The ethical exhibitionist's dilemma

Sunday my neighbour Scooter hosted a barbecue to celebrate his graduation from community college. For reasons unknown, since he is kind of a sports nut, it coincided with the World Cup Final, so I first arrived about three hours in (not counting a couple of lightning appearances to snatch some sustenance). Almost immediately, I began macking on some darling accountant-turned-EMT. He slipped away and left me alone with his complaining wife, which caused me to suddenly remember the laundry I'd left in the dryer.

When I returned, I found monshu deep in conversation with the neighbours who'd watched our cat while we were away. They've always struck us as good people, but I didn't suspect how deeply interesting they are. I'd assumed they'd been dating for a few years; actually, they've been together for ten and are married--but only to thwart his parents' legal interference, since they don't believe in it as an institution. Relationships were the major topic for our couple hours together and one of the remarks that stuck with me was Surfer Boy's notion that what creates intimacy between two people is not the physical act of sex but "the things you share that you don't tell anyone else, not even your friends."

I really admire the highly confessional journals of some of my Friends here and I wish mine could be more like theirs. But my number one priority here is not to violate any confidences--especially any of monshu's. It frustrates me, because many of the most interesting developments in my life right now are tied up with aspects of it that I can't talk about freely without compromising the privacy of the ones I love most. I feel fairly free bitching about, say, my parents' "craziness" since the only persons who know them who are likely to read that are people I share most of this stuff with anyway. But I never want to be in a situation where someone first hears about something affecting my relationship with them here or from someone who read it here.

So there you have it, aadroma, there's my baggage. I'm too exhibitionist not to blog about myself and too concerned about others to spill any of the really juicy stuff. That's why I write up my dinners when I'd really rather vent disappointments and post about cocktails when I'd rather post about fucking. Some things you still have to be there in person to hear.

¿Cuántas cabras chuparía un chupacabras...

Here's an odd case of hypercorrection from this article ragging on the Twilight phenomenon:

The ‘paranormal romance’ sector is booming, with books focusing on plots as varied as vampires that fall in love with human women, werewolves that fall in love with human women, shapeshifters that fall in love with human women, ghosts that fall in love with women, chupacabra that fall in love with human women, and human women that fall in love with human women, only to find out that they’re both vampires.

Chupacabras is a difficult word for English-speakers. In Spanish, it is invariable for number: el chupacabras, los chupacabras. This makes perfect sense to Spanish-speakers since to them the word is transparently "[it] sucks goats". Moreover, there are a host of nouns which work the same way, mostly labour-saving devices (e.g. lavarropas "[it] washes clothes", cortasetos "[it] trims hedges") but also the occasional animate nouns (e.g. aguafiestas "[s/he] dampens parties").

But singular nouns with plural endings make English-speakers' heads hurt. So they regularise them by analogy, e.g. biceps > bicep. Thus we end up with many chupacabras, but one chupacabra. This, however, is the first time that I've seen an analogical singular like this generalised to the plural. Usually when we generalise one form, it's the plural, e.g. biscotti, data, alumni.