Well, that's one way to woo a voting constituency...

How can you further annoy a voting constituency that you're already offending? By finding subtle ways to butcher their language!

Case in point:

RNC botches grammar on Spanish sign claiming Hispanics support Trump: https://t.co/tpUZ9xfvBa pic.twitter.com/5nEpx2y9A9

— The Hill (@thehill) July 22, 2016

The issue is two-fold. It's not "para" but "por" they want to have that sign say. They also forgot to translate "Hispanics" into "Hispanos." This would take two seconds on Google Translate to figure out--but, admittedly, we've all been burned by an online translator at some point.

The Huffington Post dove deeper and asked New York University lecturer Félix Manuel Burgos, who who holds a Ph.D in Hispanic Linguistics, to really get at the specifics:


If you want to express support for someone with your vote, it should be “por.” That is the preposition that goes with the verb “votar.”

“Para” doesn’t make sense in that context, unless you work for him, that is the preposition that goes with “trabajar.” ... [But] actually the best option would have been “con,” that expresses general support. “Latinos con Trump.” But I don’t think they will print many of those signs. 


Subtle digs are the best digs.

The English language is killing off the word "the" slowly.

For you non-English folks, a "determiner" is really just a word that quantifies or identifies a noun. Think of the articles the and a. But a determiner can be possessive (like my or their) or something that alludes to quantity (like some or few), among other words.

It appears the way people write today is killing off the determiner though. More specifically, we're killing off the.

Over at the Language Log, a bit of research has shown a precipitous decline over the last century, with some studies showing the use of the dropping by 8% over the last 25 years, or, as they state, a 28% drop compounded over a century.

The Language Log went one step further though. They examined the use of the in two versions of the Bible's Song of Solomon, published roughly 400-years apart: The King James Bible in 1611 and the Message Bible published between 1993 and 2002.

In the King James translation, the is used as 6.57% of all words. The Message Bible? 4.06%. Same Song of Solomon passage, but two very different interpretations from centuries apart.

Not counting the italicized ones, I used the 13 times just now. I'm so King James-y.

Is it stuffing? Or is it dressing?

Later this week Americans will gather with family and friends for a massive dinner most assuredly involving turkey. But what goes with the turkey, despite angry relatives, is a matter of where you live.

Is it stuffing or dressing?

Each word comes from a different etymological root, and Americans even disagree what each word defines. Butterball conducted a survey of 1,000 random people in nine different regions, finding that the majority of Americans call it stuffing. No region was more partial to calling it stuffing than New England, where 100% of respondents claimed it as such.

On the flip side, the East South Central Region (I don't know--ask Butterball where they got that name), which includes Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama, and Mississippi, all favor dressing as the word of choice. In total, only 11 states have a dressing majority--while everywhere else favors stuffing.

In 2013, Epicurious did a peak season term search for both stuffing and dressing, and largely found the same result. The only major anomaly Epicurious and Butterball differ on is the state of Nevada, where Butterball claims they call it dressing. But Epicurious says that stuffing is the third-most searched for term in Nevada, well ahead of dressing--so what does Butterball know? In the end, does anyone trust a Thanksgiving dinner cooked in Nevada? No. No they do not.

There's an old adage that stuffing is what goes inside a bird and dressing is what's cooked alongside, but there's no validity to back up up those definitions. The famed cookbook The Joy of Cooking, published continually since 1931, once made such a claim, simply throwing out that interpretation without any facts as to origin. The book's huge popularity potentially influenced generations to come nonetheless.

So what is the etymoligical history of each word? Let's look at both:

Stuffing:
As might be obvious, stuffing was created out of the verb "to stuff," while adding the suffix "-ing." The modern version was spoken between the 15th and 16th centuries, depending on which dictionary you want to rely upon, but no later than roughly 1538, when it appeared in print. The Middle English stuff comes from the Old French estoffe (furniture or material) and estoffer (equip or furnish). In turn, the Old French comes from the Greek stuphein (draw together).

Except some etymologists disagree, claiming stuffing really was born out of the Latin farcire, Which became the French farcir (stuff), which became the English farce. Regardless, all agree stuffing became the norm by the 1500s.

