Cough Drops, Part III

Pillow

This is the position she was usually in at this time of night: lying face down on her bed, door closed, pillow pulled tight around her ears, blocking out the noise from downstairs.

These are the words she usually heard from downstairs: “You couldn’t wait for me to get home to eat?” “Maybe if you were home when we eat dinner.” “Maybe if you could cook, I would be.” “Fuck you, you drunk.” “Fuck you.” The rest were usually muffled.

These are the muffled sounds she would hear through the pillow: boots clomping up the stairs, a stagger and crash into her door, the frenzied rattle of her doorknob, the cracking of his body into his door jam, the squeak and absorbing thump of his bed.

Sometimes she would wait and go downstairs, sometimes she would pull the pillow off her head and lie on the bed, imagining herself living elsewhere, with horses.

Tonight , she would pull the pillow off her head and draw the comforting face of a boy from school on it, then press it tightly against her body to fall asleep.

What's in a Name, really?

I am learning French. Very slowly, and very poorly from my own self-jaded outlook. I didn't embarrass myself on my recent vacation to Paris however. Primarily because, The Girl was serving as my translator: her French is tres bien. (See what I did there? I showed that I know some French! See, see? I'm sneaky like that.)

Yesterday we moved on to the lesson of countries, and how most countries have a definite article in front of them, all countries have a gender:
France is La France (Feminine) (No feminizing anti-French jokes, please)
Spain is La Espagne (Feminine)
Japan is El Japon (Masculine)
United States is Les Etats-Unis (Masculine plural)
Mexico is El Mexique (Masculine: an exception to the rule that countries ending in 'e' are feminine)

This led to a conversation this morning about how odd it was that many countries call other respective countries by an entirely different name, than what we call it ourselves, and why there wasn't a universal word for each country: each country calling each other by the same name.

Take the United States for instance.
Here, we are known as the United States.
In Spain and most Latin American countries, we are known as Los Estados Unidos.
In France, we are known as Les Etats-Units.
In Iran, we are known as The Great Satan.

I wonder what those countries call 'snow'.

Foiled Again!!!

Oh Nuts!!! I've been foiled again.

A few weeks ago after playing an exhilirating round of mini-golf at the newly established Chucksters (Yes, Concord, NH, there is something to do after 6p), self-proclaimed home of the longest mini-golf hole in the world (see picture above), we went to get ice cream (at the self-proclaimed Chucksters). I had a hard time reading the sign of flavors, due to its being nighttime and our being so far away. One of the flavors looked like it said "Chocolate Chunky" something or other. As such, Chocolate Chunky Chicken ice cream was born. And we went on to create other delectable treats of homogenized, sugary, ice-creamy delight:

Chunky Chocolate Chicken
Clam Chowder

Gazpacho (just to break the run of 'C' words)

Brisket

Beef Stew

Tuna

But, lo and behold, what did I read the other day! Just when I believed I had struck upon something funny and disgusting, something that could be used in a blog entry, something that could get the millions of blog-reading denizens onto my site, thus creating a whirlpool of excitement and a frenzy of Biblical Harry Potter proportions, and catapulting me into the realm of literary and wordsmithing celebrity that I so deserve, I stumble upon an article. This article below, that I have so diligently provided a link to, that has stolen my thunder, and plummeted me into the depths of digital frustration, thrusting my ambitions of blogging dominance and world-conquering ways into despair, the only despair that can be cured by scotch, crushing my blog back into anonymity, indifference, and inconsequentiality, something to read only by your truly humble creator, and occasionally by The Girl.

All the flavors above might not be listed, but man, foiled again!

http://www.who-sucks.com/food/101-frightening-ice-cream-flavors-from-around-the-world

So, to help quell the despair and depressing thoughts entering into my dream-shattered psyche, I will attempt to reassure myself the only way I know how: with a giant bowl of Beets and Corn ice cream. Or Raw Horseflesh Ice Cream.

So many choices.

