The Holmes Theory

The first time I ever set foot in a public (i.e. Government-run) school was my freshman year in high school. It was the worst year of my entire life. There were only two things that kept me alive that excruciatingly long 174 days. One was Drama (competitive, plays, etc.), which I absolutely lived for. The other was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Who just so happened to have the most remarkable mustache ever

Yes, I spent that entire year lugging around a 1000 some page block of book, reading only a story a day (if I could help it) to make it go farther. I don't think you could comprehend how dreadfully bored I was. To amuse myself I would play silly games like the Get-As-Close-As-Possible-To-A-British-Accent-Before-People-Notice game and the Annoy-The-Heck-Out-Of-Your-English-Teacher-By-Cramming-As-Many-British-Archaisms-As-Possible-Into-Your-Papers game. Great fun, that. For one "assignment" we had to "write a fake letter to a person who has inspired you and taught you something important." While most kids wrote about their Gramps or Uncle Ed, I wrote to my dearest and most loyal companion, Mr. Holmes.

***

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,

I am writing you to express my sincere gratitude. I don't know how I could pass my time if I did not have a collection describing your most singular cases. I rather believe I would simply pine away from boredom.
I have read many (quite too many to list) of your intriguing adventures, which your good friend Dr. Watson has been so kind as to record. These accounts have helped me immensely, and have taught me much. Why, only yesterday I spent the afternoon trying to determine the handedness of the individual who painted a banner. I can now say with great confidence that the person who painted it was right-handed. You see, although your methods are generally quite beyond my capacity, I can apply them in some cases.
Again I thank you for giving me something to think about these dreary autumn days, and I heartily regret that we shall never personally meet.

Sincerely,
Robyn
PS
Don't fret; I shall write to Dr. Watson straight away to thank him for recording these cases.

***

Scrawled at the top of my paper: "Write to real person." (italics mine)
I can only say that I was surprised that she didn't write "too wordy" like on most of my papers. *sigh*

Needless to say, I did not like that teacher.


Alright - enough about that nonsense. Here is the main point of this post:

When I was reading 1892 London and observing 2009 America I noticed some strange things.
Holmes, being a logician, used "simple" logic to determine various things about a person, place, thing or situation. He could tell if a man was married by the dust on his hat, and the trade of a fellow by the curves of his thumb. The reader (as well as good Dr. Watson) then proceeds to feel incredibly dense and silly as Holmes calmly reveals his magic through an absurdly logical step-by-step procedure. "Of course, how silly of me!" we all think. But yet...

To the 21st century American mind, something is not quite right.

Who says that a man who's hat is dusty is not married? Why would having a wife make any difference anyway? Why does Holmes automatically assume that everyone has high tea at  4:00 pm? What if Mr. Rucastle just so happens to prefer his tea at 3:00?

Because, of course, people just did. There were no doubt minor variations in the habits of the common folk of 1890s London, but not to the extent that there are in this day in age. Lunch falls anywhere between 10:00 and 4:00, men dust their own hats (if they have any to dust), and you absolutely cannot count on there only being only different 72 types of perfume and ? types of cigarette ash. There is simply too much in our culture (or should I say cultures?) for any logical deductions to contain. It is not just irregularity of daily routines that would make Holmes' job so difficult - we as a culture are also plagued with severe emptiness of purpose in our minor actions.
 "Why did you watch that two hour long infomercial on the Veggie-Chop??"
 "Because I felt like it, that's why. Besides, there was nothing else for me to do."
While Holmes may easily deduce that Mr. Adler went for a short horseback ride after he strangled Mr. Dupin, there would be no way for Holmes to deduce that after Mr. Smith shot Mrs. Baker he decided to watch two hours of infomercial because he was bored and felt like it.
Perhaps these are bad examples - I'm sure that plenty of people did meaningless things then as well. However, (I could be wrong) it seems unlikely to me that there was even half of the different distractions and amusements that we have now - and all this, I wager, would make it nearly impossible for Holmes to successfully track our daily routines. We have no regularity. Not just family to family, person to person, but even to some extent with each individual. Did you do today precisely what you did yesterday? Do you wash on Mondays and iron on Tuesdays? I certainly don't. I do what I need to when I need to and what I want when I want to. When your profession depends on the regularities and commonness of others, you cannot afford their tardiness (nor their sloppiness, laziness or purposelessness).

On the other hand...

I could be looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps it was Sir Arthur's fault - perhaps his books poorly reflect the reality of the average Londoner and his habits. I truly hope that this were not the case, for if it were, then Holmes never could exist, in America or elsewhere.
And then again, it may well be that I do Holmes little justice - I may be underestimating his powers of logic.
Unfortunately, I fear that there is no sure way to ever know...

PERPLEXED BY IRREGULARITY

The Most Difficult Challenge!

