Why my speechings are so well

I grew up in a strict household, though I didn't realize it at the time.

Among the many rules were my father's rules for speech. Slang was discouraged. As small children, he corrected us and made us say "Yes" instead of "Yeah". Sentence fragments were small. And far between.

The result was that I have a near-instinctive ear for fairly correct English. I score 99th percentile on most English tests, and can identify errors and correct them, though I may not be able to name the rule that the errors violated.

I know many words. I have to restrain myself from correcting the journal entries of my friends, especially some particular repeat offenders. It's not that they're stupid, it's just that they never learned English, even when it's their first language.

(I don't generally have difficulty with those who have learned English as a non-primary language. Most of these people are making an effort to write correctly, and it's certainly not their fault that English is one difficult and twisty bastard to learn.)

---

Current peeves:


Apostrophes are not pretty decorations. They are used to mark where a letter (or more than one) was removed from a word, or to indicate a state of ownership. (Examples: Darkside isn't Azz's Pretty.) They are also used as single quotes to, in the US, quote within a quote, or, elsewhere, quote things.

Insight is a special deep knowledge of something, a seeing-into kind of thing. I am granted insights into Darkside's behavior that most of his friends lack. To incite is to cause someone to do something. That Idiot Fuzzy would incite his friends to join him on more and more moronic missions that would inevitably land them in deep trouble.

For those among us who are delighted by the Wickedest Man in the World... or not...

And remember: It's Crowley, rhymes with Holy.
Not Crowly, rhymes with fouly.

Handwriting

N% and I were taking notes in our journal (paper) at school today.

It's interesting. Her handwriting is huge and loopy, and doesn't resemble our usual writing. I am fascinated by it. My writing is neater, more slanted. I think we'll be writing more, and by this will sort ourselves out better.

Now *that's* odd.

N% seems to perhaps be Christian. The quiet kind. I have no idea why.

*purrs*

I am the giggle.
Three weeks!! [Yeah. Locked.]

Ghhhhhaaaaaaa. Pain.

OK.

For some women, prolonged arousal without release is somewhat painful.

As in, IT HURTS.

I can do this. I am a Good Little Fayoumis.

And yes, my dear priestess-confessor...

...I know that some day soon I will need to address the problem with my shields.

For the time being, however, I am learning things by having things as they are.

Once upon a time... (Darkside story)

Once upon a time, Darkside and I sat at the breakfast table in the college cafeteria, having one of our usual merry wars of wit.

"There's no excuse for you!" I declared.

"Oh, but there is!" he said.

"Do tell," I said, mock-glaring.

"Twenty-three years ago, my parents had sex!"

The glare became more realistic, as I tried to keep from laughing.

"Hey, I never claimed it was a good excuse," he said.

Mutual laughter, then.

How FatherSir got his name

Once upon a time, after FatherSir convinced Mama that she wanted a baby too, there was discussion about what the eventual child would be calling the parents. They were considering Mommy and Daddy, or Mama and Papa, or something of the sort.

They were having dinner with FatherSir's obnoxious friend Danny, and in the course of conversation, Danny asked, in the most appalling, drawling, condescending Boston accent, "So, what's the kid going to call you? Daaaddyyy?"

That had indeed been under discussion. But the way Danny said it made it sound offensive.

My father puffed up to his full height in the seat, and announced, "The child shall address me as 'Father [Lastname] SIR!'"

I am sure that there was muted snickering at this point, but once spoken, my father's word is his bond, as with all good mages, and so it was that after I was born, Mama was Mama, and my father tried quite earnestly to get me to utter "Father [Lastname] Sir".

They got "FatherSir" out of me, and Mama said, "I think that's close enough."

So, FatherSir he was, ever after.


(I still refer to my late paternal grandfather as "Grandfather-[Lastname]-Sir". When I was little I called him "Grandpa". After I learned the story, I started calling him that for the amusement factor. My late maternal grandfather was "Ampom", which was my two-year-old rendering of "Grandpa".)

Spam Roundup

Nope, if I grew two more inches of penis, that would not be healthy (as I have no penis), so I do not understand why your name would be "Healthy Help".

I severely doubt that the construction industry wants me, specifically, as I do not have a good back or good knees, regardless of being able to lift 200 lbs rather easily.

First, you oughtn't to call her a bitch, unless she gets off on that. And still, unless your scene involves humiliation, you oughtn't to be calling her that to me. Second, I have no wish for watching the anal sex of others.

Yes, I like breasts. I have a nice pair myself, and ( I mention in passing someone who is not Darkside )

Your point? Ohhh. You want me to see the breasts of one of your models. I get it now. And nah, I think I can look in a mirror or something. Idiots.

Reminiscences...

One fine morning at DeVry in the computer lab, Darkside and I stumbled upon Thee Temple ov thee Lemur, and then discovered Fear & Loathing in the Millennium Dome, which caused us to both nearly fall over sideways and/or piss ourselves with laughter.

I beckoned him over, after having found the site, and we read it together, leaning close to the computer. I think he called it up on his machine, actually, and I knelt down on the floor next to him, and we read it together, leaning warmly close, telling each other when we could advance the screen or turn the page, never quite clinging to each other so we wouldn't fall over, but together, physically close, dying of laughter.

That was a good day. That was one of the brilliant days, with crisp cool weather like Alaska in the early fall, with an air of expectation and wonder, just pre-Christmas.

One of those late-night ponders (revisited)

So votania and I were chatting about things, and the common mispronunciation of Crowley's name, aided and abetted by Ozzy, came up.

"It's CROW-ley," votania said at one point. "Like crow, the bird!"

"Did he have a beard?" I wondered. "Because that's how you can tell crows and ravens apart. Ravens have the beard, the feathers under their chin. Crows don't."

A dive for a book follows, and the well-known photo of Crowley, with silly hat with star, is dug up.

"No, he did not!" she proclaims in triumph, brandishing the picture.

"So. Crowley had, like the crow, no beard!" I summarize. There is a pause for more thought. "Does this mean --" and I interrupt myself laughing, and have to take some time to calm down. "Does this mean that Silver Ravenwolf therefore has a beard?"

More laughter; it is some time before we can stop snickering.

Recent events have inspired me to sing.

"He wants a shoehorn, the kind with teeth
People should get beat up for stating their beliefs
He wants a shoehorn, the kind with teeth
Because he knows there's no such thing."

This has been sponsored by Nali's tarot deck and Erica's old userpic.

PAIN!

So, I have just taken a shower, and am walking over to wrap myself in a sheet to dry off.

PAIN!

My foot has just done one of the no-nos with the user interface of the bookshelf. Namely, it has just SMACKED into it at full speed, toes ahead.

So I'm going to be sitting here very quietly for a while... Ow. OWW.

*snicker* You know a discussion on grammar has gone too far online...

Y'know, most online discussions fall under the "Hitler Rule". If someone brings up Hitler in an online argument, the discussion has gone too far and should be terminated.

But, the term "Grammar Nazi" has become standard.

Therefore, it would not surprise me to find that someone, somewhere, has been dubbed "the Hitler of the Grammar Nazis".