Language is the Dress of Thought

Sunday Sunday, So Good to Me

2011-02-28T13:06:00.001-08:00

Time for another commentary on your favorite subject and mine, my job. But first, I feel the need to clarify a few things about the last writings I posted on here. Those were just things that I had lately been thinking, ideas that I've been trying to find the strength to vocalize for some time. If you're reading this, it probably doesn't apply to you, at least not as long as our friendship is concerned. If it does, I'm apparently getting some publicity of which I was unaware.
Moving on the current subject, people know who I am before I introduce myself. I don't mean someone saying "I know" when I say that I'm Scott White, and I'm conducting a customer service follow-up call on behalf of (car rental company). I mean starting out my phone call with "Hello, may I speak to Christine Everheart?" and hearing in response "Yeah, hang on. (away from the phone) Phone! (car rental company)!"
Either these people get a lot of calls from my company, or they don't get a whole lot of phone calls in general. No matter the reason, it's a bit on the unnerving side, and definitely impressive. Perhaps I've been calling people with extra-sensory perception.
On a somewhat related note, in that it was something I noticed while working on a Sunday, there are apparently a large number of people who get incredibly irate if you call them on weekends. One woman was kind enough to ask me if I was aware that it was Sunday, which was a rather stunning revelation for me. No, ma'am, that particular fact had not escaped my notice. Given that I am the one who is at work on a Sunday, and will be here for eight hours rather than just having a two minute conversation about a rental car, I can understand why you might think that I'm unaware of what day it is, but rest assured that I have been informed what day of the week it is.
You see folks, we used to have laws that said nobody worked on Sundays. "Blue Collar Laws" are what I've heard them called. Plenty of liquor laws have their roots in the very same tradition, the one that said Sunday is a holy day of rest. Well, APPARENTLY most of those laws aren't on the books anymore. And, as they are no longer on the books, there are certain companies that are open on Sundays, such as grocery stores, or telemarket research centers. And while I am displeased that there are a few people who are getting incensed, I bet you're not too upset that you can still run out to McDonald's after church in the morning, are you?
In summary, I call people who know things about me that I haven't told them, and people like to get self-righteous and indignant for religious reasons. Have a good day, y'all.

Stop Hiding

2011-02-27T00:56:00.001-08:00

Stop making excuses. Stop backing down. Believe what you believe, and don't be ashamed of it. I understand if you don't want to take my survey. Tell me as much. Don't pretend that you aren't home. Don't tell your boyfriend to say you aren't there. Don't tell your wife to take the survey for you. Just say you aren't interested.
Don't tell me you're busy if you're not, tell me that you're not interested. Don't make excuses in order to save yourself a little bit of guilt. Stop expecting that you can get something for nothing.
If you don't like me, tell me. If you don't like what I believe, tell me. If you think you're better than me, tell me. If you think maybe I don't like you, ask. I don't have time to coddle your insecurities if you don't have time to be straight with me. Your problems are not my problems. I will help you with them, if you ask. If I want your help, I will ask.
You are not better than me. I am not better than you. A friend told me once that I needed to stop letting my pride get in the way of my life. An author told me that I needed to love myself before I could be happy letting anyone else love me. Now I'm telling you to do the same, because you're my friend, too.
It will be hard. It will be a change. If you can't do it, I am willing to help you. If you won't do it, I have no patience for you in my life. You are who you are. You are not facts about yourself. You are not lies about yourself. You are you. If you can't deal with being you, figure out why.
Stand up. Be yourself. Tell the truth, and don't apologize for it.
I'm not just talking about my job. If you think I might be talking to you, I am. Think about it.

