He’s the kind of person who angrily uses the term mother-fucking in conversation with his own mother. She’s the kind of person who lets him.
Due to language issues, ad copy on Amazon can be unintentionally funny. I was looking at winter boots and saw a listing for traction cleats that slip over shoes. Among its attributes was this:
“reduce risk of slipping down, especially for the old and pregnant woman.”
Well now! We certainly don’t want that! It’s one thing for an old woman to be slipping down, but we can’t have an old AND pregnant woman falling all over the place.
Nobody takes as profound an interest in my problems as I do. Once in awhile I need to remind myself of that fact.
I have problems. I don’t have solutions-waiting-to-happen or challenges or any other buzz phrase that waters down or redirects the focus to a brighter, happier place. Where is George Carlin when I need him? He wrote wonderfully of the softening of the English language. He made obvious how insidious it’s become. I think time will remember him as one of the great social critics.
When someone says, “I have a problem,” we all know what they mean. It’s the moment to listen up and offer sympathy or help if needed. Unless’n what they really mean is “I have an objection.”
We say, “Well, that’s your problem,” if we are unsympathetic and/or somebody is jerking us around. Or “I have enough problems of my own, thank you very much.”
I’ve had problems all my life and I expect to have problems for the remainder of my life. They’re like little pets. They change, as in they’re not always the same ones, new ones come in, old ones go away; some drop into the background for a while and then come roaring back, and some just tag along all the time like a cranky best friend.
I used to think problems could or should get solved. I mean all of them and be done with the whole affair. Yes, well. That’s my problem.
I love words and using just the right one, whether in conversation or writing. I get a little zing of happiness when I retrieve the best word for what I want to say. It’s satisfying. Maybe it makes small difference to the listener or reader – not sure – but when I hit it, I feel my work is done. That’s why, when I can’t remember or nail a particular word, I feel frustrated. It’s important to me to be able to get it back. I want to stay sharp; I don’t want words to steadily drop away till I’m reduced to a marginal vocabulary and pointing: “that thing, there.” The way my brain works, I come up with similar words or words that somehow relate to the one I want. I don’t know if it’s like that for everyone. Probably not.
A little illustration. I was trying to think of a word this morning. Not because I needed it for a particular purpose but because I knew I couldn’t remember it, and moreover it’s one I regularly lose. I think the reason for that is because I learned this word, in its specific context, later in life. Maybe when you learn a word later, it gets stored in a dusty closet with junk piled in front of it in your brain. Not in the shiny, spiffed-up room where most of the words live, all ready to do business. Also, I’m not certain I’ve ever heard anyone actually use the word in conversation – it’s one I know I’ve read in books, though.
I probably spent 5 or 10 minutes puzzling. And as in the past, other words, somehow related (in what way I didn’t know) were coming to mind. So I wrote them down: foil, prawn, mussel, sting. I knew my word related, but how? I couldn’t rest till I knew dagnabbit! Relax, it’ll come to you. It has before, exactly this way. BEARD!!! The word was beard. Do you know it in this context? Do most people? If not, I’ll first say, without looking it up, the way I understand it, which is that if someone is doing something illicit or otherwise trying to hide what they’re doing, the beard is the person who “covers” for them. If married Jack says he is going to play poker with Sam, but really is going to have sex with Lila, Sam is the beard for the operation in case Jack’s wife calls up to check on his whereabouts.
The Google dictionary says:
a person who carries out a transaction, typically a bet, for someone else in order to conceal the other’s identity.
The Urban Dictionary says [with typos corrected, ahem]:
Any opposite sex escort taken to an event in an effort to give a homosexual person the appearance of being out on a date with a person of the opposite sex.
“Half of the women on the red carpet at the movie premier were not real dates, but beards.”
(I’ve heard the “date” definition but forgotten it. Somehow it doesn’t seem a good fit – I want a different, better word for that, maybe a new word.)
I can see how, for the definition-in-my-mind as well as Google’s definition, my brain retrieval system works via the other words that came to mind. “Foil” and “sting” have to do with the illicitness involved, the fooling somebody. “Mussels” have beards, which always struck me as funny. “Prawn” is simply another seafood (but they don’t have beards so far as I know.) Each time this has happened with the word “beard” I try to figure out some way of retrieving it next time it’s lost. I’m afraid, though, that I’ve already locked in the related words; mussel in particular. It’s something on a mussel, I think, something on a mussel…what could it be? Hinge? What else do mussels possibly have?
Maybe if I started using beard in conversation, it would become stored differently and be more accessible in the future. However, I cannot bring myself to start using it in conversation. Although I love “beard” defined this way – as a subterfuge – and wonder how did I went so long not knowing it – it feels made up. And if I said it, people would look at me funny.
We now say he made poor choices. She made bad decisions. We used to say they fucked up. If we were feeling kindly we said they screwed up. And if we really wanted to be nice, we said they messed up.
I’ve figured out what my problem is with the use of the word partner when someone, gay or straight, is referring to their “significant other.” It’s all those Western movies I saw on TV as a kid. In my head I hear:
“We’ve been riding hard for days and ain’t seen nothing but tumbleweeds and rattlesnakes since El Paso. My pard’ner and I would be mighty obliged, Ma’am, if’n you’d see fit to rustle up some of them fine vittles and let us bunk down in your stable for the night.”
I never know what numerical date it is. I usually know if it’s Monday or Thursday, but sometimes I get so mixed up on the date, I can be in the wrong week. I don’t know addresses; do they live at 36 or 38? Birthdays? Forget it. I know the month, but the dates get mixed up. Was she born on August 10th or the 11th? You got me.
It took a surprisingly long while to realize I remember words. Not numbers. Some people think in terms of numbers – trust me, I’ve met them – but it makes sense that as a lifetime reader and writer, I think in terms of language.