“Bushspeak is Orwell’s newspeak, only less extreme. Most of the time, it doesn’t invert the familiar meanings of words entirely. It merely manipulates and abuses them.”
Awesome.
So, I work for a company that is primarily based in Singapore. This is cool because I consequently have very culturally diverse peers (if you think the US is a “melting pot”, you should take a look at Singapore). In fact, I believe I am one of only two American-born employees in a company of about 60.
At any rate, a lot of friendly “cultural differences” conversations take place during lunch, which I find both enlightening and entertaining. At one such lunch, a group of us were having Chinese food, and I noticed that among the four of us, the two non-Chinese people were using chopsticks, while the native Chinese guys were using forks. I asked my colleague about this juxtaposition and he said, “I don’t have to use chopsticks, I’m Chinese!” Americans are such posers.
More often than not, when you pass someone on the street, you both look straight ahead (or to the side as if suddenly fascinated by something) and pretend as if the other person does not exist. The more socially inclined of you may raise your head nonchalantly, or raise your eyebrows in a hip “Hey there” fashion, but nothing more. When did this happen? I think the behavior is definitely population related, and now that we’ve reached near-critical mass, individual strangers are not as novel as they used to be.
I’m sure that in Olden Tymes, every human being you stumbled upon in your lonely existence was worth at least a 20 minute chat; and, most likely, the trading of beaver pelts and valuable chiffon, as evinced by the following scene:
scene opens, two Davy Crockett-esque woodsmen approach each other along a wooden trail. Each carries a pack of belongings and required Thanksgiving-lithograph-of-Pilgrim’s musket
Guy 1: “Hail stranger, well met!”
Guy 2: “Hail, yon traveler. How doth this goodly day find thee?”
1: “Can’t complain, yo, have you any chiffon or news from town?”
2: “You knowz I do, G, bling-bling!”
etc. etc.
Somewhere along the line, though, there were eventually enough people, and we were autonomous enough, to not have a need for friendliness. I wonder about the day that all came to pass. I envision the two same woodsmen, perhaps with horses and carts by now, approaching each other along the same, though now well-traveled, path. One looking up to see the other, drawing a deep breath to exclaim, “Hail stranger, well met!” yet again; pausing, considering inwardly, and audibly muttering, “meh…” and continuing on his way, suddenly struck by the way the sun plays in his wheel spokes…
Walking down the street on the way to lunch, I noticed a bunch of evenly spaced sign posts. They read:
NO Parking
Any Time
For Commercial Vehicles
Weighing Over 5 tons.
5 tons! Do you know how many dead me’s that is? A little over 58. Thinking in those terms, I can certainly understand the concern. I wouldn’t want a bakery truck filled to the rafters with 58 Dave corpses in it, either. 57 corpses, though, that’s a completely different story.
I went to Building Resources today. It’s this awesome junkyard where recyclables are donated, excess materials dropped off, and old homes apparently go to die one piece at a time. I found everything from Levi’s display racks to rebar. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was inspiring…
According to matchstick: “Hmm. Eat Chee-tos, get orange keyboard.”
Awesome
I have a recurring fantasy of me in my mid-30’s:, fat, unshaven, dressed only in tightie-whities with Chee-tos handprints all over them, sitting in my dank bachelor pad illuminated solely by the gentle glow of my monitor. Empty pizza boxes and Pepsi cans surround me like a 5 year old’s fort. My thighs are withered from never standing, while my cavs are hyper-muscular from pushing my wheeled ergo-chair from mini-fridge to keyboard. ahhh
I know what you single ladies are thinking, “How do I get my hands on this beefcake?”
Well, the answer’s simple: take a number, baby, take a number…
“Tests carried out at the University of Northumbria last year showed that women found ugly men more attractive when they were secretly exposed to the chemicals found in their armpits.”
There’s hope for me yet. (via EVHEAD! )
Ah man! While searching for that Rudolph picture below, I found out that he’s just another marketing construct like Valentine’s Day. Apparently, he was a shill for Montgomery Ward. Is nothing I believe in sacred?! If someone tells me there’s no such thing as Superman, I’m goin’ postal.
Let me do a little obligatory link-back for Pounding Nails … With my Forehead.. Actually, I do like the way Micheal says what he says, and you’ve got to respect an aspiring teacher who has the guts to work at Taco Bell until he makes it.
Plus, I’m mentioned twice on his blog. One each for directly and indirectly. See if you can spot where! It’s fun for the whole family!
Oh, and in the immortal words of Rudolph, he thinks I’m cute!
