During NTIG’s spring break week, I came to several amusing conclusions about myself, primarily revolving around my inability to approach things with an open mind. It’s kind of an unfortunate personality trait of mine. Take, for instance, the singer Pitbull. I enjoyed his music right up until I Googled a picture of him–and now I can’t take him seriously.
Growing up, I read. A lot. And I read books that were way in advance of my age appropriate range, so most of my vocabulary words were read before they were heard. I keep a list of all the words I find out I don’t know how to say correctly–chasm, raucous, mausoleum, irreparable–but, just last week I came across one that ticked me off. Melee. As in, complete and total chaos, right? Well, I say it “mee-lee” when apparently it’s “may-lay.” Bullshit! May-lay doesn’t even sound chaotic so why would it be used to describe a scene of total disorganization? “Oh, look at all the may-lay.” NO. That sounds like you’re commenting on the weather. “IT’S A MEE-LEE OUT THERE!” more accurately conveys the sense of insanity, if you ask me, so I’ll keep my messed-up pronunciation, thank you.
Daylight Savings Time is terrible. There, I said it. Every year I struggle with the inanity of switching our clocks around for no apparent reason. “But we do it for the farmers,” you say. I say, “What farmers?” Do people still farm? Isn’t most of our food grown in some creepy science lab? You don’t need to mess around with the actual sun when you can manufacture artificial sun, so let’s stop all the clock nonsense and just stick with one time, year-round. I’m a creature of habit, and schedule, and reality meeting my expectations. Some might call me bossy but I just think I know the best way to do things, so sue me. You’re going along in your daily life, the sun comes up and goes down at a certain time, and it gradually changes with the seasons. Then one day BAM! it’s 6:00 a.m. and sunny and you don’t have your sunglasses within reach and now your eyes are watering on your commute. Let’s stop torturing ourselves or, at the very least, declare every Monday to be a Saturday.
And then Macklemore happened. You know the “Thrift Shop” song, yes? Well, the guy who sings the refrain makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Seriously, the way he sings “pockkkeeettt” is just downright sexy. So I’m envisioning some sexy man, like 50 Cent or even a younger Denzel. Then someone spilled the beans that Macklemore sings the whole song, and he’s this scrawny white dude, and just … NO. No no no no no no. I refuse to believe it. Leave me my misconceptions, please.
You’re welcome for the beauty that is 50 Cent in the photo, by the way.
You can contact Krista, the author of this post, at firstname.lastname@example.org.