Syllabus #211

I could write about all the things I did this past week to drain the last dregs out of this summer before I report back to work on Tuesday.  Instead, I'm just going to tell you about this Underberg shit.  I bought it on a whim today*, and the label says its a digestive beverage that you should throw back in one go, do not sip, do not pass go, do not collect your shattered taste buds.  Dear reader, I sipped it.  I'm wild at heart. 

But now I understand the rules.  They exist for a reason.  Back in the day, my grandmom had this Colonial Williamsburg room spray in some kind of piney, evergreeny scent.  We'd spray it on festive occasions whenever company was coming over, to mask the ever-present aroma of stale cigarette smoke.  Underberg tastes like I'm just mainlining Colonial Williamsburg room spray directly into my mouth.  And yet, with each sip, I hate it less and less.  

*Normally I post these jawns on Sunday mornings but I didn't get around to it until the evening this time.  I'm obviously not in the habit of hitting the liquor store first thing in the AM and sipping on airplane bottles of digestive liquors before the sun has reached its apex in the sky.

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This is probably past the cultural zeitgeist at this point, but please enjoy this roundup of links that demonstrate what an asshat shitheel Jason Aldean is.  NGL I didn't really know or care who he was before his released the racist dogwhistle commercial that is the music video for his good ol' boy racism lullaby, but here we are now.  

I will say that, having grown up in a small town in the Northeast, I haven't an earthly idea what the hell he's talking about.  I wouldn't say we took care of our own so much as we minded our own business until someone was being a real a-hole, and then we...well we gossiped about it?  Told them to their face to stop being an a-hole?   I wouldn't have dared to try a lot of things, simply because it would have gotten back to my mother or grandmother and I would have been in a world of shit for whatever embarrassing, delinquent stunt I was trying to pull.

A thorough breakdown of the issue.

Betsey Phillips has a way of bringing it all into sharp relief.  (Nashville Scene)

Adeem the Artist wins the parody game.  

In other news, this takedown of Duolingo's effectiveness makes me feel attacked.  I am staring into your bucket of truth, and all I see is the futility of my existence.   As of this writing, on Sunday, July 30th, I am on the precipice of hitting a 1600 day streak tomorrow.  Hold me.  

Speaking of Spanish, though, this article about Miami English is fascinating.  The TL;DR is that even native English speakers who don't speak any Spanish are incorporating literal English translations of Spanish idioms into their speech.  For example, Spanish speakers would say "bajarse del auto" to mean "to get out of the car" but it literally means to get down from the car, and that's what people are now saying in English in Miami's particular dialect.  Wild!  Neat!

Analog Reading:

I've been packing it in these last few days of summer break.

I finished Colson Whitehead's Crook Manifesto.  He's never not a delight.  National treasure, this man.  Loved it, no notes.

Read Patrick deWitt's first novel, Ablutions.  It reminded me of something, but I can't put my finger on what.  It was written in the second person, which is always a bit jarring, especially when the narrator is spiraling into alcoholism and drug addiction while tending bar for alcoholics and drug addicts in Hollywood.

Slurped up Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid in just a couple of days.  Slurp is a gross word, but this book was fully of juicy fake gossip.  It was an oral history of a (fictional) smash-hit rock band from the 1970s.  Reid pulled off the impressive feat of weaving a compelling narrative from the sometimes unreliable, contradictory recollections of a dozen or so characters, for each of whom she crafted a distinct voice.  Super fun read.