intoxicate

\in-TAHK-suh-kayt\

verb

1 : poison

2 a : to excite or stupefy by alcohol or a drug especially to the point where physical and mental control is markedly diminished b : to excite or elate to the point of enthusiasm or frenzy

When my older brothers were sixteen they got their first junker car in a series of many. One day (I was probably 8 or 9) I lingered nearby while my brother Heath poured coolant into the radiator.

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's antifreeze," my brother said. I leaned in for a closer look. "Don't touch it—it's totally poisonous," he elbowed me out of the way.

When he finished he walked back into the house, leaving the car's hood open. A glowing drop of antifreeze hovered around the radiator's mouth. I stared at it. For an instant, my brain must have shut off—I reached out, ran my finger through the drop and shoved it into my mouth. And then I panicked.

I ran into the house screaming, "I'm going to die!" My grandma casually asked me what happened. I just kept screaming that I was going to die. She walked me into the kitchen and filled up a small glass of water while I spit into the sink.

"Here drink this," she said. I swallowed the water in one big gulp. "Feel better?" I nodded.

"See?" she said, "water cures everything."

*

This is one of those weird anecdotes that sticks out in my mind for many reasons:

1) I ate antifreeze. I don't remember the taste, but had I ingested a greater amount, I could have possible become INTOXICATED in the very traditional sense.

2) My grandmother didn't ask me why I thought I was going to die, she merely gave me a glass of water and then announced: water cures everything. This was not the first or last time she used this reasoning, although later in life, when I became more of a smart ass, I would retort: Oh yeah? Well what if I was drowning. Then what?

3) My faculties really did seem to shut off in that moment, as though there was no consciousness between eyeing the drop and the drop being in my mouth. I think about this lapse in brain activity often, usually when I'm in any position of height—in the window of a tall building, or on a bridge (frequently). These moments make me realize the very thin line between life and death. What if my brain were to shut off again—for just two seconds—I could find myself dropping from the Burnside bridge into the Willamette River.

And that would be that.

This may be pushing it, but lapsing into an absent state for a long enough period to reason jumping off a bridge is somewhat of an INTOXICATING thought. The kind of thought that makes me want to jump and squeak for a minute—so scary it is thrilling.

plagiary

\PLAY-jee-air-ee\

noun

1 archaic : one that plagiarizes

2 : plagiarism

I categorize PLAGIARY in the same group as unprotected sex, improperly refrigerated perishables, and late credit card payments. In short, risks that have been presented over and over (usually by authority figures) as either wrong or dangerous or unwise or recklessly foolish, so as to scare me into avoidance.

During my undergraduate years, the issue of PLAGIARY was addressed on almost every syllabus and paper topic handout. The warning began with a definition, followed by the subsequent course of action and repercussions should one mistakenly choose to commit this act. Serious professors often compounded the written warning with an even more ominous verbal threat, in so many words: "If you even try to get past me, I will sacrifice you to the gods of 'academic suspension and risk of expulsion.'"

These warnings conjure up images of American Lung Association posters warning against the dangers of smoking. My eleventh grade chemistry teacher had one of these images taped to the front of his desk facing the classroom. The poster depicted a girl whose outsides were rendered to look like her insides after smoking for X number of years. I stared at this poster everyday. Not that I needed any more convincing—I had decided many years earlier not to smoke, about the same time I was scared into recycling, keeping electrical appliances away from water and not picking my nose (which I now only do by necessity).

Perhaps the International Plagiarism Association should put out some threatening posters for college professors to display in their lecture rooms—I'm thinking of something along the lines of a student getting publicly executed for failing to properly cite a source. Or actually, an even scarier image would be a dark photograph of someone twenty years after getting expelled from college for PLAGIARY, sitting alone and jobless in a two-room apartment with vertical blinds twenty minutes outside the city.