Classical Ringback

2011-02-26T14:29:00.001-08:00

So there's another thing that I've noticed at work, and that is the choices people make regarding ringbacks. For those of you who, like me, do not necessarily stay hip the curren jive, ringback tones are what you hear when you call someone rather than the standard ringing noise. Some of them are interesting, some of them are obnoxious, but they're all a personal statement by the person you're calling. I've heard the How I Met Your Mother song, which pretty much made my night. I've heard some club songs, and couldn't resist swaying to the beat. My supervisor, of course, always tells me to status it as an answering machine and move on (It's a tie whether she tells me to do that more, or to read our company responses verbatim), which I do sometimes if it's an annoying song, but most of the time I'll listen for at least a few seconds. People who have ringbacks set up on their phone deserve to let (car rental company) know about their experiences, too.
Back to the point at hand, I've heard some pop, some rock, a fair amount of country, and a surprising amount of classical. But here's the catch with the classical music, it's the same song. Every single classical ringback that I've heard in my two weeks of calling has been THE SAME SONG! I couldn't tell you what song it is, specifically, as I'm not incredibly familiar with the genre, but it sounds a fair bit like Vivaldi. I hear Garth Brooks, and Alan Jackson, and Toby Keith. I've heard Ke$ha, and the Black Eyed Peas. I've heard Metallica, Jimmy Buffett, The Rolling Stones, and at least four different songs by the Flaming Lips. But out of classical music? One song. Period.
The one thing that I can most certainly not tell you, of course, is WHY. Why this one song? I'm interested in getting some conversation going here. Why do you think they're all the same song? What do you think about ringbacks? Or about telemarket researching as a profession? Or, for that matter, about this blog as a whole?

Charleton Heston Said it Best

2011-02-22T20:09:00.001-08:00

"I am not an animal! I am a human being! I ...am ...a man!"

That's right folks, I am a human being. Let's rap about this for a little while, shall we? Because there are some points I feel that need to be discussed, and it seems that there are a few people in the world who have lost sight of some certain facts. For instance, if you're going to make comments about me to someone else in the room, please have the basic courtesy to wait until you've put the phone on the hook, yeah? Because, maybe I'm being sensitive here, but I find it a little fucking insulting to hear you tell your boyfriend I'm "Some automated shit from (car company name)." This coming from a woman who I talked to for at least three times longer than I talk with most people, because she actually had some comments that she wanted to make to (car company name). I understand, she was probably just having a rough day, or was in the middle of dinner, or something to that effect, I don't really care that she made the comment. But she had to know I was a person (Or a BRILLIANT computer with some wildly varied inflection in its voice), and she couldn't wait until she'd hung up the phone to say that?

Instance number two: "Again, I'm so sorry to have bothered you sir."

"Yeah, I bet you are." *click*

EXCUSE ME?! What kinds of choices do you think I've made in my life, sir? That I went through high school and college, managing to keep myself going only by thinking "Man, I can't wait until I can call people at home using numbers THEY PROVIDED to (car rental company), who TOLD THEM THEY MIGHT BE SURVEYED, and annoy the ever living crap out of them by politely introducing myself, asking two brief questions, and then thanking them for their time?" But wait, that IS harsh of me. That poor fellow couldn't have possibly known I would thank him for his time, because he told me I was trying to get in touch with his girlfriend, who had given me the number. Yeah, man. It's my fault, there's nothing I would love more than to talk with 300 people like you per night, that would just make my eyes twinkle with glee. No, I said I'm sorry to have bothered you because--stay with me here folks, this reasoning gets tricky in a second--I'm sorry to have bothered you.

So what can we all take away from this pair of delightful conversations? Well, we're in the telemarket business. We might be trying to sell you something, we might be getting feedback on something you've already bought, but we're still people doing a job. You know what a computer sounds like, and we're not them. We're people, we're trying to be polite to you, and more often than not we succeed, no matter how difficult you might make that. If you don't want to talk with us, feel free to tell us it's a wrong number, and hang up the phone. Or ask to be put on a no-call list, most places have those, too. But don't lose sight of the fact that we are people, with pulses, and jobs, just like you. Our job just happens to suck.

Perhaps a new trend?

2010-06-24T22:48:00.001-07:00

Horror didn't work out so well, I burnt out on it. So let's try something that's been an interest of mine for a while longer, yeah? Springfield and Kirksville, my two homes, got something in common: They're both college towns. Kirksville's just a smaller Springfield, really. Fewer people decided to stick around there, I guess. It's too cold. But there's one thing pretty much any college town is guaranteed to have (Except maybe Provo, Utah)--A bar. Probably more than one, but at least one is almost a guarantee.

