The power of “the finger”

Last week, I got into an altercation in the Whole Foods parking lot. I am not too proud to admit that. I arrived at the three-way stop in my 1996 Toyota Tercel with the missing driver’s side door handle and shortly after, a white, middle-aged, wealthy man in a brand new Cadillac SUV rolled up across from me. I knew immediately he was going to try something, and it being the week of Thanksgiving, I had already dealt with a Charlie Foxtrot situation both in the store and maneuvering through that hellscape of a parking lot and my patience had run out long ago. As I (lawfully) made my left turn, he started to go and nearly hit my car, then slammed on his (fortunately) brand new brakes and laid on his horn. I flipped him off naturally, and I could feel the laser beam of rage from his eyes penetrating my soul. He pulled up alongside me, completely losing his mind, hanging out of his SUV window, gesticulating wildly and screaming profanities. I kept my window rolled up, turned up my radio and just laughed heartily, all while holding that finger high and proud in the air. I emerged triumphant as he was forced to proceed as traffic piled up behind him.

I win.

And this got me thinking about the power of the hand gesture. My one finger had more power than the stupid words coming out of his mouth. Nothing enrages a person more than “the bird.” This Motor City strip club owner knew it and so bought the mansion next to his cheating ex-wife and her new husband and erected a 12-foot-tall middle finger statue on the back deck.

Impressively offensive

He even has a spotlight on it at night! This is true dedication to being an asshole.

So why is this gesture so delightfully effective? The finger is, of course, not innately offensive. Meaning had to be assigned to that otherwise neutral finger. Oddly, the finger has been offensive for centuries, but never has really had any distinctive meaning, save for the idea that it may resemble male genitalia and is a symbolic substitute for waving that stuff around in people’s faces (and available to the ladies as well)! Long ago called the digitus impudicus or digitus infamis (meaning, respectively, indecent or infamous digit), it was a popular offensive mechanism for the Romans and medieval Europeans. It was a favorite of the famed asshole Caligula, who adored to have his enemies kiss his digitus impudicus, which is probably what eventually got him killed.

“That’s the LAST time you flip me off, CaligulASS!”

While the gesture has no specific meaning, it universally pisses off Americans. And I love the simplicity of raising that finger out of my fist to convey what a million words never could.

Professionally offensive

LARP – sport for the everyday nerd

I remember a crisp fall day in Fort Collins several years ago, biking around this strange town I had just moved to in order to assess just how much of a cow town I had chosen to live in for the next four years while I finished school. As I surveyed the neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon, I found myself at the edge of City Park and noticed a large group of costumed young men and women shouting and hitting each other with foam weapons. Nerds, I thought to myself and continued on. I later learned that this same group of people spars under the larch in City Park (I like how rhymey this is) on Sundays and they refer to themselves as LARPers.

“Oh man, we are going to get so many ladies.”

For those of you unfamiliar with nerd sport, LARP stands for Live-Action Role-Playing and it is way more complex than you may think. After hearing what Josh and Chuck had to say on the matter and doing some personal research on the web, I had to applaud the creativity behind the duct tape and cardboard and noodly weaponry. By the way, these noodly weapons are called “boffers” and Lukrain can tell you all about them.

Endless possibilities with PVC and foam!

Happening upon the nerd squad at City Park set off the D&D alarm in my brain and I thought, just how delusional have they become? They really think they are fighting off dragons and casting spells now. They’re even speaking in old-timey language. But what I have hypothesized through my research, is that LARPers are merely thespians of the sci-fi/fantasy persuasion. Loving genre fiction is not enough, if you’re going to truly understand the motives of a warlock, you’re going to proudly wear that purple cape and throw bags of magical birdseed at the warrior princess charging you with her intimidating foam mace.

Note for next year: spandex bodysuit is not conducive to peeing in the forest.

But all joking aside (yeah right), there is so much imagination and hard work essential for creating a successful LARP experience. While many of these events are based on books and board games, a lot of these groups create entire worlds, even universes, where every detail must be worked out: Are there social classes? What kinds of materials are available in this world? What is this world’s history of warfare? Does magic exist and if so, who can practice it? I mean, you practically have to write a novel yourself to fulfill the role of “game master.” But what most fascinated me is the variety of LARPers out there. One self-proclaimed LARP expert stated, “It’s very likely that if there is something you’ve enjoyed, there’s a LARP out there for it.” Think of the endless possibilities! Zombie dead presidents wreaking havoc in Washington, steampunk vampires terrorizing present-day suburbia, or extraterrestrial goat-humans invading North Korea. And just because this is too good not to share, there is actually a group of LARPers in Europe who pretend to be hillbillies in Georgia. Yes it is true, there are even nerds in Europe.

