Dictionary of American Regional English, Volume 5

The Southern California vocabulary, as endearing or maddening as it can be, doesn't exactly have a reputation for erudition. And we're totally chill about that.

The Dictionary of American Regional English, which you may have heard of recently, is an ambitious lexicographical project that recently reached the end of the alphabet and released its fifth and final volume: a diligently researched, 1,200-page compendium of American words -- from slab to zydeco -- traced through history and from region to region.

As I navigated the book's heft, I noticed that most of the words with California origins referred to either flora (like "tule," or a kind of cattail plant) or fauna (like "splatter-ass," a kind of duck). After much thumbing I managed to find six (legit) phrases that Californians can call their own.

Who knows? Maybe we can get them circulating again.

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Mark Berndt

USC School of Dramatic Arts Dean Madeline Puzo

What's in a name? Would that which we call the USC School of Theatre by any other name smell as sweet?

Sweeter, apparently, or so it might seem from the announcement this week by the esteemed acting school that the institution will henceforth be officially known as the USC School of Dramatic Arts.

For a school that has produced a roster of distinguished, marquee alumni including Forest Whitaker, Deborah Ann Woll, Tate Donovan, Swoosie Kurtz, Kyra Sedgwick, Eric Stoltz and LeVar Burton, the rechristening immediately raised the question of what connotations the phrase "dramatic arts" might encompass that the word "theater" (or "theatre," as the school spelled it) didn't already cover?

An outside observer might point out the similarity between the name switch and that of its richer and more famous sister school of film, which changed its name from the School of Cinema-Television to the School of Cinematic Arts in 2006 and five months later received a whopping $175 million endowment from director George Lucas (class of '67). Cynics from the region's struggling stage community might sadly shake their heads at what might be implied by the ominously literal elimination of the word "theater."

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Timothy Norris

Last weekend marked the kickoff of Coachella 2012. Either you know that's a huge music and arts and music and music festival, or you're new to L.A. And while this is the first year it's happening for two weekends, size doesn't matter, because one weekend or two, there's something I can guarantee will be on the lips of everyone in attendance. No, I'm not talking substances, I'm talking sound: "Whoo!"

Yeah, that's right, the edgy outburst that Merriam-Webster tells us is used to express sudden excitement, astonishment or relief. I mean, who wouldn't "whoo!" to be wowed by the likes of Abe Vigoda (the band), Bon Iver and SNL-heartthrob Florence and the Machine?

While many an Angeleno can tell you that Coachella has been around (officially) since 1999, who can tell you when "whoo" came about?

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All photos by Amanda Lewis

Forget 140 characters: try eight!

In a city full of networking self-promoters and wannabe celebs, it's no surprise that ridiculous vanity license plates abound. That little space on the back of your car represents a precursor to the away message and the Facebook status, albeit a near-permanent one. These plates capture and make public the city's cheery self-regard, affixing tired boasts and jokes to the buttocks of the metallic shells required for any Angeleno traveling more than two blocks.

I developed an unhealthy obsession with vanity plates after moving to LA about two years ago. Here are the best of the best of the ones I've seen and managed to frantically photograph (always while stopped at traffic lights, Mom, I promise).

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Carol Cheh

From 'Everyman's Infinite Art' at Chapman University's Guggenheim Gallery

The big wave of Pacific Standard Time shows that opened in September are starting to close, so the game is on to see the ones you want to see before they're gone. "Now Dig This!," for example, was totally packed with eager visitors this past Saturday, its second to last day at the Hammer Museum. And yesterday, I made the trek out to the Guggenheim Gallery at Chapman University to see "Everyman's Infinite Art," a true gem of a little show, tucked deep behind the orange curtain, and filled with whimsy, history, and delight.

The last day of the exhibition is this Saturday, Jan. 14. But theoretically speaking, you don't actually have to go see it. "Everyman's Infinite Art," originally mounted at Chapman in 1966 by artist and then-art department chair Harold Gregor, was a charming early entry in the language-based conceptual art sweepstakes. It primarily consisted of a published set of instructions for making the exhibition out of commonly available materials such as masking tape, ping-pong balls, juice cans, and boxes of envelopes. The instructions were clear and simple but could be installed in a number of ways, for example: "Ten yardsticks lined end to end. A stack of twenty-four white styrofoam coffee cups, open end down." And so on.

