Faux Amis

It seems that in this life (as opposed to which other life? Or is that a question for another, perhaps less sober enquiry?), no matter how professional, perky or enthusiastic you are, how polite and efficient you may be, whether at work or in your personal life, there is always going to be someone or something that quickly and effortlessly, possibly even disinterestedly, turns up and makes you look like a buffoon.

I can point to innumerable examples in both scenarios mentioned, not least and most recently having striven to set up a project workshop, against all the odds and fervent opposition from nearly everyone who may have become involved, scraping and bowing and making ludicrously rash promises which, in true heroic style, I had to keep or else, only for the turd who was delivering it to forget to show up. Quel bouffon. But when it comes to the intellectual life (a life I can only wish I had and therefore one unlikely to show me up in public) it is doubly galling to find that what one thinks one knows is just that - assumed knowledge. This week I have been embarrassed to discover on not one, but two occassions, that what I thought I knew was complete toss. "Who gives a fuck?" you might wonder with no undue histrionics.

I do.

I don't care what you think, as this isn't something lived out in the eyes or minds of the public. I can't make any great claims as to the great size of readership of FDN, hence this is for all intents and purposes something private (but a matter of public record for anyone who wishes to search blogs for the words crepuscular or pulchritudinous). But to have a deeply held conviction shattered by something as unfeeling (and incapable of feeling) as a dictionary is a hurt deeper than words.

Ok, not so big a deal in reality then.

Still, when I went to call this workshop-forgetting turd a pulchritudinous lout in an email, on impulse I checked my online dictionary, only to discover that this beautifully decrepid and corruption-laded word actually means "possessing of physical comeliness". Infidel! Language escapes me as I try to come to terms with such falseness. What polar opposition! Perhaps I could get away with using it to mean what I want it to mean, but then I run the risk of being found out by some lexicon-wielding shit. On switching to crepuscular, another fine filth-filled mouthful, I was equally dulled into insensibility by Webster's definition - of, relating to, or resembling twilight.

Arse.

I think in future I'll stick to the tried and tested vulgate when it comes to illuminating a churl.

And for those single-minded pedants - I know I've used faux amis incorrectly, so cram it up your cram-hole.