Flashlight Hike 2011

No photos this time. I was in a dark corner supervising the carries group, and then it was too dark. We followed the customary route above Rodeo Lagoon, near which some of the participants had gone to environmental awareness camp. One of my earliest maps was drawn at that camp for my journal entries of that year. I believe I also said something uncomplimentary about Jonathan Vordermark and criticized the camp's treatment of the flag.  We went up the hill to the bunker and split into a round robin of five groups to complete various requirements. As I said, I was supervising the carries group. The test was a race, which would have been much more hazardous if the giant gun emplacement pit had not been filled. We continued up the hill and up the stairs. I was a bit worried when we were passing the collapsed wooden ruins on the top of the head, since some of the younger kids were itching to descend into the splintery abyss. Several of the turns were not clearly marked, but we did not lose anybody. We ascended to Hill 88 and supped there. The Urban Astronomer, who was with us, provided guidance to navigating the stars, although the moon was bright. We headed down from the summit of Hill 88 and walked along the backside of the ridge.

At the crossroads, where a wrong choice would lead to the Long March of that infamous year, the Urban Astronomer provided more guidance on celestial gazing, but fell short on myth. Cepheus was the king of Ethiopia, and Cassiopeia was his queen, and Andromeda was his daughter. Cassiopeia bragged that Andromeda was more beautiful than the gods. This boast angered the gods and Poseidon demanded that Andromeda be chained to a cliff and consumed by a sea monster. Andromeda did not die, because Perseus (not Pegasus) rescued her. Upon reflection, the confusion might have arisen because Perseus did have the sandals of Hermes, which had wings and allowed him to fly, thus fulfilling the same role as Pegasus. Such errors do makes me wonder whether I should start a mythology blog.

We descended from the decision of Hercules into the always-chilly hollow and out towards the road. We were behind schedule, but I was less discombobulated than some of the impatient teenagers. We walked along the north side of Rodeo Lagoon, and I recalled the swampy path on the south side and the crossing of the bar. We reached the parking lot, consumed doughnuts and hot chocolates, and the Urban Astronomer allowed the boys to look through his telescope at the Galilean moons.

Parish Retreat 2011

On the first weekend of November, I went on the St James parish retreat. I rode up after work with Petrina and Roger, so I missed the cocktail hour (it was an Episcopal retreat, after all). As we came up the driveway to the Bishop's Ranch, a strong unidentified smell overwhelmed me, Finally, I realized that the smell was manure – I'd not visited the proper countryside for so long I'd forgotten the smell! There were four groups at the Ranch this weekend – our group from St James, one from St Ambrose, a group called Women of Wonder, and an AmeriCorp group stationed at the Ranch for six weeks. Although we'd missed cocktail hour, we hadn't missed Compline. For those unfamiliar with the term, Compline is a Christian evening service, the last of the day, in which one reflects and winds down.


The morning was cold and misty, unlike many I remember from BREAD (at least the misty part – I've been at the Ranch when it's cold.). After an organic breakfast, there was a plenary session led by Anna Eng, whom I had met before, on the Art of the Relational Meeting – the sort that leads to progress towards a goal and that is sorely lacking in the contemporary political sphere. Eng's use of the term “agitation” for “stirring of the imagination” seemed a little strange, just as the term “enable” in the EDGE method acronym reminds me of Alcoholics Anonymous. The blacksmithing workshop had filled up well before, so I went on a hike with Ullrich the jovial German and several others. Since we were out in the field when we decided to take an extended hike, and the map was hardly to scale, there was some debate where we were. We took Treehouse Hill Loop to Turtle Creek Lane, and up the dirt road towards the lake (which I have yet to reach). We crossed Turtle Creek, but had to stop at the second ridge because there was a dead sow on a truck. Apparently the sow had been tearing up the grounds of the Ranch and the management had called the pig hunters from Swine Country (company name) to eliminate her. So we chatted a while, and I took some pictures for the Scouts. It had begun to rain, and we couldn't have reached Lower Lake and returned in time for lunch, so we headed back to the refectory. We passed the gate to the Russell Ranch, went past the Peace Pole (what a bizarre structure) and back to the refectory.



