Computers and food

Computers and food don’t mix. That’s a rule at my house. Sure, secretly it’s an optional rule and is only mentioned when there’s a food-related mishap, but it sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it? For me, the problem is that a big bowl of chips really lubricates my creative engine. Something about the crunching rattles my brain. In a good way, I mean. But eating at the computer…? My solution, which I encourage you to use in your own house, is a shop vac. Strap the tube to your chest, fire that sucker up, and you don’t have to worry about crumbs while you eat.

You do have to use appropriate caution. And, seriously, don’t wear a tie.

I’m in front of the computer a lot these days. It’s partly because technology has really improved the business of threatening others. Wrapping a note that says “We’ll grind you into sausage” around a brick and tossing it through a 2nd story window has some old school charm, of course, but you can’t beat software for creating fear. When that little paper clip guy on your computer screen glares at you with red pupil-less eyes and asks, in his little speech balloon, “How may I harm you?” it gets one’s attention. It’s unexpected. I’m rather proud of one piece of text I wrote for Clippie to say: “Ten days: enjoy ‘undo’ while you can.” Good stuff.

But lately I’ve been thinking that it would be good to have a secondary trade to fall back on.

My first thought was to start my own lottery because there’s a good profit margin. As soon as I started advertising, though, goons from the state stopped by to remind me that competition is only for the weak.

So next I started learning balloon animal construction. I was getting pretty good at making flowers, giraffes, puppies, and the Loch Ness monster, but then I realized that I was headed for divorce if I kept with it. I know you figure it was because of the jealousy associated with the inevitable groupies that swarm around anyone successful in the entertainment industry, but no: actually it was the sound. My wife, it became clear to me when she threatened to break a plate over my head, can’t endure the squeakity sound balloons make.

Lots of people have sounds they can’t stand: a fork on a chalkboard, fingernails scratching denim, or currency being removed from their wallet. For me, even thinking about the sloppy wet sound of flesh being ground into sausage gives me the willies. For my wife, it’s the rubbing of balloons.

So the other reason I’ve been in front of a computer a lot recently is because I finally found a secondary trade to pursue; even better, one that wasn’t going to result in harm to myself. It’s surprisingly similar to my own threatening letter work: I’m studying to become a professional lobbyist for fringe special interest groups.

Some of these groups actually have ideas I could get behind. “Resurrect the little dinosaurs” for instance. I mean, I know my kids would love chasing a little compsognathus around in a petting zoo pen. Eradicating volcanoes seems like a worthy cause, too. One group, operating on the theory “if you build it, they will come,” wants the government to construct a bus stop on the moon.

Some of my other favorites:
Talking birds should be allowed to vote.
Let’s use rocket engines to slow earth’s rotation so we actually do have more hours in each day.
“Hella” should be the scientific prefix for 10 to the 27th power.
Humans must be allowed to photosynthesize.
Each state should be required to choose an Official State Pokemon.

The “Monday Anti-Defamation League” claims that if the day of the week is assigned randomly each morning, then all days will share equally the difficult task of following a weekend. They claim it’s the easiest way to end prejudice against Mondays.

One group wants mandatory labeling to indicate the fiction content in all humor columns. Even columns written by amateurs!

The information from this last group I’m going to mention, though, really disturbed me. The People for the Ethical Treatment of Computer Hardware (PETCH) are lobbying for government land to be set aside so that old tired computers can enjoy their last days frolicking in green pastures. Now it’s obvious to me that domesticated computers can't be released back into the wild, since they simply wouldn’t be able to survive, but I didn’t realize what is currently happening in our world. Most obsolete computers, after all those years of service, are being ground into sausage. Yuck. Don’t people realize that computers and food shouldn’t mix?

-I.J. really really wishes the shop vac hadn’t just stolen his last few strips of bacon.

"No." It seems so easy, doesn't it? Just two letters. One simple syllable. Your standard issue two-year-old can stream that word like broadband. “No no no no no!” I’m sure Mom would tell stories about how I wouldn’t quit saying that word when I was a mere toddling lad. Maybe I used up my share of “no” in my carefree youth, because now I simply can’t say that word.

