Sphere: Related Content50 years ago, an elderly couple lived next door to my parents. One day my mother told me that the woman had awoken that morning to discover her husband, lying next to her, had died during the night. “He died in his sleep.”
Some 20 years later, mother was in the last stages of Parkinson’s disease. Her breath was labored to the point that early one morning, around 3 a.m., my father was awoken by the silence which filled the room when she had stopped breathing. My father never, to my knowledge, said, “She died in her sleep.”
Interesting concept that, “died in sleep,” isn’t it?
How do we know that either my mother or her neighbor died without awakening? Surely the possibility of a last second awareness of the finality of the process exists? Surely the brain, responding to diminishing stimuli could/does/must trigger an alarm to itself that something major is amiss?
Surely there’s a good chance of a last “Ah,” “Oh,” “Hmm,” “No,” or “Yes, thank you.”
“He died in his sleep” is such a nice euphemism; it’s comforting. It allows an escape from dealing with the problem of final moments and how they should be—must be?—faced.
It would also be more accurate to say, as my father implied, “She died in my sleep,” and more realistic.
Friday, March 22, 2013
He died in my sleep
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Euphemisms
How can we not like euphemisms? Shoot! Fudge! Heck! Oedipus Rex!
A friend of mine came up with a new one recently.
He’s a person who loves to spend money, occasionally to the point of being unwise, occasionally needing a small boost from an acquaintance.
Here’s his latest: “On Friday, could we exchange checks for $200.00? Mine will be good next Wednesday.”
“Exchange checks.” Excellent.
Sphere: Related ContentWednesday, April 04, 2012
Language and part of the problem
Watching an old episode of How I Met Your Mother last night and noticed this line said by aa teen boy to the woman who is Canadian: Boy, "Am I going to get lucky tonight?"
Why is it that the male is going to "get lucky" and not the woman, or why not "Are we going to get lucky tonight?"
Has it ever been thus, women have no sexual appetites? Girls don't seek "luck?"
How long will it take for this type of sexual programming to disappear?
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Sly Puss
It’s too good to let pass.
In writing about Topic X, authors often manage to slip in a little elbow about Topic Y to the ribs of the body politic; and those little nuggets should be identified and celebrated.
To wit: In Salon.com you will find an article by Glenn Greenwald discussing Iran as the source of some discomfort, alright—evil—and you will also find this: “while the Face of American Meritocracy, NBC News‘ Luke Russert…”
Think about it. Meritocracy, rising on the merits of one’s efforts; and Luke Russert, elevated to a job with a major news organization upon the death of his father, Tim.
Also think about using upper case: Face of American Meritocracy.
Then dedicate an appreciative chuckle to Greenwald.
You’re welcome.
Sphere: Related ContentTuesday, October 11, 2011
Silliness
“Reverse racism” is such a silly phrase.
What could it possibly mean?
A racist is a racist, regardless of skin color, and “reverse racism” is just an example of unthinking writers who waste electronic ink.
Sphere: Related ContentSaturday, September 10, 2011
So, I’m a smart ass…So sue me
Not really…the suing part.
The local newspaper, The Desert Sun had a piece today indicating disapproval of those protesting Chaz Bono’s upcoming appearance on “Dancing with the Stars.”
I liked it except for the use of “sexual preference.” Now, since I am of the opinion that virtually everyone who is protesting against Mr. Bono’s appearance has participated in his sexual preference activities in one way or another, I doubt very seriously they are protesting that/those preference(s).
So I wrote the following to the “Community Conversations Editor” at the paper. I got carried away.
It was such fun and became so silly that I thought I’d share it. Have fun.
xoxox
Dear Mr. X:
Today your editorial page gave a well-deserved “Thumbs Down” to those who are protesting against Chaz Bono’s appearance on “Dancing with the Stars.”
There would be disagreement only from those who are unwilling to learn.
