Saturday 26 January 2013
What's your poison?
I am currently participating in a ‘dryathalon’.
One month without booze.
This is not the first time I have partaken in such an event. Last summer, In June I decided that enough was enough and my body needed a break. I’d been to long-weekend upon long-weekend of weddings (4 in total), birthday parties (my own included), close colleagues’ leaving parties and numerous mid-week impromptu dalliances.
Now don’t get me wrong, I loved the party season, but there’s only so many white wine headaches and fry-ups that one can take before one starts to feel the negative physical effects.
I made it to one month tee-total.
And I will do it again now.
Today is day 21 of the challenge and I must say that so far it’s been a relative doddle. That is not to say that I haven’t missed a large goblet of merlot to accompany my hearty winter dinners, nor have I found it easy to ignore the craving for an ice-cold beer to wash down my Friday night curry.
But on the whole, it’s been a breeze.
One cunning coping method that I have devised is to replicate the delicious sensation of a perfectly executed gin & tonic. A can of ice-cold Schweppes tonic water draped over ice with a slide of lime makes for the perfect substitute.
Some people may think of it as a weakness that I have to create a faux-alcoholic drink in order to get through the 4 weeks. And maybe it is weak. This is what got me thinking about the bigger picture.
My attitude towards alcohol has definitely changed over the last few years. Arguably, the fact that I work for a global alcohol company has made me more tuned into the wider debate about alcohol responsibility, the role of booze in our society & its culture-shaping properties.
I have found people’s reactions to my challenge most curious too. The majority of people in my social, work and family circle I have told have reacted with surprise and shock. They simply couldn’t seem to understand that I would want to avoid alcohol for a month, not for medical, political or religious reasons, but simply just ‘because’.
It got me thinking about motivation.
What makes a person do, (and equally NOT do), something?
I have never been a particularly self-disciplined person, having never been on a diet or lasted more than 6 months as a member of a gym. However, I know that I will complete this challenge because I WANT to. More than I WANT that delicious glass of Montepulciano.
I can be very stubborn when I want to be; mind over matter.
At the age of 26 I have been a part of the alcoholic sphere for twelve years. I’d say I’m very well versed in the negative effects of alcohol – the falls, the cuts & bruises, the banging headaches, the inevitable nausea, the wasted money, the shame of recollecting what you said/did the night before, the slow rebuilding of a reputation.
But let’s be clear – overwhelmingly, alcohol has formed a positive part in my life.
Wine; red in particular, in my view is one of life’s simplest pleasures. The warm, spicy sensation when the liquid hits your tongue. That moment when it creeps down into your legs and reaches your toes creating a relaxation crescendo. The taste, the aroma, even the sight of the velvety liquid swirling around a sparkling clean glass is enough to switch my mood from furious to blissful. (Naturally, this exercise should be accomanied by a slither of crumbly, mature cheddar cheese. Mmmmmm).
And what about Champagne? It doesn’t even have to be real Champagne – I’m talking Cava, Prosecco – those beautiful little gaseous spheres of giggly-gleeful pleasure!
Yes alcohol can be an evil; but it is also a source of pure pleasure for many.
So coming back to my original point, wouldn’t you say it’s OK that I want to ‘fake’ the stimuli of a ‘pretend G&T’, simply because of the emotional pleasure it brings me to associate with the feelings of the real thing?
Surely, it’s as healthy (mentally at least) as a person who goes to the gym religiously, purely because of the endorphin-rush they feel at the end of a good work out?
I feel strongly that people fall into two categories – those whose lives are led by their body and those whose lives are led by their mind.
So what do you think? Why has alcohol become such an integral part of adult life, so much so that when someone chooses not to participate, it is considered unusual?
We call it a poison, but maybe it’s more of a placebo. What we make of alcohol and its effects on our senses is far more open to interpretation that perhaps we first thought.
Monday 16 July 2012
Things that get my goat - part 1
In my much anticipated comeback, (ok no one anticipated it at all and as far as the blogosphere is concerned I am as significant as that snail you accidentally trod on last week), I have decided to take to the web again to vent my angsty London-induced/commuter/wrong-side-of-25-er views again! Rejoice!
In previous episodes I have tickled you with my hilarious (sure) and oh-so-insightful musings on stupid sayings (the "phrases that get my goat" series, or PTGMG if you will).
