15 August, 2007

Linguistolutionary Linkage

...don't know much geography/ don't know much trigonometry/ don't know much about algebra/ don't know what a slide rule is for....

You may not share my passion for punctuation or language.

You may not appreciate my favorite LOLcat image:

IM IN UR QUANTUM BOX � MAYBE.

or like my favorite joke:


Descartes walks into a bar. "What'll you have, Rene?" asks the bartender, "Gin and tonic?"

Descartes shakes his head and says, "I think not," and disappears.


or others of that ilk. Indeed, you may not care for any any sort of word-play.

You may disagree while I applaud CityPaper's sound chastisment of the shabby submissions to last year's fiction contest:
Now, we're not saying that these observations are false nor that they don't deserve creative treatment, but if all you know of them is what you see on TV, your readers are going to see right through you. Conversely, if you are reporting from the front of your life, remember to put some of yourself into it. In the maxim "write what you know," it is always true to mine extensively what you know, but such truth means nothing if you don't put any effort into the writing part.

Consider this year's contest intro some friendly words of constructive criticism, some hard/fast rules we'd like to share with the aspiring young scribes of today. Poets, wacky formatting doesn't make up for the fact that you have nothing to say; fiction writers, everyone has, at some point, written or thought of writing a story that takes place around last call at the bar. Everybody, big words don't make you sound smart if you don't know how to use them. Don't use "u" for "you" or "2" for "to" or "too." If your piece is supposed to be a metaphor for something, don't overplay it. Spell out the swear words; we're an alt-weekly, for fuck's sake. Eerily specific pro-drive-by shooting stories tend to make your readers uneasy. Far be it from the half-assed neologism-prone writers over here to cast stones, but if you're Frankensteining a word as if English were German, please let the context of the sentence offer some suggestions as to what it might mean. Writing Black American English isn't merely dropping the final g's off gerundives; for the love of anything resembling self-respect, don't assume you can write a variety of American English if you've never actually spent time with the people who speak it.

And, once and for all, just because you don't know--or choose to ignore--the customs of grammar or spelling, that doesn't mean they can't do your writing any favors. Don't care how gifted and smart and cute you think you are--you have to know the rules to break the rules, and by some estimates the English language is more than 1,000 years old: Who the hell are you to change it?


plus I luuuurve the word 'Frankensteining', which, when I use it, I often (strangely) need to explain. Whut?

(We will let pass the superfluous apostrophe in 'final g's off gerundives', though the phrase could easily have been restructured to avoid it.)

You may not believe in evolution as anything other than a theory. That's fine. Myself, I'm not a big fan of the theory of gravity, in either context.

Possibly you wouldn't believe that all babies, regardless of culture, come pre-programed with rudimentary language, or that they lose it if no one responds appropriately within their first three monts.

Maybe you don't care that relatively few people have any conscious awareness of the body language they broadcast, or receive, and therefore would not be astounded by the levels of communication in the face alone. This may be of no interest to you.

Since 'abstraction' and 'syntax' are distinguishing factors of true 'language', perhaps the 'words' spoken by prarie dogs do not constitute language. This may not even be a thing that makes you go 'hmmm.'

The idea that other animals also has a grammar may be less entertaining to you than idle chat at bus stops or on elevators.

You may find it inexplicable that Ms. Primarily Decorative Grammarian is intensely interested in the language of LOLcats, and when communicating via text message has given up perfectly spelled and structured sentences, instead sending this sort of thing:


O hai i ar with ur juglr, drinkin margaritaz.


or receiving

O hai I not b steelin ur bedz 2nite.



(actual examples).

It may not interest you to know that this is different from engrish, poorly phrased instructions or assertions that are both public and accidental. Done deliberately, it ceases to be engrish; LOLcat is never engrish, but engrish might sometimes be LOLcat, though this is actually difficult.

A well-known quote


All your base are belong to us


seems halfway to LOLcat already. However, if you try to adjust it as it stands and come up with


All ur base ar belong to we


you see that this is unacceptable, even if you don't care. To fit the format/syntax, the whole sentence must be rearranged, added to and subtracted from, as in


O hai, I stoled ur bases


or

Ur bases, we has tehm
.

(note the restoration of the pluralizing 's'. I know. Esoteric and uninteresting. How does she do it?)