After lunch, during which I bought a book by an Episcopal female priest on Marian devotionals (the book itself is difficult to describe, especially since I have not started to read it properly), I chatted with a fellow parishioner. Our philosophies differed dramatically, as you might expect from a dedicated Scout leader and a conscientious objector. It reminded me a little of the Hard-Travelling Heroes, except that I'm inclined to side with Hal than Ollie. Later, I went to the Ranch House. I found Carole Jan Lee's book of show tunes on the open piano. I couldn't resist. After a few false starts, I chose a song and began to teach myself how to play “I don't know how to love him” from “Jesus Christ Superstar”. The song resonated with me, but I'm scarcely the first to empathize with the Magdalene. Even later, I played Bananagrams (R) with some other parishioners, but the faults of Scrabble (R) which the former game aims to correct seem to me the strengths of the latter.



After dinner, the main event was square dancing: square dancing is an excellent activity for a church retreat – it's family-friendly, but still allows every level of public behavior up to flirting. The man and women of each couple were of compatible height, but the very family-friendliness of square dancing made a right-and-left grand with six adults and two short children. The caller explained the origin of the periodic stomp: although stomping is extremely satisfying, its original intent was to remove the manure from your boot. After we had covered the basics, the caller taught the grand square. I was dragged (not wholly unwillingly) into the grand square with a woman I'll call Blonde, Busty, and Beaming for lack of an actual name. A grand square is quite complicated, and probably becomes more difficult with sufficient imbibing, but BBB and I managed our part well. Other couples were significantly more confused. H., one of our St James parishioners, injured herself during the Cotton-Eyed Joe that followed the square dancing and preceded the evening's closing waltz.

Father David led Saturday Compline, using a poorly mimeographed sheet from the infamous New Zealand Prayer Book. The New Zealand Prayer Book can be disorienting, since it incorporates Maori traditional oratory, which differs greatly from English rhetoric. The New Zealand Our Father is called a translation, but expands to much for me to call it such. It is an exegesis, and one which I would like to examine further before endorsing it.



After Compline, several parishioners retired to the ranch house living room to play the game Celebrities. I had never played this game before. It was something like a cross between Charades and Musical Chairs. The game mechanics were fine, but a combination of the age divide among the players and a paucity of contributors to the pot threw the match.



On Sunday, we attended a more conventional service in the chapel. Every time I have gone to the Bishop's Ranch, I have forgotten that it is a functioning parish church and has its own congregation. I kicked a ball around with one of the kids. Then it was time to go home to the city with Ryszard and Elia.

Post Rojak

It seems apropos that I completed Lesson 23  of the online Malay course before a potluck. The twenty-third section seems a bit late to introduce such an important part of Malay culture, but the vocabulary is rich. At the nadir of my Bahasa Malaysia knowldedge, all I could say was "Saya hendak beli ikan" ("I would like to buy a fish"). The example sentence introduce the words for husband and wife - suami and isteri, respectively. These words look more Indian than Austronesian to my linguistic eye, although no doubt other words for such a basic relationship exist. The word for cheese, keju, is manifestly Portuguese, and the author of the lesson provides a warning against the consumption of pork in the company of Muslims. Rojak, a medley of individual foods, recieves mention, as does its linguistic equivalent, Bahasa Rojak, the bastard child of linguistic crossroads. The insertion of linguistic terminology relates to something further down the page. The list of fruits (buah-buahan) is extensive - many fruits seem to have no parallel name in English. Among these fruits is durian, the delicious and fragrant fruit. Imagine the smell of growing up in an durian orchard! The section on meal names discriminates between dinner (makan malam) and supper (makan lewat malam), something which Americans often fail to do.

For a linguistic desert, my old love clusivity recieves a clear explanation. Kami is inclusive we (I plus you) and kita is exclusive we (I, but not you). The lack of this distinction in the Indo-European languages is rarer than its presence, but I have read somewhere that the two forms of 'we/us' in Proto-Indo-European is relic of clusivity. You might call the forms relic-clusives! In Bahasa Rojak, however, the inclusive form kami is replaced by the specifically Bahasa Rojak form kitorang, from kita orang, 'we people'. If my hunch is correct, this is a reflection of the use of inclusive forms to reinforce ethnocentric bonds, since my Quechua-speaking ordained acquaintance used a similar example to illustrate clusivity in his mother tongue.