There's always someone cooler (or more well-read) than you

My thanks go out to Ben Folds for the title

In the "Etc. Confession" post, I mentioned how there exists a book called Et Cetera, Et Cetera: Notes of a Word-Watcher about the etymology of language. I have not read this book, but I have read others about language and linguistics, and I recommend them below.

The Language Instinct - Steven Pinker

Word and Rules - Steven Pinker

(For the record, I have not read all Steven Pinker or completed the above books, but he seems like one of those people that makes you feel good about the fact that he's smarter than you, and feel glad that he's smarter than you. Kind of like the late Carl Sagan. "I'll never be as smart as these people, and that's okay" (please say in your best Stuart Smalley voice).)

Eats, Shoots & Leaves - Lynne Truss - more about grammar, not linguisitics, but still fun.

Woe Is I - Patricia O'Connor - also more about grammar, but addresses linguistics, and still fun.

cunt - Inga Muscio - explores the etymology of a single, often vitriolic, word. Can be didactic at times, but still quite interesting and liberating (and this coming from a male).

The Story of Language - Mario Pei - a bit dated. I read about half of the book, before I got interested in something else (ADD-reading habits strike again). I was introduced to this book through the omniverous and omnieruditic The Primary Colors by Alexander Theroux: more on him below.

Tractatus Logico Philosophicus - Ludwig Wittgenstein - Man, was this guy an asshole! But, oh what a gloriously intelligent asshole he was.

Webster's Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language - amazing read. A tour de force. Dense plot, such heart-breaking characters. And funny! I couldn't contain my laughter on the subway when I was reading this book. Webster writes with the heart of a man who has seen it all, the brain of a man who has known it all, and the good humour of the man who embraces it all for what it is.

There are many others, but... Alexander Theroux

Just as Steven Pinker and Carl Sagan are people who will always be smarter than we are, and Ben Folds, Chris Isaak, and others will always be cooler than we are, so Alexander Theroux will always be more well-read than we are.

Alexander Theroux is the author of a few novels, and the essay books The Primary Colors and The Secondary Colors. These books deal respectively with the primary colors (blue, red, yellow), and the secondary colors (green, orange, purple): I'm not sure if that's the orderof the chapters, and although I have the books sitting six feet away on my bookshelf, I'm too busy writing to get up and find out the exact chapter order of each book. Anyway, this is where I was introduced to The Story of Language mentioned above. And, if you don't want to read these insanely trivia omnivorous books, but doubt my claim that you will never have read as much as this man, read here:

Why Alexander Theroux is smarter than I am

Anyway, I could go on but I need to pack for vacation:























Au revoir---

Etc. Confession

I have a confession to make, dear (as of now hypothetical) readers.

In my profile, I listed my favorite books. At the end I tossed off the phrase "etc etc etc", claiming that it's not the title of a book. At my own behest (Oh my god, how pompous did that just sound!) (Note: you know you're a book nerd, when you end up using the phrase "at [insert name, thing, raccoon]'s behest" without even thinking about it)...

Anyway...

At my own behest (see above aside), I decided to see if there were any books with that as the title, and whereas there exist no books titled exactly "Etc.", many books do have it in the title, and if you un-abbreviate it, there are a few named "Et Cetera." I have listed them below.

There is the manga series Et Cetera (found here: Et Cetera) by Tow Nakazaki.

I have not read it, as I don't read much manga, other than the amazing DeathNote. (for all things DeathNote, see here (thank you, Esther): deathnote7 )



There is also the book Et Cetera, Et Cetera: Notes of Word Watcher by Lewis Thomas: Et Cetera, Et Cetera

I also have not read this book yet, but could possibly read it one day. It deals with the etymology, evolution of language, linguistics, etc (there's that word, sorry, Latinized abbreviation again), all the things that interest philosophers, coal-miners, and presidents alike.

So you see, dear hypothetical readers, I lied. Or more accurately, I unintentionally misrepresented myself. There are books out there with the title Et Cetera, but not etc.