There is, however, one phrase with which others might quibble; it is “sexual preference.” It might be good to take a few moments to educate your writer about the more accurate “sexual orientation” for use in this type of discussion.
To personalize the point, Sir, might I suggest that your sexual preference is what you prefer to do during sexual incidents. Everyone has sexual preferences which are unique and of no concern to others.
Sexual orientation, on the other hand, is how you “lean” when choosing a partner with whom to participate in mutual sexual preferences.
Absent a declaration from a person, sexual preference is unknowable; sexual orientation is somewhat easier to discern. Since most of the protesters against Mr Bono themselves probably engage in whatever sexual activities they might imagine he participates, they are more than likely protesting his orientation than his preference.
Please discuss this with your writer.
Sincerely,
gene touchet
Sphere: Related ContentWednesday, August 24, 2011
Alas! A crisis of conscience!
From Box Turtle Bulletin:
Shocking, simply shocking! A new study has determined that some men are attracted to both male and female persons. Or, at least, sexually stimulated by watching them have sex.
This new finding contradicts and earlier one which denied evidence of existence of bisexuals, but was flawed in its population selection. (NY Times)
For many, many years, I’ve been skeptical about discussions I’ve had with certain serial-one-night-stands.
“How can you date/marry her? What’re you doing here if you’re going to be there?”
“I guess I just like you both.”
Skeptical. Mighty skeptical.
Now some researchers tell us that X and Y, and a couple of other less-frequent Alphabet Letters were correct about themselves after all?
Well, after the brachytherapy, it’s pretty much moot. Still, it does give pause.
Do I apologize?
Or do I wait for the next “study” to give us another way to look at ourselves?
Sphere: Related ContentSunday, July 24, 2011
Great Quip
From today’s New York Times we find this little nugget in a column by Frank Bruni which puts l’affaire Bachmann in its place:
I once tried to pray away the gay. But sometimes a houseguest just won’t leave.
Quel drole!
Sphere: Related ContentSunday, June 26, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
No More Poo Pooh-Poohing?
Well, there might not be many of you still hanging around waiting for further inanities, but here’s one I just didn’t want anyone to miss, or to lose to posterity and faulty memory.
Andrew Sullivan, on his blog The Dish, gives us this fascinating item on medical experimentation. (It sounds like something that will, in a few days, turn out to be a hoax, but a fun one!)
It discusses the gut’s bacteria and the role those little critters play in health. There’s an interesting twist to it, and one medical wag has coined transpoosion for the procedure.
Enjoy.
Sphere: Related ContentThursday, May 05, 2011
Sheesh
Well, Dear Gentle Reader(s), we might not agree on this, but here goes.
From the local newspaper:
A woman praised as a community leader for her work running a police activities league for youth was arrested Monday for an alleged sexual relationship with a teenage boy.
[Ms X], 33, of Cathedral City was arrested at her home and booked into the Indio jail on multiple counts of statutory rape and oral copulation with a minor.
[X] is suspected of “having an ongoing sexual relationship with a 17-year-old male victim,” Cathedral City police Lt. Chuck Robinson said.
“…a 17-year-old male victim.”
Doesn’t anyone remember being 16, 17, 18?
One has to wonder if the youth thought of himself as a “victim,” at least before the story became public. Where does victimhood begin?
(I’ll bet he thought of himself as “lucky.”)
Sphere: Related ContentMonday, May 02, 2011
Just wondering
Ross Douthat, over at The New York Times, has an interesting article on the state of American consciousness and future today, Death of a Failure.
It’s an interesting piece, but this phrase caught my attention: “…the utopian fantasy politics embodied by groups like Al Qaeda, or the mix of thugs, fools and pseudointellectuals …”
Queston: Isn’t the combination of “fools and pseudointellectuals” redundant?
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Words, Words, Words
The nicest words in the English language, to me, aren’t “I love you” nor are they the first Mama’s or Dada’s.
Rather, they’re “flush toilet.”