So I'm going to use this place to talk about them. The ones I've been to, the ones I've heard about, what I'd recommend, etc. This is the internet, after all, and I think this site has been a pretty good soapbox for me to stand on.

First in this series: The New Key Largo, on Republic Road, Springfield, MO. The place has been around for three years, recently under new management.

The front of the bar faces away from the street, with a small parking lot leading straight into the entrance. A small alley could cause some problems for two-way traffic, but the place is small enough that doesn't seem like much of an issue.

The owner doubles as the main bartender, a fellow named Matt. Decent guy, pretty attentive, chattier with females than males unsurprisingly, but aware of what's going on in the place.

As for the bar itself, well...it's a theme bar. From the name, that should be no real surprise. It tries to capture that lackadaisical Florida Keys feel, including some indoor decorations of palm trees and what are meant to look like cheap, tin roof shacks. Lots of green abounds, with lazy ceiling fans and plenty of AC vents.

The setup looks like a small concert venue, with tables and bar near the door, and a dance floor by the far wall. The front half of the bar feels like a dive, albeit an accepting one. The back half is definitely the draw on weekends.

Music is live, or there's a juke box that defaults toward predictable-but-comforting club music when nobody's paying. Nothing really jarring for the atmosphere, but nothing novel either.

Drink prices aren't bad at all, especially not by Springfield standards. Beer flows cheaper than it does at most places downtown, but the selection is limited. Hard alcohol, again in rather limited supply, also runs a little below the average.

The crowd looks to be on the younger side, mostly under 30, which makes sense given that the bar's draw is music and dance. I'm sure the cheap alcohol doesn't hurt, either.

In short, this is a place I'd recommend if you're looking to go out with friends and have a good time. It's a little loud, and a bit small, so don't expect intimate conversations, but Key Largo walks a pretty solid middle line.

Father's Day

2010-06-20T13:34:00.000-07:00

Father's Day has been around for about 100 years now. We shouldn't need it, we should remember to thank them for what they do every day. But some days, that's harder than others. So we have a day to remind us all about what they do for us.

So today is about them. Happy Father's day, Dahl. Happy Father's Day, fathers and grandfathers of my friends. Hell, I hope you make today count even if I've never met you, or you're not a father yet.

Today is about celebrating the fathers, the fathers to be, the fathers that might be someday, and the fathers that have been. The grandfathers, too. Even the uncles and cousins. I even celebrate today for the sons who make fatherhood possible, because they're an integral part of the equation.

Water, Whisky, beer or coke, raise up your glasses for menfolk.

One Fine Day By Ed Gray

2010-06-02T11:30:00.001-07:00

One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other,
One was blind and the other couldn't see,
So they chose a dummy for a referee.

A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"
A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye,
Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest the two dead boys,
If you don't believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man he saw it too!

Hitchhikers Disappear some more

2010-04-28T13:56:00.001-07:00

This is the final version of my vanishing hitchhiker story for class purposes, I'm thrilled to be done with it for a few weeks. Any thoughts?

Personal Note

2010-04-19T21:25:00.000-07:00

I feel there are certain facets of my life that I should share with you, friends. First, finals time is approaching, which means I'm becoming more polarized than usual. When happy, I am happy, and when sad, I am sad. There is no middle ground. When feeling introverted, I really want to be left alone, and when feeling extroverted, I will make or find a party.

Second, my knee is alternating between hurting like a motherfucker with every step and hurting only when I twist it. I need to get this checked. Hasn't happened yet.

Finally, I pretty much have the best cast ever for this one-act, and can't remember ever enjoying semi-legit theatre so much, except MAYBE Antigone.

How are you? What are you up to?

This is hard!

2010-04-14T23:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, not really. It's actually quite easy, but I'm finding that I have trouble remembering to think of things to write about. So I'm just going to inanely babble about my life for a while. Is that a way to become a famous blogger? Well, no, probably not.

But I don't want fans. I like friends.

