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“I am” (Insert Stupid Nickname)

Thomas Wood — Tue, 04 Jan 2011 18:00:15 +0000

I met this guy, a limo driver, out in Redding, California. He introduced himself as Diamond Dave. As in, “Nice to meet you, I’m Diamond Dave.”

He meant it too. I called him Dave once, said, “thanks, Dave,” actually, and he corrected me. He wanted to make sure I inserted the Diamond part in there.

…ridiculous.

I can’t take people like this seriously.

There are three valid situations for having and mentioning a ridiculous nickname:

It is the post-apocalypse and you are a member of a rag-tag group of desert travelers where names are earned, not given.
You’re a pimp.
You’re an Indian.

"Hello, my name is Jeff. Yes, just Jeff."

That’s it, and they’re basically all about being in tribes where it makes sense to reference this one time you stood up to a bear by the snowy river or if you tend to wheeze a lot.

I mean, Jesus, even DJs don’t go around saying, “Hey, I’m DJ Vegas Pants,” or whatever. They have the dignity to shake your hand, say, “Mike,” and let the pseudonym come up on its own in polite small-talk.

Which brings me back to you, goddam Diamond Dave. It’s bullshit. I mean, you sound like the door guy at a titty-bar. Am I supposed to want to know your back-story? Is the Diamond bit supposed to make you sound classy? Because, so far, all I’ve assumed about you is that you’re a guy who can get stuff for a hundred bucks and chances are it’s nothing like diamonds.

That’s So “Sajak!”

Thomas Wood — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 19:27:47 +0000

I’m going to start calling things “sajak.” Yes, as in Pat Sajak. It’s the perfect term to describe things that are safe and friendly and that white people really like.

But “sajak” has a deeper meaning: calling something “sajak” means that some hip, popular trend has become fully gentrified. It will signify something’s complete saturation into the pop-culture. Something that is “sajak” is so ubiquitous that it looses all of its edge.

But something that is “sajak” is not at the end of its popular life-cycle. Rather, it is at its apex of its accepted cultural banality, so that something can be, in a sense, “past sajak” when it inevitably becomes recognized by the whites as cliche.

A few examples of things that are way “sajak”:

Burning Man – Going to Burning Man used to mean that you were going to be nude and gross in the desert for a week. If you were a woman, it would mean painting your tits and being stoked on some guy on a bicycle handing out ecstasy. If you were a man, it meant trying to figure out how you were going to get a bicycle to a remote event despite a lack of car, friends with a car, or gainful employment to pay for any of the sunscreen you wont be wearing. Now, advertising executives are considering adding it to their HR policies somewhere between paternity-leave and the variable “floating-holiday.” If Denise in accounting ever handles an expense report for it, you know it’s pretty sajak.

Facebook – Facebook used to be for college kids. It was about showing off, trying to get laid or complaining about how they weren’t getting laid on account of their alcohol abuse. Those early adopters then graduated, eventually became lawyers, and are currently considering the purchase of a Ford Escape. Now, Facebook is now my aunt in her sixties who wants me to join her farm and keeps asking for more photos of “that girl I’m seeing.” Facebook has become so safe you can’t even post a cheerful photo of your dick anymore.

FourLoko – FourLoko was approaching its sajak period as some of the hipper white kids started to pick it up but missed the point of true safety when the FDA banned it, thereby making it hip again.

“Bling” - The term “bling,” by contrast, was sajak for a time but would now be considered “past sajak,” as even the Home Shopping Network considers it cliche.

“No Homo” – At this point, not at all Sajak. But it’s on its way up and I imagine it will hit Texas hard and with a running start (no homo).

I’ll be on the lookout for more things that are coming up sajack. Let me know if you think you’ve identified any in the comment section below.

“Too Many Porn-Stars” TNB

Thomas Wood — Wed, 28 Apr 2010 18:50:57 +0000

I’ve always felt it was too easy for a person to be labeled a “porn-star.”

The criteria seems to be that you have had sex, on camera, for the purpose of distribution, and that many people have seen it. But such criteria says nothing about one’s history, accomplishment or following. The real problem is that there doesn’t seem to be a linguistic distinction between the entry-level and the career-minded varieties of porn-star.

Please read the rest at TheNervousBreakdown.com

“It’s Like An Essay, But An Essay “On Crack!”" – TNB

Thomas Wood — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 04:04:16 +0000

“TheNervousBreakdown.com is like a writer’s collective, but a writer’s collective on crack!” – Thomas Wood (to no one in particular)- Few linguistic formulas have enjoyed such success as the “…on crack” metaphor. Type “on crack” into any blog search and you’ll find millions of entries of people comparing myriad subjects to their potential in an intoxicated state. I wanted to look into this curious figure of speech, see how it works, examine some of its examples, and take a look at the cost of doing drugs, linguistically speaking.

