Terms Which Have Disappeared

[2jakes]

The best news - "I quit about 10 years ago." I know you miss them, but we'll hopefully have you around for a much longer time.

@vitanola
Just make sure you air your hat & clothes from the stale smoke before you enter
the Fedora Lounge.
Better yet.... get a new wardrobe!

@Fading Fast ...I took the liberty of changing "quite" to "quit".

My panties were beginning to curl ever so slightly.

 

[tonyb]

...

I had a cigar in my mouth from the time I sat down at my desk in the morning until I went to bed, save at meals . ...

I had a cigarette lighted before I set to making the coffee. I'd have three or four or five before bathing, to get my blood nicotine up to comfortable levels.

Addicted? Sure was.

 

[Zombie_61]

Still commonly used among some of my associates, although in full knowledge that it is rather old-fashioned. But it is more musical than, say, "joint," or "doobie."

It has come to mean, besides a cannabis cigarette, cannabis is general. "Got some reefer?" is an inquiry into whether a person has pot, twisted up in cigarette paper or not. I've heard it abbreviated to "reef."...

My "associates" from my younger days never used the majority of the terms allegedly associated with marijuana. It was, in the general sense, referred to simply as "weed" or "pot", and a rolled cigarette was a "joint". I've never heard anyone refer to it as "reefer" in real life, though my older sister, her husband, and their friends occasionally referred to a joint as a "doob".

I truly read this sentence twice as I assumed I read it wrong, "A dozen or more a day." Are you talking about a full-sized cigar (not those cigarette-like cigars) - you smoked 12 or more a day? I've never smoked, but I would have thought that almost impossible - maybe physically possible, but the time and envelopment would overwhelm...

I once worked with a gent who smoked three packs of cigarettes daily, and still found time to smoke I don't know how many full-sized cigars. If he wasn't in an area in which smoking was restricted he had either a cigarette or cigar in his mouth, and I often saw him light his next cigarette off of the one he was just finishing. He drove a truck for the company, picking up and delivering parts to our customers, and after he retired they had to pressure wash the cab of his truck to get rid of the all of the nicotine that coated it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

My grandmother and father were one step from the street in the depression and, like Lizzy's mom and as you describe, came out the other side with their very effective BS meter always turned on. By current standards (and according to my girlfriend) my upbringing bordered on abusive because I was told the unvarnished harsh realities of life from the day I learned to talk, wasn't given any of today's platitudes about "the higher things in life," and was told job 1 (and the only job) was to work to pay the bills.

I get that it was atypical - and it wasn't fun - and while I had to unlearn some of the things that they said didn't apply / don't work in our current world, so much of what they taught me (or, more accurately, I absorbed by listening and taking in the snide aside to my query) was right, albeit, not unicorns and rainbows, that I think it made me a better adult more able to face the harsh realities of life.

Who knows, it could have broken another kid, I might have thrived in a different environment - we'll never know, but man did those - as you said - who "had to learn to swim against a fierce current...to survive" have a hard but pragmatic view of life. And very little time for niceties, platitudes, social conventions, etc. Those two - my grandmother and father - where a bit like human tornadoes blasting through the world.

I think this is a pretty standard Northeastern personality type. I know when I spent six months living on the West Coast, people though I was some kind of dangerous lunatic just because I raised my voice once in a while. Some people can live that way, but not me. Life was not meant to be lived in hushed tones.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I once worked with a gent who smoked three packs of cigarettes daily, and still found time to smoke I don't know how many full-sized cigars. If he wasn't in an area in which smoking was restricted he had either a cigarette or cigar in his mouth, and I often saw him light his next cigarette off of the one he was just finishing. He drove a truck for the company, picking up and delivering parts to our customers, and after he retired they had to pressure wash the cab of his truck to get rid of the all of the nicotine that coated it.

I worked with a guy in radio who was a cigarette fiend until it started to damage his voice, so he switched to cigars. He couldn't handle those, but he discovered he could get the nicotine effects just as well by chewing the unlit cigars. So that's what he did -- every day he'd come into the studio with a damp, soggy Swisher Sweet hanging out of his face, and I presume he swallowed the bits that disintegrated off the end, because the cigars got smaller as the day wore on.

I hope he's still alive, but I have my doubts.

