This is not a newt.
Peanuts, Walnuts. Almonds. They taste wonderful with wine. But, okay, what I really wanted was to ruminate on the meaning of the word nuts, and why it has several meanings. I’m going nuts, for example. Or: nuts to you. What in hell does that mean?
Google yields: Confucius say, man who sticks penis in peanut butter jar is fucking nuts. Har har, very ‘fucking’ amusing. Well.
‘Nuts to you’ = fuck off, I suppose, the association being between men’s ‘nuts’ (balls, or testicles, if you want the scientific word for it) and fucking. I associate that with the German du kannst mich mal, which means, more or less, ‘you can do me.’ That is not, however, meant in a positive sense, but rather like saying ‘fuck you’ in English. Fuck me, fuck you, fuck it all . . . egads, slowly but surely I am losing any sense of the big picture here. There is no literal equivalent to ‘nuts to you’ in German, since the Germans call testicles Eier (eggs) in everyday language. There we get phrases like die Eier schaukeln lassen (to let the eggs swing), which means to take it easy or be lazy, or du gehst mir auf die Eier (you’re getting on my eggs), which means you’re a pain in the ass. Languages are hell.
I’m going nuts. You drive me nuts. You’re off your nut. How in hell do such phrases come in to being? Well, actually, it’s simple, I suppose. Your ‘nut’ is your head, a shell with a kernel: your brain, if you happen to have one. And, if it doesn’t function normally, like mine, people say you’re off your nut.
On the other hand we have the phrase, ‘it was all nuts to me.’ This does not mean that everything seemed crazy, but rather that everything was good, as in perfect, just the thing, yummy . . . like a bowl of nuts. And why, for Christ’s sake, are the nuts in ‘nuts and bolts’ called nuts?
By the by, listening to Raspizdyay, from Leningrad. That has nothing to do with nuts. At least I believe so… for all I know Raspizdyay is Russian for balls, eggs, nuts, what have you.
Holy fuck, I’s a learnin’ to dance, just when I thought I’m an old dog, no new tricks. Never say never, I always said, and now it’s come to dog me down.
All the music I love becomes a new dimension. I mean, I’s a thinkin’, each time I hear those songs I love, what beat is that, how could I dance to that with my partner? Y’know, partner-dance; anybody can dance alone.
Christ, crazy fucking world. The things I do for love . . . and it doesn’t even hurt, haha. Well, in fact, it does. It’s not the dancing that hurts, but rather the music you have to listen to while learning. You can’t learn it alone, not really, even with a partner, so you go to a dance school. You’ll never guess what kinda music they play there . . . well perhaps you can. Not exactly alternative music, if you get my drift. Just thank your stars you’ve never had to dance to German Schlager. I don’t think my partner realizes what sacrifices I make, just for love. It’s like a monk breaking his oath of silence, if not worse. Christ, sometimes I think murdering little children would be less taxing.
Nevertheless, I love it. There’s nothing like dancing with a woman you love. You notice there are dances which suit you, or her, and then there are dances that suit you both. You move together, synchronized, like fucking clockwork, but easy . . . it just fits. It’s no effort anymore, once you’re on a certain level; your feet move of their own accord, and you sway like a fucking reed in the wind, enjoying every beautiful moment of being in phase with another human being, a person you love. It’s like good sex, no joke.
And the greatest part, when you have a willful woman like I do, is that the man leads. Muahahaa. The man leads, no matter what. Uhm, I still have problems with that, since my partner can already dance, and I am completely unsure of myself and fuck it up all the time. The fact is, I’m not a good lead, though I’ve gotten better. But, oh well, she has to live with that, and it’s some compensation for having to dance to German Schlager. We then step on each other’s toes, and break apart and stop, and grin at each other, because we know exactly what is happening there. Her smiling eyes say, if I am to follow, you’ve got to lead, you son-of-a-bitch, I demand it of you. Show me what you can do. What can I do, but rise to the challenge as best I can? And I enjoy it, leading in spite of myself, in spite of the little voice in me that says she could lead. Gotta admit it turns me on. As I said, like sex. Put that little bitch in her place. Dangerous thought, that, but it’s a thought that only occurs to me when I know she wants it. Sensitive little romantic bastard that I am, I do know, when it gets down to the nitty gritty. Then it’s time to dance.
Some delectable foolisms:
A fool and his money are soon elected.
― Will Rogers
I have great faith in fools ― self-confidence, my friends would call it.
― Edgar Allan Poe
I still believe that peace and plenty and happiness can be worked out some way. I am a fool.
― Kurt Vonnegut
Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain ― and most fools do.
― Benjamin Franklin
The greatest pleasure of [being with] a dog is that you make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.
― Samuel Butler
If at first you don’t succeed, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn’ fool about it.
― W.C. Fields
Don’t approach a goat from the front, a horse from the back, or a fool from any side.
― Yiddish Proverb
A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.
― Douglas Adams
Hey, I’ve read books from Elmore Leonard, and enjoyed them. Good writing. That said, I shit on his supposed rules of writing. There are no rules of writing. If there were a rule, it would be as follows: if you can’t write, follow Elmore’s rules, but, if you trust yourself to write, follow your own rules. Don’t trust Elmore, or anyone else.
And if you tell me never to write in the passive voice, I’ll kill you.
Fuck you, Elmore. I’ll just bet you would have liked that statement.