How does this metaphor work? The formula is commonly expressed as, “It was like such-and-such, but such-and-such on [specify drug].” It relies upon the simple premise that drugs make things more interesting and more relatable. You don’t have to enjoy drugs to appreciate that they have a profound effect.

The metaphor benefits from being simple and efficient. Let’s say you want to describe your recent experience with a wolverine to someone who has had no experience with wolverines. What’s the best way to go about this?

You could spend minutes going through the animal’s taxonomy, its qualities as a forager and sometimes predator, even expound on subtle observations of its behavior as made by the great Sir David Attenborough. But describing something in such terms takes knowledge of the animal, a measure of observational prowess, and some degree of creativity. Not everyone has the skill or the resources to invest in a comprehensive description.

Instead of the full wolverine description, you could take a common, easily understood object, such as a cat, and choose an appropriately modifying drug:”Yeah, so I was being chased by this wolverine. What’s a wolverine? It’s like a cat, but a cat on crack!”

With only limited and stereotypical knowledge, any listener can immediately conjure some cat-like mammal given a dose of the mania-inducing drug. They understand that this is no gentle pussycat. They imagine that it is quick and capricious and capable of ferocity at any given moment. In short, they have pretty adequately imagined a wolverine, or at least as much as needed to understand the context of the story.

Please read the rest of this essay at TheNervousBreakdown.com

The Death of an Old Friend/Pumpkin

Thomas Wood — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 21:14:17 +0000

My pumpkin is dying. We adopted this pumpkin last October, he and six of his brothers and sisters. The others didn’t make it, due largely to the fact that they were sliced open and left out in the rain. But this one just sat, uncut, for the last seven months. I get that honoring a loved pumpkin is a bit below even the shallowest of topics posted here on ModernSophist.com but, to be honest, it makes me a little sad and, besides, after an hour on YouTube I am having absolutely no luck finding examples of cartoon characters using the phrase “insolent fool” for the topic I really wanted to discuss.

Seven months has been enough time for us to grown attached to our pumpkin. We hadn’t named him yet, instead just referring to the basic noun of, “the pumpkin,” though this in no way reflects our lack of attachment as we also call our favorite cat by a simple title, “The fat one.” The pumpkin will live out the rest of his days in our garden, slowly decomposing until his composition contributes to the circle of life that is our back yard (probably eaten and subsequently thrown up by The Fat One.”

In honor of his memory please send any donations you have to the Haiti Pumpkin Relief Fund with the American Red Cross.

Corporatese – The Language of Your Company

Thomas Wood — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 16:00:22 +0000

Every time we have a meeting in my company I hear about a dozen terms that I only ever hear in a company context. The general themes of these words are efficiency and growth. My friend, Mary, at NoTitles.com and I thought we would each take a look at corporate language, a little competition really: most comments win (I just made that last part up on the fly). Here are just a few bits of corporate language that come up for me all the time.

Take-Away – As in…”What lesson did you take away from your conversation with the janitor?” My company seems to feel like they must take-away some life lesson with every corporate exchange. Often times, people will pause to list off their various take-aways, and others will follow with their own in an exercise akin to the moral of the story on Full House. Lessons are great, and picking something specific to walk away from is a positive turn against low retention, but the compulsion to label and share your learning can quickly degrade into homework, and nobody learns from homework. Oh, and always saying you have and asking for a “take-away” makes you sound like an idiot who likes pretty picture books of Jesus stories.
INFP or Myers-Briggs – Myers-Briggs is this personality test invented in the forties. It’s mandatory at my company that new hires go through an orientation which features a two day Myers Briggs. At the end of the test, you get a label based on possible personality traits such as do you like being around lots of people and are you a copious note-taker. It’s a neat little afternoon of making jokes about how Betty sure is a ‘J’ because of the watch she wears or how Steve is definitely a ‘F’ because he cried when he got a divorce last year. But it should stop there. Now, three years after my own orientation, people are still calling me a ‘T,’ managers are still referring to their problems considering the feelings of all those introverted ‘I’ folks, and the on-staff psychologist is still asking for a show of hands at how many capital ‘T’ thinkers there are in the room who (she smugly giggles when she asks this) can’t stand her drawn out explanations. Enough already. I’m not a bloody INFP. I’m a goddam Aries, and we don’t believe in psych tests!
Metrics – Remember when we used to call facts and figures, “facts and figures?” ”Metrics” is a term that people made up because ‘data’ has come to mean something your hard-drive holds. If you want to know the number of cheese-eaters in the Placement department, you have to gather the metrics, or develop the metrics, or whatever. I don’t have a problem with the action, it’s the popularity of the word. Why do we need a new word for ‘data?’ Why can’t we just say, ‘measure?’
Coordinator – I think this one might just be in my industry, but I’m curious. Everyone. Let me repeat. EVERYONE in my company is a coordinator. There are literally seven different positions in my company whose title includes the term coordinator. You wouldn’t believe the confusion this causes when we get to the hospital. The nurse says, “Hello, are you the coordinator on this case?” I say, yes, and then five minutes later a colleague walks in an introduces themselves as the coordinator.
Acronyms & Initials – Every position in my company has corresponding initials. I’m an SC for example, I work directly with the PC and the TC, who are led by the RC and the APC. We often work with the onsite DSL who is trying to get ahold of the FRC who is busy with the MOC regarding the TSC’s issues with SCVMC in SJ.

