A Sociological Deconstructing of Swearing

A wise man once said, and I paraphrase, "Why blog when you can write a book?" Whoever that wise man was, I heard him...and I listened. Hence the overwhelming neglect to this blog over recent weeks. I'm happy to report, however, that I'm now almost 44,000 words (which translates into roughly 100 pages) into a book I'm writing. You're welcome to read it when it's finished, though I'm sure it isn't any good...just a bunch of nonsense about a really short person who discovers a magic ring, but then gets captured by a bad guy who lives on a huge space station that resembles a small moon, but then gets rescued by a loving Lion, only to discover that the Bad Guy (mentioned earlier) is his father. I'm calling it The Chronicles of the Warlord in the Stars, vol. 1 (due this Christmas).

With that behind us, allow me to delve into what many will consider my most shocking expose of human behavior. The very topic alone would make any white-haired church lady weep for shame. It has to do with swearing. That's right, cursing, as some would call it. Let's just be honest, we've all done it. Sometimes we do it without even knowing it. We stub a toe, break a dish, or drop a baby, and out of our mouths come words of four letters, steeped with stigma and vulgarity.

Let me ask you this: what makes a curse word profane? Who decided the "D" word was a cuss word? Or the "A" word?

What if I came up to you and said the word beshnookah? Would that mean anything to you? Probably not. What if I told you that beshnookah is a foreign word that, when literally translated, means flopper? Would that mean anything to you now? Of course not. Now, what if I told you that the term flopper in that country was synonymous with a certain phrase that involves the "A" word? Now would it mean something? What it would probably mean for a lot of us, unfortunately, is that we'd start calling each other floppers, thinking we'd just gotten away with something.

Here's where I'm going with this. Swearing isn't so much about what I say, it's what you hear. The sin of swearing isn't about the words I say, it's about the offense I cause those who hear me. I can say bloody all I want, and have no concern of offending those around me. As soon as I go to England, however, and use that word, I'm cursing.

So what if we all just decided that the "S" word was an acceptable word? On the other hand, what if we all decided that brownies was a very offensive word? I think we can all agree - no matter what country you may live in - that none of us want to live in that kind of world.

I've said too much.

For the record, let it be known that I choose not to swear on a regular basis, as I've discovered more intelligent words to use.

The Saturday Morning Episode

This morning we were graced with the presence of a film crew (me and a digital camera) who captured what is quite possibly a typical Saturday morning at the Dunaway house. The resulting docudramedy will move you to both tears and laughter, while simultaneously inspiring you to take a good long look at your own Saturday morning routines. Enjoy.

Crap My Wife Says

Those who know me will tell you there's no question that I love my wife. Let it go down in history that a wife has never been loved by her husband more than Amanda is loved by me. I make special effort to mention this so as to not let the reader draw inaccurate speculation on this matter, given the title, and subject matter, of this post. Will I share some things that could paint my wife in a less than intelligent light? Yes. Is this meant to provoke laughter? Of course. Is this laughter inspired at her expense. Absolutely... not. Those who know my wife will tell you that she's a great sport with a wonderful sense of humor. Even as I write this, I imagine her laughing right along, not embarrassed in the least bit. She has, after all, embraced all that makes her so easy to laugh with. This, of course, being one of her most lovable qualities.

Having dispensed with the formalities, allow me to share some of the more hilarious things my wife has been known to say. Some of these have been uttered in the past few weeks, while others - the "classics," as we call them - were spoken years ago. Allow me to run down the short, but powerful, list.

• Recently, while trying to convey that she was on top of a situation, my wife boldly declared that she was on it like a "herd on poop." This statement was, in fact, the inspiration for this post.
• I have tried to establish a water conservation campaign within our household that is targeted at reducing the amount of times we flush. The campaign was launched under the slogan, "If it's yellow, let it mellow." My wife's protest was as follows: "I don't like to pee on other people's urine." Fair enough.
• Upon being invited to a party recently, my wife wanted to make it clear that she intended to arrive at said party, "With bells and whistles on."
• Upon leaving this same party, while still in high-spirits, and probably caught up in the residual buzz of caffeine, she stated that it was, "Off the chiz-ack." It's safe to assume this was a positive remark.
• One evening, my wife felt the need to announce that "Science Central is doing all kinds of science things." This was exclaimed with so much elation that she nearly failed to finish her thought, which was to include "for homeschoolers." Still, a pretty funny statement.
• Most recently, my wife informed me that she had misplaced her cell phone with it in the "silent mode." We searched for two days, only to discover that it was plugged into the wall. While nothing was said, it was still pretty funny.
• Finally, the "classic" which has become the iconic phrase that encompasses all silly statements, was uttered when a friend of mine came to visit several years ago. When we offered him a drink, he insisted on getting one himself. My wife, being the hospitible hostess she is, instructed my friend that, "The ice is in the freezer."  