A Rash of Songs

This Sunday, a particularly rainy day,  at the Museum of the Legion of Honor, Sylvia Rhine '78 (Carleton) and Eric Redlinger, the members of Asteria, gave a lecture on and played music from the court of Charles the Bold (sometimes known as 'the Rash'), Duke of Burgundy. The Duchy of Burgundy in the Late Middle Age was the richest "country" in Europe, and treated as an equal to the kings of official countries. Charles, as many generals have done, thought his campaign would be quickly done. He spent more than a year trying to take Neuss. A man of his stature had to be an accomplished warrior, host, and diplomat, so the delay in taking the city forced Charles to set up a court just beyond the field of battle. There he welcomed embassies with the gravitas necesssary for a man of his station, but he also entertained his guests and retainers. He had three minstrels, the three greatest in Europe, and he commanded that there be one new song every night. If the song failed to please him, he would execute the performer -okay, that last part is false, but the rest sounds like something out of Arabian Nights!

In the lecture before the concert, Sylvia Rhyne and Eric Redlinger discussed the impossibility of truly knowing the sound of medieval music. Some differences, nonetheless, could be ascertained - medieval music was composed of individual melodies that formed chords rather than chords per se; the music did not use meters (though of course notes had varying lengths). The dominant use of marriage as a political tool made amour de loin (love at a distance) the most common form of amour (Le Corps Sen Va, Antoine Busnoys). Medieval music was private and personal, but could be heard throughout the chateaux. Although it was personal, it did not use names, but preferred to idealize humans (Plus jay le monde regarde, Robert Morton; De Tous Biens Pleine, van Ghizeghem; Au gre de mes yeulx, Antoine Busnoys) and anthropomorphize abstract concepts (Allez Regrets, van Ghizeghem) The texts of medieval music were exquisite, expensive, and heart-shaped - although the last feature may be the result of the container reflecting the matter contained. Rhyne and Redlinger abbreviated the concert due to the impending and regular organ recital.

The concert featured compositions by the three composers (Antoine Busnoys, Robert Morton, and Hayne van Ghizighem), an anonymous composer, and Charles himself. It was lovely and soothing - perhaps too soothing, for a darkened room!

I'm recording the text of the planned concert here, since I find the songs beautiful in sentiment as well as performance - and a guy can never have too much love poetry as a miles amoris. Si je parle franCais, je pourrai les lire facilement. Certes, cette language est plus facile que le franCais anglo-normandais que je lisais a Saint Andrew.

Plus jay le monde regarde (Robert Morton)
Plus jay le monde regarde
Plus je voy mon premier chois
Avoir le bruit et le vois
De los de grace et de beaulte

The more I have seen the world
The more I see my first choice
To have the nobility and the voice
Of things of grace and beauty.
Quant ce vendra (Antoine Busnoys)
Quant ce vendra au droit destraindre
Comment pouray mon veul constraindre
Et mon cueur faindre a mon douloureux partement
De vous mon leal pencement, a qui nulluy ne peut actaindre.

When it comes to true torment
How shall I contain my desire?
Even my heart falters at my sad parting
From you, my loyal, whom it is not possible to reach.
Allez regrets (Hayne van Ghieghem)
Allez regrets vuidez de ma presance
Allez ailleurs querir vostre acointance
Assez avez tourmente mon las cueur.

Go, Regrets, depart from my presence.
Go elsewhere to find your company
You have tormented my weary heart enough.
Sur Mon Ame (Anonymous)

De tous biens pleine (van Ghizeghem)
De tous biens pleine est ma maistresse
Chacun luy doit tribut donneur,
Car assouvye est en valeur
Autant que jamais fut deesse.

 My mistress is full of all good things.
Each to her should be a giver of tribute.
For she is as appeased in worthiness
As any goddess was.
N'auray-je jamais mieux (Morton)
N'auray-je jamais mieux que jay
Suis je la ou je demeurai,
Mamour et toute ma plaisance?
...N'aurez vous jamais connaissance
Que je suis tout votre et serai?