Sphere: Related ContentThursday, March 10, 2011
Classic typo
Here’s one for the books:
Your left-wing choice [E.J. Dionne] sure showed his colors Monday (“GOP's madman strategy”) and I do not have a problem with that.
However, your choices of “right wing” being Michael Gerson and Bill O'Reilly do not equate except in your own left-winged minds. How about some true conservative contributors such as Thomas Sowell, Charles Krauthammer, Michelle Maulkin, Lou Dobbs or Ann Coulter, or are you perhaps afraid readers will actually learn something?
Michelle Maulkin. Gotta love it.
(This comes from a letter to the editor in the virtual right-wing-rag The Desert Sun out of Palm Springs.)
(Can you imagine anyone thinking he could learn from Malkin, Dobbs, Sowell, or Coulter? lol)
Sphere: Related ContentThursday, February 17, 2011
Nits Ahoy!!!
This from the February 2011 Trader Joe’s Fearless Flyer: “Soft & Juicy Dried Mango.”
Alas.
But never fear, the Flyer acknowledges the oxymoronic phrasing. The Flyer goes on to explain, “The drying process is unique in that it uses glycerin to keep the mango soft—but never mushy—and mango juice is added in to give it a little extra moisture and further intensify the mango flavor.”
So. “Dried Mango” which has glycerin and added mango juice is the offering.
How about a little truth in advertising next time, T.J., with “Soft & Juicy Processed Mango” instead?
Just askin’.
(But it wouldn’t be quite as eye-catching.)
Sphere: Related ContentThursday, February 03, 2011
Sunday, January 02, 2011
A guest essay(-ish)
My nephew, John, and I have a long history of being at loggerheads, especially about his writing skills. Recently, he sent me one of his year end missives for some suggestions.
I pretty much eviscerated what he originally wrote and made one or two pithy suggestions. For the first time in years, he re-wrote it. I think it shows a sense of humor and self-assessment that is not too bad.
It’s long (3+ pages), but you might, Dear Gentle Reader(s), find it amusing, especially if you remember the flowery language of high school and college freshmen writers.
Happy New Year. (No one will ever know if you decide not to finish it. xoxox)
Winter Solstice 2010 (aka: “end-of-year greetings about which the writer began ruminating on the Solstice, but about finishing the writer procrastinated.”)
At the behest of my editor, I include a cautionary note. This year-end missive to family and friends may appear to contain some distracting nonsequiturs and “big words” that might offend some populist sensibilities and sentimentalities (i.e. I did not travel anywhere or accomplish anything worth bragging about this year). College graduates often develop a communication disorder that involves gratuitous use of obscure vocabulary (acquired at extravagant expense of anonymous donors). This disorder reflects a secret, or overt, resentment that graduation required actually leaving college and joining the ordinary work force. Further note: “dilettante” has nothing to do with lace doilies but rather curious, yet distractible, folk who lack the discipline to pursue scientific careers but like to pretend that reading an article in Scientific American made them some sort of expert. I like to use this word because it evokes misleading imagery for the reader.
Caveat (legalistic word meaning “beware”): The current political climate heightens the vigilance of those who worry about security matters, making it necessary for writers prone to exaggeration, allegory, and literary license to issue disclaimers. In no event should any reader construe anything in this document as an attack or threat to the “new world order.” The author possesses no desire whatsoever to spend the balance of his natural life in a cage in Guantanamo. Events, scenarios, or libelous speculation in this communiqué represent no particular person – quick, dead, Republican, or atheist. Some readers may find attempts at wry, or ribald, humor “lame.” Please take what you like and disregard the rest. In the interest of secular humanist inclusion, I call this document “Solstice Greetings.” Presumably, the adults will graciously perceive this title as inoffensive and the children will feed it to the dog with their homework.
