Rhababerbarbara

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This video is in German, but you'll enjoy it whether you speak German or not.

I hope you enjoy your time with the barber, barmaid, and barbarians at Barbara's bar.

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Nuts

The English language is full of pitfalls.

The word “rooster” has come to replace the older word “cock,” meaning “male chicken”; the older (and perfectly respectable) word is now a vulgarism, although it still shows up in contexts like “fighting cocks” and “cock-a-doodle-doo.”

You have to watch your language.

I was putting together a bicycle rack the other day out of the sidewalk. It was fairly straightforward – just simple nuts and bolts. But one of the nuts jumped out of my hand. As I walked back and forth looking for it, our mailman came by. “Looking for something?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m looking for my – um – “ (Now, think about how ridiculous I would have sounded if I’d finished the sentence with the right word. So I was a coward and decided to use the wrong word.) “Bolt,” I said. “I dropped a bolt.”

He pointed at the bolt I’d just put down. “Is that it?”

“Nah,” I said. “Different one. I’m sure I’ll find it. It must be around here somewhere. It probably just rolled away. I’ll just buy a new one.”

Just imagine if I’d used the right word, kids. Just imagine!

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Grammar, social status, and success

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I dislike people who are grammar purists, who quibble over “who” and “whom.” or over “that” and “which.” (This is mostly because I have trouble with these myself.)

But when people can’t tell the difference between “to” and “too” and “two,” or between “their” and “they’re,” or “its” and “it’s,” I get a little riled up.

So I suppose I’m one of those damned grammar purists too.

I am on the Internet a lot, and I see the way people write. I know how spell-check works, and I am very forgiving as a result. But there’s no possible way that spell-check can change “their” into “they’re.”

Well, what’s the difference? Our ancestors didn’t worry much about spelling. Well, I say, they had an excuse to write phonetically. We, having gone to Modern Schools, don’t have that excuse.

This is exactly the point made by Michael Skapinker in a recent Financial Times article. We can speak however we wish, in any circumstance. But if we want a good job, or a position of responsibility, we need to be able to speak Proper English (with grammar rules and everything) upon command. We need to be able to write memos in it, and letters, and spell correctly.

Skapinker makes a couple of other good points too: grammar is a good mental exercise, rather like logic, and helps us speak and think more clearly. This is also a good argument for learning a foreign language: it makes you think about grammar in the abstract, with rules different from those you grew up with, and allows you to switch back and forth because it’s natural to do so.

(I knew merchants in the Tunis medina who were able to cajole and haggle in six languages. I was walking through the medina with a Hawaiian friend when one of the local merchants yelled “Konichi-wa!” at us, and we both laughed. “That’s because of you,” I said. “They know a little Japanese. But I bet we’ll never hear Chinese.” And just as I said it, one of the local merchants yelled out: “Ni hou ma!” And we both laughed like hell.)

Language is a tool, and grammar is a tool. Learn them, and learn to use them cleverly, and they will take you a long way.

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British English and American English

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A friend in England just sent me a nice little book: “British Language and Culture,” published by Lonely Planet.

I thought my knowledge of British English was moderately okay. I can read the Financial Times without a crib sheet, and even do the crossword puzzle. (The puzzle, sadly enough, often resorts to cricket terminology, which kills me, but I now know all about googlies and centuries and maiden overs, not to mention former Archbishops of Canterbury and Prime Ministers and managers of Manchester United.)

But this new book is a gold mine.

I opened the book randomly to Cockney rhyming slang. “Apples and pears” I knew from an Austin Powers movie (it means “stairs,” which rhymes with “pears”; you can say just “apples” if you’re feeling obscure). How about “Use your loaf” for “Use your head”? I assumed “loaf” was just a silly euphemism for “head,” because people’s heads were big and lumpy, like loaves of bread. But it’s rhyming slang too: “head” rhymes with “bread,” which leads us to “loaf of bread” . . . .