How To Fix American “Obesity”

Thomas Wood — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 00:04:48 +0000

America is fat, sorry, obese, and we’re mad as hell about it. I’ve figured out how to fix this. The answer to ridding America of obesity? Change the language. We all know the age-old chubby girl trick of calling a fat girl pleasantly plump and telling your overweight husband that there is more of him to love. But these methods are trite. We need a systemic change. We need to get to the core of the obesity problem: We need to change the measurements.

This plan came to me when I went to try on a pair of scrubs in a hospital in one of the heavier cities of California. Their medium was huge on me. Back home, I barely fit into a medium. Here, I was swimming in it. The answer was that they had downsized all their measurments. Extra large people were now large. XXXL were now just an XL. And just like that, a lot less people were fat

Step one: No more Calories.

We’re going to have to drop the word ‘calories’ altogether. I get that it’s a reliable way to measure the value of a food’s impact on a body, but it’s not getting us any sexier, is it? My suggestion, fatty, calorie heavy foods need to develop a term that reinforces our positive, American values of optimism and creativity.

Introducing the 75 Cutie plan:

In the 700 Cutie plan, the FDA shall switch the measuring scale from calories to our new, improved unit for food-energy measurement, the Cutie. The Cutie, which equals roughly 26.7 calories, will measure how adorable a food will make you. More cuties, therefore, equals more to love, so that instead of cutting 3500 calories to shed one pound of fat we can endeavor to add 131 cuties to our beauty folds. See? The change is already happening!

Other Measurement Changes:

Grams of Fat - Hugs of Love: As in, this twinkie contains seventeen hugs of love.

Sodium – Mystery: Salt makes me think of the desert, and all the mystique of ancient Arabia. My tomato soup, therefore, has 700 milligrams of mystery.

Saturated Fat – True Love: Since fat is love, saturated fats like the ones we get with butter and bacon are the truest of them all.

CARBS – Sweetness!: This one’s easy. I like to have a bag of sour-patch kids which have a sweetness measurement of 38. Isn’t that terrific!

Ingredients:

High Fructose Corn Syrup – Patriot Juice: America is built off of corn and corn products. And since America is #1, let’s show off our pride in our #1 ingredient!

Maltodextrine – Fresh Powder – We don’t need all those fancy chemical names, do we? Let’s inspire our ingredients with a little athletic flavor. Nothing says health like a day on the slopes of flavor country.

Salt – Spice – Everyone likes spices. Now, I’m not sure what a spice is, but isn’t it supposed to be great for flavor? That’s why I put this spice on EVERYTHING.

rBGH – Body Good: Though bovine growth hormone is not, precisely, a ingredient, it’s getting a lot of flack for making it’s way into our beef and dairy supply. But isn’t this wonderful compound making our cows more productive? Making sure our cows are super-sized with Body Good hearkens back to pleasant memories of milk commercials that inspired me to grow up healthy and strong.

Alternatives to “Hand/Eye Coordination”

Thomas Wood — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 16:00:29 +0000

Of all types of coordination, Hand/Eye is the most celebrated…and then one thinks, “wait, of all types of coordination? What other types are there?” Of course seeing something and then reacting appropriately with your hands is a terribly important skill and, frankly, probably paramount in a great many deeds. But what about other sense/body-skills? We never hear of any others or, at least, they don’t have a catchy name like Hand/Eye. (And about the name: Isn’t it backwards? It’s not, my hand does something, and I see it, unless you’re applying it to a sort of “shoot first, ask questions later” mentality.) I’d like to take a stab at naming and describing, in no particular order, a few other useful ways to coordinate your body and senses.

