We've Started Solids

Literal Lesson

Readers of Suburban Safari are educated and intelligent, so have no need of this lesson in usage. Regardless, one of my favorite linguistic cock-ups has popped up several times over the last week so I feel moved to say something on the subject.

I speak of the word "literally". Here's what Bill Bryson has to say on the issue in Troublesome Words:

All too often used as a kind of disclaimer by writers who mean, generally, the opposite of what they are saying. The results are generally excruciating [...]

It should not need saying, but if you don't wish to be taken literally, don't use literally. The word means actually, not figuratively. It is acceptable only when it serves to show that an expression usually used figuratively is to be taken at its word, as in: "He literally died laughing."

I have ABC Local Radio on in the house most days, and have heard these gems over the past few weeks:

The shelves are literally groaning with diet products these days...

Geelong literally butchered the opposition...

He was really clingy after that. He was literally stuck to my leg all day, every day.

I literally flew through the door...

Choice.

I'm a Person, At Last

A remarkable decision was made by the Australian Anglican Church recently. It decided that women are people.

I've been arguing this point for some time, so it's nice to have some support in high places. The decision came in discussions on whether the church could allow women to become ordained as bishops.

Apparently, the church's constitution stated that a bishop needed to be a person 30 or older, baptised and a priest. The Diocese of Sydney argued that "person" in this context meant "man".

Bugger Rugger

For various reasons, I had a late night last night. Just as I was thinking of turning in -- finally -- I caught a little of the Rugby World Cup match between Australia and Canada. I had no intention of watching, but after five minutes or so I was sucked in. I just couldn't believe the size of the players.

They're impressive, in much the same way as the prize beef cattle at the Ekka are impressive. They're huge. And when they pack together into a scrum and butt heads: amazing. Two tons of hairy sweaty meat colliding. It's quite a sight.

Readers may not be aware of this fact: I took part in Rugby for a time. Let me tell you about it. It was a few years ago, and I was battling through a rather ugly and complicated industrial relations case. To relieve the resultant stress I decided that a bit of sport might be the ticket. But not the same old sports I'd played before; I wanted a bit of a change. I'd pondered for a few weeks which game I might pick when it came to me in a dream. I don't remember the main thread of the story, but what I do remember is John Eales driving past and waving. It was a sign. Rugby was the one.

So I researched which clubs offered places for women, and decided on Easts. I showed up for my first training session all twinkly-eyed; this was the beginning of a new pastime, new people, and new angle on life. Mustard-like, I was keen. I won't bother you with the full details, most of which are exceedingly dull. The upshot is that I was paired with an enormous woman (of course), handed a tackling pad, flattened, hit my head on the ground on what I swear was a small patch on concrete in the middle of the paddock, and lost vision momentarily. While I was down one of the pair next to us ran over my forearm at full tilt. For the next week that hand flopped on the end of my arm like a rubber glove, and I had concussion to boot. Shamed, I never went back.

Needless to say, I didn't watch last night's match with an expert eye. Nevertheless, the spectacle of the game doesn't need a great deal of knowledge to appreciate. In the pounding rain Australia wiped the floor with Canuckistan, as was to be expected from two such mismatched teams. Canada, though, did themselves credit, and didn't look like the schoolboys that the less accomplished team can in these draws. As I write this Lofty and his mate are sitting glued to the Rugby League final, hooting encouragement to Melbourne Storm. I'm not interested. The Ra-ra leaves League for dead in my book.

Divinely inspired

Nothing like a touch of the crankies and a bit of Cooper's Stout to get you inspired to post.

Tomatoes. They're red, they're round, they're tasty. I generally buy the "vine ripened" ones, simply because they actually taste like tomatoes. And you must admit we're spoiled for choice when it comes to the love apples.

The tomato market must be a tight one. You've got yer organic, you've got yer vine ripened, you've got yer cherries, egg, Roma, and so on. I don't doubt that it's tough for the tomato producer to keep ahead such a competitive pack. But tonight, when the shopping contingent returned with the makings of tonight's dinner, I realised just how tough it must be:

Jesus wept. This came off one of the tomatoes I'll be sinking my choppers into tonight. I just don't know what to say. Except that I'd prefer Iggy tomatoes next time.

Boys Will Be Boys

Prime Minister John Howard has warned against an overreaction to a video showing Australian soldiers binge drinking and one person dressed in a Ku Klux Klan (KKK) outfit.

Mr Howard says it should be left to the military to deal with the issue.

"I just think we can overreact a bit with these things and people get into a lather of sweat and so on," he said.

"Let's be sensible and understand that people will let off a bit of steam."

The video was posted by a former soldier on YouTube and has been condemned by the Australian Defence Force (ADF) and Attorney General Philip Ruddock.

Defence Minister Brendan Nelson says people should not pass judgement until the results of an inquiry are known.

He says although some of their actions may be inappropriate, a lot of it could be blowing off steam.

"There's always been a kind of irreverence, I suppose, which has underwritten the core values of our three services," he said.

[...]

From ABC News Online


Are they serious? The nation's troops, people who you and I pay an absolute packet to maintain, dress up like the KKK and behave like complete arseholes on video and that's just fine with the Prime Minister.

This kind of "irreverent" behaviour is a major reason I absented myself from the ADF after serving only about a third of my contract. You see, your tax dollar — and make no mistake, they take a huge slice of that dollar — funds that kind of behaviour every day. I laugh rather bitterly when these "Ooh, ah!" stories make the news because that brand of antics can be found on any military base on any weekend you'd care to look. I become incredibly frustrated when I hear stories of further funding going to the defence force. Put bluntly, the entire institution is corrupt, wasteful, nasty.

This sounds like the bitter rantings of an ex-sailor, and I suppose in some ways that's true. Certainly, I met many people working very hard at their jobs while there, many good people. But in my admittedly limited experience the lazy, the bigoted, the ignorant, the bullying, and the cheating were not a quiet minority by any stretch.

But I digress. There seems to be few other statements John Howard needs to make now to confirm beyond doubt that he is ignorant, racist and someone we really, really don't need in the driver's seat. How can you "overreact" to members of the military imitating white supremacists?

Scrabble

I've been enjoying a bit of Scrabble online recently, which has been bringing my mother to mind.

Mum died of breast cancer last October. Scrabble was our thing; we played together as far back as I remember, which must mean she suffered coaching a young child through the game. We had a difficult relationship at times, but when things became a bit awkward the Scrabble board would make it all rosy again. At times it seemed to be one of the few things we had in common.

She was a good player. We were fairly evenly matched — even enough to keep it interesting — but she won more often than not. When we packed up her modest belongings I pulled out the note pad tucked into the Scrabble box, and found records of our more recent games. I'll probably never have another person to sit and play with in the same way.

She knew the most obscure words imaginable. When I'd ask her how on earth she knew such a word, she'd always reply, "Oh, I don't know. Must have read it somewhere." And she was a prodigious reader. She instilled a love of words, books and reading in both my sister and I, and it's utterly central to both our lives. It's something I really have to thank Mum for. I never did of course. She died so swiftly.

I wrote a eulogy for her funeral, and people seemed to think it was a good one. My sister said that she wished I could write one for her now, so that she could have the chance to read it while she was still alive. We never do thank people for what they give us, do we? Perhaps I should get cracking and write eulogies for the important people in my life before they die, so I don't miss out again.