Abuse of Language

The other day, I was in lab talking about something, some reaction or such, and I said, "What's the worst that could happen? An explosion?" The labmate with whom I was speaking and I had a nice chuckle, and then he said "Well, I guess we could always crank the heat up and see what happens." To which I replied, "Don't blame me when it goes 'Poon!'" I then used very large, sweeping hand and arm gestures to pantomime the billowing clouds of fire and smoke as I wrapped up my sentence.

Then I realized what word I used to recreate the onomatopoeia of the explosion. My labmate and I had a good laugh over that, too.

I realize I'm going to probably offend my female readers here, but this little exchange got me to thinking. We have a perfectly lovely and utile language here in English, and yet we seem to spend most of our creativity on developing and inventing clever words to describe our sexual organs. Take, for instance, poon. Said in a deeper, almost airy way, it's a lovely way to describe the sound made during an explosion. However, I think we all know its "true" meaning--actually, the word "poon" is often used to reference a certain group of trees from the East Indies known for their solid, durable wood. Yep, that's right. You get hard wood from poon.

*taps microphone* Is this thing on?

It's not even taking another word and twisting it to some perverted means, like hooters. We all know what hooters are, thanks in large part to Al Bundy and that rather mediocre restaurant. I prefer to think the Al Bundy had more to do with it than the restaurant, but that's just me. We can make up any number of words to describe a body part, and instantly one knows what it means. Such as, if I were to say, "Wow! Look at those mugumbas!" you'd know instantly that I was ogling some girl's breasts.

Of course, this doesn't stop with just the female body. It works for the guys, too, lest we forget James Van der Beek's soliloquy from Varsity Blues in which he lists a very long stream of words, phrases, and descriptors for the penis. Or the wangdang. Or the John Thomas. I think I've made my point.

If nothing else, I've proven on this here little blog that I'm fairly proficient at throwing around words that some people consider offensive. So, it might seem like I'm a hypocrite, complaining that we're using our creativity to come up with new words for our naughty bits--especially when I use them every day. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not; that's for you to decide. However, in all the words used to describe genitalia, there is one used to describe female genitalia that I find completely and downright terrible, and thus I never use it.

Yeah, that one.

Is this a Bad Sign?

Do you think it means anything when I have a very long and very detailed dream that Mike Rowe and I are driving a truck filled with dry ice from Texas to California in order to help make some Hollywood special effects for a movie about fish?


I didn't think so, either.

I Creaned My Pants

Okay, so most of you didn't fall for my juvenile April Fool's Prank from the other day.

Hopefully, you'll appreciate my juvenile potty humor.

No? Well, tough.

Anyway, as I was laying down my little head upon the soft pillows of my bed late Monday night, I flipped over to ESPN because I wanted to catch the scores of the NIT semis. Fortunately, I was lying there when the NCAAM news came up. Much to my surprise, I saw the words "Indiana will name Marquette head coach Tom Crean to the same position."
I thought for a moment that I had misread. Or that I had fallen for some April Fool's Prank. Except that it was after midnight, and the collective brain trust at the World Wide Leader isn't half so clever as to concoct this clever ruse.
At the time, I was unsure how I felt about the hire. I felt it was good that a highly-respected coach had left a program he had returned to glory for Indiana, despite the daunting task in front of him. However, to be quite honest, I wasn't wowed by the hire. I felt it was probably a good move, but after that I didn't have much to say. So, I slept on it.

I woke up Wednesday, and I was fired up. I began to think about how Tom Crean had taken a Marquette team that had gone through a slump since the golden era of Al McGuire and built them into a perennially ranked team that was very seldom mentioned for being on the dreaded bubble in March. I thought about Dwyane Wade, Travis Diener and how he led his teams to two victories over Kentucky (sorry Ψ * Ψ) in the NCAA tournament. I thought about Dominic James and how Tom Crean recruited him out of Indiana. I thought about Jerel McNeal shooting light's out against Notre Dame in the Big East tournament. Everything I could think about Tom Crean was positive, aside from how, at times, he looks a little bit like Tom Arnold. But, fuckin' aye, if that's all you've got going against you, you're doing something right.

It seems, thanks to the guys at Inside the Hall (which is the best Indiana basketball blog going) who have provided several link dumps (and yes, I've read all of the included links) giving a national perspective on Indiana's hire, that everyone else around the country also thinks that this was a good hire by Indiana. I've heard nothing but positives, whether it's local ass clown David Glenn talking about it or I'm reading a story on Yahoo! sports (I try to avoid columns on the World Wide Leader's website). The only negatives I've heard are from Illinois fans, and they all are saying that Crean made a huge mistake by coming to Indiana. And by "all" I mean Deadspin's own Will Leitch and Foul Balls' Tom Fornelli. And, if you can get under Illinois fans' skin, then you're doing something right.

