Hear me! Hear me!

Me: I'm back! *jazz hands*
You: ...TWO YEARS, Chanel. It's been two years!
Me: *shame* I know...I'm sorry.
You: But two years?! That's such a long gap. How can we possibly want to follow you now?
Me: I've forgone you, but I have not forgotten you, dear Internet readers. I'm sorry. *more shame*
You: *grumbling*
Me: But I promise, I'll make you laugh! *sweating profusely*
You: Alright! *high five*
Me:

So now that that's settled, I'd like to talk to you about a phrase: "Here, here!"

...Or is it "hear, hear!"? Or, ohmygod, is it "here, hear!"?

I was chatting with a friend this morning and went to type it and I realized...I've only ever shouted this phrase! I have no idea how to type it! Here and hear are homonyms. What a fun word. Homonym. You should probably say it out loud. Drag it out, too. Hooooooooooooooomonym. Trust me, I'm an expert at not looking foolish in front of people, especially not your coworkers. [Not that you'd be reading my blog at work. *cough*]

Anyway. Hear and here: homonyms. That means that they sound alike but have different meanings. And you may be reading this thinking, "Yeah, so? Obviously it must be "hear, hear!" because you're saying it in response to something you're hearing! Duh!" But, hear me out (😉):

I thought at first, maybe it's "here, here!" Because you're drawing attention to the here and now, to the place and time where whatever the person doing the speaking is probably excitedly speaking about/to. Like, you're attempting to rally the crowd and boost followers.

Then, I thought, No. Maybe it's "hear, hear!" Because you're hearing what the person is saying. But why in the world would you be shouting "hear, hear!" when you are already listening? When shouting about hearing is literally only going to make it more difficult to hear? That seems silly. [Almost as silly as, say...shouting "hooooooooooooooomonym" out of the blue.]

And then I realized, AHA! It's GOT to be "here, hear!" Because if you're shouting for people to hear, then they must not be paying attention. So you must be shouting "here!" to get the attention of those who are in fact here, or there, wherever. And THEN you're shouting "hear!" as an instruction for them to listen! Stroke of brilliance, I tell you. Stroke. Of. Brilliance.

Then I Googled it. 

My instincts have failed me! My powers of deduction have failed me! The horror!

Turns out, my second guess was the (mostly) correct guess. According to the Cambridge Dictionary, the phrase is defined as:

“hear, hear!” in British English: said to strongly agree with what someone else has just said.

A definition from a reputable source is all well and good, but you know me, I want to know more. Like, who in the world decided to yell "hear, hear!" to agree with what someone has just said? And less reference-worthy websites haven't let me down. (I mean, do they ever?)

There seems to be a consensus from the grammar bloggers of the world that the phrase derives from the shortening of Ye Olden "hear him! hear him!" or "hear this! hear this!" Note, there was no "hear her! hear her!" because, god, who would want to hear what women have to say, let alone let them speak publicly? Amirite? Also, ALSO. (this part makes me snort): for anyone who wants to talk about how the younger generation is killing language by shortening words and phrases, I say take it up with the 17th century and get back to me. [Alright, alright. It's not the same. But still!]

So, anyway. The phrase is, in fact, "Hear, hear!" And I guess you're supposed to wait until the person doing the speaking is already DONE speaking before you get excited and shout it in agreement. The Cambridge Dictionary says so. And they have a .org TLD. So there.

The Etymology of Nerd. (Accept the irony.)

So. If I thought I was a failure for waiting two months between blog posts in 2013, I am definitely a failure now. It has been...*drum roll please*...A YEAR. A whole year that I have disregarded my quest to learn something new every day. It's not that I haven't learned new things. I've learned lots of them. I just haven't had much drive to write. Disregard any booze-soaked images of Johnny Depp you may have in your head; writing is serious business. And since writing takes a lot more ambition and discipline than I've had to offer of late, I've ignored my passion for making people laugh with new shit. So. I'm back. Tentatively. We'll see how this goes.

A YEAR AGO I PROMISED YOU A POST ON THE ORIGIN OF THE WORD NERD. HERE GOES.