 

[2jakes]

I once worked with a gent who smoked three packs of cigarettes daily, and still found time to smoke I don't know how many full-sized cigars. If he wasn't in an area in which smoking was restricted he had either a cigarette or cigar in his mouth, and I often saw him light his next cigarette off of the one he was just finishing. He drove a truck for the company, picking up and delivering parts to our customers, and after he retired they had to pressure wash the cab of his truck to get rid of the all of the nicotine that coated it.

I had a tennis friend who smoked all the time.
There was always a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Even if it wasn't lit.
He died from cancer of the mouth.

And it's a running joke that my family which I grew up
were referred to as "the loud family".

 

[Fading Fast]

I think this is a pretty standard Northeastern personality type. I know when I spent six months living on the West Coast, people though I was some kind of dangerous lunatic just because I raised my voice once in a while. Some people can live that way, but not me. Life was not meant to be lived in hushed tones.

Agreed, the raising-of-the-voice style is, or at least was, pretty typical Northeast behavior. Until the culture shifted to a surface niceness - yelling was a normal way of communicating on Wall Street (in the '80s when I started) and in many businesses and institutions then. I was "trained" by a yeller on the floor of the NYSE. He yelled so much, that I am not exaggerating at all to say that the few times he talked without yelling it felt odd.

That said, for some reason, neither my father nor grandmother yelled much at all and certainly less than average. I hardly ever yell. But they had a hard, no-nonsense approach, that instead of yelling would simply call BS, BS. Neither one talked a lot and they didn't have much patience for "chatter," "idle conversation," etc. They didn't yell, but they issued "final opinions" with firmness. The didn't care about social niceties, but in general, they weren't rude unless they needed to be. I watched my father negotiate a car purchase in the winter of '73 that tells you most you needed to know about him.

The country was deep in the oil crisis and car dealers were choking on big-car inventory. My dad went into the local Buick dealership and talked to a salesman he had known since they were kids. He was trying to by a '72 dealer demo LeSabre. It was an old-style in-town dealership that had about five cars in the showroom and the rest of the inventory was in a lot half a mile "out of town." It was a cold, bleak winter day when we drove out to "the lot" to see the cars piled under snow from a recent storm.

After clearing of the snow, we drove it and my dad and the salesman started negotiating. The salesman did his spiel, put a price out there and my dad said good bye and started to walk away. Then the salesman asked him for a price and my dad put out one down 30%. The salesman talked on and on, throwing in undercoating and some other stuff, and cutting the price about 10%. My dad said they were "too far apart" and started to walk again. The salesman was still pitching hard - praising the beautiful "rally wheels" being - my dad told him, "I forgot about those (the salesman face lit up), I want them switched out to basic hubcaps, how much will that drop the price?" (The salesman's face collapsed.)

On it went, with - and to be honest, my memory is pretty good on this, but not perfect - the end being no rally wheels (my dad was serious about that), yes undercoating (we all were bamboozled by that one for years), no fancy radio, etc., and the price 25% down - my dad came up 5%. Then, and this had all been done standing in the freezing cold, we went back to the dealership to do the paperwork. When we got there, my dad said that he'd sign, but of course, no dealer sticker on the car (he hated them) or the deal was off.

The salesman said that the dealer sticker was small and it's how the service area knew to take good care of the car since it was sold by them. My dad told him that, based on past experience, his service area didn't have the skills to fix cars anyway, so leave it off. The salesman was almost shaking at this point as he said his boss would crucify him - I think he was truly worried about that. My dad said he understood, put his hand out to shake and wished the salesman a good day. Dumbfounded, the salesman said - are you going to leave (or something like that) - and my dad said yes since he wouldn't buy it with the sticker. The salesman said to wait and he went and talked to the manager and came back and said it was okay - no sticker. After some paper work, my dad thanked him and we left.

Never a raised voice and, other than some sarcasm, no rudeness. Just firm I don't care what you think, how things are normally done, etc. - I buy a car my way. My grandmother was a tougher version of that, but again, no yelling. I did hear my dad yell a few times in my life, but never heard my grandmother, but those two were, to repeat, tornadoes blowing through life on their own terms. They had once had nothing - knew life's unvarnished ugliness - and approached it on their own terms.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I've never bought a new car, but if I ever do I'm going to print out that post as a reminder of how not to get suckered.

