Now that the days of four restrooms, two drinking fountains, separate schools, and “whites only” signs adorning store and restaurant doors throughout the South, complemented by snide undercover slurs in the allegedly more liberal North, seem to be gone for good, we find entirely new racial relationship rules to have taken apparent effect. Are Thomas Jefferson’s words about all men being created equal finally being observed, after a couple centuries-plus of mere lip service to his Declaration of Independence decree? Well, yes, but mostly outwardly, and rather grudgingly, as we view the situation. Specifically speaking, we consider this business of attaching “respectful” labels to minority group members an exercise in deceit.
In the interest of offering a supposed retroactive apology for the hitherto universally acceptable mistreatment and insults, some clown a few years back decided it might be nice and peachy to replace the old standby terms like “colored”, “negro”, and the numerous corollary slurs with “African-American”. By the same token, “injuns”, “redskins”, “savages”, etc. promptly came to be called “Native Americans”. In this fellow’s eyes, such practice is superficial, pompous, and silly.
Whenever we hear or read either of these definitive expressions, we tend to wince, and solemnly resolve never to resort to their hypocritical use. Our so-called newly-tolerant white populace has established little more than a new way to continue looking down on its fellow races, but in a slightly more patronizing manner.
Obviously, the first person whose name crops up as an authentic African-American is President Obama. Born here, but with a Kenyan father, he fits the description in a purely technical sense. However, does logic dictate attaching the same label to so-called black race members whose parents were native to U.S. soil – like his wife Michelle, for example? What on earth is African about her?
Regarding the business whereby Indians are now recast as Native Americans, we’ve always been under the impression that such term applies to anyone born in the United States, irrespective of heritage. Why should we limit said designation to those people who owned the Americas before the white man arrived to give them a merciless undeserved drubbing?
As we all know, the word Indian is totally incorrect, thanks to our friend Chris Colombo’s misconception. The British label Red Indian fits better, but only a tad. Nevertheless, we still refuse to buy the Native American bit solely for this particular racial group.
Since we’re doing a magnificent job at kidding ourselves, through well-chosen wordings, into believing that white supremacist thinking no longer exists, why not relabel all locally-born Jews, who are and likely always will be subject to Christian prejudice, as Israeli-Americans? In turn, we might similarly honor Asian-Americans and Hispano-Americans, or else just attach any appropriate foreign country prefix, e.g. Franco-, Germano-, Russo-, Czecho-, or whatever. That would make looking down our noses at the entire lot much easier.
By way of conclusion, therefore, why can’t our terminology practices be boiled down to a single-word designation for any human being born or legally naturalized in this country? What would be so wrong, not to mention far more respectful, with simply calling everyone so qualified as a plain American?
Monday, September 14, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
A SPOT OF NOSTALGIA
Since the majority of our readers are probably too young to have experienced the days when full-sized dance bands reigned supreme in the popular music world, we can only consider them unfortunate for having missed out on a brief but glorious age. Those years from approximately 1934 up until the close of the second world war remain a treasured memory in this fellow’s eyes. Its sudden decline is personally viewed as comparable in historical significance to the 1929 stock market crash and Soviet Russia’s downfall many moons afterward.
The music genre of that fabled era had actually originated late in the nineteenth century, but was pretty much limited back then to entertaining riverboat passengers or saloon and brothel patrons, quite often on piano only. The gradual progression to the early 1920s brought on numerous multi-instrumental groups, who had found a new home in the country’s recent innovation, the speakeasy. Their output sounded a bit raw much of the time, with individual members tending to strive more for originality than note-playing unison. In any event, the attentive listening public still consisted mainly of unlawful drinkers and bawdy house clientele.
By the latter 1920s, however, as evidenced by the orchestral works of Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, and Paul Whiteman, much of the raggedness had been smoothed out. Such refinement continued into the mid-1930s, at which point a big bang suddenly occurred, helped considerably by the advancing development of radio, along with a clarinet-wielding bandleader named Benny Goodman’s bursting into prominence.
Benny’s outpourings hit the proverbial jackpot, and in virtually no time, scores of similar outfits began to spring up like mushrooms. Jazz, a term bearing an obscene connotation, quickly became relabled “swing”, and all hell proceeded to break loose across the land. The more youthful congregation felt an enthrallment bordering on sheer ecstasy, with a universal clamor for this purportedly new musicianship style. The age of fourteen-plus instrument bands had come up like more thunder ever seen from China ‘cross the bay.
