Context
My husband told me about part of this story today, where people are calling a grocery store in Newtown, Connecticut and offering to pay for people's groceries.
Commentary
To my everlasting shame, with all the internal and external debate I've engaged in about what caused the Newtown massacre and how we can prevent these tragedies in the future, it never occurred to me to offer personal help to the people there.
What did you see today?
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
12/25/2012
11/09/2012
I heard myself use a Southernism
Context
A colleague of mine at the library was telling me that after cleaning files and books off her desk that had been there for a long time, she was surprised to see that there were a bunch of ink stains on the surface from when she'd been writing and smeared. I told her that never happened to me as I rarely use an "ink pen" for my job.
Commentary
My parents were Southerners, but I don't usually consider myself one. Over time, though, I've taken on some of the speech patterns of American South. For example, I can't tell you the last time I actually pronounced the "g" at the end of an "ing" verb. I used "y'all" long before I moved to Shreveport, because it cures the omission of a second person plural in formal English, and now that I'm here I also find myself saying things like "buggy" for "grocery cart." Apparently "ink pen" has joined the mix.
I found myself wondering today why people in the South add the word "ink" to "pen." Don't all pens have ink? Well, pig pens don't, but I don't think that's the issue. It comes back to an inherent problem with Southern English, a drawback to the drawl, if you will: there is pretty much no difference between the short "e" sound and the short "i" sound. This is usually not a big deal, as context will tell the listener the difference between "bliss" and "bless" and between "tin" and "ten." How often does someone ask you to lend them tin dollars, after all?
"Pin" and "pen" are different though, because they're often used in the same context. Picture me sitting at my desk in the I.T. department. I can't see my colleague in the next cubicle, so if she says, "I need a pin," I don't know if she's asking for something to write with or the password for a web page she's trying to access. The problem is not relieved by the natural tendency of people to make a word longer in order to be clear. If I ask my workmate to repeat herself, no matter what she wanted she's going to say, "a pee-ye-nuh." No help at all.
You may think I'm ragging on Southern speech, but I'm not. A true drawl is a lovely, mellifluous thing, greatly to be admired. If you've never heard one, you probably think the name "Lynn" consists of one syllable. Nuh-uh. My late mother-in-law, who was from East Texas, routinely drew it out to four. Remember up above, when I was talking about "short e" and "short i?" That's how I was taught to describe them when I was in grade school, but that was a long time ago and I wasn't in the South. I don't know what students are taught here, because there's no such thing as a short vowel sound. Shorter, maybe, but not short. And the shortest of them all is what is technically classified as a long vowel sound: the "i" in "fire." It's pronounced "ah." That means it's difficult to tell the difference between "fire" and "far," but again, context helps.
Nor do I think my perception that there is no distinction between the "e" and the "i" is because I'm not from 'round here (Yup, I use all kinds of Southernisms). I honestly don't think native-born Southerners can tell the difference either, because I've heard conversations between them that sound like the one described a couple of paragraphs ago. Apparently some time ago someone decided to resolve the problem by adding "ink" in front of the appropriate "pen," and the solution caught on. Ironically, the similar-sounding vowels have not become a part of my speech yet, but the workaround has. I guess I am now prepared to ramp up my drawl.
What did you hear today?
A colleague of mine at the library was telling me that after cleaning files and books off her desk that had been there for a long time, she was surprised to see that there were a bunch of ink stains on the surface from when she'd been writing and smeared. I told her that never happened to me as I rarely use an "ink pen" for my job.
Commentary
My parents were Southerners, but I don't usually consider myself one. Over time, though, I've taken on some of the speech patterns of American South. For example, I can't tell you the last time I actually pronounced the "g" at the end of an "ing" verb. I used "y'all" long before I moved to Shreveport, because it cures the omission of a second person plural in formal English, and now that I'm here I also find myself saying things like "buggy" for "grocery cart." Apparently "ink pen" has joined the mix.
I found myself wondering today why people in the South add the word "ink" to "pen." Don't all pens have ink? Well, pig pens don't, but I don't think that's the issue. It comes back to an inherent problem with Southern English, a drawback to the drawl, if you will: there is pretty much no difference between the short "e" sound and the short "i" sound. This is usually not a big deal, as context will tell the listener the difference between "bliss" and "bless" and between "tin" and "ten." How often does someone ask you to lend them tin dollars, after all?
