Blundery

Each day must be recorded and there must be something to record, otherwise days are only days, each one gone forever when a new day comes. It’s nice to forget some awful blundery days, but it’s good to look back and learn not to blunder again.

With a goal against them, they cracked up and within a few minutes, Kowloon were two up, though it was a blundery sort of lob by Melens which went in, when it might just as easily have been the clean sort of goal one prefers.

Each line was different. First, New York–accented toughness: “What makes the Hottentot so hot?” Then ridiculously misplaced heroism: “Who put the ape in apricot?” Then self-assurance: “What makes the elephant charge his tusk?” Finally, with blundery tenderness: “What makes the muskrat guard his musk?” From mock elegance (he wants to be “king, just king!”) to big-hearted self-effacement (“Ain’t it the truth!”), [Bert] Lahr poured 20 years of comedy experience into those few golden moments of song.

By now the food was scarce in the covers, the game too, and as I watched my dog, I saw less the work she was doing—headstrong and blundery enough at moments—than the work that in time she would do, all somehow foretold in her manner.

She lent a comfort and glamour to the Mississippi-midwestern milieu that had attracted me to Iowa City in the first place, and our lovemaking, which was amateur, blundery, and delightful, was like the high school sweetheart I’d never had.

There were some ineffective, blundery kinds of things I did. I remember that first press conference before I left, after John Hunter broke the news on Wednesday and I had a press conference on Saturday. A woman said, “I think you’re protesting and calling it something else.” As if protesting was a bad thing, and I didn’t catch that right away. So I made some mistakes like that.

At one end of the salad bar were small cups and two kinds of soup. At the other end were plates for salad. In our blundery state, we didn’t see the salad plates and began stuffing the cups with salad, but because they were so tiny, all we could get in were a couple of olives, a slice or two of cucumber, and a few croutons.

“[…] Do you know, we forgot to tell you the weather. What’s it going to be, Chrissy? Just don’t use any of those long words the rest of us won’t understand.” / “Hot and humid and it could be thundery.” / “Hot and human and it could be blundery. A bit like me, were you going to say? I thought you were here to produce me, not reduce me. No joking, folks, she’s the best producer I’ve ever had on Waves.”