Now I think it's time we focused on TTGMG, the things that get my goat, rather than just the phrases, as after all there are so many of them!
Here goes...
Things That Get My Goat
1. T F f***ing L
I find it most charming how almost every time I use my Oyster card to travel from my nearest station to Waterloo, it charges me double what it should, in what I can only assume is some mother-of-all-cock-ups of supposedly "labour saving" technology. The worst part is that I can't be arsed to formally complain or queue up to speak to some disinterested ticket-monkey therefore they have won! If there's on thing you need to know about me, Boris, it's that I don't like losing... Beware you mop-headed buffoon!
2. The curse of the deafblind commuter
Alert the press! Call the World Health Organisation! A virus is spreading amongst the gaggle of commuters who make the daily pilgrimage to the South East's answer to industrial Mecca, Woking. It seems that the main symptoms of said virus are blindness to other passengers and their need to sit, deafness to your pleas of "excuse me" and "can I sit down?", and a strange and unwholesome odour akin to 2 parts Joop, one part sweat, one part misery. The most severely affected victims have adopted a zombie-like state and follow a ritualistic routine of placing their laptop/coat/cello on the seat next to the window and then they park themselves in the aisle seat. Most considerate. Experience has taught me that the best way to deal with one of the infected specimens is to greet them with a beaming smile (they don't know what's hit them), and a settling-down-into-your-favourite-arm-chair bum wiggle and elbow nudge into their rib cage. Works a treat!
3. The call of nature
In all seriousness, I find needing to go to the loo a massive inconvenience. Especially when I'm at work. I have started to adopt a method whereby I literally challenge myself to complete just a few more lines on the spreadsheet, or read two more emails before having to force myself up to go and relieve myself. It's partly down to the bloody door entry system (getting access to our office in the morning is like Mission Impossible set during the 2012 Olympic Games after a severe terrorist threat). See also: http://eloiseparker-picken.blogspot.co.uk/2009/08/c-m-why-k.html?m=1 with reference to work related door issues. Ironically I play a similar sort of game when it comes to refilling my glass of water. Despite having a raspy tongue and dry throat, I often venture on, taking on the world one red flag at a time.
That's all for now folks, but don't worry, there'll be more soon, after all I am massively intolerant to most things.
TTFN, from TTGMG
In previous episodes I have tickled you with my hilarious (sure) and oh-so-insightful musings on stupid sayings (the "phrases that get my goat" series, or PTGMG if you will).
Now I think it's time we focused on TTGMG, the things that get my goat, rather than just the phrases, as after all there are so many of them!
Here goes...
Things That Get My Goat
1. T F f***ing L
I find it most charming how almost every time I use my Oyster card to travel from my nearest station to Waterloo, it charges me double what it should, in what I can only assume is some mother-of-all-cock-ups of supposedly "labour saving" technology. The worst part is that I can't be arsed to formally complain or queue up to speak to some disinterested ticket-monkey therefore they have won! If there's on thing you need to know about me, Boris, it's that I don't like losing... Beware you mop-headed buffoon!
2. The curse of the deafblind commuter
Alert the press! Call the World Health Organisation! A virus is spreading amongst the gaggle of commuters who make the daily pilgrimage to the South East's answer to industrial Mecca, Woking. It seems that the main symptoms of said virus are blindness to other passengers and their need to sit, deafness to your pleas of "excuse me" and "can I sit down?", and a strange and unwholesome odour akin to 2 parts Joop, one part sweat, one part misery. The most severely affected victims have adopted a zombie-like state and follow a ritualistic routine of placing their laptop/coat/cello on the seat next to the window and then they park themselves in the aisle seat. Most considerate. Experience has taught me that the best way to deal with one of the infected specimens is to greet them with a beaming smile (they don't know what's hit them), and a settling-down-into-your-favourite-arm-chair bum wiggle and elbow nudge into their rib cage. Works a treat!
3. The call of nature
In all seriousness, I find needing to go to the loo a massive inconvenience. Especially when I'm at work. I have started to adopt a method whereby I literally challenge myself to complete just a few more lines on the spreadsheet, or read two more emails before having to force myself up to go and relieve myself. It's partly down to the bloody door entry system (getting access to our office in the morning is like Mission Impossible set during the 2012 Olympic Games after a severe terrorist threat). See also: http://eloiseparker-picken.blogspot.co.uk/2009/08/c-m-why-k.html?m=1 with reference to work related door issues. Ironically I play a similar sort of game when it comes to refilling my glass of water. Despite having a raspy tongue and dry throat, I often venture on, taking on the world one red flag at a time.