"Pin" and "pen" are different though, because they're often used in the same context. Picture me sitting at my desk in the I.T. department. I can't see my colleague in the next cubicle, so if she says, "I need a pin," I don't know if she's asking for something to write with or the password for a web page she's trying to access. The problem is not relieved by the natural tendency of people to make a word longer in order to be clear. If I ask my workmate to repeat herself, no matter what she wanted she's going to say, "a pee-ye-nuh." No help at all.
You may think I'm ragging on Southern speech, but I'm not. A true drawl is a lovely, mellifluous thing, greatly to be admired. If you've never heard one, you probably think the name "Lynn" consists of one syllable. Nuh-uh. My late mother-in-law, who was from East Texas, routinely drew it out to four. Remember up above, when I was talking about "short e" and "short i?" That's how I was taught to describe them when I was in grade school, but that was a long time ago and I wasn't in the South. I don't know what students are taught here, because there's no such thing as a short vowel sound. Shorter, maybe, but not short. And the shortest of them all is what is technically classified as a long vowel sound: the "i" in "fire." It's pronounced "ah." That means it's difficult to tell the difference between "fire" and "far," but again, context helps.
Nor do I think my perception that there is no distinction between the "e" and the "i" is because I'm not from 'round here (Yup, I use all kinds of Southernisms). I honestly don't think native-born Southerners can tell the difference either, because I've heard conversations between them that sound like the one described a couple of paragraphs ago. Apparently some time ago someone decided to resolve the problem by adding "ink" in front of the appropriate "pen," and the solution caught on. Ironically, the similar-sounding vowels have not become a part of my speech yet, but the workaround has. I guess I am now prepared to ramp up my drawl.
What did you hear today?
10/27/2012
I saw a t-shirt
Context
I have a large amount of t-shirts. Since this is a wearable collection, I rotate them on a regular basis and usually wear whatever comes to the top of the pile. Today's selection was a shirt depicting Suicide Squid, the mascot for an old Usenet group named rec.arts.comics. You can find a picture of the shirt in question, plus a faux description of the character, here.
Commentary
Over the years I've become more aware of the sensitivities of others, so I've discarded some of my t-shirts that, while funny, could also be construed as insulting. Therefore, when I looked at the Suicide Squid this morning, with its depiction of seven methods of self-annihilation (It would be eight, but one of his tentacles is holding a knife while slitting the wrist[?] of another.), I thought about whether he should join his departed friends. After all, I can hear the reaction in my mind: "Suicide isn't funny!"
Actually, that's wrong. Anything, viewed from the proper perspective, is funny. In my opinion, you only have to look at a picture of an octopus sticking a knife in a toaster (C'mon, have you clicked on the link up in the Context yet?) to know that. Furthermore, although I take the pain that precedes a suicide attempt very seriously, I think poking some fun at the act itself might be beneficial.
It seems to me that one of the reasons some vulnerable populations like teenagers consider suicide is because it is serious. They think, "This, finally, is the thing that will make me worthy of people's attention." The movie Heathers, which takes on the unenviable task of making both suicide and homicide funny, shows this in a scene where a high school loser gets excoriated for trying to commit suicide, an activity which is apparently reserved for the cool kids.
Even Freddy Mercury took his potshots at the "that'll show 'em" aspect of suicide. He wrote a song for Queen that seemed like an effective deterrent to me when I was a teenager because it said this in a jaunty uptempo rhythm:
Don't try suicide; nobody's worth it.
Don't try suicide; nobody cares.
Don't try suicide; you're just gonna hate it.
Don't try suicide; nobody gives a damn!
In the end, that's why we make fun of dark subjects; it takes away a little bit of their power, their mystique. If wearing a t-shirt with a squid reading Kafka in order to off himself (Seriously, go look at the link!) reduces the allure of suicide even a little bit, my work is done.
What did you see today?
