bond villain or master linguist?
the duck face may have replaced the sneer as the ultimate facial expression in formal portraiture, but this still doesn’t really clue us into whether or not this disgusted genius and his evil lap cat are planning to hold the world hostage for one hundred billion dollars or thinking about how to make sense of the odd little glyphs found inscribed in mayan stonework. so i will just tell you.
yuri knorozov is the russian ethnographer and linguist who first deciphered maya script. here’s how it all began »

At the closing stages of the war in May 1945, Knorozov and his unit supported the push of the Red Army vanguard into Berlin. It was here…[that] Knorozov came across the National Library while it was ablaze. Somehow Knorozov managed to retrieve from the burning library a book, which remarkably enough turned out to be a rare edition containing reproductions of the three Maya codices which were then known…Knorozov is said to have taken this book back with him to Moscow at the end of the war, where its examination would form the basis for his later pioneering research into the Maya script.

there are many bamfs in linguistics but for my one hundred billion dollars, knorozov is the bamfiest bamf of them all.

bond villain or master linguist?

the duck face may have replaced the sneer as the ultimate facial expression in formal portraiture, but this still doesn’t really clue us into whether or not this disgusted genius and his evil lap cat are planning to hold the world hostage for one hundred billion dollars or thinking about how to make sense of the odd little glyphs found inscribed in mayan stonework. so i will just tell you.

yuri knorozov is the russian ethnographer and linguist who first deciphered maya script. here’s how it all began »

At the closing stages of the war in May 1945, Knorozov and his unit supported the push of the Red Army vanguard into Berlin. It was here…[that] Knorozov came across the National Library while it was ablaze. Somehow Knorozov managed to retrieve from the burning library a book, which remarkably enough turned out to be a rare edition containing reproductions of the three Maya codices which were then known…Knorozov is said to have taken this book back with him to Moscow at the end of the war, where its examination would form the basis for his later pioneering research into the Maya script.

there are many bamfs in linguistics but for my one hundred billion dollars, knorozov is the bamfiest bamf of them all.

pronouncing sex words 102

you wake up to the sound of your zune alarm blasting rule, brittania! as it does every morning at 7:30 without fail. you feel the frictionless satin of foreign sheets, you smell an exotic waft of honeydew and musk, you taste the corners of your mouth and come up with hints of duck a l’orange. you realise at once that you are not in your own apartment; you are not in your own bed. and then an attractive chinese literature phd candidate rolls over and brushes across your favourite sex organ and you remember at once what happened last night.

instead of doing it like werewolves on a full moon, you had the well-intentioned idea of lighting some yankee candles and playing some brian eno through computer speakers. but when you returned to your date, you find that your date is fast asleep. sure you might be able to awaken this attractive phd candidate through grinding, but that is not what tru-playas do. tru-playas do a few quick crunches and then fall asleep with their teeth grit.

but all is not lost, you and your date and your favourite sex organ are now wide awake and it’s time for a mulligan. but don’t be hasty, tru-playa. if you floss that duck out of your teeth, fluff up the goosedown pillows, and keep your pronunciations of sexually-charged words as on point as your game, you might just get yourself a story to post on the internet under the guise of giving out pronunciation advice.

imbroglio: im-BROHL-yoh, not im-BROAG-lee-oh
liaison: LEE-uh-ZAHN, not LAY-uh-zahn
lingerie: lan-zhe-REE, not lahn-zhe-RAY or LAHN-je-ray
nuptial: NUHP-shul, not NUHP-shoo-ul
ogle: OH-gul, not AW-gul
proboscis: proh-BAH-sis, not pruh-BAHS-kis
tête-à-tête: TAYT-uh-TAYT is recommended over TET-ah-TET
venereal: vuh-NEER-ee-ul, not vuh-NAIR-ee-ul

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source: the big book of beastly mispronunciations (1999).
more pronunciation advice here.

pronouncing sex words 101

you are on a first date with an attractive chinese literature doctoral candidate from an accredited university in cambridge. and you, being the tru-playa that you are, are doing everything right. your eyebrows have been waxed at the proper angles. you pop your pinky like the duchess of devonshire while sipping your vin blanc. you order duck a l’orange and not one of the more vulgar options like gorgonzola stuffed pork chops. and most importantly, every word that leaves your duck fat-smeared lips is pronounced perfectly.

because your game is tight, you are invited back to this attractive phd candidate’s apartment and find that your date’s regrettably “wholesome” roommate is away at some conference. it’s time to make your move, but don’t let your pounding libido get in the way of your spotless pronunciation record, less the deal becomes unsealed. for the future benefit of you, and for the future relief of your sex organs, here are the proper ways to pronounce some select sexually-charged words.

