Aussie Word of the Day, Unmentionables Edition

It's been a while since I did an "Aussie Word of the Day" post.  I think at this point I'm so accustomed to Aussie-isms that I now use them myself.  More than once have J and I been discussing the timing of completing a particular activity, and I've said, "no worries, I'll take care of it this arvo."

Now Zeke is getting into it.  He finally embraced riding his bike without training wheels about a month ago, and now rides at every opportunity he gets.  He's allowed to ride around parts of the neighborhood by himself, and many afternoons, J picks him up at school by riding his bike and carrying Zeke's bike with him (dude is seriously strong) so that he and Zeke can ride home together.

Apparently on one of these trips, J explained to Zeke that an Aussie-ism for bike is "treadly."  Zeke thought this was hysterical and now uses it at every chance he gets.  "Mama, Daddy and I are going out to ride our treadlies," followed by uncontrollable giggles.

He has taken to asking J how to say different things in Australian, and takes great pleasure in working his new vocabulary into conversation.

The other morning I was getting him and Josie ready for school, and brought down their clothes to put on while they watched the Sunny Side Up Show.  Zeke looked at his pile of clothes and said,
"time to put on my Reg Grundies!" 

I was definitely giggling hysterically along with him.

Dodged a bullet

In spite of the fact that I am an unabashed and, indeed, enthusiastic user of foul language (is there any greater word, with more versatility and character, than "motherfucker"?), the only swear word my children have ever heard me say is "damn it."  I also throw "Jesus Christ" around quite a bit, because it just rolls off the tongue so easily during moments of exasperation.

Occasionally, Zeke will say "dammit" just to see what the effect is -- I always reprimand him and tell him it's not a nice word to say.  Last week, we were at a professional lacrosse game and Josie exclaimed, "look at all these people!  Jesus!"  Once I was able to contain my guffaws, I told her that she shouldn't say that.  Seeing me laugh, she then proceeded to repeat it ad nauseum.

Knowing that they are little sponges, and that they love being cheeky,* I'm very careful to hold my tongue around them.  The few times I've messed up and said, "shit" or something similar, it was either out of their earshot or they weren't paying attention.

 This morning, I was pulling out of the driveway to take them to school.  We live on a somewhat busy street (not a highway or major thoroughfare, but it is on the bus line and there are shops and restaurants on the next block), so sometimes getting a clear shot out takes a little while.  Plus there is a coffee shop across the street, so in addition to cars driving back and forth, people are constantly pulling in and out to park.

I saw an opening and pulled back.  But then I saw one guy backing out of the coffee shop parking lot, another pulling out of a space on the street, and another turn on to the road from one of the cross streets.  Everybody seemed hesitant and it was hard to tell who was doing what or going where, so I pulled back into the driveway and, without thinking, said, "what the fuck is everybody doing??"

Realizing what I had said, I was silent and braced myself for the onslaught of "fucks" from the back seat.

After a moment, Zeke said, "Mama, I think you mean, "what the heck, right?"


Riiiiight.

_______________________________
*It's like living with Beavis and Butthead.  I can't get changed without them giggling and saying, "I see your boobies! Heh heh...boobs!  Boobies!  Boobs!  Booty!  Heh heh heh."  

Toddler blasphemy, refrigerator magnets and giant dildos

I have a foul mouth.  I enjoy a good "motherfucker!" as much as the next person.  But if I had to clean up my act, I think the hardest expression to wipe from my repertoire would be "Jesus Christ."

It's definitely my epithet of choice.  Sometimes I use the full name, sometimes it's "Jesus H.", or some other variation thereof.  It's just habit.

I know it's offensive to some as violative of the commandment against taking the name of the deity in vain.  But a) he's not my deity, and b) I think that taking the name of God in vain means using God as an excuse to commit bad acts, not exclaiming "Jesus Christ!" when you stub your toe.  Personally, I think that God, if S/He exists, has bigger fish to fry than the harmless use of words.

Anyway.

Notwithstanding my enjoyment of enthusiastic cursing, I definitely draw the line at doing it in front of my children (or anyone else's, for that matter).  We don't even say "fart" in front of Zeke.  If you pass gas, you have "tooted."  And I try to limit my use of "Jesus Christ" in front of Zeke as well, though sometimes it slips out accidentally.  But I know he has heard it.

So today we were putting a sticker on the most recent prize chart, in which Zeke is rewarded for going to bed by 8:30 and for using the bathroom.  Seriously, I'm so fucking sick of changing two sets of diapers.

