A Discussion About Words

I've intentionally left the goal of this blog to be pretty vague, in order to accommodate the various whims that hit me from time to time, but overall I've always intended this to be a place where I can talk about stories, in all their various incarnations.  What makes a story can be pretty vague, which has allowed me a greater playground, so to speak.

Today, however, I want to talk about something only tangentially related to story-telling--yes, even more so than when I spent a month making fun of Silent Hill: Homecoming.  I want to talk about words.

Most people have certain words that simply bother them.  I'm not talking about things like racial slurs--they bother people because they are hateful words--but more about words that simply sound wrong.  For instance, I've heard from many sources that "moist" is a word that just makes people uncomfortable.  It sounds wet and damp, like something living in a cave.  Moist doesn't really bother me, but it's not a word I'd use unless I was talking about a particularly well made cake.  Doesn't that sound lovely, a nice, moist cake?  Mmmmm, moist.

At any rate, there are other words that do raise my hackles--for some reason they just don't feel right, they roll off the tongue in a strange way, or they conjure up unintentionally negative mental images.  For a lot of them, it's because they're words I naturally associate with something a small child would say--so when I hear an adult use them, it make me uncomfortable.  Observe.

Word: Tasty
"Oh, did you have some of Mrs. Partridge's cake?  It was ever so tasty."
I am certain that Mrs. Partridge makes a rather exceptional cake.  I am also rather certain that she wouldn't want you to go around besmirching the good name of her cakes with a word like tasty.  All I can hear when someone says this word is the sound of lips smacking together wetly.

Word: Morsel
"Thank you, but I'll just have a morsel."
This word is only acceptable if you are a mouse that can talk.  Unless you are describing the sorts of things that you eat to your human friend, Stuart Little, then do us all a favor and say "a little bit" or "a small bite".
Bonus points: You can describe something as "A tasty morsel" if you'd really like to see my face turn red at a party.

Word: Nibble
"I'll just have a nibble of this tasty little morsel".
Fuck you and die.

 Word: Tummy
"I'd love some cheese, but it upsets my tummy so."
I have a six year old who has learned to say "belly" instead of "tummy" and she's so cutesy that she shits rainbow-colored sprinkles.  You're not prettying up your gastro-intestinal distress by calling them "tummy troubles".  Trust me, we all know you have the shits.  Just say stomach, please.

Word: Hubby
"Delilah, have you met my hubby? "
For moral reasons, I object to being forced to picture a grown man being married to a small child.  "Hubby" is fun though, because even though it sounds like a word that a small child would use, it's also a word that is not used by any small child, ever.   "Hubby" is like the verbal version of PDA--this couple wants you to know that they're ever so cutesy and in love, even if they can't make out like teenagers all the time teehee!
Bonus points: Find a couple where the wife says hubby and the husband says wifey or little woman.  No, please, find these couples for me.  I want to make a nasty facebook page about them.

Word: Yummy
"Wasn't that avocado and bean sprout salad just yummy?!"
Every time I hear a grown person say yummy I expect them to then lean over and ask me if I'd like to be mummy's little helper after lunch.

Word: Cuz
"Well I said that cuz I didn't want him showing up."
This one's a bit harder because I don't object to the verbal version of it--a shortened version of "because".  I say it all the time.  There's two ways to indicate that you are using the shortened version of "because" in writing though, and one of them is 'cause and the other is cuz.  Is it the zed that bothers me?  It is how the word has almost zero relation to its parent?  Is it because Andrew Dobson says it?  The world will never know.

That's my list for now, but I'll add to it as I think of things.  In the meantime, what are some words that bother you for reasons you can't adequately describe?

Holmes Talks: The Introduction

So I've been busy with this and that, that being a proposed new series I want to make where I explore the history of Sherlock Holmes the character while making stupid mspaint jokes.  This is the first--not just the first video in the series, but literally the first video I've ever made in my life.  Watch it and weep, bastions of good taste.

Guide To Being Eaten By The Internet

Hi!  It looks as if you're being EATEN BY THE INTERNET.  Who knew that insulting that customer/stealing from that artist/closing down that charity effort/bad-mouthing that internet celebrity would pay off so quickly?  For your convenience, I have compiled a list of helpful suggestions to improve your EATEN BY THE INTERNET experience.

1)  Apologies?  You don't need no stinkin' apologies.  Remember, admitting that you might have been at fault for any reason is just another way of saying that you are a weak, sad person.  

2)  Make sure to engage in plenty of defensive posturing.  It will cause people to be impressed by your eloquence and wit.

3)  Do people seem offended by you?  That just means it's working.  Call them names for good measure.

4)  Make sure you accuse everyone who is shouting at you of engaging in their own illegal activities.  After all, two illegal activities combine together and either cancel each other out or create the head for Megazord.  Either way, you win.

