Being the would-be imperialist that I am, issues and titles concerning royalty and nobility are always of interest for me. But before I launch my rant, let's review the basic established terms:
King - male monarch (usually of a country), predominantly European.
Queen - female monarch, predominantly European.
Prince/ss - legal offspring of a king or queen.
Prince/ss Consort - Royal spouse, of non-royal blood. (purely honorary title, as "Princess Diana")
Emperor - male monarch of an Empire. Historically used to describe extravagant tyrants, as France, China, Japan.
Empress - female monarch of an Empire.
Tzar - Russian male monarch. (also spelt czar)
Emir - African/Arabian ruler or chieftain
So, as we can see from above, relatively contemporary examples are more accepting of foreign terms than in the past, (as seen in the appellation of Emperor for Chinese and Japanese monarchs, but the adoption of Tzar and Emir for Russian and African rulers). Or perhaps it's a regional/linguistic discrimination. It'd certainly be less communicable to English ears to use "huangdi" than "Emperor".
Why, then, is it that contemporary African rulers get the English titles instead of adopting indigenous ones? I'd also like to draw attention to the definition of Emir, which uses "ruler" and "chieftain", decidedly less regal terms than monarch. A quick look on wikipedia will show a pretty complete list of titles for sovereigns and rulers in the world.
The "Kingdom" of Jordan, for example, is one that I find somewhat odd. Clearly, their titles were created during a time before the blind adoption of foreign words had become popular. And yet, I can't help but think that emir might be a more fitting title than "king". And, more specifically, the peripheral addresses should be adjusted as well.
I was reading on a friend's blog, who mentioned Queen Noor of Jordan, later using Her Majesty, and the Queen to refer to her. When I first read those terms, my thoughts leapt immediately to the Queen of England. After all, when one speaks of the Queen in English, there really is only one. Moreover, if we are to be true to English convention, this "queen" or Jordan is really nothing more than a princess consort. Such ludicrous ballooning of one's status is near-heretical.
Royalty in our age of equal rights and dubious election strategies has little place to exist and breathe. Even though being born to a King no longer means a mandatory education in leadership and governing, the media is still fixated on you and your every action, as being representative of your culture and country.
With the French, they committed mass regicide, so no problems there (since the dead don't speak), but with England and Japan, they're trapped in glass castles. Personally, I think they should all go into witness protection programs. Go back to being normal people, and then the only people who get media attention are those who work for it -- fools, idiots, and actors.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Medieval Mediocrity
I'm not sure if I've mentioned this here before, but I guess I'll do so now in depth. In my spare time these past few weeks, I've been transcribing an 18th-century Japanese text into modern Japanese. Specifically, the Tale of Moonlight and Rain (雨月物語; Ugetsu Monogatari). I'm pretty sure it's an original, or at least, one of the original copies, given both the grammar and the calligraphy. (ie, it was entirely brush-written; not typed or printed. On traditional rice-paper, and bound by string.)
Actually, my family has a few of those kind of books too from pre-communist China, in my grandmother's collection. It would probably explain my relative aptitude for Asian calligraphy, given my virtually non-existent exposure to Asian society.
Anyway, I first chanced upon Ugetsu while browsing through the Waseda online database of classics. I was attracted by the poetic title, and therefore knew NOTHING about its contents. So, I started blindly transcribing what could have been anything from a dull diary of daily drudgeries to an erotic fantasy. Like all classical compositions, the opening was straight-forward, stating the location of the tale. "In country X, in the city of Y, lived a man named K."
Orthographically, the text was fascinating, as it gave me an accurate depiction of how Japanese looked like 300 years ago. Of course, since it was only one sample, it would be impossible for me to distinguish between characteristics of the writing system in general, and the characteristics of the author's personal penmanship. So, I went back to the database and dug up the other two big classics in Japanese literature: the Tale of Genji, and the Tale of the Heike.
Sure enough, the penmanship styles were different enough that I couldn't read them with the same ease that I had acquired to read Ueda Akinari's Ugetsu. So now I had my rough sample set. But one thing I noticed was that looking at the page as a whole had a different aesthetic value than looking at each character individually.
Which, oddly enough, is pretty similar to my own handwriting, when I write in English. I'll look at a page of my writing and think, "yah, it's neat enough," but when I actually come and edit my own text, I find that individual letters or words look off or wrong. Very strange.
Anyway, what I personally found fascinating was the lack of standard for spelling. It'd be tough to find an English example, but let's say that at one point in history, English was contesting between the older, Latin letters versus the newer reformed letters. Then some writers would appreciate the aesthetic value of certain letters in each set, and combine them in some way. That's sorta basically what I was looking at in Ugetsu; there would be two or three (sometimes more) distinct variants of the same character. In other cases, there was no evidence of the modern letter at all; only the older variant seemed to be in use.
Actually, a good example would be the letters I and J in English, as well as U, V, and W. (I and J came from the same letter, as did U, V and W.) So in older English texts, sometimes it's more useful to substitute the J with an I, or vice versa (eg. the word "jmagery" would really be "imagery". Or "wniuersity" for "university".) The difference here, is that all these letters exist in English now, whereas the hiragana variants simply disappeared in Japanese.
Imagine how much fun we could have if English had two or three alternatives to the already existent 26 standard letters?? (Come to think of it, I suppose technically we could treat minuscule and majuscule letters as being variants of the same letter, and it's only by convention that write majuscules larger... hrmm...)
But so far, I haven't been able to discern any pattern concerning the choice of one hiragana varient over another. Maybe it's purely random/aesthetic, but maybe not...
It's no small wonder that people were slower on the uptake to literacy back then, with their uneven and standardless writing system...
Actually, my family has a few of those kind of books too from pre-communist China, in my grandmother's collection. It would probably explain my relative aptitude for Asian calligraphy, given my virtually non-existent exposure to Asian society.
Anyway, I first chanced upon Ugetsu while browsing through the Waseda online database of classics. I was attracted by the poetic title, and therefore knew NOTHING about its contents. So, I started blindly transcribing what could have been anything from a dull diary of daily drudgeries to an erotic fantasy. Like all classical compositions, the opening was straight-forward, stating the location of the tale. "In country X, in the city of Y, lived a man named K."
Orthographically, the text was fascinating, as it gave me an accurate depiction of how Japanese looked like 300 years ago. Of course, since it was only one sample, it would be impossible for me to distinguish between characteristics of the writing system in general, and the characteristics of the author's personal penmanship. So, I went back to the database and dug up the other two big classics in Japanese literature: the Tale of Genji, and the Tale of the Heike.