Holding the chart to the fridge are two magnets, a commemorative one of the Hawaiian royal family's crest that I got at the Iolani Palace, and one that a friend gave me off his fridge when I saw it at a party and instantly fell in love with it.

Zeke started playing with the magnets, at first just interested in lifting them off the fridge and then watching them get sucked back onto the metal door.  Then he looked at the Jesus magnet and said, "who's that, Mama?"

Uhhhhh.

I didn't know what else to say, so I just blurted, "It's Jesus."  Then I kind of braced myself for the inevitable questions to follow.

"Jesus?"

"Yes."

But amazingly, he didn't ask any follow-up questions, like "who is Jesus?" or something like that, which is a good thing because I honestly don't know what I would have said.

But Zeke never forgets a name or a face.  He remembers everyone and knows everyone's name.  He's like the Otter of his preschool class, only without the giant dildo or the seduction of Dean Wormer's wife.

So while he didn't immediately recognize the name, at some point, someone will utter it, either reverently or not, and Zeke will undoubtedly say, "oh, the man on Mama's fridge!"

In which case I imagine I will have some 'splainin' to do.

Aussie Word of the Day: Let's call the whole thing off, or, my life as a Gershwin song

The Accent Wars are beginning in earnest.

You will recall that I recently was taken aback, and a bit freaked out, when Zeke used Jason's Aussie pronunciation of the word "weird," so that it sounded like "weeeeed." And his "dog" sounds like "doog" and "car" is "caaah."

Jason 3, Wendy 0.

But as I am the one who does most of the reading of stories to the monkeys, I'm starting to gain ground.

Zeke has this board book about life on the farm (and I love how it's called "My First Farm Board Book," as if there are sure to be other farm board books in one's future). It's got lots of pictures of everything from farm animals to tractors and tools to different kinds of produce. There's a whole page with pictures of lettuce and strawberries and apples and peppers and other fruits and veggies, in varying amounts, so that in addition to learning the names of the various foods, kids can work on their counting skills as well.

So from this book (because God knows he would never actually eat a vegetable*), Zeke has learned what a tomato is, and, more importantly, that the word is pronounced "to-MAY-toe."

The other night, Zeke was jumping around on the couch (naked, natch), when he spied his farm book on the shelf and decided he needed to read it RIGHT NOW. So he went and grabbed it and took it over to Jason, and they proceeded to go through the pictures, naming and counting and having a good time.

I was reading a magazine and not paying much attention (except to get a face-full of naked toddler ass when Zeke felt the need to crawl over me to go hug Jason's brother, who is visiting for a couple of weeks, before returning to Jason and the farm book). Then I heard this hilarious exchange:

Zeke: Daddy, what's that?

Jason: Those are to-MAH-toes.

Zeke: (laughing hysterically) Not to-MAH-toes! To-MAY-toes! They're to-MAY-toes, Daddy!

Jason: To-MAH-toes.

Zeke: TO-MAY-TOES! Hahahaha! Daddy's silly!

Indeed, son.  Indeed.  Come back from the Dark Side...

___________________

*Yeah, yeah, I know that tomatoes are technically fruits, but to Zeke, they are grouped with foods like broccoli and green beans, i.e., the kind he won't eat.

TMI Thursday: Lost in translation

OK, folks, time for another TMI Thursday. Click the picture above to read more awesomely cringe-worthy TMIs courtesy of LiLu at LivitLuvit.com.

After Jason and I met in December of 2003, I went back to visit him Costa Rica in February 2004. We had a great time surfing and, uh, getting to know each other again.

Surfing with Jason in February, 2004

The second or third day I was there, which also happened to be my birthday, we were out in the water in the late afternoon, when I had to pee.  So I peed.  And felt that twinge, that slight sting at the end, that made my stomach sink.  Because I knew I was getting a urinary tract infection.

It was the third one I'd ever had in my life (and I haven't had one since, thank goodness).  The first time I got one was in law school, and when I started experiencing severe pain and, oh, yeah, blood while urinating, I seriously thought I was dying.  I went to the student health clinic and the baby-faced med student who treated me gave me some pain pills and some antibiotics -- but not before engaging me in extensive, meaningless chit-chat while I was sitting there holding my crotch in agony -- and I was fine within an hour or so.  

Yes, they're easy to treat.  But holy shit, they're awful, and they go from mildly uncomfortable to excruciating in about 12.7 seconds.

So I'm out in the water, feeling that little painful tingle, thinking, Fuck.  I know what's coming.  And I'm in Tamarindo, Costa Rica, without a fucking clue as to where I can find a doctor who's open after hours.

