Les Langues

Language
Language is something we all use everyday, but it’s not something that we think about frequently. When is the last time you thought about the words you use and where they came from? The following is a short scene that has absolutely nothing to do with that:

"This makes no sense, " the editor said angrily.
"When does anything make any sense, " the author countered sardonically."
"I’m serious," the editor started, "you can't give me something like this. I certainly can't let it be published." He paused, looking for the cigarette he desperately needed, but didn't have. "It makes NO sense! These are just random words that have been vomited onto the page. There's no rhyme or reason to any of it. You are a technical writer, not an artist. This isn't some poetry slam; you're supposed to be writing a software manual."
The author smiled. "But don't you see, it does make sense. Perfect sense. Look at it again."
The editor incredulously laughed, but looked down at the page of writing.
"What am I supposed to be seeing?" the editor said.
"It's there," the author started, "just look closer."
There was an air of menace around the author now, however the editor was too engrossed with the paper to notice. As the editor stared at the page, he noticed the words rearranging themselves on the page.
"What… How… How's that happening?" the editor said.
"Keep watching, " the author said firmly, malice gleaming in his eyes.
The editor tried to respond, but his attention was forced on the page. He could not look away. As he watched, the words seemed to jump off the page and reach up towards him. He tried to pull away or scream, but he was fixed in place by some force.
The author stated laughing malevolently and the words on the page reached the editor's face. The editor's eyes went wide briefly and then he collapsed, face down, on the desk.
For a few moments, there was silence in the room. Then the editor started to stir. The author took on a more neutral expression as the editor looked up at him, slightly confused.
"I'm sorry, I must have dosed off. What were we talking about?" the editor said.
"We were discussing my latest submission," the author said evenly.
"Ah yes. Well, it's certainly up to your usual excellent standard. Doesn't look like I'll need to do much with it to get it ready for publishing. Good job."
"Thank you, " the author paused, "Thank you very much. I'm glad my work pleases you. Will there be anything else."
"No, that should be it. I'll ring you, if there's anything."
The author smiled before he turned and left. After the author had left, the editor stopped for a moment.
"Why do I feel like I've forgotten something?" he said. He paused for a few more moments before continuing on with his work.


Où est le pamplemousse?
The grapefruit is a wondrous fruit. Ok, maybe that’s an overstatement. However, it does have many health benefits. And if you can get over the bitterness of it, it can be tasty. I know many people say that Ruby Red grapefruit are sweeter, but I’m not buying it. With all varieties, there is a bitter aftertaste that turns me off. I’d much rather eat oranges.

Lemons are extremely tart, partly due to their high acid content. That’s what makes them extremely high in vitamin C. Lemons are quite delightful in Lemon Meringue pie.

One might ask why I’m writing about random citrus fruits. The answer is that I don’t know.

Limes are not as tart as lemons. Limes were used by the British navy to help stave off scurvy; this lead to the term “limeys” to develop. Key limes are tiny, found in Florida, and wonderful in Key Lime pie.

Il pleut. Nous avons besoin la pluie.
Stream of consciousness is a difficult thing to master. If it’s insane enough (looking at you, Mr. Joyce) then you’re called a genius. If it’s mundane, then you’re called pedestrian and ignored. Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying is another example. I’ve read that book; I do not like it. It’s biggest problem is that none of the characters are that interesting to me. I don’t care what happens to any of them. Vardaman’s chapter is rather... well, truncated. “My mother is a fish.” That’s it. That’s the whole chapter. The only character who was mildly interesting was Darl Bundren and he was committed, at the end. I wonder what that says about me....

I’m wearing my contacts today; they’re bothering me. I don’t know why my eyes are sensitive some days and fine on others. It often goes: sensitive, sensitive, fine, fine, sensitive. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. I put them in their case the same way every day. I squirt them with solution before submerging them. I let them soak until the solution is neutralized. This is most vexing.

Et maintenant, je voudrais écrire en français. Un problème: je ne peux pas penser rien à écrire. Je suppose je vais écrire rien jusque je pense de quelque chose. Je rappelle plus que je rappelais. Je ne pense pas que cette phrase soit correct. Je dois continuer.

Penser veut dire « to think » en anglais. Je pense veut dire « I think ». Je pense que veut dire « I think that ». Je ne sais pas pourquoi j’ai écrit cela. Eh bien.

I recall that my mother would write “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party.” whenever she needed to test out her typewriter. The problem with using that sentence is that it doesn’t use all the letters on the keyboard. A better sentence would be “The quick fox jumped over the lazy brown dog.” This sentence uses every letter of the alphabet.

Je souhaite que il était treize heure et demie. Je pourrais rentrer chez moi. Je dois marcher aujourd’hui. Je n’ai pas marché pas depuis dimanche dernier, alors je dois le fais aujourd’hui. Je suis gros. Je n’aime pas que je sois gros.

Mes yeux me font mal. Je vais arrêter maintenant.