I'm sure many of you will agree... I've said too much.

Concerning Hamsters and Humans

Big day here at Off the Record. First of all, this is shaping up to be the last post of 2010, barring any miraculous back-to-back posts that could surface between now and the first. But let's face it - we both know that hasn't happened since early November, and it's not likely going to happen in the next two days.

Be that as it may, it's also been a SICK DAY here at OTR headquarters. My son started evacuating the contents of his stomach last night - my wife followed suit just hours later. So, I took the day off to stay at home and take care of the kids (read: video games and blogging) so my wife could get some rest and recover. As you can see, it has been a big, fat, hairy day, indeed... but I haven't even mentioned the most obvious of noteworthy events: The redesign of OTR. That's right - while you were off traipsing around during the holidays, reading everyone else's blog, OTR got a brand new look to usher in a brand new year. I trust you'll take sufficient time to bask in its awesomeness.

Now on to the subject matter at hand - hamsters. Have you ever had a hamster? I pray you haven't. Though, I must admit, they are a brilliant example of what masterful marketing can achieve. What's one thing the world has too much of? Mice. What do you do with all those pesky rodents? Well, you can trap them and kill them - but that can get pretty stinky. So why not change their names to hamsters, and SELL them to people? And who knew it would work. Sadly, I'm living proof.

My eldest daughter decided that for her ninth birthday, she wanted a fluffy rodent to call her own. Her request was so profound in presentation that my wife and I conceded. Shortly after, our home became infested with Butter Cup, the fluffy pet hamster. That was almost two months ago. In that time, I've made some observations that very well could shock the animal kingdom. I'm currently expecting a call from Jack Hanna.

In my research, I've discovered that hamster are, in fact, not unlike humans in the baby and toddler stages of development. In fact, their similarities are uncanny. Do you scoff at my submission? I expect no less from the average civilian. Before you dismiss me as a kook, however, consider these observations:

1. Both hamsters and babies are known to poop quite often, and one can often find traces of excrement from both species wherever they may have been.
2. Anyone who's spent any amount of time with either subject knows that both are fond of storing things - food, toys, excrement - in their mouths.
3. Babies and hamsters are notorious for making lots of noise, which is complicated by the next fact.
4. Hamsters, as well as many babies, are nocturnal. 
5. The average observer would do well to note that both species are quite fast crawlers, which they both will make use of to avoid capture. 
6. Both subjects are quite fond of burrowing, and will occasionally wallow in their own filth.
7. Babies and hamsters are also known to bite from time to time. 

Well, as you can see, babies and hamsters have more in common than you might have guessed - or would like to admit. But the facts are staring you in the face... there's no more denying it. At the risk of being abrupt, however, I need to end this post...

... before I say too much.

Organic Discoveries

I remember hearing a very wise being, who we've come to know as Kermit the Frog, share this bit of wisdom: "It's not easy being green." Well, Kermit, going green isn't much easier.

Now that I've pretended to know what going green actually implies, let me share with you what this post was really intended to be about. Recently, my wife made a decision for our family that has placed us in a whole new social classification. To some, that classification is known as organic. But to others, it's simply known as weirdo. Being that we're now in that social classification, we've adopted the former.

The reasons for this new way of life are many, and vary in size, shape and color. And while these reasons have been rising to the surface of our consciousness for a while now, it's important to note that they contain no preservatives or additives. Thus, the reasons themselves are organic. But there have been a few recent realizations that have pushed my wife to take drastic measures. And by drastic measures, I mean to say that my wife is now making a majority of our home cleaning and personal hygiene products. She's even threatened to make our own water... apparently water isn't organic anymore. As for the recent realizations, you'll have to read my wife's blog for that.

Please... try to stay focused for just a few more minutes. As I was saying, in light of this new lifestyle, we found ourselves perusing the local Three Rivers Co-op Natural Food Store. And let me tell you, this was an educational experience on so many levels. I could go on at length on the things we discovered there, but let me share just a few discoveries that were - in many ways - startling.

First of all, before I jump into the first discovery, I need to take you back a few years to an idea I had: Carbonated Tea. Yes, this was my idea. And I must say, it was quite brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, that someone stole it! Imagine my dismay when, as I scanned the "junk food" aisle, I discovered sparkling tea. You're welcome, obscure beverage maker. You're welcome.

