Social Graces (English / French / German)

Yes, it has been a long time since I've blogged, but then again, we're coming up on the end of the semester, therefore, things are hectic. I will take a few moments out now to toy with the etymology of one of my favorite words: outrage. It comes from French, and it has really very little to do with rage in the English sense of the word. Indeed, it comes from the old French oustre which meant beyond. Our English verb ouster shares the same origins as outrage. In later French, oustre became oûtre, the noun form, meaning 'the state of being beyond,' as in beyond the acceptable parameters, became oûtrage, not unlike dressage, assemblage, or mirage. This weekend I sufffered two social outrages, in the French sense. The first one should surprise no one really, as we all know people (sadly) who would behave this way. The second one will go into the same category as the story of Lady X as chronicled in my blog entry "Synchronicity I & II."

Saturday I was in Binghamton visiting Tom with Carolyn; as is often the case, Tom had a small number of friends over to his house for a "gathering." Two of the attendees were would-be paramours of Tom, at least in their own minds. They spent the entire evening fawning over him, competing fiercely with each other while ignoring everyone else who was there. It was, what they would call in my valley, bad form, a total lack of social grace, and really an example unabashed poor parenting. Both of those two girls (they do no warrant the title of women), were, as we say in French, mal élevées. Morever, neither brought anything to the table that was really alluring enough that they should be tolerated for anything more than informal conversation. As much as they were lacking in grace, they seemed to be lacking in the ability to engage in real conversation. Finally, they were also both very plane Janes. As has been said by others, no looks, no class, no brains...

Dispensing with the future scullery maids of Bingladesh, let me move on to the other great outrage of the weekend. Another person in attendance - I shall leave him and his kin nameless - invited Carolyn and I over to his apartment to see his spouse's and his newborn. The baby was lovely, quite cute. The baby was not directly part of the outrage...

As we sat in their tiny, cramped living room which was twenty degrees too warm (everyone knows, newborns are supposed to be kept in environments stuffy enough to choke cockroaches...), they chose to share pictures of the birth with us. The wife asked the husband in particular to show us pictures of the PLACENTA!

Actually, when she first made the request, I figured I had misheard. Sadly, I was wrong, for, what to my astonishment was delivered into my hands but that lovely Kodak moment when the wife, her belly splayed open in full Ceasarian section was the would-be newborn tucked ever so neatly away in a bloody sack of puss and guts. In further photographs, we were able to behold the placenta stripped of its cargo laying on the mother's side as the grand-mother gazed down with utter disgust at the gray, purple and red mass. Just as we were viewing this 'interesting' collection of snaps, the husband brings out a tray of small pieces of PIZZA!

Gott in Himmel!

Alors, l'outrage du jour...