The Language of Blogs

RHYS: It's Thursday, I'm doing tax and in need of some silliness. The other day I was posting a comment when I happened to notice the word we now have to type to verify that we're not Russian spammers trying to enlarge body parts.

This particular word was RECURESS. It was the sort of word that cries out for a definition. Mine is Recuress: female who shows up at all functions hoping to be noticed.

Then I started collecting more of these nonsense words (or are they nonsense? Are we perhaps being brainwashed into learning a new language? The language of blogs?)
In the last week I've found:
PREDIBLY: probably,maybe
UNCESSI: neverending, like elevator music
MINIZ: Not maxiz
BILYBA: As in the Monkey's song-- I saw her face, now I'm a bilyba
NARKYA: Seriously annoying
PATIC: The sort of ache one gets from playing with small children: as in patic ache
baker's man. (sorry, couldn't resist that one)
MODER: Hello Moder, Hello Fader

So how about checking next time you want to post a comment and also post the definition of your special word? And one day we'll all be speaking the language, I'm sure.

On changing language

JAN: Everyone likes to complain about how the language is going down hill. How young people maul it, changing the meanings etc. I, for one, always grumble about the overuse of "what's up?"

It drives me crazy when I answer the phone and my daughter asks: What's up? I inevitably respond: I don't know, you called me. This is because I think "What's up?" should be a response, not a salutation.

I'll also never really like the ever-ready "sweet" and "sick" But I'm not here to complain. I want to point out the changes in the language I do like.

Really?

It's not a change in pronunciation, but a definite shift in emphasis. It's not really?? As in I'm semi-amazed. It's Real-y, as in I'm going to subtly suggest that you think about what you just said. THere seems to be a hole in your logic, I'm going to give you a moment to see that.

Epic

This is used, okay overused, as a superlative and supposedly comes from gamers (as in video-gamers.) Often heard: "That's Epic," I find the very enormity of the overstatement appealing.

Wifed-Up

When my son wanted to convey to my daughter that he really liked the girl he was seeing and now it was "serious," he said, "I guess I'm wifed up." The reason I found this interesting, rather than say, sexist, or demeaning to wives, was because he was happy about it. He also immediately added, "Just like you." (She's got a long term boyfriend.) Making the term non-gender related.

My bad

This is hardly new, but lately, I've been thinking how much I Iike this expression. By saying "My bad," you are not just accepting blame, you are acknowledging and reiterating a very important point: hey, we all make mistakes, this just happens to be mine.

Glamazon Barbie

My daughter uses this to refer to young women her age who go for the sexy-but-stupid look. It always makes me chuckle.

RO: I can't say "sweet" in today's usage with a straight face. I would feel like my mother saying "far out."

Wifed up..never heard that...is that the suburban version of mobbed up or lawyered up? If I didn't spend most of my days sitting in front of a computer talking to myself I might be more au courant. I can't remember the last sort of hip phrase that I truly adopted.

JAN: I think it's the college version.....

HANK: That's "sick"--meaning good--I don't get it. And yes, RO, I agree, sweet has passed us by. Happily. Even the people who say it somehow sound phony. (Oh, is phony passe?)

Cougar? Shall we discuss and dismiss?

And what happened with "good'?: How are you? Good! That seems to be completely socially acceptable. It's wrong, right?

And Jan, I often hear that new-ish use of reee--ly. Like (oops) a thoughtful response. And yes, it works.

JAN: Yes, Hank, I forgot about cougar. It so adeptly conveys aggression. I put that in the "good terminology" department.

RHYS: Sorry, but I can't stand My Bad. The grammarian in me shouts "My bad what?"

I realize that my language will never be hip. I didn't say "Far out" when it was in. I felt stupid saying "cool". So it's lucky I write historical novels where my protagonists can say things like "spiffing, and topping and Rah-ther!"

(Not that I ever said those either) but then I've only just found out who Lady Ga Ga is so I'm probably a hopeless case.

JAN: Except for the Glamazon Barbie outfits, I like Lady Ga Ga. What a voice!!

Please tell us your favorite new expression of use of language, and come back tomorrow when I interview Paula Munier, who co-authored a hysterical new book, Hot Flash Haiku.

On Secret Languages

Letter from Aix-en-Provence

JAN: When I was a kid, I loved secret languages. My friend Karen had older sisters who taught them to us. There was one language that involved adding "ub" or "ubba" between the syllables. As in Jungubbalububba Redubba writubbaters. Or something like that. All that mattered was it sounded incredibly exotic and your best friend could understand you in the playground. Better yet, you could talk about boys when they were right there, and they never got it. Boys didn’t go in much for secret languages.

That quickly gave way to Pig Latin, which was a more highly respected and widely understood secret language. You had to be more careful in your usuage, but there was the possibility of an older junior high school student actually picking up on something you said and responding to you in your oh-so-in-crowd special code.

When I got to high school, I quickly fell in love with first year French, which was so pretty and way more exotic than Pig Latin. Had Cinderella originally been from France and spoken to her fairy godmother in French? I was pretty sure she had.

But French was a hell of a lot harder to speak and understand. And the challenge was on. I wound up taking eight years of French, minoring in it in college and did a semester abroad in Aix-en-Provence. Although I work hard to try to keep up on my French via Pimsleur and Rosetta Stone, I’m still pretty much a piker. But God knows, I try.

Which is why I’m back in Aix-En-Provence for a month, living in a condo, and shopping at the Monoprix and the market, which requires more use of French than staying at a hotel where the concierge can step in and help. Last week, my daughter and I went to the market to buy ingredients we were making for a special dinner that night. We bought cheeses, which I promptly put down when I went to another vendor and searched through my wallet for five euros to buy sunflowers.

By the time I got home, realized I didn’t have the cheeses and ran back to the square, the market stalls were down, the garbage trucks had rolled in, and everyone was cleaning up. I raced back to the cheese guy to see if I could buy more cheese. To get him to reopen his stall and sell me some, I had to explain what I’d done.

J’ai perdu mon sac du fromage quand j’ai achete des fleurs, I told him. This also included a lot of hand gesturing to both indicate where the sunflower vendor had been and that I was clearly a space shot (finger pointed to head with roll of the eyes and shrug).

Not only did he open to sell me the cheese, he gave me a one Euro discount because he felt sorry for me.

And I thought, my God, the SECRET LANGUAGE WORKS.

I realize that on some level, I think that every time I say anything to anyone in French and they understand and respond. There is always this rush of both surprise and excitement that these exotic words I’ve strung together form a sentence that can be decoded.

It's why I spent all that money on airfare. And well worth every penny.

So I think, that the thrills in life haven’t changed much for me since I was a kid in the playground, only in France, I’ve noticed that the crowd "in" on the decoding is pretty signficant. And you have to watch what you say -- and not just to the junior high schoolers. All the boys are in on the secret language, too.

(Do you remember any secret languages from elementary and junior high school? Apparently, it's a regional thing with Ubba Dubba in the Northeast and Gibberish in the South. Gungi was spoken in Waltham, MA and Opish in New York City.)