I obsess about things that aren’t things. I do this frequently. I obsess about it so frequently that I created this tag just to talk about the things that aren’t things and the definitions of the things that are things. Because things have to be definable and definitions are important for understanding when a thing is a thing and when it isn’t.
An effective pun causes brain hemorrhage. Something akin to a stroke should occur. You should feel a distinct pain when observing a pun. A pain in the brain. If a pun is funny it is a failure. The proper response to an effective pun is the overwhelming urge the throttle the person who uttered it. If the hearer doesn’t feel murderous rage, at least momentarily, the failed punster should probably go back to flipping burgers for a living. Wordplay is not their forte.
This doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy punning; but it does mean that engaging in the practice places you solidly in the sadomasochistic realm, somewhere between schadenfreude and outright self-loathing. Torturing language in that fashion should be painful.
I swear I heard the word fruforah uttered by some englishman somewhere. I can almost here the voice. “All this fruforah is for nothing!” However, no search string that I’ve tried will give me a quote or anything like the word fruforah, even when I include the word brouhaha, which should have a synonymous meaning. It isn’t in the thesaurus either, so it isn’t a word. Well, it is now.
The word impeach enters English in the 1380s as the Middle English empechen, which meant “to impede,” “hinder,” or “prevent.” It was borrowed from the Old French empechier, in turn from the Late Latin impedicāre, “to fetter,” “entangle,” or “catch.” The root of impedicāre is pedica, “shackles,” formed from pēs, “foot,” yielding words from pawn to pedestrian to impede. As the metaphor goes, to shackle one’s feet is to stop them from walking, hence impeach’s historical sense of “hinder.”
I went looking for this word the other day. I was trying to express the desire to voice complete agreement when what I really felt was agreement with some minor variant of what was being said. A purist might call that a lie, as the Merriam-Webster article I found the word defined in does. But saying lie means dissemble is to erase the subtlety of the word.
Well, I’ll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in’t; and I would I were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown.
To dissemble is to disguise. You dissemble every time you say I’m fine when asked the perfunctory“how are you?” that passes for greetings everywhere in the English speaking world. You don’t take the time to express every ache and pain that a truthful response to the query would require. The questioner doesn’t want that and would consider that kind of oversharing to be rude.
So you dissemble. Is that lying? Only if everything is black and white.
I said dissimilate first. But I knew that wasn’t right. So I looked it up. The definition seemed so close to what I heard when I heard dissemble in my head. If you had been assimilated then you could dissimilate and not be a part of that group any more. If you dissembled your previous assimilation, pretending you never had to dissimilate, you might be concealing something, but would anyone ever know? Having never known, would it make any difference? I could say I don’t care, but that would be dissembling, and I wouldn’t want to fib.
Personally I prefer hydroxide myself. Dihydrogen monoxide is just too much of a mouthful. If you have a phobia for chemicals, think to yourself every time you have a glass of water “this is some tasty oxidane.” You’ll eventually quit gagging when you do it.
Everytime I open the medicine cabinet this label is staring me in the face.
I know that the french translation is an attempt to mimic the english phrase organizer basket above it, but I’m always left wondering if a french speaker would see that as a natural french phrase, or if it reads like labels written for english by people who don’t speak it?
I’m still left with deranged pans, myself. The sanity of your cookware is apparently a subject open for debate. How would you go about determining that?
This is one of my favorite words. I heard it used in a sentence this week in relation to the Brexit machinations of Boris Johnson. Since it was a British podcast, this might not rank as a rare occurrence.
The Wife hates my morning oatmeal. Hates it. Basically, she just hates all oatmeal, all the time. But especially my morning oatmeal. I don’t know why. It’s heaven for me.
First you start with a quarter cup of oats. Add a heaping tablespoon of PB-Fit powder. Then add about half a teaspoon of dark brown sugar. Then you poor a cup of hot water across the mixture, stir and let it set for five to ten minutes. Then you add in a handful of fresh or frozen blueberries and microwave the mixture until it has boiled for a little over a minute. Let it stand again for about ten minutes. Then you add the piece-de-resistance.
Pour a half-cup of oatmilk across it and stir the mixture again. Oatmilk is the best milk for eating any cereal with. Why? Because it tastes like you’ve already had cereal in it. That was my favorite part of breakfast as a child. I never liked the taste of milk even before I became lactose intolerant (or whatever it is that my gut objects to when it comes to milk) But. Pour milk over cereal and let the cereal soak a bit. After eating the cereal you drink the milk out of the bowl. Yum. I mean, that milk beat chocolate milk for flavor, even if all you had in the way of cereal was Raisin Bran.
The oatmeal I make in the morning tastes like peanut butter oatmeal cookies. I can’t start my day without it. Yesterday we were running late for an appointment and The Wife was trying to help get me out the door. I have no sense of time. I never have, and being disabled has only decoupled me further from whatever time sense I had as a working adult. So I asked her to open the new cartoon of oatmilk and pour it while I grabbed the last bit of stuff on the way out the door. As she hands the bowl to me she says “I don’t think I shook the milk enough before pouring. It won’t be as odious, I’m sorry.”
She claimed she meant oatiness. “Won’t have it’s oatiness.” But I know a freudian slip when I hear one.
(lit. “useless eaters” or “useless mouths”) Similar to life unworthy of life, a designation for Jews unable to work, people with serious medical problems or disabilities, and other Untermenschen not deemed to be useful to Germany.
On March 28th, 2019, we learned that the proposed Trump budget was going to defund the Special Olympics, as well as strip the paltry millions away from special needs children across the United States. Betsy Devos defunding Special Olympics? They are useless eaters after all. The Orange Hate-Monkey, coward that he is (luckily for targets that he selects) backpedaled as fast as his bone spur disability would let him. At least, when it comes to visible programs like the Special Olympics he is backpedaling. But when it comes to the more invisible cuts? What happens to them? Are they rescinded?
Whether he says they are or not, whether congress overrides his ridiculous budget and drafts a new one from whole cloth, the question still remains, why? Why target these programs in the first place? Because they enable the useless eaters in our midst, that’s why.
That is also why he wants to change disability insurance and defund social security and kill Obamacare. All of those programs allow people to survive without working, and you can’t keep paying people not to work. If you are a Nazi a fascist or a stormtrumper, that is what you believe. If you believe this, like a stormtrumper does, then you want people like me to die. I have some bad news for you. I’m not planning on checking out anytime soon.