What is this larruping, you might ask?
2006-01-20, 2:10 p.m.
I NUMBER THINGS TO MIMIC ORDER
What is this larruping, you might ask?
tr.v. lar•ruped, lar•rup•ing, lar•rups
To beat, flog, or thrash.
n. A blow.
[Perhaps from Dutch larpen, to slap, thrash, from larp, rod, whip.]
Commonly around these here parts pronounced as “larrupin’”, this is a word I grew up with used in the context that one might use the colloquial “wicked”.
“This is some larrupin’ good barbecue.”
“That is one larrupin’ cold beer. LARRUPIN’ cold.”
My friend Don was eating lunch at Double Dave’s yesterday, and found a photo on the wall showing Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig playing in an off-season barnstorming type of league, and Lou’s jersey read “Larrupin’ Lou.” So now you know what I know, and we all know what it means, where it came from, who made it famous, and even though dictionary.com thinks it’s only a transitive verb or a noun, I have given you some examples of how you could use “larrupin’” as an adverb. YOU ARE WELCOME. I aim to please.
2. Da SPURS
When DW and I went to the Spurs game Wednesday night, I did not know until I picked up the tickets that we would be sitting in a Super Box. On the same level as a skybox, but holding more people, the Super Boxes at the SBC Center feature limited monitored access (exclusivity!), a private bar (snotty!), free horse doovers (fancy!), and seating for about 50 or so people.
DW asked me how my attorney managed to afford season tickets in a Super Box, and I shrugged and said “He’s a lawyer.” DW replied, in his best Monty Python voice “Roight. By EXPLOITING the working class!”
We weren’t the only representatives of the exploited working class in the Box; it was apparent that 90% of the people there were guests of some working class exploiter who wasn’t using their ticket that night. So the working class was representin’. I didn’t even bring my usual live sporting event Dark Mojo to the game: the Spurs managed to squeak out a win despite my presence.
3. ALL THAT PARTYING
Along the same vein of working class vs. their exploiters, DW and I had a conversation about college vs. no college. When he graduated from high school, he figured he was done with all the schooling he was ever going to do, but much to his chagrin, his parents informed him that oh yes indeed, he was going to college, and he would like it. His dad added the qualifier that as long as he brought home Cs, they would be satisfied. So he went and actually graduated with As.
I told him that I’m not sure if I would have wanted to date somebody who hadn’t gone to college. He reacted as anybody should react to that kind of statement by asking me “Who the hell are you?” I tried to explain that somebody getting out of high school to go directly to work for his parents in order to earn enough money to drink beer and chase women might not have been somebody with whom I would share enough goals and common experiences to make me want to date them.
“Well, I might not have wanted to date you, if you were going to be that snobby,” he countered.
“Yes, you would have. Look at me. And besides, aren’t you glad you went now?”
“Lots of successful people don’t go to college,” he argued, and here he started listing our friends who didn’t go to college but instead started their own businesses and made their million by the age of 45 and retired early. All one of them.
“I don’t think either one of us has enough drive or ambition to skip college and make a successful business out of nothing but sweat and determination. And it’s nothing to do with money or prestige; it’s having something in common in our backgrounds that matters to me.”
“Well, I didn’t want to go, but I’m glad now I did,” he said.
“Because you got to marry me?”
“Puh. Yeah. NO, because I got to do all that partying.”
0 comments so far
Be sure and party this weekend…and oh yeah, bite me.