I have a large amount of t-shirts. Since this is a wearable collection, I rotate them on a regular basis and usually wear whatever comes to the top of the pile. Today's selection was a shirt depicting Suicide Squid, the mascot for an old Usenet group named rec.arts.comics. You can find a picture of the shirt in question, plus a faux description of the character, here.
Commentary
Over the years I've become more aware of the sensitivities of others, so I've discarded some of my t-shirts that, while funny, could also be construed as insulting. Therefore, when I looked at the Suicide Squid this morning, with its depiction of seven methods of self-annihilation (It would be eight, but one of his tentacles is holding a knife while slitting the wrist[?] of another.), I thought about whether he should join his departed friends. After all, I can hear the reaction in my mind: "Suicide isn't funny!"
Actually, that's wrong. Anything, viewed from the proper perspective, is funny. In my opinion, you only have to look at a picture of an octopus sticking a knife in a toaster (C'mon, have you clicked on the link up in the Context yet?) to know that. Furthermore, although I take the pain that precedes a suicide attempt very seriously, I think poking some fun at the act itself might be beneficial.
It seems to me that one of the reasons some vulnerable populations like teenagers consider suicide is because it is serious. They think, "This, finally, is the thing that will make me worthy of people's attention." The movie Heathers, which takes on the unenviable task of making both suicide and homicide funny, shows this in a scene where a high school loser gets excoriated for trying to commit suicide, an activity which is apparently reserved for the cool kids.
Even Freddy Mercury took his potshots at the "that'll show 'em" aspect of suicide. He wrote a song for Queen that seemed like an effective deterrent to me when I was a teenager because it said this in a jaunty uptempo rhythm:
Don't try suicide; nobody's worth it.
Don't try suicide; nobody cares.
Don't try suicide; you're just gonna hate it.
Don't try suicide; nobody gives a damn!
In the end, that's why we make fun of dark subjects; it takes away a little bit of their power, their mystique. If wearing a t-shirt with a squid reading Kafka in order to off himself (Seriously, go look at the link!) reduces the allure of suicide even a little bit, my work is done.
What did you see today?
8/28/2012
I saw a garden
Context
I was looking at pictures on the internet of people who have replaced their lawns with gardens and found a link to this story of a man who's been cited for having an educational garden instead of a lawn in front of his house because it's considered an eyesore. Wanting to see for myself, I found this picture of the garden in question.
Commentary
Does the garden in the link above look bad to you, like it would diminish property values in the neighborhood? It's OK; you can be honest. It does look a little odd, doesn't it? I mean, there's food growing right out there where everyone can see it!
It seems to me that Americans sometimes have a paradoxical relationship to work. Everyone is supposed to work hard, but when you return to your middle-class home in the suburbs no one is supposed to see the effort you put in. You go to an air-conditioned office in the city for eight hours a day to make enough money to buy food; you don't grow it yourself! It's not just food, either. You're not supposed to work on your car in your yard either, and you're not supposed to hang your clean laundry out to dry.
Pardon the digression, but having been raised in Mexico, that last one was quite a shock to me when I returned to the United States. I mean, line-dried laundry can be a little stiff, but it smells so much better and lasts so much longer than the dryer-processed version. Not to mention how much better it is for the environment.
Which brings me back to the garden, which is also more environmentally sensible than keeping a lawn. And it shouldn't be that difficult. After all, we used to all grow our own food and hang out our own laundry. But I think that's part of the problem. Americans are very fond of progress. We like to feel like we're starting at one point and constantly improving on our way to one goal or another. Going back to something we've already done feels like failure or surrender. In our culture "old-fashioned" and "traditional" are usually meant pejoratively. That's why the words "new" and "improved" so often go together.
Realistically, though, we have to recognize that some progress is not good. Like the constant upward climb of our average weight, which is considerably diminishing our quality of life. Increasingly sophisticated and efficient weaponry is not my favorite form of progress either. Mind you, I'm not advocating that we return to the good old days of beating each other up with rocks. I'm just saying that maybe growing a little food on your property is not a crime. Even if it is a little unusual-looking.
What did you see?
I was looking at pictures on the internet of people who have replaced their lawns with gardens and found a link to this story of a man who's been cited for having an educational garden instead of a lawn in front of his house because it's considered an eyesore. Wanting to see for myself, I found this picture of the garden in question.
