Language Lessons: In This Day-in-Age, Sort of Speak

Typebars in a 1920s typewriter

Language Lessons. … (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Communication in our society is littered with mangled phrases, as though most of the country learned colloquialisms via the telephone game. You know, like how “The eagle has landed” ends up as “The eager Icelandic.”

I used to work as a copy editor on the sports desk of an L.A.-area daily newspaper. We had one reporter who was notorious for hacking up the English language, and one night at work I’m reading one of his stories, and he actually wrote the phrase “Sort of speak.”

Sort of speak? I thought. What could he mea—




You know what he meant to say? “So to speak”!!!

I came across another good one today. This also was from a sports reporter (in this case ESPN)—I don’t know if just sports reporters that are horrible at this stuff, but anyway, this is how one sentence started:

In today’s day-in-age …

Seriously?!? If you really think that’s the proper term, Mr. Reporter, then please tell me: what exactly is a “day-in-age”? Because I have no idea what in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks that is. And why is it hyphenated? It looks like something the British like to do with river names: Stratford-upon-Avon.

Are you, perhaps, going for “day and age”? As in, “in the time in which we currently live”?

I thought so.

And P.S.: Where in the world are the editors on these articles? Really. Come on.

People, know what you’re saying before you say it.

Class dismissed. =)


Miami Heat Championship Spells Doom

So yesterday was V-H Day (victory for the Heat), which means it was also V-D Day—no, I’m not talking about venereal disease, I’m talking about the victory of doom.

Those black Heat (not talking race here), with their black uniforms and their triumvirate of evil, and the fruition of the diabolical Pat Riley’s diabolical plan—let’s not forget, Celtics fans, that this is a LAKER who fashioned this wretched Cerberus of South Beach. There’s a ton of irony there, and I hope it’s not lost on you.

Life involves certain “days of dread”—the death of loved ones, Obama being elected (sorry, libs), Obama being re-elected (sorry again). LeBron finally winning a title, and this Miami Heat team winning a title, was/is one of those days.

Perhaps worse than that, though, is that—and I’m having trouble even admitting this to myself—I’m actually started to … ohmygosh, I can’t believe it … have some sort of … sympathetic feelings toward LeBron.

Oh gosh, I can’t take this.

I’m being serious. I think I’ll never have any positive feelings for DWade (dirty louse) or for RuPaul, I mean, Bosh, but LeBron … I don’t know; I’m not becoming a fan, per se—I’m NEVER jumping on any LeBron or Heat bandwagon—and I still believe he’s got quite a bit of growing up to do (though he’s done some already), but I think I’m developing … gosh, this is how Dr. Jekyll must have felt right before his transformation … a grudging respect for LeBron.

I went through something similar with Jordan after his career. I couldn’t stand that guy, his smugness and how the refs (read: Stern) let him get away with so much, but looking back on his career, I can’t deny his awesome level of play.

Same with LeBron. “King” James? Sorry, but that’s a Bible translation. And as Dirty Harry said, “You’re a legend in your own mind.” Anointing himself king and messiah and all that before he ever even donned an NBA uniform, surrounding himself with the consummate bunch of yes-men—I absolutely LOATHE all of that. Talk about an entitled, spoiled, pampered prima donna.

Except he’s not selfish on the court. Not now, anyway. And of course, I don’t want players to be selfish, yet I feel like, with LeBron’s slow but nonetheless evident maturing, I’m losing something important, something crucial to my well-being: a sports figure to loathe with every fiber of my being. The good news, though, is that I still have that villain in DWade, and I still refuse to go so far as to root for LeBron (unless he ends up a Celtic some day).

But gosh, this is killing me. As I said, I want players to be unselfish, and as a Christian I don’t want to hold someone’s mistakes, someone’s past, against them, but I’m losing my evil binky. I’m like Player X trying in vain to draw an open-court charge on LeBron—I’m being steamrolled by his basketball prowess, and I don’t want to be, and I hate it, and I’m shouting at the officials to give me a bleepin’ call (like Derek Fisher must have felt last night) … but I can’t help it.

Somebody hold me.

As an interesting side note, I was just looking through the dictionary, checking the spelling of “prima donna,” when I came across this:

primal scream therapyn (1971) : psychotherapy in which the patient recalls and reenacts a particularly disturbing past experience usu. occurring early in life and expresses normally repressed anger or frustration esp. through spontaneous and unrestrained screams, hysteria, or violence — called also primal therapy
So that explains Bosh.

A Fish Tale for the Ages

Ever heard of the alligator gar? Neither had I until just now. It’s a fish—a real big fish. And some guy in Texas landed a record one. I could say more, but this is something you’ve just gotta see to get the full impact, so go here for a photo and the full story, which is fascinating.

