Linguistic Boners

Like many who've had an embarrassing moment in junior high-school when asked to do a math problem at the front of the classroom, I understand why the word "boner" is often used to refer to a mistake. Many other pejorative terms, though, leave me scratching my head (hello nurse). For instance, why do people insist on using the expression "jerk off" as an insult? We're talking about something that gives a great many people a great deal of pleasure. For that matter, the same question should be asked of the word "cocksucker". Let's face it, anyone who doesn't equate that word with pleasure has never had direct experience with anyone who fits that description (a description I mean as anything but a negative). Surely, that's their loss, but it needn't be anyone else's.

It Was a Little Hot to Have Cheese with My Whine

Let me preface this by acknowledging that what I'm about to write falls squarely under the heading of first-world problems. With that said, I am a big believer that, if one holds a job that has a very clear-cut description but can't fulfill key elements of that description, you might be in the wrong line of work.

My understanding of the term "professional driver" is that it refers to an individual who is paid not only to get me from point A to point B but also to know how to get to said point B or at least its general vicinity given the address. While I appreciate that they may need some guidance within my neighborhood, said "professional driver" should not need me to tell them which exits/roads to take to get to my neighborhood, especially when I just got off the plane from a transatlantic flight.

This sentiment - bordering on resentment - was very deeply felt the other day due to the combination of starting that day at the equivalent of 10 pm, spending virtually all of the subsequent 16 hours in either an airport or an airplane. Going from that to Washington DC traffic in a car whose air-conditioning was blowing hot air while the outside temperature was around 80 degrees was sufficient to curdle any vestiges of the milk of human kindness within me.

I'm confident the air-conditioning will be fixed. As far as the driver's more fundamental issue, that's anyone's guess.

Occam's Bowie

I felt compelled to wait before writing about the latest David Bowie album not because I didn't think it was good but rather because I think it may be among his great ones and that's a claim you don't make without taking some time to ponder it. Depending on what denomination of Bowie-ism you practice, The Next Day is his best since either Let's Dance or Scary Monsters. What's most intriguing, though, is the reason why.

Part of it is the songs, which are some of the most consistently good of Bowie's whole career. However, what ultimately makes The Next Day so good is that it's a true return to Bowie's approach of remaking pop music genres in his own image. In this case he's embraced the fact that "Bowie" has become a genre in its right.

To some extent this was true of his other post-millennium albums, Heathen and Reality, both of which had some great moments. With a decade's hindsight - and The Next Day as a point of comparison - they seem to have been so focused on proving that the "Bowie" genre was worth embracing that they couldn't transcend it. The difference with The Next Day is that, having proven the Bowie genre's worth, the 21st century model of David Bowie has opted to run with it as far and as fast as he can. Your mileage may vary but I think this is one for the long run.