You know how when you run into someone on the street who you haven't seen for years and you are asking them questions about their life and what they're up to now and how people you associate with them that you have lost touch with are doing, you are really secretly checking that person out and looking for all the signs of aging that time has done to his or her body and face, and then you suddenly realize that he or she is doing the exact same thing to you? There ought to be a German word for that, that moment of shocking awareness that you are just as [...]
It is a busy time in the life of the creation of necessary German words. Writes one fine reader: "So my friend and I were talking today about how we were both a little sad when Jenna Fischer and her ex-husband who made that awesome horror movie and whose brother was Kirk on Gilmore Girls broke up. There should totally be a German word for feeling stupid about feeling sad when celebrities you like break up." Yes there should be! And?
While reading the nearly 9000-word account of the death of the Rocky Mountain News in the Denver magazine 5280, I came across the following literary device used to describe the newspapers situation. This, like many things, surely requires a handy (and possibly faux) German name!
You know the existential dilemma that occurs when you can't decide which would be worse, if something were fake or if it were actually real? There oughta be a German word for that. Also, some kind of cleansing Internet conflagration. [Via]
Hey, quick question: Do you slap your forehead and mutter, "Oh, God," every time you see an entry I've written that begins with "So I was walking down the street this morning and etc."? I ask because, in response to yesterday's deliverance of absolution, a correspondent volunteered to begin an Alex Balk Cabfare Fundraising Drive "so you don't have to see anymore sad shit on the street and we don't have to hear about it." Fair enough, I suppose; I understand how painful and wrenching it must be to read these accounts because I live them, and the burdens I bear are more painful and wrenching than any [...]
You know that moment when, having been jammed up against the door in a crowded car, you sense your station approaching and pivot to face front and suddenly see yourself in the harsh, unflattering reflection of the train window and are forced to confront all that you are, the sad lump of skin and meat that you carry with you each day and are mostly successful at not thinking too much about? That near-simultaneous feeling of disgust ("Oh, God, you") and resignation ("I guess this is what I've got left to work with from now on") and the wearying comprehension that the difference between who you think you are [...]
Back in February my next door neighbor died. She lived alone, and the police discovered her body when a worried co-worker called because she hadn't turned up for a few days. It was a valuable lesson in the transitory nature of life and how vulnerable single New Yorkers, particularly those getting on in years, are to being forgotten. It was also a valuable lesson in how slowly the New York State probate system works when someone dies without an immediate survivor; it's now June and the police still haven't unsealed the apartment. As you can imagine, the warm weather has brought with it some incredible smells!