All you need for hillbilly LARP is a bandana and some bad cargo shorts!

Some thoughts on carpet

A friend of mine recently shared an article with all of his cyber friends on Facebook (a site that generally is there to disrupt your life and make you feel horrible about the three hours you just spent watching cat videos or wittily responding to that one super conservative guy’s post about “Obamacare”). But occasionally it is worthwhile when your smart friends post things like this. And with a title like 16 People On Things They Couldn’t Believe About America Until They Moved Here, I thought, what an excellent opportunity to find ridiculous fodder for that silly blog I’m writing.

While I laughed hardily at foreigners’ reactions to things like our obsession with running, our penchant for gigantic cars, and the popularity of going to class in pajamas (take note, freshmen ladies), the thing that really resonated with me was “wall-to-wall carpeting.”

Just one of the many disgusting things that can happen in a carpeted situation.

Carpeting your home is a foul practice and one that should have gone out of style with shag carpet (there’s a reason they call it that, you know). What happens on the carpet, stays on the carpet until your broke ass can afford a steam clean. Everyone is aware of the superiority of hardwood floors; even linoleum would get more likes on Facebook than carpet!

Just look at how happy and clean these people look, enjoying those shiny hardwood floors.

So really, I had to wonder, who was the jerk who decided carpeting in the bathroom was a good idea? Or who thought little girls would love to see wolf spiders disappear into those impossibly tall strands of shag carpet? So naturally, I did a little research and was incredibly pleased to find there is an actual all-things-carpet website. This website’s sole purpose is to bring you the facts you need to know about carpet and rugs; I’m talking history, careers, even frequently asked questions!

Man, I cannot wait to start my career in the carpet industry! Just look at how fulfilled this guy is!

But more importantly, I learned from this amazing fact-filled website that carpet weavings were excavated and dated to be from the second to third century BC in the Middle East! Apparently they were originally woven for special ceremonies and later used by nomads to shield them from the hard cold things they often slept upon. Eventually, that one jerk was like “Let’s carpet all the things!” (probably before people had any decent understanding of epidemiology) and so there I sat in 1995, cutting red nail polish out of our shag carpet with dull scissors cursing the nomadic tribes of the Middle East.

You love cats because you’re an American, damnit.

I would like to invite you all to take a break from your busy day to think about cats.

Meow.

Space? NO.

I bet you all recognize our super special celebrity kitty in the above image. Do not pretend that you do not. It’s Grumpy Cat! Yay! I chose the above image because it brings together two of my favorite things – cats and space. Let’s take a look at another image:

This guy? NO.

Can you name the ugly man beside our furry little rockstar here? Maybe, maybe not. But certainly, everyone recognizes Grumpy Cat! Yay! I chose the second image because it brings together two of my other favorite things – cats and making fun of the GOP. What I’m doing here is trying to make a point (albeit a very poorly-executed one). I think I can pretty confidently say that 100% of people who use the Interwebs in America could successfully identify Grumpy Cat! Yay! And I am confidently guessing that less than 50% could positively ID John Boner (oops sorry, Boehner. I always do that!) This is because kitties have entered into the big wide world of memery™ because AMERICA IS F*%@#$* OBSESSED WITH CATS!

What’s more patriotic than loving the shit out of cats?

If you are a true American (aka cat fetishist), you will know that kitty-human love started with agriculture forever ago (12,000 yearsish) when people decided to corral the kitties in their backyard to hunt garden ratsees and miceys. Sorry, this happens to my speech when I think about kitties. I wonder what Fertile Crescent farmers would think about us eventually bringing these furry little murderers into our homes and obsessing about them on the Interwebs.

Take me to your cat nip. And I won’t murder you.