aphrodisiac: AF-ruh-DIZ-ee-ak, not AF-ruh-DEE-zee-ak
areola: uh-REE-uh-luh, not AIR-ee-OH-luh
boudoir: BOO-dwahr, not buh-DWAHR
clitoris: KLIT-ur-is, not kli-TOR-is
coitus: KOH-i-tus, not KOY-tus
commingle: kuh-MING-gul, not koh-MING-gul
cowper’s glands: KOO-purz GLANDZ, not KOW-purz GLANDZ
décolletage: DAY-kawl-TAHZH, not DEK-uh-luh-TAHZH
dishabille: dis-uh-BEEL, not DIS-huh-beel
divan: di-VAN, not di-VON

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source: the big book of beastly mispronunciations (1999).
more pronunciation advice here.

proper pronunciations and how to lose friends

if you’re a masochistic pedant like me, then one of your favourite activities is using correct pronunciations which seem wrong, waiting for someone to correct you, and then telling that someone how you read in a dictionary once that your pronunciation is the correct one and their way is actually barbarous and laughable.

i do this all the time with the prefix quasi-, which is properly pronounced KWAY-zy the way that someone with a speech impediment might say crazy (which, beeteedub, makes words like quasi-religion and quasi-normal all the more fun to say). here are a few more pronunciation traps that you can set for your friends, enemies, and especially your frenemies:

diphthong: DIF-thawng, not DIP-thawng
eschew: es-CHOO, not e-SHOO
mauve: MOHV, not MAWV
orangutan: uh-RANG-uh-TAN, not uh-RANG-uh-TANG
patina: PAT-ih-nuh, not puh-TEE-nuh
ribald: RIB-uld, not RY-bald
vertebrae: VUR-tuh-bree, neither VER-tuh-bry nor VER-tuh-bray

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source: the big book of beastly mispronunciations (1999). more here.

from an actual academic journal published in the mid nineteen nineties

if you didn’t know already, i am a steadfast advocate of: 1. exhaustive research & 2. establishing standards. so when i came across this scholarly article which calls for standardising the “elicitation of a pain cry from infants” (for research purposes!) i knew that i had found a cause for me to rally behind. get a hot load of this:

Presently, there appears to be a lack of consensus among researchers as to the ideal methods of eliciting a pain cry from infants… For example, previous studies have elicited pain cries from infants based on a rubberband snap to the heel (Murray, et al., 1977), heel stick with a blood lancet or heel flick with a researcher’s index finger (Corwin, et al., 1992), a pinch applied to the infant’s arm or ear (Michelsson, et al.), as well as removal of electrodes used to monitor the infant’s hear rate and respiration (Wasz-Hockert 1977).

Still other studies have been less precise in reporting cry elicitation using “physical manipulation of the infant” (Zeskind, 1981), or using “standard newborn reflexes” (Lester, 1987). Certainly, future research should be directed toward developing a standardized method of cry elicitation.

personally, my vote is for the blood lancet BUT a rubberband snap to the heel does have certain merits.

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source: “acoustic features of normal-hearing pre-term infant cry” by cacace, robb, saxman, risemberg, and koltai (1995). via 

December 7, 2010
tags

language silhouettes

okay, okay. this will be the last time that i blast you in your face with word-number charts that i made on an airplane. for this final graph, i thought it would be a hoot to generate a kind of “silhouette” of the unique word length schemes of the numbers of each language.

notice how almost 60% of all german numbers are spelled with 14 letters. also—how half of all vietnamese numbers have ten letters. observe how when many languages max out at about 15 letters per number, polish is just warming up (and stretches all the way to 24). compare the strikingly similar silhouettes of italian, spanish, and portuguese. contemplate how neat and tidy turkish is and how chaotic and sprawling french seems.

i’m left wondering whether these graphs would be similar for say, the length of the most used words in each language, or the length of each language’s colour terms. are the majority of vietnamese colours spelled with ten letters? are some of the most used words in polish a whopping 20 letters or more? are there no words in malay that are exactly six letters? who knows? i may need to charter another flight to thailand to sort it all out.