Sure enough, the penmanship styles were different enough that I couldn't read them with the same ease that I had acquired to read Ueda Akinari's Ugetsu. So now I had my rough sample set. But one thing I noticed was that looking at the page as a whole had a different aesthetic value than looking at each character individually.
Which, oddly enough, is pretty similar to my own handwriting, when I write in English. I'll look at a page of my writing and think, "yah, it's neat enough," but when I actually come and edit my own text, I find that individual letters or words look off or wrong. Very strange.
Anyway, what I personally found fascinating was the lack of standard for spelling. It'd be tough to find an English example, but let's say that at one point in history, English was contesting between the older, Latin letters versus the newer reformed letters. Then some writers would appreciate the aesthetic value of certain letters in each set, and combine them in some way. That's sorta basically what I was looking at in Ugetsu; there would be two or three (sometimes more) distinct variants of the same character. In other cases, there was no evidence of the modern letter at all; only the older variant seemed to be in use.
Actually, a good example would be the letters I and J in English, as well as U, V, and W. (I and J came from the same letter, as did U, V and W.) So in older English texts, sometimes it's more useful to substitute the J with an I, or vice versa (eg. the word "jmagery" would really be "imagery". Or "wniuersity" for "university".) The difference here, is that all these letters exist in English now, whereas the hiragana variants simply disappeared in Japanese.
Imagine how much fun we could have if English had two or three alternatives to the already existent 26 standard letters?? (Come to think of it, I suppose technically we could treat minuscule and majuscule letters as being variants of the same letter, and it's only by convention that write majuscules larger... hrmm...)
But so far, I haven't been able to discern any pattern concerning the choice of one hiragana varient over another. Maybe it's purely random/aesthetic, but maybe not...
It's no small wonder that people were slower on the uptake to literacy back then, with their uneven and standardless writing system...
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Lyrical Language
A while back I went through a sort of Children's Classics marathon, which included an entire set of Disney films, from Sleepy Beauty to Aladdin. I also saw the original animated film, Charlotte's Web, in which Wilbur sings a song, celebrating his new-found ability to talk. The best was in this verse:
C: "Who dares disturb my slumber?"
A: "It is I, Aladdin."
Notice that it isn't "it is me, Aladdin". Here, the copular principle is preserved; both sides of the verb are in nominative form.
Also, consider the traditional opening and closing forms:
Another interesting point is the significance of rhyme. When I was seven, and still imperfect in English, I misunderstood (or misremembered) my teacher, giving me the impression that poets were a rare, foreign race of people, whose language always rhymed. I thought it'd be cool if I could become one of these "poets", which obviously didn't happen. For the first few days after I heard my teacher, I would consciously try to speak in rhyme. It was really hard work.
But my personal linguistic struggles aside, rhyme is an extremely strong literary device used in children's literature, and indeed, a lot of older literature. I'm sure a lot of it was appended to the mysticism of symmetry and evenness of lines, but in any case, the intentional pattern of random sounds would draw attention to the listener. For this reason, dialogue in German Märchen was always in rhyme, even if the rest of the narrative was blank prose. (I think this tradition was preserved to some degree in English literature, but I lack the resources to verify the claim.)
Rhyming, as a literary device, obviously fails in SOV languages, since every sentence would rhyme, given the same tense, as all sentences would end with verbs. Japanese poetry, for example, has no appreciable notion of rhyming. But all PIE languages have some rhyming tradition in their literature, as does Chinese, being more-or-less SVO languages. as far as "structured" poetry goes, I'm only aware of the haiku and the tanka. as for Chinese, they basically had a ABXB rhyming scheme, where A could rhyme with B, but wasn't necessary (and X was anything else).
Some more interesting facts about rhyme: the phrase rhyme or reason dates back from the mid-late 1600's. Maybe because at the time, people would often spread easy rhymes to help spread royal rumor, or rile revolution, but there wasn't one foreshadowing Charles II reclaimation of the throne from Cromwell's cold, clammy claws. (Historical example: "When Adam delved and Eve span/ Who was then a gentleman?" which eventually led to the Peasant revolt in 1381.) In any case, that phrase is really, really old, and generally avoided. Whenever I hear a person use it more than once in the same day, I wonder if they've been reading a vocab-building book.
Frank H. Vizetelly, in his book Essentials of English Speech and Literature, consistently spells "rhyme" as "rime", explaining it thusly:
I pop with perspicacityApparently, Wilbur isn't alone in teaching young children difficult words. Consider this classic from Merlin's aquatic lesson in 1963:
I'm loaded with loquacity
My vocalized veracity is tops
Semantically each bit of me's
The verbalized epitome
My plethory of patter never stops!
You must set your sights upon the heightsBut as far as linguists and Children's literature buffs are concerned, this is nothing new. For some strange reason, there is a strong tendency for children's literature to preserve more antiquated aspects of language than contemporary novels. Thus:
Don't be a mediocrity
Don't just wait and trust to fate
And say, "That's how it's meant to be."
It's up to you how far you go
If you don't try you'll never know
And so my lad as I've explained
Nothing ventured, nothing gained
C: "Who dares disturb my slumber?"
A: "It is I, Aladdin."
Notice that it isn't "it is me, Aladdin". Here, the copular principle is preserved; both sides of the verb are in nominative form.
Also, consider the traditional opening and closing forms:
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived ...instead of
... . And they lived happily ever after.
... lived in a foreign country, a long time ago.Supposedly, there's some principle somewhere that states that languages whose objects follow their verbs, would also have a stronger tendency for their adjectives to follow their nouns, which makes English a glaring exception. And yet, we can see "a land far away" somehow sounds more classical than "a far away land". Also consider: "The Brothers Grimm" versus "the Grimm Brothers"; "the extraordinary man" v. "the man extraodinaire". Perhaps this is history and grammatical regularity preserved in the innocent tomes of fiction for children. Too bad they forget it all as soon as they enter formal education.
... And they were happy for the rest of their lives.
Another interesting point is the significance of rhyme. When I was seven, and still imperfect in English, I misunderstood (or misremembered) my teacher, giving me the impression that poets were a rare, foreign race of people, whose language always rhymed. I thought it'd be cool if I could become one of these "poets", which obviously didn't happen. For the first few days after I heard my teacher, I would consciously try to speak in rhyme. It was really hard work.
But my personal linguistic struggles aside, rhyme is an extremely strong literary device used in children's literature, and indeed, a lot of older literature. I'm sure a lot of it was appended to the mysticism of symmetry and evenness of lines, but in any case, the intentional pattern of random sounds would draw attention to the listener. For this reason, dialogue in German Märchen was always in rhyme, even if the rest of the narrative was blank prose. (I think this tradition was preserved to some degree in English literature, but I lack the resources to verify the claim.)