One theory I read about cat obsession is that we love these little guys because their “large eyes, small button noses, and little mouths” remind us of human infants. Gross! So we all love the kitties because each and every one of us is just a baby-makin’ machine?! You cannot argue with the obsession. It is a very real thing. I’ll leave it up to you to decide where this obsession stems from. As for me? I think these fuzzy little warriors were bestowed upon us by the magical forces of the universe as a way to keep us from becoming complete assholes. Just try to look at this little guy without saying “awwwwww.” :3

My little fluttering heart is going to explode with cuteness.

On jack-o’-lanterns, the drunken Irish and squirrels

The date today is October 29th, which means my favorite holiday is just around the corner. Sadly, my evil university overlords are not allowing me to celebrate it this year, as they do not understand the true importance of Halloween. Rather, they believe that torturous amounts of homework and jumping through endless academic hoops like a trick pony are much more important to my future. So, unable to don my costume of unparalleled amazingness I had planned for this year’s festivities, I am banished to my room (dungeon), staring at a computer screen and clinging desperately to my dwindling inspiration. Here’s where I stop complaining and get to the point.

How I am feeling tonight

I know you have already read about Halloween here. You must realize by now that it is the best holiday celebrated in the world and worth blogging about repeatedly. And tonight I want to talk about ye ole jack-o’-lantern and why we are so obsessed with crafting these meticulous creations out of something as impermanent as a gourd. Do not get me wrong, I love to decorate squirrel food as much as the next guy; leaving rotting fruit on my front porch to disappear slowly through a series of tiny teeth marks is a really worthwhile task.

Just look at this jerk.

Honestly, before I started writing this blog, I never really considered how utterly strange this custom is. It is so ritualistic – cheap plastic orange-handled utensils, newspaper spread across the kitchen table, a strainer for seeds. It’s like a murder scene from Dexter. The pumpkin killer slices open the skull, scoops out the stringy brains, carves out some macabre image on its skin and sets the thing aglow as a warning to all future pumpkin victims. There is something already ghoulish in the act of creating these things. So, besides getting us in the spirit to celebrate Halloween (i.e. to go buy unhealthy amounts of candy), why do we do this thing?

Obviously a professional. Note the star-shaped incision.

Anticlimactically, it is rather unclear how this all started but there are some creative theories. According to one interesting source I perused, these creations originated in Irish mythology with a man named Stingy Jack. Well, Stingy Jack got in over his head with the devil (easy to do; trust me I know) and ended up in purgatory with only a carved out turnip lantern to light his way, thus deeming him Jack of the Lantern, later shortened to Jack-o’-lantern. I’m not convinced, but I enjoy the story. The same source told me that people in Ireland and Scotland began the tradition with carving scary faces into turnips and potatoes to scare away ole Jack. I’m guessing the Irish were too drunk to realize that turnips are too small to be scary and that two squirrels could easily carry off a potato. It’s okay, I’m Irish enough to stereotype them.

We are a disgraceful lot.

A slightly more convincing text told me that the whole tradition started with the Celtic version of Halloween, Samhain (good luck pronouncing that one, mwahaha), and started with large bonfires aimed to ward off evil spirits. When this tradition moved across Ireland and the drunks kept burning down the village, they placed the fires instead into turnips and gourds (more fire-safe containers, if you will). So, much like many diseases, Halloween came to America on a boat from Europe. When the Irish realized we were short on turnips and other preferred spirit-dispelling gourds, they found pumpkins (and everyone knows pumpkins are way creepier than turnips). So the Irish shouted, “Jack pot-o’-gold!” (or some other Irishey exclamation) and pumpkins became our norm.

Whatever the explanation, I advise you, go find your Halloween spirit, carve a pumpkin for me and thank an Irishman. Happy Halloween! Mwahahahahaha!

Alcohol and explosives – the way of the Juggalo

You may have seen them lurking at your local bus stop, on dark street corners, in your parks. Faces painted black and white like evil clowns on unemployment, they roam the streets, their haunting call of “whoop whoop!” bouncing off the walls of dark alleyways. You sit in your car at the red light downtown, doors locked, thinking Why is it still red?! as they stare at you with dead eyes through your car window. You peel off, fleeing in fear the second the light turns green asking yourself what the hell were those things? My friends, meet the Juggalos.

image credit: Matt Stopera

I remember my friends playing me ICP (Insane Clown Posse) when I was in middle school. Their songs (if you can call them that; it is more like hate speech set to music) have wonderfully charming titles such as “Red Neck Hoe,” “I Stuck Her With My Wang,” and “Bugz On My Nutz.” Here, have a listen:

What I did not realize upon hearing this “music” is that there is a whole twisted subculture surrounding it. Their followers, self-deemed “Juggalos” and “Jugalettes” are some of the most diehard fans I have ever witnessed. I was equal parts enthralled and terrified by this mini documentary about the yearly Juggalo gathering. What I gathered from this documentary is that what brings these people together is their love of topless women, nitrous tanks, Faygo (their secret power source that fuels them through many a drug-induced night), dropping F bombs and of course, ICP. Many of them preach the importance of the Juggalo family and feeling like a part of something. While this may be one of the most dysfunctional families I can imagine, they do have a point. They will drag your ass back to your tent after you’ve passed out and puked all over yourself on the Scrambler.

image credit: pickelope.com

Where the disconnect happens, for me, is the contrast between ICP’s lyrics and the familial sentiments of its followers. While the angry and dark lyrics of ICP spout themes of murder, rape and hatred, the Juggalos interviewed in the documentary talk about love, togetherness and acceptance. Even the pregnant woman smoking a cigarette claimed, “It takes a village to raise a child and this is the village I want my child to be raised by.” So how did the Insane Clown Posse, through its hate speech music, manage to create something bigger than itself? A family and a place people call home? It is beyond me. I must admit, I was a bit moved when the Juggalo, freshly off dialysis with a real threat of death staring him in the face, stated, “Life is something special that you can only have one time. Enjoy the shit out of it.” This was somewhat undone when his friend chimed in with, “We have alcohol and we have explosives. Let me show you how great we are.” Oh well. Whoop whoop!

image credit: Daniel Cronin

Vocal fry (like oh my gawd!)

People do a lot of weird stuff to fit into certain circles, gain “cred” or elevate their social standing. Some people buy gigantic SUVs and standard poodles, some get face tats, some get facelifts and some girls use vocal fry. And I just can’t get behind vocal fry. But it’s interesting so we should talk about it.

image credit: trendhunter.com

This phenomenon came up in discussion in my linguistics course a couple of semesters ago and I was the only person in the class who could successfully imitate it (which was a proud moment but also made me wonder why I am such a natural). For those of you who do not know what vocal fry is, here is a short video example (albeit a very exaggerated one). You’ll get the idea:

If you have no sound or are supposed to be working instead of reading this, vocal fry is that low creaky voice that young women often use to try to sound more like valley girls. Their voice drops to a lower register at the end of their sentences and they vibrate their vocal chords so they kind of sound like a quietly dying goat.

image credit: ghananewsagency.org

It started in music as a way to add vocal style to notes in the lower register and for some reason, was adopted into speech by young women everywhere in the U.S. Research suggests that women do this when they get together and that it is “maybe…a social link between members of a group.” If my friends ever heard me talking like this, they would probably disown me and that is why I love them.

One thing that deeply confuses me about vocal fry, is that, according to my professor, women use this technique to gain power in conversations – a place where men often dominate. Tell me what is authoritative about talking like you were raised in Beverly Hills? One theory I read is that a deeper pitch is more masculine, therefore women in more egalitarian societies speak in a lower pitch and vocal fry is associated with lower pitch. Hence, power gain through language. This sounds like a bit of a stretch to me, but hey – who’s arguing with science?

image credit: floridaagenda.com

I will give it to teenage girls though; they are truly pioneers. While happening upon girls using vocal fry makes me itch wildly and shuts down my body’s entire audial system (true story), these young women are actually being inventive with language to reach a certain goal. While that goal may be to fit in with the Debs or impress the frosted-tipped, spray-tanned So-Cal boy, they did it first and they have scientists talking about it. What did you invent that scientists are talking about, huh? But even though vocal fry is inventive, so is YOLO and “totes.” So listen up, girls, even though you may be linguistic geniuses, it doesn’t make you any less annoying, okay? GAWD!

image credit: sodahead.com

Anarchy, arson and being nude in the desert

There is a lawless place in the desert of Nevada that appears suddenly and then disappears one week later, like a trompe d’œil. The only rules are basically “Be a participator” and “Don’t be a jerk.” Here, you can ride around on a unicycle in your birthday suit and no one will think twice about it. To navigate the grounds you will  practically trip over art installations. Bartering is actually still a form of currency here and the fire department will NOT show up to break up your party when you torch a 100-foot-tall structure and dance around it in a tutu. I don’t know how this has not been outlawed, but for one week out of the year this is all possible. This is Burning Man.