That's all for now folks, but don't worry, there'll be more soon, after all I am massively intolerant to most things.
TTFN, from TTGMG
Tuesday 30 November 2010
Friday 17 September 2010
Phrases that get my goat - part 4
1. "Pacifically".
Now I know some people do struggle with pronunciation, like those speakers of our fair language whose mother tongue is not English, and therefore their inability to pronounce certain tongue-twisters without struggling, resulting in often inadvertently hilarious double-entendres, is excusable.
And then there are those who were born and raised to speak the English language and have never been exposed to the confusing scenario of two or more languages within their daily lives. Except, perhaps for two weeks of the year when holidaying on the continent, in the traditional Brit abroad cliché - "Me no speaka Espan-yol, amigo."
It is those people who fall into the latter category who confuse and irritate me the most upon uttering the phrase 'Pacifically' when what they mean to say is 'specifically'.
I can just about see how one could accidentally splutter the oceanic version of the original lexicon, when drunk for example. Or aged two.
But when I hear grown men and women, in casual conversation say 'can you be a bit more Pacific please?' I can't help but cringe and squirm.
I just want to yell: "It is not possible to BE Pacific, considering that the Pacific is A. an ocean (the largest on earth nonetheless), therefore a noun and B. an adjective to describe a person with a peaceful nature, so in the latter sense yes it is possible to be pacific but not in the context in which you are using it!"
However, I fear that this strategy would not be well received, nor fully understood by the dullard who said it in the first place.
2. Veranda/Verdana
I blame Bill Gates for this easy slip-up. For those unobservant word processors out there - the Word font is called Verdana, not Veranda, like the outside porch we all know and love. God knows why, let alone what a Verdana is or means!
3. "At the end of the day".
Raaaarrrgh!!! I literally do not understand why Frank Lampard, and most other Premiership footballers for that matter, can't get through the day without using this beaut as a prefix to every sentence.
WAG to footballer, upon waking up in the morning: "Would you like your protein shake now dear?"
Footballer to WAG: "At the end of the day, it's a bit early."
WAG to footballer: "So do you want it now or later then?"
Even a non-WAG would be confused!
4. "It's just one thing after another".
No shit Sherlock! It's also one thing before another, depending on how you look at it, bearing in mind that life's events usually happen sequentially, thanks to a certain little thing we rely on called 'time'.
Now I know some people do struggle with pronunciation, like those speakers of our fair language whose mother tongue is not English, and therefore their inability to pronounce certain tongue-twisters without struggling, resulting in often inadvertently hilarious double-entendres, is excusable.
And then there are those who were born and raised to speak the English language and have never been exposed to the confusing scenario of two or more languages within their daily lives. Except, perhaps for two weeks of the year when holidaying on the continent, in the traditional Brit abroad cliché - "Me no speaka Espan-yol, amigo."
It is those people who fall into the latter category who confuse and irritate me the most upon uttering the phrase 'Pacifically' when what they mean to say is 'specifically'.
I can just about see how one could accidentally splutter the oceanic version of the original lexicon, when drunk for example. Or aged two.
But when I hear grown men and women, in casual conversation say 'can you be a bit more Pacific please?' I can't help but cringe and squirm.
I just want to yell: "It is not possible to BE Pacific, considering that the Pacific is A. an ocean (the largest on earth nonetheless), therefore a noun and B. an adjective to describe a person with a peaceful nature, so in the latter sense yes it is possible to be pacific but not in the context in which you are using it!"
However, I fear that this strategy would not be well received, nor fully understood by the dullard who said it in the first place.
2. Veranda/Verdana
I blame Bill Gates for this easy slip-up. For those unobservant word processors out there - the Word font is called Verdana, not Veranda, like the outside porch we all know and love. God knows why, let alone what a Verdana is or means!
3. "At the end of the day".
Raaaarrrgh!!! I literally do not understand why Frank Lampard, and most other Premiership footballers for that matter, can't get through the day without using this beaut as a prefix to every sentence.
WAG to footballer, upon waking up in the morning: "Would you like your protein shake now dear?"
Footballer to WAG: "At the end of the day, it's a bit early."
