Lingua Intrigue

To me, the more interesting clashes of culture are linguistic. That is to say, the nuances of regional differences of dialect are more intriguing to me than prominent differences such as used-panty vending machines and a tedious fascination with boing.

These differences turned up a lot in University, as it was the time where I met a group of people from varying locations, but generally within the English speaking world. It’s just that the English we spoke often differentiated oddly.

There is a “game” where someone is lying on the floor, and another person shouts something, and a group of people jump onto the person on the floor. Where I’m from, this “game” (it hurts) is called ‘Pile On!’ (with an exclamation mark). This is the name, what the person shouts, and it is also an explicit instruction to join in. It is forceful, commanding, assured. It is the sort of command you can imagine coming from the mouth of Leonidas, and I know that despite never having seen 300.

Elsewhere in the UK, this game is called ‘Bundle’. Now, I am about to use the word ‘gay’ and I would like to preface that by saying I am not using it in a derogatory way. ‘Bundle’ is the name of the game, it is what the person shouts, and it is pretty gay. As I stated before, my aim isn’t to use that term derogatorily, I don’t think gayness is bad, in this instance it is simply a misplaced gayness. There is nothing gay about a group of young boys jumping on top of…

Damn you, context.

‘Pile on’ is also a homophone for ‘Pylon’ which is a strong, firm, jutting, phallic... huff sake (my childhood snuck in some homoeroticism and I wasn’t even aware of it).

Carbonated beverages; around here they are ‘pop’. Elsewhere, they are ‘fizz’. As much as that pains me, having strong, illogical emotional attachment to it being called pop, I must admit that makes more sense. You open a bottle or a can, it fizzes. It does not pop, unless somewhere in our past we mistook liquidised Pringles for a fizzy drink.

There is a renovated music venue local to me called ‘The Pop Factory’. It is called that because it used to be the factory where they bottled pop. +10 Imagination EXP. Similarly, a restaurant opened up in the building which used to be the old post office. It is now called ‘The Old Post Office’. The mind boggles as to how any new build gets a name.

Builder 1: That’s a nice new building we’ve made here, what do you think we should call it?

Builder 2: What was here before?

Builder 1: Just an empty space.

Builder 2: Then this building shall be henceforth known as ‘The Empty Space”.

Builder 1: What’s it going to be?

Builder 2: A planetarium.

In that example, they luck out.

But if pop was called fizz around here, the music venue would become The Fizz Factory. Which is monumentally naff. Even more so than The Pop Factory. And because of rules of rhyming nicknames, it’s naffness would get it dubbed The Jizz Factory, which, well, is gay. And again, that would be inappropriate because it’s not a gay bar, it’s a non-sexuality-specific naff music venue.

Actually it’s mostly frequented by excitable teenagers, so calling it the Jizz Factory would be inappropriate for another set of reasons.

Where was I going with this?

I am going to call it The Jizz Factory from now on.

…

I think this blog entry is done now, I can’t be certain.

Like Hammerton Pobst always said; “if you can’t guarantee the safety of your soufflé, stop cooking.”

For Kpafuka's Sake

I have not been writing here because I am currently in a funk.  During my tenure in this funk, I have been considering the phrase 'in a funk', where it came from, why it makes sense, and why it is preferable to describing the state of funkedness in any different manner.


When I say 'I am in a funk', I am not in any way suggesting that I have entered a particularly 1970'sesque state of being, nor that I am in some way channeling the spirit of James Brown or or hanging out with the perpetually topless Keziah Jones*.  Although I would enjoy that.

I believe this usage of 'funk' came from the mishearing and subsequent misappropriation of the word 'fug'.  As in "a fug descended on the room", or "fug me! she's beautiful" (hahahaha an hilarious joke there).  'Fug' and 'funk' both share the annoying properties of being words that I can't say without them sounding like the word 'fuck', due to my poor enunciation on the sounds of 'guh'(g) and 'ung'(ng).

So, why is it easier to proclaim oneself 'in a funk' rather than 'depressed' or 'miserable'?  It is likely that depression and misery are inherently very negative things, with no positive affiliations to speak of.  There is a vulnerability in both, as well as, I would argue, the general assumption of weakness and patheticity, especially when self-diagnosing.  In contrast to this, the term funk is synonymous with Messrs. Brown and Jones, and even though the understanding is that being in a funk is a bad thing, something upliftingly funky will happen soon to burst you out of it.

The unmasking, or at least understanding, of this kind of slippery verbiage is what spin-doctors would need to be familiar with.  Though spin-doctors are viewed fairly negative, this is the sort of subliminal substitution most people make a million times everyday.  Picking up on it and subsequently picking it apart is probably the most laborious hobby I picked up from my time in University, and from a personal point of view possibly the most valuable skill.  Until such time as I make mime my main mode of expression, anyway.

This sort of spinning is made to express vulnerability in a way that hides any vulnerability as much as possible.  It is a similar technique to one I cannot seem to stop myself from, which is replacing 'me' with a general 'you' when outlining something which leaves me out on a limb.  Such as in the line: "So, why is it easier to proclaim oneself 'in a funk' rather than 'depressed' or 'miserable'?" where I have assumed a generalisation whereas in reality it is only me personally that I am 100% sure of, in terms of this usage.

I have to end this entry now, a sex machine just came ploughing through my partition wall, I think it's a sign to get out of my funk, and to get on up and stay on the scene.

*Some scholars believe that Keziah's chest is constructed of a muscle-alloy that is uniquely magnetic and repels all human clothing.