There was a little chemist shop next to the surf camp, so I went over there and pleaded with the pharmacist to give me something.  And they did, but I can't remember what it was, though I do remember it didn't help.  The night wore on, Jason threw a little birthday party for me, and we were sitting there in the restaurant at the surf camp, hanging out with everyone, as I became more and more uncomfortable.  I had to pee constantly, it was intensely painful, it was getting bloody, and I desperately needed to find a doctor.

I whispered to Jason, practically crying, that I couldn't take the pain anymore and needed to go to a clinic or something.  But at that point, it was 8 at night, and the closest place that was open was an urgent care-type facility about 30 minutes away.  And neither of us had a car.

Jason went and whispered to Jorge, one of the guys who worked at the surf camp, about whether he could take us in the surf camp's van.  Apparently, he wasn't supposed to, but he did it anyway.  So we climbed into the van and went speeding down this narrow country road to the clinic.

Once we got there, everything was fine. The doctor was very nice and perfectly competent, but he was out of oral antibiotics, so he asked me if I wanted to get the antibiotics in a shot.

And I'm all, yeah yeah, I've got a monster pain threshold and no issues with needles, bring it on. I leaned over and exposed the top of my butt cheek.

"You might want to lie down on the table. This could hurt a little."

Mmm hmm. Fine. Whatever.

I got up on the table and proceeded to get the most painful shot of my life.  It felt like it took hours, and the doctor kept pushing and rubbing and jiggling the needle in my butt, trying to help my muscle absorb the thick liquid he was pushing into me. It took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. But then it was over.

I hobbled outside to find the boys, who had decided to wait by the car.  My ass-cheek was throbbing and sore.

The car was there, but there was no sign of Jason or Jorge.

I looked down the street.  Off in the distance, I saw a blinking sign for Imperial, the national beer of Costa Rica.

Motherfuckers.

I limped down the street and found the guys sitting at a bar.  Rather than stay mad, I joined them and ordered a beer.

I was telling the guys about the experience at the doctor, mostly in Spanish because Jorge's English wasn't great.  

Jorge asked me, "¿tienes infección de la pepa?"

I leveled a withering stare at Jason. "'Infección de la pepa?' You told him I have a pussy infection?? So now everyone at the surf camp is going to think I'm some kind of nasty skank?"

Jason's eyes got big, then he shrugged and looked sheepish.  He pretended to be intently concentrating on the foam on the side of his glass.

I turned to Jorge, rolling my eyes at Jason in the process.  "No.  No es 'de la pepa.'  Es urinario.  No es 'de la pepa.'"  It's not "de la pepa," it's urinary.

Jorge nodded as if to say, yeah, right.

We finished our beers and made our way back to the surf camp.  I got better and Jason and I enjoyed the rest of our weekend.

And of course, I did end up marrying the guy. But I think the lovely and wise Mrs. Banks had it right when she said, "though we adore men individually, we agree that as a group they're rather stupid."

First we taught him to talk, now we teach him to be quiet

When angry, count to four.  When very angry, swear.

-- Mark Twain

Like most people, I yell at other drivers when I'm in the car.  And like most people, I do it with the windows up so they can't hear me.  I don't really suffer from road rage much - it's just a habit, a verbal way of blowing off steam, but it's rare that I'm ever truly angry with other people on the road.  It's just not worth the time and effort.

And when Zeke is in the car, if I do "talk" to other drivers, I generally limit myself to sarcasm rather than swearing, because he is a total sponge these days.  Everything he hears, he repeates.  Ad nauseum.

But every once in a while, something makes me so furious it takes me by surprise.  

Like this past weekend.

Saturday was a beautiful, glorious, sunny, warm day in Denver.  Spring was showing signs of definitely springing soon.  Of course, everyone was out, at the parks, running, playing at the playgrounds, you name it.

We had talked about going to the zoo.  But if you don't get there early on a nice day -- especially the first warm, sunny day in weeks -- you're totally fucked in terms of being able to find a parking space.

So of course, we didn't get organized early and by the time we got to the zoo it was a complete mob scene.  Within the parking lot itself, it was huge masses of cars circling and circling and not a lot of finding empty spaces.  We made our way down the ramps at the parking deck, searching in vain for a spot, any spot, but there was nothing to be found.  

Until we got to the very bottom level of the parking deck, and back in the corner, there was a woman standing next to the open door of a minivan, and next to her was an empty space, with a stroller in it.  The woman was fiddling around on her phone.

