Good old potlucks. I love those guys. We had one at work today.

I had all kinds of interesting things: corn casserole, cranberry salsa, Fritos, marinated mushrooms, barbecued shredded pork sandwiches (courtesy of yours truly and my handy Crockpot), and cake. Potlucks are great as long as you’re not too fussy about your food, you know, going together.

That phrase reminds me of what people called dating in junior high. It wasn’t called “going out” or “dating,” because nobody ever went anywhere. It was just a social contract that told you who to dance with at school dances. And going to school dances doesn’t count as going somewhere, because they were held in the school. If it’s at the place you get taught algebra, it’s not a date.

I’m listening to an audiobook right now on my Shuffle that’s about the love lives of British people. The British have a very logical lexical distinction that I wish we would employ in the U.S.: to like someone just means to enjoy someone’s company. To fancy someone means to be interested in someone romantically. It’s very handy for teenagers, when the word love seems too strong, but you don’t want to get pulled into stupid lingo arguments with people.

“So, do you like Clyde?”
“Sure, I like him.”
“But do you like-like him?”
“What the hell does that mean? I already said I like him.”

This would all be a lot simpler if we just used the word fancy. Really, though, I don’t think most Americans (men especially) are secure enough in their masculinity to use a word like that.