Holiday Inn Express,
Westport Plaza,
Kansas City MO
September 11 2005
Dear The Internet
RE: The English Language
Thankyou for your recent letter. I would indeed enjoy sharing with you some of my observations on the theme of transatlantic English, which are delivered in the house style, and, just to warn you, contain offensive words like 'cunt':
"You say 'tomato', and I say 'tomato'/
I say 'potato', and you say 'potato'..."
Doesn't sound so good when it's written down, does it? It's just confusing. But, besides the fact that no one on earth says 'potARto', whoever wrote that song had a point. I do say 'tomARto' and they say 'tomAYto', and when I am in a restaurant discussing tomatoes with the waiter, I soon find myself in linguistoetiquetical difficulty. I feel I ought to back down and say 'tomAYto' because otherwise the difference in pronunciation can become confrontational:
Waiter: Who ordered the tomAYtoes?
Ben: I ordered the tomARtoes
Waiter (leaning forward): I'm sorry sir?
Ben (gesturing): Them. I ordered them.
Waiter: Oh, the toMAYtoes. And how do the tomAYtoes look to you today at this time?
Ben: The tomARtoes look fine
Waiter (leaning further): I'm sorry sir?
Ben: These... they look fine. Thankyou.
Waiter: Thank YOU.
Ben: That's fine.
Waiter: I'm sorry sir?
Ben: mmp
Waiter: Are you guys in a band, or are you here for the Hair Show?
My speaking voice is fairly quiet, and this combined with my outlandish accent seems to prevent me ever being understood the first time I say something. To alleviate this problem I have taken to bellowing and making the following amendments to the language I use:
When ordering in shops [stores] or restaurants, "could I have... " becomes "can I get...", eg. "can I get a triple-shoved fudge biscuit?". You can also try "I will take...", eg. "I will take a triple-shoved fudge biscuit to go."
They don't have 'cutlery' here, it's 'silverware', even if it's merely a spork. Or a knoon.
'Toilet' becomes 'Restroom' (or 'Bathroom', if you're feeling even more euphemistic). It is fruitless to ask for 'the bog' or 'the shitter', and for god's sake stop saying 'loo' because this is one of the things Americans find hilarious about the British, along with Shepherd's Pie. On the other hand, they may try to confuse you with talk of the 'potty' or the 'john' or the 'funhole'*.
*I made that up.
You can say 'thankyou', and probably should as often as possible, although I notice that in some parts of the States if you thank someone for doing something for you, their response is a little tight-lipped "mm-hm". In England you would generally interpret this as "I'm furious about demeaning myself in your service, and if you speak to me again I will be unable to prevent myself striking you", but over here it's an acceptable, non-rude acknowledgement. They don't have 'ta' here, and saying 'cheers' seems to encourage them to say "cheers mate!" in a strange quasi-Australian accent and is best avoided.
There are some American things that British people shouldn't say. Top of that list is probably 'dude' [and its chuckle-based relative which goes "du-hu-hu-h-ude"], also 'awesome', 'yo' and 'word'. [It is more seemly for the British to say 'my good man', 'remarkable', 'hello there' and 'quite'].
You can't really say things are 'wicked', but then, you shouldn't really say it anyway unless you are ten.
We all know about 'fanny'.
SALUTATIONS
You can get away with saying 'hey' as a greeting. The correct response to "what's happenin'?" or "what's goin' on?" is "you know, chillin'". Do not sound the 'g' - you are now in the vernacular.
If someone asks you how you are doing today, as they inevitably will, you can apparently just fire it straight back at them, and in this way, neither of you know how the other is doing today. You can also respond with "I'm good" or "I'm doing good". It is understood that this is not meant literally. You're not Mother Theresa.
If someone asks you what's up, you don't have to say "Nothing. I'm just TIRED" as you would at home, this is merely another form of greeting which has been stripped of all linguistic function. If you wish you can respond with similar nonsense, such as:
Interlocutor: Hey what's up?
You: Good, thanks
Avoid saying 'cheerio' when leaving unless you want to perpetuate the notion that the British are all Lords.
It is acceptable to begin any conversation with the words "so, anyway".
SWEARING
There is a 1:1 exchange rate on 'fuck' and 'fucking'. They have the thrilling second person 'fuck' (as in "what's the matter with you, you fat fuck?"). There is, of course, the ever popular 'motherfucker' which sounds great either way, but the drawn-out, disappointed "muuu-ther-FUCK-er" is better left to the American.
People are more likely to be 'pricks' than 'cocks'. I haven't heard an American 'cockend' so far. There is no 'wanker' - simply use 'jerk' or 'shithead' instead. Stick with 'arse' and 'arsehole' instead of 'ass' and 'asshole' because it sounds cute, except when you are commenting on a woman's ass, which is most definitely an 'ass'. They don't really have 'piss', they prefer to 'pee' or 'whizz'. They certainly don't have 'slash'es.
You can be 'pissed' or 'pissed off' if you're angry, but if you're drunk you're 'loaded' or 'wasted', not 'wankered off your tits'. (Although 'tits' is fine).
'Crap' seems to be a little milder in the US, as it has drifted from its association with shitting that is such an integral component to its use at home.
CUNT
You don't hear many 'cunt's in America. That seems to be reserved for special occasions, like a dress uniform. Most people's top swear is 'motherfucker', or perhaps 'cocksucker', or both. They do rhyme, after all.
Americans rarely get their 'cunt's out, and, despite its top-swear British status, we still say it a lot more than them. Well, I do, mostly for shock value, which is currently redeemable at $0.000077 per usage.