We pulled up to the spot.  We looked at her.  She looked at us.  I made a "nu?"* type of gesture and pointed to the spot.  And she said, "I'm saving it."

At this point, we had been crawling through the parking lot for at least 20 minutes.  Our kids were both being good, but Zeke was getting restless and was ready to get out of the car and do something.  And it wasn't just an affront to me; there was a long line of cars snaking throughout the parking deck, in both directions, full of families with children, trying to find a place to park.  So this woman was violating every rule of parking deck etiquette in the book, and was being a rude hag about it, to boot.

"No! You do not get to save spots!"  I yelled at her.  Both front passenger windows were open, so she definitely heard me.

She looked at me and shrugged and went back to fiddling with her phone, like one of those a-holes from the SNL sketch a few years back.

I totally blew a gasket.

"EXCUSE ME!  You can't save spots when people are waiting like this."

She refused to look at me.  I contemplated getting out of the car and moving the stroller (or throwing it against the wall), but retained at least a modicum of sanity and stayed where I was.  

But not without a parting shot.

"YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE!"  I screamed.  

"Fucking COW!"  Jason added.

Then we drove off.  And realized that Zeke was sitting back there, listening intently.

We looked at each other sheepishly, praying that Zeke wouldn't start repeating anything he had heard.  We strongly believe in not swearing in front of the children, and rarely, if ever, slip up.  We whispered to each other in the front seat.  "What is the matter with us??"

Thankfully, Zeke was quiet until we were inching back up the parking deck ramp, trying to get out, and I said, "I can't believe that woman.  Dammit!"

And Zeke said, "dammit!  dammit!  dammit!"

"Zeke, honey, that's not a nice word.  Mommy shouldn't have used it, and you shouldn't use it either."

"Let's get out of here," Jason said.  "We can go to the park."

"Yeah!" said Zeke.  "Let's get outta here!  Let's get outta here!  Let's get outta here!"

Dodged a bullet on that one.

*Yiddish for "well?"

Fantasies, and my lifelong nitpicking of words and language

I'm having one of those days when the thought of being single and childless is so overwhelmingly attractive I can barely stand it.  I love my children, but the day-to-day of full-time work then chasing after the children then not sleeping because of insomnia then waking to feed and dress the children and get them to school so that I go to full-time work etc. is wearing me out.  I'm grumpy.  I'm irritable.  Stupid shit like Zeke taking a bottle of nasal spray and dumping it on the couch is making me lose my patience and yell at him, when it really isn't that big a deal and he's only acting his age and it's not like the stuff stains.

And I'm feeling totally disconnected from my husband.  We barely ever see each other, and when we do, it's to divvy up cleaning and childcare duties.  To say the spark and heat of our marriage is low to the point of barely being perceptible would be a massive understatement.  My mother suggested that Jason and I need to go away together, but the truth is, I don't even want to.  I just want to be left alone.

I know, I know, so much of the problem is that we haven't had any time together and we're both under enormous stress and we're tired and it makes everything else shitty.  We could probably use some help figuring out how to communicate about the big stuff again.  There was a guy we were seeing to work on some issues last summer, before Jason got the job and had to work out of town during the week, meaning we couldn't synch our schedule with that of our counselor.

And I liked him alot, except for his opinions about the word "but."  He wouldn't allow us to use the word "but," because to him, using the word "but" in a sentence negates everything that came before.  So if you said, "I enjoy spending time with you, but sometimes I wish I had more time to myself," the good doctor's therapy-speak translation would take the sentence to mean that I don't actually enjoy spending time with you.

Which I think is a bullshit linguistic rule.  I really liked the guy and thought he was helpful, but (aaagh!  there's that word!) the "no buts" rule annoyed the shit out of me and caused me to use what felt like very awkward sentence structure at time.  And 7 or 8 months after seeing him, I'm still bothered by it.

"I'm a loser, baby, so why dontcha kill me..."

Anyway.

My Atlanta girly peeps have been floating the idea of a girls' weekend in Miami, maybe in May.  Time to get away, recharge the batteries, get some sun, and spend time with good friends, sans husbands or children.  It sounds like heaven.

And reminds me of a funny story my mom tells me about when I was a little peanut, around 2 years old, and we were going to Miami to visit the grandparents.  I asked about our destination.

Mom:  We're going to Miami.

Little Wendy:  Where's your ami?

Mom:  No, it's not my "ami."  The name of the place is "Miami."