Commentary
Does the garden in the link above look bad to you, like it would diminish property values in the neighborhood? It's OK; you can be honest. It does look a little odd, doesn't it? I mean, there's food growing right out there where everyone can see it!
It seems to me that Americans sometimes have a paradoxical relationship to work. Everyone is supposed to work hard, but when you return to your middle-class home in the suburbs no one is supposed to see the effort you put in. You go to an air-conditioned office in the city for eight hours a day to make enough money to buy food; you don't grow it yourself! It's not just food, either. You're not supposed to work on your car in your yard either, and you're not supposed to hang your clean laundry out to dry.
Pardon the digression, but having been raised in Mexico, that last one was quite a shock to me when I returned to the United States. I mean, line-dried laundry can be a little stiff, but it smells so much better and lasts so much longer than the dryer-processed version. Not to mention how much better it is for the environment.
Which brings me back to the garden, which is also more environmentally sensible than keeping a lawn. And it shouldn't be that difficult. After all, we used to all grow our own food and hang out our own laundry. But I think that's part of the problem. Americans are very fond of progress. We like to feel like we're starting at one point and constantly improving on our way to one goal or another. Going back to something we've already done feels like failure or surrender. In our culture "old-fashioned" and "traditional" are usually meant pejoratively. That's why the words "new" and "improved" so often go together.
Realistically, though, we have to recognize that some progress is not good. Like the constant upward climb of our average weight, which is considerably diminishing our quality of life. Increasingly sophisticated and efficient weaponry is not my favorite form of progress either. Mind you, I'm not advocating that we return to the good old days of beating each other up with rocks. I'm just saying that maybe growing a little food on your property is not a crime. Even if it is a little unusual-looking.
What did you see?
7/28/2011
I saw my husband groom my dog
Context
My husband and I have a golden retriever named Claudia. She is the first long-haired dog we've ever had, and she requires a great deal of grooming, particularly during the summer. This evening as we walked in the house after my husband picked me up from work, I teased Claudia for looking tatty. It was my intention to groom her after I had completed a couple of coming home tasks, but my husband started on her before I had the chance.
Commentary
Analogs to the situation described above happen in my married life all the time: I call attention to a problem and my husband will fix it. I often feel guilty and lazy and a little overbearing at the time, like I'm willing to criticize a situation, but not stepping up to do anything about it. On the other hand, my husband says that one of things he appreciates about me is that I notice stuff he's oblivious to, so apparently I'm pretty good at this opening my eyes and opening my mouth stuff.
I suppose that means I should consider my power of observation a gift, but there's a fine line between calling attention to something that could be done and ordering people around, and I don't want to be on the wrong side of it. Especially since another one of my gifts (or personality flaws, depending on your perspective) is that I really hate it when people tell me what to do.
Of course, if I'm being called in some circumstances to do the thing that drives me up the wall when other people do it, it will certainly help me learn tolerance, won't it? So that's a gift too, if not necessarily a welcome one.
What did you see today?
My husband and I have a golden retriever named Claudia. She is the first long-haired dog we've ever had, and she requires a great deal of grooming, particularly during the summer. This evening as we walked in the house after my husband picked me up from work, I teased Claudia for looking tatty. It was my intention to groom her after I had completed a couple of coming home tasks, but my husband started on her before I had the chance.
Commentary
Analogs to the situation described above happen in my married life all the time: I call attention to a problem and my husband will fix it. I often feel guilty and lazy and a little overbearing at the time, like I'm willing to criticize a situation, but not stepping up to do anything about it. On the other hand, my husband says that one of things he appreciates about me is that I notice stuff he's oblivious to, so apparently I'm pretty good at this opening my eyes and opening my mouth stuff.
I suppose that means I should consider my power of observation a gift, but there's a fine line between calling attention to something that could be done and ordering people around, and I don't want to be on the wrong side of it. Especially since another one of my gifts (or personality flaws, depending on your perspective) is that I really hate it when people tell me what to do.
Of course, if I'm being called in some circumstances to do the thing that drives me up the wall when other people do it, it will certainly help me learn tolerance, won't it? So that's a gift too, if not necessarily a welcome one.
What did you see today?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)