WAG to footballer: "So do you want it now or later then?"
Even a non-WAG would be confused!
4. "It's just one thing after another".
No shit Sherlock! It's also one thing before another, depending on how you look at it, bearing in mind that life's events usually happen sequentially, thanks to a certain little thing we rely on called 'time'.
Tuesday 24 August 2010
Life Lessons - Number 2 - Every Day's A School Day
It may be the summer holidays for the school kids, (what a genius idea by the way), but that doesn't mean the learning has to stop. It's amazing just how much there is to learn still, as a degree-level-educated twenty four year old. And I don't just mean the boring stuff, like calculating how it's humanly possibly that after five years of steady decline, ones car insurance premium inexplicable rises. Or discovering how to switch the 'keypad lock' funtion off your new BlackBerry without realising how you'd put it on in the first place.
This week alone, (bearing in mind it's merely Wednesday), I have already learned the following useful life lessons:
1. On the whole, a bath is never, ever as good as you think or hope it's going to be. They are usually shortlived occasions spent trying to contort yourself into an unasethicly shaped device, (ironic really considering it's design purpose should be to contain the human form in a spacious and comfortable fashion). Inevitably, the water is either too hot or too cold and if the former then it turns tepid too quickly and the worst part of the unexpected ordeal is the inability to lie down for a proper soak, without a stray limb protruding out in a corpse like fashion.
2. Both The Weakest Link and Eggheads use the same quiz questions as selected from a shared database... FACT.
3. The ranting lady on the bus who has spent the past week complaining about the changes to the timetable should be listened to with the same level of respect and awe that a novice apprentice would their mentor. She is right, the changes are unreasonable and will result in me having to change my entire morning routine. Had she not been so vocal about her discontent, I would have been none the wiser and probably stood like a lemon waiting for a non-existent bus for at least three mornings before bothering to seek an explanation. Thank God for loudmouths. And eavesdropping.
4. It take three days, three hours and 49 minutes to reach the moon. I Googled it, so there!
5. Much like a bath, a meal at Nandos will almost invariably disappoint and bloat simultaneously.
6. Carrying an umbrella around in August is not daft, it is adviseable. Remember, we are in England.
Who knows what nuggets of knowledge and trivia the next few days will bring!
Remember, life may be mundane sometimes, (alright a lot of the time), but there's always an opportunity to broaden the mind through imagining and philosophising wherever you may be and whatever you may be (or should be) doing.
For now, that is all. 'Til next time, that's it from me, Simpleton McGee.
This week alone, (bearing in mind it's merely Wednesday), I have already learned the following useful life lessons:
1. On the whole, a bath is never, ever as good as you think or hope it's going to be. They are usually shortlived occasions spent trying to contort yourself into an unasethicly shaped device, (ironic really considering it's design purpose should be to contain the human form in a spacious and comfortable fashion). Inevitably, the water is either too hot or too cold and if the former then it turns tepid too quickly and the worst part of the unexpected ordeal is the inability to lie down for a proper soak, without a stray limb protruding out in a corpse like fashion.
2. Both The Weakest Link and Eggheads use the same quiz questions as selected from a shared database... FACT.
3. The ranting lady on the bus who has spent the past week complaining about the changes to the timetable should be listened to with the same level of respect and awe that a novice apprentice would their mentor. She is right, the changes are unreasonable and will result in me having to change my entire morning routine. Had she not been so vocal about her discontent, I would have been none the wiser and probably stood like a lemon waiting for a non-existent bus for at least three mornings before bothering to seek an explanation. Thank God for loudmouths. And eavesdropping.
4. It take three days, three hours and 49 minutes to reach the moon. I Googled it, so there!
5. Much like a bath, a meal at Nandos will almost invariably disappoint and bloat simultaneously.
6. Carrying an umbrella around in August is not daft, it is adviseable. Remember, we are in England.
Who knows what nuggets of knowledge and trivia the next few days will bring!
Remember, life may be mundane sometimes, (alright a lot of the time), but there's always an opportunity to broaden the mind through imagining and philosophising wherever you may be and whatever you may be (or should be) doing.
For now, that is all. 'Til next time, that's it from me, Simpleton McGee.
Thursday 12 August 2010
"The Game"
WARNING! Feminist Rant alert!