So you may not appreciate this article about writing computer code in LOLcat- (in fact, the term 'LOLcat' to indicate this dialect was never a foregone conclusion. At least one writer used the term 'kitty pidgin' -a phrase that's akin to naming a dog 'Bear', in my opinion- or alternately, 'LOL-kitteh'.)

You may now be yawning and dozing to the point of dropping your laptop on the floor (logic board repair: $600.), but I find this man's in-depth analysis of the LOLcat phenomena and its relationship to the evolution of internet language pretty intense, insightful stuff.

But if you're bored, skip all this geekiness to drool over nice boobies.


(What a Wonderful World; Sam Cooke)

11 August, 2007

Introducing.... Zizi!

"You don't play Tic-Tack-Toe with the king anymore," That Girl observed.

No. I don't. Probably I never will.

"Why not?"

It was my special thing with Bill. Mimi played the game with the king, but not any king, just THAT one.


This weekend, August 11th and 12th, is Opening Weekend at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Festival. Mimi will perform her Silent Stories show:


Mimi the Mime - The child within understands exactly what Mimi is telling us as we wonder in amazement at the hysterical antics of this marvelous wordless storyteller! Avalon Hill Kid's Kyngdom at 12:30, 2:00 and 3:30.


(For the record, I did NOT write that copy.)

Special bonus, around the Shire:

Max




and Zizi.


(Test shot from early makeup session.)



(Shot on the occasion of Zizi's debut.)


Our beloved Gigi


has gone travelling, and so Zizi has joined us. Everyone will love her. I demand it.

The entire troupe, Mimi & Max, Lili, and now Zizi
11950 Procession of the Stilts Lady

will perform at the Maryland Renaissance Festival, which opens on the 25th of August. See you then!

11908 Bubble

(I will not be wearing a red carnation. I will, however, be wearing- you guessed it- Mimi Pink.)




* My thanks to all of the fabulous photographers who make us look so good.

08 August, 2007

Never Fails

...there will always be a space in my parking lot/ when you need a little coke and sympathy....


If your period is due anytime this week or next, it will make itself known the day you wear pastel panties.

So, how to cap off a week filled with upsetting family news, dangerous heat, teen-level skin eruptions, pollen-induced sinus headaches, and the Midol Blues?

Naturally, dental surgery.

Upside to all this? Prescription for Codine. There is a God.



(Let It Bleed; Rolling Stones)

31 July, 2007

Monday List

...fame and fortune and everything that goes with it/ I thank you all/ but it's been no bed of roses/ no pleasure cruise....

Sky that melted into water with no seam
Unreasonably sized video screens
A bar that was empty when I walked into it
A near miss while driving
The inside of an automobile elevator
Dramatic streaks of lightning
A near miss as a passenger
Fabulous fog
An asshole on a riceburner, popping a wheelie
Half of Frost/Nixon
Attractive people
Cookie Monster walking down the street
A studly and polite police officer
Bridges
Shoes that I did not covet
Vincent Price playing a prettyboy
A doodle of a villain on a paper tablecloth
A near miss as a pedestrian


(We Are the Champions; Queen)

It's Tuesday. I know. Shaddap.

24 July, 2007

Conversational Post

...You can talk to me/ You can talk to me/ If you're lonely, you can talk to me...



Mama’s beer is empty.

He goes to the cooler, brings a Natty Boh. I pull my best pout.

"What’s wrong now?"

It’s not open.

He rolls his eyes.

"Can you say ‘high maintenance’?"

Can you?


*


I look around. I recognize exactly no one.

"Where should we sit?"

With the fun people.

"Where are they?"

I sigh. The table by the curtain has only two guests. I approach at high speed, fueled by half a glass of cranberry and vodka.

Hi. We’re looking for the fun people and we think you’re it.

He looks up and grins.

"Yeah? You can tell I’m fun just by looking at me?

We’ve got the right table, honey.

Hawk sits. I’ve already sat. I look at my new friend’s fresh-faced companion.

And you, you didn’t graduate with us. What are you, a sophmore here?

"Her? This’s my daughter."

Her jaw drops in outraged amusement.

Now I KNOW we’ve got the right table.


*


"Did you have fun at the reunion?" he calls from his topless gold Sebring.

Yes!! Did you? I answer from my topless red one.

"Yeah!"

This is the best, though, right now, in my car.