I think I was surprised more than anything on Tuesday night, which is why I wasn't jumping around making an ass of myself when I read the news. However, Wednesday morning, I was basically doing just that because I was so fired up. I think Crean is going to last a long time at Indiana, he's going to right the ship, he's going to rebuild a program with a proud tradition, and he's going to get in players who aren't going to have character issues like the current crop of players seem to excel at having. I only wish that Indiana had been smart enough two years ago to offer Crean the job; apparently, from what I read, they talked to Crean about the position but ultimately ended up going with Sampson. At least this time they seem to have gotten it right.
As excited as I am, I can only imagine that Marquette fans are feeling the exact opposite. This was a total surprise to me; I can imagine that this was a total blindside to them. At the outset, I figured Tom Crean was the darkest of the dark horse candidates, because he was paid top money by Marquette and had a long contract in place. Indiana's athletic department is notoriously parsimonious, and they've got quite a few football coaches they're still paying for doing their typical underwhelming jobs at Indiana. To go out and hire Crean away from Marquette, and pay him top dollar was totally unexpected. I'm glad to see that Indiana, the president and the trustees are willing to do what it will take to get their basketball program fixed and back on track.

Again, though, I feel bad for Marquette fans. They lost a helluva coach on Tuesday, and I can understand if they're angry, disappointed and sad. I had the same emotions going through me when it was revealed that Sampson had spit in the face of the Indiana tradition and program. I don't have this worry with Crean. Yes, right now, with the NCAA infractions meeting looming, DJ White's graduation, Eric Gordon's bolting for the NBA, and Bassett and Ellis kicked off the team, this could only be considered a lateral move--at best--for Crean. It's not like Marquette is a program that's not steeped in tradition and a solid, venerable basketball program. However, the difference is that I think Crean can take the grimy mess that is Indiana's program and polish it back up to where it is, truly, one of the five best programs in the country (UCLA, North Carolina, Kentucky, Kansas, Duke...pick a top five out of those).

When the luster returns to the program in a couple of seasons (hell, Crean might be able to string together 20 wins with a group of walk-ons and bench players this next season), we as fans will get back to seeing more of this in Bloomington...except with a nice crimson tie and another red banner.

I'm So Tired...

I haven't been posting a lot lately. My kids went to visit their grandparents last week for spring break, and I've been doing a lot of work around the house trying to get it ready to put on the market so we can move. Exhaustion has been, well, an understatement, to be honest. There's still a lot to do. I have to finish hanging the baseboards in the bathroom downstairs. I have a few more screws to screw into the shutters on the second story. I have to pound some edgers down into the ground around one of the beds I made at the back of the house and I have to finish putting the edging in on the bed I made at the side of the house, plus I need to put down some more mulch and some more stones in various beds. This is not to mention all the mowing and edging I need to get done, too. I guess I just need to find the right tools for the jobs at hand.

On top of this, I'm starting up a new project at work. It's fun, but it's got some tougher chemistry involved, plus, I've got so much to read when it comes to papers and such. There's a whole bunch of biology to learn, there's biological tests and assays I have to familiarize myself with, and then there's just the new chemistry that has to be learned (I did a Baeyer-Villager the other day...and it was fucking sweet).

The thing that's tired me out the most, though, is the whole writing thing. It's not that I have a lack of topics swirling around in my mind; quite the opposite, to be honest. But, also, honestly, it's tough to find the time. I just put the kids down to bed and I still have to gather up the trash and take it out and straighten up the kitchen. By the time I'm done with that, it'll be well after nine, and already I need to start getting ready for tomorrow when I get to do it all over again.

The thing that I'm most tired of, though, is rejection. Yeah, I got two more emails this week telling me thanks but no thanks. Or whatever the form rejection is these days. It's not us, it's you. It's just not what we're looking for. Grow a larger copulation organ now. All of that crap. It's soul-crushing. I realize you have to keep trying, but I've been working on these things now for years. Too many years to even think about, because when I do, I just get depressed more. I've progressed very well on the whole Hundred Kings Saga thing, but now I'm getting to the point of wondering why should I even bother? I pour my heart and soul into carefully crafting a land and characters to populate the land and all the other subtle little nuances that breathe life into a set of words and make them a person and all I get is "Sorry, no."

I guess the big problem is that I'm tired of the form letter. You know, you could at least put my name in the title of the email. "Dear Author" just doesn't cut it. Blegh. Thanks for carefully considering my book/letter/synopsis. Next time, introduce yourself right before you kick me in the nuts, okay?