Of Mermaids and Men

Merman, Colmar, France Musée d' Unterlinden

Look, Ma! No feet! … (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Animal Planet recently aired a program called Mermaids: The Body Found, presenting as a documentary what belongs in the realm of the imagination. From an Answers in Genesis article on the program:

Mermaids advanced an idea known as the “aquatic ape hypothesis” (AAH), called the “aquatic ape theory” in the program. First proposed by a German pathologist in 1942, the idea has been met with much skepticism in the scientific community, although it is supported by a respectable number of laypeople. This view claims that our alleged ancestors went through a watery stage in our evolutionary development where, according to the show, “our ability to walk fully upright first evolved, wading in the shallows where food was easily found.” Our supposed ape-like ancestors started living near the oceans, and the narrator informs viewers that “this is where our advanced intelligence began to develop” thanks to the “brain-building nutrients” like iodine and fatty acids so abundant in the shellfish gathered there. Due to earthquakes and volcanic activity along the coasts, “some of our ancestors pulled back, heading inland, [but] others did not . . . If our distant ancestors spent time living in the sea, is it possible that one group split off from the rest? And rather than retreating from the water, did they go deeper in?”

Utterly ridiculous. Anyone who follows my blog knows of my disagreement with evolutionary theory, and what these people are proposing just further illustrates the problem: They’re saying that because a group of people took to living near the water, and spending a lot of time in the water hunting food, their DNA produced a series of mutations whereby each person’s two legs became one scaly, fishlike appendage complete with fins. This, of course, is on top of the presumption that merpeople ever existed.

As the above excerpt points out, most of the scientific community (to its credit) is skeptical about the alleged “human-merman” connection, but the truth is that the entire evolutionary paradigm* is just as ludicrous as any man-merman hypothesis: something (the universe) coming from nothing, without any outside help; life coming from nonlife, without any outside help; the development of single-celled organisms into ever-more-complex life forms, all the way up to the uber-complex human being, by a process (mutation) that doesn’t add novel genetic information but instead degrades and destroys much of what’s already there, causing a loss in genetic information. All of these things defy basic principles of logic; you can’t bring matter into existence (creation ex nihilo), and you can’t create life, and you can’t build ever-more-complex structures using material that’s continuously breaking down.

Unless, of course, you’re God. He can bring a universe into existence. He can bring life into being. He can animate earthen sculptures with souls, each one a fully formed original, and sustain them through numerous genetic breakdowns and environmental decay.

And He can bring us to our final, perfect, eternal home, beyond the reach of all trouble.

* By evolutionary paradigm, I mean not only the theory of evolution—which is limited to biological lifeforms and the genetic changes associated with them—but also the typical evolutionist/atheist beliefs about the origins of life and the universe.

Wish I Was There

Another wild, wintery night at the Oldman farm.

Emily shuffled along the main corridor of the mall. Her lowered eyes traced a path through the tiles at her feet.

Why won’t Derek even look at me?

An undereducated, underpaid waitress, and already in her mid-30s, Emily had considered a husband one of the few attainable goals in her life. A goal that now seemed preposterous.

She jerked her head up and jab-stepped to one side; she’d almost collided with someone. In the sudden commotion, her eyes caught something dazzling: a tiny, secluded shop filled with items of gold and glass. She flashed back to those times as a child when she’d been held captive by the glow of Christmas bulbs in the candlelight. But her childhood in the country had been swallowed up by this monster of a city, which even now reminded her of the husband she’d never have.

She turned to move on, but a certain item snagged her attention. It reached out, lulled her in; moments later she was standing by it, then holding it, looking into it.

* * *

Mrs. Oldman sat at her kitchen table in the glow of an oil lamp on a snowy December night. Just then the door opened, and Mr. Oldman came out of the cold darkness and into the warmth of the apple-scented kitchen.

“Brrrh!” he said, latching the door behind him and shaking snow off himself. “It’s a wild one out there, thick as fog.”

“Oh, let me get you a cup of coffee, dear,” said Mrs. Oldman as she rose from her chair and hustled over to the stove at the other end of the kitchen, opposite the door. “Just throw your things on the floor, dear, and have a seat; I’ll take care of them in a bit.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” said the gray-haired farmer. He removed his hat, gloves, coat and scarf, dropping them one at a time onto the hardwood floor, then sat at the table just as his wife returned with his coffee.

“There you go, dear.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking hold of the warm mug. His cold hands began to thaw the moment he touched it, and his eyes closed in relief. Ohh, thank you, Lord.

“Is everything under cover?” said Mrs. Oldman as she gathered his things from the floor and hung them on a rack next to the stove.

“Yup. Wagon’s in the barn, an’ the horses are in their stalls with plenty of fresh hay. Got it done just in time.” He put the mug to his lips and closed his eyes again, the coffee’s aroma filling his nose even as the first mouthful washed his tongue with its strong flavor. Warmth began to fill his insides with the first swallow, then emanated through his body in wave after wave with each one thereafter. He felt like going to sleep then and there. “Haaah. That’s good.”

Mrs. Oldman returned to her seat; she poked back the half-open curtain and leaned towards the window for a closer look: The soft glow of the lamp illuminated flakes that cascaded down through the darkness, threatening to add many inches to the already-ample supply from previous storms.

“My,” she said, “would you just look at all that snow.”