Before the babble, though, there's one more element of the horror story to discuss: Status. Have you noticed that macho guys like watching scary movies with girls? Yeah, it's because we like reaffirming that we possess one of those ancient greek ideals. Manliness or something. And because you want the girl to snuggle up next to you.

Horror stories are the same way. The jumpy guy loses status. The cool-headed guy gains status. Oh yeah, sure, I'm sure all you alpha males out there are getting indignant, so let me clear something up: You can say that you're testing yourself, or you like the suspense, or that you're preparing your nerves for a real situation. That's fine, you're lying to yourself, too. You enjoy your ephemeral superiority.

Shifting gears.

I've been using this "skype" thing for a day or so. It's okay. Free phone calls? Sweet, I'm on board. chat program? Also cool. It's just redundant for me, since I have google voice. Same capabilities. But fewer of my friends have it. So NYAAAH. Farts on you, friends, for not using google.

Plus facebook chat, which is I think my most commonly used method of communication. Yay for friends using that.

Unrelatedly, if you know a girl in Romania, give her a hug.

I'm out of things to say.

A digression from horror

2010-04-04T13:44:00.000-07:00

This is a quick break from my discussion on horror, because I wrote a 19 page paper on it, and don't want to think about the subject for a while. Instead, let's talk about male relationships, shall we? I don't mean hot guy-on-guy action, here, so stop picturing that.

Last night, my roommate and I were watching Sherlock Holmes, and we realized two things: First, Bartitsu is the manliest and silliest looking of all martial arts. Second, at any given moment, our relationship was exactly like the relationship of Holmes and Watson. Is that normal? It's certainly normal for me. I have the same type of friendship with Jonathan that I do with Jake, Bob, and Matt. Sorry ladies, I adore you all, but it's a different kind of friendship.

So, gentlemen, what say you? Does that seem like a pretty normal friendship for you? Ladies, is there an equivalent sort of friendship in your gender?

Also, if you missed the subtext, you should watch Sherlock Holmes. It's awesome.

Part Two

2010-03-29T22:53:00.000-07:00

It's now time for the second installment of our conversation, friends. You might be wondering "Why, Scott, are you telling us about horror stories?" Well, this semester has revolved around creepiness for me. A class on American Gothic Literature, a Cognitive Science research project on the Uncanny Valley, and a Folklore research project on Boy Scout Campfire Stories, all in one delightful semester of mindfucks.

So what has this taught me? First, all the stories I told at camp this summer sucked, with maybe one exception. Second, I seem to have more of a fascination with the creepy and scary than most people.

Let's consider one winner I've collected in multiple forms over the years, called Green Hands.

Native American Brave out hunting, sees a beautiful girl, gets to know her, returns to his tribe. Finds out she's the daughter of the chief of a tribe with whom they compete for resources. Brave continues to seek out girl, and is one day caught by the opposing tribe. He's killed and buried in a shallow grave, where his hands are left above ground because they got him into trouble. His hands putrefy and rot, still sticking out of the earth. The spirit of the hands still roam the earth, looking for his love. When you feel a cold chill, or a touch when nobody is around, those are the brave's hands.

I first heard this at a scout camp. You know Boy Scouts, those teenage guys that are at the perfect age to sneak out at night as an act of defiance, and starting to get pretty interested in girls? And is there anyone who hasn't felt something brush their arm, or gotten a cold chill when they're walking around the woods at night?

You see the sinister agenda of camp counselors, now, don't you?

Bump in the Night

2010-03-25T13:54:00.000-07:00

I've been away for a while. Sorry about that. This is the start of an ongoing series that will discuss horror, so please stay tuned, and stay patient.

My folklore class this semester has discussed two technical terms that I've been using in daily conversation since middle school: The Mindfuck, and The What-The-Hell. For those who aren't into the idea of technical jargon, you can call the same feeling "Cognitive Dissonance." The feeling is what's at the heart of gothic and horror. It comes from the unexpected, chaotic beauty of the sublime, the inhuman humanity of the grotesque, and the un-homelike things that are called uncanny.

So what is the mindfuck? It's getting someone to expect one thing, and then snatching it out from beneath their feet. Goodnight, children. Sweet dreams.