Dressing:
Like stuffing, dressing is created out of the verb "to dress" with the added suffix of "-ing," but appeared earlier than its counterpart. The Middle English dressen was popular between 1275-1325, evolving out of the Anglo-French dresser or drescier. That came from the very similar Old French drecier, itself evolved out of the Latin dīrēctus--following somewhat the same root as the modern word direct.

Still awake? Boiled down, stuffing comes from Greek (unless it comes from Latin), dressing comes from Latin (but it's definitely not Greek).

When in doubt.

That doesn't quite explain the disparity in how geographically Americans gravitate toward one word over the other. One theory put forth argues that stuffing was widely accepted throughout England until the 1880s, when high-minded Victorian society found the word too crude, thus gravitating toward dressing instead. The theory continues that those who immigrated to America pre-1880 said stuffing (and thus passed it down), while those who crossed the Atlantic post-1880 influenced the regions with dressing.

Meanwhile, some cooks claim it's a matter of cornbread versus typical bread--with the dressing crowd using cornbread, and the stuffing masses using white bread.

Even historical food timelines seem at a loss as to how the schism in the word usage came about. The Oxford English Dictionary, which is usually reliable in such matters, describes dressing--with regard to food--as a stuffing.

In the end, the linguistic mystery of how a nation became divided really is a matter of what you choose to believe. Greek versus Latin, population ebbs and flows, cookbook influences--there's no concrete answer.

Whatever you want to believe, when it doubt, just call it Stove Top.

Linguistics professor argues to eliminate gender pronouns "he" and "she" in favor of "ze" or "they."

Let's cut to the chase of Professor John McWhorter's argument:


"We are opening up to the idea that binary conceptions of gender are unnecessarily rigid and don't correspond to the self-image of a great many people, and even that people's sense of their gender may not correspond to their biological sex. In this new world, a bland opposition between "he" and "she" seems increasingly antique, and even insulting, to many."


Yada, yada, yada...after explaining how people have learned to say "Billy and I" as opposed to "Billy and me," Prof. McWhorter continues:


"Now, I would hope that pronouns like "ze" would not be imposed with the knuckle-rapping and contemptuous indignation with which the Billy and I rule has been promulgated. However, there is room for presenting "ze" as a matter not of fashion, but of basic civility -- people must think of new pronouns as the proper thing to do, not as a stunt."


In reality, "ze" just sounds like a Hollywood stereotype of a Nazi soldier, with a chest full of medals, holding a baton, as he paces across a room while espousing some view.

"Ze problem wiz ze gender pronounz iz that ze binary conzeptions are unezzezarily reegid."

Yeah. Let's try "they" first and see how that flies, eh?

Germans are heavily borrowing English words, and this has some German linguistics experts worried.

Germany has borrowed or adopted 10,000 English words into their own language since 1990. At least that's what NPR authoritatively says, as they apparently stood listening at the Berlin Wall as it fell and haven't stopped counting since.

Holger Klatte, the spokesman for the German Language Society, explains his concern to NPR.

"Languages do tend to affect one another, but the influence of English in Germany is so strong that Germans are having a hard time advancing their own vocabulary," he says.

Klatte says that can be a problem for Germans who may not know any English.

"The second world war and Nazi times have led Germans to downplay the importance of their language," he says. "Unlike the French, Finns and Poles — they promote their languages a lot more than we do."


If I'm Finnish, I'm suing whoever's promoting my language and demanding a refund. Even the Muppets chose the Swedish Chef over anything Finnish.

Anatol Stefanowitsch, an English linguistics professor at the Free University of Berlin, tells NPR that Germans are just overemphasizing the matter. As Stefanowitsch notes, roughly 25% of the German language comes from borrowed words. English, by comparison, borrows 40-80% of its words from other languages--and it's a healthy, robust language doing just fine.

"No language has ever disappeared because it borrowed words," Stefanowitsch says.

Quite true. It might become a hot mess like English, but it never disappeared.

In other words, Rocky Balboa sounds less and less like Rocky Balboa.