“She’s a doozey, alright,” said Mr. Oldman as he, too, leaned towards the window. “It’s really pilin’ up out there. Almost hip-deep as it was.”

They sat in contented silence for several minutes, enjoying the piece of heaven outside their window. When Mr. Oldman finished his coffee, he set the cup down and stared at his bride of 50 years. The lamplight reflected the satisfaction in her eyes.

Mr. Oldman rose from the table. “Whaddaya say we turn in.”

She stood, and he took her in his arm. He then picked up the lamp and led the way out of the kitchen.

* * *

“Miss? … Miss?”

Emily snapped to; a middle-aged man behind the counter was trying to get her attention. “Can I help you, miss?”

“Oh … um, yes. How much is this?” She held up the object.

“Forty-nine ninety-five, plus tax.”

“Oh … well … maybe next time.”

With a sinking heart she set the gold-plated decoration down, said “Thank you,” and walked out into the bustling mall.

And on the shelf, white flakes still floating down onto it, the old farmhouse in the snow globe settled into another wintery night.

Pedophiles Trying to Ride Homosexuals’ Coattails

People such as myself and my wife have insisted for quite some time that not only are the goals of the homosexual lobby (e.g., same-sex “marriage”) wrong in and of themselves, but that, if approved, they would have harmful corollaries including (but not limited to) the acceptance of pedophilia. Many proponents of the homosexual agenda said we were barking mad, that such a terrible thing would never happen. Guess what?

We were right. They were wrong.

As this article describes in painstaking, horrifying detail, several … what shall I call them? … “adult lovers of children” are clamoring to receive the same legal and societal recognition (read: approval) that same-sex relationships are more and more receiving. Supporters of so-called “adult-minor” relationships (who like to call themselves “minor-attracted” people) insist that their attractions and desires are simply another “alternative lifestyle” or “sexual orientation” that cannot be helped and should not be hindered. As if that weren’t bad enough, the oh-so-trendy American Psychiatric Association is actually considering a proposal for a new, molester-friendly definition of pedophilia. It would not surprise or shock me in the least if the APA accepted this new definition, considering it long ago (1973) removed homosexuality from its list of mental disorders and in 1998 issued a report stating “that the ‘negative potential’ of adult sex with children was ‘overstated’ and that ‘the vast majority of both men and women reported no negative sexual effects from childhood sexual abuse experiences.”

First of all, I can point to plenty of people who clearly are suffering negative sexual effects from childhood sexual abuse experiences. Secondly, however—and this is a case of me hating being right—these “minor-attracted” people have a valid point of logic on their side.

What I and my wife and other social conservatives have argued is that if homosexuals are granted various “rights” (such as being allowed to “marry”), then there is no logical defense against other deviant behaviors being legitimized and legalized and granted approval: if you’re going to redefine marriage in one way, you absolutely cannot argue against redefining it in a host of other ways as well—to do so would be hypocritical and inconsistent. If you’re going to allow same-sex “marriage,” then logic dictates that polygamists, pedophiles, bestialists, and incestuists also should be allowed to “marry.”

“Poppycock,” said the homosexuals. “That’s just an excuse to deny us our rights. That would never happen.” No? Well, it’s in the process of happening right now. You know, 50 or 60 years ago, I’m sure that no one, not even the most hopeful homosexual or pessimistic conservative, could have guessed that 50 or 60 years later they’d be witnessing governmental, societal, and (in some cases) even religious approval of homosexual relationships. Yet they are. So do you really think that, in another 50 or 60 years, we couldn’t possibly be witnessing governmental, societal, and (in some cases) even religious approval of pedophilic relationships?

You’d better think again.

Green Lantern Goes Gay … Yay (Not)

Cover to Green Lantern (vol. 4) #1. Art by Car...

The latest victim of the homosexual agenda. … (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So the Green Lantern, or at least one iteration of him, is homosexual. This was the top-trending item on Yahoo most of today, and I’m sure that some people are ecstatic about the Lantern’s coming-out party, but this is utterly ridiculous.

Yes, superhero stories can and do relate to real life, but this is beyond the pale. As an adult fan of comic books, I don’t want to open one and see the Lantern’s latest hunk of burnin’ love, and I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to see that when I was a kid devouring all the comic books I could get my hands on. This isn’t something we should be exposing children to, and if homosexual adults want their own superhero, they’re free to invent one.

I’m not even a DC guy, and I have no personal investment in any Green Lantern series, but I feel that the typical superhero comic should be a place of escapism and adventure, a place where truth and morality win out—certainly not home to the liberal homosexual agenda. And this doesn’t even work internally in the comic-book universe, because (and I’m not being hateful when I say this) what villain is going to be scared of a homosexual superhero? Aren’t they all just going to mock him? I can see them all doubling over in derisive laughter, the entire situation breaking down into farce.

Anyway, I guess this is just another instance of a deviant superminority (2-4% of the population) and its supporters trying to make its chosen lifestyle seem normal and acceptable. In my universe, it will never be either of those things.

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