The Citizen, 1996-05-15, Page 3THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, MAY 15, 1996 PAGE 5.
English
a bully language
A Frenchman walking the streets of
London was trying his darndest to learn
English. He had just got his mind around the
notion that the words though, rough, cough,
hiccough, plough and through are all
pronounced differently. Then he looked up
and saw a movie marquee that read: "Lion
King pronounced success!"
The Frenchman gave up and went back to
Marseilles.
Well, it's a confusing tongue we speak, to
be sure. Perhaps that's why so many other
languages imitate it. There is French, of
course — but there is also Franglais (or
Frenglish, if you prefer). Likewise, you can
speak Japlish, Dutchlish, Hindlish,
Indonlish, Italglish, Russlish, Spanglish and
Swedlish — not to mention a whole flock of
pidgin English dialects.
In the Solomon Islands Prince Philip is
known as "White fella him blong Queen".
English is not the most spoken language
on the planet — Mandarin is. But English is
undoubtedly the fastest growing tongue. A
bully language, insinuating its way into other
tongues and cultures. Thus, Cuban World
Series wannabes play el besbol and Parisians
dine on les hot dogs, Russians covet denim
blujinns and in Japan a business executive is
known as a saraiman - which is as close as
they can get to 'salaried man'.
There is another form of our language that
How safe
are volcanoes?
There are a few things that I resolved to do
when I was young that took some time to be
accomplished. One was to see Mt. VesuviuS,
that famous volcano in southern Italy that
was the cause of destruction of the towns of
Pompeii and Herculaneum.
It seems that every once in a while
volcanos like to blow their top as it were
and, while the inhabitants of these two towns
got the impression that Vesuvius was getting
around to blowing its top in a big way, they
did not put their minds to fleeing until it was
too late. Many of them paid for it with their
lives.
Somewhere I read a fictional story of this
event and that was it. I just had to get to see
Vesuvius. This was easier said than done.
You just don't pick up and go off to Naples,
especially if you are a young boy.
For this reason I had to wait until I was
grown up. Even at that I had another reason
when the time came for me to go. I had
adopted a little girl through the Foster
Parents' Plan and she happened to live in
Naples. Thus it was that I set out to visit
Giannina and see Vesuvius at the same time.
While there was smoke coming out of the
top, the mountain stayed dormant while I
was there. This gave me the opportunity to
might be called "Broken English". This is
English that is spoken — and written — by
people who haven't quite mastered the
nuances of our mother tongue.
There is, for instance, a paragraph in a
brochure from a car rental firm in Tokyo that
advises: "When passenger of foot heave in
sight, tootle the horn. Trumpet at him
melodiously at first, but if he still obstacles
your passage, then tootle him with vigour."
An elevator in a hotel in Belgrade bears a
sign that reads:
TO MOVE THE CABIN, PUSH BUTTON
FOR WISHING FLOOR. IF THE CABIN
SHOULD ENTER MORE PERSONS,
EACH ONE SHOULD PRESS NUMBEK
OF WISHING FLOOR. DRIVING IS
THEN GOING ALPHABETICALLY BY
NATIONAL ORDER.
In Oslo, Norway, there is a cocktail lounge
which sports a sign advising its clientele that
"ladies are requested not to have children in
the bar". Similarly a hotel in the Austrian
Alps asks skiers "not to perambulate the
corridors in the hours of repose in the boots
of ascension."
The door of every hotel room in a hostelry
in Osaka, Japan reads:
IS FORBITTEN TO STEAL THE
HOTEL TOWELS PLEASE. IF YOU ARE
NOT PERSON TO DO SUCH THING, IS
PLEASE NOT TO READ NOTIS.
The assembly instructions that come with
an Italian-made baby carriage read: "Insert
the blushing for blocking in the proper split.
Push it deeply and wheel in anti-time sense
til it stops."
Travelers who pass through the
By Raymond Canon
visit the remains of Pompeii and, other than
seeing my little foster daughter, it turned out
to be the highlight of my trip. It was, and
still is, definitely worth seeing.
My mind came back to Vesuvius recently
when I read that the area surrounding it has
been overrun with construction projects and
the builders seem to have the same attitude
toward Vesuvius as did the ancient residents
of Pompeii. It was never really going to
blow its top in their lifetime.
It did, and since it has been relatively
dormant for quite a long while now, the
chances are that it might get around to
putting on another display any decade now.
Dr. Franco Barberi is a man who wants to
make sure that the cut-tent residents of the
area do •not become archaeological
specimens a few centuries down the line. He
is not only a volcanologist, he is also a
minister in the Italian government
responsible for civil defence. In this case
that's a plan to clear the area of all people
before the lava from any eruption reaches
them.
The Italian government has produced a
plan which will see the 600,000 residents
evacuated in case of an eruption and part of
the idea is to have Dr. Barberi use his
expertise to determine as accurately as
possible when Vesuvius is going to move
into fiction in a big way. This is a great deal
to put on the shoulders of the Italian
volcanologist since the art of predicting
eruptions is an inexact one; it may be better
than predicting an earthquake but still not
good enough.
Copenhagen airport are not likely to feel
relieved after they read the sign over one
airlines ticket office that assures them "We
take your bags and send them in all
directions."