Any perception of intentional threat, insult, or other offense to the reader, any national party, soirée, authority figure, action figure, figurine, or anyone else for that matter, resides strictly and existentially in the vivid imagination of the reader. I promise to attempt, but do not guarantee, to tie together the loose threads of this letter into a coherent and deep whole. Oh by the way, dilettantes take devilishly long and circuitous routes to make their points. Perhaps I digress…
“In the long run, we all die” (John Maynard Keynes, Wiki-apocrypha).
As a self-styled pseudo-intellectual, I tend to worry. Well, not worry, exactly, but rather spend hours staring at trees, listening to birds, zoning out, and wondering, “What if…?”I find it oddly gratifying and disturbing to believe that practically no one understands what I spend hours turning over in my head. I make the gross assumption that a significant portion of conflict between “liberals” and “conservatives” arises between the relative importance that each places on long and short term goals and consequences. For the sake of illustrative convenience – and sarcasm, I stereotype the “liberal” as the apocalyptic ADD environmentalist and the “conservative” as the capitalist captain of industry. Economists (like Keynes) fancy that they occupy some mythical objective neutral ground which justifies them to sneer at both left and right extremes. In our dreams, we play all the parts, right?
The apocalyptic ADD environmentalist, having completely disrupted his normal sleep schedule, peered worriedly past his breakfast table, through the blinds, and into the seasonally bleak garden. Heat death of the universe, not surprisingly, came to mind on a strikingly gray Tuesday in Central Texas. If climate change makes the weather weirder, shouldn’t a warm foggy day in late December, in Austin, cause alarm? An environmental fanatic with attention deficit disorder tends to expect the worst (e.g. Oh no, it feels neither especially warm nor cold today, the sun will run out of energy in only six billion years?!). The thought experiment that follows the rabbit hole, that physicists and engineers call “entropy,” to its absurdly disturbing conclusion reasons that matter and energy (possibly one in the same) will, at a point in the impossibly distant future, become so evenly distributed that all potential for motion (i.e. heat) becomes null and void. Imagine a room full of drunks, incapacitated by inebriation, all immobilized beyond reach of each other. The party ends, not with a fare-thee-well but with deathly silence. Even the dust has settled, motionless. (This analogy may or may not work for you.) (I believe political scientists refer to economics as “the dismal science.” The “green” liberal in me can’t resist the “more dismal than thou” challenge. After all, I must consider my reputation.)
Presumably, if insufficient “dark matter” or “dark energy” exists in the cosmic interstices and worm holes, the last gasp of the “Big Bang” that started the whole hullabaloo will not reverse onto itself – unlike an apple tossed into the air that fails to triumph over gravity and therefore returns to an intimate repose on, and with, the ground. Presumably, this dark matter, or dark energy if you like – which, for the most part, we can neither see nor detect beyond the shadow of a doubt – or a neutrino, will save the impossibly distant future universe from the ultimate entropic indignity of heat death. If sufficient but heretofore unsubstantiated matter, whether dark or light, exists, the whole kit and caboodle will succumb to interstellar (or perhaps inter-dust particle) gravity and proceed to collapse in a reverse Big Bang, which, for the sake of brevity and convenience, we might call “the Big FUBAR.” I didn’t make all of this up. Lord Kelvin, William Thompson, presumably preoccupied himself with the ultimate consequences of entropy and conceived the idea of universal heat death in 1852. Who knew that anyone before Ralph Nader worried about inconceivably remote catastrophes?
So, does that make me feel any better about sitting around procrastinating? Alas, no.
Of course, the sun would intervene and ruin a perfectly good depressing metaphor by burning off the clouds by noon. With a temperature around 72° Fahrenheit and low-ish humidity, Austin suddenly feels like Southern California… Not the way it feels at the moment – in the midst of a Biblical flood – but the way I remember it feeling back in 1979. Austin did reach 79° on the Solstice. Just enough atmospheric haze lingered to mimic the ubiquitous LA smog.