Merriam-Webster defines nerd as: an unstylish, unattractive, or socially inept person; especially : one slavishly devoted to intellectual or academic pursuits <computer nerds> ."

I take issue with this definition, as many before me have. This definition of nerd is so arbitrary, yet every person in our culture hears the word and conjures an image of Steve Urkel or that one kid you knew in high school who didn't bathe and spent every waking hour gaming on his PC.

As Benjamin Nugent so eloquently points out in American Nerd: The Story of My People, "If an art critic arrives at your get-together in khakis and an undershirt, helps himself to six fingers of Jameson, tries to flirt with your teenage daughter, and then urinates with the bathroom door open, he's behaving like a socially awkward intellectual and exhibiting a pronounced disengagement with fashion and physical fitness."

Based on the definition of nerd, Nugent's description of the slimy art critic fits the bill, too, even though it's not your traditional conception of the word. Why is that? Why is it that we immediately apply our pre-conceived notions to the word nerd?

There is a stigma that goes along with the word nerd in our culture. Two stigmas, really. It is either a) used pejoratively or b) worn like a badge of honor because nerd pride and because, as Tyrion reminds us:

I consider either of these uses of nerd a stigma because I so strongly believe that words are only words; they don't have power unless it's given to them. And by using nerd derogatorily, or proudly, you're giving it undue power.

As John Green so poetically points out, “Saying 'I notice you're a nerd' is like saying, 'Hey, I notice that you'd rather be intelligent than be stupid, that you'd rather be thoughtful than be vapid, that you believe that there are things that matter more than the arrest record of Lindsay Lohan. Why is that?' In fact, it seems to me that most contemporary insults are pretty lame. Even 'lame' is kind of lame. Saying 'You're lame' is like saying 'You walk with a limp.' Yeah, whatever, so does 50 Cent, and he's done all right for himself.”

So. Alright. I'm ranting. WHERE DID THE WORD COME FROM. It had to have come from somewhere if we're all so friggen hive-minded about what a nerd is. I feel like the stereotype came before the definition.

My initial Google search returns the results: "1950s of origin unknown." Not acceptable. So I have turned to my old friend, Wiki, because despite what my college profs would have me believe, I trust her. And I have not been let down.

The very first usage of nerd is documented in Dr.Seuss's 1950 publication of If I Ran the Zoo. The narrator declares he would like to collect "a Nerkle, a Nerd, and a Seersucker" for his imaginary zoo. It spread quickly, apparently, as in 1951, Newsweek reported its usage as popular slang for "drip" or "square." (Apparently "drip" was slang for a boring person. I'm totally bringin' that back.) Somehow, by the 60s, it went from describing a boring person to describing people who were bookish and lacked social skills. THEN. THEN (this is the best part) the spelling changed at one point from nerd to nurd, which was an adaptation of knurd, WHICH IS DRUNK SPELLED BACKWARDS. Drunk spelled backwards to depict people who studied instead of partied. I can't even...HOW DID WE GET HERE.

Happy Days. Happy Days is how we got here. Because the term was used heavily in the show and became more derogatorily mainstream as a result. Arguably, there are more Richie Cunninghams and Potsies in the world than there are Fonzies. But, hey, we can't all be The Fonz.

Sit on it.

A horse is a horse, of course, of course!

Ladies and gentlemen, may I reintroduce the terribly defunct blogger: Chanel!

[Insert screaming crowd impression here.]

But seriously. Hi, guys. It's been two months since I laid a finger on this blog. I feel like a failure. But then I reminded myself that giving up completely is a failure. I merely took a sabbatical. I guess. I've been working three jobs and continuing school full-time, so blogging took a major backseat this summer. I want to apologize.

I also want to write. And I'm torn between two subjects today. They sort of relate. I'm going to go with the one I've had on my mind the longest: "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

I was at a LARP event last month, and somehow this saying came up. I always thought it went something like, "don't kick a gift horse in the mouth," or, "don't look a kicked horse in the mouth," I donno. Apparently I thought that the saying was some sort of play on words with the fact that if a horse kicks you in the mouth, you're gonna lose all your teeth, so you better not do it!