Will I never have better than I have,
Am I here where I shall remain,
My love and all my pleasure?
....Will you never have knowledge
That I am and will be wholly yours?
Le souvenir de vous me tue (Morton)
Le souvenir de vous me tue,
Mon seul bien, quant je ne vous voy.
Car ie vous jure, sur ma foy,
Sans vous ma liesse est perdue.

The memory of you kills me,
My one good, when I do not see you.
For I swear to you, upon my good faith
That without you my joy is lost.
Gentilz gallans (van Ghizeghem)
Gentilz gallans soions toujours joyeux
Et je vous en prie tres humblement
Et si servons les dames loyaulment
Sans reposer le vray cueur amoureux.

Noble swains, let's be alway joyful,
And I beseech you very humbly
And thus let's serve the ladies loyally
Without relaxing the true loving heart.
En voyant sa dame (Busnoys)
En voyant sa dame au matin
Pres du feu ou elle se lace
Ou est le cueur qui ja se lasse
De regarder son beau tetin.

Upon seeing his lady in the morning,
Near the fire where she rests,
Where is the heast that would relax itself
From observing her beautiful breast?
Au gre de mes yeulx (Busnoys)
Au gre de mes yeulx je vous ay choisie
La plus acomplie qui soit soulx les cieulx.

At the liking of my eyes I have chosen you
The most accomplished woman who is under heaven.
Ma Dame Helas (Charles the Bold)

Le corps sen va (Busnoys)
Le corps sen va et le cueur vous demeure.
Le quel veult faire avec vous sa demeure
Pour vous vouloir aimer tant et si fort
...A vous servir jusques ace que je meure.

The body leaves and the heart remains with you.
That which wants to make its stay with you.
From the desire to love you so strongly and completely
... To serve you until I die.


Ma dame trop vous mesprenes (Charles the Bold)
Ma dame trop vous mesprenes
Quant vers moy ne vous gouvernes.
Aultrement qui l'oseroit dire, dire?

My lady, you hurt me too much,
When you do not steer my verse.
Otherwise who would dare to speak?

Turkey Day Tumpang

I was relaxing from Thanksgiving setup by finishing the current lesson in the online Bahasa Malaysia course - I'd wanted to practice some hieroglyphics, but I'd already put away my notes on where I last ended in Chapter XXXII of the Book of the Dead. The subject of Lesson 21 was 'di mana' ('where?'), and, more generally, locative expressions. The Bahasa Malaysia words for left and right ('kiri' and 'kanan', respectively) must be a nightmare for folks like me, who often confuse left and right! But the most relevant word for the holidays is 'tumpang', which can be used in three ways: 1) in phrases such as "boleh saya tumpang tanya?" "do you mind if I ask you a question?" 2) "to stay at a relative's or friend's place for the night" 3) "to get a lift in a car", possibly from a friend or relative. This polysemy speaks volumes about Malay and Malaysian culture, and serves as a friendly warning about one-to-one translation!

Through Rose-Colored Lenses

I've been reading a great book, Through the Language Glass by Guy Deutscher, whose previous book, The Unfolding of Language, holds an honored spot on my bookshelf - after the dictionaries, of course. The first part of Through the Language Glass addresses the history of color perception, starting with the British Prime Minister Gladstone (a politician in an era when keen intellect was not viewed as a sin) through the modern day. Although the modern progression of color terms is associated with exotic cultures, the pomegranate in the Garden was Gladstone's observation that Homer, known for his graphic similes, used a remarkably small palette (violet, dark, and pale green). I always imagined the maiden Chloris as having eaten something disagreeable! A language will always have a white/light vs. black/dark distinction; next comes red, the color of blood (from which word the term for "red" is often derived) and ripe fruit; then green or yellow, the color of unripe fruit; yellow, green, and blue follow. Blue is a latecomer, perhaps because few things in nature are vibrant blue. Perhaps we need a captive Smurf breeding program - I'm not sure the blue midgets have returned to the DC universe yet. Just as some languages favor when something was done (tense) against how something is viewed (aspect), so too some languages favor brightness over wavelength separation. Other languages prefer to split the colors in various ways - Russian distinguishes light blue from dark blue and Welsh grey-green from vibrant green. There is an entire amusing story behind the bluish tint of green Japanese traffic!

