Rants

Why I Will Never Say “Oh Shoot!” Again

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While in exile, Ovid the Roman poet wrote:

 

The country here is grotesque, the people savage, the weather awful, the customs crude, and the language a garble. . . . [The people] all carry knives at their belts and you never know whether they’re going to greet you or stab you. . . .

 

Like you, when I first read this, I thought, “Whoa. He was exiled here in the States?” But as you know, just as many of his works are no longer extant, he himself is no longer extant. And considering the number of angry people out there, it’s amazing how many of us are still extant.

 

People seem to be getting stabbier. So you’ve got to wonder why here in Wisconsin, we are going to be allowed to carry concealed weapons at our belts or in our pockets or, for larger people, in our coin slots. November 1st we can all start carrying things that make us more confident and sure that we are right, and if you think differently, would you mind stepping over here. I have something to show you that will help you see my point: a gun, or as I like to think of it, a consensus builder. We are the 49th state to get in on all the fun of being not only belligerent, but also deadly. (The very reason I miss Texas so much.)

 

We are going to need new ways to describe new behaviors. Road rage is not enough. To save valuable time for the psychiatrists who will be defending all those shooters who were drunk and temporarily insane, and also were traumatized as children by clowns with inappropriately sized shoes (and, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, balloons!), I have created a list. I’m using bullets because that’s so apropos, and also fitting:

 

  • Avenue anger
  • Boulevard blowup
  • Freeway fury
  • Interchange ire
  • Underpass umbrage
  • Expressway exasperation
  • Street heat
  • Highway hotheadedness
  • Path provocation
  • Bicycling belligerence
  • Overpass outburst
  • Sidewalk surliness
  • Hall huffing
  • Roundabout rampage
  • Footpath frenzy
  • Pew pushing
  • Mall malice
  • Blog bulleting

Concealed weapon and concealed weaponer

F-word Fatigue (Part Two)

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The F-word is getting old

When the f-word rode into town in the early 1960s on his Harley, with his leather jacket, and fresh tattoos, he was everybody’s darling. People just couldn’t get enough of him. He could take people’s breath away just by showing up in a book or on a stage and flexing his muscles.

 

Now he looks a lot like the late Elvis. The extra-wide seat on his Harley isn’t extra enough, and his skull tattoo that used to scare little old ladies is starting to look like Casper the Friendly Ghost. Worse yet, have you noticed how often he brings his mother with him when he makes his appearances? I mean, what other curse word does that? I can just hear all the other tough words saying, “Hey, Mr. F-word, where’s your mommy today?”

 

Eventually people are going to tire of him, and stop inviting him over. I won’t feel sorry for him though. He has a cozy retirement home waiting for him over at the OED.

F-word Fatigue (Part One)

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Half a century ago, the Boomers (at that time more like little Poppers) came up with two culture-changing ideas: let it all hang out and tell it like it is. People today take this first idea way too literally. Have you seen how much is hanging out of people these days? We’re starting to look like a nation of vending machines what with our front and back coin slots.

 

We Poppers were young, hip, and oh-so-uncensored when we began telling it like it was. We needed the f-word in our shock and awe campaign to overthrow the establishment and bring peace, love, and drugs to the world. And did we ever bring the drugs. If you have enough of them, you really don’t care about the other two. Mission accomplished.

 

So, the f-word. Go here and type it in the search bar. You’ll see that after a bout of popularity in the 1800s, it went bankrupt, started hanging around sleazy bars, singing for food and sleeping in dark alleys. Now, it’s a celebrity, the kind who is famous for being famous. The kind whose face and body parts are plastered on every magazine in the checkout counter and who keeps appearing on the front pages of newspapers who should know better.

 

That’s why I have f-word fatigue. Every other noun, pronoun, verb, adjective, adverb, and interjection is being replaced by some form of this word. (Thankfully, no one uses it as a preposition or conjunction yet, but please keep this a secret, or it might change.)

 

In the future, will we all speak F, formerly known as English?  Or as they say in F: In the f, will f all f F, f-ly f-ed as English? This will cause people to run around saying WTF all the time, much like they do already. Maybe the future is already here and I just need new glasses.

 

Over half a million words are languishing in dictionaries, waiting for someone to adopt them. Do your part, take some home, put those puppies on a leash, and let them chew somebody’s leg or pee on their shoes. Or take pictures of them and post them on the internet. The f-word is a dog that has had its day. It’s time to put it down. 

Warning! This is a Rant

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Long ago, in a century not unlike this one, except that women wore more clothes and you hardly heard the f-word and people were better drivers and they wrote letters. On paper. With ink. And their very own hands. Without the aid of machines! Mind-boggling, no?

Where was I? Oh yes, my rant. It’s about the heights to which consciousness has been and is being raised. Back in the 1960s and 1970s, women met together for consciousness-raising. They were tired of being second-class citizens and wanted equal pay for equal work. Also, they wanted to be viewed as something more than sex objects. When I was in college, I attended some of these sessions. And while I admit that along with the rest of my body, my consciousness may be sagging a bit, there are a lot of consciousnesses out there that needed to be winched up. (WARNING: cane is raised!)

Every time I see young women call themselves whores while wearing their 90%-off clothing (and I don’t mean the price), or hear about a poll in which a majority of young teenaged girls would rather be sexy than smart, my consciousness gets a headache. This is not the road to equal pay for equal work. (What? We’re still on that road? Sadly, yes.)

Now, for the rant: Why,when I was your age, my consciousness was this high (points to head). Yours looks like it’s stuck right there (points to lower body).

 

Eight Life Lessons from Driving Miss Crazy

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1. Nobody likes a tailgater unless your vehicle is stopped, your tailgate is open, and you’re serving hot dogs and hamburgers. (Although I’d really prefer chicken.)

2. Some babies need a binky in their mouths at all times; you do not need a cellphone stuck to your ear at all times. Try sucking your thumb instead.

3. Don’t weave back and forth; this isn’t a loom or hair salon.

4. Don’t pick your nose. It’s hard for the rest of us to see you struggling that way. Perhaps you have not heard that most car windows are not opaque. Learn this.

5. Remember the song “Where is Thumbkins?” Remember Mr. Tall Man? Well, when it looks like everyone in your rearview mirror is singing that song and showing you Mr. Tall Man, remind yourself that most adults no longer sing that song. Maybe something else is going on, like your driving.

6. Don’t speed up when someone tries to pass you. Maybe that’s why you keep seeing Mr. Tall Man. (Review lesson #5.)

7. Learn car language: a blinker means please, a horn blast means watch out, many horn blasts mean I’m this close to ramming into your car, and a loud crash means I rammed into your car, but I have insurance, do you?

8. When someone’s blinker is asking you to please let them in, be nice. Even if we are going to a dead-end job, most of us prefer to arrive at work alive.

Tailgaters

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Why do drivers think I will go faster if they get so close that I can see their nose hairs? I don’t have any extra nose tweezers for them, and if I did, how would I give the tweezers to them. Throw the nose hair clippers violently through their windshield while doing 65 mph? Hmm, that actually sounds quite nice.

I need a bumper sticker that says, “I brake QUICKLY for tailgaters.” Or maybe, “I BREAK arms and legs of tailgaters.”

Wish me luck on my morning commute. It looks grumpy outside today.