Goodman’s superb clarinet artistry popularized that particular instrument no end. Additionally, the flashy stickwork and facial mugging of his drummer Gene Krupa introduced a new role for the tub-thumpers. They quickly became heroic figures, no longer mere providers of beat support for the horn blowers. Benny had also hired a chap named Lionel Hampton, who converted the hitherto unknown and unappreciated vibraphone into a longlasting modern music element.
While the kids of the realm reveled in their day-to-day enthrallment over the likes of Goodman, the Dorseys, Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, Woody Herman, and the rest, their forbears viewed the swing exponents with downright scorn. The parental generation, a collective entity which hadn’t yet stopped mourning the Titanic, considered such output as Satan’s own doing, or more simply “just noise”. How did those whippersnappers dare play a tune other than note-for-note the way it had been written? Wasn’t the rendering of Loch Lomond and other such semi-sacred pieces with a bouncy beat virtual blasphemy? Mercy, this sacrilege couldn’t go on!
Nevertheless, it did. Benny Goodman’s 1938 concert held at Carnegie Hall became a monumental contribution to modern music. The entire realm of ultraconservative thinking was shattered in a single evening.
By way of an aside, that enraptured gang of youthful fandom would eventually grow up to condemn rock music one fine day, just as their predecessors had frowned upon the big bands and their swinging ways years earlier. Like the man said, sic transit gloria mundi.
Looking back again on that brief but glory-laden period, the standard orchestra complement of reeds, brass, and rhythm instruments also featured a pleasant-to-gaze-upon girl singer, a good-looking male counterpart, perhaps a band member who doubled as a comedic or belt-it-out vocalist, and even a supplementary warbling trio or quartet. Down Beat and Metronome, the two leading popular music industry magazines, staged annual reader polls to select their favorite outfits, individual sidemen, and balladeers.
Bands traveled by chartered bus from city to city, offering lone club or dance performances, then immediately hopping off to the next engagement. This modus operandi became known as giving one-night stands, whose definition bore no resemblance to our more modern, somewhat quickie romance connotation.
We can’t really say that World War II caused the big band age’s downfall. The demise had to be inevitable for whatever reasons. By 1946, it was no longer as practical or profitable to lug a gang of musicians across the country night after night. The demand for mellow and brassy swing numbers had dimmed in relation to the supply. The mass hysteria suddenly switched to the likes of Frank Sinatra and his fellow crooners.
Yes, individual vocalists had now taken center stage, many having emerged from the big bands to continue on their own. However, the instrumental chaps didn’t just give up and go home. Goodman, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Woody Herman, Harry James, Gene Krupa, Stan Kenton, and others remained intact for a long while, with either their full crews or perhaps having cut them down to small combos. Still, things could never be the same again. The era of perpetual madness had passed. The output of these once-deified people brought only reminiscences, not the so-called real thing anymore.
Although that illustrious age will never return, we can at least thank heaven for today’s CDs, which have replaced the old scratchy, highly fragile phonograph records, and offer reprocessed jazz masterpieces galore. Those among us old enough to have reveled in those times when the first words uttered to a schoolmate each morning would be “Did you hear Glenn Miller last night?” are thus able to relive the pleasures of an unforgettable period.
The music genre of that fabled era had actually originated late in the nineteenth century, but was pretty much limited back then to entertaining riverboat passengers or saloon and brothel patrons, quite often on piano only. The gradual progression to the early 1920s brought on numerous multi-instrumental groups, who had found a new home in the country’s recent innovation, the speakeasy. Their output sounded a bit raw much of the time, with individual members tending to strive more for originality than note-playing unison. In any event, the attentive listening public still consisted mainly of unlawful drinkers and bawdy house clientele.
By the latter 1920s, however, as evidenced by the orchestral works of Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, and Paul Whiteman, much of the raggedness had been smoothed out. Such refinement continued into the mid-1930s, at which point a big bang suddenly occurred, helped considerably by the advancing development of radio, along with a clarinet-wielding bandleader named Benny Goodman’s bursting into prominence.
Benny’s outpourings hit the proverbial jackpot, and in virtually no time, scores of similar outfits began to spring up like mushrooms. Jazz, a term bearing an obscene connotation, quickly became relabled “swing”, and all hell proceeded to break loose across the land. The more youthful congregation felt an enthrallment bordering on sheer ecstasy, with a universal clamor for this purportedly new musicianship style. The age of fourteen-plus instrument bands had come up like more thunder ever seen from China ‘cross the bay.
