Because I'm Feeling Random

A few nights ago I listened to someone sing the praises of the word "obfuscate," and found myself thinking that as far as word-loving goes, claiming an attachment to "obfuscate" seems kind of pretentious. I stand by that point - or would, if I'd made the point in the first place, instead of just nodding and then mentioning that "exacerbate" is a kick-ass word - because really, listening to people ramble on about obfuscation annoys me. And yes, I have heard enough obfuscation-centered rambles in my day to know whether or not it annoys me. Sad but true.

And honestly, I don't even like "obfuscate" that well. It sounds congested and muddy. It's like that sound people make when they're talking too fast and stumbling over words, when their voices get all fuzzy and saliva builds, and the syllables are spit out all wet and cloudy - when the mumbling fogs up the glass of the sentence so you can't see a damn thing and just drive blindly through the conversation. And then, sometimes? You crash. Into a semi-truck of confusion.

Wow. I don't think it's possible to stretch that metaphor any further. The poor thing is just begging for mercy.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say here is that the sound of "obfuscate" is perfectly matched to its meaning; and while I usually find this quality endearing, in this case it kind of annoys me.

It just sounds like an SAT word - which it probably is. But I took the ACT, so who knows. (I've often wondered what my SAT score would have been. Everyone says the SAT is harder, so although I kicked half of the ACT's ass - its linguistic buttcheek, if you will - I've always suspected that the SAT would have kicked mine. Both cheeks. And left bruises.)

So yeah. Obfuscate. It looks icky typed. If spellings were foods, o-b-f-u-s-c-a-t-e would be fried coke. (People say it's delicious, but come on. That's gross.) And although obfuscate has its uses, I generally feel that the people who like it are constantly trying to show me up. Maybe it's the way they enunciate it. They have this tendency to stomp on each syllable, kicking them into my brain until they become permanently embedded in its coils.

OB-foo-skate.

Uck.

You know what word I like? Elegiac. It's such a clear, precise word. It's like glass. If I tapped on it, I think it would ping.

But obfuscate? I don't think you could tap on it. You could only poke it, and if it made any sound at all, it would be a squelch - the squelch of an obese person walking barefoot through a swamp.


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The sad thing about this entry is that it is a frighteningly accurate look into my mind. I once went on a date with a guy who told me that I always looked deep in thought, and that he found it intimidating. "I feel like you're analyzing everything. It freaks me out."

"Well," I said, "it shouldn't. I'm not thinking anything very interesting. My brain doesn't sleep, but that doesn't mean it's all that active, either. It's just lying awake, wishing it hadn't had all that coffee."

He really didn't get my wit. That, coupled with his bigotry ("I don't care about any country that ends in -stan"), kind of made it impossible for me to enjoy myself. Although dinner was good. (On a side note, if you want to get a guy to leave you alone, just tell him you identify with Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. It's instant man repellent.)

So, in closing: loving "obfuscate" makes you a pretentious asshat, my brain is a congealed lump of pointless musings, and countries that end in -stan are good.

(I just corrected the best typo ever: "obfuscare." As in, scared, but in a vague, blurry way. I'm so going to use that in conversation.)