Maybe I'm slitting my own throat with this post, but I just don't care anymore. I just don't. I'm out. I'll probably keep working on the stories, but they'll be all mine. I'll be happy with the way they end and how they work out. But, I won't cry over the little details that I've worked in only to have some heartless assistant send me a form rejection letter. Screw that. I don't need that stress on top of it. That's right, I'm giving up. Even though we didn't give up when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor, I'm giving up now.

So, this is the end. I'm getting out of the writing business, for a long while. That means things will slow down here even more. Don't worry, I'll still be puttering around your sites (I mean, I have to have something to do between reading ring-closing metathesis papers) and still providing my soulful wit in your comments sections. But, for the most part, I've ridden off into the sunset.


Thanks, all. It's been fun.

Sayonara.

I'll let Bender say the rest.

Happy St. Hugh Day!

Today we celebrate the Feast of St. Hugh. Hugh was appointed the Bishop of Grenoble by the council at Avignon in 1080, which was impressive as he was not yet ordained as a priest. Apparently, his piety was so great that everyone just knew he was destined for great things.

What kinds of great things? Well, he had a dream in which he saw seven stars. This, of course, inspired him to form his own monastic society, which is naturally named the Carthusian Order. He founded the Carthusians (along with St. Bruno of Cologne, who perhaps taught him many things about how to be a bishop without being a priest) in a snowy, alpine village called Chartreuse. The Carthusians are famous for their lurid yellow-green robes and their ability to craft very fine fishing lures.

Hugh (also know as Hugh of Châteauneuf, which means "Nine Castle" en français) was the Bishop of Grenoble until his death in 1132, though he tried to quit and enter a monastary at Cluny two years after taking the seat of bishop. After his death, Hugh wasn't done. No, his body was burned by the Huguenots during the Wars of Religion. However, at this point, Hugh had already been canonized. Clearly, they didn't like sharing a name with poor Hugh.

Also, today is April Fool's or All Fool's Day. Since it's also Hugh's day, and he was French, I'll add that it's poisson d'avril en France. What is poisson d'avril?, you might ask. I'll tell you. Poisson d'avril means "fish of April" or "April's Fish" (get your mind out of the gutter now), and it is the day set aside for hanging small paper fish on the back of your friends. Oh, those plucky French, what won't they think of next?

As you may have been able to tell, I do have the ability to quickly and easily translate all of these French terms into English (or a reasonable facsimilie of English). That is because I studied French for four years in high school (I mentioned that a while ago, but it's always good to remind folks who might be new or whatever...plus it allows me to add the extra level of yet another parenthetical clause). And, what would high school be like if you could not torture some poor, unsuspecting fool on poisson d'avril? It would be even more painful than usual, let me tell you. Of course, the unsuspecting fool in this case was our French teacher, Ms. Knipp.

Madamoiselle Knipp was, perhaps, the one person in all of history I've met with a heart of solid, 18K gold, mostly because she put up with this stupid shit and didn't beat the hell out of us with her enormous yardstick, knicknamed Spanks. Anyway, the first time we learned of poisson d'avril, a couple of my friends (since I lived in a tiny village in the eastern part of the county and I didn't have a car nor parents who were willing to drive my ass around for such stupid endeavors) sat around most of the night of March 31st drawing thousands of tiny fish on little post-it notes. They arrived at school early, a few minutes after the janitors went around unlocking all the classroom doors, and snuck into Ms. Knipp's room, covering the walls with all of these little fish. A good time was had by all, and we were finding tiny paper fish for months after the prank, which would have been legendary by French standards.

The following year (when I was a junior), right before the third period, someone in the office paged Ms. Knipp to come to the office. Confused, she obliged, and as she went around the corner, my friends came running in with an electric skillet, oil, and, yes, fish. They fried up fish for everyone in the class, and when Ms. Knipp returned from her fool's errand, everyone yelled in unison "poisson d'avril!" Incidentally, I think that's when I got a fish bone caught in my throat and I ended up puking (I did make it to the restroom). It took me several years before I could eat fish again.

So, let us celebrate Hugh of Châteauneuf, his yellow-robed friends, and French fish everywhere today. Also, since it's St. Hugh day, let's celebrate guys named Hugh. [1]


Also, today is FitzChivalry Farseer's Beloved day. Yes, that's an obscure reference. No, I don't expect most of you to understand it (if you do, post it in the comments, you vile lurker).

[1] Two of the three of these men, my wife finds very, very sexy. The third is simply cute and on the list because he has a British accent. I hope everyone appreciates how hard I had to work on this picture.