Etymology

I was all set to do a blog on the etymology of the phrase "sick as a dog," which I heard twice today. However, apparently other bloggers have beaten me to it. Apparently their is a large portion of the population that is concerned about this phrase, and I am only one small part of that population and a johnny come lately to boot.

Reader's digest version. When dogs eat something that disagrees with their constitution they pretty much toss it up on your nice new rug. Thus, sick as a dog. Apparently the Brits use the word sick to mean actually vomiting, while we weaker Americans are apt to use it for those minor aches and pains. This over usage causes the term to be a bit confusing because it is applied too liberally. Anyhow, the point is that I was sick as a dog last week.

An aside in which I talk about a novel. You know, those things that people no longer read. I just finished Netherland by Joseph O'neill, a book widely hailed as the remedy to the dearth of good post 9/11 literature. And I must admit, that while I found the book to be beautiful, it's surface remained almost too pristine for me. It's a problem I have with some very good books. I want a book to shock me a bit, get me a bit dirty. I'm afraid that as wonderful as Netherland is (if you're just looking for a very good read by all means pick it up immediately) I wasn't ever drawn out of myself while reading it. I was conscious almost the entire time that I was reading an excellently crafted piece of fiction. That's not the sort of fiction that I find myself gravitating to as I age. Instead, I find myself wanting to read things that make me feel connected. (This is in no way an appeal to read more Nicholas Sparks. I want to feel organically, not be manipulated into it. If I want cheap entertainment I'd rather watch film). I think what I'm trying say is that you should all go read Netherland and then tell me how wrong I am about it. Your welcome Penn-Faulkner.


In other news, we've recently obtained a space heater for our basement. (Rough guestimate picture shown above). We hadn't gotten a space heater because an electrician told us not to.

Elec: No space heater.
M: Why not?
Elec: The wiring is too old?
M: But it's freezing down here.
Elec: Will be good in the summer.
M: I don't see how blowing out the electricity is all that bad. A house fire would just make things warmer.
Elec: I think I need to leave.

However, we finally decided (with the aid of our in-laws) that it was time to repeal the no warmth in our basement act. Though, I will miss the baby penguins that have been hatching over the past few weeks and the occasional viking raid. Now our basement looks like this:


I'm pretty sure that most people haven't heard of these little and highly inefficient things called space heaters, so I'm going to tell you about them. Sure, they may be energy hogs, and they may burn down your house, but imagine how warm you'll be when you're sitting in front of one. It's pretty much like being in a mildly pleasant version of hell. The version where you're just feeling nice and toasty and you're not certain when the devil is going to get back with those marshmallows so you can all make s'mores.

Ergo; I recommend that people rush out and buy themselves space heaters right now. Especially if they have ever felt cold, or have thought to themselves, it's almost chilly in here. You should probably go buy a space heater because it's going to change your life. You're going to be walking around town and people are going to nudge each other and go, "What the f--ck is wrong with that guy? Why is he so happy? But they can't share your joy because space heaters are best used alone. Other folks can take up the heat.

After some strong reconsideration I've decided that I'd like to come back in my next life as a space heater rather than a cat because I love being warm. What's that you say, a space heater is inanimate. Oh well. At least I'd be warm.