Like many regional accents throughout the United States, the Philadelphia accent is in serious jeopardy of fading from the landscape, smothered by a generic voice characteristic of news anchors on television. It's a product of our pop culture.

But in a Sunday New York Times op-ed, Daniel Nester focuses on Hollywood's treatment of the Philadelphia accent as a redheaded stepchild, shown no love, with no effort made by actors to impart any linguistic authenticity when playing characters from the region.

Case in point: Silver Linings Playbook takes place entirely in Philadelphia--and stars Bradley Cooper, born and raised in the area--without a hint of regional accent cropping up, and that irks Nester, a local boy from the City of Brotherly Love.

"[N]ot a trace of Philadelphia-ese can be heard throughout the film. Not one mention of the Iggles, of gewing downnashewr (going down to the shore) or tew the Acca-me to get hewgies (to the Acme grocery store to get hoagies). [...] But Mr. Cooper, native of Jenkintown, a Philadelphia suburb, and self-described “Philly boy through and through,” should’ve known better."

Yeah, but is it worse to have no accent at all, or to have an accent absolutely knifed and butchered like it lost a fight in a back alley? Because Tom Hanks, Leonardo DiCaprio, Diane Lane, Amy Adams, Willem Defoe, Sean Penn, Kevin Costner, Blake Lively, Jack Nicholson, Alec Baldwin, Martin Sheen, and Mel Gibson have all done their damndest to strangle a Boston accent to death in movies.

To this day, six million people in the metro Boston area are still traumatized by Tom Hanks' accent in Catch Me If You Can. There's a damage that can't be undone.

The dialects of American English, mapped in wavy, neon colors.

The Washington Post reposted Robert Delaney's map from back in the day to show how we Americans speak.

There are quirks. Boston, New York City, Chicago, San Francisco, and the coastal regions of South Carolina and Georgia all have tongues with linguistic uniqueness.

As does the Ozarks. On this map it's like the beauty mark of America. And just like a beauty mark, it's something you want to keep an eye on just in case it metastasizes.

4 minutes detailing the various dialects of American English.

The Atlantic surveyed various Americans and asked them to pronounce a variety of words and phrases largely based off North Carolina State's Joshua Katz's dialect maps of the United States, which he, in turn, developed off Harvard's 2003 Dialect Survey.



Cape Cod lights up for 85% of the answers. There's your linguistic melting pot of America--the part trying to get as far away from America as it can.

Beowulf has been misinterpreted for 200 years.

At least the very first word of Beowulf has been misinterpreted, according to new scholarly research at the University of Manchester.

For over 200-years, medieval scholars have always interpreted the first word of Beowulf--"hwæt"--to be a centuries-old equivalent of saying "Yo!" or "Hey!"

The Beowulf you find on the bookshelf at Barnes & Nobel or on Amazon reads its first line as the following Old English:

"Hwæt! We Gar-Dena in gear-dagum, þeod-cyninga,  þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon!"

When interpreted, modern scholars have largely agreed it means roughly the following:

"Listen! We have heard of the might of the kings."

Dr. George Walkden at the University of Manchester believes we've been misguided for centuries, for the very simple reason that the interjection form was rarely used in Old English. The blame, according to London's The Independent, belongs to Jakob Grimm, of Brothers Grimm fame, who translated the text in 1837 and claimed "hwæt" was "pure interjection." For centuries, scholars never changed course--until now.

The new interpretation of Beowulf's first line?

"How we have heard of the might of the kings."

Powerful stuff.

You know what's even more powerful?

An interjection.

Is Khaleesi truly speaking a real language or just pulling our chain?

Whenever Khaleesi appears ready to kill someone in Game of Thrones, she usually whips out some Dothraki, admonishes them with a few clipped consonants, and finds a creative was to take out her enemy. (Why, hello there, fire-breathing dragons! How convenient!)

But is Dothraki--the language constructed by George R.R. Martin, and furthered by the creators of the television show--a real language? Is Klingon on Star Trek? Elvish in The Lord of the Rings?