The book also includes Estuary English, and Zummerzet English, and Geordie English. It has a Cornish lexicon, and a Welsh lexicon, and a Scots Gaelic lexicon, not to mention a Lallans supplement.

It makes my head spin, that there are so many ways of saying the same thing.

Here’s a story from my own past:

Where I grew up – in the Pacific Northwest in the 1960s/1970s – “I have an idea” was a synonym for “I think so” or “I agree.” Example: if someone said “I think it’s going to rain today,” you could agree by saying “I have an idea.”

Then I came to New England in 1978, still using all my Northwestern idioms. I quickly stopped saying “pop,” and substituted “soda” (which seemed strange for a year or two, but which wasn’t such a big deal). I quickly stopped making fun of people who didn’t pronounce “ant” and “aunt” in exactly the same way. Ditto “ferry” and “fairy.” Ditto “Mary” and “marry” and “merry.”

And slowly I learned to speak New England English, or more specifically, Rhode Island English.

But it took me a long time to get rid of “I have an idea,” even though people reacted strangely to it. One person long ago said, wonderingly: “What? What idea do you have?”

Okay. I finally got it. No one understands “I have an idea.”

But I still think it’s a cute expression.

And isn’t it lovely that we have so many ways of expressing ourselves?

‘Bye now. I have to run up the apples and pears.

Such a s

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The F-bomb

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Boston was in celebration mode over the weekend, after the capture of marathon bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. There’s been an outpouring of relief. At Saturday’s Red Sox game, there was this memorable moment:

 

 

 

 

In short: David Ortiz, “Big Papi,” spoke before the game, saying: “This is our f***ing city, and nobody gonna dictate us!”

 

 

Naturally the usual silliness broke out:

 

 

a)     Think of the children!

b)    Think of the television audience!

c)     Think of the FCC!

 

 

The head of the FCC almost immediately tweeted that he was fine with this. (He had nothing to lose; the FCC doesn’t regulate cable broadcasts.)

 

 

As for the children: if they haven’t already heard the word, they will hear it (and much worse) in due course.

 

 

Seriously: it’s so silly that people respond so violently to profanity, especially bathroom / anatomical / sexual profanity. I know it’s largely cultural, but the whole idea that the common name of a body part or a sexual function isn’t a “nice” word is just – amazing. I mean, look at me! I can’t even write “f***ing”!

 

 

Because I’m afraid I might shock or offend my readers.

 

 

I know enough about languages, however, to know that this is the way language works. Some languages (such as Tibetan) have a whole different range of vocabulary items which are used in higher-class situations.

 

 

Religious profanity is altogether a different thing. Casual swearing in Jesus’ name is common in most Catholic countries, but is often considered blasphemous in Protestant countries.

 

 

Arabic, of all the languages with which I’m familiar, is the best for swearing. Arabic-speakers combine bathroom words, sexuality, family insults, and religion in the most refreshingly creative ways.  Here’s one of the most creative (please note that I will try to translate in the least offensive way):

 

 

“May God condemn the religion of thy mother’s private parts.”

 

 

Compared to that, Big Papi seems tame, doesn’t he?

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Learning Spanish with "Destinos"

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My Spanish is what you might call “accidental.” My French and my Italian are pretty good, so I’m pretty much able to read Spanish; a lot of words look the same (though there are lots of tricks and traps between the three languages). My Peace Corps training took place in Puerto Rico, so I had some exposure to Spanish there. Also, I try to pay attention to American Spanish, on bus signs and billboards, and try to educate myself by translating them.

 

 

But I want to do better.

 

 

Back in the 1990s I saw a few episodes of a PBS educational series called “Destinos.” It was a Spanish-language course, in the form of a telenovela. Don Fernando, an old man in Mexico, learns that his first wife (whom he left for dead in Spain during the Civil War) may still be alive, and that he may have a son in Europe. He sends a Hispanic-American lawyer named Raquel Rodriguez to Europe to discover the truth. She follows the trail from Seville to Madrid to Buenos Aires to Puerto Rico, while Don Fernando’s health continues to worsen –

 

 

Well, it was mighty gripping.