I was listening to the radio this morning and a bloke in his early twenties called in to tell the presenter about a book he'd been given by a strange loner in his local boozer. Alarm bells are already ringing. Never trust the weirdo that sits in the corner of the pub and has done every day of his adult life! The book he was referring to was "The Game" by Neil Strauss. I'd heard about this 'Bible' from some of the (how do I put this politely...?) more promiscuous guys who lived in halls with a course mate of mine at uni and I was less than unimpressed with the concept back then. Four years of life experience and a healthy dose of adulthood-induced-grumpiness later and I can safely say that my tolerance for such things has diminished into non-existence.
The premise of the book, so I gather, is a how-to guide for useless/desperate men to pick up women. Or as the author himself puts it: "penetrating the secret society of pickup artists".
Wow. I'm already pissed off.
Where do I start?!
Firstly, what decade is it?! I'm fairly certain that 'picking up' women in bars, (sorry, I can't bring myself to type it without the inverted commas, it's such a nauseating concept), should have died in the 1980's along with smoking cigars at the office and mild sexual harassment of the secretary being an acceptable part of the daily routine. Also - where does this idea of 'artistry' come into it? How is there anything commendable/admirable/creative about following some lecherous creep's advice. If you didn't have the brains to come up with it yourself it's not art! (That's the only compliment Neil Strauss will be getting from moi).
Don't get me wrong, of course I'm not naive enough to think that this sort of thing doesn't happen every weekend in bars, pubs and clubs across the world. It's more the connotation of the phrase 'picking up' that bothers me. It implies such ease and yet the irony is that a lot of these sleazy men, which myself and my female allies have more than likely encountered first hand, are so inadequate at getting female attention/appreciation/respect that they turn to self-help books like "The Game"!
My second reaction is shock at the idea that so many men would actually buy into this bullshit about game-playing and rules when it comes to dating. Isn't that all a little bit year nine? Call me old-fashioned, but I've never been one for waiting a certain amount of time before texting back or any of that other trickery!
I think another big problem is the fact that in creating this 'guide' to what women will (supposedly) like (or at the very least fall for) when first meeting a prospective partner, is that it creates a false sense of panic in the minds of probably half-decent men who perhaps aren't so lucky with the ladies and therefore it tricks them into believing that they simply need this book in order to be attractive to the opposite sex. Oh God - now I'm getting all Marxist on your asses! I can't honestly remember the last time I was bowled off my feet upon seeing some chump down the local wearing a Sombrero. (Yes 'peacocking', I.E. making yourself stand out from the crowd in some obvious way in order to differentiate yourself from the other men in the room was an actual and serious suggestion in this book!)
Problemo numero trois - whatever happened to being yourself? Ah yes - the big problem arises here and this is probably where Neil Strauss was clever and spotted a gap in the market. (OK so I complimented him again, but no more, I promise!) What if you actually are just a boring f*** with nothing to offer a lady? You'd have been screwed (and only metaphorically of course) when it came to women... until now! Neil saves the day! Again my inner-cynic has reared its outspoken head. Why bother becoming a more interesting/friendly/genuine/fun/confident person when you can just lie and blag your way into women's bedrooms?! Ah right... I now see exactly why the latter is a more attractive option, it's simply easier and much less effort to go out there and better yourself than to pretend to be someone/something you're not. What a sad state of affairs...
So my advice to all the hapless men out there looking for love (or lust as is more likely to be the case) is to be yourself. Yes I know, how very boring and cliched of me... But if it was the other way round, wouldn't you rather know that the nice girl you were chatting to at the bar last night actually quite fancied you and wasn't just having a laugh and using you as a pawn in a game that she and her mates would have a great laugh about the next day?
If you still can't seem to win the affections of the ladies that way, then my only other suggestion would be plastic surgery and a personality transplant.
Until next time...!
I was listening to the radio this morning and a bloke in his early twenties called in to tell the presenter about a book he'd been given by a strange loner in his local boozer. Alarm bells are already ringing. Never trust the weirdo that sits in the corner of the pub and has done every day of his adult life! The book he was referring to was "The Game" by Neil Strauss. I'd heard about this 'Bible' from some of the (how do I put this politely...?) more promiscuous guys who lived in halls with a course mate of mine at uni and I was less than unimpressed with the concept back then. Four years of life experience and a healthy dose of adulthood-induced-grumpiness later and I can safely say that my tolerance for such things has diminished into non-existence.