As a dilettante, who dabbles in art and science, I obsess about these things (and wonder: would-a? should-a? could-a?). So, I read a book about impressionist painting. Unlike me, the inspired genius of the artist deftly manipulates light, dark, and color in the visible part of the electromagnetic spectrum (they discuss this stuff in science lectures at UT) to evoke imagery that captures the imagination of viewers and sometimes perturbs the purveyors of prudery. The musician-composer manipulates the auditory portion of the EM spectrum, which, for the sake of convenience, we will call “sound,” to touch emotions that resonate in listeners.
The writer works with what I consider a most abstract medium. (Does this sound like “mid-life crisis” thinking?) Characters on a page possess no inherent meaning universally understood by anyone. Readers, in order to appreciate the writer’s work, must study these cryptic glyphs and their ascribed meanings for years in order to attain a certain competency that for convenience we may call “literacy.” One might gain a greater appreciation for the works of artists and musicians by studying their work or probing the depths of their philosophical underpinnings, but great art and music can stand on their own to nurture the soul of humanity. Their magnificence makes them enjoyable to anyone with eyes to see or ears to hear, but not vice versa.
Enjoyment of the writer’s arts and crafts transpires inside the rarified confines of privileged societies. Alas, a majority of humanity cannot read. A fraction of those able to read can understand the writer’s language and idiom (& weird words). A fraction of those who know the language and peculiar terms either care to read his work or enjoy the luxury of time to do so. Having ventured thus far, a portion of those who read his work feel dissatisfied, disgusted, or offended by having wasted their precious time on such drivel (so what? MS Word disdains this construction as a “fragment”). Does this sound like a gratitude list or resentments? I can’t always tell. Musician? Artist? Writer? …hmm… decisions…
Ironically, this medium of symbolic interaction (text), possessing the least inherent universal meaning, can become the most concrete and explicit of the arts to those who might read it. Unfortunately, the writer can only succeed by persuading many people. An artist only needs one person to buy a canvas. A seascape portrayed either musically or visually invites the audience to enjoy the scene for its own sensations. Think of Debussy’s “La Mer” or one of J.M.W. Turner’s vignettes of tempest-tossed tall ships. (Pretend for a moment that Stravinsky's “Rite of Spring” did not provoke a Paris riot in 1913.) The writer might paint a conceptual picture with words but usually superimposes facts, opinions, and obfuscation that support a particular agenda. Generally speaking, a psychological or social disturbance invoked by a symphony or painting relies on highly interpretable, suggestive, or abstract imagery – not everyone experiences it the same way. Writing that disturbs the reader may involve particular and concrete ideas that conflict with preconceived notions held by the reader – or may simply pile up an unmanageable number of random non-sequiturs.. Any of these creative forms might strike the audience as confrontational, reassuring, or escapist. A visceral response to art grabs one’s attention and causes one to consider reality in a new headache. A visceral response to writing might get one fired or sued.
Contrariwise, the amateur environmentalist (a particular kind of writer who clogs the in-boxes of newspaper editors and elected officials) often confronts people with a disturbing message. He might suggest that the habits and customs we take for granted in our comfortable, convenient, secure, and modern existence will exact costs on future generations that we would rather not contemplate or simply dismiss as preposterous. He quite often envisions himself as an enlightened martyr (and not a slave to fashion), chosen by Divine lot to wage jihad against the infidel capitalist robber barons! He might perceive the general public as either pathetic clueless rubes duped by the robber barons into sustaining the corrupt establishment or as nefarious shills and minions in thrall to the evil industrial empire (buwahaha!). More often than not, the presumed converts, whom he heroically struggles to “save,” resent his guilt-soaked hectoring and consign him to the realm of nincompoops.