"You got THAT right!"

People in Jaguars, do you think they’re having...

"...twenty thousand dollars’ worth more fun..."

...than we are right now, are they?

"Not possible!"

We part company when the light changes.


*


Fuzzy eyes me critically.

"What is that?"

New bikini top. Like it?

"No, I mean, what IS it? Bra or swimsuit?"

Swimsuit. I’ve wanted a white bikini for awhile, makes me feel all Barbarella.

"What?"

Never mind.

"What is THAT?"

Oh, this? Removable push-up pad. It looks horrible, doesn’t it?

"YEA-uh."

Good thing it’s removable.


*


It's about halfway when he joins me.

"So, how is it?"

I’m not sure what the fuss was about.

"It’s not good?"

The story’s great, and she’s fantastic, but I hate the lighting- it’s shadowy and contrived, and they keep having these extended close-ups of his face, which never does anything.

"Dammit, gurrl!"

Well, it doesn’t. And it’s not like this is a Dirty Harry flick. How many Academy Awards did this win?

He shrugs.

And look at that- who’s that woman, the mother, she was in Edward Scissorhands, she’s fabulous, that scene was wonderful, he got a great performance out of them in that sequence- and now, now we go to a long shot, of him, doing what? Nothing! Won’t someone please tell him that he’s a great director, but he needs to just quit acting, because he’s dreadful.

"Day-umm!"

What? Somebody should tell him, that's all.


*


"I am not going to fool around with you in your mother’s house."

She’s not home; why not?

"We’re just not, got it?"

But at our house, there are kids, which you claim are a major flaccid-inducer.

"They are, but we’re still not going to."

Pouting ensues.

"You got laid once this weekend. Isn’t that enough?"

Well, no.


*


I snap a shot of Fuzzy getting caught, and one of Fluff flying in the air.

The White Diamond asks me, "Oh, will you take pictures of my son? Once more, I forgot to bring my camera."

Will I! How old is he, again?

“Oh, he’s legal."

Yes, but how long has he been that way?

She laughs. "He’s twenty-four."

I could do twenty-four.

"Mmm, so could I."

Ewwww.

"Not HIM! Some other twenty-four."

I snap a shot.

"Didja get it?"

I got something. I may have been too late to catch his layout. My finger forgot to move fast because my mouth was hanging open. I think I drooled on my foot.

He rolls out of the net, biceps bulging, thighs rippling.

"I’m pimpin’ you, buddy. Cybele’s checking you out."

"Oh yeah? How much?" He lifts a water bottle carelessly. A drop rolls down his cheek, throat. Ahem.

She turns to me. "Whaddaya offering?"

Head tilted, I consider.

I’m not sure. Don’t I get a free sample?


The world shimmers with sunlit laughter.



(Hey, Bulldog; The Beatles)

18 July, 2007

Fresh Memory

...still a little bit of your taste in my mouth...


Blackberry, in your hand, pulled from the bush so tenderly as to neither bruise nor break it, avoiding stains on flesh and clothing. From the bush, in the sunshine, dark and shiny where you've rubbed it carefully on your shirt. In your mouth, smooth and warm, slightly gritty where dust from the gravel road collected in its crevices, squirting heavy juice behind your teeth. In your throat, a little lumpy, the flesh inadequately chewed to defend against molar-grabbing seeds, slippery and sweet sliding down down to join the previous one, to be followed quickly with another. Blackberry bush, found beside the sunny dusty road, next to the field of fragrant young corn, bearing fruit so rare and precious you hate to leave any for the birds, and fill the hem of your shirt with the rest of the berries, knowing the shirt will be ruined, not caring. Holding the hem of your shirt in one hand, with the other reach for the last bright jewel on the bush, holding it delicately in your fingers before popping it in your mouth to crush, gently, bit by bit, between soft palate and tongue, dark juice filling your mouth with whispers of wine and moonlight and music, blackberry, freshly plucked.



(Cannonball; Damien Rice)

05 July, 2007

Showtime Again

....She's so mean but I don't care/ I love her eyes and her wild wild hair ...


Update from the Dead Zone: We will be performing Murder At The Oh No! Corral on Friday night and Saturday night at Spotlighters in Baltimore.

I will not wear a carnation, but you may, if you like.



(Wild, Wild West; The Escape Club)