4 is the magic number cont’d [spoilers]

yesterday, i made it my bidness to clue you into 4 and why it’s the magic number. today i will tell you why. i will also discuss at length my unabatable zeal for charting the mathematics behind its magic—in a crowded jumbo jet, sipping on campari & o.j., whizzing through the air at an altitude of 39,000 feet, and watching a brendan fraser movie where he can communicate with raccoons.

the solution is frustrating at first but very gratifying once you yourself get to make someone else figure out how every number leads back to 4 just as every road leads to rome. i played a little trick on you yesterday by not writing out the numbers (despite what the chicago manual of style says). if i had, you might have realised that each number is the amount of letters it contains. thus: 3 (three) is 5 (five) is 4 (four). doh! 4 is magic therefore because it has the unique property of being spelled with its own amount of letters.

for every number to be reducible to 4 however, there needs to be additional magic—all numbers have to lead to it, and no other number can be “magic”. if 5 were spelled with two letters, 5 would be 2, 2 would be 3, and 3 would be 5 again— creating an infinite loop that never gets to 4. additionally, only one number can be spelled with its own amount of letters. if 6 were spelled “sihcks”, then the whole delicate balance explodes and the puzzle loses its appeal.

these are the things that were whirling around my brain as woodland creatures were flinging rotten fruit at brendan fraser’s gonads. and as the captain made an announcement in three languages, i realised that 4 is only magic in the english numberverse, who knows what mysteries were yet to be uncovered in foreign alphabets. perhaps 9 was magic in mandarin, maybe 13 in romanian. or maybe—and this is what really revved my turbines: maybe english was the only language which held these three magic properties. maybe english and its numbers are the center of the matho-linguistic universe!

i did some quick counting in different languages and soon realised that cinco was cinco and vier was vier. but did all numbers in spanish lead to cinco? were there other numbers in german that were magic? i mapped out a few languages in my counterfeit moleskine journal.

spanish, it seems, is magic only half the time. 50% of the numbers 1-100 will get stuck in a 6-4 infinite loop. german, like its grandnephew english, has 4 as a magic number (and only 4). what about french? french, like france itself, gets tangled in a vast web of bureaucracy. 6 leads to 3, 3 leads to 5, 5 to 4 and back to 6 and so on and so on to infinity. just by sketching out these four languages, i could see how each chart structure was wildly different than the last. i needed more! i became a data junkie!

i made fast friends with the vietnamese government official sitting next to me. “can you spell out the numbers 1-100 in vietnamese,” i asked over another round of campari & o.j.?”

“huh?!?” he said (the question mark-exclamation point-question mark i added)

but weirdly, he wrote them down without further questioning. “do you know any other languages?” i asked. perhaps he anticipated what i was going to ask him to do and responded in the negative. so i set about the plane querying people on what languages that they knew and then prodding them to write out every number in that language from 1-100. it was actually a pretty good icebreaker and people were oddly compliant. perhaps everyone was bored with watching brendan fraser tongue kiss brooke shields, or perhaps people were just excited to showcase their language. for whatever reason, i soon had myself a dozen cocktail napkins with over 1,000 handwritten numbers scrawled all over them.

as i always do when overwhelmed with a sudden influx of correlatable data, i got out my laptop, closed my redtube.com tab, and opened up my charting program so i could chart the tar out of these numbers and their relationships.

the images above are from this feverish, 39,000 foot high charting session. you will notice how the structure of numbers and how they are spelled in each language is as different as the languages themselves. and yet similar languages do have similar structures. the longest number in portuguese, spanish, and italian is 54, yet italian has a magic number, spanish is half magic and portuguese is only a quarter magic.

consider also vietnamese in which half of all numbers are ten letters long. in malay, not a single number is spelled with 6 letters. in polish, it takes 24 letters to spell out the number 99. in typical german efficiency, it takes just four maximum steps to arrive at the magic number while it takes 7 steps in italian. these are just a few of the highlights, the rest i leave in your intrepid hands.

in the end: english’s four, german’s vier, and italian’s tre were the only fully magic numbers in my pool of 10 languages but that does not take away from the other languages and the beauty of their relationships in this odd intersection of number and letter and language and math.

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props to my fellow passengers on thai air who answered my out-of-nowhere request for written numbers (and now know why i was badgering them): mr. binh, hugh, almas, weronika, jordan, that guy with the jason mraz hat who was reading the entertainment section of usa today, and phillip—you guys, please consider yourself members of the mile high club for polyglots.

disclaimer: i couldn’t read everybody’s handwriting, and don’t know every language (yet), so there will doubtlessly be some mistakes in these charts—perhaps even some large and embarrassing ones.

words wholly unrelated

dog & dog

the word for dog in mbarbaram, a recently extinct australian aboriginal language, is dog. it is pronounced the same way as in english yet it is not a loanword—it is completely coincidental.

given the limited number of sounds that can be made with one’s mouth, the amount of basic words in any given language, and the 3.2 million languages currently spoken in our solar system, uncanny coincidences like this do crop up from time to time.

