Sunday, December 31, 2006
I was reading an interesting article on the online guardian about people keeping a diary. According to the article, diaries are interesting when the writer is dead or the diary is essentially empty, since this is a record of a half lived life. In the article one of the writers uses the word: quotidian. I hate smart ass writers with their heads full of little used words. I have had problems with the meanings of words before. While I lived in Edinburgh, I once had a heavy cold, that made me hide in my dusty little bedsit until the fever left me. During my exile from the healthy world I read "120 days of Sodom" by Marquis De Sade. Needles to say this book didn't make me feel any better. I remembered the book title as "120 days of sodomy". This was not a particularly Freudian slip. At the time I was not really clear what sodom (or sodomy) meant. Somehow my mum forget to tell me about these things when I was growing up. Now I can just use google and wikipedia to look up new words. But before the web, sodomy was not part of my quotidian family life.