The Jersey/Italian pronunciation of 'cunt', 'khont' is the one you hear most, thanks to The Sopranos I guess. We have so much to thank them for. Another notable "cunt" was delivered by the actress Scarlett Johannson in the film [movie] 'Ghost World', which was the point at which I fell in love with her.
I hope this has been of some assistance.
I remain your faithful savant,
Ben Hales (Guitar)
Great American Music Hall,
O'Farrell Street,
San Francisco CA
20 September 2005
Dear The Internet
RE: How About Some Satire?
So, anyway, I was walking up W 46th towards Times Square when this girl comes up to me and hands me a leaflet, saying "there you go," like I'd been asking for one and she had kindly fetched it for me. I barely looked at the leaflet then. It was later, when I was emptying out my pockets that it caught my eye and changed my life.
"An end to DOUBT", it shouted. "Life's mysteries SOLVED!". It was published by a group of people who called themselves 'Scientists'. I'm not normally one for fads and crazy-talk, but I must admit I was intrigued. Religion can only explain so much, and I have often thought "there must be something more".
There was an address, which happened to be very near to our hotel, and I soon found myself walking up the steps to the Church of Scienceology.
"Welcome, my friend," exclaimed a friendly man in the foyer. "Come, we have much to teach you." He bade me follow him into an auditorium where a small gaggle of lost souls such as I were being addressed by a charismatic woman robed in the traditional white coat of the Scientist.
I sat, transfixed as she recited magical incantations that she called 'Facts', and spoke of the Holy Trinity, 'Physics,' 'Chemistry' and 'Biology', and of the unseen force that flows through all living things and also computers and washing machines, binding and connecting them, called 'Electricity'.
It seems that, far from the unknowable governance of the Ineffable, there is an Explanation for Everything! Just by observing, measuring and recording, and studying the ancient wisdom of our Scientist forefathers, we too can comprehend our non-significant Place in the Universe!
Never have I been so relieved to be a random confluence of atoms shaped by countless iterations of genetic mutation and environmental circumstance over millions of years! I feel so wonderfully Arbitrary! I feel lighter than air, like hydrogen (H)!
They have a send-away course, and if I work really hard, I could one day reach the level of Arch Realist.
That's all I have for you today.
God bless you all,
Ben Hales
Backstage
Theatre of the Clouds
Portland
Oregon
Thursday 16 March 2006
Dear The Internet
RE: If you're bored why don't you talk to me?
I am bored. Fuck I'm bored.
I'm sitting in a dressing room to the side of an arena that hosts basketball games when it isn't being a venue. Next to me is Matt Mead, who is tech-ing for us on this tour, and next to him is Dave, who is drumming. They are discussing their meals, which were delivered earlier by the Caterers in a small wheeled oven. They are bored. Fuck they're bored.
They are also boring.
Matt feels that his meal (an eggplant ratatouille with garlic mash and steamed vegetables) was overloaded with mash, and that despite his best efforts, there remains an unenviable amount of mash that he must consume unaccompanied. Dave, on the other hand, has stewarded his meal with characteristic expertise, leaving himself with bitesize morsels of all the constituent parts of his meal (steak in a red wine reduction with mash and vegetables) to enjoy in concert. This will be the coup de grace of a meal he has enjoyed with great enthusiasm. An enjoyment, if he is to be believed, that can barely be contained.
I had the chicken. It was slightly pink inside. On the way home from our last trip to New York, I was taken suddenly ill. Which is a euphemism for "I spent the last two hours of the flight vomiting ravioli into the tiny aeroplane bathroom sink, observing with bitter irony the little sign that said 'As a courtesy to other passengers, may we suggest that you wash out the basin after use' as I poked the last bits of undigested pasta through the - frankly overwhelmed - plug hole grille before the next wave of nausea hit me.
When we landed at Heathrow I couldn't face getting a taxi with the others so I took the Heathrow Express. On the way down the escalator I ejected a small quantity of foul-smelling greenish bile into the airsick bag I had farsightedly brought with me, with a hacking, juddering half-sob that echoed around the tiled atrium of the station.
Over the course of the journey the sick in the airsick bag gradually sick-logged the greased paper and seeped into the pocket of my coat."
Since then I have been highly wary of any kind of food that might have the same effect on me.
My brother Matt comes into the dressing room. He has just had a massage, because the occasional masseur is one of the perks of a tour on the scale of David Gray's, along with the Catering. [We're opening the show for David Gray for three weeks in the USA. That's what we're doing here.]
He says the masseuse commented that he had 'unusually strong lats', and 'did he work out a lot?'. He explained that he didn't work out a lot, but that we have been having a competition over the last few days to see who can hold the Plank position for the longest.
The Plank is, I believe, a Pilates position where you lie on your front, supporting yourself on your forearms and toes with your arse in the air. You have to hold it for as long as possible. It's been going for a few days. Dave's leading so far with a mighty 2 minutes and 45 seconds. Although there is some concern that his posture was not rigorously enforced. Perhaps we'll see the truth later, when his excellent dinner has gone down a bit.
We're bored.
Fuck we're bored.
MORAL DISCLAIMER: I don't mean to suggest that anyone's to blame for the boredom, or that we're below our station opening shows, or that we're not grateful for the opportunity to do it. We could easily be filling our days with Cultural Excursions and Stimulating Vistas.
But we aren't, because we're too fucking bored.
Thankyou for your attention,
Ever thine,
Ben K Hales, BA (incomplete)