TedEd (a branch of the famous TedTalk series) explains how Khaleesi isn't just taking us for a linguistic ride when she's irked:

Ancient language spoken for the first time in thousands of years.

All Indo-European languages spoken today descended from one primary source. That primary language--known today as the Proto-Indo-European (or PIE) language--is believed to have been spoken between 4500-2500 BC, yet there has never been any written text to go off (our ancient ancestors slacked a bit in this regard), and obviously no recordings of the language spoken (our ancient ancestors slacked a bit in this regard, too).

But as Archeology magazine tells us, what that language sounded like is no longer a mystery. University of Kentucky's Dr. Andrew Byrd used a reconstructed alphabet of PIE that was created in 1868 by German linguist August Schleicher and read a fable (also created by Schleicher) to finally put the language to sound.

And what you get is this:

While no one can be certain if the pronunciations are quite perfect (linguists are sticklers on these things), Byrd says his recreation is "a very educated approximation."

In case you're wondering what Byrd is saying in PIE while reciting the Sheep and Horses fable, Archeology supplies us with this translation:

---------------
The Sheep and the Horses

A sheep that had no wool saw horses, one of them pulling a heavy wagon, one carrying a big load, and one carrying a man quickly. The sheep said to the horses: "My heart pains me, seeing a man driving horses." The horses said: "Listen, sheep, our hearts pain us when we see this: a man, the master, makes the wool of the sheep into a warm garment for himself. And the sheep has no wool." Having heard this, the sheep fled into the plain.
---------------

What can we take away from this fable? Sheep are sensitive. Also cold.

Study: You sometimes talk like a cave dweller.

According to a study, a number of words humans use today are strikingly similar to the linguistic patterns humanity used 15,000+ years ago, born from an Ice Age-era proto-language that has trickled down to a variety of modern languages.

Per The Washington Post:

The traditional view is that words can’t survive for more than 8,000 to 9,000 years. Evolution, linguistic “weathering” and the adoption of replacements from other languages eventually drive ancient words to extinction, just like the dinosaurs of the Jurassic era.

Except it turns out language is more like Jurassic Park, minus Sam Neil, Jeff Goldblum, or that little kid with a death wish aiming a flashlight at a T-Rex. Come on, kid, use your head--who does that?

Anywho, back to The Post:

A team of researchers has come up with a list of two dozen “ultraconserved words” that have survived 150 centuries. It includes some predictable entries: “mother,” “not,” “what,” “to hear” and “man.” It also contains surprises: “to flow,” “ashes” and “worm.”

Also making the list? The verb "to give," suggesting that--deep down--maybe humanity always has tried to be generous.

Except Ayn Rand. There was no saving her.

Scottish man dies, killing off an English dialect in the process.

Bobby Hogg isn't the name of a befuddled criminal mastermind from The Dukes of Hazard. Close, but no.

Instead, Bobby Hogg was an elderly Scottish gentleman of 92 years who was the last known speaker of a dialect of English called Cromarty. And being the last known speaker means two things die when you do--in this case, Mr. Hogg and the dialect of Cromarty.

According to the Associated Press, the dialect requires us fellow English speakers to pay attention closely.

Example? "Hiv thoo a roosky sazpence i thi pooch?" is Cromarty for "Can you lend me some money?"

Anyone who has visited Scotland now realizes the whole region speaks in the Cromarty dialect, so I don't know what the fuss is about. Linguists just need a Netflix account. I'm pretty certain everyone spoke Cromarty in Trainspotting.


photo: AP

Meanwhile, the UK and Ireland are painted in a delightfully miserable Seattle Rainy Gray.

Strange Maps recently had a variety of maps submitted showing the number of tweets...per country...per language...per specific location within that country, all shown in one of those lovely lit-up nighttime maps.

In essence, the brighter a country (or grayer in some cases), the more it tweets--and each color represents a different language.

In other words, Europe looks like this:

Russia is the surface of the moon, and Moscow is Tranquility Base. Germany, meanwhile, in a time-honored tradition, is invading other countries again, this time with its language. In a surprising turn of events, France and its language haven't receded, as it, too, is equally imperialistic.

