Why Swearing is FUN!

If you are reading this, chances are you are my friend or, at the very least, my acquaintance.  I’m sure you are well aware of the fact that I have a little sailor who lives inside my mouth, shouting out filthy words and phrases and laughing gleefully.  In my life, I have encountered many people who equate swearing with a lack of classiness or eloquence.  Bullshit, I say.  Words are words: they are empty sounds until we project meaning and connotation upon them.  I am not ashamed to admit that I harshly judge the “oh fudge,” “fiddlesticks,” and “heck” mutterers of the world.  By denying yourself the use of one word, only to replace it with a similarly sounding word that holds the exact same meaning and intent, is ludicrous.  If you have a problem with me saying “fuck,” you are implying that you take issue with the meaning behind it.  If I say “fudge” in its place, the meaning has not changed.  The intent remains the same despite the switch of letters.

The argument is much more complex than this, I’m aware.  We have been socially conditioned to recognize certain words as bad and improper, taught that these words are inappropriate in certain social settings, and berated for using them at unacceptable times.  I just want to know why these particular words are the ones that are the most satisfying to use. 

The book-lover's struggle

I struggle with myself over many things on a daily basis.  The dirt-loving, toad-petting side of me goes head to head with the nail polish and eyeliner-wearing side; the animal-lover in me hurls accusations when I tear into a steak; and the grammar-Nazi inside cries bitter tears over my frequent use of run-on sentences across the Internet (don't even get me started on the self-loathing I endure when I happen to indulge in txt-spk.)  For the past couple years, however, my most ardent internal battle has been waged between the book-loving purist and the gadget-toting tech nerd.  

So far, physical books have been winning out by a large margin.  I'm a literature graduate who loves the solid weight of ink and paper in her hand, smelling the musky book scent, and the satisfaction felt whenever I glance at my overflowing bookshelves.  Each book has a story, whether it be the marked up copy of The Canterbury Tales in Middle English or the guilty-pleasure summer read that sits hidden behind more impressive titles.  When I hold my used books, I think of how many hands have touched them, how they were loved by previous owners.  My new books hold my own memories: the first crack of the stiff spine, the joy I felt devouring the words, the escape they might have offered during hard times.  I have books signed by authors and--even more dear to me--books signed by hands I know and love.  So, basically, my books turn me into sentimental mush.  I just happen to like this brand of sentimentality.  

Loudly and often I have adamantly claimed that I will never own an e-book device.  Even when late night urges turned me to the internet to sneakily purchase e-books to read on my laptop, I stuck to my guns.  Even when, over the course of only two years, my e-book purchases totaled roughly $500 (on top of my physical book purchases: a total I cannot even think about without my wallet crying in pain), I continued to live on in denial.  No piece of spiffy plastic can replace my books.

It's a losing battle.  I love technology.  I love instant gratification.  I love nerding out over various gadgets.  And so it began: my inner nerd started a revolt.  Niggling doubts entered my brain as I passed the shiny Nooks at Barnes and Noble.  When I first fondled a Kindle, the e-ink screen surprised and delighted me.  I went giddy over access to thousands of free classics.  The urge to possess such a gadget grew and grew.  

Until this last week, I held on to my book-purist ideals.  I talked myself out of a Kindle purchase time and time again with money-related excuses and longing looks at my battered books.  I knew the battle was lost when I spent an entire Saturday converting my MS Reader books into usable formats.  My warring sides have come together in peace, content for the time being to compromise and allow me a shiny new toy.  With my paycheck next week comes my very own e-reading device.   I won't even begin to describe how the part of me that wants to own a bookstore one day feels about that.