LW:  Right, that's what I said, Your Ami.

Mom (getting frustrated):  Wendy.  There is no "ami."  I don't have an "ami."  The name of the place is "Miami."

LW:  I know.  It's YourAmi.

 Money is tight right now, but nonetheless I need some fun to look forward to.  I will make it to YourAmi if it kills me.

The Wordle

We have monthly staff meetings at my office, and everyone rotates the hosting duties. A couple of weeks ago, the guy that was hosting this month's meeting sent out an email asking everyone to come up with three positive words to describe everyone else in the office. He then compiled everyone's responses, fed them into an online program (www.wordle.net), and framed the resulting "word cloud"* so that everyone had a reminder of how much they are valued in the office. In these tough times, when every day contains more bad news about how shitty the budget forecast is for school districts (and school district-supported associations, as we are), it was lovely and thoughtful gift.

Some of the words people used to describe me are so flattering. I'm glad my coworkers think that I'm smart and funny.

But some of the words left me scratching my head. "Business-oriented"? Nothing could be further from the truth. "Researcher"? Um, thanks, I guess.

"Willing"? Someone has been talking to my husband.

"Frank." "Competitive." "Boisterous."

My guess is that thesaurus.com was getting a bunch of hits from folks trying to come up with nice ways of saying "mouthy, obnoxious asshole."

_________________________

*The bigger the word, the more people came up with it. So I guess I'm wicked smaht, according to my coworkers.

Listomania love

It is an amazing, amazing thing to watch a human being acquire language. I'm sort of obsessed with language anyway, so every time Zeke says something new or says something old in a new way, I'm thinking to myself, "I wonder what prompted that..."

These days, it's all about adding vocabulary words. So our conversations consist of either him asking, "what's that? what's this? what's that?" while pointing to random items, or of us making lists of things in a particular category.

We'll be driving to school, and talking about how Zeke is going to hang out with his friends for the day. He starts listing his friends:

"I see Connor..."

"Yep, you'll see Connor."

"And Lucy...."

"And Lucy...."

"And Gab-a-rella..."

"And Gabriella..."

"And Annaleah..."

"And Annaleah..."

Or we'll talk about going to the zoo.

"We go see giraffes ... and elephants ... and monkey ... and gorilla ... and tiger [which, to my amusement, he pronounces "ti-geh," like Jason does] ... and lion ... and zebra ..." and on and on.

We list Sesame Street characters, things we see out the window, colors, things we see at the aquarium, foods, and everything else that comes along in life.

My favorite, though, is when we talk about people that we know and love. Zeke is incredibly social and remembers everyone he meets. He sees enough of my family, either in person or in pictures (we spend alot of time looking at pictures) to know who everybody is. And he adores my parents and my brothers.

The other night we were lying in bed talking about people that we love and miss. He asked for Daddy, and I explained that Daddy was away at work but that Daddy loved him and missed him.

"I love Daddy," he said.

"Daddy loves you, too, honey."

"Love Papa," he added. "Papa" is what he calls my dad.

"Papa loves you."

"Love Mimi," he said. "Mimi" is my mom.

"Who else do you love?" I asked.

"Love Sam," he answered. My brother.

"Yep, we love Sam."

"Love Josh." My other brother.

"Love Emma." My niece/his cousin.

"Who else do you love? Do you love Mama?" I fished.

"Love Papa."

Yeah, yeah.

"What about Mama?"

"Love Sam."

Hmph.

"Mama loves you so much," I said, giving him a kiss. I was determined to get it out of him.

He gave me a cheeky smile, as if he knew what I was after. "Loves you, Mama. Snuggle?"

"Snuggle, baby."

Damn right.

Aussie word of the day: fake-out edition

My brother Sam, who finds Jason's linguistic machinations hilarious, recently heard someone exclaim "cheese and rice," and assumed that the person was Australian and was using rhyming slang in place of "Jesus Christ!"*

For the uninitiated, rhyming slang involves using replacing a word with other words, with the last word rhyming with the word it's intended to replace, e.g., "cheese and kisses" for "missus," "frog and toad" for "road," "Pat Malone" for "alone," etc. It gets even more convoluted when the last word (i.e., the rhyming one) is left off altogether, like when "septic tank" is used to refer to an American ("Yank"), but "tank" is omitted and "septic" is abbreviated to "seppo."

Have I mentioned that Aussies are a little nuts?

Anyway.

In Sam's case, he was right. The person was undoubtedly either Aussie (or maybe British), and was using "cheese and rice" as a sub for "Jesus Christ."