I have a voice that, when used to its utmost, can be like a lead pipe going thru plate glass. I don't use it to that extent often, but there are times when it's the only thing that works. We often have big crowds at the theatre who like to shmooze in the lobby before or during shows, and we have this dainty little chime-bell thing that I'm supposed to ring to get them to take their seats, all nice and dignified. And nine times out of ten they go right on shmoozing and ignore the bell. So I have no resort but to cut loose with a very loud and penetrating "FOLKS FIND YA SEATS PLEASE, THE SHOW IS STAHTIN, FIND YA SEATS!" Nice and dignified is all well and good, but all too often it's only the raised voice that gets things done.

I don't think I ever heard my mother *not* yell until I was four years old and she'd thrown my father out of the house. Part of it is likely because it's she's deaf in one ear from a childhood infection, but I think more of it is that deep down she just likes to yell.

 

[Bruce Wayne]

There were a couple of men in my working class neighborhood when I was little, in the 1950s, who would visit the closest tavern and come home staggering, falling down drunk. But nobody called them winos. I doubt anyone in the whole neighborhood had ever tasted wine, except for the old Italian woman who went to church every morning. So wine wasn't on the radar for most people. But those two men were not alcoholics. One was a linesman for the power company, the other a paper hanger. I'm pretty sure they never drank anything but beer, too, since there was no liquor by the drink, and they didn't drink at home. I knew those men fairly well, too. Other men in the neighborhood who I knew less well may have had their own vices.

Terms have slightly different meanings overseas and in British service, a reefer jacket is the double-breasted coat or jacket worn by officers in the Royal Navy. For a while, in the 1920s, a similiar jacket was an optional garment in the army in "drab." Pea Coats, as we use the term, are of course double breasted. It's like the word "vest," which conveys different meanings in different places.

Now that's a term I haven't heard in forever. Paperhanger.

I've never bought a new car, but if I ever do I'm going to print out that post as a reminder of how not to get suckered.

I have a voice that, when used to its utmost, can be like a lead pipe going thru plate glass. I don't use it to that extent often, but there are times when it's the only thing that works. We often have big crowds at the theatre who like to shmooze in the lobby before or during shows, and we have this dainty little chime-bell thing that I'm supposed to ring to get them to take their seats, all nice and dignified. And nine times out of ten they go right on shmoozing and ignore the bell. So I have no resort but to cut loose with a very loud and penetrating "FOLKS FIND YA SEATS PLEASE, THE SHOW IS STAHTIN, FIND YA SEATS!" Nice and dignified is all well and good, but all too often it's only the raised voice that gets things done.

I don't think I ever heard my mother *not* yell until I was four years old and she'd thrown my father out of the house. Part of it is likely because it's she's deaf in one ear from a childhood infection, but I think more of it is that deep down she just likes to yell.

When I am and two people are blocking the pathway, what I usually do is say "excuse me" politely. If that doesn't work I say it quite a bit louder. If that doesn't work I imitate my Dad's Marine Corps voice & scream "MOVE!!!" The look in there eyes is comparable to when recruits first meet there drill instructors. One of utter shock and fear. They look like they're questioning every choice they have ever made in life to that point. I've only had to do that once or twice, thankfully.

 

[BlueTrain]

Well, that man was indeed a paperhanger and I think probably also a house painter. He papered one of the rooms in our house once and I have no recollection of his vehicle. He must have had one, though, since he worked with a variety of ladders and special tables. He wasn't talkative and didn't look too bright either but I guess he was a good enough paperhanger. The other man, however, was much nicer and the father of one of my best friends. I would go see them whenever I was in town for as long as they lived.

My wife actually had a car dealer remove the air conditioning in a car before she would buy it. As near as I recall, the dealer got it from another dealer and it wasn't supposed to have air conditioning in it but when it got there, it did. It was a new car, too. But after that, all the other cars have had air conditioning. In fact, it's hard to find any car without it around here (Virginia) these days.

 

[2jakes]

Now that's a term I haven't heard in forever. Paperhanger.



When I am and two people are blocking the pathway, what I usually do is say "excuse me" politely. If that doesn't work I say it quite a bit louder. If that doesn't work I imitate my Dad's Marine Corps voice & scream "MOVE!!!" The look in there eyes is comparable to when recruits first meet there drill instructors. One of utter shock and fear. They look like they're questioning every choice they have ever made in life to that point. I've only had to do that once or twice, thankfully.

