The hour badly spent

Collegian, I noticed you’ve been distant lately. I thought you were under a lot of pressure, that maybe you just needed your space. I guess I didn’t pay attention to all the hints Blake Osborn has been dropping in every single column he writes about how we spend too much time on Facebook instead of outdoors admiring our muscles in the sunlight. So there it is: we’re just too fat and gross for you. But did you have to go and run two obesity articles at once? Sending Veronika Novoselova with the message, instead of just talking to me face-to-face; that was just cruel.

Genetic mutations, smoking, heavy drinking and negative environmental influences are usually listed as the most common causes of cancer. Now K-State researchers are finding that obesity can be another leading factor.

Say whatever you want to me, Veronika Novoselova; I can take it. But I will not abide the slander of alcoholics. They are a noble class of people who have at long last figured out How the World Works.

According to the Web site for the National Cancer Institute, obesity and physical inactivity can account for 25 to 30 percent of several major cancers - colon, breast (postmenopausal), endometrial, kidney and cancer of the esophagus.

Okay, I get it. We’re all gonna die! Which strikes me as not only a consequence of alcoholism, but also a leading cause of it.

In "Obesity an issue among all", without even bothering to let me down easy with a snappy headline, Krystle Richards notes:

Obesity is at a national, all-time high, and many are calling it an epidemic. According to the New England Journal of Medicine in 2007, the cases of obesity have increased substantially in the last 30 years, and 66 percent of adults are overweight.

Conclusions from a 2007 study revealed infectious causes of obesity are conceivable.

"Having obese contacts might change a person’s tolerance for being obese and might influence their decision of adopting specific behaviors." Similar behaviors are noticed among those who smoke and drink.

Now we can catch the fat. And pass it on to others, like syphilis (gross, but waaaay more fun to spread).

Like I said, I get it. We’re all rotund and lazy. But I’m doing all I can. In the morning I stand in front of the mirror and circle my flaws with a Sharpie. Then I say "fattie!" and hit myself with slabs of cheese until I cry. And at night I skip dinner to snort coke. See? I’m really really trying here. So why, Collegian, why won’t you just love me?

 

Yesterday Anthony Doerr visited K-State and read a short story from his latest book, The Shell Collector. That reading was the best K-State’s had this year. Afterward, the English department got together at Rock-A Belly’s. I was midway through my second G&T when the Saucy Aussie made some idle comment that ended with "vagina." I remember precisely what she sad: "Crikey! Kangaroo Kylie Minogue sheila dingo boomerang bushwhacked VAGINA!" The table went silent for a second, and Saucy Aussie seemed embarrassed, probably because she thought she had crossed some comfort line.

Well, that’s not why we were quiet. The word "vagina" is actually a great source of comfort. Hearing it is like having a cool breeze roll across you on a summer day. No; we went silent because each of us had hoped to be the first to say "vagina" that evening, and when she beat us to the (kitty) punch, no one was ready with another clever vaginal follow-up. Personally, her awesomeness made me feel like a slow-witted prude.

I lamely tried to break the silence. "Thanks! I’ve been waiting for someone to say ‘vagina’ all day," I ejaculated. But ‘vagina’ doesn’t roll off my tongue as nicely as it does from hers. OR DOES IT?

After dinner, Rhymes With Visa drove a few of us - Imad, Tony Doerr, Saucy Aussie - to the top of the hill that overlooks the city. We had to get out and hike a little ways to reach the summit, from which we had a beautiful view of Best Buy. Then Rhymes With Visa drove us back to town. Not til much later did I realize how pathetically funny the whole scene actually was: we were basically all guided up to the top of Makeout friggin’ Mountain, and yet it never occurred to anybody to cop a feel. Lame.

Vagina! There; our reputations are safe.

 

Anne Longmuir and the Saucy Aussie visited the Development of the English Language class to guest-lecture on — what else — having a funny accent.

Anne spoke first. Her lilt was so soothing and musical. All the pretty foreign dipthongs and glottal stops ("I speak standard Sco’ish English"). Just hearing her read "Your duties are to put the cider inside the house, walk down the path, and take a ride on the houseboat" felt like someone was strumming a harp nearby and Brave Sir Robin was about to ride through class with a shrubbery.

Saucy Aussie went next, showing appropriate respect to Anne by complimenting her on the application of quaint Scottishisms to describe her outfit.

"’Dungarees?’ What are you, like 75?"

She employed similar dipthongs, glottal stops, but some flatter vowels, and a more rapid, aggressive style than Anne’s relatively subdued Sco’ish. Many Australians are worried about the "Americanization" of their inflections. Saucy Aussie has noticed Americanisms creeping into her speech since she’s come here.

 

"I’m going native." (Get it? She’s saying she will eventually shed her restrictive Australian garb in favor of a loincloth and flower-petal bra).

Most importantly: all the phrases come out sounding quicker and more energetic. Most of the time, they’re also irreverent and pretty dirty. She feels uncomfortable going by "Dr. Saucy Aussie" because titles make you a wanker. Australian culture advocates that you "take the piss out of" wankers (Get it? She’s saying Australians enjoy getting golden showers from those of higher social standing).

With that sort of cultural understanding, phrases that are considered extremely dirty in the rest of the English-speaking world are considered more casual in Australia. "Bloody" carries more conversational heft in Britain than it does down under. Even the word "cunt" doesn’t carry the same bite that it does in the U.S. It’s often just informal and even denotes familiarity; the verbal equivalent of an elbow poke. Australians commonly even address their mates thusly: "G’day you old cunt! I haven’t seen you in ages!"

Get it? Good. I’m not even going to touch that one, no matter how badly I want to.