Potrzebie St. Market

I've been wondering lately how English must sound to people who don't speak English. It's common for us to trivialize another language by blathering the most common syllables in a random pattern- common AND historical. The Greeks would refer to their Phoenician neighbours as "Barbars", no doubt because in their semitic languages, everyone was called Bar (son) of something. Like Johnny Bar Mitzvah, the ancient world's finest (and manliest) sailor. Soon, the word "Barbarian" came to mean anyone who didn't speak Greek. But hey, those grape leaf eating homos may have been referred to as Losers, since many of their words end in *-lous or similar. Fuggin' greeks.

Moving on, we're all happy to refer to the Chinaman as Ping Pong, since the tonal languages use a lot of those particular syllabic constructs in their linguistic morphology. Also, let's face it, they play a lot of ping pong. Similarly, I'll readily characterise German speakers as EisenScheizens, because that's all I hear when they speak. And I think they like to eat shit.

By the way- if you're into poo eating, does it have to be your lover's poo? Or does a poo-eater look at a soiled kitty litter box like I would a Whitman's Sampler? Let me know, if you're a poo-eater.

So what does English sound like to the barbarians who don't speak it? What are the familiar bits and pieces that stick out to the hateful francophile, or the simple-minded Eskimo? Would it be the hard, Anglo-Saxon R's and K's from words like firetruck, traction and motherfucker? Or the middle german ERs and INGs that end so many of our words? I can't for the life of me take myself out of the English speaking world enough to imagine what it could be.

How does this sentence look?

"The best fish in Krakow are to be bought at the Potrzebie St. Market".

Which syllables stick out? Does it sound like this:

Thay bes vish ink krakowre tobee botatsh potrzebeestre mark"

Because in that, all my brain would hear would be the syballine S, the softer SH and the hard sounds of those Rs and Ks. I guess as an irreverent Afghani, I might imitate American soldiers like this:

"Shper per, grabben shiken gow now smith jonson krakker"

Then all my cave-mates would laugh, except for the Afghani hipsters, off-put by such a dated stereotype of foreigners.

Things I Like - Cats

I'm a cat person. I watched the latest episode of Futurama, "That Darn Katz!" in which it's suggested that cats are an alien species who came to earth for a nefarious reason. Played out idea, and lazy to pitch cats as a comedy device, but I felt like pitching some cat material all the same. because I'm lazy.


1. In a Coke vs. Pepsi battle, Dogs prefer Pepsi! Lame! And cats do not fucking care.

2. I get worried when using a laser pointer to bait my cat, because it might frustrate him or shine in his eyes. And if he knew I was worried, he'd think I was a pussy.

3. Cats are murderers, with none of this bullshit "malice aforethought". Cats have no aforethought.

4. You can hit a cat and feel bad about it, but that won't really matter to a cat. You know what matters to a cat? Food.

5. There's a legend that Muhammed cut the sleeve off his robe rather than disturb his cat who was dozing on it. When that cat woke up, on the sleeve of Muhammed's robe, it probably went right ahead and licked it's own asshole, patiently and with great care, like it did after any nap.

6. Cats are often cast in kids movies as villains in contrast to dogs. While dogs are very proud of this, cats have no opinion whatsoever. But don't think that's because cats would prefer independent films or anything- they don't. They just prefer food.

7. Do you have food? No? Then you are of no use to a cat. And even if you have food, they still neither like you or dislike you.

8. I know you like to think that cats have a rich inner life when you're not there. They don't. They just sleep or walk around.

9. When two cats meet, nothing magical happens. They just hate each other. And they certainly fucking hate magic.

10. No cat would ever read this post, because it isn't food.

Bullshit Problems

I read an account recently of a man's battle with sex addiction. It was harrowing to read about this man's inability to modify behaviour that cost him his health, his friendships and relationships, and even his job. At the end of the article, there was a profound sense of sadness, as the post-rehab self-analysis brought with it feelings of worthlessness to the author, and a sense of time lost and never to be regained.

BUT! It was still bullshit.

I know pain is relative, and no amount of objective relativity ever helps to lessen the sorrow and suffering we're personally feeling, but I think it's unfortunate that we allow ourselves to BELIEVE that certain types of pain are ACTUALLY real. This goes back to my concern over the bullshit of the future, where we force ourselves to forget what is and isn't a temporary lie we tell ourselves to make sense of the world, and we start to build entire paradigms on shaky, untrue foundations.

As far as I can tell, there are only a few types of real problems in the world, problems that actually inhibit our ability to defend ourselves against further harm. They are

1. Physical pain, including violence and abuse
2. Disability
3. No food

That's it. Everything else is what my friend Mitch is fond of calling a "First World Problem".

I'm going to provide a handy-dandy primer to help differentiate between real and not real problems. And before you ask "Hey asshole! Who made you the judge of whether or not my pain is real?!?!" I'm going to suggest that if you have the time to read this, CAN read it and don't have anyone chasing you with an axe, you probably don't have too many real problems.

I'm addicted to sex _ Not a real problem.
I have no legs - real problem.

I forgot my lunch and will have to buy a sandwich - Not a real problem.
I have a parasite - real problem.

I'm spiritually bereft - Not a real problem.
I'm being raped *right now* - real problem

I lost my keys- Not a real problem.
My pancakes are possessed - real problem (providing that in your head, this is the way you conceive of the problem that you've lost your keys. If your pancakes are actually possessed, not a real problem).

By the way, if you allow yourself to believe that you have a problem with say, shopping too much, I hate you, and maybe think you're a problem.

Genius

Like many people my age, I'm the go-to-guy for any tech questions in my family, ranging from the banal (how do I download a ringtone?) to the super banal (What's a Java?). It's annoying, but it's occasionally fun to have people think you're some kind of wizard because you know to set up an iTunes account.

My Dad is especially inept when it comes to anything computer related. Which isn't unusual, but Dad has the innate ability to ask questions that are so maddeningly obtuse that they can only be the creations of a boiling, genius mind. Dad takes bits and pieces he reads in magazines and hears on TV, some science he learned from Robert Ludlum potboilers, and synthesizes it into the scientific equivalent of ghoulash. Like when he asks me if Microsoft Word uses 128-bit encryption. For what, I ask him. Oh you know. For encrypting.

I got him an iPhone because even I couldn't get my head around most Nokia phones, and I found the iPhone enjoyably simple to use. I sat with him and loaded on music that he might like. I came across some Tenacious D. He'd never heard the D, and asked to hear some. I played Fuck Her Gently. This conversation followed.

Dad: Hahaha! That's great! Hey, do you think I could play that on the TRAIN?!?!? OUT LOUD?!?!?

Me: Uh, yeah, you could.

Dad: But I never take the train.

HOW DID HE DO THAT!?!? I could sit down from now until Doomsday and I would not be able to conceive such lunacy.