image credit: telegraph.co.uk

There has been buzz about this place, this dream, for many years and I’ve always ignored it as it sounded like a bunch of naked, crazed hippies on acid running around in the desert.  But this event is not to be filed in the book with hippie music festivals. You couldn’t even really call this experience a festival. It’s more of an experiment where the guinea pigs are voluntary and the results are up to you. I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts – Stuff You Should Know – and Josh and Chuck told me all about this magical place that is able to live (and thrive) completely outside of societal conventions.

image credit: supercub.org

For one, this is an anarchistic society that you enter into and people do not murder each other. They do not pillage. They do not fight. Instead they make art (and beautiful, breathtaking art at that):

image credit: flickr.com

image credit: travelhymns.com

image credit: Karl Klemmick

image credit: Phil Berg

image credit: Mota Bota

So who got the crazy idea to gather 50,000 human beings in a lawless area of desert in Nevada and burn a massive effigy? Well his name is Larry Harvey and he is a genius. This whole mad experience got started in the 80s (isn’t that when everything crazy got started?) on Baker Beach in San Francisco (isn’t that where everything crazy got started?). He burned an eight-foot-tall wooden man on the beach in the spirit of radical self-expression and it attracted a few folks. Every year after that, the flaming wooden man and the party got bigger until the authorities basically said, “Listen, man. You can’t burn a twenty-foot-tall wooden structure on a public beach.” So Larry decided to take it to the middle of nowhere, Nevada. Here is an aerial view of the temporary city, which makes it look like they are trying to attract aliens:

image credit: boston.com

Speaking of trying to attract aliens, Burning Man is trying to attract aliens. According to the SYSK podcast and confirmed by the Burning Man website, 2013’s effigy was placed on top of a pavilion built to look like an alien spacecraft. And apparently, in constructing a “replica of their sky-craft,” they will attract extraterrestrial visitors who will in turn, fix our economy. Sweet deal! So I’m working on a new wooden spacecraft in my backyard in hopes they will come fix our government (don’t worry guys, I’ve got this).

image credit: Michael Holden

But in all seriousness, I find this to be a completely radical social experiment, which is what the founders were going for. There is something about creating a space free from commodities, free from norms (as much as we can stray) and free from laws that govern us on a daily basis that attracts a crowd of 50,000 beings every year. Burning Man seems to be a place where one can find one’s humanness again. Throwing off the ropes that bind us to financial anxiety and societal conformity, we can learn a good deal about uninhibited self-expression and human nature. And here, we can finally realize our dream of riding naked on a unicycle into the Nevada desert sunset.

On hipsters and eating in silence

Well, the hipsters are at it again. They are out proving once again that they are more original than you, they are more creative, they are quirkier and, most importantly, they did it before you did. What indeed, would modern-day culture be without the work of the hipsters who are always on the forefront of everything cool that ever happens in the world? How would we even know what is hip in this totally drab, unoriginal world if we didn’t see a guy with a handlebar mustache and suspenders on a penny farthing doing it first?

The original hipster.
(image credit: qtpi1969.net)

This new hipster trend, to which my sister alerted me, is called “silent meals.” Silent meals apparently started in the cultural hotbed we call Brooklyn, NY. If you have not been there, it is because you are not cool enough. The restaurant, creatively named Eat, nestled in the quaint neighborhood of Greenpoint (the most expensive area to live in Brooklyn), not only serves up a $12 bowl of porridge, but you can eat that porridge while checking out their selection of “pottery, furniture and ceramics.” This sounds like the exact kind of operation where I would imagine a silent meal taking place.

image credit: scottpatrick.tumblr.com

The guests begin their meal with a vow of silence. Here is the part where I would burst into hysterics and be shunned by everyone attending. They are then served a four-course “organic locavore*” (*not a real word) meal for $40 all while either staring awkwardly at their dinner company or pantomiming wildly (at the risk of spilling their beet juice).  So, what do I do if my carrots are overcooked? Can I tell my waiter via text or do I have to learn the pantomime gesture for “overcooked?”

image credit: mediavilla.ch

I don’t know what dining out with friends is to you but I typically consider this to be a social event. I hold my tongue all day around the jerks who boss me around; what’s dinner out if you can’t vent about your day? But I guess the hipsters have made talking uncool. So what’s next, breathing?

