I'm too young to be a curmudgeon, but lately my life has been consumed by linguistic matters (the penalty for taking literature and language classes in the same term). Over the course of these few weeks I've racked up a list of new linguistic gripes and general observations. What better way to dispose of all of them than in a column?
First is the use of the word 'chat' on news web sites. I've noticed this for some time, but JFK Jr's death really brought it home, as on every news site a tag invariably appeared saying something along the lines of "Click here to chat about the Kennedy tragedy!" What next, a chat about genocide?
The word 'chat' denotes trivia, and is the essence of small talk " asking someone to chat about something serious generally detracts from the weight of the thing. The word they seemed to have been groping for is 'discuss' -- a word that carries a little more gravity. Apparently, there were no English majors around to alert them to this error. On the other hand, those chats were generally made up of uninformed people giving unsound opinions on an unformed event. So on second thoughts, maybe it was in fact as trivial as it sounds.
But annoying as the word 'chat' is, when substituted for 'discussion,' nothing makes me wince more than phrases like 'first woman astronaut.' I have yet to hear anyone say something like 'man president'; after all, 'male' would be the adjective of choice here. So who made 'woman' an adjective as well as a noun? Did 'female' become obsolete by decree, or just by omission?
Unfortunately it seems this usage is too common now to have any hopes of reversing it. It will probably slip into common usage, much like the way in which everyone refers to the people that live in New England as 'New Englanders' instead of the 'New English.' Of course, the language spoken in these parts isn't exactly Queen's English -- even the folks at Hah-vahd realize that. New France had the good sense to avoid the issue altogether by calling themselves Quebec; which is just as well, because whatever that argot is they speak up there it bears less resemblance to French than cookies do to biscuits. Luckily, Quebecois still shares the French capacity for double-entendre, which provides countless opportunities for amusement at the expense of clueless foreigners. But we'll get to that later.
This might be the point to add a disclaimer: I am not, in any capacity, an expert on the French language. But it seems to me that French values style over substance: which may be why what is called 'au bord de la mer' in French is called in English, very simply, 'the seaside.' This love of style goes so far as to make even ignorance sound eloquent. Take for example, the phrase 'Je ne sais quoi,' which, roughly translated means 'damned if I know' -- a sentiment which rarely goes over well in English but is impressive in French.
Imagine for one moment a happy couple, John and Mary, sitting blissfully on the Green. So blissfully, in fact, that Mary turns to John and asks The Question: 'John, do you love me?'
John (truthfully but uneasily): Well, I don't know, really.
Mary: You don't know? What do you mean you don't know? After all this time.
However, if Jean-Luc and Mary were sitting on the Green, things would have been much different.
Jean-Luc (sincerely): Really, Mary, for me there'll always be a je ne sais quoi about you
Mary: Oh, Jean, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me
Score: French 1, English 0.
An example of what happens in French when you sacrifice style for brevity is the word 'donc.' In a smooth flow of French, hearing the word 'donc' leap out at you is as pleasant as being hit by a ton of bricks -- and sounds just like it, too. Brevity may be the soul of wit, in English, but in French it's the source of confusion -- except, perhaps, in matters of love (this is French, after all).
Returning to our couple on the Green: John's dilemma was compounded by the fact that he would have had to spit out three awful syllables. Jean-Luc, on the other hand only had to contend with two: "Je t'aime," which, if you say it fast enough, sounds like just one syllable. Of course, in English you can always make a desperate save, as in "I love that dress!" but such statements tend to backfire.
After hearing all this, John would naturally be tempted to emulate the French in all things romantic. In fact, while on his Toulouse FSP, after a long enchanting conversation with a girl named Marie, he might be tempted to slide closer to her and remembering Jean-Luc's tips, whisper, "Baise-moi." Given that the B-word means 'kiss' in some cases but the 'F-word' in this case, this could be a fatal mistake.
Or it could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
