The Citizen, 2013-08-22, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, AUGUST 22, 2013. PAGE 5.
“For ‘tis sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard…”
Hamlet, Act III, Scene 4
Ah, yes. One of Shakespeare’s most
repeated phrases. We all know what
‘hoisted by his own petard’ means.
It’s used in the sense of having something
backfire, blow up in one’s face.
That’s apt. A ‘petard’ was a kind of
medieval land mine employed by soldiers
to blow up gates and fortifications. It
comes from – and there’s no genteel
way of saying this – the French word for
fart.
Which brings us around to a famous
French artist who, in the mid-nineteenth
century, played to sold-out crowds in
Paris. King Leopold of Belgium even
snuck in to catch a show, as did
Edward, Prince of Wales and Sigmund
Freud.
His name was Joseph Pujol, but the public
knew him by his stage name, Le Petomane,
which translates as – again, euphemisms fail
me – The Fartiste.
Monsieur Pujol’s musical instrument was
located below decks and well to the aft, as it
were. He carried it with him (as do we all) at
all times. The difference between Monsieur
Pujol and the rest of us: he could play his
instrument.
Like a flute. Literally. As part of
his performance Le Petomane would ahh,
attach himself, via a flexible tube,
to an ocarina, a rather simple wind instru-
ment. He would then favour the audience
with a variety of popular tunes, including,
patriotically, “La Marseillaisse.”ß
All of this was delivered in a performance
of exquisite taste. Nothing crude about
Le Petomane. He performed in a red cape
and a tuxedo elegantly set off by an ivory-
coloured cravat and white gloves.
Any adjustments that had to be made
(tubes, etc.) were done off stage, behind
the curtains.
In addition to musical numbers Le Petomane
could produce the timid toot of a young
adolescent girl and follow it with the
thundering blast of a peasant farmer
after a hearty dinner of feves au lard.
He could replicate cannon fire and
thunderstorms. He could blow out candles
and deliver a ‘farm tour’ – a running
agricultural commentary punctuated by
anal renditions of every animal in the barn-
yard from sonorous cows through bleating
sheep to clucking chickens. His piece de
resistance: a blistering 10-second
glissando described as “the sound of a
dressmaker ripping two metres of calico
cloth”.
Monsieur Pujol’s artistry made him a rich
man. He bought a chateau, complete with
servants. He had 10 children and died happy
and wealthy at the age of 88.
If there was any justice, Le Petomane’s
tombstone would bear another line from
Shakespeare:
“All’s well that ends well.”
Or perhaps from King Lear:
“Blow winds, and crack your cheeks.”
Arthur
Black
Other Views
It’s an ill wind turned into art
Finally someone woke up and realized
that controversial American singer Chris
Brown hasn’t changed his law-breaking
and abusive ways, he doesn’t plan on changing
and hitching your wagon to his star maybe isn’t
a great move. And much to my delight it was
Canadians that led the charge.
Brown is, of course, the man who beat his
then-girlfriend singer Rihanna to a bloody pulp
after the couple had an argument in a moving
car. He repeatedly punched and bit the woman,
disgusting me in the process, but the incident
didn’t quite have the same effect on everyone.
Four of Brown’s summer shows, all in
Canada (Toronto, Winnipeg, St. John and
Halifax), have been cancelled due to Brown’s
“recent personal and health-related issues”.
How easily everyone forgets. However, as
Rihanna crawled back to Brown, who now has
just under 13 million people following him on
Twitter, it’s safe to say he hasn’t exactly fallen
out of favour with some people.
In Canada, however, they finally told Brown
they wanted nothing to do with him.
The backlash started earlier this year when
Halifax Mayor Mike Savage said it “made him
sick” that Brown, considering all he has done
and continues to do, would be performing in
his city. Savage’s comments were followed by
an outpouring of support for his stance and an
online petition attempting to keep Brown out
of Halifax that made national news.
Soon sponsors began to pull out of the shows
and we all know that when the money behind
an event is gone, so too goes the event.
So on Monday the other shoe dropped and
Brown’s Canadian dates were formally canned.
When I first heard about the push-back
against Brown in Halifax, which was closely
followed by protests in Winnipeg as well, I was
so proud to be a Canadian.
Since Brown’s assault of Rihanna and
subsequent arrest, followed by no jail time, in
2009, I have felt as though I was on crazy pills.
After the incident, Brown’s popularity not
only failed to plummet, but it rose, if anything.
He won awards and was welcomed to
functions as if nothing had happened and I felt
like I was the only one who read the full police
report of the incident, which was published
online by MTV and knew what had happened.
Soon after, Brown and Rihanna were spotted
together and the pair eventually went public
with their reconciliation, proving that even she
had forgiven him for what he had done.
That was when my crazy pills began to really
kick in. Because Rihanna had forgiven Brown,
his millions and millions of supporters, most of
them female, urged the public to move on, as
Rihanna had. I just couldn’t do it.
Similar to the legions of young, female
supporters of Boston Marathon bombing
suspect Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, it was further
proof that if you’re young and good looking,
not only can you get away with anything, but
your transgressions can somehow be spun into
an enticing quality. (Who doesn’t love the ‘bad
boy’ right?)
There were stories after Brown had
resurfaced of people posting on social media
that Brown could “beat” them anytime, from
thousands of young women who clearly don’t
understand how serious domestic violence is.