What's somewhat curious (to a dweeb like me) is the little yellowing sweat stain on Spain's armpit. That's not a new country between France and Spain--that's just the Catalans in Spain speaking their own language, shunning the national Spanish.

Not shown on these maps? My apathy toward Twitter.



Map: Strange Maps

I prefer "loo" myself.

You know when you're a teenager--preferably misshapen, socially awkward, and full of quality acne--and you fall into a new group of friends, how over time you begin talking like them?

Usually it's for the worst. Lots of "likes" and "you knows." If you're from within ten miles of Boston, you inherently say "wicked" regardless if it's applicable. If you're in grad school, you start every statement with "What I found interesting..." regardless if it's actually interesting.

Well, The Economist (oh, yeah, I'm brainy) had a piece recently on Americanisms that have burrowed into British culture.

Cases in point:

a.) "Sidewalk" is in. "Pavement" is hitting the road. [woo-hoo, puns!]

Note: Adele is chasing sidewalks now.

b.) "Apartment" growing in popularity at the expense of "flat."

This is disappointing to learn. No matter what kind of a scabies-infested cesspool roach den you lived in, if you referred to it as a flat people were bamboozled into believing you lived somewhere modern and edgy.

c.) "Vacation" is nearly as popular as "holiday."

Again, sad. Who doesn't love a holiday, no matter what kind? Vacations are just a variation on vacate--and the only things that should be vacated are meth dens and math classes.

d.) The American "I'm good" is gaining on the British "I'm well."

Sigh. This is the worst thing to happen to British English since Madonna.

Quibble No. 5: Chu/You

Dear Usher,

Unless you know a lovely woman, last name "Chu," whom you miss dearly, the song lyric is pronounced "without you."

Thanks!
--An English Major.

Dictionaries are like reality TV.

They sort of make sideshows of themselves in order to simply amuse us. Which is fine by me. I'm a proponent of being easily amused. You know when magicians grab a quarter from behind your ear? One word: AMAZING.

Anywho--Oxford Dictionaries Online has added words to its collection it accepts as...well, words. Like ZOMG, and NSFW. Man cave made the cut, too, as did mani-pedi.

In other words, the way The Real Housewives of New York talk. If those folks aren't the great linguistic geniuses amongst us, I don't know who is.

Book Review: Native Speaker, by Chang-Rae Lee

This is part of the continuing series of random book reviews that'll be nothing like a New York Times book review. Gone is the ten thousand word analysis. Instead, here is a book review like you'd tell your friends.




The book: Chang-Rae Lee's Native Speaker.

Review:

So all your major characters sound like they received a perfect score on the verbal portion of their SATs.

Gotcha.

Linguistics can be interesting. Really. Sometimes. On occasion. When presented like this.

Sometimes I stumble on random websites regarding language/speech/writing/books/Oprah.

In this case, I stumbled upon a gentleman (last name: Aschmann. first name: ?) who is a linguist by trade--and, as a hobby, has created a website devoted to the way we all speak. His hobby makes your pastime of collecting Happy Cat posters seem pretty lame/uninspired by comparison. He has a detailed map of America/Canada that has more squiggly lines of demarcation than a Jackson Pollock painting--except these lines differentiate the way areas pronounce pin/pen, caught/cot, father/bother, you get the drift.

Did you know that geographical boundaries actually work to buffer language traits? So, the Black Hills of South Dakota bend language around them, the Sierra Nevada refuse to let language climb over them, and the Ohio River stops accents at its bank. At least Aschmann says so, and I'm easily swayed by brainy talk.

And what about history's influence? The Kansas-Nebraska Act of 1854 apparently dictates how Nebraskans talk today, as the 1930's Great Depression influences modern Californians--since over a million "Okies" from the Midwest (and their accents) moved west during that time. It's like the Grapes of Wrath, except with less talk about starvation and more chit-chat about stressed syllables.

The sexiest thing on the website? That Cincinnati is called a "linguistic island." I don't know what a linguistic island specifically is, but it sounds exotic and alluring. And it's probably the only time anyone has ever made Cincinnati out to be exotic for anything.