Wrong.

A friend of mine corrected me on what the actual saying was. Then I had even less of an idea of what it meant. He went on to clarify for me. So, get this: by looking in a horse's mouth, at it's teeth, you can determine it's age. Kind of like rings on a tree stump. Therefore if someone gifts you a horse, it would be terribly rude to stop and look it in it's mouth to see if it's still in tip-top-horse condition because, hey, it was a gift!

If you don't believe me, check out this webpage about horse's teeth. I'm now going to wonder if any of the people I knew in high school with giant teeth had horse heritage. Or if maybe they were Benjamin Buttons.

Image credit: Tumblr funny-horse

Stay tuned for the next installment of nerdiness: the origin of the word "nerd."

♫/I want to hold your hand♪ (but only on my right side, in case you need to draw sword to defend my honor).

Jon and I were walking through Old Orchard Beach the other day and we were holding hands. I thought nothing of it. As we walked, we passed another couple who was holding hands. I noticed their hand-holding, looked down and noticed our hand-holding, and instantly wanted to know where the tradition started.

Jon thinks it's simply human nature--a compulsory action that we make toward someone we care about. An article by the NY Times states something similar:

"To hold someone’s hand is to offer them affection, protection or comfort. It is a way to communicate that you are off the market. Practically speaking, it is an efficient way to squeeze through a crowd without losing your partner. People do it during vigils, marches, weddings and funerals."

I'm not inclined to disagree, nor am I against hand-holding, but I do want to know if there is a reason for it. Everything has a reason. Right? I mean. People invent things for a reason. Maybe the only reason for hand holding was for safety, back in the day when Tarzan and Jane were running from a T-Rex. Or maybe the reason was to display, pardon the wording, "ownership" of one another. But why hands? Why not hold an ear, or something?

As much as I hate to say this. I can't find diddly on the topic. The best guess I've found is from a Yahoo! Answers post where a man makes the point that joining hands was a way of joining two people together when they were married. Obviously symbolic of them becoming one. 

This couple has been holding hands for 1,500 years: 

Photo Credit: thehistoryblog.com

Hand-holding is an ancient tradition. I'm not sure there are any origins. Alas! This post is not a total bust! According to this article by Primer Magazine, the reason that men escort ladies on their left side is also an ancient tradition? Can you guess what it is? Huh? Can ya? Can ya?

I'll tell you!

Back in medieval times, men would escort ladies on their left arm so that if a threat became imminent--or, you know, a lady's honor needed defending--the man's sword arm would be free. He could quickly draw his weapon and slice down a foe much more quickly than if his sword arm had been all tangled up in the lady's arm. I like the way these people thought. 

So I'm Wrinkly. Sue Me.

I have attended quite a few events in the past few weeks and there have been a lot of pictures taken of me. As I check them all out as they come up on Facebook, I think one thing: Wrinkles. Why?

I have one wrinkle that runs horizontally across my forehead and another that runs vertically between my eyebrows and it's only going to get worse and I kind of hate them. I've only noticed them appearing over the past year-ish. I mean, I'm 25 years old. It's not like I think I look like Lieutenant Worf or anything, but still. Wrinkles, really? Why the hell does our skin wrinkle anyway?!

Photo Credit: startrek.com

I've heard all sorts of speculation about the origin of wrinkles, from dry skin to old age, but I've never cared to understand wrinkles. Until now.

According to MSN, dry skin does not cause wrinkles, but it does make them look worse. The actual wrinkles are caused by side effects of aging, not being old. More specifically, what the article said: "Over time, shrinkage of facial bone structure, loss of collagen, skin elasticity and gravity equals wrinkles." What I heard: "You get old; you shrink; your skin gets loose, and gravity pulls it down. Along with all your other parts."

But I am 25. Sure, that's one quarter of a century, but... Wrinkles? Already?

Ah, alas, MSN also says that 90% of wrinkles are caused from sun exposure. Now I understand that they mean years and years, decades, really, of sun exposure. But I'm pretty sure that means my two wrinkles are from squinting in the sun. Light sensitivity is a side effect of bad eyesight (something I learned at college this year so it must be true). I have horrible eyesight and I definitely am sensitive to light, so any time I step out into the world without sunglasses I am squinting like Clint Eastwood. These two wrinkle offenders of mine happen to run exactly where my face squinches when I squint.

