Speaking in tongues

I don't know what happened, exactly, to our little "get together," but in the end, Dr. M excused herself because of an early morning run, S2 went camping and The Debutante ... well, something happened with her that didn't sound so swell when we last talked. (Deb, if you read this: Soothing, empathetic thoughts coming your way. Chill, babe. Just chill.)

So Bubba came over, and she brought an attractive lady friend who clearly has the hots for our dear Bubba. But it's one of those "complicated" things. And we all know how that is. (Regardless of the particular complication.)

For the past six hours, we've been drinking, listening to music and talking about ... orgasms. It is my opinion that orgasms are a *completely* subjective experience. Impossible to compare woman to woman. And, frankly, even *within* the same woman (me), there are several different "types" of orgasms. None of which can adequately be compared to the other.

But we had a big old vigorous discussion about the topic. I have no idea what I said to warrant such a comment, but Bubba's lady friend pointed at me and said to Bubba, "This is a passionate woman! I mean, a woman of tremendous passion."

Heh.

Really, I hadn't even been drinking all that much, and I was just talking about something that happened to me last February and invoved NO ONE. Not even myself. Well, I mean, it did involve myself, but not in that "self-care" kind of way. It was just ... something. (Nevermind....)

Anyway, Bubba's gal is a lawyer. A Sarah-Lawrence-and-London-School-of-Economics (prior to law school) educated kind of woman. Very bright. And seriously good looking. (It's never *not* complicated with those beautiful, intelligent women, is it? Poor Bubba. I feel her pain.)

So it was as they were leaving a bit after 3 a.m. that I told the lawyerly hot chick -- who gave me some interesting counsel on a do-it-myself will -- about a really sad conversation I had with a woman earlier today. I never had any question I was right, but it was nice, even at 3 in the morning with intoxicants at play, to have myself confirmed.

This is the deal. There was an arts festival on my street today. I live near a studio named "Ex Machina," and as a bit of a word geek, I've always kind of liked seeing its sign in the window near my home.

Deus ex machina, for those unfamiliar, is basically an unlikely or improbable -- or even impossible -- resolution to a conflict in literature or plays. Like when something goes to hell and then the character in crisis awakens to reveal to all of us that it was just a dream (for those of you old enough to remember, think of Bobby's resurrection via the "shower scene" in "Dallas," in which we find out that his death and the entire last season was all a dream). Or when a god sweeps in at the last moment and saves everyone from certain death. (The Bible is full of stuff like that.)

But I was buying this little piece of art today, and it turned out to be from the woman who works in the Ex Machina studio. She says to me, "This is my studio here," and points at the building.

Ex Machina? I reply, pronouncing it "ex mock-ee-nah."

She nods but corrects my pronunciation with: "Ex Machine-ah. It means 'of the machine.' "

Oh, I say politely. That's an interesting little twist. I guess....

"What?" she asks.

Prounouncing it that way. Like "machine."

"That's how it's pronounced," she says.

Well, no..., I say, as polite as possible. In the Latin pronunciation -- which it *is* still Latin -- it's said, 'mock-ee-nah.'

She has a friend standing next to her who says, "I told you that the other day."

But this artist ignores her and is insistent with me. "In my classes, it was always, "ex machine-ah." You know, it's from 'deus (pron: duessss) ex machine-ah.' That's how you say it. And it means 'of the machine.' "

I got a little purturbed. Because you know what? THE CUSTOMER IS ALWAYS RIGHT! Hello! ... And so I said, No, actually, it's pronounced like 'day ex mock-ee-nah,' and it's a literary device that means something like, 'god in the machine.'

Faced with this knowledge of mine and the check I was handing her for her attractive little artwork, you know what she said? She said, "No, I'm pretty sure it's said, 'ex machine-ah.' "

Whatever.

But then, I'm somone who has recently gotten so annoyed with total strangers on the street referring to my Cairn terrier as a "Karen" terrier that I've started kind of snipping at them, Cairn. It's pronounced 'cairn.'

As if they care.

Don't even get me started on the pronunciation of "forte."

Well, it's late. I'm tired. That's enough of that.

To recap: It's "day ex mock-ee-nah." It's "Cairn," not "Karen." And your strong suit is your "fort," not your "fort-ay." The latter is an increase in volume during a musical performance.

And yes, I'm sure you all know how to pronounce "bitch." So go ahead....