5)  Definitely use either racial, misogynistic, or homophobic slurs.  Those are the best.

6)  If you have a meltdown, make sure it's posted in a place that anyone can see it.  Then delete it.  Then post another one.  Then delete that and cry a bit.  This will delight your fans and unsettle your enemies.

7)  After throwing a hissy fit and refusing to stop whatever has angered everyone, make sure to congratulate yourself on how mature you're being.  Buy a cake!

8)  Finally, convince yourself that the internet isn't forever.  Eat your cake.  Imagine that you are the internet and the cake is you.

I hope this guide can increase the enjoyment that you get from your BEING EATEN BY THE INTERNET experience.  

The Reichenbach Falls

I'm back.

What, did you think I was dead? Haha, silly! No, the doctor says the scars should eventually heal, provided I don't move or breathe in any discernible way. Antelopes, eh?

Since Tumblr has informed me that a new episode of the hit television series Sherlock is about to air, and I'm nothing if not topical, I thought I'd do yet another post about famed Belgian detective Poirot. He's so funny! And clever! Then I remembered that doing a post about The Final Problem would probably annoy more people, so here we are.

In the interest of providing some back-story, I feel as if I should make mention of a couple things. First off, Sherlock is indeed about to air an episode based off this story. In addition, the film Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (which sounds like a video game, if I'm honest) was also loosely based on this story. The movie adaptation, at least, did a pleasant enough job of rounding out the character that is introduced in this story, certainly better than Sir Doyle did. Which character is that?

“"You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?" said he.”

Dun dun DUUUUUN. It is tempting to compare and contrast the various adaptations of this story to see where one is superior to the other, but I feel as if some basic understanding of the original story is necessary. So let's begin!

It's funnier to separate fact from fiction (ha!) but there's no real way to get around it: the Final Problem was originally written as a way to get rid of Holmes. Sir Arthur, a very competent man who happened to go a little insane as he got older (ask me about the fairies!) decided that he was tired of writing about his most famous creation, and wanted to focus more time on his historical fiction. What? Yes, Sir Arthur wrote historical fiction. He was even knighted for it!

At any rate, The Final Problem was written with little set up, and one end goal—kill off Holmes. The problem that the author faced was a singular one, since Holmes could either die in two ways: through some stupid mishap or by facing a worthy adversary. Except that a worthy adversary had never before been written for Holmes. Well... shit, I guess. Time to break out the banana peels and chemical vats!

Since Sir Arthur wasn't particularly interested in creating the first Batman villain, he decided to go the 'worthy adversary' route without actually setting the adversary up in any way. As a consequence, Moriarty is fairly... well, toothless.

As an example, here is the first introduction to our keen criminal mastermind.

"Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!" he cried. "The man pervades London, and no one has heard of him. That's what puts him on a pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you, Watson, in all seriousness, that if I could beat that man, if I could free society of him, I should feel that my own career had reached its summit, and I should be prepared to turn to some more placid line in life. Between ourselves, the recent cases in which I have been of assistance to the royal family of Scandinavia, and to the French republic, have left me in such a position that I could continue to live in the quiet fashion which is most congenial to me, and to concentrate my attention upon my chemical researches. But I could not rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet in my chair, if I thought that such a man as Professor Moriarty were walking the streets of London unchallenged."

Gosh, that sounds pretty scary! A man so diabolical, so entrenched in criminal culture, that eradicating him from this earth would be the greatest thing that Holmes has ever done?! I bet he eats babies.

But wait a moment.

"Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!" he cried. "The man pervades London, and no one has heard of him.”

Huh. That's a good point, Holmes. Why have you never mentioned him? Well, I mean obviously, he must have just recently discovered who Moriarty was. The spider that tweaks the web, hidden behind the scenes! How cunning, how masterful, how...

“For years I have endeavored to break through the veil which shrouded it, and at last the time came when I seized my thread and followed it, until it led me, after a thousand cunning windings, to ex-Professor Moriarty of mathematical celebrity.”

Well, I guess that's sort of what I just...

“You know my powers, my dear Watson, and yet at the end of three months I was forced to confess that I had at last met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal.”

Huh.

It sounds like a really slight thing to complain about because, well, why would he have mentioned this odious presence to his most trusted friend and compa... okay, well, why would Watson have bothered to share the ramblings of a cocaine addicted genius with the world? Holmes makes a good point at the opening to both denigrate Moriarty while at the same time lamenting the futility of going after Moriarty; in fact, he mentions a direct encounter with the man that was immediately followed by several attempts on his life. Shocking! Harrowing! And if this were the first in a series of a stories where Holmes and Watson track down this genius to his lair, then the feeling of dread that so permeates this passage would really work. Holmes describes all the secret, cunning things that Moriarty does and then Watson—and by extension, the reader—get to see with their own eyes exactly what sort of secret cunning things they are.