Goodman’s superb clarinet artistry popularized that particular instrument no end. Additionally, the flashy stickwork and facial mugging of his drummer Gene Krupa introduced a new role for the tub-thumpers. They quickly became heroic figures, no longer mere providers of beat support for the horn blowers. Benny had also hired a chap named Lionel Hampton, who converted the hitherto unknown and unappreciated vibraphone into a longlasting modern music element.
While the kids of the realm reveled in their day-to-day enthrallment over the likes of Goodman, the Dorseys, Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, Woody Herman, and the rest, their forbears viewed the swing exponents with downright scorn. The parental generation, a collective entity which hadn’t yet stopped mourning the Titanic, considered such output as Satan’s own doing, or more simply “just noise”. How did those whippersnappers dare play a tune other than note-for-note the way it had been written? Wasn’t the rendering of Loch Lomond and other such semi-sacred pieces with a bouncy beat virtual blasphemy? Mercy, this sacrilege couldn’t go on!
Nevertheless, it did. Benny Goodman’s 1938 concert held at Carnegie Hall became a monumental contribution to modern music. The entire realm of ultraconservative thinking was shattered in a single evening.
By way of an aside, that enraptured gang of youthful fandom would eventually grow up to condemn rock music one fine day, just as their predecessors had frowned upon the big bands and their swinging ways years earlier. Like the man said, sic transit gloria mundi.
Looking back again on that brief but glory-laden period, the standard orchestra complement of reeds, brass, and rhythm instruments also featured a pleasant-to-gaze-upon girl singer, a good-looking male counterpart, perhaps a band member who doubled as a comedic or belt-it-out vocalist, and even a supplementary warbling trio or quartet. Down Beat and Metronome, the two leading popular music industry magazines, staged annual reader polls to select their favorite outfits, individual sidemen, and balladeers.
Bands traveled by chartered bus from city to city, offering lone club or dance performances, then immediately hopping off to the next engagement. This modus operandi became known as giving one-night stands, whose definition bore no resemblance to our more modern, somewhat quickie romance connotation.
We can’t really say that World War II caused the big band age’s downfall. The demise had to be inevitable for whatever reasons. By 1946, it was no longer as practical or profitable to lug a gang of musicians across the country night after night. The demand for mellow and brassy swing numbers had dimmed in relation to the supply. The mass hysteria suddenly switched to the likes of Frank Sinatra and his fellow crooners.
Yes, individual vocalists had now taken center stage, many having emerged from the big bands to continue on their own. However, the instrumental chaps didn’t just give up and go home. Goodman, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Woody Herman, Harry James, Gene Krupa, Stan Kenton, and others remained intact for a long while, with either their full crews or perhaps having cut them down to small combos. Still, things could never be the same again. The era of perpetual madness had passed. The output of these once-deified people brought only reminiscences, not the so-called real thing anymore.
Although that illustrious age will never return, we can at least thank heaven for today’s CDs, which have replaced the old scratchy, highly fragile phonograph records, and offer reprocessed jazz masterpieces galore. Those among us old enough to have reveled in those times when the first words uttered to a schoolmate each morning would be “Did you hear Glenn Miller last night?” are thus able to relive the pleasures of an unforgettable period.
A SPOT OF NOSTALGIA
Since the majority of our readers are probably too young to have experienced the days when full-sized dance bands reigned supreme in the popular music world, we can only consider them unfortunate for having missed out on a brief but glorious age. Those years from approximately 1934 up until the close of the second world war remain a treasured memory in this fellow’s eyes. Its sudden decline is personally viewed as comparable in historical significance to the 1929 stock market crash and Soviet Russia’s downfall many moons afterward.
The music genre of that fabled era had actually originated late in the nineteenth century, but was pretty much limited back then to entertaining riverboat passengers or saloon and brothel patrons, quite often on piano only. The gradual progression to the early 1920s brought on numerous multi-instrumental groups, who had found a new home in the country’s recent innovation, the speakeasy. Their output sounded a bit raw much of the time, with individual members tending to strive more for originality than note-playing unison. In any event, the attentive listening public still consisted mainly of unlawful drinkers and bawdy house clientele.
