Today I realised that a woodchuck (as in how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood*) is an animal, and not a profession. In my mind, I equated it with what, I suppose, would be a fairly specific profession in the field of lumberjackery. Like the one guy cuts a tree down, another guy does the sawing, then the woodchuck chucks in to the back of the van. Or truck, whatever they use. But no, its basically a Lidl brand beaver.
This made me think how many other things I take for granted aren't actually the thing that they actually are. If you can parse that sentence. Anyway, its pretty humbling for someone as incredibly intelligent, sexy and modest as myself.
Other examples that my afternoon of Wikipedia surfing has taught me:
Draconian does not mean "like Dracula".
Bill Withers is black, not white.
Holland only accurately refers to one area of The Netherlands.
Jam Master Jay is dead.
Chuck D is still alive.
*I prefer the updated version of this tongue twister: "How many bears would Bear Grylls grill, if Bear Grylls grilled bare bears?"
Saturday 18 June 2011
Friday 10 June 2011
Campophobia.
I hate the countryside. I detest the countryside. I loathe it. Vehemently.
Seriously, this isn't like some kind of class war kind of thing (although, I would generally err on the side of people who don't deal with foxes by dressing up and chasing them with a hundred dogs, like some weirdly specific historical re-enactment of 1921), I just hate all aspects of non-urban areas.
The thing that brought this home to me was that I had to drive to an interview today, for a job that was located in the arse-end of nowhere in an old farmer's bullpen. It was done up and everything, there weren't computers resting on hay bales and my interviewer wasn't called Seth or Jethro, but still, there was definitely something that made me uneasy about being amongst nature. I mean, ugh.
I come from a town, and have lived in cities since then. Small cities, granted, but enough to know that everything good about actually being in a civilised grouping of mammals is tied in to the very nature of urbanity. Put it this way, I wouldn't be able to sleep without hearing the occasional siren or brutal fistfight outside the front of my flat and I definitely wouldn't be able to drift off to the sound of stupid cows mooing or stupid cockerels crowing or, even worse, stupid, boring silence.
I'm not sure that is all of it though. Being in the countryside makes me uneasy in a way that I find hard to quantify logically. Sure, I have a fear of horses (hippophobia, its a real thing, look it up) but I don't think that's the reason. I didn't see any horses today, for example. I think it really it is everything about non-urbanised areas that I dislike, from the arsehole in a Land Rover who over-takes around a 70mph blind corner, to the quaint village pubs with their gourmet menus and live chickens wandering around in the garden. From the villages named Selborne and Empshott, bringing up images of blue-rinsed bigots terrified of asylum seekers (despite never having seen one) to the over-bearing tree boughs scraping my wind-screen as I screech from 70mph to 30mph with no warning. Drop me off in a random city in Europe and I will find my way to a hotel, bar, nightclub, gallery or information desk within minutes, but drop me off in the countryside, even just 40 minutes from where I live and I will panic like a small child abandoned in ASDA. At least in cities you can get a phone signal. There is a reason why most slasher movies take place in rural areas - say what you like about city life, but a bloke with a knife and his face covered ain't nothing special there.
Please do remind me of this when I am forty-five and looking to retire to a country abode with a hot tub. Although I doubt there are many situations where a hot tub wouldn't sway my opinion. I'm fickle like that.
Seriously, this isn't like some kind of class war kind of thing (although, I would generally err on the side of people who don't deal with foxes by dressing up and chasing them with a hundred dogs, like some weirdly specific historical re-enactment of 1921), I just hate all aspects of non-urban areas.
The thing that brought this home to me was that I had to drive to an interview today, for a job that was located in the arse-end of nowhere in an old farmer's bullpen. It was done up and everything, there weren't computers resting on hay bales and my interviewer wasn't called Seth or Jethro, but still, there was definitely something that made me uneasy about being amongst nature. I mean, ugh.
I come from a town, and have lived in cities since then. Small cities, granted, but enough to know that everything good about actually being in a civilised grouping of mammals is tied in to the very nature of urbanity. Put it this way, I wouldn't be able to sleep without hearing the occasional siren or brutal fistfight outside the front of my flat and I definitely wouldn't be able to drift off to the sound of stupid cows mooing or stupid cockerels crowing or, even worse, stupid, boring silence.
I'm not sure that is all of it though. Being in the countryside makes me uneasy in a way that I find hard to quantify logically. Sure, I have a fear of horses (hippophobia, its a real thing, look it up) but I don't think that's the reason. I didn't see any horses today, for example. I think it really it is everything about non-urbanised areas that I dislike, from the arsehole in a Land Rover who over-takes around a 70mph blind corner, to the quaint village pubs with their gourmet menus and live chickens wandering around in the garden. From the villages named Selborne and Empshott, bringing up images of blue-rinsed bigots terrified of asylum seekers (despite never having seen one) to the over-bearing tree boughs scraping my wind-screen as I screech from 70mph to 30mph with no warning. Drop me off in a random city in Europe and I will find my way to a hotel, bar, nightclub, gallery or information desk within minutes, but drop me off in the countryside, even just 40 minutes from where I live and I will panic like a small child abandoned in ASDA. At least in cities you can get a phone signal. There is a reason why most slasher movies take place in rural areas - say what you like about city life, but a bloke with a knife and his face covered ain't nothing special there.
Please do remind me of this when I am forty-five and looking to retire to a country abode with a hot tub. Although I doubt there are many situations where a hot tub wouldn't sway my opinion. I'm fickle like that.
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