The second discovery is less offensive, but confusing nonetheless. My gaze happened upon an interesting product that raised so many questions. There on the shelf, like a weird thing that takes you completely by surprise, I saw graham style crackers. Now, this could easily be something you would read quickly, and therefore miss the subtle hidden truth of what's implied: Graham style crackers. They're crackers, yes. Graham crackers, however, they are not. One must simply resign themselves to the reality that they are graham in style and appearance, only - a detail swiftly taken in stride by the average organic veteran. But for this organic rookie, it was a startling reality check of what's to come.

Well, that should do it for now. I won't have time to offer commentary on the cost of organic diapers, or the cardboard appearance of organic baked goods. Perhaps you could make your way to the local natural food store and discover for yourself.

Of course, I said too much.

Pour. Cool. Reheat. Repeat.

This blog post probably won't amount to much. Even as I write this, toys are strewn about the house as though rabid raccoons - also known as our children - tore through each room leaving behind the kind of devastation more commonly seen in the aftermath of a tornado. That's not to mention the dishes that are stacked in the kitchen waiting to be loaded into the dishwasher. At this point, there's no escaping the reality that a good husband would have taken care of these issues before taking time to write a blog. Of course, in the time it took to craft the wording for this paragraph alone, the house could have been thoroughly cleaned.

So, in honor of my lovely wife, I will honor her with a post dedicated to her. This is, of course, an attempt to abate her wrath. I have every reason to expect that it will fail.

In the eleven plus years that I've been married to her, and thus lived with her, it never ceases to amaze me that I still learn something new about my wife's personality, her preferences, or behavior patterns. One such behavior pattern has inspired this post - namely, her morning coffee ritual.

Day after day, my wife goes to great lengths to prepare her coffee just the way she likes it: Enough coffee to technically declare it coffee, then massive amounts of cream and sugar to completely mask any hint of coffee flavor. This sometimes takes several minutes, as she wants to get the mixture just right.

Next, my wife then sits her coffee, which has been prepared in her favorite hand-crafted coffee mug, down in a non-disclosed location somewhere inside our house. This is where the coffee will sit for roughly 45-90 minutes.

Sometime later, my wife will rediscover her coffee with great joy and zeal. At this point, seeing as how the coffee has cooled, she places her mug in the microwave, and will reheat the beverage to a desired temperature. Then, once again, the coffee will sit - more often than not inside the microwave - until just a hint of warmth remains. Inevitably, only half the cup of coffee will be consumed before it is thrown down the drain.

Observing these trends each day, without a doubt, has brought new joy and meaning to my life.

But I'm afraid I've said too much.

Boy's In the Hoody

I was heading out yesterday to engage in some wholesome revelry with the boys. Full disclosure: We had a date with a PS3, a 47" HiDef, and a little game we like to call Modern Warfare 2. That, in and of itself, has inspired a slew of other posts... but I digress.

So I'm getting ready, and I realize that the trees outside are completely orange and red. I pause - gaze contemplatively out across the horizon - and relish for a moment in admiration of their beauty and radiance. And then it hits me - it's going to be a little chilly tonight; I better put on a comfy hooded sweatshirt. To my horror I am reminded that I have but one lone hooded sweatshirt that must solely bear the wearisome burden of warming me through the fall. This won't do.

Look, I have something to say, and I'm not afraid to say it. When a dog has a bowl on a hot day in July on the back porch by the moonshine, it better have some water in it... am I right? Is that too much to ask? Am I being unreasonable? No... I should hope not. All I'm trying to say, people, is that it's pointless to have fall without having a good hooded sweatshirt to wear. How else are you supposed to rake your yard, or sit comfortably at an outdoor football game, or cozy up next to a bonfire in the throws of late October? Don't even get me started on hayrides!

And yes, I have a hooded sweatshirt. But this is America... I need at least a dozen more before it even counts (there was an added measure, or twelve, of sarcasm in that statement - and I hope, for goodness sake, that it wasn't lost on you).

... I've said too much.

Reflections While Mowing the Yard

This afternoon I spent roughly three hours mowing our yard. That's a lot of time to yourself, which for me always includes a lot of inner monologue. Here are just a few of the things that lingered in my thinker for a moment or two.

1. I need a bigger mower... perhaps one that moves by itself. Last year I bought a push mower. I told myself it would be a great form of exercise. As it turns out, it just meant that I would be mowing my yard less.
2. I need a smaller yard. Our house sits on just a shade under an acre. Thus the extended mowing time.
3. I enjoy listening to music while I mow. I was a little thrown, however, when a Garth Brooks song somehow managed its way onto my iPod. Imagine my further shock when I knew every word... and sang along loudly hoping the mower would drown it out to anyone who happened by.
4. I'm thirsty.
5. I'm glad it's October and mowing can be checked off my seasonal to-do list.
6. I strongly dislike raking leaves.
7. I hate shoveling snow.

Well, I've said too much.