And I don't think I'd care to have my teeth
checked by the Hong Kong dentist whose
advertisement says "Teeth extracted by the
latest Methodists".
On the other hand, if it's a walk on the
wild side you're looking for, you might
consider spending a night at the Yugoslavian
hotel which boasts "the flattening of
underwear with pleasure is the job of the
chambermaid".
Or the Rome laundry where a sign says
"Ladies, leave your clothes here and spend
the afternoon having a good time."
Or, by way of equal time, the Bangkok
Dry Cleaners that proclaims "Drop your
trousers here for best results."
Or the Zurich hotel which notifies its
customers "Because of the impropriety of
entertaining guests of the opposite sex in the
bedroom, it is suggested that the hotel lobby
be used for this purpose."
Ah, yes. The English language may be
powerful and popular but that doesn't mean
it can't be treacherous.
As the English-as-a-Second-Language
student found out when he wrote an essay
which included the sentence: "The girl
tumbled down the stairs and lay prostitute at
the bottom." His professor's correction in the
margin read:
"My dear sir, you must learn to distinguish
between a fallen woman and one who has
merely slipped."
Fortunately for the Italian residents, who
can look out on a real live volcano, Vesuvius
is probably the most studied of its kind. It
has been over 100 years since scientists
started monitoring its internal activity. They
have a complete set of facts, well, as
complete as they are capable of compiling
and they believe that they can tell to within
three weeks when a major eruption is likely
to take place.
What may not be so predictable is the
reaction of people when they are asked to
evacuate their dwelling because Vesuvius is
about to erupt.
Just think of it for a moment. Six hundred
thousand people are going to leave the area,
an evacuation conducted by 16,500 officials
of every sort. Eighty-one ships are to be
called upon to pick up 45,000 people and
4,000 cars.
When I think of the confusion that
frequently reigns in the main streets of
Rome, or even Naples for that matter, I
wonder what the odds are on getting 600,000
to be calm and cool while they are collected.
While there is some criticism of Dr.
Barberi's proposals, nobody can forget that a
few years ago he was in Columbia warning
the people in the vicinity of one of that
country's grumbling volcanos. Local
officials disregarded his warnings.
The price? Twenty-five deaths when the
volcano proceeded to make the Italian
volcanologist a true prophet. The residents
living in the shadow of Vesuvius do not
want those kind of figures to be repeated in
Italy.
The
Short
of it
By Bonnie Gropp
A perfect day
Being on this roller coaster we call life
means riding the highs and lows by
accepting what can't be changed, being
patient, and keeping a sense of humour.
Now, I think I can be as patient as the next
person, and I can find the fun in just about
any situation, but as of this writing, this
spring we're experiencing is getting on my
nerves. Certainly, we might just as well take
what we get because there's not much we
can do about it, but after a winter that began
in November and ended in April, I just
hoped that spring would be a little more
promising.
The one thing that has kept me going is
the knowledge that it just has to get warmer
— doesn't it? Then I remember the summer
that never was, 1992, when every evening
brought anticipation that tomorrow was
another day, and every day brought
confirmation that nothing had changed and
the shorts and tank tops could stay in
storage.
Common sense and history show that in
this climate, winter can linger, then come
back for a second visit much sooner then
we'd choose. Arnold Brussels Post talks of a
year when the last major snowfall came in
May, while the first of the next winter
arrived in October. My parents told me that
one local history book mentions a year in
which there was snow in August.
Suffice it to say I am prepared for the
worst and will (must) accept what comes.
But what makes it so difficult this year is
that it is now the middle of May and we
have yet to experience the perfect day. The
balmiest temperatures were shrouded by a
day-long misty rain, while the sunniest sun
breaks through only when a nip is in the air.
I've heard some say they don't mind the
cold, as long as there's sun, but not me.
Perhaps, that's part of my problem — the
fact that I am faii•ly particular about my
definition of perfect. I recently read an
article describing another's perfect day, and
it got me thinking how I would illustrate
mine.
My ultimate day would begin slowly,
gently, with the sound of a morning dove
awakening me, rather than the shrill of the 6
a.m. alarm. A soothing breeze wafts through
the open window, the 18 ° air smelling fresh
and slightly crisp, with a hint of warming.
Raising the blinds I am lured by the sight of
a glorious powder blue sky, softened by
cotton puff clouds, a seducer beckoning me
to greater pleasure.
The enchantment continues downstairs
where I find my children talking, of all
things, amicably. My house is clean, the
wash is on the line, the television is off and
the phone never rings. The day progresses as
if the clock has slowed, with enough time to
accomplish all I must and all I want. As the
roll of the sea my day constantly moves, but
never ends. It is blissful, satisfying and
soothing, and with nightime brings the
promise of yet another perfect day.
However, I am too old for pipe dreams
and too smart to forget that nothing is
perfect. To wake up each day fulfilled, happy
and healthy should be ideal enough for any
of us, and for me it is. No one deserves
perfection, nor would I want it; after a time
even the best of everything becomes dull.
So I won't ask for the perfect day. But is it
too much to ask for a close to perfect
summer now?
Arthur Black
International Scen