Le Monde de Fromage de Kate

In addition to the “Facts of the Day” text message service, I subscribe to the “German Phrase of the Weekend” service. Usually, these phrases consist of translations of such fascinating tidbits as “Remember to bring your sunscreen,” and “I need to see an internist.” In case you’re wondering, those are actual examples. They are, I tend to think, generally more enthralling in German. For example: “I need to see an internist” is “Ich muss einen Internisten aufsuchen.” That last verb (which, as I’ve pointed out, doesn’t mean what it sounds like on the surface) brings me to my point. The crux of the matter is this: some perfectly innocuous sayings from other languages sound positively indecent to the English-speaking ear (the reverse situation is equally true, I’m sure). Here’s the case in point: the English phrase is “What are the teams?” This sounds innocent enough. But here’s the German: “Was sind die Mannschaften?” That sounds pretty ribald to your average English-speaker (or at least those with filthy minds like mine). It’s not very mature, I suppose, but there’s still a part of me that giggles a little bit when I think of a certain past tense conjugation of the German verb “essen,” which means “to eat.” It is “ass.” Yes, ha ha ha. That’s beyond hilarious in a junior high school German class.

Yes, I fell down today. I fell down after I ripped a hole in my nice linen pants with one of those sword-like hook things from a hanging file (I tell you, if you ever need a very effective weapon in your office suddenly…). I should have taken that as a sign to close the drawer and just leave everything alone. But I was oblivious.
And, indeed, the fact that I fell down was not surprising. The MANNER in which I fell down, on the other hand, was pretty impressive. A bottom file drawer on my desk was open and I was standing right by it (with my back to it). I somehow lost my footing (more later on my theory that invisible people are pushing me over all the time) and fell backwards OVER the file drawer. But thatí³ not the remarkable part. The extraordinary thing is that when I fell over I somehow managed to completely wedge myself into the TINIEST place. I am not a wee person. I’m quite far from wee, really; nonetheless I still ended up in this very compact little bundle between the file drawer and a part of my desk. It was so PETITE! It was a practically infinitesimal niche. But as much as I dote on teensy things, I must say that it hurt like a mother. I said some words that were in questionable taste, and the surprisingly intense volume I managed to create with the whole incident (remember that I lost my voice – I’m still getting it back) brought everyone in from their offices. They found me squished into the itsy bitsy nook intoning festive sailor-language. “Don’t listen, I bellowed – I’m saying foul things!” They’d already heard them, though, and were my attentive audience as I ever so gracefully extricated myself from the itty-bitty slot.
I try to entertain people on Mondays.

When a shrimp is first born, it is male,
and it gradually evolves to female as it matures.

Perhaps we can all learn something from the second part of that sentence, specifically, “it gradually evolves to female as it matures.” Yes, “evolves to female as it matures.” Let’s all ponder that one for a while…

I have laryngitis.

In German (auf Deutsch) that is Kehlkopfentzündung.

My German ability is mostly rusty and was never stunning, but I do know that Kopf means “head.” So where are they going with this? Okay, more research. Ah ha – Kehl means “throat,” and Kehlkopf means “larynx.” “Throat-head” means “larynx?” That’s perfectly logical. (?) And finally, entzündung means “inflammation” (as does “itis” – but in the logical German compound word fashion it’s three or four times as long).

Those damn Germans are always smushing thirty or forty words together and trying to pass them off as one word. Moreover, they’ll take a verb with a separable prefix, insert the verb portion, add about 700 phrases and THEN add the required prefix. They are just plumb crazy. I can say that because I have German ancestry; they are “My People.” More precisely, they are about 3/16th’s my people.

Another one of my people, Mark Twain (Yes, I am related somehow to Samuel Clemens), is completely in agreement with me. Read this segment fromThe Awful German Language:

The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they make by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the beginning of an exciting chapter and the other half at the end of it. Can any one conceive of anything more confusing than that? These things are called “separable verbs.” The German grammar is blistered all over with separable verbs; and the wider the two portions of one of them are spread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with his performance. A favorite one is reiste ab — which means departed. Here is an example which I culled from a novel and reduced to English:

“The trunks being now ready, he DE- after kissing his mother and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who, dressed in simple white muslin, with a single tuberose in the ample folds of her rich brown hair, had tottered feebly down the stairs, still pale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing to lay her poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom she loved more dearly than life itself, PARTED.”

However, it is not well to dwell too much on the separable verbs. One is sure to lose his temper early; and if he sticks to the subject, and will not be warned, it will at last either soften his brain or petrify it.

You see my point. Even so, I’m strongly considering telling people (or more accurately, croaking to people or writing to people) that I have Kehlkopfentzündung. It at least sounds exotic. “Have you been traveling in the “TROPICS?” they might query.

If one must be ill one might at least sound well-traveled. Infirmity has little else to offer.