According to the man responsible for this death of fun (Eat’s managing chef and events planner) the idea came to him from meals he enjoyed in silence at an Indian monastery. He claims in this article, “We wanted to bring attention to the physical and visceral properties of eating.” The idea is obviously spiritual in its roots. It is called monastic silence and is often observed by monks who have taken a vow of silence. And really, what could be more spiritual than spending $40 to eat at a trendy restaurant in uptown Brooklyn and then grabbing the ol’ yoga mat and heading down to the studio where you’ll chant Sanskrit you don’t even know the meaning of?

The best part of silent meals is what happens when you talk. If you so much as make a peep (I believe this includes sipping your kale soup too loudly), your plate is taken outside and set on a bench where “loudmouths can finish their meals.” I imagine if I made it through the vow of silence, by the end of course one I would be eating at the punishment bench. At least I could talk to the passersby at this point, maybe steal a nip of whiskey from a bum.

I have to wonder when trends like this start, are these people really taking themselves this seriously? If you are allowing your guests to mime to each other in order to communicate, does this not completely negate the idea behind this silent meal? Are you simply imitating something you find cool without even believing in it yourself? Is this a sort of death of culture? Hipsters are very good at taking culturally significant symbols of the past, co-opting them and turning them into empty vessels of meaninglessness in the name of fashion. Is this where we want culture to go?

On that note, a word of warning: be wary when the mustachioed man on a penny farthing with an “I love Brooklyn” t-shirt comes rolling into town. The next thing you know you may be eating a cold bowl of porridge on the punishment bench outside because you tried to use words to talk to your waiter.

image credit: tngunowners.com

Halloweird

With autumn’s arrival come squash soups, crispy leaves, cozy sweaters and my favorite celebration – the incredibly strange custom we call Halloween. As this tradition has been celebrated in America for hundreds of years, we tend to take its oddity for granted.

image credit: Kidzclix.net

There are many strange things about this holiday, but there are a few I find particularly odd. For instance, it is a well-known fact that parents in this country are paranoid (which is why I will avoid the whole reproduction debacle). We are told throughout our youth “Don’t talk to strangers.” “Never accept anything from a stranger.” “Be home before dark.” Thanks to the culture of fear produced by our mass media, many parents today believe everyone is a predator and out to get their child. This has created even more paranoia and strict rules imposed by parents on their children. However, on Halloween? Anything goes! Parents happily send their children out into the streets well past dark to beg for candy from strangers. In the parents’ defense it is probably wise to prime their children for begging on the streets before they graduate college $50,000 in debt. So on one day of the year, parents let go of all their inhibitions concerning their child’s safety in the name of tradition.

image credit: popehat.com

Another odd thing about Halloween is how we go about asking for the candy. As a child this phrase was given to me with little explanation. “Trick or treat” gets you candy in the bag, which for years I understood as “tricker treat.” While it made no sense, the phrase seemed to have magical and wonderful results. It was not until someone said “trick” and the candy did not appear that I had to rethink my whole approach.

A simple search yielded satisfactory results as to why we say “trick or treat” and not “I would like some candy, please.” According to this article, the practice of trick or treating came over with European immigrants. The ancestor of this tradition comes from “guising” wherein “children performed small entertainments before being given gifts.” Now, in our very own American version of this tradition, “sweets [are] expected without the party piece.” Leave it to the Americans to expect something for nothing, am I right?.

As a side note, I found it interesting how the French have interpreted our trick or treating tradition. I read a book on French culture for a course I followed last semester. In one passage, the authors explained how the French have adopted our weird tradition of trick or treating. As the French love to protest (manifester), their children take to the streets in this tradition shouting, “Nous voulons des bonbons!” (“We want candy!”) You probably find this weird. I know I chuckled in class when we discussed this. What a bunch of brats running around the streets impolitely demanding candy. Aren’t the French supposed to be sophisticated?

But this is exactly why I want to step outside of our own subjective view of American culture and look at our traditions for what they are – totally bizarre from a foreigner’s perspective. In fact, the French may have it right as they will never experience that moment of disappointment and confusion when the possessor of the candy replies, “Trick.”

image credit: boston.com