Gather ye rosebuds...

...while ye may.  Where lies the land to which the ship would go?

There's a theme.  We've all heard Carpe diem, etc., ad nauseum.  But there's more.  Here goes:

Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

Loosely translated, that means, Seize the day, rather than place trust in the future.  Wow.  Who knew?  Carpe diem is so very hackneyed.  The next time I'm at a cocktail party and I replace WTF with CD, I'm going to continue with quam minimum credula postero.  Hmm, does Google Translate have Latin?  I'd hate to pronounce it wrong and expose my pathetic attempt at being an intellectual.  But if necessary, I could mention the fact that I passed the sample test in the Mensa brochure I picked up at the library.  That I thought about joining, but I was committed to maintaining my connection with the hoi polloi.  Which I'll follow with the phrase, the great unwashed, not as a matter of explanation, but emphasis.  Hey, just mentioning that I go to the library should count for something.  I won't divulge that my car is about to be impounded because I lost some stupid self-help-inspirational-organize-your-life-cut-the-clutter-find-your-soulmate-by-being-the-bitch-all-men-want-to-marry book-of-the-week.  Hey, there's an idea!  Weekly Reader for lonely, semi-affluent professional women for whom carpe diem is like trying to catch a greased pig.  It would feature inspirational-girl-power non-fiction and weird post-pubescent-fiction (am I the only one who doesn't get the whole Twilight/Bella/R-Patt thang?).   You scoff, but one of these days, you'll say, I read her blog when...

Back to the cocktail party.  My next line will involve the word "Quixotic", which I will pronounce the way it looks (which is counter-intuitively correct) rather than the way you'd expect it to sound if you knew the right way to say "Don Quixote." And if you realized, before college freshman english, that the g is silent in champagne. Damn, I hate those frogs. They're so sybaritic that they're immune to getting hooked on phonics.  Oh, and in case you're interested, Don isn't a first name.  It's the spanish form of Mister.  A title.  Did you realize that not all of the big-wigs at your college were named for Jerry Lewis' sidekick?  Before the breakup.  Have you ever heard of Jerry Lewis?  Or Dean Martin.  Rowan and Martin?  Laugh-in?  Hee-Haw?  The Flintstones?

Am I the only one who remembers how crazy-embarrassing it was to watch Love American Style?    These youngsters can't imagine a time when the whole family had to sit in one room, agree on one show (out of three - I'm not counting PBS since we were definitely hoi polli), change the channel at specific times, and suffer through the commercials.  It just dawned on me that Joe Namath's commercial, Let Noxema cream your face, could be a little racy.  Euww.  That whole trannie thing with the pantyhose.  What a perv.

Ok, here's the thing.  I struggle with pronouns.  Objective and nominative cases throw me for a loop.  Since I'm a reverse-snob (I'm not impressed with a Germantown address), I decided to eschew I for me.  How many times have you heard some pretentious, vapid dummy say something like, He sent a nasty email to she and I?  So I err on the side of error.  And I think, but I'm not sure, that the title of my blog is grammatically incorrect.  As in wrong.  I own it.  But I'd like to set the record straight.  I knew what I was doing.  I wanted to reach out to the Great Unwashed.