Dave Fox's Outbursts!

Wordsplash is Here!

I've been posting stuff on my blog less frequently as of late. I know this for a fact because people keep e-mailing to complain to me about it.

My lack of recent bloggage is mainly due to the fact that I have been spending most of my free time submerging my injured foot in a bathtub full of frigid water, and I can't very well blog from the bathtub without electrocuting myself. But in spite of too many doctor appointments and a looming deadline for my next book, I have finally gotten my act together and started a whole new blog for writers, linguists, and people who are learning how to talk.

I launched Wordsplash last weekend with a rambling introductory message. I've added a few posts since then. Check it out for a playful look at the English language with writing tips, gripes, typos, and more. You're also invited to e-mail me with questions about language, funny typos you've found (either online or in digital photos), etc.

Innovative Imitation

Oslo, Norway

I first lived here as an exchange student 20 years ago, and for as long as I've known this country, it's been trendy among teenagers to speak English, to blurt out English slang, to listen to English-language music, and to wear T-shirts with slogans in English.

With English a required subject starting in first grade, most Norwegian teens speak English very well. But I'm not convinced they always get the concept behind the words on their T-shirts.

Walking down the street today, I saw a guy, around 15 years old, wearing a shirt that said, "Always innovate. Never imitate."

He was talking to a friend. His friend was also wearing a T-shirt that said, "Always innovate. Never imitate."

Whatev

a reprt in ireland sez txt msging is harming the english language.

i dnt know wtf they r talking abt.

(Sry evry1 but i m scrambling 2 meet big dedlinez this week so this is the best blog i can com up w 2day. If u need somethg more entrtaining, ck out the viking kittens.)

CNN Breaking News: Ho(e)s in the White House Aren't "Nappy-Headed"

English grammar was challenged this week when journalists scrambled to determine the correct spelling for the plural of the word, "ho."

It's not the usual challenge newspaper editors face, but talk show host Don Imus's controversial comments this week have brought this dilemma to the forefront of American linguistic debate. I've seen it spelled "hos," "hoes," and "ho's" by various media outlets.

(I personally vote for the spelling, "hoes." It follows all the conventional rules, yo.)

Imus, we all know, got into trouble after referring to the Rutgers women's basketball team on his radio show as a bunch of "nappy-headed ho(e)(')s."

But it seems Imus is not the only person in the media using this controversial word.

Personal note to the editors over at cnn.com: You guys really need to be careful how you crop your photos of Dana Perino, the new White House spokeswoman.

You Want it Where?!?!

Back in Norway three weeks ago, Kattina was asking me to teach her Norwegian. At the same time, I was trying to school her in the finer points of Norwegian cuisine.

Take the hot dog, for example. Norwegians have taken hot dogs to a much higher standard than we have in America. To be specific, Norwegians have created hot dogs that are actually safe to consume.

You can order your hot dog (“pølse”) one of two ways in Norway –- in a bun (“i brød”) or wrapped in a “lompe” –- Norway’s potato-based answer to the tortilla. Americans often refer to the lompe as “lefse.” A lompe is one of several varieties of lefse.

On the early part of our train/bus journey to Bergen, we were seized with the munchies. We made our way to the dining car.

“How do I ask for a hot dog in lefse?” Kattina asked me.

“En pølse i lompe,” I translated.

”En pølse i rompe?” she tried to repeat.

At that point, I fell out of my chair in an intense giggling fit. “Ummm... not rompe,” I said. “Lompe.”

“Why are you laughing?” she asked.

“Rompe means your butt.”

A Fjucked Up Name

The Swedish town of Fjuckby wants to change its name.

"By" is the Swedish word for town. "Fjuck" is the Swedish word for... ummm... I'm not sure, but in recent years, a similar English word has made its way into Swedish slang. So the town is petitioning the surveyors office for a name change.

Fjuckby is not the only town with a dubious sounding name. There is also:

• Hell, Norway
• Assmannshausen, Germany
• Phuket, Thailand

And it gets worse. There is actually a town in Austria called Fucking. (It's pronounced "Fooking.") That particular town has a serious problem with British residents stealing its road signs. And if a trip to Fucking is moving too fast for you, you can visit nearby towns across the German border such as Kissing, and Petting.

I have taken the train through Hell. I have also been to a town in Wales called Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrn- drobwllllantysiliogogogoch. I have yet to visit Fjuckby, Phuket, or Assmannshausen.

Fjuckby is the only one of these towns that has applied for a name change -- but I'm not convinced it's going to do any good. They want to change their name from Fjuckby to Fjuckeby. If you ask me, just adding a letter "e" in the middle of the name won't make any fjucking difference.

SMStupidity

Introducing the latest way to squander money on completely useless technology!

Learning-by-SMS.com is now offering foreign language lessons via SMS -- mobile phone text messaging. For 24 dollars, they will send you a phrase a day -- a total of 100 phrases in your choice of Spanish, French, Italian, German, or English.

Or... you could buy a phrase book with more than a thousand phrases for eight bucks.

Having studied linguistics and language learning techniques myself, learning a foreign language via text messaging sounds about as effective as learning a foreign language from a walrus.

What's next? The SMS School of Driving?

Myspam

I have finally done it. I have finally broken down and put up a page on Myspace.

Yes, Myspace, the website where 38-year-old geezers such as myself go for one of two reasons: (1) to shamelessly promote a product, or (2) to shamelessly... oh, never mind. I'm not even going to go there. The point is, I've got a book to sell.