Okay, so really I can actually say “no.” I mean, come on…

Every morning while I brush my teeth, I stand in front of the mirror saying the word “no” over and over again. Does it help? Put me in front of someone requesting an action of me and “sure” is all I can say. “Maybe,” if I’m feeling particularly spiteful. I can’t say “no” to a living person. Not even to high-quality manikins, no matter how often I try. I guess practicing when I do simply doesn’t help in real situations. Plus it gets the mirror splattered with toothpaste spit. One of the messes I deal with daily.

My inability to say “no” just got me into a new mess. My brother and some of my friends were dependent on a weekly humorous column to make their Mondays bright. Suddenly the writer quit. I’m sure he has his own good reasons and that my letter campaign threatening him, his loved ones, and even his cats will soon bring him back to where he belongs: entertaining us. He’ll learn the error of thinking that anyone in the spotlight can choose to step back out of it. But in the meantime, to fill the breach, I’ve “volunteered” to write up some humor. Actually, I just didn’t say “no” when my brother asked. Well, except to my spit-spattered image in the mirror.

My three loving, ever-cooperative children can still say “no” without any hesitation. Blasted carefree youth. See, my clever idea for my first column was to write about what happened when I taunted my cats.

I don’t have cats.

I needed some fake cats.

I asked my boy Ferdinand (not his real name) if he’d dress up as a cat so I could taunt him. Maybe it wasn’t the best choice of wording.

I tried again with my darling Thumbelina (not her real name), asking if she’d be a dear and dress up like a cat so Daddy could write funny things about her. I even pulled out the cat costume she wore for Halloween a couple years ago, the one that she would have worn to the library and to school back then if I had let her. “Here’s your chance to wear this costume on a normal day.” I think my girl is growing up. She didn’t even say “no.” With that facial expression, she didn’t have to.

Qui-gon (not his real name) was my last chance. I figured he’d play along with me. This boy has no problem doing unusual things: he wears a football helmet -- with full face mask -- to his figure skating classes. This boy has learned much about cats from reading the cat-based Warrior books. And, best of all, this boy is so driven to please people that none of his teachers can keep from gushing the word “sweet” when describing him. He’d sweetly cooperate, I figured. I figured wrong: his “no” was quick and ugly. And I wish there had been a mirror between us when he said it.

So, like any reasonable adult, I turned to stuffing chips into my mouth while mumbling profanities. But then I realized I did know someone who never says “no” to any request, no matter how strange.

And so, for next week’s column, I’ll write about how I felt being dressed as a cat while my children taunted me.

-- I.J. is new to this humorous column thing, but has a good deal of experience writing threatening letters to draw upon.

New pronouns found

Scientists this week have announced the discovery of a previously unsuspected family of words in the English language: non-gender-specific, third-person singular pronouns. “At first, we thought they were just an aberrant form of the common third person plural,” one spokesperson stated, “and when we realized it wasn’t, we just started chuckling… all of is in the lab, just chuckling away.”

Theorists have long posited the existence of such a class of pronouns, citing examples from other languages, but until recently the evidence was sketchy at best. During the past century no less than 5 separate reports have been made of sightings, but none have withstood popular scrutiny. Some worry that the most recent announcement will also prove overly optimistic. “No way,” our on-site correspondent says, “This time, they have done it.”

The newly discovered pronouns – thay, thair, tham, and thamself – differ from previously reported examples because these are words people are already using. “People are already doing the correct thing. The average person already uses these words without even realizing what thay are doing. Thay may not be spelling these words quite right, but the standard American reads them and says them.”

Scientists recommend that everyone update thair spell checker to accept these useful words. “If you are using a hard-copy dictionary,” a government auditor says, “then write these words in there yourself.” Expect to hear these words – thay, thair, tham, and thamself – coming from the mouths of celebrities. “Eventually even the dullest Americans will be saying things like ‘My friend is gonna loan me thair car, if thay can’t give me a ride thamself,’ but look to the hip people to be first to get this right.”

