What will suck about the zombie apocalypse is….well, everything, really. For example: when the zombie apocalypse comes, most people will be completely filthy most of the time. For a while, you’ll at least be able to scavenge clean clothes–you won’t have many opportunities to bathe, but let’s face it: Old Navy will not be the first store to be looted. Eventually the clean clothes will all be gone. Eventually the day will come when you’ll strip a coat off of a reeking zombie whose head you’ve just smashed like a watermelon and be happy that you have something to keep yourself warm.
Today I woke up at 5:30–late for me–and headed down to the basement laundry room. Then I went to work–in clean underwear, clean jeans, and a clean t-shirt from the 2007 Association for Computational Linguistics meeting in Prague. (I learned to say gde je stan’ce metra–where is the subway station–which was undeniably useful. I also learned to ask questions about the National Theater, which amused the taxi drivers but did not accomplish much else.)
When you compare it with how bad life is going to suck during the zombie apocalypse, doing the laundry was actually pretty fun. Going to work in clean clothes was a pleasure, as it is every day, and it always will be if you spend sufficient time contemplating the zombie apocalypse. There’s a reason I’m the happiest person you know. Hell, I’m the happiest person you don’t know. Think about it.
In American English, “like a watermelon” is a common simile for describing actions of crushing, smashing, and the like. Some examples:
The more I look at Maggie the more I want her to crush my head between her strong legs like a watermelon. This is the only way I want to go
— Nick (@champreignpapi) May 29, 2019
If u come at me with that “you’re not chubby or fat you look great!” fatphobic nonsense I will crush ur head like a watermelon between my chubby ass thighs.
Folks, we are not tolerating fat-bashing bullshit this summer.
— dirty gertie (@urcoolgrandma) June 6, 2019
They also keep your head from busting like a watermelon when it hits the pavement, Einstein.
— Joe Hilton (@JoeHilt65106621) June 6, 2019
If I’d ended up like Shiggy I’d probably be pissed at someone running around saying ‘ everything’s fine’ too
Especially if they’d crushed my mentors head like a watermelon
— 🌻 Infinity Girl 🌞 (@Bennjoon) June 6, 2019
i’m really about to smash your skull into smithereens just like a watermelon if you don’t watch what you say to me
— akira 。 (@dopporamu) June 4, 2019
How I used it in the post: The day will come when you’ll strip a coat off of a reeking zombie whose head you’ve just smashed like a watermelon and be happy that you have something to keep yourself warm.
Language geekery: similes versus analogy
Simile and analogy are similar (is that a pun? if so, it’s not a very sophisticated one), but they’re not quite the same. Analogy starts with focusing on similarity between unlike items, and then typically is followed by pointing out the differences between them. In contrast, simile does not require any actual similarity between the unlike items, and does not include pointing out the differences.
Thus, the heuristic Detached roles is like a Hearst & Schütze super-category, but not constructed on a statistical metric, rather on underlying semantic components. (Source: Litkowski, Kenneth C. “Desiderata for tagging with WordNet synsets or MCCA categories.” Tagging Text with Lexical Semantics: Why, What, and How? (1997).)
A recursive transition network (RTN) is like a finite-state automaton, but its input symbols may be RTNs or terminal symbols. (Source: Goldberg, Jeff, and László Kálmán. “The first BUG report.” In COLING 1992 Volume 3: The 15th International Conference on Computational Linguistics, vol. 3. 1992.)
Therefore, a conversation is like a construction made of LEGO TM blocks, where you can put a block of a certain type at a few places only. (Source: Rousseau, Daniel, Guy Lapalme, and Bernard Moulin. “A Model of Speech Act Planner Adapted to Multiagent Universes.” Intentionality and Structure in Discourse Relations (1993).) Note that a native speaker probably would have put this somewhat differently. Where the authors say where, a native speaker might have said where you can only put a block of a specific type at a few places, or more likely, except that you can put a block of a specific type only specific places.
Given all of that: is this an analogy, or a simile? The day will come when you’ll strip a coat off of a reeking zombie whose head you’ve just smashed like a watermelon and be happy that you have something to keep yourself warm. Scroll down past the gratuitous Lisa Leblanc video for the answer.
I sometimes use this blog to try out materials for something that I will be publishing. This brief description of how to use analogy is intended for a book about writing about data scientist. I would love to know what parts of it are not clear. (My grandmother will tell me how great it is, so no need for you to bother with that.)
Answer: it’s a simile. Note that we’re not asserting any difference between the way that you’re going to smash the zombie’s head and the way that you would smash a watermelon: a reeking zombie whose head you’ve just smashed like a watermelon. Note also that we are not then contrasting the way that you’re going to smash the zombie’s head and the way that you would smash a watermelon. Simile, not analogy.
2 thoughts on “Why doing the laundry makes me happy”
Have you ever stopped to wonder what language, come the zombie apocalypse, what language the zombies will speak?
I prefer not clean, but second day jeans. Of course those won’t be any more available come the apocalypse.