Rhyming, as a literary device, obviously fails in SOV languages, since every sentence would rhyme, given the same tense, as all sentences would end with verbs. Japanese poetry, for example, has no appreciable notion of rhyming. But all PIE languages have some rhyming tradition in their literature, as does Chinese, being more-or-less SVO languages. as far as "structured" poetry goes, I'm only aware of the haiku and the tanka. as for Chinese, they basically had a ABXB rhyming scheme, where A could rhyme with B, but wasn't necessary (and X was anything else).
Some more interesting facts about rhyme: the phrase rhyme or reason dates back from the mid-late 1600's. Maybe because at the time, people would often spread easy rhymes to help spread royal rumor, or rile revolution, but there wasn't one foreshadowing Charles II reclaimation of the throne from Cromwell's cold, clammy claws. (Historical example: "When Adam delved and Eve span/ Who was then a gentleman?" which eventually led to the Peasant revolt in 1381.) In any case, that phrase is really, really old, and generally avoided. Whenever I hear a person use it more than once in the same day, I wonder if they've been reading a vocab-building book.
Frank H. Vizetelly, in his book Essentials of English Speech and Literature, consistently spells "rhyme" as "rime", explaining it thusly:
The spelling rhyme, although commoner in literature than the older rime, is etymologically incorrect, having been introduced in the sixteenth century through a mistaken connection with rhythm. The use of the older spelling has now been revived by many writers.This was published in 1915. Sorry, Franko, nobody listened; Rhyme is here to stay.
Contronymity II
After several brief-but-quickly-resolved misunderstandings between an English major friend of mine and me, I've found that the main basis was a bit beyond mere lexicology -- that it was on the emphasis.
Given a normal statement: A X B (where A is subject; X is verb; B is object), the emphasis can be on any one of the three elements. The focus could be on A, X, or B, which is usually determined by preceding sentences and context. However, often the misunderstanding would arrive when one party would say "the opposite of AXB" to the other. What possible ways can that be interpreted?
1. Agentive
Basically, switching the "agent" of the sentence, which can be done in one of two ways. So instead of "A X B", we could have "B X A" or alternatively "A is X by B". Here, switching A and B seems natural in the following examples:
i. I bit the dog
⇒I was bitten by the dog
⇒The dog bit me
ii. She scares me
⇒I scare her
⇒She is scared of me
2. Negative
This is done by simply negating the sentence. However, this usually ends up not expressing a whole lot of information, especially outside of context. Also, it's not clear whether the verb or the object is being negated:
i. I'm eating lunch
⇒I'm not eating lunch (I'm doing something else to lunch instead)
⇒I'm not eating lunch (I'm eating something else instead)
ii. I kissed a girl
⇒I didn't kiss a girl (it wasn't a girl I kissed)
⇒I didn't kiss a girl (it wasn't a kiss that I shared with the girl)
However, both interpretations could be simultaneously true: "I'm not eating lunch" could mean both that it isn't lunch AND that I'm not eating. I could be chewing gum, for example. Also, it could be the subject that is being negated - It could have been Henry who was kissing the girl. ...or Larry who was massaging a client. This form of "opposite" is by far the worst choice.
3. Verb
This is one that I tend to do sometimes, but it doesn't always make sense. I would replace the verb with another one that had an opposing meaning. So instead of A X B, we now have A X-1 B.
i. I love technology ⇒ I hate technology
ii. Tommy killed his computer ⇒ Tommy revived his computer
Of course, this practice breaks down when you're given verbs with no clear antonym:
iii. I eat worms ⇒ ? I grow worms
iv. Sally kicked the desk ⇒ ? Sally rubbed the desk
Most verbs seem able to work with some sort of negating prefix like un-, in-, etc.
Usually, conversations will hint which way the sentence should be negated, as so:
M: Hey, did you hear? Q got sacked!
N: They way I heard it, it wasn't Q...
M: Oh, you mean it was P! Q's corporate nemesis!
Now, see what can happen without those cues:
T: So I'm pretty sure she likes me.
S: Really? 'Cause I think the opposite, actually.
T: You mean, (a) She hates me.
(b) She likes sby else.
(c) I like her.
(d) none of the above.
(e) all of the above.
Note that in this specific case, (b) doesn't make a lot of sense, unless there is implicit knowledge between the speakers that the T, the girl and some other person R were in an intimate relationship triangle. (d) and (e) are there out of fond memory of an exam I wrote a few years ago. So the only real choices are (a) and (c). But the problem is, (a) and (c) are mutually exclusive; either one could be true without affecting the other. And therefore, S' remark about "opposite" is poorly phrased for being ambiguous.
Instead, S should have either said: "Really? 'Cause I think she does the opposite," indicating that the verb should be replaced, or, "Really? 'Cause I don't think she's the one doing the liking," indicating that the subject and object should be switched.
So from this, what I've found to be more-or-less true, is that whenever I'm speaking about "opposites" with my friend, I tend to focus on the verb, since grammatically, the verb is the matrix of the sentence, whereas my friend tends to focus on the actors, since semantically, they're the most important.
As a final note, negations are an extremely large topic in linguistics; there's a fat tomb sitting in certain libraries, called A Natural History of Negation. Not a fun read, but extremely thorough.
Given a normal statement: A X B (where A is subject; X is verb; B is object), the emphasis can be on any one of the three elements. The focus could be on A, X, or B, which is usually determined by preceding sentences and context. However, often the misunderstanding would arrive when one party would say "the opposite of AXB" to the other. What possible ways can that be interpreted?
1. Agentive
Basically, switching the "agent" of the sentence, which can be done in one of two ways. So instead of "A X B", we could have "B X A" or alternatively "A is X by B". Here, switching A and B seems natural in the following examples:
i. I bit the dog
⇒I was bitten by the dog
⇒The dog bit me
ii. She scares me
⇒I scare her
⇒She is scared of me
2. Negative
This is done by simply negating the sentence. However, this usually ends up not expressing a whole lot of information, especially outside of context. Also, it's not clear whether the verb or the object is being negated:
i. I'm eating lunch
⇒I'm not eating lunch (I'm doing something else to lunch instead)
⇒I'm not eating lunch (I'm eating something else instead)
ii. I kissed a girl
⇒I didn't kiss a girl (it wasn't a girl I kissed)
⇒I didn't kiss a girl (it wasn't a kiss that I shared with the girl)
However, both interpretations could be simultaneously true: "I'm not eating lunch" could mean both that it isn't lunch AND that I'm not eating. I could be chewing gum, for example. Also, it could be the subject that is being negated - It could have been Henry who was kissing the girl. ...or Larry who was massaging a client. This form of "opposite" is by far the worst choice.