Ok, so it may not be the most difficult challenge ever, but it sure comes close.

I know it's May, but I forgot to post about this earlier. For Lent, I decided that instead of the boring, generic candy and TV fasts, I would decide to abstain from something just as or even more difficult, but more, ahem, original. Among other little things, I decided to try to give up....wait for it....the word "like."
Before you start laughing at me, think about it.
I don't mean all usages of "like" - just "like" as in the "I-don't-really-know-what-exactly-to-say-and-I'd-rather-not-be-specific-and/or-decisive like". In other words, I was going to attempt to stop talking like this:

"So, I was thinking that we'd like, you know, do that thing where we like go and like buy stuff you know."

And instead talk like this:

"We should go to the store."

Ok, extreme example. The case, however, still stands. People are waaaaaay too inarticulate and vague in their speaking habits.
This poem by Taylor Mali describes this ailment perfectly:

Totally like whatever, you know?

In case you hadn't noticed,
it has somehow become uncool
to sound like you know what you're talking about?
Or believe strongly in what you're saying?
Invisible question marks and parenthetical (you know?)'s
have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences?
Even when those sentences aren't, like, questions? You know?

Declarative sentences — so-called
because they used to, like, DECLARE things to be true
as opposed to other things which were, like, not -
have been infected by a totally hip
and tragically cool interrogative tone? You know?
Like, don't think I'm uncool just because I've noticed this;
this is just like the word on the street, you know?
It's like what I've heard?
I have nothing personally invested in my own opinions, okay?
I'm just inviting you to join me in my uncertainty?

What has happened to our conviction?
Where are the limbs out on which we once walked?
Have they been, like, chopped down
with the rest of the rain forest?
Or do we have, like, nothing to say?
Has society become so, like, totally...
I mean absolutely... You know?
That we've just gotten to the point where it's just, like...
whatever!

And so actually our disarticulation... ness
is just a clever sort of... thing
to disguise the fact that we've become
the most aggressively inarticulate generation
to come along since...
you know, a long, long time ago!

I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.
To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks
the determination with which you believe it.
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too.

Alright, so my Lent experiment totally failed and I had to stick with giving up salt (which is HARD). This, however, does not by any means mean that it cannot be done. 

So consider this a challenge. Go one day without using "like", "you know" or "or somethin'." It can be done, and honestly, it should be done. It disciplines the mind, makes one think clearly and creates strong communication where there once was only weak communication - not to mention that it makes one sound 3000 times more intelligent than otherwise. Trust me, it's harder than it seems. 

So from Taylor Mali and myself and thousands of grandmothers and English teachers all over the world:

"SPEAK WITH CONVICTION!!!!"

Prisencolinensinainciusol

For the life of me I can't remember how I found this. I'm also surprised I haven't seen it before.

If you have ever been washing dishes and silently mumbling to yourself in some language you are familiar with and want to know (but sadly don't) then this question has probably occurred to you. What does (insert native language) sound like? Of course, since I am a native English speaker, I have always wondered what English sounds like to foreigners. I remember reading somewhere what a (Swedish?) girl thought English sounded like when she first heard it. She said that it sounded like pebbles dropping into a pond.
Really? That's what I sound like?!?! I wish I could hear that....
Well...
While not perfect, this video gives you a pretty darn good idea of what American English sounds like (at least to the Italians that made the video).

Wow. That's fairly good, I'd say. They even have the dancing right.
Sort of...

There are other videos on Youtube that have people "speaking" different languages. They're pretty funny, but sometimes they slip up and say something waaaay off, and when they do, you can sure tell.

And for the sake of worthless trivia, the daughter of the singing guy in Prisencolinensinainciusol is Rosalinda Celentano, aka Satan in the Passion of the Christ.

Attraversiamo!!!

What "Fantastic" Really Means

There is a great silver-screen film noir movie from 1950 called D.O.A. that I once had the pleasure to watch. It was a bit silly, but had some memorable parts. The most memorable feature that it had was a single word that the main character was fond of saying: fantastic.
The plot is fairly straightforward: A man is poisoned (with "luminous poison" - how unfortunate) and must find out who poisoned him. So what does the man think of all this?
"Sir, you have been poisoned with luminous poison. You have only three days to live."
"What?! That's...fantastic!!!"
Wait, what? Why would that be fantastic?

fan·tas·tic/fanˈtastik/

Adjective:	Imaginative or fanciful; remote from reality. Of extraordinary size or degree.
Synonyms:	fantastical - fanciful - fancy - bizarre