By the latter 1920s, however, as evidenced by the orchestral works of Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, and Paul Whiteman, much of the raggedness had been smoothed out. Such refinement continued into the mid-1930s, at which point a big bang suddenly occurred, helped considerably by the advancing development of radio, along with a clarinet-wielding bandleader named Benny Goodman’s bursting into prominence.
Benny’s outpourings hit the proverbial jackpot, and in virtually no time, scores of similar outfits began to spring up like mushrooms. Jazz, a term bearing an obscene connotation, quickly became relabled “swing”, and all hell proceeded to break loose across the land. The more youthful congregation felt an enthrallment bordering on sheer ecstasy, with a universal clamor for this purportedly new musicianship style. The age of fourteen-plus instrument bands had come up like more thunder ever seen from China ‘cross the bay.
Goodman’s superb clarinet artistry popularized that particular instrument no end. Additionally, the flashy stickwork and facial mugging of his drummer Gene Krupa introduced a new role for the tub-thumpers. They quickly became heroic figures, no longer mere providers of beat support for the horn blowers. Benny had also hired a chap named Lionel Hampton, who converted the hitherto unknown and unappreciated vibraphone into a longlasting modern music element.
While the kids of the realm reveled in their day-to-day enthrallment over the likes of Goodman, the Dorseys, Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, Woody Herman, and the rest, their forbears viewed the swing exponents with downright scorn. The parental generation, a collective entity which hadn’t yet stopped mourning the Titanic, considered such output as Satan’s own doing, or more simply “just noise”. How did those whippersnappers dare play a tune other than note-for-note the way it had been written? Wasn’t the rendering of Loch Lomond and other such semi-sacred pieces with a bouncy beat virtual blasphemy? Mercy, this sacrilege couldn’t go on!
The music genre of that fabled era had actually originated late in the nineteenth century, but was pretty much limited back then to entertaining riverboat passengers or saloon and brothel patrons, quite often on piano only. The gradual progression to the early 1920s brought on numerous multi-instrumental groups, who had found a new home in the country’s recent innovation, the speakeasy. Their output sounded a bit raw much of the time, with individual members tending to strive more for originality than note-playing unison. In any event, the attentive listening public still consisted mainly of unlawful drinkers and bawdy house clientele.
By the latter 1920s, however, as evidenced by the orchestral works of Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, and Paul Whiteman, much of the raggedness had been smoothed out. Such refinement continued into the mid-1930s, at which point a big bang suddenly occurred, helped considerably by the advancing development of radio, along with a clarinet-wielding bandleader named Benny Goodman’s bursting into prominence.
Benny’s outpourings hit the proverbial jackpot, and in virtually no time, scores of similar outfits began to spring up like mushrooms. Jazz, a term bearing an obscene connotation, quickly became relabled “swing”, and all hell proceeded to break loose across the land. The more youthful congregation felt an enthrallment bordering on sheer ecstasy, with a universal clamor for this purportedly new musicianship style. The age of fourteen-plus instrument bands had come up like more thunder ever seen from China ‘cross the bay.
Goodman’s superb clarinet artistry popularized that particular instrument no end. Additionally, the flashy stickwork and facial mugging of his drummer Gene Krupa introduced a new role for the tub-thumpers. They quickly became heroic figures, no longer mere providers of beat support for the horn blowers. Benny had also hired a chap named Lionel Hampton, who converted the hitherto unknown and unappreciated vibraphone into a longlasting modern music element.
While the kids of the realm reveled in their day-to-day enthrallment over the likes of Goodman, the Dorseys, Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, Woody Herman, and the rest, their forbears viewed the swing exponents with downright scorn. The parental generation, a collective entity which hadn’t yet stopped mourning the Titanic, considered such output as Satan’s own doing, or more simply “just noise”. How did those whippersnappers dare play a tune other than note-for-note the way it had been written? Wasn’t the rendering of Loch Lomond and other such semi-sacred pieces with a bouncy beat virtual blasphemy? Mercy, this sacrilege couldn’t go on!
Nevertheless, it did. Benny Goodman’s 1938 concert held at Carnegie Hall became a monumental contribution to modern music. The entire realm of ultraconservative thinking was shattered in a single evening.
By way of an aside, that enraptured gang of youthful fandom would eventually grow up to condemn rock music one fine day, just as their predecessors had frowned upon the big bands and their swinging ways years earlier. Like the man said, sic transit gloria mundi.