3. Verb
This is one that I tend to do sometimes, but it doesn't always make sense. I would replace the verb with another one that had an opposing meaning. So instead of A X B, we now have A X-1 B.
i. I love technology ⇒ I hate technology
ii. Tommy killed his computer ⇒ Tommy revived his computer
Of course, this practice breaks down when you're given verbs with no clear antonym:
iii. I eat worms ⇒ ? I grow worms
iv. Sally kicked the desk ⇒ ? Sally rubbed the desk
Most verbs seem able to work with some sort of negating prefix like un-, in-, etc.
Usually, conversations will hint which way the sentence should be negated, as so:
M: Hey, did you hear? Q got sacked!
N: They way I heard it, it wasn't Q...
M: Oh, you mean it was P! Q's corporate nemesis!
Now, see what can happen without those cues:
T: So I'm pretty sure she likes me.
S: Really? 'Cause I think the opposite, actually.
T: You mean, (a) She hates me.
(b) She likes sby else.
(c) I like her.
(d) none of the above.
(e) all of the above.
Note that in this specific case, (b) doesn't make a lot of sense, unless there is implicit knowledge between the speakers that the T, the girl and some other person R were in an intimate relationship triangle. (d) and (e) are there out of fond memory of an exam I wrote a few years ago. So the only real choices are (a) and (c). But the problem is, (a) and (c) are mutually exclusive; either one could be true without affecting the other. And therefore, S' remark about "opposite" is poorly phrased for being ambiguous.
Instead, S should have either said: "Really? 'Cause I think she does the opposite," indicating that the verb should be replaced, or, "Really? 'Cause I don't think she's the one doing the liking," indicating that the subject and object should be switched.
So from this, what I've found to be more-or-less true, is that whenever I'm speaking about "opposites" with my friend, I tend to focus on the verb, since grammatically, the verb is the matrix of the sentence, whereas my friend tends to focus on the actors, since semantically, they're the most important.
As a final note, negations are an extremely large topic in linguistics; there's a fat tomb sitting in certain libraries, called A Natural History of Negation. Not a fun read, but extremely thorough.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Old Pizazz
So, after spending a disproportionate amount of time on FreeRice, I have to say that the vocab in the higher levels aren't necessarily always fair. Well, depending on how you choose to view the task. If it's a general English vocab test, it fails because of the historicity and obliquity of some of its words.
Words like animalcule and camelopard are only words if you've studied historical science/biology. Otherwise, there would be no reason to know (or use!) the words. Animalcules were first proposed with the discovery of microbiology to describe single cells. Camelopards are similarly archaisms for giraffes, what british taxonomists first thought must have been a hybrid between camels and leopards. The silly sods.
I don't approve of the use of those words (even though they were kinda my freebies to the next level), because they aren't an accurate test of general English vocabulary. Instead, it became a test of education -- who was a biologist, and who wasn't? Even historical words of British culture are a bit of a grey area. Yes, there is not such thing as language without context, and therefore any special vocabulary one learns must necessarily be registered in a specific field. The question is then how broad a field is it? Something like nosegay, what we now call bouquets, is a bit iffy.
Shakespearian words, on the other hand, I would be more lenient towards, if only because it's a "fair" education -- anyone who's successfully completed high school would have read and studied at least three Shakespeare plays, if not five. And words I totally approve of are "standard" in the sense that they weren't misappropriated names, like tintinnabulation, sesquipedalian, aphonic.
On the other hand, and this is something I can appreciate even if I don't approve, is that their one-word definition choices were sometimes a bit too limiting. Yes, a Paladin could be defined as a "champion", but I feel a closer cognate would be "knight". The emphasis is on the regality and chivalry rather than the victory. Similarly, I'd associate dusky more with a description of ambient lighting than skin pigmentation (ie swarthy). But it's usually difficult to find a one-word equivalent for the rarer words. Even though some of their options have been two or three words, most choices are singletons. So that point's a bit hard to appease.
Words like animalcule and camelopard are only words if you've studied historical science/biology. Otherwise, there would be no reason to know (or use!) the words. Animalcules were first proposed with the discovery of microbiology to describe single cells. Camelopards are similarly archaisms for giraffes, what british taxonomists first thought must have been a hybrid between camels and leopards. The silly sods.
I don't approve of the use of those words (even though they were kinda my freebies to the next level), because they aren't an accurate test of general English vocabulary. Instead, it became a test of education -- who was a biologist, and who wasn't? Even historical words of British culture are a bit of a grey area. Yes, there is not such thing as language without context, and therefore any special vocabulary one learns must necessarily be registered in a specific field. The question is then how broad a field is it? Something like nosegay, what we now call bouquets, is a bit iffy.
Shakespearian words, on the other hand, I would be more lenient towards, if only because it's a "fair" education -- anyone who's successfully completed high school would have read and studied at least three Shakespeare plays, if not five. And words I totally approve of are "standard" in the sense that they weren't misappropriated names, like tintinnabulation, sesquipedalian, aphonic.
On the other hand, and this is something I can appreciate even if I don't approve, is that their one-word definition choices were sometimes a bit too limiting. Yes, a Paladin could be defined as a "champion", but I feel a closer cognate would be "knight". The emphasis is on the regality and chivalry rather than the victory. Similarly, I'd associate dusky more with a description of ambient lighting than skin pigmentation (ie swarthy). But it's usually difficult to find a one-word equivalent for the rarer words. Even though some of their options have been two or three words, most choices are singletons. So that point's a bit hard to appease.
Monday, November 12, 2007
TNT
Tone and Timbre.
Language Log had an interesting post on American/Japanese voices. Based on their [non-controlled] data, they found that Japanese speakers had a 1-3 semitone increase in gender polarity from American speakers. That means that Japanese male speakers would sound slightly lower than American males, and Japanese females would sound slightly higher than American females. (This is probably well-observed in dubbing for female characters in movies and shows.)
After reading that, I ran through several random phrases to see if it was true for me when I speak English and Japanese, and apparently it is! (When I matched my Japanese voice to my English voice, it sounded weird.)
This is particularly interesting to me because it means that despite the fact that these languages are intonal, there is still an implicit amount of tonal information that isn't consciously registered by the speaker and listener. Mandarin, by contrast, is a tonal language, and relies heavily on pitch-relative-to-voice.
In a sense, even if we're only monolingual, we can still tell the general voice range of a person's speaking voice based on the timbre. In music, this is obvious when a singer is scraping the top or bottom of her range to hit the notes. Although the notes themselves are physically possible for humans, they aren't reachable for all, and the "strain" in the voice can be heard. (Sometimes seen as well, from the clenching in the neck area.)