If I can go around I will.
Otherwise I will say "excuse me" politely & quietly.
But I say it "inside" their space bubble so there's no misunderstanding.
They always step aside.
Sometimes they are startled in that they were not aware they were doing it in the first place.


******
In school we had six periods with different subjects throughout the day.

There was one teacher who came in to the classroom and would ask
repeatedly for quiet to start the class. Throughout that hour in his class, he would have
to ask for quiet, raising his voice at times.

Another teacher, with the same class but in a different period, would walk in on the
same noisy class.

But this teacher would stand in front of the class and simply stare.

No words.

That look was so powerful, it just stopped everyone cold.
They sat down for the entire hour quietly.

He had that presence of mind.

Only one time, while he was writing on the front chalkboard did he show us
something.

There was a kid in the back snickering or something.
The teacher turned around and with a mighty force threw the
erasure across the classroom towards the back of the classroom.

For the rest of the semester, not a peep was heard in his class.

I thought that was so cool, because most of the teachers had to
yell, plead or get upset.


He is my only teacher that is still alive and doing well.

 

[BlueTrain]

I did not hear bad language when I was growing up with few exceptions. The chief exception was one aunt who used scatologies whenever appropriate, but which was still somewhat embarrassing to me, since my folks didn't talk like that. And again with few exceptions, I have not heard my friends or acquaintences use bad language. One exception was a three-year enlistment in the army. The other is an aunt of my wife who invariably used choice adjectives to describe Yankees and she wasn't talking about baseball. She is from Virginia.

 

[2jakes]

I had an aunt from U.K.
She would use the word "gay" when referring to a happy occasion.
Also "queer" as in something that was odd or unusual.

I knew how she meant it but it was still funny for me although I never
let on.

I never knew the F-word until I went to school.
Before that, if I heard a kid saying it , I thought they were saying "frog you".

I asked my mom, but all she said was to stay away from those kids!

I've heard Cary Grant say "I've suddenly turned gay!" from the movie,
"Bringing Up Baby" '38. when he is wearing a ladies night gown.

Not sure when it took a different meaning than the way my aunt
used it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The "F word" wasn't used in our neighborhood. We had too many other, better swear words.

 

[2jakes]

The "F word" wasn't used in our neighborhood. We had too many other, better swear words.

Nah...the F word is tops for me.
So many ways to express it and feels good when I'm upset!


One pretty gal once told me to "go F--- yerself!"

I replied...yes ma'am...I'm on my way!

 

[LizzieMaine]

There's a word in comedy, "lappy," that applies to gags that are too obvious -- dropped in the audience's lap, "lappy." The F-word is "lappy." Doesn't require any thought or creativity. If there's been a weakness to my mother's mastery of the skill and art of swearing, it's that she picked up the "F-word" while working at the local hospital, where it was apparently every second word out of every employee's mouth. There was a day when she could string together entire pargraphs of profanity without ever using that particular word, but now she falls back on it far too often.

It's sad to see a great performer falling into decline. My mother depending on the "F word" to make her point is like watching Willie Mays play for the Mets.

 

[2jakes]

When I get upset , the first word is F---- and is followed by a barrage of sounds and words that are still
out there in space.
Much to my regret sometimes.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I tend to string my swearing. If a piece of equipment goes south at an inopportune moment, or drop something on my foot I'll generally yell something like "YOU G-D S-O-Wing B------LY S-O-Bing PIECE OF S--T." And the more frustrated I get the more I'll string together. It's very cathartic.

My grandfather was the dean of this type of explosion. Some of his strings would go on for a solid minute, and he would rarely repeat phrases.

 

[2jakes]

I tend to string my swearing. If a piece of equipment goes south at an inopportune moment, or drop something on my foot I'll generally yell something like "YOU G-D S-O-Wing B------LY S-O-Bing PIECE OF S--T." And the more frustrated I get the more I'll string together. It's very cathartic...

I mentioned before that a reporter I worked with has the same gift as you.
She can spout verbal saltiness without hesitation or repetition.

I feel like a minor and you two are in the major leagues.

I would think twice and best thing for me would be to back pedal!


And perhaps there's something off-centered with me.
But I get more upset if a guy talks that way to me than
a women!

 

[LizzieMaine]

As long as you don't crash two minutes before showtime, you got nothing to worry about.