In the few days that my Myspace page has been up, I have received approximately 2,938 requests from people who want to be my "friend." The vast majority of these people are anorexic girls who weigh 93 pounds, unless you also weigh their make up, in which case they weigh 236 pounds. It's amazing: they are all web designers with brand new websites they really want my opinion on, and they are all new in town, looking to make new friends with balding writers such as myself.

So anyways if u think u r cool enuf 2b my myspace friend and u r a hottie who is down for kickin it literary style, then hit me up on my myspace page, yo, and... oh crap... sorry. Hard as I try, I can't really speak that language.

Got Myspace? Want updates on my writing? Check out my page and hit me up, dog.

metroidiotic

I am feeling sad today.

Seattle's Convention and Visitor's Bureau has just come up with a new slogan for the city: "metronatural."

I am feeling sad because according to the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, the Visitor's bureau spent an entire year and $200,000 to "invent" this new word. I wish they would have called me first. I could have come up with something equally idiotic in half the time, and I only would have charged them a quarter the amount.

I have this image in my mind of the meeting at which the final decision was made: A bunch of self-important marketers in khaki pants and name brand shirts patting each other on the back, thinking we, the innocent taxpayers of Seattle, would actually like such a slogan.

"It sounds kind of like 'metrosexual,'" one self-important marketer would announce smugly to the other self-important marketers, with the same pride one would expect from a two-year-old who has just picked his nose and run to show mommy his new-found treasure.

But wait! It gets better! Now that they've blown 200 K on the dumbest new word to hit the dictionary since... since... I think since the invention of the English language... now they are going to spend another $300,000 on an ad campaign to market the word.

Half a million dollars?!?! For "metronatural?!?!" I want my tax money back!

Instead of blowing all that cash on "metronatural," how about spending half a million dollars on this slogan instead:

"Seattle: Come be a tourist in our city, but don't move here if you have kids because our public school system doesn't have enough money to keep all of its schools open."

Norwegian Chicken: "It Tastes Just Like Chicken."

Bergen, Norway

I'm in a sandwich shop by Bergen's harbor, grabbing a quick dinner, when an American tourist walks in. She's not part of the group I am guiding. I have never seen this woman before.

"We don't have anymore sandwiches," the lady behind the counter tells the American tourist. "We only have baguettes."

The tourist looks baffled.

There's a linguistic misunderstanding in progress, and I, being a geekish snob when it comes to my non-monolingualism, get a cheap thrill out of helping sort things out.

"They do have sandwiches," I tell the tourist, "but they are on baguettes. They're out of the other kind of bread."

Somebody in the sandwich shop, I explain, has decided that a sandwich must be made on a ciabatta roll in order to be called a "sandwich." A sandwich on a baguette is called a "baguette."

"Oh," the tourist smiles. She looks relieved. I am happy to have helped. But then, a common, unpleasant phenomenon kicks in. "Well what do you think I should get?" she asks.

I've spent several years of my life living and/or traveling in foreign countries, so I have to remind myself that venturing overseas is intimidating for some people. Fair enough. It's confusing when you don't speak the language. But for some people, a minor cultural difference triggers complete mental paralysis.

I don't want to tell this woman what kind of sandwich she should get. Instead, I translate the menu. "They have chicken, shrimp, ham, and roast beef."

"Well what should I get?"

I have no clue what she should get. It's her sandwich. If she is violently allergic to shellfish, she should probably not get the shrimp.

"A life," is what I want to tell her. "You should get a life." I mean seriously, if the four choices were rhinoceros, sea urchin, whale, or belly button lint, I can understand where this might be an intimidating decision for an American tourist. But shrimp, chicken, ham, or roast beef is hardly a decision of culturally epic proportions.

"You should get whatever sounds good to you," I smile.

She looks terrified. She looks as if she could cry at any moment. She is a stranger in a strange land and I, the nice man who just translated the menu for her, has now turned against her, proposing that she try a new experiment in autonomy, and choose her own sandwich.

She looks at me as if I am the bastard child of Osama bin Laden for not telling her whether the ham is better or worse than the roast beef.

"I just don't know," she says. "What are you having?"

"I'm having the chicken," I say, really hoping to end our conversation.

"Should I get the chicken?"

"Well… do you like chicken?"

Her face turns a ghosty shade of pale. "I don't know," she says. "Is the chicken good?"

"It's chicken!" I want to yell. "It is just like American chicken, only here in Norway, it says kykkeliki instead of cock-a-doodle-doo! Is it good? That depends who you ask. I think it's tasty. The chicken would probably argue otherwise."

"I'll just have what you're having," she says. "Tell the girl to make me what you're having."

I do not want to tell "the girl" to make her what I am having. I do not want to do this for two reasons:

1) "The girl" speaks fluent English. This woman does not need me to order for her.

2) I do not want to be responsible if this tourist does not like what I am having. Maybe she will not like the deep fried onions on my sandwich, and whose fault will that be? Maybe jalapenos will make her throat close up, and she will die on the floor of the sandwich shop, and then I will be in big trouble with "the girl" for creating this scene and potential lawsuit.

But it's a hopeless situation. This woman is not going to leave me alone until I tell her what to do.

"She wants the chicken," I tell the cashier. Then, I gaze out over the vast array of potential sandwich toppings to choose from, and I run – fast, far away, back to my hotel, before the tourist has a chance to ask me about the lettuce, or the tomatoes, or why they don't accept American dollars.