That would scare me, for sure.

nosocomial

\nah-suh-KOH-mee-ul\

adjective

: acquired or occurring in a hospital

To clarify, NOSOCOMIAL does not refer to a bracelet or a crappy cup of coffee, but more specifically the unfortunate circumstance of acquiring an illness under a hospital's roof.

In lieu of yesterday's discussion on irony, this seems appropriate. What is more of kick below the belt than contracting a disease while at a hospital. I mean, it makes sense considering hospitals are essentially boarding houses for the communicably ill, but while enjoying your stay you'd like to believe you're burdened enough already with whatever ailment put you there. Hospitals are supposed to be safe, the end of the line, the rock bottom that will send you back toward health. I would be pissed (PISSED) if I acquired someone else's pain in the ass while trying to alleviate my own.

Without counting a dozen or so lackluster visits to the emergency room during my childhood (smoke in the eye, nail in the foot, finger slammed under a toboggan) I have had two hospital stays in my life:

1995 - Spent one night in hospital recovering from breast reduction surgery. Shared room with a young girl who had tonsillitis. On day two a nurse removed IV neglecting to put a bandage on the entrance wound; while returning from the bathroom I left a trail of blood on the floor.

2004 - Checked into emergency room with chest pain. X-rayed for broken rib—negative. CT scanned—discovered blood clot. "The technician didn't notice it on the scan," ER doctor said, "It's a good thing I took a second look." Or else what? Spent three days in hospital thinning blood. Don't remember roommate. Do remember watching Deliverance on a tiny television next to my bed. A nurse walked in on me while I was peeing. She acted so casual. "Um...can you leave?" I said. There were few vegetarian meal options. I ate a lot of mashed potatoes and "mixed vegetables."

During these two stays I was not affected by anything NOSOCOMIAL. Though, if I had been, I may have freaked the fuck out. This word, to the latently childish portion of my brain, is the definition of something that is undeniably unfair. No one should acquire a disease while in a hospital. It is just too ironic. I'm not sure I could go on with my life had I endured such irony.

And what if you died!?!

CANDACE OPPER

~ DIED OF IRONIC AND NOSOCOMIAL CAUSES~

What a joke!

sarcasm

\SAHR-kaz-um\

noun

1 : a sharp and often satirical or ironic utterance designed to cut or give pain

2 a : a mode of satirical wit depending for its effect on bitter, caustic, and often ironic language that is usually directed against an individual b : the use or language of sarcasm

Way to go, Miriam-Webster. Good job choosing this for the word-of-the-day. No, I'm serious, this is great. I don't think I could have thought of a broader subject to have to write about.

(get it?)

So. I want to talk about three closely related words that are often misused and, in fact, all appear in the above definition.

One: SARCASM, already defined above (in case you didn't notice).

Two: satire \SAT-ahyr\ n. the use of irony, sarcasm, or ridicule in exposing, denouncing, or deriding vice, folly, etc.

Three: irony \AHY-ruh-nee\ n. the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning

I am reminded of Winona Ryder's interview in Reality Bites, during which she spaces on the definition of irony, only to be shot down by greasy Ethan Hawke, who can retain this definition but not his job at a newsstand.

Here is what I can cull from lining these three ideas up against each other:

Irony is the skill, satire is the act and SARCASM is the intent.

An analogy:

Irony is to my rich bastard of an oral surgeon as satire is to him pulling my tooth as SARCASM is to that rich bastard trying to ultimately sell me on a $4,000 implant.

Yeah. My mouth feels really great right now. Seriously, it's awesome. I've never felt better. I love having a gaping hole in my jaw and a perpetual bad taste in my mouth.

I know, I'm laying it on thick, but that's the point.

repine

\rih-PYNE\

verb

1 : to feel or express dejection or discontent : complain

2 : to long for something

This word immediately makes me think of "pining" for something, so I was pleased to scroll down to the etymology and find this issue addressed.

M-W says:

In longing, one can "repine over" something ("repining over her lost past"), or one can "pine for" something. The two words, used thus, mean close to the same thing, but not exactly. "Pining" is intense longing for what one once knew. "Repine" adds an element of discontent to any longing — an element carried over from its first sense ("to feel or express dejection or discontent").

