The Devolution of English

I was searching for the origin of the phrase "Hit the nail on the head" the other day, because I like words and knowing the origin of things makes me feel superior, and also gives me things to talk about when I am forced to interact with other humans on rare occasions. In this particular etymology, there was a sample of the first recorded use of the phrase and I came to the realization that our language seems to be coming full circle:

 -Old English-

  (source)                     

-New English-

(source)   

my friends are funny, and helpful.

Not all that different...

Queen of the Nerds

I'm supposed to be writing a Secret Cupid Valentine Exchange Round-up because it went really well, but unfortunately, I received The Big Bang Theory on DVD for Valentine's day from my friend Vez, so I have no desire to do anything but fall in love with fictional nerds who will also ignore me and, on occasion, make me cry.  It is like single life all over again.
I must say, I'm proud of myself for understanding so many of the jokes (and not just laughing because they said something I didn't understand at all, which is what I imagine a lot of people do). I am disappointed that they referred to giving electric shocks as "negative reinforcement" when talking about operant conditioning. Any psychology nerds out there will understand my ire. Everyone else will just continue to call me nit-picky and say that I am too serious, but what the hell is the purpose of giving things names if we are just going to call psychological techniques anything we damned well please?!  Also, unrelated to the show, don't get me started on schizophrenia being stupidly and incorrectly mistaken for multiple personality disorders in popular culture. Seriously, cringe-worthy.



So, I'm going to do the round up tomorrow, most likely, and in the meantime, back to my imaginary nerd harem.

It was taking way too long, attempting to draw convincing comic versions of the cast. I don't have the patience while I am jonesing to watch more.

Happy Fourth of July!

Happy Independence Day, fellow Americans, and others who choose to celebrate, as I do, yet another year of no alien invasions.

I am spending my day making ridiculous amounts of food for 3 people and hiding from fireworks.

I really like fireworks, from afar, but the following excerpt from a conversation with my friend the other day will illustrate my main issue:

Of course, I had to clarify:

Friend: Sparklers are my favorite part of the 4th of July!
Me: I like sparklers from a safe distance.... like 15-20 feet.
Friend: Awwwww... did you have a bad experience with them?
Me: No... I just don't like being set on fire. I learned in "Trees, Conservations and People" in college that sparks cause fire.
Friend: ...I've never been set on fire in the 20-ish years I've played with sparklers...
Me: That is not to say I have ever been set on fire... that I can recall... I just would like very much to avoid it.
Friend: Sparklers are totes harmless if respected.
Me: I respect them, by staying 15-20 feet away from them.


In actuality, I was once singed by fireworks in a college homecoming display gone awry, at Gator Growl (Go Gators, and take your fiery death sticks with you) and as pretty as fireworks are, I am more than happy to enjoy them from far far away.

How I learned not to jump at solid objects.

Today's post is guest illustrated by my darling friend Vez, who is also (or actually) my darling friend Rhea, who has a link to her Etsy shop featured on the side of the blarg.  Check out her art blog here! And now to our regularly scheduled program!

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In middle school, my logic centers were not nearly as strong as they are now. This is best illustrated by the time I went to my friend, Marie Silva's, house one summer afternoon to go play in her pool.  They had a giant pool in a screened in area and it was awesome because it had a diving board AND mosquitoes couldn't eat you.  So, we were all playing in the water and taking turns jumping off the diving board, merrily as can be.  It was her little brother and sister and the two of us, and playing in the pool turned from just jumping off the board, to a frenzied race to be first off the diving board, up the ladder, around the pool, and back over to the diving board. So we jumped, and swam, and ran, soaking the pool deck, scrambling back on to the board to jump off again, quicker and quicker. After a few turns of this, I got it into my head that the best way to get out of the pool faster was to jump closer to the ladder.  Unfortunately, there was some sort of mathematical failure in my head (I probably forgot to carry the one, somewhere).

In fact, my brilliant idea of jumping towards the ladder did not work out as I had planned at all and actually turned into gracefully smashing my face into the metal ladder, biting nearly clear through my lip, and almost knocking myself out, as my chin hit the step.

This is also the day where I learned the lesson that other people's parents don't want to take you to the emergency room, as I was ushered into Ms. Silva's car and driven across Miami, past at least three hospitals, where I was unceremoniously dumped on my doorstep so my own mother could take me to the ER.

 Once there, we waited for a several hours, with a sock full of ice on my face, so they could tell me that I didn’t need stitches because I failed at biting through my lip all the way, and I just needed a butterfly bandage and a better respect for the laws of physics.