Now we lurch to the presumed opposite end of the ideological spectrum. Lacking a statistically valid sample of capitalist captains of industry in my personal circle of acquaintance, I can only surmise that they do not consider themselves evil (gospel according to Dale Carnegie); they strive to ensure the general welfare and the rational allocation of resources by increasing their own wealth (see Adam Smith); and they strive to produce useful goods affordable to the hoi polloi (ordinary folk, like moi), and that consume vast quantities of fossil fuels (see Henry Ford and J.D. Rockefeller). The charitable social scientist might characterize industrialists as “amoral” because they make business decisions without regard to social or ecological consequences. Ostensibly, they measure success in terms of gross units produced and net profits, not in terms of coexisting with other inhabitants of a global ecosystem in such a way that will preserve it for the benefit of future generations. The amoral companies that manufacture machines and tools spend fantastic fortunes on advertising in order to convince us that using their products will make us happier, more prosperous, and more attractive to potential in-laws and American Idol judges. Whether for convenience, security, or conformance with social norms, we do innumerable things that damage the planet’s life support systems because we inherited a flawed economic system. We “throw stuff away.” Did I mention worrying about “sustainability” issues?
So, what can, or should, I change and what can I not? Original sin, in my quixotic conception, places me in a flawed economic system, with limited ability to ameliorate the destructive tendencies of society. I survive by eating things that once lived, on the other side of the planet. I abet the destruction of habitat by leading a suburban consumerist American lifestyle. I sometimes dispose of household toxics in the ordinary garbage. I waste water compulsively washing my hands. I use electricity generated by burning coal – even though I voluntarily pay extra so some rancher in West Texas can enjoy wind-powered electricity. I drive my car on weekends. I use plastic. On some other hand, I believe that beneficial changes will come about incrementally; that “a power greater than me” controls everything; that the laws of physics will endure, and that if something cannot go on indefinitely, it won’t (Herb Stein or J.K. Galbraith, dubious).
As hobby, psychotherapy, penance, and palliative, I plant and nurture trees, shrubs, and flowers that need little artificial supplement, once established. The beauty of the pseudo-naturalistic landscape that I help create, and that comforts a few wild creatures that happen upon it, rewards me and in some small way allows me to salve my conscience. May God enable me to learn and model worthy examples, express compassion for the travails of others, and find my appropriate cosmic path – whether in writing, paint, or song.
May you enjoy the Grace that exceeds all understanding, not worry too much, and may your successors do so also.
John Touchet, December 21, 2010, revised 12/27/2010
Sphere: Related ContentMonday, December 27, 2010
Niggle, niggle, niggle
Port Mortuary, Dear Gentle Reader(s), by Patricia Cornwell, is another of her competent books.
There might be, however, a point over which to niggle. Since this is the final week of a year of constant caviling, let the niggling begin:
Page 29 contains this “Thick clouds pass over the oblong moon…”
Got it? Crescent moon, yes. Perhaps dish of a moon, but oblong moon?
Usually an oblong figure is classified as a rectangle, isn’t it?
Even given that a second definition of oblong is elliptical, ellipses have to have a circular element, and the concavity of the crescent prevents that element.
So authors get bored and try new combinations. That can be insightful. It can also be detrimental to the flow of the narrative.
An “oblong” moon dams the flow.
Don’t be lazy, writer.
Sphere: Related ContentSaturday, December 11, 2010
Countdown Day
Have to love these early century dates.
December 12, 2010, will go down, on many checks and letters, as 12/11/10.
…twelve…eleven…ten…
Wonder how it would’ve ended.
Sphere: Related ContentThursday, November 18, 2010
Blessing?
An acquaintance recently responded to a condolences email by noting the death of a mother-in-law by writing that, since the woman had been bedridden and under constant nursing care for five years, her passing was a “blessing.”
My father’s response, in private, to someone who had said my mother “was better off” after her death from effects of Parkinson’s disease was “How can she be better off? She’s dead.”
It’s somehow, (or obviously), easier to pass the blessings and better offs over to the deceased than to admit that the survivors are the ones who benefit from a final moment of life, not the dead.
How we do manipulate the language to avoid saying what we mean.
Sphere: Related Content