Looking back again on that brief but glory-laden period, the standard orchestra complement of reeds, brass, and rhythm instruments also featured a pleasant-to-gaze-upon girl singer, a good-looking male counterpart, perhaps a band member who doubled as a comedic or belt-it-out vocalist, and even a supplementary warbling trio or quartet. Down Beat and Metronome, the two leading popular music industry magazines, staged annual reader polls to select their favorite outfits, individual sidemen, and balladeers.
Bands traveled by chartered bus from city to city, offering lone club or dance performances, then immediately hopping off to the next engagement. This modus operandi became known as giving one-night stands, whose definition bore no resemblance to our more modern, somewhat quickie romance connotation.
We can’t really say that World War II caused the big band age’s downfall. The demise had to be inevitable for whatever reasons. By 1946, it was no longer as practical or profitable to lug a gang of musicians across the country night after night. The demand for mellow and brassy swing numbers had dimmed in relation to the supply. The mass hysteria suddenly switched to the likes of Frank Sinatra and his fellow crooners.
Yes, individual vocalists had now taken center stage, many having emerged from the big bands to continue on their own. However, the instrumental chaps didn’t just give up and go home. Goodman, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Woody Herman, Harry James, Gene Krupa, Stan Kenton, and others remained intact for a long while, with either their full crews or perhaps having cut them down to small combos. Still, things could never be the same again. The era of perpetual madness had passed. The output of these once-deified people brought only reminiscences, not the so-called real thing anymore.
Although that illustrious age will never return, we can at least thank heaven for today’s CDs, which have replaced the old scratchy, highly fragile phonograph records, and offer reprocessed jazz masterpieces galore. Those among us old enough to have reveled in those times when the first words uttered to a schoolmate each morning would be “Did you hear Glenn Miller last night?” are thus able to relive the pleasures of an unforgettable period.
By way of an aside, that enraptured gang of youthful fandom would eventually grow up to condemn rock music one fine day, just as their predecessors had frowned upon the big bands and their swinging ways years earlier. Like the man said, sic transit gloria mundi.
Looking back again on that brief but glory-laden period, the standard orchestra complement of reeds, brass, and rhythm instruments also featured a pleasant-to-gaze-upon girl singer, a good-looking male counterpart, perhaps a band member who doubled as a comedic or belt-it-out vocalist, and even a supplementary warbling trio or quartet. Down Beat and Metronome, the two leading popular music industry magazines, staged annual reader polls to select their favorite outfits, individual sidemen, and balladeers.
Bands traveled by chartered bus from city to city, offering lone club or dance performances, then immediately hopping off to the next engagement. This modus operandi became known as giving one-night stands, whose definition bore no resemblance to our more modern, somewhat quickie romance connotation.
We can’t really say that World War II caused the big band age’s downfall. The demise had to be inevitable for whatever reasons. By 1946, it was no longer as practical or profitable to lug a gang of musicians across the country night after night. The demand for mellow and brassy swing numbers had dimmed in relation to the supply. The mass hysteria suddenly switched to the likes of Frank Sinatra and his fellow crooners.
Yes, individual vocalists had now taken center stage, many having emerged from the big bands to continue on their own. However, the instrumental chaps didn’t just give up and go home. Goodman, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Woody Herman, Harry James, Gene Krupa, Stan Kenton, and others remained intact for a long while, with either their full crews or perhaps having cut them down to small combos. Still, things could never be the same again. The era of perpetual madness had passed. The output of these once-deified people brought only reminiscences, not the so-called real thing anymore.
Although that illustrious age will never return, we can at least thank heaven for today’s CDs, which have replaced the old scratchy, highly fragile phonograph records, and offer reprocessed jazz masterpieces galore. Those among us old enough to have reveled in those times when the first words uttered to a schoolmate each morning would be “Did you hear Glenn Miller last night?” are thus able to relive the pleasures of an unforgettable period.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
UNILINGUINITY -- A DECIDED ATTITUDE SHORTCOMING
In the course of this writer’s reasonably extensive global meanderings, he has all too often come into contact, casual or otherwise, with folks who hold steadfastly to certain beliefs, which we can most fittingly define as “onlyoneism”. What this piece deems as deplorable is how so many of our ultra-narrow minded clansmen feel that:
· There is only one country in the world, being the USA;
· There is only one religion, namely Christianity, under whatever denomination umbrella
applies;
· There is only one language worth speaking and writing (yes, you guessed it), English.