 

 

It was also a very easy way to learn Spanish.

 

 

The best way to learn a language – any language – is to want to learn it. You need incentive. Lots of people want to learn foreign languages, but then discover that there’s a lot of memorization and repetition involved, and it’s not fun, and they drop the attempt. But if you’ve got incentive, it’s a doddle. If you get dropped into a non-English-speaking culture, you learn the language or else.

 

 

And, reader, “Destinos” is still out there. You can find it on DVD, and as a textbook. I recently bought both.

 

 

And it’s just as good as I remembered it.

 

 

It is very absorbing. The series keeps raising the level of difficulty almost unnoticeably from episode to episode, so you’re learning without even realizing it. Once in a while it stops to reinforce a lesson about numbers, or months, or seasons, or telling time, but that’s okay too. Also, you hear Spanish of all kinds: Raquel’s American Spanish, the Mexican Spanish of Don Fernando and his family, the elegant Castellano spoken by the characters in Seville and Madrid, the heavily-accented Spanish of Argentina and Puerto Rico.

 

 

I watch a couple of episodes every evening. !Y ya hablo espanol como el rey Juan Carlos!

 

 

Or something like that.

 

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French as she is spoke

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A long time ago – in the 1980s – I spoke French pretty well. I got a Foreign Service score of 4, which means that I could converse on a university level with people; I still had an accent, however.

 

 

 

 

And this years, after twenty-five years, I was going to France.

 

 

 

Imagine my nervousness after twenty-five years of not speaking French on a daily basis. I was terrified. I read a lot of French to prepare myself, and tried to practice as much as I could.

 

 

 

As it turns out, I was worried about nothing. Language is funny: once it’s in your brain, it’s there forever. It took me a few days to get going (mostly nervousness, I think), but by Day Two of the trip, I was having long involved conversations with people.

 

 

 

(Please note: my accent was still atrocious (even I could hear it), and my grammar was not the best. But I could make myself understood.)

 

 

 

I’d forgotten the picturesque phrases: all the different ways to say “goodbye,” depending on the time of day and the situation. “A tout a l’heure.” “A bientot.” “Adieu.” “Au revoir.” These came back quickly, thank goodness.

 

 

 

Then there are all the English-language borrowings (I think there are more of them now than there were in the 1980s): “sandwich,” “parking,” “weekend.” I bought a package of Petit Ecolier cookies with a contest advertised on the front: “GAGNEZ UN BABY FOOT!” Can you guess what a “baby foot” is? It’s a foosball table. Charmante, non?

 

 

 

Then there are the faux amis – the “false friends.” These are words that look like English, but aren’t the same at all. These work both ways. “What’s that sign?” Partner asked one day on the bus.

 

 

 

“Deviation,” I said. “It means ‘detour.’”

 

 

 

“Why don’t they just say ‘detour’?” he asked. “Isn’t that a French word?”

 

 

 

“Well, yes, but –“

 

 

 

There’s no explaining these things.

 

 

Best of all: we were watching the French version of “The Price is Right” (“Le Juste Prix”), and the contestant – a man named Fabrice – mentioned his “conjoint,” a man named Emmanuel. “Aha!” I said. “Now I know the correct French term for ‘partner’! It’s ‘conjoint’!”

 

 

 

“As in conjoined twins?” Partner said darkly.

 

 

 

“Well, indirectly, yes,” I said, “but – “

 

 

 

“I don’t like it,” he said positively.

 

 

 

“I do like it,” I said. “Maybe I’ll start referring to you as le conjoint in the blog.”

 

 

 

France has an effect on people. Partner looked at me with Gallic disdain. “Non,” he said definitively.

 

 

 

And that’s the end of that.

 

 

 

(But I still think it’s a better word than “partner.”)

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Razza fraz!

Warning: this text contains saucy and inappropriate language.

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I am no prude.  I really don't curse much, but I've always been a sincere admirer of a really well-turned obscenity.  I ride a shuttle van home from work, and when it's just the driver and me alone, the air fairly turns blue.

