Why drown worms when the fish ain’t biting?

American English has many colloquial idioms which cannot be taken literally, phrases which may on first hearing seem bizarre or inane. Some common examples: “That coffee’s too hot to drink,” means, “Your idea is too bold to achieve general acceptance.” “New laces on the same old cleats,” refers to an attempt to reinvigorate anything tired or worn-out with only superficial changes. Finally, here is an exchange in which two speakers opine on an absent third party’s lack of intellectual acuity: “That fella is about one demigod short of a pantheon.” “Yup. That Greyhound don’t go all the way to Topeka.”

Tragical Realism

So I’m trying to learn Spanish and it’s helping me a lot as far as staying in the moment, because I only know how to say stuff in the present tense. I could tell a little story that when translated into English would read back like some hardboiled Hemingway. “It’s Monday today. I drink a cup of coffee. I read a book at the library. I talk to Pablo. ‘Renato,’ he says, ‘you are my friend.’” Then I also manage to come up with sentences worthy of Buñuel. “My grandfather wants to drink a fish hamburger.” “When is my shirt?”

You will be the next guy’s last guy.

Suppose you live in a really old house and that you are an idiot. But that’s redundant, because what you are trying to do a lot of times is in direct conflict with the laws of thermodynamics. Entropy always increases, which means your house is actually required by law to fall down. And the last guy pretty much buggered up every aspect of repair and maintenance he executed. Here’s a hint: That last guy can be your best excuse. When you perform a particularly egregious kludge, enough thick drippy coats of paint can make your crappy new work look old.

Tracking the arms of Morpheus.

If you ever needed proof that government is the least effective way to govern, consider the gridlock on death row in many states. The roadblock is the authorities can’t get the drugs they need to conduct the executions. Meanwhile, tens of thousands of ordinary citizens are successfully giving themselves lethal injections every year.  Once again, the private sector leads the way. Myself, I oppose capital punishment. My logic is –  and try to follow me here –  we shouldn’t kill people. Except some guys, because every once in a while there’s somebody who ought to be put down like a rabid skunk.

Or Paterson, New Jersey

Okay, I looked it up. Worldwide, about 150,000 people die every day. That’s right around the entire population of Rockford, Illinois. Fortunately it doesn’t happen in a localized way like that, with Rockford suddenly a massive cleanup challenge and no more Cheap Trick concerts ever. That would be creepy but also it would have advantages for everybody else, because if Rockford had already done all the dying we needed for the day you could go ahead with all the potentially fatal activities you’ve been wanting to try. I can’t think of any right now, but you know what I mean.

OED, QED

I like how we just use whatever word works the best even if it’s not originally English. That’s useful since strictly speaking there are no precise words in our actual language for pizza, schmuck, angst, sombrero, ninja, kiosk, brassiere, sauna, kindergarten, shampoo, ukulele, pajamas, ketchup, almanac, slalom, chutzpah, robot, glissando, bamboo, paprika, tungsten, tundra, gumption, armadillo, and yoga. Also, mad props to the Norman invasion because if it wasn’t for French we’d describe hamburgers as being composed of ground cow, which is accurate but unappetizing. And nine out of ten reed players agree, embouchure sounds so much better than enmouthment.

Pencils. Music. Soup.

Nothing funny this morning. Instead, I shall impart some knowledge you may find, if not vitally useful, at least utterly useless. Johann Eberhard Faber was born in Bavaria in 1822, moved to the United States in 1848, and opened a pencil factory in 1861. (He was descended from an ancient lineage of pencil-makers back in the old country.)There is no connection here with the bassist and composer Eberhard Weber, but you should check him out anyway. Anyway, Faber reportedly named his Mongol pencil after purée Mongole, his favorite soup. I will find a recipe, cook it, and write about that.