Our purpose here is to concentrate exclusively on the third-cited above case, dealing with pure and strict unilingualism. Despite our lack of sympathy with the other two highly prevalent attitudes, we’ll reserve further comment on such matters for another day.
We once heard the following joke, which tends to circulate among native Europeans, and expresses a mild degree of contempt in its context:
PAT: What do you call a person who can speak two languages?
MIKE: Well … er … bilingual.
PAT: Three languages?
MIKE: Trilingual.
PAT: Now then, how about a person speaks only one language?
MIKE: That’s easy. American.
Unhappily, we’ve found the impression so conveyed to be quite true.
Still, we’d be the first to admit that the ability to master a second language doesn’t lie within everybody, especially since so many born and educated in this country can’t even handle English adequately. Nevertheless, we see no excuse for the utter disdain so frequently observed even to make a stab at a foreign tongue, if just to learn the more common pleasantry expressions, and attempt to pronounce them properly.
We can readily excuse instances where such French terms as bon voyage and déjà vu have been absorbed into English and duly mispronounced. On the other hand, careless or downright intentional opposite language phrase distortion, a practice often carried out by diehard anglophones in such locations as Canada’s Quebec Province, a distinctly bilingual area, are totally unacceptable to our sensitive ears.
All we really seek in this exercise is a touch more of worldliness among our countrymen, as opposed to the overly-prominent verbal isolationism. Spanish has become a rather widely-used tongue on American soil, especially in New York City, the Southwest, California, and elsewhere. French has established a minor foothold in the Northeast. The West Coast offers a variety of Southeast Asian languages, and a person can hear literally dozens of others being spoken by just walking up or down Broadway at any hour.
What, therefore, could be so wrong with this vast band of onlyoners biting the bullet and accepting the fact that the U.S. has evolved into an intensely internationalized country, occupied by scads of respectable immigrants? Why not put forth a little effort to learn at least a smattering of their native speech, for no other reason than to be more friendly and communicative? Immigrants face a need for English proficiency solely by virtue of being here, and are sure to appreciate some reciprocation, albeit limited. It’s the thought that counts.
Furthermore, we consider the idea right neighborly.
· There is only one country in the world, being the USA;
· There is only one religion, namely Christianity, under whatever denomination umbrella
applies;
· There is only one language worth speaking and writing (yes, you guessed it), English.
Our purpose here is to concentrate exclusively on the third-cited above case, dealing with pure and strict unilingualism. Despite our lack of sympathy with the other two highly prevalent attitudes, we’ll reserve further comment on such matters for another day.
We once heard the following joke, which tends to circulate among native Europeans, and expresses a mild degree of contempt in its context:
PAT: What do you call a person who can speak two languages?
MIKE: Well … er … bilingual.
PAT: Three languages?
MIKE: Trilingual.
PAT: Now then, how about a person speaks only one language?
MIKE: That’s easy. American.
Unhappily, we’ve found the impression so conveyed to be quite true.
Still, we’d be the first to admit that the ability to master a second language doesn’t lie within everybody, especially since so many born and educated in this country can’t even handle English adequately. Nevertheless, we see no excuse for the utter disdain so frequently observed even to make a stab at a foreign tongue, if just to learn the more common pleasantry expressions, and attempt to pronounce them properly.
We can readily excuse instances where such French terms as bon voyage and déjà vu have been absorbed into English and duly mispronounced. On the other hand, careless or downright intentional opposite language phrase distortion, a practice often carried out by diehard anglophones in such locations as Canada’s Quebec Province, a distinctly bilingual area, are totally unacceptable to our sensitive ears.
All we really seek in this exercise is a touch more of worldliness among our countrymen, as opposed to the overly-prominent verbal isolationism. Spanish has become a rather widely-used tongue on American soil, especially in New York City, the Southwest, California, and elsewhere. French has established a minor foothold in the Northeast. The West Coast offers a variety of Southeast Asian languages, and a person can hear literally dozens of others being spoken by just walking up or down Broadway at any hour.
What, therefore, could be so wrong with this vast band of onlyoners biting the bullet and accepting the fact that the U.S. has evolved into an intensely internationalized country, occupied by scads of respectable immigrants? Why not put forth a little effort to learn at least a smattering of their native speech, for no other reason than to be more friendly and communicative? Immigrants face a need for English proficiency solely by virtue of being here, and are sure to appreciate some reciprocation, albeit limited. It’s the thought that counts.
Furthermore, we consider the idea right neighborly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