I sincerely apologize to all the other books entitled with Latin abbreviations and phrases that in the future I may overlook or claim do not exist.

Cough Drops, Part II

Broken Window

The broken glass covered almost every section of the basement floor. How could such a small window produce so many shards? If you had pieced all the broken pieces together, like a jigsaw puzzle, it seemed as if the window would have tripled its original size.
He paused for a moment, surveying the damage he had done; just as quickly, he scraped away the remaining shards from the windowsill, and turned his body around, stomach facing the ground, sticking his feet into the now empty hole. He would deal with the consequences later. It was a residential home, and in his twenty years of living here, no one had ever broken into the home, and no one was going to today, either, especially in the middle of the afternoon. Besides, if they were to break into the house through the now vacant basement window, they would have to be almost as skinny as he, which would be considerable given his slight physique. He snaked his way through the window backwards, legs first, pushing his body through until his arms could grip the concrete windowsill. He jumped down into the basement, ripped a piece of cardboard off the box sitting in the corner of the room, and placed it into the gaping hole. How could his parents be upset now? He had covered the hole, and now no one would be able to break into the house: they’d have to remove the piece of cardboard first. He walked out of the basement, ran up the stairs, found his keys sitting on the kitchen counter, and locked all the doors, before running outside to his car, late for work.

He and his friend Mike returned to his parents’ house after work, leaving the bag with the giant snake in the front seat of the car. He would wait to bring the snake into the house: time it perfectly to scare the hell out of his mom. Her car was in the garage when the pulled in.
They walked into the house. “Hi, Mom.” “Hi, Mrs. C.”
“Hi, Mike.” She looked over from Mike. “D---,” she began, “did you break the window this afternoon?” She already knew the answer as there was absolutely no one else home, and he had a history of intentionally benevolent accidents of this kind.
“Well, yeah. I locked myself out of the house and left my keys inside.”
One section of her hair turned gray almost immediately at this statement. “How could you do such a thing?”
“Well, I just took off my hat, put it up against the window, and punched.” He pulled his hat off and pantomimed a demonstration.
During this exchange, Mike was standing awkwardly by the front door. His mother looked at Mike with a look of wanted accord, looking for concurrence to her disbelief. She shook her head, exasperation floating off of it with each movement. “That was a rhetorical question. You weren’t supposed to answer it.”
“Oh. Um, sorry. But I had locked my keys inside the—“
“You could have come and gotten me at the school,” she continued.
“I was already running late,” he began equivocating. “By the time I would have run to the school,” (which was about half a mile away), “and gotten back, I would have been at least half an hour late. This was the only thing I could do. And I figured I would tell you and dad about it when I got home. I was going to try to fix it.”
His mother just shook her head unable to say anymore. “Mike,” looking at Mike. “You can head home now if you want.”
“Oh, okay.” During the exchange, Mike had stood off to the side, watching, equally stifling a laugh, and trying not to encroach upon Mrs. C’s anger.
“Mike and I were going to go out,” he began.
“Well, not right now. You can head over there after dinner.”
A swarm of relief landed on him. “Okay. After I fix the window?”
“No,” she said tersely, aware that his carpentry and repair skills were matched in ineptitude only by his honesty and goodwill; he was willing to attempt to fix the window, but who knew what it would look like when completed. “You can pay for the window.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later, Mike. Oh--- wait a minute, the bag.”
Mike shook his head. It didn’t seem like a good time for the snake.

Cough Drops, Part I

In what will be a recurring entry, I here begin an experimental story called "Cough Drops". Each entry will have its own subheading, but since I will be entering these on an infrequent basis, the title of the Blog entry will be "Cough Drops, Part ___" whatever.

I will try to add a picture corresponding to each entry.

Enjoy.

Cough Drops

“They aren’t candy, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” his son said with a half-mischievous smile, a glint in his eye. “Can I still have one?”
He looked down at his son with a closed-mouthed grin. “Yeah, you can have one.”