So I lied

2009-11-27T23:23:00.000-08:00

In my last post I said I would be updating this a little more frequently. Based on the fact that I said that a month ago, I think it's safe to say you all figured out that I didn't manage to do that. I realized that most of my papers, while perfectly in line with the language part of this blog, have very little to do with what I've really tried to do here: Talk to you about things that I really think matter.

So yes, I'll continue writing here occasionally, and no I won't be posting often enough to gain much attention. I like it that way. Most of you get these updates through Facebook Notes, so you'll still get my occasional supplementary content like viral quizzes.

So what do I think matters? Doing what feels right. The easiest way to discern that is by when we're happy and when we aren't. That's not the only way, but it is an easy way. This is going to be another post related to "I Win," so for those of you who are really familiar with the idea of synthetic happiness, you can probably go get a drink and stop reading very carefully.

There is some good in everything. My car broke down sixty miles away from home, and only though the help of strangers did I get it into Springfield. That was last Friday. I've been without a car all week, but I've still been connected to the world enough to be happy. Going out with friends, talking to people on Facebook, keeping conversations running through text messages. When have I been really happy? When I've been talking with people. When I've been getting new ideas, or hearing old ones, or sharing thoughts with the people I consider friends. How many of you have had the same experience? Feeling like you're going crazy because you're out of touch with your friends? I'm betting I'm not the only one.

So why does this make me happy? Because it's easy for me. It isn't always the path of least resistance. People often disagree with what I say, which makes me think about it, and consider things that I might have otherwise missed. I often disagree with my friends as well. That's how it works. If we were all the same, there would be no reason to share thoughts.

For me, conversation is right. My post about conversation as the art of humanity should be a dead giveaway on that. For other people making things is right. Or helping others. Or any number of other things. But for me, conversation is right. Find what's right for you. Do what you're meant to do. Dare to be happy.

More Thought, I Swear

2009-10-25T23:42:00.000-07:00

In recent weeks, my time has been spent with large amounts of reading and research, thinking and writing. It only occurred to me in the past few days that I COULD be sharing this with all of you who regularly read these updates. So that is what I shall do. Maybe some speeches, more likely some papers, perhaps even a few acting journal entries. The frequency will be relatively low, but for a while, The Dress of Thought will be an academic outlet for me.

I hope you're as amused and engaged as I am.

Perspective

2009-09-12T17:30:00.000-07:00

People who have known me for a while know that I like to play a game called "I win." It's not like the game popularized by the Adam Sandler movie. It usually involves some situation that apparently seems like there's a clear good outcome and a clear bad outcome, like relationship issues. I don't seem to find things like that anymore, because I'm told I've rebuilt my view of the world in such a way that I cannot lose.

The relationship continues? Making out is awesome. The relationship ends? Cool, more time to hang out with friends I've probably been neglecting. Something is going to happen either way, and if there's something positive about either outcome, why should I worry about it?

There are other times when there's nothing that could be done about a situation, either because it is entirely out of our control or it has already past. I move on, and try to work the change into what I'm already doing. Anything would just be a waste of energy, wouldn't it?

Most situations can go down in a lot of different ways. Is it better to control the situation as much as you can, and try to make it fit what works best for you, or to let it happen naturally and modify your plan as needed? Maybe even to just make up the plan as you go along, so there are no real surprises?

I have to go do something else, now, so I will leave you with that thought, friends. No, I'm sorry, I GET to go do something else now, and I will leave you with that thought, friends. Maybe even I'm going to do something else now, and will leave you with that thought, friends. But I suppose those all mean the same thing.

Don't they?

Reboot

2009-09-06T22:42:00.000-07:00

It's been a third of a year since I shared my thoughts with all you wonderful folks. That's too long. I was without a good connection to the internet for 75% of that. The remaining quarter of that time was unacceptable, and I intend to make that right.