A couple of weeks ago I learned about “String Theory” from the Late Show with David Letterman. I should explain, it was a physicist guest who did the instructing, not David Letterman. Mind you, I’m not presuming anything one way or the other about David Letterman’s knowledge of physics; he may be the next Stephen Hawking for all I know. In fact, remember how he used to conduct very scientific “suit” experiments – like the suit of Velcro, the suit of Alka-Seltzer®, etc.? And remember how he used to hurl various objects off of very tall buildings? If that isn’t some fine physics I don’t know what is.

Anyhoo, the physicist guest, who will soon host his own show (which means he’s a pretty boy physicist – for whatever that’s worth in the physics world), provided this definition of String Theory (I paraphrase a tad):

EVERYTHING [all matter] is composed of extremely tiny, wiggling strings.

That’s a very good theory. It could only be improved by a slight substitution so that it read “everything is composed of extremely tiny, wiggling string cheeses.” (Hmm. That would make it the “String Cheese Theory,” I suppose). I would probably also substitute the word “wee” for “tiny” – that always improves the cuteness ranking of any scientific theory without getting as saccharine and cloying as to say “teeny weeny,” “teensy weensy,” or “itty bitty.” I might also say “undulating” instead of “wiggling.” It’s far sexier.

The whole “String Theory” thing reminds me of Monty Python’s “String Sketch.” “SIMPSON’S INDIVIDUAL STRINGETTES!” and whatnot. Come to think of it, what with the silly walks and all, what brilliant physicists!

OK, fine! You hijacked my site, I (more cunningly) hijacked yours. Very funny. But I’ve decided that me having your site is boring. I really have no desire to do anything truly mean, which is the only reason not to give you back your site. Well, not the only reason.
Give me back my site, and I’ll give you yours.
Fair enough?
(Don’t escalate this war, it can only go very badly for you!)

Look what I did:
Bad Deed du Jour

I think it’s time for a contest.

You must be ever so clever to read this blog (definitely sanity-challenged).

The following list has circled the World Wide Web Comedy superhighway at least a bejillion-trillion times, but it still makes me laugh. Today I’m especially fond of #22 and #28. OOooh. #7 is good, too. I am reminded of Shel Silverstein’s delightfully wicked Uncle Shelby’s ABZ Book Alas, they’ve subtitled the reissue with “A Primer for Adults Only” while the former edition was subtitled “a primer for tender young minds.” That’s very amusing because it’s ironic. The publishers are Liticaphobic wussies.

Anyhoo, I think we should use the list below as a literary jumping off point – let’s create darkly comedic “failed children’s books” pastiche. Huzzah!

Please submit your entries as blog comments.

Perhaps there will be a prize. It could be a lovely prize. It might also be complete rubbish. Such is the speculative nature of this madcap existence we call life.
Children’s Books That Didn’t Make It.

1. You Are Different and That’s Bad
2. The Boy Who Died From Eating All His Vegetables
3. Dad’s New Wife Robert
4. Fun four-letter Words to Know and Share
5. Hammers, Screwdrivers and Scissors: An I-Can-Do-It Book
6. The Kids’ Guide to Hitchhiking
7. Kathy Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her
8. Curious George and the High-Voltage Fence
9. All Cats Go to Hell
10. The Little Sissy Who Snitched
11. Some Kittens Can Fly
12. That’s it; I’m Putting You Up for Adoption
13. Grandpa Gets a Casket
14. The Magic World Inside the Abandoned Refrigerator
15. Garfield Gets Feline Leukemia
16. The Pop-Up Book of Human Anatomy
17. Strangers Have the Best Candy
18. Whining, Kicking and Crying to Get Your Way
19. You Were an Accident
20. Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will
21. Pop! Goes The Hamster…And Other Great Microwave Games
22. The Man in the Moon Is Actually Satan
23. Your Nightmares Are Real
24. Where Would You Like to Be Buried?
25. Eggs, Toilet Paper, and Your School
26. Why Can’t Mr. Fork and Ms. Electrical Outlet Be Friends?
27. Places Where Mommy and Daddy Hide Neat Things
28. Daddy Drinks Because You Cry

In Breton, Alabama, there is a law on the town’s books
against riding down the street in a motorboat.

Thank god. SOMEONE needs to acknowledge the appalling menace created when riding down the street in a motorboat. You may think I’m being ironic. You may think I’m being facetious. No, indeed, NO. I, alas, bear the everlasting, disfiguring scars on my very body* from being dragged down the street behind a motorboat in which people were riding [down the street]. There was a parade of sorts involved as well as a Radio Flyer® wagon and a rope, but that’s a story for another time. I think I might be tempted to move to Breton, Alabama, where one is shielded from the horrific peril of people riding down the street in motorboats. Unfortunately, I have an unsubstantiated but devastating fear of the South in general. I’ll just have to take my chances.
*Mostly on my right arm and wrist. One of them looks rather like a teensy weensy turtle.