You know you’re in Cambridge/Somerville when you overhear a guy saying loadly into his cellphone,”I mean, what part of ‘englightened self-interest” don’t they understand.’”
When I was back in Fargo a couple weeks ago, my dad greeted me at the door wearing a shirt that said, “What part of ‘Uff Da’ don’t you understand.” It felt good to be home.
(For those of you unfamiliar with the term Uff Da, it’s a norwegan term used to express dismay, disapproval, or disgust. I have fond memories of my grandparents on both sides using it to express themselves. Grandma Lindgren was fond using of its variant, Fi Da, usually when I was teasing her about something.
Apparently, Uff Da’s now being use as a political organizing tool:
Stoughton, Wisconsin, Citizens Declare “Uff-da Wal-Mart”)