Epically redonkulous

LOML recently pointed out, we seem to be living in a world of superlatives: a world filled with “best evers” and “epic proportions” and “cataclysmic disasters.” Indeed, it would seem to be so. We have kicked to the curb the notion that some words and ideas don’t need the help of a slew of adjectives and superlatives and comparatives because they already denote a totality, an absence or an absolute. How much more than “complete” can being complete be? Yet we are comfortable describing the events and occurrences in our lives as most complete. Even more complete than anyone else’s completeness, I suppose. Even restaurant owners boast of having the most complete selection of wines and department stores lure us into a spending spree with the most complete selection of women’s clothing or bedding or kitchenware. Supermarkets draw us inside with a more than complete selection of foods than we’ve ever seen in the history of canned good stacking. We’ve bought into excessive completeness and now slather our vocabulary with words like “super” and “mega” and variations of awesome, all the way to OMG. That’s what we do. We’re a super, awesome, mega, peachy keen society where ordinary is only the first rung on the ladder. I find myself standing on the top rung wondering if the sky is the limit on the stellar fabulousness of my entirety.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe we’ve all had mind-blowing experiences in our ordinary, everyday, dreary lives. Experiences which merit a blast of expletives and a laundry list of adjectives, a flurry of crazy punctuating, a whole lot of jumping around and, perhaps, a soupcon of flag waving. Ya, we all made one of those deals to make a dealer blush at a “once in a lifetime super blowout season ending—don’t make us take inventory—sale.” I thought I’d become inured to it all. But, alas, I’ve fallen into the habit of over-describing; maybe we all have. I’ve beefed up my vocabulary of excessive description by reading magazines and newspapers, by watching television and listening to the radio. I have drooled over the season’s hottest, red flag, door-crashing deals, never-to-be repeated offers made by oodles of travel agencies. I wouldn’t be the only person who’s had the most totally breathtaking, amazing, pull-out-all-the-stops vacation ever, when “amazing” would have been just fine as a descriptor.

While I’m waxing loquacious, let me say something about food, especially fast food. Supersizing portions isn’t new but, like you, I’ve borrowed those mega-marketing words to describe my life. As a lover of food, my life is often described in food colours, serving sizes and flavours. I’ve been know to have the most delicious sleep while wearing my chocolate brown jambes. I’d hardly know how to say how wonderful anything is, let alone a meal, unless I dropped a few dozen yummy-in-my-tummy bombs to let all y’all know it was the best meal since the day sliced bread hit the shelves. I can’t help myself, it seems. There’s evolution in my elocution.

I’m afraid we have devalued words to the extent that just about any accomplishment can be super heroic or of epic proportions or stunningly masterful or absolutely fabulous. We aren’t afraid to use a primordial slurry of descriptive words. Have you noticed how every idea is brilliant or stunning or show-stopping? I found myself wondering what’s missing if a person is described, simply, as beautiful or handsome or intelligent or thoughtful without propping up the notion with a couple of “drop-dead gorgeouses” or “runway worthy” or “centrefold stunning” or “jaw dropping” or “Einstein smart.” All adjectival fibrefill. Television advertising has me pondering how to “turn up the volume” on my unruly hair (as if I need more hair volume). Seriously, whose hair has ever had volume, in the audio sense of the word. I hope my volume works well with the shine “as brilliantly as nature intended.” Egads. We have been bombarded by abusive advertisers and maniacal marketers and noisy newsmakers who want our attention and they want our attention RIGHT NOW. We are urged to buy it or buy into it with logos, slogans and volume. Our vocabulary has become “more complete” with fluffy words. Discounts are always deep. Every sale is the greatest sale. Our satisfaction is always guaranteed. Service is always reliable, proven and unlimited. Food wouldn’t be food unless it had doubled or tripled in mass, accompanied by a bladder busting soft drink and, of course, unsurpassed in grade A, freerange, quality. Our children are absolutely terrific (of course they are) and all of their deeds and accomplishments are of the highest academic level (even when they aren’t really). Anyone who has a point of view is revolutionary hero.

Hey, y’all have a superior, unparalleled day remarkable in its most complete fabulousness.