The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘hand’

Die Hand

Germany … you’re an odd place. And here’s why I say that.

The German word for neck is hals. The word for back is zurück. And ear is ohr. Eye is auge.

Distinct, unique. Clearly words the Germans had thought, ‘we should make words for these things.’

But here’s where they lose me.

The German word for hand … is hand.

The German word for arm … is arm.

The German word for finger … is finger.

It’s like they just completely forgot about those body parts until one day some Germans were hanging out with some English and the Germans realized, ‘oh crap … we don’t have names for any of the stuff connect to our brust (which means chest) … we should come up with names.’

Englishman: ‘and what do you guys call hands?’

German: ‘die hand.’

Englishman: ‘…no, like, in your language.’

German: ‘yah, hand … is hand.’

I would’ve been a pretty skeptical Englishman if I had heard, in sequence, that the German’s words for arm, hand and finger were … arm, hand and finger. And it’s not like the Germans forgot about appendages altogether. Leg is bein, foot is Fuß, and toe is zehe.

Germans, eh, they’re an odd bunch.

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My Zombie Roomy (8/16/11)

Remember when the Zombie was going through a weird weight-concerned phase? Well, it’s back. Only now it’s me who is concerned.

The Zombie has put on a lot of weight, and not like a human would. The Zombie has started carrying a backpack at all times, and it is insanely full. I don’t know what is in that thing but it must be from some fancy backpack shop like REI because how has it not broken?

I tried to look what is inside one time but he got angry and swatted me away. I told him I respect his privacy and wouldn’t look. He responded by offering a dance fight (our traditional Friday night thing if I’ve got no other plans). We danced for a while and I felt a lot better.

Until I noticed the jumbo-sized bottle of Gatorade with a hand in it.

However, I love a good joke, so I took out a bottle of regular Gatorade and said cheers, and the Zombie ate a hand while I drank Gatorade. Dance fights make me so thirsty.

It’s disconcerting how ok I am with the Zombie’s eating habits. I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t let the Zombie eat in my house but now I allowed him to break that rule. We’ll see how this pans out.

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