Foot/Eye Coordination – This is a gimme. There’s no such thing as a blind soccer player, in any meaningful sense (‘meaningful’ as in, going to eventually kick the ball in some reasonable amount of time without searching for it on hands and knees. I will, however, allow that it would be meaningful in the This American Life, touching Saturday story and doesn’t-life-triumph sense.)
Hand/Ear Coordination- Every great Kung-Fu movie eventually has a scene where somebody throws sand into Van Damme’s eyes and he has to remember the teaching’s of his master. With soulful breathing, he calms himself, and just as his opponent is about to strike a mighty kick, Van Dam hears his position, drops into a magnificent splits and punches him in the balls.
Scream/Eye Coordination - Our buddy, Pat, was the third to jump off a fifteen foot rock into the cold water below. Mid-air, as he fully witnessed the height and impending plunge, he let out two, successive, bird-like cries. This skill has engendered many nicknames, which I have the good taste not to repeat. However, the skill might also be called Height/Girly Coordination.
Whiskey/Asshole Coordination – We’ve all got this friend and it’s time we honor their mad skills at deftly engaging their inner assholes immediately upon sensing the presence of Whiskey.
Cover/”This Bar Sucks” Coordination – It’s Saturday and you’re all eager to get to the bar, get some drinks, and find that special someone to rub up against. It’s a good thing you’ve got that one, poor, cheap-bastard friend who has honed the ability to masterfully coordinate the presence of a cover at the door with the realization that the bar, in fact, sucks.
Breast/Analytical-Genius Coordination – In a manner akin to Bobby Fischer’s masterful 27-steps-ahead chess focus, some people have the ability to sense the covered breast of a woman, and subsequently manifest every one of their faculties for math, artistry, language, engineering, supposition, and military-grade reconnaissance, all in an effort to determine said breast’s various qualities. These special people are known as “men.”

Defining “Douchebags”: Part III – Finding a Cure

Thomas Wood — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 20:22:00 +0000

In Parts I and II, we discussed how Douchebags are idiots with flare, the pretentious ignorant. They are the guy in sunglasses, the goatee, the striped shirt, the baseball cap just a touch off center. They are the big-dick swingers, touting their rock-titted Douchebaguettes. We all get it. We all know these guys. Heck, you might be one of them. In Part III we will ask, is there a cure? We believe there is.

Can Douchebags be cured?

The short answer to this is yes, in some cases. Some experts have recommended punching, stabbing, or mauling (I assume those suggesting this last one intend to bring in a surrogate bear or wolf or something, as opposed to attempting this with their own nails) but they are missing the point. Douchebags are idiots. That’s really it. They are idiots who just don’t, fucking, get it. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if they weren’t so loud, pushy, and numerous.

My suggestion is to educate them. But Douchebags don’t take to education naturally. They treat education roughly the same way as sex; it’s something to be done on someone, not with. For them, it is about the imposition, not the understanding. We want them to be able to hear us, to not be distracted by the though “is my nose running?” (Incidentally, it is.)

The trick, then, is to somehow slip the wisdom in with some seemingly innocuous Douchebag favorite, like so many Rohypnols in a vodka tonic. Use their “charms,” their affectations, their need for showmanship, against them.

A Few Ways We Could Educate Douchebags

Get them a tattoo of TS Eliot’s “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock” in Kanji on their back. Tell them the symbols have the dual meaning of Peace/War. Remind them how ‘in’ Peace/War are these days.
Convince them that, like sunglasses at night, the latest rage in useless evening accessories are umbrellas. When quizzical look appears, give some half-vague, way enthusiastic shout out to ‘makin’ it rain.’ For extra impact, add hand gestures. If all goes well, a few will inevitably notice the ridiculousness of it. Self-Reflection may ensue.
Offer them crack. Support their habit until a time when they either die or bottom out. Encourage rehab. Again, self-reflection may ensue.
Stuff their jacket’s pockets with quote from Rumi. Upon discovery at the bar, they will ask, “What the fuck is this?” Laud them for incredible taste in poetry. Remind them how often Rumi got laid.
Plan next “rager” at a Biology seminar featuring co-discoverer of DNA’s structure, James Watson. Make sure they know that “Paris” will probably be there later.
Challenge them to a race around the world. In Tibet, steal their passport, money, and shoes. Leave them stranded for seven years.
Invite them to Vegas. When they wake up in a bathtub of ice they will discover a beautiful set of tits
Line their baseball cap with thorns. When cap is twisted it will give them an appearance of Grace.
Lock them in a room with Brokeback Mountain for three days until they appreciate the beautiful cinematography of Rodrigo Prieto.