This actually puts into perspective, my interactions with two asians from highschool. The first was a Korean female who, to my English ears, spoke in an affected higher voice. I thought she was just trying to sound cute (and failing) -- since I had heard her "normal" voice when she was upset. But maybe the higher tone was a symptom of her Korean upbringing. The second, very similar, was a Japanese male who normally "mumbled". But whenever he would raise his voice (both in pitch and volume), he would sound "normal".
The curious thing about both these cases, is that they were both born and raised in Toronto, a predominantly English-speaking community. Sorta makes one wonder how much of foreign accents are actually contributed by misaligned speaking ranges.
Language Log had an interesting post on American/Japanese voices. Based on their [non-controlled] data, they found that Japanese speakers had a 1-3 semitone increase in gender polarity from American speakers. That means that Japanese male speakers would sound slightly lower than American males, and Japanese females would sound slightly higher than American females. (This is probably well-observed in dubbing for female characters in movies and shows.)
After reading that, I ran through several random phrases to see if it was true for me when I speak English and Japanese, and apparently it is! (When I matched my Japanese voice to my English voice, it sounded weird.)
This is particularly interesting to me because it means that despite the fact that these languages are intonal, there is still an implicit amount of tonal information that isn't consciously registered by the speaker and listener. Mandarin, by contrast, is a tonal language, and relies heavily on pitch-relative-to-voice.
In a sense, even if we're only monolingual, we can still tell the general voice range of a person's speaking voice based on the timbre. In music, this is obvious when a singer is scraping the top or bottom of her range to hit the notes. Although the notes themselves are physically possible for humans, they aren't reachable for all, and the "strain" in the voice can be heard. (Sometimes seen as well, from the clenching in the neck area.)
This actually puts into perspective, my interactions with two asians from highschool. The first was a Korean female who, to my English ears, spoke in an affected higher voice. I thought she was just trying to sound cute (and failing) -- since I had heard her "normal" voice when she was upset. But maybe the higher tone was a symptom of her Korean upbringing. The second, very similar, was a Japanese male who normally "mumbled". But whenever he would raise his voice (both in pitch and volume), he would sound "normal".
The curious thing about both these cases, is that they were both born and raised in Toronto, a predominantly English-speaking community. Sorta makes one wonder how much of foreign accents are actually contributed by misaligned speaking ranges.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Buzz, Pomp and Lexis
Today, my sister and I went to see a movie with a pair of family friends we hadn't seen in around 13 years. Well, maybe 8 years for the older one, but anyway. We saw Bee Movie (starring Jerry Seinfeld and Renee Zwelliger). Lots of random humour, but the one part that really got my attention was a reference to the phrase pomp and circumstance.
Now that is a phrase that I've always heard, but usually in the context of music (i.e. the title of Sir Edward Elgar's musical composition, in the mid-17th century). However, my non-rigorous search online revealed that perhaps it was originally from Shakespeare's Othello, in which the description is about the formalities and glories of war. But in any case, I feel that this is an extremely dated phrase that no longer serves any useful purpose; The etymology is obscured, and the meaning unclear.
Meanwhile, I was browsing around Chapters today, looking for some "classical" children's literature (ie. A.A. Milne and Beatrix Potter). After being ignored for a while by two female employees (whose conversation was apparently more important than their work), I found my Beatrix Potter in the age 0-5 section. What was more astounding, aside from the now-antiquated vocabulary in Peter Rabbit's Adventures, is the fact that each little booklet which originally sold for a dollar or two, is now being sold for $10 a book! That's insane! That, and there is no clear order or index in the kids section for books... ...And they wonder why kids have trouble organising their thoughts...
I doubt I'll ever have man-spawn of my own, but in terms of general pedagogy, I find it helpful to introduce children to established stories first. They won't understand the words, but they're learning language for the first time anyway, so it doesn't make that much of a difference. They learn to sense the general meaning of a word based on context and illustration, and they'll recognise certain words later in life when they happen to be reading a 150-yr old manuscript.
These books also set a standard for what constitutes good literature. I think, if it hadn't been for these books growing up, my sense of English wouldn't be half as strong as it is now. Even though the job hasn't existed in my country throughout my entire life, I still knew what a milkman was.
And lastly, my friend sent me a link to a poverty-feeding, vocabular-building site. They basically quiz you on your vocab, and for every answer, they donate 10 grains of rice. (It doesn't matter if your answer is correct or not; sometimes the options are a bit strange.) There's also a vocab level counter, indicating what level you're at. It's out of 50, and I'm guessing an average university student should have be at least lvl 35, based on the words I've been playing around with. (So far, my record high is lv 43. yay.) So, build up your vocab, and feed some hungry people! Highlight words from the quiz so far: camelopard, and prophylactic. (Don't ask why I happen to know the definition for either word... it's been a strange life for me.)
Now that is a phrase that I've always heard, but usually in the context of music (i.e. the title of Sir Edward Elgar's musical composition, in the mid-17th century). However, my non-rigorous search online revealed that perhaps it was originally from Shakespeare's Othello, in which the description is about the formalities and glories of war. But in any case, I feel that this is an extremely dated phrase that no longer serves any useful purpose; The etymology is obscured, and the meaning unclear.
Meanwhile, I was browsing around Chapters today, looking for some "classical" children's literature (ie. A.A. Milne and Beatrix Potter). After being ignored for a while by two female employees (whose conversation was apparently more important than their work), I found my Beatrix Potter in the age 0-5 section. What was more astounding, aside from the now-antiquated vocabulary in Peter Rabbit's Adventures, is the fact that each little booklet which originally sold for a dollar or two, is now being sold for $10 a book! That's insane! That, and there is no clear order or index in the kids section for books... ...And they wonder why kids have trouble organising their thoughts...
I doubt I'll ever have man-spawn of my own, but in terms of general pedagogy, I find it helpful to introduce children to established stories first. They won't understand the words, but they're learning language for the first time anyway, so it doesn't make that much of a difference. They learn to sense the general meaning of a word based on context and illustration, and they'll recognise certain words later in life when they happen to be reading a 150-yr old manuscript.
These books also set a standard for what constitutes good literature. I think, if it hadn't been for these books growing up, my sense of English wouldn't be half as strong as it is now. Even though the job hasn't existed in my country throughout my entire life, I still knew what a milkman was.