Recently, I read an article entitled "We Don't Write, we Speak with our Fingers." That caught my attention. I've studied how to speak, not only the physical act of articulation but also of speechcraft. I've studied how to act, how to use my whole body and mind to communicate an idea. I've never really studied how to write. Sure, I've practiced writing, I've written plenty of papers and critiqued hundreds more. But I'd never formally studied writing. I considered that a shortcoming on my part. Then I read that article, and I realized that I've not been doing myself justice. Maybe other people have the same problem.

Most people I know are gifted with the "artist's eye," that way of viewing the world that lets them see more than the rest of the population. Maybe everyone has it, and it just depends on how much they use it, but it's a lot more common than I think most people realize. But it's not just for artists. Painters, sculptors, sketchers all benefit. But so do writers. So do journalists. So do the actors, the public speakers, the scientists! Seeing is only half of communicating, though. There's also the describing. It's not enough to look out the window; you have to be able to tell everyone else what you see.

People write like they speak. Most have more verbal styles than written styles, but words are still words. It's all governed by how many ways we can think, after all. Sure, King and Kennedy were powerful orators, and understood timing. Cummings uses spacing and punctuation to the same effect.

I thought about using this post as a chance to speak with my fingers more beautifully than I have before. I considered the opportunity to prove my point through example, rather than just through idea. I decided against this. I wrote, instead, a simple copy of my thoughts, and chose to give it to you as it now exists. I did this because I wanted to communicate to you only an idea.

The Art of Being Human

2009-04-28T01:54:00.000-07:00

Conversation is satisfying. I really enjoy talking. I’m sure that if you know me very well at all, you’re aware of just how much I enjoy talking. Talking alone in my room without an audience just to hear my own thoughts outside my head, to see if they make sense in the real world. Talking in a group of people at a party about nothing, just enjoying the fact that we can hear and see other people, reveling in the social contact. Talking to friends one on one for hours, without any real purpose, but feeling satisfied at the end. Talking with friends about the important things in life, questioning things that we really believe and hold dear, and having a different perspective on the universe when the conversation is over.

There are ideas out there, rogue constructions that aren’t as satisfying. They’re barely even conversation. These things are usually called logical fallacies. I often call them terrorism, which I learned from this site. These are things that are based not on form, or on content, but rather on things that are not logical. Am I then saying that conversation should be wholly logical? My friends, of course that isn’t what I am saying. These are tools of argument, and tools of poor argument at that. Poor argument, however, has no place in conversation. Emotion, humor and sarcasm are ways to flavor conversation, but poor argument is a way to end

I am not pointing fingers, admonishing anyone who uses these tactics on occasion. I think there are times that we all feel backed into the corner or just use them without even realizing it. But what reason have we to defend? We’re talking about conversation, not a thesis. Don’t defend, just enjoy. Bask in the conversation. Be satisfied.

A/S/L?

2009-04-05T22:22:00.000-07:00

“Hi, I’m Scott,” followed by a handshake. In the previous weeks, I’ve been doing this pretty often. The process of meeting a person is one that always feels empty to me. Yeah, it’s great that your name is Rob or Amber, but that doesn’t tell me anything about you. Yes, it’s easy to use when trying to get someone’s attention. We might be thinking of all the other Dans, the other Emilys that we know, and correlating you with them. Then, later, we find out that Alex at this party is nothing like the Alex we know from work. Well then what was the purpose of learning the name first?

What’s the first thing we do when we can’t remember someone’s name, and we’re talking to someone else? “Well, remember that girl that I told you about at the soccer game? The blonde?” We immediately go into physical descriptions, or something based on the limited knowledge we have of the person. If we’re in a relaxed group, we might even use those as secondary classifications. She might just be Blonde Megan, and the other Megan is now Brunette Megan.

Why don’t we all just find a few things about ourselves that we can refer to in meeting someone. Sometimes we do that, anyway. If you’re at a party and you know you have a mutual friend with someone, then the greeting might be “I’m Scott, John’s friend from work.” Even better, though, just give them some idea of who you are. “I’m Scott, a student,” or “I’m Scott, I hope to be a teacher after I graduate,” or maybe even the daring “Hi, I’m Scott, and I collect information and make it my plaything.”

