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| Truth and puppies"What if he actually does believe that his doll is a real person? Maybe that is his truth, it's just different from our truth." "The truth ain't like puppies, a bunch of 'em running around, you pick your favorite. One truth. And it has come a-knockin'." - Emerson Cod from "Pushing Daisies" on Truth (with a capital "T") | | |
| Ah'm, likesay, aw scoobied, ken?I've been reading the book, Trainspotting (I haven't yet seen the film, mind you), and it's certainly an eye-opening experience into the world of junkies, wide-o's and the like. It's also been like learning a new language. And this language is known to some as Scottish.
I should warn you, there's some language to watch out for in this, well, language.
Here's the list of words I've learned so far:
shag: After Austin Powers, everyone should know this one.
skag: heroin
chuffed: satisfied
scoobied: clueless, ie "Ah'm scoobied here."
punter: customer
keks: pants, ie "Ah'm shitein ma keks." or "He's still tryin' to get into ma keks."
bairn: child
gadge: guy
radge: girl
bevvied: drunk
pish: piss
poppy: money
shite: shit
whinge: whine
skint: broke ie "This was me pure skint."
Joe Baxi: taxi
wide-o: troublemaker, from "getting wide" which means "fighting"
doss: idiotic (also "daft"), ie "You doss prick"
ken: to know, ie "Ah've nivir legged that wee hoor, ye ken?"
likesay: like, ie "This is, likesay, pure shite."
Here's an excerpt from the book:
"The auld cunt's Italian, n he's called Gi, short fir Giovanni, ah'd imagine. He tells us that he's workin in a restaurant and that he's goat a wife n bairns back in Italy. Ah git a feelin thit this disnae quite ring true. One ay the great things aboot bein intae junk is thit ye come across loads ay liars. Ye develop a certain expertise in that area yirsel, and a keen nose for the bullshit.
Wi git a night bus up tae Stokie fi Victoria. Thirs loads ay young punters oan the bus; stoned, pished, gaun tae perties, comin fae perties. Ah wished tae fuck that ah wis in one ay they squads instead ay wi this auld cunt. Still."
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| KOA shot of absinthe and I call it a night. Night.
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| Smells like Ivy spiritI attended the Ivy Ball last night with a group of friends. The Ivy Ball is basically an excuse for Ivy alum and friends to get dressed up and schmooze and booze in finery, complete with a fantastically hefty ticket price. We sat at the Harvard table, and ironically, out of our entire table, there were only two Harvard alum, who were so proud of their school, one of them promptly ran off to the bathroom when it came time to sing his alma mater's song.
Speaking of which, one of the more entertaining portions of the night had to be the school song competition, in which all the alum of each school went up on stage to perform their song (Penn crowd: Yes, I did end up singing the Red and the Blue, after being drafted by my friend P, Mr Hong Kong Penn Club president, but that's another story).
From Cornell's remixed rap rendition to Brown's very slurred inebriated mess of a song, there were some pretty interesting moments. Our ball programs had each school song's lyrics printed out, and looking at them now, some schools have some pretty weird words:
Dartmouth's "We Dartmouth" talks about its students having "the granite of New Hampshire in their muscles and their brains." Really, Dartmouth lyricist? Granite of New Hampshire in their muscles and their brains? Your brain must have been on something, but I bet it wasn't New Hampshire's rock formations.
Brown's "Ever True to Brown"
We are ever true to Brown,
For we love our college dear,
And wherever we may go,
We are ready with a cheer,
And the people always say,
That you can't outshine Brown Men,
With their Rah! Rah! Rah!
And their Ki! Yi! Yi!
And their B-R-O-W-N!
Yale's "Bulldog"
Bull-dog! Bull-dog! Bow, wow, wow, Eli Yale!
Bull-dog! Bull-dog! Bow,
wow, wow, Our team can never fail.
When the sons of Eli break through
the line,
That is the sign we hail,
Bull-dog! Bull-dog! Bow, wow, wow,
Eli Yale!
The last two songs, I feel, speak for themselves. Volumes, really.
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| Foot in mouth momentP is a follicley-challenged colleague who, though perhaps lacking in natural head covering, is in no way lacking in consideration. I had gone over to P's desk a number of times this afternoon to borrow some pieces of recording equipment. Feeling rather self-conscious about over-intruding on his time when he looked like he was concentrating on an important assignment, after I had troubled him a few times, this happened:
"Sorry P, just one more thing and then I'll get out of your hair," I said with a perfectly complete lack of awareness.
Fortunately, either the colloquialism slipped by him unnoticed, or P was gracious enough to let that one slide.
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