oak barrels of intellectual allure.  In a world obsessed with appearances, a sapiosexual finds more tantalizing thrills in the cerebral gymnastics of minds at play.  Behold:

A sapiosexual is someone who finds intelligence the most sexually attractive feature in others.  The term is a blend of the Latin root “sapio,” meaning “to be wise” or “to taste,” and “sexual,” because, frankly, what’s more seductive than the occasional Latin flex?

Stanley chuckled into his drink.  “Listen, Lou…you’re preaching to the choir here.  I’ve been a hard-core sapiosexual my entire life…well, except for that few decades in the like the 80s and 90s when I was just really into tits.  But other than that, I’ve always been a big brains guy.

N.P.: “All I Want Is You – Bonus Track” – The Mission

Presage (verb): To predict or foretell a future event. Presage (noun): An omen, portent, or indication of a future event.

The term “presage” originates from the Latin word “praesagium,” combining “prae-” meaning “before” and “sagire” meaning “to perceive keenly.” It entered the English language in the late 14th century, retaining its meaning related to foretelling events.

Fuck, he thought for the seventh time in the last minute.  He had never been this blocked.  He’d had days, even the occasional week that he couldn’t write.  But never like this…never months.  It wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to say…quite the opposite, actually.  He had so much to say he didn’t know where even to begin.  For months now, significant events had unfolded far more rapidly that society could process them, and far too fast for him to keep up with, commentary-wise.  And thus, things had spun out of control months ago. 

The previous year, in  a series of meticulously crafted blog entries, he began to presage the downfall of the American Republic. His warnings were not borne out of paranoia but from a deep analysis of the incumbent president’s actions. The president’s clear contempt for democratic norms, relentless assaults on the free press, and almost comically divisive rhetoric had people concerned, especially in light of the alarming increase in public pants-shitting episodes. Each post was a call to arms, urging his fellow citizens to recognize the signs before it was too late.

One entry, titled “The Twilight of Democracy,” stood out. “We stand on the precipice of a new era,” he wrote. “An era where the very foundations of our Republic are under siege. The signs are clear—our freedom teeters on the edge as authoritarian shadows loom large.”

Despite his compelling arguments and data-backed insights, he faced a barrage of skepticism, vitriol, and bullshit. Many dismissed his predictions as alarmist or paranoid, while others accused him of partisan bias. Undeterred, he continued his crusade, hoping that his words would reach those who could still make a difference.

Months turned into years, and the political landscape grew increasingly volatile. Scandals erupted, institutions crumbled, and civil liberties were eroded. As the country’s stability waned, his presages seemed to transform from speculation into grim reality. Those who once jeered at his predictions now revisited his blog with a newfound respect.

In the end, his voice echoed through the annals of history as a presage unheeded.  His story serves as a poignant reminder: sometimes, the most critical warnings come not from official channels, but from the perceptive minds that dare to foresee the future.

N.P.: “Cast No Shadow” – Tales of Sound and Silence

In honor of Memorial Day, our Word of the Day is “remembrance.” Judging by the number of people I’ve heard who’ve very inappropriately wish me or anyone else, “Happy Memorial Day,” a reminder is necessary.  This word encapsulates the essence of this important holiday, which serves as a time to honor and remember those who have sacrificed their lives in military service.

Remembrance (noun): The action of remembering something or someone, often a person who has died; a memory or commemoration.

The word “remembrance” originates from the Middle English “remembraunce,” which in turn comes from the Old French “remembrance.” Its roots lie in the Latin verb “rememorari,” meaning “to remember,” composed of “re-” (again) and “memor” (mindful).

On this Memorial Day, let us all take a moment of remembrance for the brave souls who have served and sacrificed.  Their legacy lives on through our memories and our commitment to never forget.