Oh, before you start, I know. You’re multifaceted, and you can’t express all of yourself in a single sentence. They might get the wrong idea of you, they might start thinking of other people they know who are like that, and you don’t want to be judged that way. Well then, Michelle, what happens when you find out that the person you’re talking to used to have a boss named Michelle who she hated? Is that really any better than introducing yourself along with the fact that you love dogs?

Sometimes it would be redundant to just list the same fact, and if you’re meeting multiple people at once, then you don’t want to say “I’m Lance, and I play the trumpet,” a dozen times in a row. If you’re at a trumpeters convention then you might want to have more information to give off the cuff, like how much you enjoy walking barefoot through grass or that you believe strongly in politically correct terminology.

“But Scott,” I hear you all thinking, “What if that person doesn’t like something that we strongly support? I don’t want to risk offending someone from the onset!” Well then, my otters, I’m afraid that you might have to hope that the people you’re dealing with don’t take themselves so seriously that they believe everyone on the planet is exactly like them. Or you could pick things that are relatively innocuous. Sure, new friend Tony might think that Nascar is terrible for the environment, but I don’t think he’s going to hate you forever just because you’re a member of the Church of Dale. And hell, it’ll lead to some interesting conversations, won’t it? “I’m an atheist,” is definitely more of a worthwhile conversation starter than “How about that crazy weather, huh?”

Hi, I’m Scott, and I write a blog on language. It’s nice to meet you.

I Do What I Do

2009-03-26T21:26:00.001-07:00

There are some phrases in other languages that English has adopted, and people don’t realize that they originated somewhere other than English. There are others that we’re acutely aware came from another language. Having studied Latin, I tend to notice both types of these, and think about what they mean in English compared to what they mean in Latin.

One of these phrases—one that never fails to entertain me—is Modus Operandi. For those who aren’t familiar with the term, it means “method of operation.” You might have heard it shortened to M.O. Taking this a step further, that means that in the ancient Roman empire, there was a way to say “That’s how I roll.” Keep that in mind next time someone recites Latin to seem intelligent.

Tick Tock

2009-03-19T00:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you’re sitting, talking with people, and you realize something isn’t quite right. One person might say something, and the mood of the entire room just changes. Sometimes things darken, smiles fall away from faces, and you’re left thinking “What just happened?” It’s not that people are angry, or depressed, the conversation isn’t a loss. It just takes a while for people to start laughing again, because it’s almost like they forgot that they could do that. I always wonder how often that happens and I don’t realize it, I just miss the moment entirely. More importantly, how many times do I perceive those moments when they haven’t happened? How often do we have days or weeks like this, where we feel like some aspect of life is uplifting or draining us without rhyme or reason? The sun is good at that. When it’s here, people are generally happier, and when it’s gone, we tend to be more fragile. We always have to comment on it, too.

Mood and conversation are two topics that I find myself thinking about a lot. Consequently, I talk and write about relatively often. They’re both outward representation of thought, which is what the title of this blog is really about. Samuel Johnson said, “Language is the dress of thought.” I don’t entirely agree with that statement, but it does represent a part of my own internal reality. That’s what this blog itself is about: the things that are real to me.

A recent switch

2009-03-17T18:23:00.000-07:00

A good friend of mine, Dan, has claimed that he uses his weblog as an introspective tool. Sure, people read it, but that’s not the purpose. This is my first post on this site, after a brief time blogging on Meet the Phlockers. I felt that it was time to change sites, not for any conscious reason, but rather because it just felt right. I’m not going to question that sort of urge, because I know that it really doesn’t make a difference. This is just a minor change that I’ll adjust to.

It’s Saint Patrick’s day. Slainte mhath. It’s just spring enough that people are starting to beat back the lower mammalian instincts that say it’s time to pair off. People around me get frustrated at this time every year. I don’t understand it. This is when the world is finally warming up enough that you can walk outside without fearing death from the cold. The sun has returned. The world knows it. The birds are louder. Rodents are peeking out. Even the grass has decided it’s okay to show up again. What is there to be unhappy about? I don’t have answers. I don’t particularly want answers, I probably wouldn’t like them. But I have plenty of questions. Maybe there’s nothing to be unhappy about. I could be right.