When they order a drink at a bar, have their tab monitored by a bar-code scanner which will read the cuff of their stripey shirt. Comment how often accounts are confused. Casually mention 1984.
Fill shoes with cat-nip.
Ask them to join you in friendly, televised debate on the evils of the Holocaust. When show goes live, be sure they randomly draw the “Pro Nazi” side. Never let them live it down.
Put control of all “bling” in control of the Boy Scouts of America. Bling will then have to be earned through education and community service.
Mention a trip to an island getaway. When there, inform them that they are no longer in the tribe. Hunt them until Piggy dies. Cry with them when you are rescued.

Defining “Douchebags”: Part II – Physical Characteristics

Thomas Wood — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 17:15:19 +0000

Douchebags are idiots with flare, but what does that look like? In Part II of “Defining Douchebags,” we’ll take a look at some common physical attributes. You can’t judge a Douchebag by its collard shirt; even some of the fellas in these pictures might not be Douchebags. Just because it dresses like a douche doesn’t mean it is one, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a Douchebag Uniform.

Ed Hardy – This one is so easy that it’s intellectually painful. I mean, really guys? How can you not see that everybody else not wearing an Ed Hardy anything thinks you’re a complete tool (note: “Tools” are the slightly less intelligent cousins of Douchebags).
Axe Body Spray – Sorry guys, it’s pretty douchey. I get it. It smells good. Easy to use and, frankly, their advertising is sometimes just right. But six out of ten douchebags are using this stuff when their weekend cologne runs out.
Spiked Hair – You only tend to see this from inland folks anymore. I don’t know what the saturation rate is for styles these days, maybe twenty years? So since this style went out around 98′ along the coast we’ve probably got another eight years of it on those Bridge & Tunnel nights.
Tribal/Asian Tattoos – Clearly, you’re not in some tribe and, yes, I really, really appreciate the time you’ve put into the gym. I’ve been at the gym lately too, but I wear an old-fashioned tight t-shirt like a decent goddam human being instead of physically marking the area with a third-grade doodle better suited to the graphic designs of a Trapper-Keeper. As for the Asian Tattoos, you’d better be goddam Asian or at least have spent some time learning the language for your semester as an English teacher. ”It means Peace?” Bullshit, we can all read. It clearly says, “Douchebag.”
The “Wife-Beater” tank-top as your sole shirt – unless you’re at home doing some kind of chore, this doesn’t qualify as an outfit. I will grant that they are incredibly comfortable so let’s let this be the deciding factor: if at some point you are wearing this in any venue where currency is exchanged besides a liquor store, you have overstepped.
Pink-Shirt/Popped-Collar - I think this started as a kind of I’m-Not-A-Douche move by a lot of D-Bags who thought they could throw the scent just because they were wearing pink.
The Interesting Goatee - The Goatee was interesting for about six months total when three French guys did it in the nineteen-thirties. These guys were sullen as shit and always smoking. Also, they never spoke to you, they only answered questions, and usually ended sentences with, “But of course,” just to point out how much of an ignorant asshole you are. Basic goatee? Fine, this just means you really enjoy baseball. Goatee with any shape to it: Douchebag.
Sunglasses – I’m not even going to mention the It’s-Not-Dark thing. I’m just going to mention Haiti, then point to your sunglasses on your ridiculous goddam head, then mention Haiti again.
Hand Gestures – I’m assuming one of two things: either you’re deaf or signaling the wing placement of a taxiing jet. Anything else means your hands are doing the talking and, frankly, most people’s hands are real morons.

A special note: The Stripey Dress Shirt. I cannot stress this one enough. It’s not that the normal guy doesn’t own a striped dress-shirt, just that he would never wear one out if the wedding, funeral, or work didn’t call for it. Really the whole bullshit dress/casual thing, the untucked stripey shirt with the beltless jeans? Oh, did you roll the sleeves up. Oh, are those sandals? My god you’re easy-going.

Here’s an experiment for the striped shirt. Head to the Matrix in the Marina on Fillmore. Look around. Count the number of guys in striped dress-shirts. Give up? Of course you did, because it’s physically impossible for a human being to count higher than 4,367 in a single evening. Oh, and a quick warning: If you’re out and you are the guy in the stripey shirt, consider that you may, in fact, be a Douchebag. Back in eleventh grade, when every item of clothing you bought was from Express for Men, you had an excuse. As college approached, you had a choice: grow up, or continue on a path towards douchebaggery.