Unflappable

There are a few words in the english language that have a habit of not making much sense. By that I mean, they look, sound, or just seem to mean something entirely different from what they actually turn out to mean. The prime example for today is the word 'unflappable.'

Here's what one might think 'unflappable' means:

1. One who cannot be flapped

2. The opposite of flappable (without flaps)

3. Not origami friendly

But no, unflappable has to mean something seemingly unrelated to its root:

un·flap·pa·ble
Pronunciation: \-ˈfla-pə-bəl\
Function: adjective
Etymology: 1un- + 1flap (state of excitement) + -able
Date: 1954
: marked by assurance and self-control
Of course, unflappability has to do with assurance and self-control. Because everyone knows ducks, geese, and most waterfowl and other winged animals have absolutely no assurance of themselves, much less self-control. But what does that say for Cupid?

Phone Tag and Rediscovering Your Inner Child

From the days of our early childhood to maybe even last week (for some of you), we have been brought up with social games. There is duck-duck-goose, "pin the tail on the donkey," "truth or dare," and the classic, and my personal favorite, tag (not to be confused with Mitt Romney's son Tagg). For those of you reading this in Pakistan or Singapore, tag is a game where there is a group of people, with one designated as "it," and thereby endowed with the prerogative, power, and responsibility to tag everyone else. The last person to get tagged wins.

(This man is enjoying a nice game of tag with a polar bear)

Tag quite often devolves into arguments among children. One says, "I got you," with the other saying, "No you didn't," or, "That was my jacket, it doesn't count." But, petty bickering aside, it's a pretty wholesome activity. And, I'm not about to make it into some metaphor for life or root out your inner demons by psychoanalyzing your success or lack thereof while playing the game as a child. However I do want to talk about the more relevant form of tag for adults, or more sophisticated adolescents. This derivation is called 'phone tag.'

I myself am a master at phone tag. You might think it hubris on my part, and, perhaps you're right, but I have proof. First off, let me start by explaining the ins and outs of phone tag and by which criteria you can go by to find out if you've got skills. Phone tag, (the structured form) involves two people. One person calls the other, for whatever reason does not reach the person, then the other calls back in hopes of getting a hold of the person who called. The game only continues if they never get in touch. When someone finally does, the game is over. Either the caller or the called wins, and that depends on the context of the game (and, if you really want to talk to the person, I guess everybody wins, but I'm not espousing Marxist dogma).

So to my case study. Myself. I make plenty of outbound calls and receive plenty of inbound calls, but I am meticulous in calling people back if they call me. So, you might say I am naturally inclined to end phone tag quickly. But you would be wrong. Whether it happens to be divine providence or luck, I seem to get embroiled in regular bouts of phone tag. It starts off simply enough with me calling someone and leaving a message. Then the person calls back, but for some reason they catch me during the .5% of the day I don't have the phone with me. This might be while I'm taking a shower, making a sandwich, at the gym, or circling the earth in a satellite (that happens more than I'd like to admit). Then, I call them back and magically get the voice mail box again. If it carries on I either leave random or ridiculous tag messages. For instance, I might claim to be a towing service, or prize patrol, or an angry Chinese man, but always I end with "Tag, you're it" even if it is unintelligible in a thick Chinese accent.

So I suppose the moral, if there must be one, is to keep your inner child alive through adaptations of children's games like phone tag. If you can find a way to play duck-duck-goose with phones, texting, or skype, you're my hero.

My yard, the bird sanctuary.

The lawn in front of my house is not in the best of shape. It's mostly weeds, with a select patch of grass. It is also slightly balding. But this was not always the case. It used to be lush. Lush with dandelions, clover, crabgrass, and stuff that resembled grass but wasn't. Well, the owner didn't want that, so she had the maintenance guy put down some weed killer/fertilizer. Now if there's anything I've learned from being a landscaper, it's that it's either one or the other. And, unfortunately for our lawn, it did more killing than fertilizing. But, even after our front yard was made a barren wasteland (or so it seemed), it has been home to many animals.

Most notably of these is a flock of sparrows. I see them almost everyday, pecking at the grass eating something (I hope for their sake it's not the killer/fertilizer pellets), but I really don't know. And we've had a family of quail, as well as a pair of ducks live in our yard. So, I suppose you might say we run a bird sanctuary. And, we even had a rehabilitation case. We named him Bill.

Bill had a bum wing. So he usually didn't stray too far from the porch. I'd throw him sunflower seeds, rice, and random birdish food items, and he seemed pretty appreciative as he gimped around the yard. But quite often I would be inside, typing away on the computer, or reading a book and I left the door open. Well, it didn't take too long for Bill to decide he liked it better inside the house. I would sit there, my computer on my lap, and then, out of the corner of my eye I'd see this little brown smudge hopping on the carpet. It was Bill.

This went on for some time. Almost everyday Bill would come on by, eating random stuff off of the carpet and then I'd bid him adieu. Then, came that fateful Saturday. I left the house to go hang out with some friends, and I left the door open, thinking it would do little harm as my brother and other room mate were home. Later on, as I was in the middle of something cool I got a phone call from my good friend and neighbor. It was a somewhat unexpected call, but so was the news. He said my kitchen was full of birds, and that they were hopping around and leaving little bird presents wherever they went. Before responding, I knew in my gut it was Bill. Bill had taken advantage of my good nature. How could you Bill? You look all gimpy and innocent, and then when I throw you a bone you ransack my house with your bird friends. Disappointed doesn't describe it. I felt betrayed.

My door is now closed.