And lastly, my friend sent me a link to a poverty-feeding, vocabular-building site. They basically quiz you on your vocab, and for every answer, they donate 10 grains of rice. (It doesn't matter if your answer is correct or not; sometimes the options are a bit strange.) There's also a vocab level counter, indicating what level you're at. It's out of 50, and I'm guessing an average university student should have be at least lvl 35, based on the words I've been playing around with. (So far, my record high is lv 43. yay.) So, build up your vocab, and feed some hungry people! Highlight words from the quiz so far: camelopard, and prophylactic. (Don't ask why I happen to know the definition for either word... it's been a strange life for me.)
Friday, November 9, 2007
Contronymity
I've been reading a book called Markings, by Dag Hammarskjöld (in Swedish) and translated by Leif Sjöberg and W.H. Auden. Now, although reading it has proven to be quite enjoyable and thought-provoking, I do have to say that I originally picked it up at a university discount sale, on little more than the fact that I enjoyed the font and the colour of the cloth cover. Anyway, one particularly thought-provoking line was this:
Now by itself, the second sentence might seem a bit uplifting and positive; the delivered could be interpreted to mean "saved; set free; etc". And if we assume this to be true, the line does carry a poetic elegance, and a sort of social beauty. But there are two things that make me think otherwise, which I shall explore below:
Firstly, the preceding sentence in the quote already states that friendship (being a sort of deed and relationship) is covered in quietness. Now, this could be a technical and semantic division between being alone, and being lonely. On the other hand, it could be a dark interpretation of friendships, implying that we only create them to stave off the conscious knowledge or acknowledgement of our inherent solitude and isolation. And the reason why I feel it could be this dark interpretation is because:
Throughout this book of random prose, Hammarskjöld frequently mentions death, and the pain of being alive. In my untrained eyes, it's difficult to tell if the figures in his prose are literal people, or analogies for parties/countries, which wouldn't be entirely impossible, given that he was the Secretary-General to the UN for some time. But in either case, the tone isn't always positive. (The ambiguity's a bit like most poetry then...) Right in the first page is the following:
So it hard to assume that his writings can be all positive and uplifting. But it really does make you think. Well, it certainly made me think.
A sort of in-between interpretation might go like this: Solitude is the child of Loneliness, and is thence delivered. In this case, the dark view of friendships being created out of mutually loneliness is maintained, but the interpretation of Solitude is different. Out of two people in need is a created bond, implying that the friendship between two people ONLY supports those two people, and therefore are solid against the rest of humanity and its loneliness. (IE, not just any lonely person can randomly penetrate this friendship.)
But despite whichever interpretation is taken or intended, they all have a kernel of truth about the human condition, and they maintain a poetical grace. Personally, I think that a language's poetry and prose is the only true testament to its greatness.
Every deed and every relationship is surrounded by an atmosphere of silence. Friendship needs no words -- it is solitude delivered from the anguish of loneliness.
Now by itself, the second sentence might seem a bit uplifting and positive; the delivered could be interpreted to mean "saved; set free; etc". And if we assume this to be true, the line does carry a poetic elegance, and a sort of social beauty. But there are two things that make me think otherwise, which I shall explore below:
Firstly, the preceding sentence in the quote already states that friendship (being a sort of deed and relationship) is covered in quietness. Now, this could be a technical and semantic division between being alone, and being lonely. On the other hand, it could be a dark interpretation of friendships, implying that we only create them to stave off the conscious knowledge or acknowledgement of our inherent solitude and isolation. And the reason why I feel it could be this dark interpretation is because:
Throughout this book of random prose, Hammarskjöld frequently mentions death, and the pain of being alive. In my untrained eyes, it's difficult to tell if the figures in his prose are literal people, or analogies for parties/countries, which wouldn't be entirely impossible, given that he was the Secretary-General to the UN for some time. But in either case, the tone isn't always positive. (The ambiguity's a bit like most poetry then...) Right in the first page is the following:
Tomorrow we shall meet,
Death and I --
And he shall thrust his sword
Into one who is wide awake.
But in the meantime how grievous the memory
Of hours frittered away.
So it hard to assume that his writings can be all positive and uplifting. But it really does make you think. Well, it certainly made me think.
A sort of in-between interpretation might go like this: Solitude is the child of Loneliness, and is thence delivered. In this case, the dark view of friendships being created out of mutually loneliness is maintained, but the interpretation of Solitude is different. Out of two people in need is a created bond, implying that the friendship between two people ONLY supports those two people, and therefore are solid against the rest of humanity and its loneliness. (IE, not just any lonely person can randomly penetrate this friendship.)
But despite whichever interpretation is taken or intended, they all have a kernel of truth about the human condition, and they maintain a poetical grace. Personally, I think that a language's poetry and prose is the only true testament to its greatness.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Grammar Genocide
Over the years, the term "grammar nazi" has been thrown at me, sometimes in spite, sometimes in jest, but always with a degree of sincerity. Invariable though, this "nazi" standard stems from a population of ignoramuses whose idea of "deep" writing is nothing more than a gross abuse of archaic pronouns. (I suppose in some ways it's not too far off from the analytically illogical "wisdom" of Buddhism.) "There thee thine that thou wert thy there" is somehow a profound line of expression instead of an inelegant, nonsensical statement.
In any case, I object to the nazi part of the epithet for several reasons:
1. WWII
It wasn't actually too long ago that fascist ideology drove a world mad, steeped in sanguinary prejudice. Somehow, knowing the historical Nazis make the use of the term heavier. And on principle, I object to the light appellation of loaded terms. It's a bit like exclaiming "Holy Allah!" in front of a muslim, or "Shivering Shiva!" to a hindu. (Or "Bumbling Brahma!") So equating my relatively substantial grammatical knowledge with a bigoted, genocidal government is a bit hurtful.
2. Rigidity
Usually, the term nazi is used to denote some sort of unerring standard, implying that my knowledge of grammar disallows any room for personal style or expression. But that's not the case! Just because I think that it's stylistically wrong to interchange third-person pronouns "one" with "he" at whim, it doesn't mean that I'm impeding personal style. I mean, what subtle nuance can be derived from using "he" over "one"? (Or "me" over "I" -- one's just grammatically incorrect; it doesn't change the meaning of the statement significantly.) In fact, there is plenty of room for personal style. The problem is, most young writers find amateurish juxtaposition of styles "cool", whereas I would call it bombastic.
3. Language
Given that I've been studying Japanese and German, I'm already somewhat sensitive to the social/cultural/historical issues surrounding the two countries after 1945. (And I assure you, my interests in Japanese/German go way before the events that started WWII!) So any allusion to axis kinda reminds me of that hellish period in time.
