A Few Words About Swearing

swearingIt’s going to snow — again.  When I heard that, I had a few choice words to say about a certain rodent (Groundhog Day was Wednesday) Mother Nature and the poor Weather Girl who looks as if she was harnessed into her clothes (but that’s a different blog.)  I felt better — like — right now, and went about my business.  You see, that’s what swearing does — it makes us feel better.  Unfortunately, like most things the millennials have gotten their mitts on, in the 21st century, swearing is being ruined.

I’m old enough to remember when swearing was an art form, a verbal quest to find words that expressed the primitive soul that lurks inside all of us.  In those days, people generally didn’t swear in polite society.  Swearing was reserved for exasperation, frustration, anger, the end of the argument  – all the most primitive emotions.  People swore when the pudding boiled over, or the neighbour wouldn’t listen to reason, or the cat crapped on the carpet.  Swearing was reserved for those special times when ordinary words just didn’t cover it.  It released the tension, so we didn’t toss the pudding across the kitchen, punch the neighbour or kill the cat.  These words were forbidden, and so, with one broken taboo, we were badasses.  We stood toe-to-toe with life’s evil fortunes and refused to be bullied.  Then it was over.  We metaphorically washed our mouth out with soap and carried on.

Unfortunately, these days swearing is used as punctuation.  In the torrent of conversation, it’s splashed around like ketchup on a redneck’s breakfast.  It literally doesn’t mean anything anymore.  It’s lost its punch.  When you call your best friend a bad bitch on a daily basis, what do you call her when she actually is one?  And that’s why the millennials spend every waking hour offended.  They have no way to release the emotional pressure.  When I trip on the stairs and bang my shins, I release a torrent of invectives on everyone from the person who chose to live on the second floor (me) to the carpenter who built the offending structure.  Millennials can’t do that.  When life comes along and pees in their porridge, they just have to take it.  And it serves them right, the $%()#! bastards!

 

Employment Opportunity – Austria

hermitI love the British Broadcasting Corporation!  In a time when 99% of the gutter-feeding media are giving the other 1% a bad name, the Beeb (as it is affectionately called) is a bastion of reasonable thought.  For example, last week they reported that the village of Saalfelden in Austria was in the market for a hermit.  Apparently, the hermit they had retired last autumn, and they haven’t been able to fill the position.  This is real news — the kind of news that not only informs us but also makes us think.  Particularly, I was thinking, “Wow!  I didn’t know the world still had hermits.  I thought the old guy down the road, talking to his vegetables, was just nuts.”  It surprises me that being a hermit is a genuine profession from which some people do retire.  And that knowledge opens up a whole can of other questions; not the least of which is, for a hermit, what does retirement look like?

Is there a pension plan?  Do they get dental?  What about seniors’ housing?  Most retirees want to go live in a quiet place in the country; do hermits find the nastiest, noisiest tenement in South Philly and move there?  Do they spend their days hanging out at the mall?  Taking public speaking courses at the community college?  Jazzercise at the gym?  What about eHarmony?

Then there’s the whole question of how and where does the village of Saalfelden find a replacement for the hermit they lost?  The problem is the nature of being a good hermit actually precludes networking or strutting your stuff on craigslist or LinkedIn.  Plus, if the citizens of Saalfelden do find a hermit (I’m assuming by word-of-mouth) how would they tell if he’s unhappy with his present situation?  Or how do they convince him that Saalfelden would be a good career move?  This would be tough, considering hermits, in general, are not susceptible to reasonable arguments.  It would probably be a lot easier to just start fresh and print up some flyers.

HELP WANTED: No Experience Necessary.
Picturesque alpine village south of Salzburg seeks an older gentleman to fill a long-term position as the local hermit.  Compensation commensurate with soul-eating poverty.  Hovel provided.  All applicants must be able to relocate and be willing to work evenings, weekends and holidays.  The successful candidate will be a self-starter who is able to think inside the box and work with minimal supervision.  Ideally, he should have no Facebook profile, no Instagram or Twitter account, no friends, a distant, disagreeable family and a burning distrust of all other people.  Special consideration will be given to introverts, orphans and failed holy men.  Saalfelden is proud to be a gender neutral, equal opportunity employer, so bag ladies and crazy cat ladies are also welcome.  Do not apply in person; just move into the hovel and we’ll see how it goes.

Good luck, good citizens of Saalfelden! And God I love the BBC!

I Love Getting Old — II

time-and-oldI took a little local flak for Tuesday’s (January 24, 2017) post, “I Love Getting Old.”  The general consensus was, “Hey, (descriptive derogatory noun deleted) gettin’ old isn’t all beer and skittles, ya know.”  This is true.  So, in the interests of fair play, here are a few things about getting old that aren’t so nice.

1 — You forget things — a lot of things.  The days of keeping phone numbers, addresses, birthdays, bank accounts and a grocery list in your head are over.  You’re lucky if you can remember why you just walked into the kitchen.  The thing I hate the most about memory loss is you can almost remember stuff — but nope — it ain’t there.  For example, sometimes when you see a familiar face you can’t quite remember how you know that person.  Or sometimes you can conjure the face in your mind but you haven’t got a clue what the name is — and that includes famous people like Albert Einstein or that fat Brit who sang at Diana’s funeral.

2 — Your body betrays you.  This is the worst.  All those little aches and pains that weren’t there yesterday — in places you didn’t even know you had.  But the real problem is you have no idea which ones are Get-Thee-To-A-Hospital-Immediately and which ones are Cowboy-Up-Ya-Wimp.  And that means you’re either going to spend the rest of your days reading out-dated National Geographic magazines at the doctor’s office or die naked in the shower because you didn’t.

3 — Mirrors are the enemy.  It’s not just changing rooms that hate you.  First thing in the morning looks like Night of the Living Dead, and last thing at night looks like you might not make it ’til morning.  Even shop windows on a cloudy day can scare the hell out of you.

4 — Cute.  This is a major problem.  Mother Nature provided us with natural defences against bratty kids and vicious little dogs.  Unfortunately, as you get older, everything under 3 feet tall just looks so damn cute that you spend a lot of time getting bitten on the ankles and putting up with yappy dogs.

5 — It turns out all the TV programs you loved as a kid actually suck.

6 — Modern music all sounds like the Klingon Wedding Song for bassoon, drums and base guitar.

But the very worst thing about getting old is:

7 — You’ve had the misfortune of living long enough to see the Red Sox win the World Series!