Living Wright: Postcards coming from around globe
BY JASON ASHLEY WRIGHT World Scene Writer
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
8/07/12 at 6:33 AM
Pardon my colloquialism, but July was larrupin' hot.
It was educational, though, as I had forgotten that L word: larruping, meaning "very" or "excellent," according to a recent email from Wordsmith. I've heard a few native Oklahomans drop it in a sentence every other year since I moved here, but I didn't grow up with it.
July was culturally enlightening, too, as a column I wrote about postcards generated responses from around the globe, which I thought I'd talk about today.
Not the globe, actually, but those postcards, which seemed a lovely topic for lagniappe, our monthly dose of somethin' somethin' extra served piping hot or ice cold, depending on the season in which our first Tuesday of each month falls. Either way, grab a bib, this could get messy.
On Monday, I signed up for PostCrossing.com, which I'd never heard of before postcards started coming in following my column - a ramble about how I used to collect them and whether people still send any.
Apparently, they do. So far, I've received a few each from Germany, England, Australia and New York City, as well as ones from El Salvador, Venice and the Netherlands. One of my favorites is a postcard of Australian chanteuse Sia. (Thanks, Paul from Postcardly.com!)
I'll stop short of holding your hand and singing "It's a Small World After All" (which, sorry fellow Disney World fans, always creeped me out), but the postcard experience was a reminder of how much more tight-knit our planet is than we realize.
Emails, Facebook, Twitter and all that stuff keep us connected electronically, but postcards - and letters, which seem almost archaic these days - are more meaningful. Not just because of the cool locales from which they're mailed, but because they take a little bit more effort than 30 seconds of key strokes and a quick hit of "send."
Speaking of tighter sense of community, if you'll pardon my uncharacteristic use of segue, I have enjoyed the Olympics much more than any time in the past.
Having grown up watching them, at least ever since the '84 Olympics in Los Angeles, I can't recall a time - not even when I fell in love with figure skating (I know, big seismic shock there) in 11th grade during the '92 Winter Olympics - that I've gone out of my way to sit and watch all the prime-time coverage.
Despite all the pain and bitter feelings in the world, the Olympics seem like one big, long Folger's "Peter Comes Home for Christmas" commercial, just sweatier and more nerve-wracking. Even when I know who's going to win what, I'm still yelling "Go! Go! Go!" during the swim races or praying "Don't face plant!" during women's gymnastics.
I'm the first to admit I'm a big ol' wuss, but I've teared up during most of the medal ceremonies and those deliberately emotionally manipulating mini-docs that NBC weaves between competitions.
Having grown up watching "Little House on the Prairie," where every episode ended with Pa, Half Pint or both crying, it's no wonder I'm a sucker for tears of joy after 55 minutes of potential heartbreak - larrupin' good times, y'all, larrupin' good times.
Original Print Headline: Postcards coming from around globe