Watch My Language

Someone needs (another) nap, but I thought maybe you missed me.

Life has been better, and life has been worse.

I have yet to wake up next to the girl of my dreams (meeting her would be a start), but I also have yet to wake up next to the man of my nightmares. So I guess it's not so bad.

Lately, I just haven't felt like writing anything. Which is dumb, because if there's one thing in life I can do without thinking, it's write.

Just look at some of my blog entries for proof of that little nugget.

But lately, as the viscous bile of circumstance threatens to gag me, I have, as a means of distracting myself, spent time ruminating on my love of language.

Which some people may find odd, given my apparent fixation with profanity. I can admit to you, I generally start my day with profanity. Literally the first sentence out of my mouth in the morning contains the F word.

But so what? Who's there to be offended?

Besides, that's hardly the most offensive of my morning salutations. When you spend your nights being artificially inflated by a device meant to combat sleep apnea, well, you retain some air pressure.

And the body's means of dispersing that air pressure is, shall we way, bi-directional.

At least profanity doesn't reek.

But yes, language...

I'm not sure what percentage of any language gets used on an average day, but I fear it isn't much more than 65%. If language is music, we're a pop world. But I like jazz, and I like words. There's a lot of words out there, and I like to find new ones. Because sometimes things need to be said in an exact way. Sometimes it's a matter of context, sometimes phonemics.

A friend once said it was worth the IDD charge to speak to me just to hear me say 'jackass.' You can get behind that word and dump a lot of indignation with it.

I don't give a hoot how indignant Annie the Trannie gets, I will never give up the phrase Chicks With D*cks. It makes me laugh, and for that reason I will keep it. Oh, and for the record - you can be born gay, but you can't be born with your man-junk cut off and a belly full of hormones that your own body doesn't produce. That's what we call a choice.

But I digress...

One of my favorite words is meretricious. It means blatantly seeking attention. It also refers somehow to prostitutes. I'm serious; look it up. I like that word. Because writing blogs can be meretricious, and so can I.

And not just when I write blogs...

Writing soothes me. I like writing emails. I like writing to people. I am grateful to my readers, not because it makes me worthwhile, but because it helps me focus. Writing turned out to be something I can do without thinking. But I take it seriously. I proofread emails, and constantly check my blog entries. I am embarrassed by my last entry from my trip to California, because it is rife with errors. But I left it because it reflects how I felt and the condition I was in.

I suppose I ought to find a way to do this for a job, although then I would hate it, most likely. I write for a living now, but its horrid academic shite that takes years to publish (if you're lucky) and then maybe 20 people read. It's a disgusting, soul-destroying racket that poisons the very notions that supposedly undergird the idea of scholarly pursuit.

It also has a negative side.

I really enjoy the 'turn of phrase', the ability to create something out of language.  It tickles me when I find a way to say something that absolutely reflects my feelings.

Like calling George W. Bush a beady-eyed dullard.

But sometimes I like to use dichotomous language. There's a movie called Hurly Burly that's no classic, but it contains the line "I don't need any more of your vituperative bullshit!"

That's poetry. The other day I used the words shit and aspersion in the same sentence. In an email to a scholar. Unsurprisingly, it went unanswered.

It never ceases to amaze me that I am not supposed to say fuck in any of my classes, but in Media Sex and Violence I could show pornography. I can show people fucking, I just can't call it that. But it's okay if I say money shot, I assume. Sorry about your eye...

I love words. I love turning them into sentences, into stories, into jokes, into ideas. I'm grateful to people who read my blog, because I try very hard to entertain you, and I'd like to think I manage that on occasion.

I live to serve, and I have always maintained that any and all of my experiences in life are positive so long as they entertain someone.

I'm in a poopy mood these days, but I'm thinking of you, and so rather than just whine (again), I wanted to share something a bit more... neutral. Here's hoping it works.