Contrary to common usage, "fantastic" is not just an emphatic word for "great". So the luminous poison-ee was perfectly justified in saying that his situation was "fantastic" (I mean, luminous poison, really?)
And then there's "terrific". Why is it that when people say "terrific", 99% of the time it carries a positive connotation?
"I got a new car!"
"That's terrific!"
But, if you look at the actual word, you realize where it comes from: Terror. Terrible. Terrific.
Funny that the definition

ter·rif·ic/təˈrifik/

Adjective:	Of great size, amount, or intensity: "there was a terrific bang". Extremely good; excellent: "you look terrific".
Synonyms:	terrible - tremendous - dreadful - frightful - horrible

and the synonyms seem to point to two different meanings, one primarily positive, one primarily negative.
Looking at it etymologically, saying that someone getting a new car is "terrific" seems a bit...odd (Unless said person is a teenager - then "terrific" may be the optimal adjective). So, while it's still technically correct to use "terrific" in this way, once you think about it, you'll never use it without thinking about it that way again.
This seems to be a fairly common phenomenon. I found a poem by Terry Pratchett that includes several more examples:

 

“Elves are wonderful. They provoke wonder.
Elves are marvelous. They cause marvels.
Elves are fantastic. They create fantasies.
Elves are glamorous. They project glamor.
Elves are enchanting. They weave enchantment.
Elves are terrific. They beget terror.
The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake, and if you want to find snakes look for them behind words that have changed their meaning.
No one ever said elves are nice.
Elves are bad.”

 

Ever heard of Puck?

 All this reminded me of an essay by George Orwell that deals with meaning changes in common words, "Politics and the English Language"

He also discusses the overuse and subsequent distortion of metaphors:

"Dying metaphors. A newly invented metaphor assists thought by evoking a visual image, while on the other hand a metaphor which is technically "dead" (e.g. iron resolution) has in effect reverted to being an ordinary word and can generally be used without loss of vividness. But in between these two classes there is a huge dump of worn-out metaphors which have lost all evocative power and are merely used because they save people the trouble of inventing phrases for themselves. Examples are: Ring the changes on, take up the cudgel for, toe the line, ride roughshod over, stand shoulder to shoulder with, play into the hands of, no axe to grind, grist to the mill, fishing in troubled waters, on the order of the day, Achilles' heel, swan song, hotbed. Many of these are used without knowledge of their meaning (what is a "rift," for instance?), and incompatible metaphors are frequently mixed, a sure sign that the writer is not interested in what he is saying. Some metaphors now current have been twisted out of their original meaning without those who use them even being aware of the fact. For example, toe the line is sometimes written as tow the line. Another example is the hammer and the anvil, now always used with the implication that the anvil gets the worst of it. In real life it is always the anvil that breaks the hammer, never the other way about: a writer who stopped to think what he was saying would avoid perverting the original phrase."

I know that I've definitely seen things like "tow the line." Being in the "throws" (throes) of something is my personal favorite. "Whoa is me!" is also a goodie. Whoa, indeed. While not quite metaphors, I feel that these examples are on the same level of language distortion.

So let's make it a challenge: Use these words correctly or with their original meaning in mind. You may get some funny looks, but since "the English language is in a bad way," perhaps it is about time to change.

The Click Song

Whenever I first heard about the click talking Africans, I didn't give it much thought. Even though I didn't exactly think it sounded like this...

I didn't really have a clue as to what it actually did sound like. I still don't. However...
I have recently been compelled to do some research on Xhosa, which I used to pronounce as "Zosa." The first thing I found out was


HEY! ZOSA IS ONE OF THOSE CLICK LANGUAGES!!! ALRIGHT!!!

The next thing I found out was

OH!!! IT'S NOT "ZOSA"! Oh boy...yeah...definately not...yeah I'm an idiot...

You heard it, a CLICK for the "X"
My first thought: She has a CLICK in her NAME!
My second thought: Why is she in Spain when she could be in South Africa? (no offense to Spain, but they don't have zebras ya know)
My third thought: Is this some kind of a trick or are those noises really coming out of her mouth? It must be magic!

I was intrigued by her song, which she called "The Click Song". After some research, I found out that the Xhosa title is "Qongqothwane", but with both q's representing clicks, the Afrikaners who settled in South Africa simply called it "The Click Song." It was popularized by Miriam Makeba and is traditionally sung at weddings.

Xhosa lyrics:

Igqira lendlela nguqo ngqothwane
Igqira lendlela nguqo ngqothwane

Sebeqabele gqi thapha bathi nguqo ngqothwane
Sebeqabele gqi thapha bathi nguqo ngqothwane

 Translation:
Igqirha Lendlela - NguQongqothwane
Diviner of the roadways - the knock knock beetle
Diviner of the roadways - the knock knock beetle

Sebeqabele gqi thapha bathi nguqo ngqothwane
It just passed by here - the knock knock beetle
It just passed by here - the knock knock beetle
I think there are different versions, but this seems to be the most common one.

I know I'm loading this post up with videos, but this is just so fascinating.

                                 I WILL be learning that prayer...

@#!$//#!!!

Oh, don't get offended - I was just telling you about the zebras...sheesh...

