The great American Language
The great American Language
And the language barrier
When I was a young man I was typically disparaging about Americans and their mangling of our wonderful language, as I saw it. Why, I wondered, can’t they spell things properly? Why do they say “different than” rather than “different to”? Why do they say “I could care less” when, by any logic, it should be “I could not care less.”?
But all of that attitude was dissipated by my trip to Los Angeles to visit my cousin.
We met up with a friend of hers, a beautiful and very slim (yes, that is relevant1) girl. We went to a café, and her friend — let’s call her Sandy — ordered the biggest doughnut I’d ever seen. She had to hold it with two hands. It was spilling cream and jam and stuff from every side and all over the place. A look of utter glee, in an evil sort of way, came over her face and she exclaimed: “Whoa! Fat City!” and tucked into it. I just loved the sheer exuberance expressed in that simple expression. I thought: the Americans have a way with words that can just leave us stuffy old Brits standing and gaping in awe!
I was reminded of this while reading the comments in an article by Alicia Kenworthy:
Lyle McKeaney, who writes
, commented:“Wow, that story was great. But, yeah, dude be writing long ass stories”
What a great phrase! I could have used that in the literature class that ended a few weeks ago. The tutor always started every session by asking us what we thought of the stories he’d asked us to read for homework. The author that week was D.H.Lawrence, and one of the stories was 57 pages long. Fifty Seven pages! So when it was my turn to venture an opinion I said:
“Lawrence wasn’t a great believer in flash fiction, was he?”
But wouldn’t it have been so much better to have said, \
“Wow, that was one long ass story!”
The next author we read was Saki, whose stories I suppose would merit the description “short ass stories”, because they came in at only two or three pages. I don’t know enough about American linguistics to know if that’s a legitimate use of words.
(On a side note, it does serve to illustrate that words like “long” and “short” are relative in the context of story length.)
I’m reading a book called You Talkin' To Me?: The Unruly History of New York English (The Dialects of North America).
The author discusses the difference between west coast and east coast culture and language. She states that when people in Los Angeles say “Have a nice day”, what they really mean is “F*** off!”, whereas when the natives of New York tell someone to “F*** off!”, what they mean is “Have a nice day!”.
The Irish Comedian Dave Allen once did a very humorous set of observations on the way we use language, and the differences between American and English expressions. I don’t usually like including swear words, but I’m making an exception here because it really is laughworthy:
All of which reminds me of my experience with another of my cousin’s friends. I wrote this story months ago, when I had hardly any subscribers (it’s now up to five figures: myself, Elaine, and the three felines.) So perhaps you will indulge me while I reproduce it here. I hope you enjoy reading it.
Language barrier
I loved Santa Monica, but...
To a young man in his thirties, Santa Monica was heaven on earth. The huge sky, the blue Pacific, the breeze, the roller skaters, the jugglers. Everything, in fact, somehow on a larger than normal scale. Twilight came and went in a matter of minutes, and as the evening came, the sea and the skaters disappeared, and the shops and cafés seemed to suddenly come alive, the streets filled with people strolling and laughing. This was as near to paradise as I could imagine.
And the girls. Well-tanned, well-turned out and, well, beautiful. And one of them happened to be a friend of my cousin, with whom I was staying.
"I've invited Cindie over for dinner. She wants to meet you."
"Really? Why?"
"She’s never met anyone who’s been to a castle before, and she loves English accents."
The evening came, the food was good, and Cindie and I seemed to be getting on really well. I thought I'd pluck up the courage to ask her out, and maybe experience some original Americana at the same time.
"Cindie, I was wondering if you'd like to go to a drive-in movie with me."
Her face and demeanour changed instantly. For the worse.
"I'm not that kind of girl" she hissed, as she stormed out of the room.
I looked at my cousin.
"What was that all about?"
My cousin explained:
"People don't go to drive-in movies to watch the movie."
"Ah."
Cindie returned to the dining room table.
"I think maybe there has been a misunderstanding", I ventured. "Could I take you for a coffee?"
"Look", she said. "I don't know where you're coming from."
I had no idea what my direction of travel had to do with anything, but I didn't want to risk upsetting her even further by asking.
"Erm, I'll be coming from here", I told her.
She looked at me as if I was an idiot, but then it seemed to dawn on her that, never having heard that expression till then, I had answered it literally. I think it was at that point that we both realized the truth of Oscar Wilde's observation that the English and the Americans have everything in common except language.
We saw each other a few times, and much as I loved her long blonde hair, brown eyes and white smile, I liked her intelligence and wit even more. And, perhaps surprisingly after such a rocky start to our relationship, we shared a similar sense of humour and laughed a lot.
It could have been a longer-term commitment. Should have been really. But deep down I think we were both worried about the difficulties of maintaining a relationship over a distance of thousands of miles.
And, of course, the language barrier.
Because she either very clearly did not usually eat that kind of stuff, or else had an amazingly efficient metabolism.
Loved this, and had a chuckle or two, too. The language differences between the Brits and Americans can be charming (I, too, am a fan of the British accent - everything sounds so civilized, regardless of what's been said). Perhaps some of it's rubbed off on me; I told a co-worker that I loved British TV and movies, and she said, "Ah, I can kinda tell. You say stuff and I don't really know what you're talking about." 😂
Watched a lot of Dave Allen in my younger days. Some lovely memories. And yeah, Substack really drives home the differences sometimes, in English vs American English. A fun read.