Photo Credit: tvtropes.org

How do you fix wrinkles? Well, as far as I can tell wrinkles are like pregnancy: preventing it from happening in the first place is the best way to "fix" it. Okay, the steps for wrinkle-prevention differ a bit from preventing pregnancy, but the premise is the same: a little preventative maintenance goes a long way in avoiding the end-result you're looking to steer clear of. Keep your skin moisturized to help with the appearance of wrinkles, stay hydrated to help the skin not dry out in the first place, stay out of the damn sun--or at least wear sunblock (which I've already decided doesn't work anyway)--to protect your flimsy human flesh, and something else about fruit acids and vitamins.

So what I gather is, wrinkles are pretty much a gamble. You can try to prevent them but there's no guarantee it'll work. "You want a guarantee, buy a toaster." 

Garlic Clears Infections. And the Room.

So I'm one of the bazillion Americans who doesn't have health insurance and works two part-time jobs so she can't get health insurance because her hours don't exceed 29/week at either position. I also have impacted wisdom teeth. I think. I don't know for sure because I refuse to go to the dentist. I've never had anything but a cleaning done and I haven't been in probably a decade. But I read A Million Little Pieces--I have a vivid idea of what tooth work would feel like. You all can't fool me with your comforting words.

Anywho. A couple of years ago all of the wisdom teeth in my mouth got infected and swelled to epic proportions. At the time I had some leftover antibiotics hanging around so I took them and my mouth eventually recovered. Last week the wisdom teeth on one side of my mouth decided to get silly and out of control again. Silly teeth.

Being as I don't have insurance for a dentist. And I don't have a doctor (since I don't ever go) who I can call and beg for antibiotics. And I hate hospitals. I had to turn to the internet for some solution. Because a) I was afraid the infection would go to my brain and murder me in my sleep; b) my mouth hurt and eating and talking was harder than it should have been; and c) Jon was going to make me go to the dentist.

I turned first to Facebook and asked friends what to do. Among the myriad of responses, I was told to try clove oil for the pain and garlic for the infection. Yes, garlic.

I looked it up and found out that garlic is indeed a natural antibiotic. Cool! I love garlic!

Now let me just preface this by saying that I put garlic in pretty much everything I cook. I use so much garlic that if a vampire decided on me for a tasty snack, they'd fly screaming in the other direction with one precious bite. In my home remedy searching, I came across some info that chewing on a raw onion for three minutes helps with tooth swelling/infection. I wasn't quite ready for that step but I figured that if I chewed on the garlic it would have the same effect and it had to be better than chewing on an onion. Right?

Frigging WRONG. The first night, I popped a clove into my mouth and started to chew and ohmygoodgod. Raw garlic burns. It burns so bad. I swallowed it down as quickly as I could and decided to chop up the next clove into pill sized bits and swallow them with a glass of water. I also swished with salt water several times, swished with hydrogen peroxide, and soaked gauze in clove oil and let it sit on my gums for a few minutes. That last bit was challenging--I was drooling like my friend Krista's bull dog by the time I spit it out. After all was said and done my teeth felt much better but my mouth was on fire and I smelled like I imagine the Godfather smells.

So last night I decided that there would be no chewing of the garlic. I chopped up both cloves and swallowed them like pills. I brushed my teeth. I swished with salt water. I swished with peroxide. I swished with mouth wash for good measure. I dabbed a tiny bit of clove oil onto the gums themselves.

I got into bed. I got about 8 inches from kissing Jon. I hear "I smell garlic."

-_-

My advice to you all? If your wisdom teeth flare up and you don't have insurance and you don't like the dentist and you decide to swallow raw garlic to fix the situation: take your garlicbiotic eons before you're about to get into bed with your partner. "I smell garlic" is a real mood-killer.

Photo credit: www.pet-grub.com

I'll Take One Bridesmaid, Extra Crispy Please!