Instead they decide to take a vacation to Switzerland because that's where Moriarty is going. Quick, Watson! Pack a muffler!

It is here, in the spaces where they begin to travel, where the reader is given an opportunity to really get a sense of what sort of danger these two beloved men are in. Or, you know, Holmes could make Watson travel in several different carriages and then show up dressed as a priest.

"Every precaution is still necessary," he whispered. "I have reason to think that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there is Moriarty himself."The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. Glancing back, I saw a tall man pushing his way furiously through the crowd, and waving his hand as if he desired to have the train stopped. It was too late, however, for we were rapidly gathering momentum, and an instant later had shot clear of the station.”

Look Watson! It is the dude I have mentioned once, but you have never seen! Right there! No, I swear that's him. Oh hey, did you read the paper? No? Good. I-I mean!

"Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?""No.""You haven't' seen about Baker Street, then?""Baker Street?""They set fire to our rooms last night. No great harm was done.""Good heavens, Holmes! this is intolerable."

Oh my gaaaaawd they totally set fire to our old apartment. No, really! Are you buying this?

At this point, I'm ready to nominate Holmes for the title Best Troll of All. And then we get to hear about their vacation!

“It was on the 3d of May that we reached the little village of Meiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by Peter Steiler the elder.”

Oh my gaaaaaawd.

So Holmes informs Watson that apparently—no, really, I promise—the police managed to arrest everybody in Moriarty's gang besides, you know, Moriarty. So Holmes very astutely suggests that Moriarty has little left to live for beside attempting to kill Holmes, and that maybe Watson could just go back to London. Come on, help a bro out. Watson refuses because duh, and so they take a merry jaunt through the mountains of Switzerland.

I am not joking, okay? The rest of the story is a description of the Reichenbach Falls, where they end up—a swirling vortex of death!—and commentary on the establishment. WHERE ARE ALL THE BITS WHERE MORIARTY IS SCARY?

It doesn't happen. Holmes sees Moriarty (Watson is graced only with the sight of his retreating back) and heads off to meet him and never returns. And that's it. Watson discovers, some time later, the evidence of a struggle and concludes that both Holmes and Moriarty plunged off a cliff into the falls.

The end?

Well no, because Holmes isn't really dead. Sir Arthur got such a backlash from his fans that he eventually decided to bring Holmes back to life. Trust me: it's dumb too. Just like Moriarty.

WHAT'S GOING DOWN IN CORNWAAAAAAAL

I promised that any person who would offer me a suggestion would receive a reward: I want to thank mrskippy for suggesting Shirley Jackson's The Lottery. I'll be working on that next. In the meantime, here's your picture:

So today I've decided to mix things up a bit and dissect a Poirot story. It's difficult to make fun of Poirot because, frankly, he makes fun of himself

but I wouldn't be doing my internet job if I didn't try.

The Cornish Mystery really highlights something I've only touched on in the past—what the fuck is going on in Cornwall, y'all? The mystery itself is a fairly simple redirection, which Poirot solves by bluffing the shit out of a stupid bad guy. In fact, the bad guy is actually pretty intelligent right up until Poirot needs him to be a moron, which highlights my second point—that Poirot causes contact stupidity.   

Which might very well be the most advantageous secret power for a detective to have.

So catalyst lady shows up at Poirot's house because she suspects that her husband is poisoning her. This wouldn't be a Poirot story if catalyst lady was just being poisoned by her secretary-banging husband, so let's go ahead and dismiss that right off the bat. There are two more people involved in this tale: Hot niece and sexy young dude. Oh, and Catalyst Lady and her husband both receive some sort of money each month. Sexy people, vague romance, and money? Must be an Agatha Christie story.

Guys, I have to be honest here, I'm having trouble really getting into this. I mean, Agatha Christie writes a mean romance with a mystery twist, but she basically makes fun of herself. Unintentionally. This story relies on a bad guy who is both clever and idiotic, the gossiping of a Cornish town, and FUCKING POIROT WAXES HIS GODDAMNED MOUSTACHES AND DRINKS CHOCOLATE.

Fuck. Okay, so Poirot agrees to take this case for some... reason, and he and Hastings decide to follow her, by train, to Cornwall. Catalyst Lady is already dead, let's just get that out of the way. She basically shows up, meets secret bad guy at the train station, and has a load of arsenic just shoved in her face.   

Once Poirot and Hastings WHO COULD HAVE TAKEN THE SAME TRAIN BACK WITH HER BUT NOOOOOOO arrive, they learn of her death. Shock! Awe! Horror! Poirot is so aghast that he starts speaking in french again

Yeah, fuck, I know you're fucking Belgian. Spoilers: No one gives a shit.