“I’m going to make the change immediately,” the lab spokesperson says, “I’m going to buy my kid a new dictionary, too. I want tham to learn the language right.”

Be a grammarbuilder

Dude, I'm never gonna be a grammar snob. I'm all about experimental grammatics. Try out new ideas, I say. Do the extreme grammar thing. I mean, without some kinda deconstruction and experimentation, we're gonna end up with a dead and rotting language… I get that. I'm never gonna go all Samuel Johnson on you. (Note: Dr. Johnson is the guy to blame for the idea that English should be a stable museum piece of a language. Before he stapled down the rules, spelling was more like a game everyone could play.) But but but you gotta know what it is that you're doing or you'll end up misunderstood. Just like if you go bench 200 lbs without working up to it -- you'll strain a tendon, or even get your rib cage squashed -- so it is with grammar. You gotta build up to the tough stuff. Work out; be strong.

The internet totally rules as a place to get your grammar on: Facebook, blogs, mySpace, all of that. Fly your new punctuation and a gazillion people might go gliding along behind you. You can get instant feedback from the neighbors, from Neverland, and from anywhere in between. To make this the grammar-Eden it could be, we need people to have the right attitudes: people understanding how much words matter. And what's the only way to change attitudes, you ask. Viral campaigns, I shout back. Toss these phrases at your retinas.

Be grammar strong with tight sentences, bold punctuation, and clean spelling. Be understood.

Check out my tight sentence structure. I'm a grammarbuilder.

My punctuation is totally ripped. I'm a grammarbuilder.

Be kind to others: keep your flabby grammar hidden.

Keep your grammar taut, even on Facebook. Grammar builders.

Without my daily workout, I'd be a grammar-wuss.

Get a load of these grammar-guns.

People, we have to spatter the Internet with sayings like these and get grammar cool again. Or hot. Whatever means "totally rockin'" in your lingo. Go forth and grammar-ply.

(Wow, in my teen years I'd've never guessed that I'd be slopping out a foundation for an English-wide grammar movement, but here I am today doing just that.)

Theoretical linguistics I

So here's my little thought.

A 'palindrome' is a word, phrase, or sentence that's spelled the same backwards and forwards, right? So why isn't the word itself a palindrome? Wouldn't that just make more sense?

I guess our language is full of little things like that -- the word 'onomatopoeia' doesn't sound like the thing it describes, so it isn't onomatopoetic -- but couldn't we fix the place up a little? Or at least supply some more options? It's not like we're trying to preserve a tiny little language set anyway. You say 'synonymous' and I say 'redundant.'

I envision a world full of synonyms for 'palindrome.' Some of them are palindromic themselves and some, like our current word 'palindrome,' aren't. 'Palinnilap' would be a great synonym for palindrome -- it keeps the Greek etymology of 'back again' and drops the 'running' part for a second, reversed, 'back again' -- and has the advantage of being a palindrome itself. That word's even better than the original, I'd have to say if I weren't so adorably humble, but I'm sure there are lots of other perfectly good constructions that would lead to synonyms, both palindromic and not. Even more options appear if one drops the rather archaic requirement of reasonable etymology. Imagine 10,000 words that all mean 'palindrome:' some are palindromic and some are not.

Now if we lived in a world with such a rich selection of words, it would be important to be able to talk about those words. A poet, you know, or a lyricist or even a third grader composing a taunt might require a non-palindromic palindrome synonym, which is a description that does not slide easily from the tongue. It really requires a single-word description for everyday use. And soon you have words to describe the four possible classes of words: palindromic palindrome synonyms, non-palindromic palindrome synonyms, palindromic words that are not synonymous with 'palindrome,' and non-palindromic words that are not synonymous with 'palindrome' (the last being a surprisingly large set). Even for us, these four classifications cover all possible words; it's just that the utility of this division is a little questionable in our current language. Still, it's good to make structures to help us understand our language and improve it for future speakers, right? So we categorize.

Then comes the obvious next question: what should we call non-palindromic names for the category of palindromic palindrome synonyms?

If only there were money in theoretical linguistics…