Uncouth Conversation

October 21, 2008

This is my first attempt at "blogging". I have watched with envy as my wife has entered her thoughts and observations in her blog for others to view. So below is my contribution to informal literature.

The other day I was heard to to one of my adult daughters (Mindy), "That was disgusting!" as the car filled with methane gas so bad I could taste it. We were whizzing down the interstate crossing Montana on our way home to Wyoming after our eldest daughter's wedding in Idaho. Mindy's sharp and not unexpected reply was"It wasn't me!...it was Michael!". Soon a conversation ensued on the topic of human methane gas production. The next words from my mouth were "would you all stop this uncouth conversation!". My hope was that the five children riding with me would indeed change the focus of their conversation. I realized I had just said something one of my parents had said to me on similar occasions in my youth. "Oh crap!' I thought, another one of those I am turning into my father/mother moments.

So the word Uncouth (`un-kooth') according to the dictionary means; Crude, unrefined. I had used the word correctly and it applied to the conversation in the car. Similarly my parents had appropriately applied it to me and my siblings' conversations many years earlier on numerous occasions, likely on the very stretch of interstate I had recently been traveling with my children.

What got me thinking was the ready recognition on my part that I am certainly not the most refined person on the planet. I think Larry the Cable Guy is funny, I do not care who you are..... After all both of my parents while college educated had come from blue collar working class families raised during the Great Depression. My father unwittingly taught me to swear while working on cars and I learned the complete "Gene, Gene, made a machine...." song from him when I was in second grade. My mother was noted to swear a blue streak in the kitchen when she burned her hand taking the eggplant casserole out of the oven. (Eggplant casserole? you ask, well that is a topic better left for another day). One of her favorites was "Son of a #$%*@!".

Think about it, the facade of refinement. Nobody would suspect the Queen of "letting one rip" at a formal dinner or at any time for that matter only to blame it on one of her cute little dogs. (No offense meant to those of you related to the Queen). I doubt that any of the Prophet's children, grandchildren etc. will ever relate the time when grandpa said "pull my finger" after a heavy meal. BUT we all know it happens to them just like it does to us. I do however find some joy in the idea that those of us who express ourselves freely in this arena are immensely happier than those who stifle the urge to the point of near explosion. I only know one person whose flatulence does not smell odoriferous and that is my mother in law. I believe this only because she insists it is the truth and I have never know her to lie.

Imagine if you will reading a Jane Austin novel or better still watching a BBC version of "Pride and Prejudice" or "Sense and Sensibility" (You know the one with Colin Firth or Hugh Grant) only to see the characters engage in a conversation about how Miss Mary Anne or Mr. Willaby were "crop dusting" at the ball. Picture this, handsome Mr. Darcy speaking with his obnoxious aunt, he pauses, slightly lifts one leg while holding a glass of wine, holds his breath, strains and bust a "grumpy". With a tone of utter dismay he hollers at the butler "Jeeves!.... no more steak and kidney pie for you!". At this the whole room breaks up in riotous laughter including the obnoxious aunt. Not an overly romantic moment. I suppose that is why Rowan Atkins in his pre-Mr. Bean days had a whopping success with the Black Adder series on BBC.

I hope I have given you something to think about. Perhaps at some future date I'll write about every ones favorite medical symptom, diarrhea. Until then don't pull any ones finger, and keep a dog handy. I have to go now and prepare my Institute lesson.

John