 

  

 

"Obscenity" is such a big field, especially when it refers to language.  I know that philologists have tried to break it down into categories: body parts, sex, bathroom terminology, religion/blasphemy, insults to family members . . . . It's all good.

 

  

 

And I love languages, and along the way I have collected characteristic colorful expressions.  One of the few Finnish words I know is a bathroom word.  I know a little Polish, including two bathroom words and the all-purpose Polish obscenity, "cholera" (imagine how serious the illness was throughout central and eastern Europe for the word to become an obscenity!).  Russians don't care about body parts or bathroom words - for them, it's clinical terminology - but there's a really juicy word referring to one's mother that is very all-purpose.  I only know two Hungarian expressions; both are obscene, and both refer to sex, and one of them crosses over into bestiality.  My French is pretty good, but French obscenity is a little on the drab side: – bathroom bathroom bathroom / sex sex sex.  I know some dandy Spanish obscenities, mostly involving marital infidelity.   Arabic is full of zesty combinations of all of the above: my favorite combines religion, mother, body parts, and sex.  (When I was in Morocco I was given a list of English words to avoid, because they sounded too much like Arabic obscenities.  It was a long list.  My favorite is the name "Howie."  If you want to know what it means: well, Howie Mandel has two of them.)

 

 

I bring this up because I have lived long enough to watch language on TV change.  In my youth, you couldn't say "hell" or "damn."  Horrors! Lucy Ricardo couldn't be "pregnant" in the 1950s, so they came up with "expectant."  Things began to move forward in the 70s or so.  A few words for body parts crept into common TV parlance.  (On an early episode of "The Simpsons," probably circa 1991, Bart uses the word 'butt' while talking to a TV reporter, and then says, "Can I say 'butt' on TV?"  The reporter replies smoothly: "On this network you can.") Descriptive language and euphemisms have always been popular.  How long ago was Bob Eubanks calling sex 'whoopie'?  Late 1960s, I think.   

 

 

And ever since British TV entered the United States, we've been aware that Europeans were more frank and open than we are. Partner and I are big fans of the BBC/Irish show "Father Ted," which uses 'arse' frequently, and which introduced me to my very favorite euphemistic obscenity, 'feck' (as in "Are you out of your fecking mind, Dougal?").

 

 

Well, imagine my surprise when I heard Charlie Sheen use the word 'ballsack' on "Two and a Half Men" the other night.  Also, there's a new cartoon show called "Adventure Time"," on which I heard a character use the word 'superballs' in a derogatory sense (as in "That guy is really superballs"); they also had a fantasy sequence in which the two main characters were farting on a microwave oven they'd brought to life earlier.  And laughing about it. 

 

  

 

And a note about last night's premiere of the show that dares not speak its name, "$#*! My Dad Says."  (Partner had to explain the symbology of the title to me. In case you don't get it: $ = "S," # = "H," et cetera. Apparently, however, $#*! is pronounced 'bleep.') The show is mildly amusing, and they walk right up to the risky-language boundary, but then they back away again. 

 

  

 

No matter what you think about it, times are changing.  It's all for the best, I think.  When you watch a show like "The Sopranos," you need to understand how the characters speak.  Editing them, bowdlerizing them, would ruin the show.  Listening to Tony and Silvio and Paulie talk is like snorting smelling salts right out of the bottle: it's very bracing. 

 

 

I'm in favor of realism.  People on TV should talk the way people really talk, swearing and all.

 

 

I know there's always the issue of children.  Listen, I learned to swear just fine on my own without TV's help.  Also, every show on TV these days is plastered over with warning labels: L, D, V, etc.  You just can't dump the kid in front of the TV anymore. Really, you never could.  You really need to pay attention to what he's watching.

 

 

 

Having said that: Hey, you had a kid.  Take care of him.  If you don't want him to learn to swear, you'd better get to work on that.

 

 

And good luck.  Trust me, he'll learn how, one way or another. I did.