PS
If you happen to know more about this than I do, please feel obligated to correct me if I've given false information.

PPS
And if you speak Xhosa, please feel obligated to teach me. Enkosi!

Forgotten Poetry I

I have always had the silly habit of thinking that every beautiful word written on paper is worth keeping, no matter how terrible the writing talent of the author. Ever since I can recall writing poems for a class, I have been sneaking graded, unwanted ones from the trashcans. Once I even saved a poem some kid had written in a geometry book. It was half in English and half in Spanish; I couldn't make heads or tails of most of it, but...I just didn't have the heart to let it get erased forever (to tell you the truth, I just couldn't comprehend that one of that sarcastic high-school lot had the...humility? certainly interest...to write a poem on their own). I have desperatly tried to preserve every scrap of writing I've ever done, no matter how dreadful it is. Call it pack-ratish and unnecesary, but it tears me to let words go...

Which reminds me...

I happen to have in my possesion 21 small, blue, ancient books. They are a series from 1922 entitled "The Pocket University". They are collectons of various poems, short stories and other writings by various well-known as well as obscure authors. I'm not sure how well known and/or distributed these books are, but I think it is safe to say that some of their contents are not likely to be found anywhere else.

I would like to start a second series, a series of Forgotten Poetry. Many or most of the poems I put on here will probably not really be forgotten by everyone, but at least by most people. I hope to draw some attention to poetry that many people may never get the chance to read - poetry that actually deserves to be preserved and is not just some silly spluttering of a ninth grader. Of course there's always the chance that anyone who reads these will scoff and cry out "How perfectly absurd! How is it possible that this person really thinks these poems are forgotten? What ignorance! What gall!!!".......but somehow I think not. If you have read any of these, forgive me. At the very least I have refreshed them in your mind. Here is the first one...one that I know for sure is not entirely forgotten.

The Fool's Prayer

                           by Edward Rowland Sill

The royal feast was done; the King

Sought some new sport to banish care,

And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,

Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!"

The jester doffed his cap and bells,

And stood the mocking court before;

They could not see his bitter smile

Behind the painted grin he wore.

He bowed his head, and bent his knee

Upon the silken stool;

His pleading voice arose: "Oh Lord,

Be merciful to me, a fool!

"No pity, Lord, could change the heart

From red with wrong to white as wool:

The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord,

Be merciful to me, a fool!

"'T is not by guilt the onward sweep

Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;

'T is by our follies that so long

We hold the earth from heaven away.

"These clumsy feet, still in the mire,

Go crushing blossoms without end;

These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust

Among the heart-strings of a friend.

"The ill-timed truth we might have kept-

Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung!

The word we had not sense to say-

Who knows how grandly it had rung!

"Our faults no tenderness should ask,

The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;

But for our blunders-oh, in shame

Before the eyes of heaven we fall.

"Earth bears no balsalm for mistakes;

Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool

That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,

Be merciful to me, a fool!"

The room was hushed; in silence rose

The King, and sought his gardens cool,

And walked apart, and murmered low,

"Be merciful to me, a fool!"

I've always found the "wise fool" theme to be a very interesting one...for where is knowledge without wisdom? Without wisdom, knowledge (and indeed wealth and power and almost anything else) can be a terrible and dangerous thing. As Alexander Pope wisely observed,

A little learning is a dangerous thing;  

drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: 

there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, 

and drinking largely sobers us again.

Whereas with wisdom, a little seems to be better then none at all. 

English Wants Macrons Too!

If you look at any text in Classical Latin, there's a good chance that it will be splattered throughout with macrons (if you don't know what they are, they are the little lines above some vowels -  ā, ē, ī, ō, ū). Macrons are helpful fellows who tell you if  the vowel it hovers over is long as opposed to short. Short, meaning pronounced for one mora (literally, delay), or long, pronounced for two morae. When the average English speaker first attempts to practice this peculiar thing, it seems very strange indeed. Because, of course, in English long and short describes the quality of the vowel, not the literal length of it!

However...if you think about it...all may not be what it seems.

I would like you to say "beat" out loud - or under your breath, if  you're in a public place :) -
(bear with me, there is a point to this)

Now, say "bead".

Let it soak in...

It's the same sound (ee) but when said in "beat" you must say it for only one mora, and in "bead," two. If you switch it around,  it just does not work. It sounds wrong. When I discovered this (I think it was on some Anglo-Saxon site) I was absolutely bowled over. Yes, I am easily impressed. I drove everyone I knew crazy for a week telling them to say "bead" and "beat". Yeah, most people weren't that excited. But I know it sure made me think.
I think English wants (and rightly deserves) macrons too!
I feel so strongly about this that I made a ribbon for the cause!

Yeah! For English!!!!!!!!!

Now we just have to figure what letter to put it over...beād, bēad...hmm... bēād?