June 22, 2010
tags

proof that boring linguistics papers are not always boring

i know what you’re thinking. you’re thinking that boring linguistics papers are always boring. but it ain’t always so, slacker! as evidence, i submit the paper* on the aforementioned adverbial prefixes in klamath. here, scott delancy discusses the prefix sg- (act with the penis) as it appears in several klamath myths.

the concluding line is the best line that ever appeared in all of linguistics (i bolded it for extra emphasis). i would wear a t-shirt of a tattooed version of a cross-stitched rendering of it, if such a thing existed.

sg- occurs in a set of semantically rather idiosyncratic stems:

  • /sgocaqta/ — bend the penis on
  • /sgena/ — take out the penis
  • /is goqo:tYe:nia/ — scrape the penis around inside

This is hardly surprising; there is a limited range of things which can be done with the penis, even in myth.

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* “lexical prefixes and the bipartite stem construction in klamath” by scott delancey, international journal of american linguistics, (january 1999).

May 5, 2010
tags

body parts of speech

one of the more compelling reasons to study another language is so we can learn how to say dirty things to people who aren’t familiar with it. for this, the native american language of klamath is especially well-suited.

klamath has a peculiar system of bodily adverbial affixes which is a ñerd’s way of saying that speakers of klamath can jam a prefix onto a verb to show which body part is acting on it.

tqiq- for instance, means “to act with the elbow”. adding it to the verb t’ac (to stretch) yields the preposterous word histqatca which translates to “fight by stretching the other’s mouth with an elbow.”

here are a few more:

d- with the hands
y- with the foot
qb- with the mouth
loc- with the knee
tshoq- with the buttocks
sg- with the penis

stealing these and using them in english (which is what english does best) could be quite useful as in the following imagined conversation:

orson o’riley: i was jostled in the subway this morning.
crepuscular ray: were you djostled or locjostled?
oo: actually, i was tshoqjostled.
cr: you have brought shame on our house that cannot be absolved with 1,000 bars of soap.

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source: “lexical prefixes and the bipartite stem construction in klamath” by scott delancey, international journal of american linguistics, (january 1999).

f-words about words

one of my tricks is that i read 6 or 7 books in parallel. among others, there is: the book that i keep on my nightstand for when i can’t sleep, the book i carry in my murse for when i am riding a bus, and the book that i read while listening to my yanni live at the acropolis cd. reading books concurrently like this takes a long time—it took me ten years to get through my laundromat book, gravity’s rainbow—but there is one manner of book that i can get though in as little as two weeks: my mani-pedi book.

this week’s mani-pedi book was david gramb’s words about words dictionary. here are a few f-words that hoài mi and i selected while i was soaking my feet in a garra rufa aquarium earlier this afternoon.

  • façon de parler · way of speaking; manner of expression.
  • fadaise · an obvious remark.
  • fallacy of the beard · the fallacy of arguing by grasping at a stage of situation, as by reasoning that “one more [day, purchase, attempt, etc.] won’t matter.”
  • false comparative · a word that, extreme or categorical in meaning, in principle cannot be modified, eg. “unique,” “simultaneous,” and “eternally.”
  • false illiteracy · a pointless misspelling that retains pronunciation, e.g.”duz” for “does” or “wimin” for “women.”
  • farpotshket · crossed out and erased and rewritten.
  • fasgrolia · the fast growing language of initialisms and acronyms.
  • faux naïf · falsely simple; feigning artlessness.
  • femme savant · a learned, literary woman.
  • fictioneering · the writing or marketing of fiction in quantity that is of low or sensationalized quality.
  • flannel mouthed · oily-tongued; mellifluous; soft-soaping.
  • framis · comic doubletalk blending actual words with made-up words.
April 22, 2010
tags
on beyond zebra
we’ve talked about the alexander graham bell and george bernard shaw phonetic alphabets before and we have discussed benjamin franklin’s writing, but we have yet to talk about franklin’s own super kooky phonetic alphabet.
franklin was more than just a political revolutionary—he was also an alphabet one. he figured (much like the citizens of azerbaijan) that a new alphabet was essential in promoting a new national identity. and unlike shaw and bell who invented zany moustache alphabets, franklin determined that the best course of action was to build upon our already existing latin letters. while his spelling reform ideas were taken up by his homey, noah webster, webster thought his alphabet reform was too radical for the time. perhaps it was but honestly, those six new letters at the end are some of the illest glyphs going.
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another failed alphabetic reform: this.recommended reading: this.

