A Comma Walks Into a Bar: Semi-Colon as the Designated Driver

WARNING: This post has a lot of mixed metaphors and anthropomorphic punctuation marks.

Let me introduce you to the semi-colon. SC, as I lovingly refer to it (and because I don’t want to retype “semi-colon” twenty times) is the mark that is a hybrid of a comma and a colon—dot on top, curve on the bottom—sort of the mullet of punctuation marks. Sadly, SC is the most misunderstood of the punctuation marks, the black sheep of the sentence family, so to speak. SC often gets left out of the family gatherings in favor of the more popular member, Comma. Comma gets a lot of attention—it’s a real go-getter, a must-have at the sentence parties. No one wants to go out on the town without Comma. Unfortunately, Comma often winds up in places it doesn't belong. SC really needs to go along too and make sure everyone gets home safe.

Commas are just too social and irresponsible. SC has got its act together—it knows where it belongs. SC is always having to cover for Comma’s excessive partying. Too many Commas already on the dance floor? SC steps in and makes sure everyone’s sticking with the right clique. SC is a great matchmaker too. Independent clauses need a hook-up? Boom, SC is setting up that date. SC is kind of like a chaperone. It makes sure independent clauses are appropriately separated, and it makes sure too many commas in one place don’t cause excessive confusion.

In summation, don’t sprinkle commas into your text like you’re shaking salt on a baked potato. Let the semi-colon be your Mrs. Dash.

Facebook's Suggestions: Needs More Cat

So, Facebook’s “suggested post” algorithm is apparently on crack. Today, it suggests I might want to browse “big, strong men” in my area. Yesterday, it was “big, black men.” The day before that it was “good-looking, single men” and before that “single, Christian men.” There is nothing wrong with any of these except for the fact that my Facebook feed and my timeline are literally filled with comments about, posts on, and videos by lesbians. Nowhere in sight is there a post about “big men” of any kind. Also, Facebook's idea of "good-looking" is suspect.

It’s interesting how commercial content gets promoted in my feed. I get it when I see an ad for shoes when I have recently looked at shoes online. It even makes sense when Facebook asks me if I’m “still interested” in an eBay item for sale that’s actually my own listing. (Yes, I’m still interested…in selling that thing on eBay that I currently own.) It’s stupid, but I get it. I even get it when I see promoted content for political figures and news items that are completely contrary to my own beliefs because at some point I have mocked these figures and items publicly. (Last week’s post about Joni Ernst flooded my feed with ridiculous “trends” in politics.) Yes, I get these suggestions—I see where the algorithm is drawing its information from, even if it doesn’t connect its content to context.

What I don’t get is where the “big men” are coming from. Seriously, why have I never seen a suggestion for browsing “sexy lesbians” in my area or even “lonely housewives” looking to experiment? Now, don’t get me wrong: I don’t actually want to browse for sexy, lonely housewives. Now, cats? Sure. I could go for some browsing of “big, strong cats in my area.” Why aren’t I getting that suggested post in my feed? Who wouldn’t want to curl up with a sexy cougar? (Seriously, do not Google “sexy cougar.”)  My photo albums are overflowing with cat pictures. Clearly Facebook has no idea what my type is. Here’s a hint: What has four legs and wears a furry tuxedo to bed?

In summation, I already sold that Star Wars action figure on eBay, there aren’t nearly enough cats on the internet, and Facebook is a terrible, terrible matchmaker.

SkyMall: When Bankruptcy is Hilarious

Coming as a surprise to no one, the mile-high shopping outlet, SkyMall, has officially declared bankruptcy today, producing mostly LOLs from the business world and ROTFLOLs from the internet. Apparently, SkyMall’s parent company now owes several major airlines like a bajillion dollars because exactly no one in the history of ever was stupid enough and rich enough to by any of their crap. Seriously, who did they think was going to order a remote controlled tarantula or a heated cat shelter (I didn’t make these up) while flying somewhere over the Atlantic? (I am contented to make do with my manually controlled tarantula and I cruelly force my cats to rough it in unheated cat beds inside of a room temperature house.)

The real loss here is the void this bankruptcy leaves in our list of companies deserving of mockery. The SkyMall catalog was such fertile ground for the seeds of a quick witted culture jam: What will we parody now?  My favorite was Kaspar Hauser’s SkyMaul, which is featured in one of my classroom textbooks, and includes products like the "Llama-cycle" a half-llama half-bicycle that is clearly the next big thing in rural transportation. Although business sources are citing the rise in smart phone and tablet use on airplanes as the reason for SkyMall’s decline, I argue that customers couldn’t tell the difference between the parodies of the catalog and the actual catalog itself. People had been ordering llama-cycles rather than zombie-themed garden gnomes and were frustrated when their items never arrived.

In summation, if you're going to have a company that makes useless garbage for useless rich people, at least make it distinct enough from the made-up crap to keep your company afloat. 