So, please, in future, don't call someone a grammar nazi unless that person is a prescriptivist. :) (Well, maybe only if the person is mean about it.) If you want to find a word to describe the intensity or depth of a person's knowledge, err on the complimentary. Scholar, sage, guru, expert, wizard, lord, master, professor, teacher. All these express that same sentiment of having a wide and precise knowledge. And yet, all of these aren't as offensive as nazi. Even less negative terms would be more acceptable: fiend, addict, junkie, kook. I wouldn't mind being called a "grammar junkie". That suits me fine. But "grammar nazi"? It's not like I have a personal vendetta against hebronics and gaynese or something...
In any case, I object to the nazi part of the epithet for several reasons:
1. WWII
It wasn't actually too long ago that fascist ideology drove a world mad, steeped in sanguinary prejudice. Somehow, knowing the historical Nazis make the use of the term heavier. And on principle, I object to the light appellation of loaded terms. It's a bit like exclaiming "Holy Allah!" in front of a muslim, or "Shivering Shiva!" to a hindu. (Or "Bumbling Brahma!") So equating my relatively substantial grammatical knowledge with a bigoted, genocidal government is a bit hurtful.
2. Rigidity
Usually, the term nazi is used to denote some sort of unerring standard, implying that my knowledge of grammar disallows any room for personal style or expression. But that's not the case! Just because I think that it's stylistically wrong to interchange third-person pronouns "one" with "he" at whim, it doesn't mean that I'm impeding personal style. I mean, what subtle nuance can be derived from using "he" over "one"? (Or "me" over "I" -- one's just grammatically incorrect; it doesn't change the meaning of the statement significantly.) In fact, there is plenty of room for personal style. The problem is, most young writers find amateurish juxtaposition of styles "cool", whereas I would call it bombastic.
3. Language
Given that I've been studying Japanese and German, I'm already somewhat sensitive to the social/cultural/historical issues surrounding the two countries after 1945. (And I assure you, my interests in Japanese/German go way before the events that started WWII!) So any allusion to axis kinda reminds me of that hellish period in time.
So, please, in future, don't call someone a grammar nazi unless that person is a prescriptivist. :) (Well, maybe only if the person is mean about it.) If you want to find a word to describe the intensity or depth of a person's knowledge, err on the complimentary. Scholar, sage, guru, expert, wizard, lord, master, professor, teacher. All these express that same sentiment of having a wide and precise knowledge. And yet, all of these aren't as offensive as nazi. Even less negative terms would be more acceptable: fiend, addict, junkie, kook. I wouldn't mind being called a "grammar junkie". That suits me fine. But "grammar nazi"? It's not like I have a personal vendetta against hebronics and gaynese or something...
Isn't it though?
I've said it before, but I guess it's a bit weird since it's coming from me, but I sometimes consider myself to have anglomania. Despite whatever interests I have in East Asian entertainment, I do have a fairly wide palette for British Comedy, going back as far as Beyond the Fringe to the Catherine Tate Show.
Catherine Tate, as one of her characters, Lauren, says some of the most bewildering expressions. Having never spent any time in British high schools, or conversed at length with what I interpret to be a British version of valley girls, it's hard to say whether Lauren's lines are accurate to the sociolect, or intentionally awkward for comedic affect. (For reference, you may want to watch this youtube video, or perhaps a more relatable example here.)
The standard "yes?" is replaced with "alright?" as so:
A: "hello, Lauren?"
L: "alright?"
And the stranger one is replacing any affirmative with "isn't it though?" For example:
A: "Are you Lauren?" or "Will he be coming today?"
L: "Isn't it though?" (instead of "aren't I though?" or "won't he though?")
And queer as it is, I distinctly recall encountering similar pronoun hijacking in conversations with younger native speakers (say, born after 1985), but cannot remember a specific exchange.
What's more interesting is that I've also experienced this phenomena when teaching Japanese, most particularly in the case of a certain female student.
This student, whom we shall name Petunia, would answer every homework question with ～です, roughly equivalent to responding to every question in English as "it is ___". Almost like "isn't it though?", except that the response isn't a question. For example:
Q. "What time did Mr. Tanaka go to work?"
A: "[He left] at 7:00"
P: *"It is 7:00"
Q. "How did Mr. Tanaka and his friend go to the park?"
A: "[They went] by car"
P: *"It is a car"
Q. "Where did Mr. Tanaka bring Mr. Smith?"
A: "[He brought him] to the restaurant"
P: *"It is a restaurant"
etc, etc, etc..
Damned annoying to have to repeatedly tell Petunia that as handy as ～です was, it wasn't useful for most of the homework assignments. The way I figured it, she either was so rushed that she couldn't even mimic the verb form from the question, or her mental capacity was so low that Japanese grammatical statements requiring more than copular verbs were too much. OR, she just didn't want to believe me on the coincidental-but-irrelevant fact that one of her friends didn't like me.
Assuming these two specific incidents are any indication, there may be a more basic cognitive reformation in modern speech. So, it would seem that the default "it is"/"is it?" may be linked on a more pragmatic level than a grammatical one. (In the sense that "I, Tarzan; you, Jane" might be rephrased as "me -- it is Tarzan; you -- it is Jane".) Disturbing to my 20th-century ears, but maybe that's just me.
What sad times are these when people can't even keep two sentences together?
Catherine Tate, as one of her characters, Lauren, says some of the most bewildering expressions. Having never spent any time in British high schools, or conversed at length with what I interpret to be a British version of valley girls, it's hard to say whether Lauren's lines are accurate to the sociolect, or intentionally awkward for comedic affect. (For reference, you may want to watch this youtube video, or perhaps a more relatable example here.)
The standard "yes?" is replaced with "alright?" as so:
A: "hello, Lauren?"
L: "alright?"
And the stranger one is replacing any affirmative with "isn't it though?" For example:
A: "Are you Lauren?" or "Will he be coming today?"
L: "Isn't it though?" (instead of "aren't I though?" or "won't he though?")
And queer as it is, I distinctly recall encountering similar pronoun hijacking in conversations with younger native speakers (say, born after 1985), but cannot remember a specific exchange.
What's more interesting is that I've also experienced this phenomena when teaching Japanese, most particularly in the case of a certain female student.
This student, whom we shall name Petunia, would answer every homework question with ～です, roughly equivalent to responding to every question in English as "it is ___". Almost like "isn't it though?", except that the response isn't a question. For example:
Q. "What time did Mr. Tanaka go to work?"
A: "[He left] at 7:00"
P: *"It is 7:00"
Q. "How did Mr. Tanaka and his friend go to the park?"
A: "[They went] by car"
P: *"It is a car"
Q. "Where did Mr. Tanaka bring Mr. Smith?"
A: "[He brought him] to the restaurant"
P: *"It is a restaurant"
etc, etc, etc..