But sometimes Jason will use an expression that sounds to me like it should be part of a rhyming combination, but actually isn't, so I'll sit there racking my brain trying to figure out what he's trying to say and what's supposed to rhyme with what.

My favorite example is "she'll be apples," which means "everything will be OK." As in, "Don't worry about the party, love. We'll get what we need from the store and I'll watch the kids while you cook, and everything will get done in time. She'll be apples!"

The first time I heard this phrase, I assumed that "apples" was part of a rhyming combination, so I was sitting there with my brow furrowed and smoke coming out of my ears, trying to be all clever and figure it out, as I thought to myself, "apples and pears? what rhymes with pears? apples and something else??"

And Jason saw the confused look on my face and asked, "what's up?"

"Apples and pears?"

"What?"

"What goes with apples?"

"What are you talking about?"

"What's 'apples'? You said, 'she'll be apples.'"

He laughed and explained what it meant.

"Oh, OK. You're not just messing with me?"

"Fair dinkum, baby, I wouldn't do that!"

*sigh*

___________

*Incidentally, I did some research and discovered that the Cockney rhyming slang for "jew" is "five and two." But Jason said he'd never heard this, so it must be a Brits-only kind of thing.

The more things change, the more they stay the same

When I got home from picking up the kids from school the other day, I was getting them out of their jackets and snowsuits and various cold weather paraphernalia (seriously, y'all, it's freezing here these days), when Zeke asked me for something.

"What do you want, honey?" I asked, not understanding him the first time.

"Kooo-ky."

"What?"

"KOOO-ky!"

I thought for a second. "You want a cookie?"

"Yes, please."

And I had to laugh. Because his pronunciation of "cookie" obviously comes from his teacher, who speaks perfect English, but with a Hispanic accent. It reminded me of one of my mother's favorite stories about me as a kid.

We were living in Venezuela, and I was about 4 and going to a Spanish speaking nursery school. My teachers were all Venezuelan and only spoke Spanish.

One day I came home from school and announced to my mother one day that I had learned "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and proceeded to sing it for her.

I should have prepared her.

Or maybe she should have known and prepared herself, to avoid having to practically gnaw off the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing in my face. Because here's how it came out:

Tween-kell tween-kell leee-tell e-staarrrr
'ow I wohn-dare what yoo aaaarrr...

What can I say, I had a multi-cultural upbringing...

English for the cognitively impaired

In October 2001, I went to visit my mother in Papua New Guinea, where she was stationed at the time.  We met up in Australia, spent a couple of days touring around Sydney and the Blue Mountains, then headed up to Port Moresby.  We hung out there for a few days, hanging with her friends and colleagues, doing some touristy stuff, and then headed to East New Britain (a PNG province) to do some scuba diving in Rabaul.

The Sydney Opera House.  We even went to see an opera there (Mozart's The Magic Flute).  Seeing an opera in the Opera House is fun, but The Magic Flute is a shitty opera, as much as I love Mozart.

The Jamison Valley in the Blue Mountains, about 60 miles west of Sydney.  They're blue because the air is full of eucalyptus oil.

It was an incredible trip.  Mom and I got some great quality time together, we did some fun touristy stuff, and I saw a beautiful part of the world that I will likely never get back to.  And life in the ambassador's residence, with servants and a driver and a pool and a gorgeous view of the ocean, doesn't suck.  

A bird of paradise tries to get fresh with me at the botanical gardens in Port Moresby.

The volcano in Rabaul, which was still smoldering from an eruption 7 years earlier (in 1994)

But Papua New Guinea is seriously one of the most fucked up countries ever.  It's culture is still astoundingly primitive, its economy is and has pretty much always been in the toilet (notwithstanding vast natural resources), the government is rife with corruption and largely ineffective, law and order is a pipe dream, and there is no free public education (which I think dooms any country hoping to become a progressive society).  

One of the things that amazed me most of all was Pidgin (or "Tok Pisin"), which is the national "language," to the extent that such a heterogenous place with hundreds of different tribes and distinct cultural groups has a single unifying language.  

And I know this is indelicate and incredibly politically correct, but from the outset I maintained that Pidgin is basically English for morons.*  Yes, it's charming and hilarious, but also alarming in how simplistic and childish it is.

My mom is still on a Papua New Guinea listserv, so she gets emails from time to time that include news and gossip about PNG, as well as a glossary of select Pidgin words.  It never ceases to crack me up.

Here's the latest.  Enjoy.