Things and Stuff: Rick Grimes’ Limited Vocabulary

My recent metaphor comparing the reading of Atlas Shrugged to a competitive food competition (okay, it was more of a simile than a metaphor) reminded me just how awesome figurative language can be. That’s not really surprising coming from a writer and professional communicator, I realize, but still. Metaphors are probably my favorite kind of linguistic trope, right up there with neologism and anaphora. (Here is a handy link to Dictionary.com.)

This made me think about The Walking Dead. Rick Grimes isn’t exactly known for his discursive eloquence.  If there’s one thing the zombie apocalypse needs, it’s an English professor. I mean, really—so many of Rick Grimes’ problems could have been solved with better communication. Not that I’m blaming him—really, he’s a product of his environment. Let’s face it: The guy is a rural Georgia law enforcement officer (and a cuckolded one at that, though I doubt he knows that word.) At best, he got a C in high school English. Plus, he’s got a lot on his plate as a single father keeping track of his angsty teenage son, Carl.

The issue is that he’s now the leader of the free world. As a leader, he really needs a speech writer. Perhaps a more well-planned speech would have enabled Rick and The Governor to reach some sort of arrangement, and Hershel might have kept his head. Oh, sorry…SPOILER ALERT…Hershel dies. Rick is always talking about what’s best for “the group” so he’s clearly concerned about his constituency, but he doesn’t seem to know how to talk to them or about them. The Governor may have been an insane jerk, but he had that Reagan-like verbal charisma going for him. Even Andrea bought into it, and she was the one with the most education. (Don’t get me started on Andrea’s character arc though… turning interesting, capable female characters into annoying idiots...grumble grumble…) The point is, Rick needs some help with his communication skills.

With that in mind, here is a list of synonyms for “things” and “stuff” that Rick Grimes (or whoever ends up in charge when Rick inevitably gets eaten) may find useful for maintaining control during the post-apocalyptic reformation: Try using an actual noun that describes what the hell you’re talking about, like “can of pudding” or “12-gauge shotgun” or “weeping silently in a corner while talking to ghosts.” These are obviously just a few examples. You can substitute your own as the situation merits.

In summation, Rick Grimes is a cuckold with a high school education and a limited vocabulary, the writers of The Walking Dead are total dicks, and figurative language is better than chocolate. (See what I did there?)

Sci-Fi Slash Fiction: Joni Ernst and Ayn Rand

I am imagining a fantasy sci-fi adventure in which the newly elected and probably bat-shit Senator Joni Ernst travels through time and meets Ayn Rand. Rand, who has traveled through time herself, has discovered the secret recipe for manufacturing methamphetamines decades earlier and has begun to produce and distribute them to the lazy masses as part of her long-term plan for the dominance of laissez-faire economics and her presidency over ungoverned pharmaceutical corporations. It’s clearly love at first sight and together the two battle the forces of socialist propaganda, and have an elicit same-sex love affair, which they somehow justify in the name of conservative Libertarian causes (I haven’t worked that part out yet) and then settle down in the surreal mountainous region of WTF-dom where Rand’s main characters find themselves in the third part of Atlas Shrugged. This is perhaps the least sexy lesbian slash fiction ever written. They eventually break up because Rand won't wear bread bags on her feet.

But let me back up. On behalf of my home state of Iowa, I wish to apologize for Joni Ernst. I am not certain how the castration of pigs is actually relevant to…anything…other than the reproductive rights of swine, but there are some other issues that need clearing up. If you did not grow up in the Midwest you should know that wearing bread bags on your feet actually is really a thing that some of us did. It basically meant you were poor and your family could not afford waterproof snow boots. The bread bags went over your socks before you put your shoes on so your feet stayed dry while you were out in the snow. Rand might consider such bag-wearers deserving of their soggy plight since clearly the parents of these children were not working hard enough to buy proper boots. Ernst is simply confused about how bag wearing may or may not create conservative political ethos. (Hint: it doesn't.)

With that in mind, I don’t understand how this marker of lower socioeconomic status is actually beneficial to whatever the hell the Republicans were discussing.  Honestly, the act of wearing bread bags on your feet is indicative of how poorly Reaganomics actually worked in the 1980s. Trickle-down theories just made my toes freeze. Socialist approaches to economic inequality actually work better than “folksy” epistemology that doesn't actually have any real meaning.

 But that’s not what this is about. I actually want to talk about Atlas Shrugged. Have you read it? I wonder how many people actually have. It’s really long. I mean like, Ayn Rand really could have done some rigorous editing with the text. I read it. I did it to catch the eye of a romantic interest. That right there is grounds for involuntary commitment. But that’s my story. At any rate, once I started reading, I felt like I had to finish it. The experience of reading the entire novel of Atlas Shrugged is like participating in a food eating competition: At the start you feel pretty good and you put away a good number of hot dogs/chapters. After a while, you begin to feel a little nauseous but you keep motoring through. At some point, you really want to quit, but you’ve committed to the finish line and you just keep forcing the yeast-encased pork anus meat down your gullet as fast as you can until you finally reach the end. Then you vomit and brag to your friends that you made it through. Well, that was my experience anyway. The romance did not blossom.

In summation, bread bags on the feet are a thing, Joni Ernst is a crazy person, and we are all cleared to continue mocking Ayn Rand’s magnum opus.