They decide to go and meet with Hot Niece, who is also meeting with Sexy Young Dude. Hot Niece admits that Catalyst Lady was under the impression that Sexy Young Dude totally wanted her, but silly auntie, he's actually engaged to Hot Niece! This is seriously a plot point.

Poirot and Hastings leave Cornwall as quickly as they can, because I seriously think that county just gives off murder-vibes, and some time elapses. The next thing you know, Husband is in jail for poisoning his wife. I thought I said that wasn't actually what happened? Yeah, well, the police don't realise they're in an Agatha Christie story.

Sexy Young Dude meets up with Poirot again and moans a bit about how awful it is to have a future relative in jail for murder. Poirot agrees, and tells SYD to just go ahead and admit that he was the one who killed Catalyst Lady in the first place. SYD laughs and then becomes rightfully angry, storming out. I mean really, he doesn't need this shit in his life right now, am I right?

Wait, no, I was reading a story that isn't about stupid people for a second. No, SYD sits around so that Poirot can detail for him his needlessly complicated murder plan. It goes as follows:

Please remember that Poirot has ZERO EVIDENCE TO SUPPORT THIS WILD SUPPOSITION. No, all he has is his fortune-telling moustache and because he has seen many murders like this before. And yet, somehow, he manages to convince this idiot man-child that he is totally gonna tell on him unless he signs a goddamned motherfucking cunty-ass murder confession WHAT THE FUCKING HELL OKAY THE DUDE SIGNS A MURDER CONFESSION BECAUSE POIROT LOOKS AT HIM FUNNY.

That's it. That is seriously the end of this story.   

Sherlock Holmes Loves The Drugs

Sherlock Holmes is many things; if Doctor Watson is any source to be trusted, one of those things is humble.  Ignoring the fact that Holmes exhibits all the signs of a narcissistic personality 

sure, okay, humble. Let's go with that.

Watson starts The Adventure of the Devil's Foot by explaining that Holmes has been far too unimpressed with fame and notoriety to allow Watson to publish any of his cases—you know, except for the other 63 ones he's published—but he decided, on a whim, that this story had to be told. This story, he explains in a telegram, is the strangest case he has ever handled.

Flashback to the spring of 1987. The boomboxes were filled with Bonos and Peter Gabriels, the streets rife with giant shoulder pads and larger hair, the... oh wait, that's 1897. My bad.

So spring of 1897, Holmes has a breakdown. He's taxed, overworked to the limit

and forced to go on a holiday. While vacationing in the Cornish countryside—yeah, I guess having a holiday in France wasn't invented yet—Holmes decides to spend his time researching some obscure remnants of the Cornish language.

I bet this guy is the most fun at parties.

So here's the breakdown: Holmes decides to be a goddamned archeologist, meets the amateur archeologist/vicar, who lodges the strange looking man named Mortimer Tregennis, who spends the whole story filing a name change. I mean, who happens to meet the doctor who is going to the house where the horrible murder happened. Do you get that? This is the sort of coincidental happening that Sherlock Holmes LIVES FOR

A woman is found dead, with her two brothers driven completely insane. They sat down to cards one night, and the next time anybody saw them they were driven horribly out of their minds, to the point of death. And in Cornwall, of all places! Won't someone think of the children.

There is one person left alive in this senseless tragedy—remember kids, card games always have four players!--and that is the third brother, Mortimer Trege... huh. And he's strange looking, you say? Oh yeah, he did it.

What? Fine, christ, I'll finish the story.

Holmes prowls around the house for a bit and asks a lot of senseless questions to everyone, and returns to his room. The next day a strange man enters! He's a distant relative of the family who also, as it turns out, was supposed to marry the now dead sister. Guess who's going to end up dead next?!

So the next day Mortimer is found dead, in the same way his siblings were found. Holmes prowls around some more, leaves a few cryptic clues for the local police, and goes back to his room to wait for them to find him. He waits for a while, because apparently the Cornish police don't give a fuck about no Sherlock Holmes up in their business. After getting tired of waiting

 

Holmes reveals that he totally jacked some substance from Mortimer's room, and offers it to Watson. I mean, I guess that it ends up being the hallucinogenic drug that was the murder weapon, but I'm not totally convinced that Holmes isn't just lighting shit on fire in the hopes that it'll get him high.

After nearly killing his long-time friend and companion, Holmes almost sort of apologizes, and they go to visit strange man. Strange man reveals all—some business about a root that he found in Africa that causes death. Deus ex machiroot. Holmes lets him off with a warning because he only killed for love, and a lovely vacation was had by all.

Holy fuck.