Regular readers of my blog (or, really, anyone who's seen my Favorite Books list on Facebook) will know I have a taste for dystopias, so it is no surprise that I have read Louise Lowry's The Giver. In that dystopia, all are equal, sharing the same birthday and identical gifts. On one particular birthday, all members of an age cohort receive a red bike. The adjective "red" is only attached to the word "bike", and the only sort of "bike" is a "red" one. It's clear from the narrative that the bikes are, in fact, bikes, but here is the question: if "red" and "bike" are always paired, does "red" actually mean anything in this context? Are they completely colorblind or is red the last remaining vestige of color perceived by their dulled senses? Apparently Lowry did her research! After I had read one of Deutscher's paragraphs on the color/shade orange, I examined the orange juice in the fridge and it was indeed a rich yellow rather than true orange. I had never noticed that before, and after my experience with ejective p in basic Korean  vocabulary, I realize how many things individuals gloss over to cope with the overwhelming data stream that is life.

I'm saving Deutscher's discussion of "an ant is on your south foot" languages for another post, since someone else has brought up such matters recently.

Royaneh 2011

*Sorry about the delayed posting - I was going to post it earlier today. Share and enjoy!

This was going to be the year when I spent the whole two weeks at Royaneh: it didn't quite work that way, but it came close. After a late doctor's appointment (the appointment was late, not the doctor!), I came up to Royaneh mid-Thursday. I recieved an enthusiastic welcome and settled into my usual location near the sweet aromas of the latrine.

The dining hall was packed, so much so that the camp staff had to eat outside or elsewhere. The reason for this overflowing cup? One of the camps in the Sierra was still under three feet of snow (a phenomenon which I can well believe, since I'd just been at Tahoe and marvelled at the remaining snowpack), and the troops which usually camped there had taken refuge at Royaneh. One of the interesting side effects of this generosity was the overlap of numbers, and a curious insistence on initials after troop names. For once, we shared a number with another troop.

Thursday was skit night, and our guys had chosen a familiar skit. The problem was this: it was familiar to the Scouts in the troop, but not to the rest of the camp. It is difficult to involve the whole troop and have a focused skit.

Friday brought the usual flurry of requests for me to sign this and initial that, and the reassurance that a two-week troop can provide more opportunity to complete partials. One of the merit badges offered that week, the surprise badge of the summer, was Nuclear Energy, which did not seem to me a "camp badge", but then, how many people are qualified to teach it? Another badge, Scouting History, seemed questionable. I may, however, be biased, as one of the requirements made me realize how long I have been involved with Scouting. Closing campfire caused the usual cognitive dissonance among the two-weekers, but (as always) everyone had to go to it. The new stage is very nice, although the random appearances of dogs in the background was a little distracting. Jay from Aquaneh, as usual, was master of ceremonies for final honors for tattered flags. At the first closing campfire of the summer, he seemed a little suprised at the dearth of veterans among the Scouters.

Saturday morning came, and the list of completes and partials was announced. The number of merit badges earned has increased with the consolidation of Mammals and Fish and Wildlife into the two-badge class "Fwammals". The other troops left, and some left quite early, so only our troop, and the troop with our number times three remained. The morning was devoted to the Junior Leader Training, which involved a larger number of scouts than I had anticipated. The session wnet well, for the most part, and sparked certain ideas for imporvement which I jotted down. The afternoon was split between swimming (in the pool, not at Romans Plunge) and CAPTURE THE FLAG! The teams were split, and the traditional boundaries had a slight modification due the troop times three. The bugle indicated the end of each round. Yes, some people contracted poison oak; the showering considerably delayed the start of the campfire, at which the Staff formed a Idol-like panel. Perhaps next I shall judge the Staff skit as they judge those of the patrols.