This is fascinating—mostly because I feel like any type of longing implies a sense of discontent. I can't remember a time during which I PINED or REPINED for something and felt good about it.

(let's take another step back)

My general rule about regret is that it exists only in the eye of the beholder. Regret is merely a perception. If you believe you made a mistake, then, by all means, you have. But the mistake, the wrong decision, the moment of transgression, does not exist on a plane of its own as a mistake. It just exists as an action; regret is merely the foggy glass through which the action is observed. Open the window and you will find you see clearly.

Longing implies one feels she is lacking something and wishes to gain (or regain) that something. I am not denying my experiencing these feelings. But I will say that the moments are all laced with a layer of discontent. After all, if I were content, per se, I probably wouldn't be longing for anything.

Right?

I try (really hard) not to REPINE. I look fondly upon memories, but I can honestly say I don't want to go back to another less-complicated time, nor do I PINE for an imagined future in which things may be better, easier, more pleasurable.

I like now. I like today. I'll take it.

artifice

\AHR-tuh-fus\

noun

1 a : clever or artful skill : ingenuity b : an ingenious device or expedient

2 a : an artful stratagem : trick b : false or insincere behavior

I am reminded of an image—Kosuth's One and Three Chairs, 1965. This image popped up frequently during my art history education as an undergraduate. The image was intended to ignite a dialogue of authenticity, reality, replication, idea, ARTIFICE, among other things.

The question was: which chair exudes the most chairness—the idea of the chair, the actual chair, or the photographic rendering of the chair? (not to mention the entire image is a photograph of an installation...) In short, will the real chair please stand up?

Plato would argue that the only pure chair is the idea. Even the actual chair is a corruption of that purity; henceforth, the photograph is a corruption of a corruption, an act of ARTIFICE twice removed from the essence of the chair.

Without venturing into a diatribe on this matter, it's interesting to me that there is an element of trickery in the essence of art—as though every artistic creation is merely an attempt to fool its audience. I recall something I read in one of my early film history classes: at one of the first screenings of the silent film A Great Train Robbery, audience members panicked and hid under their seats at the daunting cinematic image of a train coming directly toward the camera. It is funny to imagine experiencing this type of image for the first time.

I think about the art I make, mostly in the form of writing, and what sort of ARTIFICE is involved. I write nonfiction, but that doesn't mean the product is not totally molded, formed, processed, and manipulated in every way before it reaches the eyes of someone else. What am I trying to trick people into believing? I suppose that my experiences mean something, and that you want to read about them.

Really, you do.

pianistic

\pee-uh-NISS-tik\

adjective

1 : of, relating to, or characteristic of the piano

2 : skilled in or well adapted to piano playing

I grew up in a family of piano players. While my other kin were trained, I sort of picked up playing by ear—some of this may be innate, but it also came from having spent my childhood surrounded by musicians. I used to figure out the piano accompaniment to whatever we were singing in various school plays and musicals. This was entirely a practical venture for me. I would take my knowledge back to school and play the songs on the communal piano in order to impress my peers. Kids would gather around me and begin singing along. I didn't really have much else to offer in terms of "coolness," but they generally seemed impressed by my PIANISTIC skills.

These moments were exhilarating, and not only because my playing seemed to momentarily erase my dorkiness. These sing-a-longs were some of the first moments I experienced the thrill of playing music with other people. Sitting at that crappy, public school piano, surrounded by kids singing along softly out-of-key, my body tingled and waves of excitement passed from my chest to my fingertips. I looked down at the keys, trying to hide my smile, but it was useless. I was in love with that feeling.

Granted, playing the piano alone is gratifying, even cathartic. But there is something irreplaceable about playing music with other people, even if it's just people sitting around singing along to some dumb song—it's as though in those moments we're connected by some invisible thread that makes life seem more livable, and that somehow made me seem cool for a few moments in the fifth grade.