on beyond zebra

we’ve talked about the alexander graham bell and george bernard shaw phonetic alphabets before and we have discussed benjamin franklin’s writing, but we have yet to talk about franklin’s own super kooky phonetic alphabet.

franklin was more than just a political revolutionary—he was also an alphabet one. he figured (much like the citizens of azerbaijan) that a new alphabet was essential in promoting a new national identity. and unlike shaw and bell who invented zany moustache alphabets, franklin determined that the best course of action was to build upon our already existing latin letters. while his spelling reform ideas were taken up by his homey, noah webster, webster thought his alphabet reform was too radical for the time. perhaps it was but honestly, those six new letters at the end are some of the illest glyphs going.

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another failed alphabetic reform: this.
recommended reading:
this.

frequentative flyers

it turns out that the guy who was sitting next to me on my æroplane was studying linguistics so i axed him what was the hawt new thing in his field that gave him wood every time he thought about it. he didn’t answer me outright but he did tell me a little bit about frequentatives.

according to him, there are some languages (finnish, lithuanian, and turkish) that can slap a suffix on a verb to show that that the verb happens not once, not twice, but frequently. eg. the turkish word anlat means “to recite,” you can stick a -gelmek up in there to make anlatagelmek which means “to be reciting repetitively.” he then gave me a few boring examples in finno-ugric languages and i was about to slip on my blublockers and tune him out when he pinched me hard and said, “raynor, you dope. english has frequentatives too!”

when all the dust settled, he showed me that the english suffix -le is actually an ancient morpheme that allows english speakers to construct their own frequentatives. consider:

  • when something frequently sparks, it sparkles.
  • i can be dazed once but when i am dazed continuously, i am dazzled.
  • if an object cracks without stopping, it crackles.
  • and so on with nest/nestle, crumb/crumble, tramp/trample, and wrest/wrestle. 
  • of additional interest is how some words like fondle, prattle, and scuttle preserve the verbs fond, prate, and scud which passed out of english usage many æons ago.
  • you can find out more on this subject by flyle-ing on delta and sittle-ing next to the dude that i sat next to or by visitle-ing the frequentative wikipedia page here.
rice probably
This pronunciation guide is from Où est le garlic? by Len Deighton (1965), the author of The Ipcress File. For anyone who hasn’t heard of The Ipcress File, or of Michael Caine for that matter, here. You’re welcome.
Now that we’re all properly briefed, we can appreciate the intricate genius of Len Deighton: the working man’s John le Carré, primogenitor of Harry Palmer and therefore arguably of Michael Caine’s career, military historian, and occasional cookery columnist for The Observer (London). Throw in his background as an utterly cool art student cat whose parents were ‘in service’ as a chauffeur and a housekeeper-cook, and we begin to get that whiff of early 1960s anti-establishment irreverence, a refusal to kowtow to the status quo that was all the more vicious for its subtlety.
So read this pronunciation guide with all that context informing your font appreciation and vowel sounds, and with Harry Palmer’s vocals reverberating in your cranium. It is pure frang-lays, the lingua franca of the bowler-hatted Brit abroad, priggishly bourgeois and culturally tone deaf. Deighton absolutely nails the plummy droning diphthongs and plodding stresses. Hi-bloody-larious.
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the content and capital letters of this post have been brought to you by the ever plucky ramona ranchera.

rice probably

This pronunciation guide is from Où est le garlic? by Len Deighton (1965), the author of The Ipcress File. For anyone who hasn’t heard of The Ipcress File, or of Michael Caine for that matter, here. You’re welcome.

Now that we’re all properly briefed, we can appreciate the intricate genius of Len Deighton: the working man’s John le Carré, primogenitor of Harry Palmer and therefore arguably of Michael Caine’s career, military historian, and occasional cookery columnist for The Observer (London). Throw in his background as an utterly cool art student cat whose parents were ‘in service’ as a chauffeur and a housekeeper-cook, and we begin to get that whiff of early 1960s anti-establishment irreverence, a refusal to kowtow to the status quo that was all the more vicious for its subtlety.

So read this pronunciation guide with all that context informing your font appreciation and vowel sounds, and with Harry Palmer’s vocals reverberating in your cranium. It is pure frang-lays, the lingua franca of the bowler-hatted Brit abroad, priggishly bourgeois and culturally tone deaf. Deighton absolutely nails the plummy droning diphthongs and plodding stresses. Hi-bloody-larious.

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the content and capital letters of this post have been brought to you by the ever plucky ramona ranchera.

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