On Sunday morning, the Troop did not sleep in as long as they wished. The Scout's Own was slightly different - there were two speakers, one Scout, one parent. Several patrols used the time saved from an organized signup for Merit Badges to complete the cairn hikes from Saturday.

Monday saw a return to classes. It seems to me that the Scouts are busier with badges than when I was a Scout at Royaneh, a bit more ambitious. The biggest change, however, was this: for the first time, I was one of two adult leaders, not overshadowed by Joe Ehrman or Bruce.

Wednesday it rained, shocking the disbelievers who had never seen rain at Royaneh and though my description of a three-day rainy stretch the tall tale of a Troop alumnus. The classes were held in the halls and in the Chiefs' Lounge. Unfortunately, Wednesday was also Competition Night, held in the mess hall rather than the newly rebuilt Ralph W. Benson amphitheater. The rain had stopped, but it was too late to move back to the amphitheater. Most of the events were the same, and the competition was lively, but the judge of one of the events declared every contestant a winner. This did not sit well with the Troop, which felt that a proper competition has either a winner or a loser.

On Thursday, I held a Star conference for the First Class scouts who had passed our pre-Star conference test. That was an interesting experience. I asked the three candidates to plan various aspects of an overnight camping trip, given the landscape around Pioneers with which they were familiar.In retrospect, I should have said that they were leading a group, not merely going themselves. The trio put together a solid plan, I also held a Second Class conference for another Scout whose condition prevented him from attending Swimming MB. At this point, I no longer remember what the skit for Skit Night was.

On Friday night, of course, the Troop Feed happened. The Staff kept a lid on the number of camp counselor guests, and the food was delicious. The most memorable feature of this year's Troop Feed, however, was the post-prandial guitar sing-along which lasted far longer than we would usually allow. It was the sort of camaraderie you can't create.

Possession and Poetry

One of the books I purchased at Archon 35 in St Louis was The Handbook of Science Fiction Poetry by Suzette Haden Elgin, the author of Native Tongue and creator of the allegedly woman-friendly language Láadan (more on that thought later, if I remember). I was not planning to write any English-language (or even Láadan) poetry, but I did want to know her thoughts on the techniques of poetry to improve my prose. One section in particular caught my eye. Elgin points out in this section that every English sentence and word has a “phantom sentence” underlying it, and that the more liberal rules of poetry expose that truth more effectively than prose. The construction of a science-fictional or fantasy setting requires more exposition than a real-world fictional setting, and nowadays much of that must be discreet. I'm a fan of the old-fashioned expository speech, thanks to the amount of 1930s and '40s books I read as a kid, but that taste seems rare now.
 

The use of the word “orphan” implies two dead parents, and thereby can hang the tale. Add the word “homeless” to “orphan”, and the phrase suggests that the lack of a roof is connected to the lack of parents, although it need not be (perhaps the family was homeless beforehand). If you write the sentence “The homeless orphan was crying”, you have added definiteness (a specific orphan), a contrast (is there an orphan was has a home? Is there someone who is homeless but not an orphan?), and an action that implies a cause (why is the homeless orphan crying? Homelessness or dead parents need not be the cause of the orphans' sorrow.).

Romney's Run

There's been a lot of talk recently about whether Mitt Romney is Christian. Romney's membership in the Church of Latter-Day Saints does not endear him to the Evangelical Republican base. From the standpoint of the "mainstream" churches, also, Romney is not in fact Christian, since Mormons follow a second revelation of Jesus Christ, and a new revelation is the sign of a false prophet. The Republican reluctance to endorse Romney, however, is a bit surprising: the Evangelical Right is willing to work with non-Evangelicals and non-Christians in movements such as the pro-life movement. The confusion, it seems to me, stems from a conflation of two roles: the leader of the Republican Party and the President of the United States. It would be interesting to learn if the controversy over Romney in any way reflects the discussions during the Kennedy campaign.