So finally I feel like I’ve been weaned off of
my insanity meds and my country has stuck up
for something I’ve been screaming for all
along.
No Chris Brown, Canada doesn’t want you.
You can do whatever you want, wherever you
want, except here. My people won’t line your
pockets with our colourful polymer dollars.
Not in my house
Shawn
Loughlin
Shawn’s Sense
If you weren’t paying attention over
the past few weeks, you could have missed
a story that, to me, perfectly frames
concerns I’ve previously discussed regard-
ing the bastardization of the English
language.
It’s a difficult concept to really look at
because languages are biological entities.
Languages are born, languages rise in
popularity, languages languish and, possibly
after several more dizzying highs and gut-
wrenching lows, languages can die.
Latin, for example, is considered a ‘dead
language’ in that it is not spoken by many
fluently, however it is still very much used,
especially in scientific circles.
English is an interesting creature, as
far as languages are concerned. Like some
languages it has different dialects spoken all
over the world. All one needs to do is look for
an elevator in the United Kingdom (often
called a lift there) or seek out a washroom
there (you may be surprised by the lack of a
toilet as it is actually a room in which you
wash).
Aside from the jokes about Canadian beer
and the ‘beer’ enjoyed by our southern
neighbours, language to me is a fascinating
thing. You can see the changes, the growths,
the deficiencies and, if you live long enough or
at the right time, the decision to no longer use
it.
English is a wide-spread language, often
referred to as the language of business
(however, it will likely be supplanted by
Chinese at some point in the future)
but recently I believe we literally saw the
first nail in the coffin of the illustrious
tongue.
Did you catch that? The misuse of the term
literally? Literally means to take an exact
meaning, a literal understanding of whatever is
being discussed.
Or at least, that’s what literally used to
mean.
Literally now has a secondary meaning
according to many dictionaries. For the sake of
simplicity and accessibility, I’ll use Google’s
definitions to illustrate what is the first death
pang of English.
Literally (lit·er·al·ly) | /ˈlit r l /
1. In a literal manner or sense; exactly: “the
driver took it literally when asked to go
straight over the traffic circle.”
2. Used to acknowledge that something is
not literally true but is used for emphasis or to
express strong feeling.
The misuse of the word by tweens, by the
crass and the flighty and by the users of social
media has led to its downfall.
Literally has literally become a joke among
those who endeavour to use the right terms.
Suddenly it’s okay for people to say things
along the lines of the following:
• “I could literally eat apple pie every day.”
• “I was running so fast, I think I literally
could outrun a cheetah.”
• “I ate so much I literally thought I was
going to die.”
The list could literally go on.
In case this has confused you at all, faithful
readers, there were, essentially, two terms that
are forever supposed to be at odds: literally
and figuratively.
Literally, to paraphrase, meant in fact.
Figuratively means you’re making a
statement or speaking in a way that includes
figures of speech, analogues, metaphors or
otherwise ‘ornate’ speech.
The two of them figuratively used to be the
opposite sides of the same coin. Both referred
to language that was based in some sort of
fact, but used different means of getting it
across.
For the above example of “literally going to
die” a figurative term of speech would be that
someone ate so much they exploded.
Obviously, they wouldn’t explode.
Other examples of figurative speech include
“drinking like a fish,” “hot enough to fry an
egg on” and, my personal favourite, “black
sheep.”
The idea behind figurative speech is that you
draw a reference to something people may
understand in hopes of better illuminating the
situation you’re describing.
Literally, now, however, can be used for
emphasis alongside terms like very, extremely,
of the utmost, and other superlatives.
That literally makes me angry. It figuratively
makes me hopping and steaming mad (I
did a great many things when I first found out
about this but hopping or having steam
pour out of my ears were literally not among
them).
I’ve studied the history of English in an in-
depth fashion. If I had the option at school, I
took every single English class, every history
of modern English and every linguistic class I
could fit on my schedule and still get credit
towards graduating. I did so because, as
languages go, it’s messy, it’s lacking precision,
it’s confusing and, above all, it’s fairly
young. However, despite all these
shortcomings, it has spread like wildfire
across the world. (Not literally, there isn’t
a blazing inferno powered by the English
language moving from nation to nation.)
Despite being a clumsy linguistic system, it
is used the world over and that entertains me to
no end.
The little gimmicks that make it fun like the
fact that a word like police can make up
75 per cent of a sentence (Police
police balls, for example, which means police
(noun) police (verb) police (adjective) balls)
are what make it interesting. They are also
the first thing to go when Newspeak starts
up.
So, as someone who has such a fascination
with words and the power they have, it upsets
me greatly when we exercise power over them
and, through misuse, are able to change a word
into a meaning that is very nearly literally its
opposite.
I, for one, intend to rebel.
When someone uses literally in its newest
sense, I will suggest they mean figuratively. I
cannot, in good conscience, tell them they are
wrong because according to several
dictionaries they are right.
I certainly can, however, tell them to use a
different term to avoid any confusion with
stuffy individuals like myself who cling to old
linguistic traditions.
This is literally the end of my rant.
Denny
Scott
Denny’s Den
An upsetting linguistic revelation
Final Thought
Reality is that which, when you stop
believing in it, doesn't go away.
– Phillip K. Dick