Word Nerd: Schadenfreude

Schadenfreude: ˈshä-d^ən-ˌfrȯi-də


From Merriam Webster:

enjoyment obtained from the troubles of others

But it is Schadenfreude, a mischievous delight in the misfortunes of others, which remains the worst trait in human nature. It is a feeling which is closely akin to cruelty, and differs from it, to say the truth, only as theory from practice. In general, it may be said of it that it takes the place which pity ought to take—pity which is its opposite, and the true source of all real justice and charity.  -  Arthur Schopenhauer, On Human Nature  

I love the German language.  I love the way it sounds, I love the way my mouth feels when I (try to) speak it.  There are words and phrases that are so perfect that English speakers like me have to steal them, because we just don't have the equivalent.


Schadenfreude is one of those words. Sound it out.  The word has weight.


Schadenfreude is a noun.  It isn't enjoying someone's misery.  It's is the enjoyment, it is the feeling.


Yes, Arthur Schopenhauer is right: it is an awful trait.  But schadenfreude is all around you.  Most gossip papers are built on it. We love reading about some bratty starlet "get what's coming to her". It's all over modern politics as well. We love watching then enemy fail.  We don't just want to see the "other guy" lose, we want him humiliated.


For being German, schadenfreude is the perfect American word.

Spontaneous Combustion and Me

BOOOM!

For about two weeks in early 2001, I became convinced that I was going to spontaneously combust.

I suffered from insomnia.  This preceded any "suddenly bursting into flames" fears.  When I couldn't get to sleep, I would go back and forth between lying in bed, trying to force myself to sleep, and pacing about the house "dwelling" on things.

During the "dwelling" is when the spontaneous combustion idea popped into my head. It went from me recalling a episode of Unsolved Mysteries to "I'M GOING TO FUCKING DIE!"

 So for he next two weeks, I would pace about the house, waiting for my body to go "PFFOOMMMFF!"  Yes, "PFFOOMMMFF!"

Now, even then I knew that the evidence surrounding spontaneous combustion was pretty sketchy at best, and I also knew that even if it was real, my chances of suddenly bursting into flames were pretty low.  This didn't matter to my brain.  I was going to burst into flames.  They would find my leg and maybe an arm, and that would be it.

Why? Why me? Because the spiritual realm had it out for me, that's why.  I was God's own personal whipping girl.  I had figured this out when I was 13, and believed it for a long time.  If he was going to kill me in a big way, why not with fire?

So for the next two weeks I spent my sleepless nights, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking water and checking my temp, waiting for the inevitable "PFFOOMMMFF".  I thought about calling someone, but, I had "delusions" before, and I even I knew how nutty this one was. 

What saved me was the real drama in the house.  The events are bizarre, and scary enough that they deserve their own post, but I'll give a quick summation: my coke addled roommate finally broke from reality and became dangerously obsessed with my other roommate.  Among other things, he became convinced she was moving into a crack house in Lowell, and once "borrowed" my car for seven hours in order to go on a coffee run.

That will take a person's mind off going up in flames.  That and smoking a lot more pot.

I Hate Moths

My parents built their house step by step. There was a point in time when not everything had been caulked or sealed up.  

I hated visiting their house during the summer, because that's when the moths would come: hundreds of them; crawling up the walls, clinging to anything that was lit.  I would use the bathroom in the dark to prevent them attacking me when I opened the door.

Once my mother found me on the floor sobbing and clutching a newspaper.  All because of the damn moths. 

So as you've probably figured out by now, I hate moths.  Not just those "death head" things that Buffalo Bill stuck in people's mouths, all moths.  I'd rather deal with a wasp than a moth.  Wasps are harbingers of doom.   I live in fear that moths will fly into my mouth, crawl up my nose or bury themselves in my hair and make a nest.  

Sometimes I think about cutting my hair really short to prevent a moth infestation.  Granted my hair has been short due to non-moth related reasons, but moth free hair was always an extra benefit of having a pixie cut.  But for now, vanity overcomes fear.

Still, vanity didn't prevent me from screaming when out flew out of my car this morning.

Nasty, evil little things, moths.