Indecent Propositions

The other day, I dedicated some time to actually reading the San Francisco voters' pamphlet. A lot of people want to be mayor of San Francisco. The number of propositions is fairly low, but every one of them must be read carefully. In one of them, the final line of the proposal sheds a different light on the preceding sentences, a light which reversed my decision. Such surprises are good in drama, but in politics, and particularly in a system allegedly designed to be friendly to the public, such surprises are dishonest and sneaky. Only in government is it good form to attach unrelated matters to a bill on a different subject. The other feature of propositions which confuses and annoys me is the number of opposing propositions. Even if I understand and agree that Proposition X is a good idea, it is impossible to tell what the interaction of Proposition X and Proposition Y will be. I vote on individual propositions, but the effects are multiple.

Harmonia Altaica

The other day (well, a while ago now), I was reading about the Altaic hypothesis and examining a chart of sound changes that included the changes from Altaic to Old Japonic (the ancestor of Japanese, the languages of the Ryukyu islands, and possibly the extinct Gaya language of South Korea). The Altaic hypothesis is that a large variety of language families, of which the most famous is the Turkic and the most vicious is Mongolic, are the descendants of a theoretical language, Altaic, which did not have vowel harmony, but did have features that created vowel harmony in the descendant languages. Vowel harmony, the process by which only certain vowels may appear together in a single word, implies a reduction in the numbers of vowels (since most vowels in a vowel harmony language “pair up”), and the pattern proposed for the creation of Old Japonic halves the numbers of vowels to one low, one mid, one back, and one front. Both the back and the front are intrinsically high. A separate common phenomenon, discouraged and disparaged in that oddball language English, is onomatopoeia, the imitation of the sounds of creatures and phenomena in the words that mean those creatures and phenomena – a good example is Bahasa Indonesia 'susu' 'milk', from the suckling sound of babes.

If Old Japonic had both onomatopoeia and vowel harmony, the extremely high proportion of like vowels in sequence in current Japanese would seem less strange, as would the inability of the earliest phonetic scripts to recognize the true differences in the eight-vowel system of Old Japanese. The Turkic runes, the oldest form of native Turkic writing, incorporate the vowel harmony system into the structure of the mixed alphabet/syllabary, but do so awkwardly and incompletely.

Copts and Mobbers

The recent news that Egyptian mobs attacked a Coptic church distresses me greatly. The excitement of the Arab Spring has faded, when Egyptians were united against Mubarak, and normal, ugly political discourse has reasserted itself. The fundamental problem with many rebellions is the lack of a cause for which it is fighting. Attacks on Copts are not a new phenomenon in contemporary Egypt, but such rioting and unrest provides a pretext by which the allegedly provisional military government can cement its base or weaken its opposition. If the mobile vulgus is busy attacking non-Muslims (in which case Christians will have to do in the absence of Jews), then it cannot attack the true and established opposition.

Archon 35: A Personal Retrospective

I'd better write this before I begin to forget the details!

I'd dipped my toes into Wondercon several times (whenever I wasn't camping that weekend), and I recently went to WorldCon in Reno; I'd even been to St Louis before. This was, however, my first Archon. I didn't announce my status ahead of time too publically - too many horror stories about maltreatment of noobs. I loaded up on books in the hallway, but didn't buy so much in the dealer's room - I'm a bibliophile, not a collector. The Science Fiction Poetry Handbook by Suzette Haden Elgin is good! I'm also caught up on Avengers history in time for the movie, in case there are any continuity nods. I had a nice chat with Sara Harvey, whose book Convent of the Pure I bought at WorldCon but have not read yet (the cover is far too salacious to display in public). I also bought a modern pulp hero story - the equivalent of steampunk. Unfortunately, pulp heros tend to be popular in rough economic times.

The panels I attended had the following themes: Superman, Firefly, Dr. Who, steampunk, and writing panels. The Superman panel proposed that he was a distillation of several characters (Hugo Danner, Doc Savage, etc.) and not original at all. But then, that is also the description of Casablanca! The Who panel was more interesting for meeting people (I am tired of Rory and Amy!),  especially Paul, Rosemary, and Beth, but the Firefly panel was livelier. Firefly is a good example of a show where the quality made a short run a lasting work. The steampunk panels were fascinating, and, as I posted on the FB Archon site, taught me an appreciation of steampunk. The writing panels were very informative - Rachel Neumeier had interesting points, and I may have to thank Michael Tiedemann for his advice on non-monetary social status markers. One of the downsides of the panels, however, was the level of rudeness among the audience. Such poorly socialized convention members are one of the reason that science fiction, fantasy, and gaming are in public disrepute.