The premise of the book, so I gather, is a how-to guide for useless/desperate men to pick up women. Or as the author himself puts it: "penetrating the secret society of pickup artists".
Wow. I'm already pissed off.
Where do I start?!
Firstly, what decade is it?! I'm fairly certain that 'picking up' women in bars, (sorry, I can't bring myself to type it without the inverted commas, it's such a nauseating concept), should have died in the 1980's along with smoking cigars at the office and mild sexual harassment of the secretary being an acceptable part of the daily routine. Also - where does this idea of 'artistry' come into it? How is there anything commendable/admirable/creative about following some lecherous creep's advice. If you didn't have the brains to come up with it yourself it's not art! (That's the only compliment Neil Strauss will be getting from moi).
Don't get me wrong, of course I'm not naive enough to think that this sort of thing doesn't happen every weekend in bars, pubs and clubs across the world. It's more the connotation of the phrase 'picking up' that bothers me. It implies such ease and yet the irony is that a lot of these sleazy men, which myself and my female allies have more than likely encountered first hand, are so inadequate at getting female attention/appreciation/respect that they turn to self-help books like "The Game"!
My second reaction is shock at the idea that so many men would actually buy into this bullshit about game-playing and rules when it comes to dating. Isn't that all a little bit year nine? Call me old-fashioned, but I've never been one for waiting a certain amount of time before texting back or any of that other trickery!
I think another big problem is the fact that in creating this 'guide' to what women will (supposedly) like (or at the very least fall for) when first meeting a prospective partner, is that it creates a false sense of panic in the minds of probably half-decent men who perhaps aren't so lucky with the ladies and therefore it tricks them into believing that they simply need this book in order to be attractive to the opposite sex. Oh God - now I'm getting all Marxist on your asses! I can't honestly remember the last time I was bowled off my feet upon seeing some chump down the local wearing a Sombrero. (Yes 'peacocking', I.E. making yourself stand out from the crowd in some obvious way in order to differentiate yourself from the other men in the room was an actual and serious suggestion in this book!)
Problemo numero trois - whatever happened to being yourself? Ah yes - the big problem arises here and this is probably where Neil Strauss was clever and spotted a gap in the market. (OK so I complimented him again, but no more, I promise!) What if you actually are just a boring f*** with nothing to offer a lady? You'd have been screwed (and only metaphorically of course) when it came to women... until now! Neil saves the day! Again my inner-cynic has reared its outspoken head. Why bother becoming a more interesting/friendly/genuine/fun/confident person when you can just lie and blag your way into women's bedrooms?! Ah right... I now see exactly why the latter is a more attractive option, it's simply easier and much less effort to go out there and better yourself than to pretend to be someone/something you're not. What a sad state of affairs...
So my advice to all the hapless men out there looking for love (or lust as is more likely to be the case) is to be yourself. Yes I know, how very boring and cliched of me... But if it was the other way round, wouldn't you rather know that the nice girl you were chatting to at the bar last night actually quite fancied you and wasn't just having a laugh and using you as a pawn in a game that she and her mates would have a great laugh about the next day?
If you still can't seem to win the affections of the ladies that way, then my only other suggestion would be plastic surgery and a personality transplant.
Until next time...!
Phrases that get my goat - part 3
"Annual Leave" - Again, this is one of those pesky phrases that only seems to crop up in a work environment. Why do emploeyrs insist on giving such a simple concept such a longwinded name?! It sounds so stuffy and official that it almost connotes images of being given leave from military service! Wouldn't 'Holiday' cover it suffciently?! It just seems so unnatural! I'd be very surprised if you heard someone saying 'I'm off to Spain for my annual leave this year'. Presumably the scoundrel responsible for this irritating label was a David Brent-esque smart arse who wanted to make thier pathetic career seem more important than was.
"Bugbear" - Another ironic one... Seriously what is the etymology of this one?! Was an innocent bear being irritated by an insect just as a budding linguist happened to pass by and observe the unusual situation, when in a flash of brilliance he decided to coin the phrase? I can't think of a more logical explanation.
"Bugbear" - Another ironic one... Seriously what is the etymology of this one?! Was an innocent bear being irritated by an insect just as a budding linguist happened to pass by and observe the unusual situation, when in a flash of brilliance he decided to coin the phrase? I can't think of a more logical explanation.
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