The Columbine of Inappropriate Metaphors

Which is Tower Two?

In her recent article, "My September 11th in New York" Ines Sainz discussed her fractious visit to the New York Jets locker room, and how the media's reaction has "set the women's movement back by fifty years."  Delusional sense of her impact on the gender politics aside, did she just liken her locker room encounter to ground zero? Not to soft peddle sexual harassment, but that is a mighty bold statement, Ms. Sainz. Is there the possibility that perhaps you've overplayed your hand just a smidge? We think this is an excellent opportunity to address proportional metaphors or similes. We thought we'd made ourselves clear last week when David Haye compared his boxing match to a gang rape, but apparently the fine points of our argument slipped past some people.

Metaphors are wonderful things. We're all for a nice, palate cleansing metaphor. When used well, a metaphor can make a difficult concept comprehensible by relating it to something that the reader knows well. So comparing your love to a summer's day is a fine way to giving the abstract (love) a concrete form (summer's day). Fun! Try comparing your love to some stuff while we wait. It's easy, and for the most part uncontroversial! Try comparing your love to a bird in flight, a bird in the hand, or Larry Bird's jumper if you can make it work: my love is a baseline jumper with the D draped all over me! The applications are endless. But, and this is a big but, there needs to be a sense of proportion in a metaphor. Don't compare your love to the firebombing of Dresden. We don't care how beautiful she is, the sentence, "my love is hotter than the raging inferno that consumed Dresden" is only going to skeeze out your paramour, and get you on an NSA watch list.

So let's say you get harassed by some millionaires in a locker room (not condoning millionaire harassment in any form). As you come to terms with your experience, as you grasp for the words to convey what occurred... perhaps you should shy away from comparing it to to a commercial jet laden with aviation fuel slamming into a skyscraper. And especially not on the tenth anniversary of said tragedy. Actually don't compare it to anything. Never, ever. No matter how personally difficult it may have been. "My personal 9/11" is just not a phrase we want skipping about the lexicon. Let's just agree now that it's off-limits. We understand that it might not be a big deal in Mexico, but 9/11 no es bueno. And making use of it as a metaphor to your personal crisis isn't going to win you any allies.

On the off chance that we're still being opaque, Ines, here's a starter list of metaphors to avoid (we hope it helps):

• "We're watching the Killing Fields of Bowl Games."
• "This is the Hiroshima of overcooked burgers."
• "My heart is the broken hull of the Arizona."
• "This club is quieter than Anne Frank's attic."
• "That idea is the magic bullet from Lee Harvey Oswald's rifle."

 Feel free to expand on the list...

Briquettes of the Week

1. William Tyler Black

Great, Kid! Don't Get Cocky.

It's always sad to see a Jedi tempted by the dark side of the Force. In William's case, he was spotted "choking the wookie" in an aisle at Toys R Us and wiping off his hand on a plastic lightsaber. We always kinda suspected Brooklyn Decker was secretly working for the Empire; shame on you, Sports Illustrated. The young Jedi appeared contrite today, and said he just felt the Force penetrating and binding him to all living things. Just got out of hand. When asked for comment, Master Yoda reportedly replied, "Jerking off? Heh. Public masturbation? Heh. A Jedi craves not these things." No word yet whether Darth Mauls-Himself will be copping a plea.

2. Clinton Portis and The 53 Packages

Gather round for Story Time!!!

Clinton Portis called into the Mike Wise radio show this week to tell a classic tale of greed and lust; sort of an Arabian Nights thing but with jockstraps. It went a little like this...

Once upon a time, a sports reporter named Ines Sainz learned of a cave of wonders. She overheard that this cave was filled with treasures so rare that no woman could lay her eyes upon them without being overcome by desire to possess at least one. Such was the varied splendor of the cave's bounties. Determined to see for herself, the brave sports reporter waited until after a mighty battle and crept into the cave. Inside were fifty three warriors and each one guarded a magnificent package. Some were large and some were small, but each was greater than any package she had ever seen. Such is the special nature of these warriors' packages, Clinton explained, and she could not help but become transfixed by their wonderousness. Transfixed and in their thrall, she became careless and so the warriors noticed her and began to harass the poor sports reporter for invading their cave. They chased her from the cave hurling taunts at her. She did not manage to steal any of the packages, but she dreams of them to this day.

It was a ripping good yarn, but apparently the Redskins and NFL didn't appreciate Clinton's storytelling. The Bard of Landover was forced to issue an apology for spinning his tale of adventure and daring-do. Probably because they don't want word leaking out in advance of his upcoming anthology 1001 Athletes' Nights and Other Tail, which will include such modern classics as: The Running Back and the $3000 Champagne Room Bill, The Golfer and the Three Blackberries, The Second Baseman Battles the HGH Monster and Wilt the Stilt Versus the 10,000 Nice Ladies.

3. Jessica Gamble

Our final Briquette this weeks comes from Cincinnati, Ohio. Jessica teaches us two valuable lessons today. One, don't encourage your two-year-old daughter's nascent pot habit, and two, don't make cell phone videos of your two-year-old daughter's nascent pot habit. Sadly that appears to be two lessons more than she's bestowed upon her daughter. Look, we get that most children's television seems made by stoners for stoners. Don't tell us someone came up with a pineapple under the sea while sipping mineral water. And what is up with those square pants, man? We mean...they're so fucking square. Makes you think.... Actually makes us think that good parenting isn't teaching joint etiquette. We're as progressive as the next childless doofus, but we're pretty sure that "don't Bogart the joint" is not on the SATs. We prefer our recreational drug users the old fashioned way: potty-trained white dudes majoring in Women's Studies. Party foul, Jessica... party foul.