So I was a bridesmaid in a friend's wedding on Saturday. The wedding was on Cliff Island, off of the coast of Portland, Maine. The bride and groom rented a house on the island for the week surrounding the big day and about 3 weeks ago, the weather forecast started showing rain. Not only rain for the day of, but rain for the whole week.

Well, being as the weather forecast often is, it was wrong. The sun managed to fight its way past the clouds and we had gorgeous weather--up until Friday. It rained and rained all of Friday and into Saturday morning. Miraculously, with a little help from the bride's late mother, the sun came out in full force about an hour before the ceremony.

The result? One very happy bride, a beautiful wedding overlooking the ocean, clear skies for gorgeous photos by the fabulous Clare Norton, and several very sun burnt bridesmaids.

As the sun had only shown its face literally an hour before the ceremony was set to begin, not one of us thought of sunscreen. For the duration of the ceremony I could feel the sun beating down on my bare shoulders but the only thought I gave to it was just to be thankful for the warmth after the previous freezing 24 hours. After the vows and kisses were exchanged we were off and moving and I forgot about the sun.

We were running around for pictures and for wine and for lobster and for dancing and for, well, everything that happens at a wedding. For five hours I was grateful for the warmth of the sun at an outdoor wedding. I had no idea that I was burning. Apparently I was.

Making my way home from the island, I noticed that the strap of my bag was hurting my shoulder more than normal. I thought, "Oh, I must have gotten a little sun!" I got to my apartment, removed my jacket, saw that my skin was almost purple and thought, "Holy hell! What happened?!"

Then yesterday Jon and I went to the Wicked Big Meet in Connecticut. He demanded I wear sunscreen. Feeling the crisp on my shoulders, I obliged. We brought it with us and reapplied consistently throughout the day. Okay, I mostly just reapplied to my shoulders because I wanted color on the rest of my body, but still! I definitely put it on my already-burnt parts more than once.

I left WBM with a sunburn on my shoulders that was twice what it was when I had arrived. I got in the car and asked Jon what SPF the sunscreen was--thinking it must be low, like 10 or 15, if the sun got through it to burn me further. Nope! It was SPF 50!! Then Jon tells me that he heard once that any SPF works kind of like the car wash: any package beyond a certain package is the same one with spiffier words and a higher price--meaning any SPF over 30 works just the same as 30 only it costs more.

I'm not normally a wearer of the sunscreen so I must know: Is it really all just a marketing gimmick when you get past SPF 30?

My initial search on Google tells me that this is apparently a hot topic (heh heh) as there are a lot of results. Whether or not sunscreen over SPF 50 works any differently than anything over it seems to be where the controversy lies. According to this article by the NY Times, SPF used to max out at 30, so when higher numbers started hitting the beach, folks were skeptical. It also tells me that the way SPF is calculated is by comparing the time a person usually takes to turn red in the sun with how long it takes them to turn that same shade of red with the sunscreen on (sucks to be that Ginny pig).

What that means, according to this article, is that a person who normally turns into a lobster in 20 minutes in the sun unprotected, should theoretically be able to stay in the sun without burning 15 times longer than that when wearing SPF 15 sunblock. So according to that math, assuming there is no swimming or sweating involved, that's 5 hours in the sun without burning. Right? 15 x 20 = 300/60 = 5. Yeah. 5 hours in the sun without burning while wearing SPF 15 if you normally burn in 20 minutes without it. I can do math!

Well I think that SPF is a big fat marketing liar. Because wearing SPF 50 even applied once I should have been fine being in the sun for 7 hours. I was a good human and reapplied over the course of those 7 hours and I still burnt.

Interestingly enough, the difference in ultraviolet B ray protection between SPF 50 and SPF 100 is barely notable. It's not actually offering you double the blockage. SPF 100 blocks 99% of the UVB rays, SPF 50 blocks 98%, and SPF 30 blocks 96.7% (thank you NY Times). Does Coppertone or Banana Boat tell you this? Nooooo. Of course not! They just go ahead and let you believe you're doubly protected while charging you another $2 and throwing images of little-girl-butt in your face.