The long, long silly season

Hard to believe, but it’s still over a year until the election we’re all obsessing about. That’s more than enough time for all the current front runners to fade away, and for new ones to emerge from nowhere. Meanwhile, we’re filling Facebook, Twitter, and, yes, blogs, with not so much political opinion as ad hominem. Never have slings and arrows so thoroughly disdained outrageous defeat. Have at them now, lads, if they disappear, you’ll have missed your chance to smite those who disagree with your clan. Come to think of it, disagreement isn’t even necessary, just designation as the Enemy.

The worst part of all this is the ugly deterioration of discourse in social media. Of course, the bar was never set very high to begin with, but now it’s steadily approaching negative numbers. More like limbo than the high jump. How low can you go?

There’s an insidious dynamic at work, one which, I admit, has affected me at times as well. You make some statement, simplistic because, in the buzz of the moment, you don’t feel like putting in all the nuance, all the exceptions and caveats. Besides, what sells on social media is the punchy one-liner. In any case, you assume your friends will get all that, because they know you so well.

But then, it turns out they don’t. Someone responds with an objection, which itself ignores nuance, the better to firmly repudiate the shallowness of your post. In other words, by this point, the two of you have posted opinions that, although you generally find the gist agreeable, you do not wholly buy into. It could stop right there, and often does. All it takes is one side or the other opting out.

But sometimes, you just can’t seem to leave it alone. You feel wounded; it’s a kind of betrayal for a friend to think you would actually believe such simplicity. How could they, especially since their response is just as trivial? Besides, you’ve thought of a zinger that will stop the whole process by making it clear you have the superior position.

You’re off and running. The “debate” slides further and further into sheer defensiveness, until each of you finds yourself fiercely defending a position you would never have even acknowledged before things got out of hand. Worse, a friendship is threatened over what usually amounts to a difference in nuance.

With any luck, something truly horrific hits the news just then, and the two of you can come together on what dangerous lunatics the other side are.

Damned PC!

Tired of all the political correctness? Hey, me too! Here’s a list of the rules of political correctness from when I was young.

• If you’re black, always defer to a white person
• If you’re female, always defer to a male
• If you’re a white male, always show your superiority by using the words nigger, chink, spic, pollack, and sheeny every chance you get
• Remember, when a woman says no, she means yes
• If someone uses a racial slur, a good-natured laugh and hearty agreement are the best responses
• Always laugh at jokes at the expense of minorities or women
• Never show an interest in shop class if you’re a girl
• Never show an interest in home ec if you’re a boy
• If you’re male, love sports. or at least pretend to
• If you’re female, wear clothes that emphasize your sexy bits, and give in to rape graciously
• If you’re an overweight college girl, be grateful when a frat boy takes you to an “ugly date” party
• If you’re male, always remember, no matter how ugly or disgusting you are, you get to pass judgment on the appearance of any female

Well, that’s just a few; there were many more. Bet you’re surprised that we’ve been fighting PC much longer than you suspected!

ithink therefore iam

I see lower case i being used for the personal pronoun more and more frequently these days. I suggest that, rather than railing against this usage, we could take it at face value. Mathematically, it stands for √(-1) which is an irrational number, since any number multiplied by itself must always be positive. Nevertheless, it can be mathematically useful at times, and so too in ordinary discourse. Lower case i, when used as the personal pronoun, can be interpreted as an indication of the person using it self-identifying as irrational. This can save a lot of misunderstanding, and obviate the need for a rational response to any statement made subsequently.

This usage can also help enrich our understanding of various words in the English language, such as icon, idolatry, and idleness, or, indeed, enhance our appreciation of technology, in the case of any device made by the Apple Corporation. That this last would be ironic is itself the ultimate irony, receding into infinite regress.

It can even be a handy prefix for anything irrational: icontact, ipinion, or indeed, the word irrational itself.

i think this makes sense. Do u?

5 things your doctor won’t tell you

  1. When his Lamborghini payment is due.
  2. What he thinks the moment before he enters your examination room.
  3. Whether he remembers your name without looking at your chart.
  4. What he says to the nurse after he sees you.
  5. His credit card number, and PIN.

The origin of ketchup

According to Wikipedia, ketchup originated “In the 17th century, [when] the Chinese mixed a concoction of pickled fish and spices and called it (in the Amoy dialect) kôe-chiap or kê-chiap (鮭汁, Mandarin Chinese guī zhī, Cantonese gwai1 zap1) meaning the brine of pickled fish (鮭, salmon; 汁, juice) or shellfish.”

As a kid, I spent a lot of time at drugstore lunch counters.  Many of you are no doubt too young to remember those; every drugstore had one.  You could get made-to-order Coca Cola from a spout that mixed the syrup with fizzy water right in front of you (flavors, from cherry to chocolate and vanilla, were optional), various ice cream treats (malts, shakes, floats and sundaes), more or less fresh coffee and donuts,  and greasy lunches for a reasonable price.  Condiments like salt and pepper, mustard and ketchup, were lined soldier-like along the length of the counter.  It was a cheap hangout, an ersatz clubhouse, where a guy too young to hang out in a bar could go and reasonably expect to find a friend or two any time of day.  Best of all, magazines and comic books were always displayed nearby, and you could sit and read them without buying; the proprietor generally only complained a couple of times a month, when the racks got overly disorganized, as long as you were careful not to treat them so roughly that they couldn’t ultimately be sold.

A kid could get to know the routines: the shift changes, the making of the Fresh Coffee (older customers timed their arrival for this), and the refilling of the condiments.  I would sit and watch, fascinated, as the counter server went from container to container, topping off the bottles and shakers.  I never saw anyone empty and wash out a bottle of ketchup, which leads me to one inescapable conclusion.

Some small trace of that original 鮭 was no doubt still at the bottom of those ketchup bottles, and that’s why I have such a strong immune system to this day.