(it helps to say the words out loud for full effect - I've also included some translational guidance in italics)

dai pinis =  die  (i.e., die finish)
em tasol = that's all ("em" is sort of a pronoun/placeholder)
glas bilong kapten = binoculars (glasses belonging to a captain)
glas bilong lukluk = mirror (glasses to "look look")
hallans / hailens = highlands
haus sik = hospital ("house sick")
hausboi / hausmeri = servant ("house boy" or "house mary/woman")
het i pen = headache ("head in pain")
hukim pis = catch fish / fishing
husat = who
kago = cargo / goods / baggage
kagoboi = porter ("cargo boy")
kilim i dai pinis = kill
kilman = murderer ("kill man")

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*My mother, who is far nicer than I, suggested to me that the simplicity of the language stems from the fact that because the culture was so heterogeneous, it was necessary to boil things down to their most basic points in order to be understood across tribes and language groups.  I stand by my assessment, however, that another reason for the simplicity of the language is the absence of highly developed culture and thought processes (see, George Orwell's 1984, in which Big Brother simplified language in an effort to eliminate advanced, abstract thought processes).

Aussie word of the day: food storage edition

I've become so immersed in my husband's Aussie-speak that I'm beginning to use it myself, to the point that today, I couldn't remember the word "cooler," i.e., the thing you put sandwiches and drinks in when you go on a picnic or to the beach.

For example, like everyone in Australia, we have an electric kettle for boiling water.  They drink lots of tea there.  Only they don't call it a kettle -- it's a "jug," as in "Darl,* would you be a dear and put the jug on for a cuppa**?"  "Jug" is also used to refer to any container in which liquids are stored.  And now I never say "turn on the kettle" or "boil some water."  I always say "put the jug on."

I need to do a Target run today, and I was making a shopping list.  Jason needs a couple of things for his job up in Vail, and I was planning on picking them up for him.  Specifically, he wants a big thermos to keep drinking water in, and a little cooler for packing his lunch.  So I wrote:

children's motrin

note pad with magnet for fridge

bananas

ketchup

strawberries

blueberries

Special K

water jug

esky

First, note that I wrote "water jug" rather than "thermos."  Second, you're probably asking yourself, "what the hell is an 'esky'?"

"Esky," which is short for "Eskimo,"*** is the Australian slang word for "cooler."  And as I was writing out the list, not only did I instinctively write "esky," but when I tried to remember the American word, it took me a good 20 seconds of thinking hard to come up with it.

I think I'm becoming indoctrinated.

________________

*   darl = short for "darling."  Sounds like "doll," but with an "r" thrown in.

** cuppa = cup of tea

*** as I have explained previously, Aussies abbreviate everything.

Aussie Word of the Day: Unemployment Edition

Aussies tend to abbreviate everything. No frequently used word remains intact for long. The two main forms of diminution are by shortening the word and then tacking "-ie" or "-o" on the end. Thus, "afternoon" becomes "arvo." "Petrol" becomes "pettie." "Beverage" becomes "bevvie." Jason's brother Dean becomes "Dean-o." "Sunglasses" becomes "sunnies."

My favorite of these is "smoke-o," short for "smoke break."* Smoke-o falls at about 11 in the morning, between breakfast and lunch. For those that don't smoke, it can be used for morning tea or a snack. When Jason was working, he would call me every day during smoke-o to say hello. In fact, he set an alarm on his watch to remind himself.

This morning Jason and I went for a surf after dropping Zeke off at daycare. There's a nice swell coming in from the northwest, so we decided to head up north and hit one of our favorite breaks. The waves were nice and clean, about 3-4 feet, with an offshore breeze. There was a good 5-10 minutes in between sets, so we tended to bob around on our boards waiting for the waves to come.

A side view of the wave

During one of the lulls, I looked out at the waves just in time to see, about 50 yards away from me, a dolphin jump out of the water and spin around before diving back in. There was a huge pod swimming and playing, and the younger ones were showing off to each other, flying out of the water and flipping around. Then out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a giant turtle surfacing not to far from where I was sitting. He poked his head up, looked at me for a couple of seconds, and then went back under and swam away.

There's something so magical about being out in the ocean and encountering beautiful sea creatures willing to share their habitat. And it was a gorgeous day, sunny, not too hot, not too cool, blue skies. I may not love living in Hawaii, but on days like today, it's hard to beat. There
are certainly worse places to be unemployed (or under-employed).