Damned annoying to have to repeatedly tell Petunia that as handy as ～です was, it wasn't useful for most of the homework assignments. The way I figured it, she either was so rushed that she couldn't even mimic the verb form from the question, or her mental capacity was so low that Japanese grammatical statements requiring more than copular verbs were too much. OR, she just didn't want to believe me on the coincidental-but-irrelevant fact that one of her friends didn't like me.
Assuming these two specific incidents are any indication, there may be a more basic cognitive reformation in modern speech. So, it would seem that the default "it is"/"is it?" may be linked on a more pragmatic level than a grammatical one. (In the sense that "I, Tarzan; you, Jane" might be rephrased as "me -- it is Tarzan; you -- it is Jane".) Disturbing to my 20th-century ears, but maybe that's just me.
What sad times are these when people can't even keep two sentences together?
Intro
Given that a considerable amount of my posts are progressively becoming more grammar/linguistics related, I felt it appropriate to start a new blog just for that, and keep the other blogs free of language la-dee-da's. The inspiration behind Grimm, aside from my personal fascination with das Märchen is also their astounding work in producing the first Wörterbuch.
On that subject, actually, is an interesting book I'd been reading on the meaning of "dictionary", at the recommendation of Prof. R. A. Harris: Modern Lexicography, by Henri Béjoint. But more on that in a later post.
So, what you can expect from me in this blog, is a series of posts about language speculation, largely about English, and mostly grammatical, although I imagine that as I continue my studies, they'll get progressively get less prescriptive.
Over time, I may pre-date most of my language-related posts from my other blogs here, so look out for that. :)
On that subject, actually, is an interesting book I'd been reading on the meaning of "dictionary", at the recommendation of Prof. R. A. Harris: Modern Lexicography, by Henri Béjoint. But more on that in a later post.
So, what you can expect from me in this blog, is a series of posts about language speculation, largely about English, and mostly grammatical, although I imagine that as I continue my studies, they'll get progressively get less prescriptive.
Over time, I may pre-date most of my language-related posts from my other blogs here, so look out for that. :)
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Eastern Eejits
For me, this is a very old topic, but reading a new article on an old story rekindles certain sentiments. I was browsing Language Log today (something I do semi-often to get my fix of linguistic news), when I saw a bit about Japanese, and speech forms.
Apparently, a certain set of Caucasian males with Japanese girlfriends (like that's original) have been discovering that the Japanese they've been learning from their coy counterparts are effeminate. Am I alone in this, or don't most people notice a general difference in trend between the way groups of people speak?? I mean, where else do we come up with the politically-incorrect-but-accurate stereotypes of society!?
This guy claims to have lived in Japan for over two years, and somehow managed to learn fem. Japanese without picking up on it. Unless he's been posing as a woman in some sort of women-only district, I find it highly unlikely that he wouldn't have the opportunity to observe male speech patterns. TV shows, interviews, snippets of conversation on public transit, all these things are more telling of a culture than the ignoramus must be willing to admit.
This all reminds me of my first experience with such an induhvidual who was, among other things, something that uncyclopedia.org affectionately terms "wapanese". It was particularly unnerving for an introvert as myself, to be standing in front of the classroom teaching, having to meet the intense, rapturous gaze of a physically unfit and sexually unattractive induhvidual. Most unnerving was having to hear him speak because, like the people described in the preceding paragraphs, this induhvidual had the idiocy to mimic the object of his affection, instead of the object of the affection of the object of his affection (awkward phrasing; syntax abuse!). Isn't that a bit like trying to impress the girl of your dreams by trying to look better in the same sort of clothes and skirts that she wears? Unless she's as sexually confused as you... .
Personally, I find it interesting that this particularly unobservant demographic continues to meander along, leading each other in the dark. Caucasian male in Japan -- like that's not going to stand out. And somehow, it escapes their ken (or perhaps is suppressed out of their own emotional insecurity), that by being foreign they would automatically be regarded as something of a novelty. No, no, of course those back-stabbing, two-faced vixens love you for who you are. Especially when they come from an amoral and atheist society.
Plenty of blame to go around. I'm also astonished that these Japanese women don't recognise the fact that their foreign boyfriends/students/coworkers are foreign, and therefore raised in a different cultural and linguistic environment. Wouldn't that necessitate a simpler and more direct mode of communcation? Apparently not. So they bottle up their indignation at their foppish counterparts' linguistic blunders until they can't bear it anymore, releasing it all in a one-shot torrent of emotion and rage. Brilliant.
Apparently, a certain set of Caucasian males with Japanese girlfriends (like that's original) have been discovering that the Japanese they've been learning from their coy counterparts are effeminate. Am I alone in this, or don't most people notice a general difference in trend between the way groups of people speak?? I mean, where else do we come up with the politically-incorrect-but-accurate stereotypes of society!?
This guy claims to have lived in Japan for over two years, and somehow managed to learn fem. Japanese without picking up on it. Unless he's been posing as a woman in some sort of women-only district, I find it highly unlikely that he wouldn't have the opportunity to observe male speech patterns. TV shows, interviews, snippets of conversation on public transit, all these things are more telling of a culture than the ignoramus must be willing to admit.
This all reminds me of my first experience with such an induhvidual who was, among other things, something that uncyclopedia.org affectionately terms "wapanese". It was particularly unnerving for an introvert as myself, to be standing in front of the classroom teaching, having to meet the intense, rapturous gaze of a physically unfit and sexually unattractive induhvidual. Most unnerving was having to hear him speak because, like the people described in the preceding paragraphs, this induhvidual had the idiocy to mimic the object of his affection, instead of the object of the affection of the object of his affection (awkward phrasing; syntax abuse!). Isn't that a bit like trying to impress the girl of your dreams by trying to look better in the same sort of clothes and skirts that she wears? Unless she's as sexually confused as you... .
Personally, I find it interesting that this particularly unobservant demographic continues to meander along, leading each other in the dark. Caucasian male in Japan -- like that's not going to stand out. And somehow, it escapes their ken (or perhaps is suppressed out of their own emotional insecurity), that by being foreign they would automatically be regarded as something of a novelty. No, no, of course those back-stabbing, two-faced vixens love you for who you are. Especially when they come from an amoral and atheist society.
Plenty of blame to go around. I'm also astonished that these Japanese women don't recognise the fact that their foreign boyfriends/students/coworkers are foreign, and therefore raised in a different cultural and linguistic environment. Wouldn't that necessitate a simpler and more direct mode of communcation? Apparently not. So they bottle up their indignation at their foppish counterparts' linguistic blunders until they can't bear it anymore, releasing it all in a one-shot torrent of emotion and rage. Brilliant.
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