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Ever had questions about Hell, Satan or various and sundry demons? Then TV writer Martin Olson's Encyclopaedia of Hell: An Invasion Manual for Demons Concerning the Planet Earth and the Human Race Which Infests It will prove most edifying, as it sheds some much-needed comedic light on the dark side.

Purporting to be a detailed manual for demons who are invading the Earth, with a truly encyclopedic glossary of terms featuring often hilarious definitions, fastidious, Sears catalog-Gothic artwork by Tony Millionaire and Mahendra Singh and interesting cosmological stories and sidebars, the comedy is close-to-the-vest and sophisticated enough that the exceedingly pious and godly may still take offense at its flirtation with the Satanic and demonic.

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Photos by Zachary Pincus-Roth

The moment of truth

On November 11, 1998, when Howard Braham was a student at Columbia University, he realized around 10:30 p.m. that it was about to turn 11:11 on 11-11. He knocked on the door of his friend Steve Schwartz and they decided to gather 11 people, head up to the 11th floor, turn on the television and watch channel 11, which, Braham recalls, was the 11 o'clock news.

Since then, Braham hosted 11-11 parties almost every year, spacing them out so that the 11th of these parties took place last Friday, on on 11-11-11. The venue was George Izay Park, selected because its address is 1111 Olive Ave., in Burbank.

Braham, who now lives in Glendale and works as a Disney Imagineer, arrived just before 11:11 a.m. and stayed until the final moment of truth -- 11 seconds after 11:11 p.m.

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Paul T. Bradley

100.3's Mimi Chen reads some raunchy internet submissions

"Ok, now here are some X-Rated ones," says a kindly, professorial elderly gentleman in a fishing cap before he belts out a few stanzas of offensive rhyming verse about a couple's sexual proclivities. A woman entering the bar is blindsided by a four-letter word out of context and gasps. This is a limerick festival, after all, and the gentleman, Prof. Leon Schwartz, is killing them softly with rhyme. Equally adept at matching tush and bush with witty, ditty, and tittie, Prof. Schwartz teaches at Cal State University-Los Angeles, and it is unlikely that his students ever heard him this raunchy.

Schwartz was the opening act Friday night at the 2nd Annual L.A. Limerick Fest, hosted by the Altadena Ale House, and he set the tone for an evening of quaint crass and refined raunch. In fact, given the locale, the patrons, and the bawdy poetry -- this event blows the faceplate off the quaintly-crass-o-meter.

The L.A. Limerick Fest is an unlikely event that, at least in theory, doesn't belong in the city of Angels; we're not known as a particularly Irish city, nor a particularly poetic one -- unless you count 140 characters at a time of Winning and Kardashian. So, what's the deal? Well, unfortunately for us, we've got to get a few beers in us to find out.

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Matt Wignall

Beau Sia performing at a previous installment of The Drums Inside Your Chest

Poetry shouldn't cause flashbacks to snooze-inducing high school English class, a point well-noted by Amber Tamblyn, the poet and actress behind the poetry series The Drums Inside Your Chest and co-founder of Write Now Poetry Society. Using humor and musical performance (and sometimes magicians) to draw a diverse audience to poetry events, Tamblyn believes the poetry will speak for itself and prove that the the medium is not entirely boring. in past events, for instance, they've invited Marilyn Manson to do a reading at the Getty.

The Drums Inside Your Chest, a performance poetry concert series created by Tamblyn, will present its five year anniversary show on Nov. 6. The event will be hosted by poet Derrick Brown, a heavy hitter in the indie market, and comedian David Cross.

If you're into poetry, the lineup of participating poets -- Jack McCarthy, Rives, Corrina Bain, Matt Cook and Mayda Del Valle -- is recognizable for its big guns. If you're not into poetry, the show also boasts special musical guest Emily Wells and comedy from Cross.

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Kelly Barrie, courtesy of LAXArt.

An ampersand, lurking on an abandoned lot in Culver City.

In case you haven't noticed, Culver City boasts a new strange addition to its cityscape: a giant ampersand on an abandoned lot on the corner of Washington and Centinela. It gets bonus points in strangeness for glowing in the dark. But this isn't just a bizarre art stunt -- the ampersand is linked to its twin in Venice, Italy, where it was installed for the Venice Biennale by L.A. conceptual artist Shannon Ebner.

As far as conceptualism goes, Ebner is knee-deep in it. Her Culver City ampersand (entitled and, per se and) is cryptic in its lack of context. As it turns out, Ebner has made a few ampersands before, notably in Milan. But this one, she explains, is slightly different.

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