So there we were, enjoying the day. I caught a bunch of really great waves, including one that was about as perfect a ride as I've ever been able to produce. As I was paddling back out to the line-up, I heard Jason's watch beep.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Smoke-o!" Jason laughed.

"Well, thank God. I certainly need a break from all this...perfection."

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*For full Aussie effect, say the word with as nasal a voice as possible, and pronounce it "SMAU-kau."

Aussie word of the day: rhyming slang edition

This latest edition of the Aussie Word of the Day is inspired by the faux pas I wrote about yesterday, in which I insulted my husband's efforts to be sweet to me.

In terms of the etymology, my understanding is that rhyming slang derives from Australia's English roots, specifically Cockney rhyming slang, in which two or more words rhyme with the intended word. Apparently, it was a way for people to speak in code so that authorities would not understand what they were saying.

So if Jason had been really pissed off at me, an exchange with a buddy of his might have sounded something like this:

"G'day, Steve-o! I'm headin' down the frog-and-toad to the rub-a-dub-dub. Care to join me for a bevvy or two? I'm having a bit of a domestic with the trouble-and-strife and I think it would be good to get out of the house for a bit."

Translation: "Hi, Steve. I'm going down the road to the pub. Would you like to join me for a drink or two? I'm in a fight with the wife and I think it would be good to get out of the house for a bit."

On the other hand, once we made up, he might say something like this:

"When I was traveling, I was lonely for the old cheese-and-kisses. It's so boring to be all on me Pat Malone."

Translation: "When I was traveling, I was lonely for my missus. It's so boring to be all alone."

And yes, my husband really does talk like this.

Aussie word of the day: houso

I speak Australian. And for real, not like those Foster's ads. After being with an Aussie for 4 1/2 years, I know rhyming slang, regular slang, alternate usages, etc. So I've decided to spread the wealth.

houso \HOW-zo\ (for true Aussie effect, hold your nose while you say it), noun: someone who lives in public housing; the Aussie equivalent of calling someone "white trash" or "redneck."

"I'm not so sure about that little wifebeater ["singlet" or "singy" in Australian]. Zeke looks like a baby houso."

Watch your language

I've been working on a case involving a state school for the deaf and blind, and the student in question is deaf. I spent last week working with teachers and staff from the school, many of whom were totally deaf or hard of hearing, so we had a sign language translator much of the time. Some of the folks could speak, others used signing to communicate but included some vocalizations, and others did not communicate orally at all. Being exposed to signing was fascinating, and really got me thinking about language and how it works.

One of the teachers I was interviewing -- I'll call her "Dianne" -- was talking (via a sign language interpreter) about a student in the school who might be a good witness in the case. We were talking about whether the student would need an interpreter to testify, and whether she would benefit from real time transcription (an accommodation in which a court reporter takes down the testimony and it appears on a monitor in real time in front of the witness and the lawyers). Dianne said that the student was smart and could sign very well and was also "good at English." I was taken aback by this statement, because I hadn't really considered that she and I had been communicating in anything but English.

But of course, we weren't. I was using English, and the interpreter was taking concepts I expressed and relaying them in American Sign Language (ASL). Sign language isn't a translation of English, but a conceptual language all its own. One of the things that I noticed in reviewing the documents in this case was how rudimentary the written English was of the students and even the teachers. The grammar and conjugation was way off, and sentences would be reduced to their most basic subject-verb-object forms. "Why did you say you would do that" becomes "why you say do that," or "I am concerned that Joe will hurt himself" became "I worry Joe hurt self." Dianne made me realize that when a deaf person can sign and read or write English (or any other language), they're actually bilingual. Maybe she reads the word "mother" and "translates" it by imagining the sign for mother,* the way I read the Spanish word "madre" and translate it to English in my head.

Yet, for purposes of litigation, language must be very precise. The biggest and most important part of any trial or hearing is the transcript, but if we were going through an interpreter who translates our very specific choice of words with conceptual signs, or if we're dealing with a hearing impaired person who doesn't sign very well but also doesn't hear all that well, how do we make sure that our questions are understood and answered properly? How can we make sure that the transcript reflects what the witnesses actually intend to say? It reminded me of George Orwell's 1984, in which the government limits language in order to limit thought.

Anyway, the whole process gave me a newfound respect for the teachers that we were working with, and I now can't stop thinking about how the language we use influences our perception of the world and everything in it. And of course, now I'm obsessed with learning sign language.


*Hold your right hand up to your face with your thumb at your chin and wiggle your fingers. See http://commtechlab.msu.edu/Sites/aslweb/browser.htm for video demonstrations of different ASL signs.