The costumes! O the costumes! The costumes were fantastic. The emphasis was fantasy or steampunk. Some of them were ill-advised or made when the wearer was thinner. There was a lot of cross-dressing (most notably the group who dressed as the X-Women), but Beth reminded me that I live in a strange little bubble where cross-dressing is more acceptable than other cities. I watched the Masquerade, which was amazing - some contestants must have spent a fortune. My favorite costume was a tie between the Weeeping Angel and Kasey MacKenzie's Kaylee (Firefly) outfit.

The parties went into the early morning, but my disdain for drunken idiots and my inability (even in college) to pull an all-nighter prevented me from partaking much.

If people left Sunday, they missed the flying shark.

The Doubletree, where I stayed, was nice, connected to the Gateway Center (sans Aboriginal teleporter) by a bridge over a ditch. Nothing fancy, but flyover country seems to remember that it is a hospitality industry.

Rain, Again

Il pleuve. Llueve. It is raining. Weather often isn't anybody's fault, unless you count Greek peasants who believe the Earth is Zeus' toilet bowl. Weather doesn't have an agent (look at how people complain about it!) and often has no patient either, provided you don't run around in thunderstorms with a kite. Since the weather is an event without mover or moved, languages with mind-boggling conjugations often have only a few forms in the third person singular (he/she/it) for “it rains”. I've even heard that a few languages forgo a verbal form of 'rain' and leave only a noun – it would not surprise me if such languages demanded a subject for their sentences, the reverse of the court of an unjust king. Under normal circumstances, rain falls from the sky to the ground, so the sentence “Rain comes down” does not appear strange.

In ancient times, these forms made sense; weather happened. If certain weather was predictable according to the season, that did not indicate any understanding of the cause. Even today, the weather forecast is shockingly uncertain compared to the “stricter” sciences. Has the greater understanding of the interaction of humus clouds and human crowds brought us to a point where the tempestuous agents of human nature ought to be acknowledged, in speech as well as thought? I'm not claiming some strong version of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, which for me is more a tool of creation than dissection, but if people in uncomfortable positions use the passive (“mistakes were made”) to eliminate personal responsibility, why not use the reverse to promote responsibility?

Sales & Services

Written before the trip:

I'm flying to St Louis tomorrow for Archon. It's also Rosh Hashanah. I'm not Jewish, but I know how important the High Holy Days are in the tradition. I've also been listening to NPR, one of whose segments focused on the financial straits of members of synagogues. If I have understood the situation correctly, this is the time of year when many temples collect membership fees, partially via the sales of tickets to High Holy Days services, but many Jewish men and women who in better times readily paid for their tickets cannot pay this year. Although I'm sure it's a mitzvah to provide a ticket under these circumstances, the idea of selling tickets to a day of obligation is very strange. It's true that my Anglican tradition used to rent the forward aisles to various prominent families (including some of my ancestors), but the entire church was never declared off-limits to humbler and poorer congregational members in good standing! I find it hard to believe that the Jewish tradition would deliberately discourage Jews from going to temple, so I must be missing some element here that is clearer to one raised in the faith tradition.

New Colors

As I was handing out the Ray-O-Han awards, I couldn't help thinking that the 100th anniversary of the troop is fast approaching. I'm definitely sticking around for that landmark! Of course, the centenary will require a new color, and the passing of the magenta bar. We could go with the standard centenary color, but we don't have to - magenta is not the 75th anniversary color, after all. This is merely my personal poll, but I'd like to know what colors Troop alumni thinks should top the green of Leadership and the red of Tradition.

Beasts, Bass, and Bob

Pirahã (native name: xapaitiiso) is a language spoken by less than 400 people in the Amazon. Daniel Everett, who has studied the language extensively, has made some extraordinary claims about it which are much disputed in linguistic circles. I'm not interested right now in the more contentious ones, or delving into the prononciation.



What does interest me is the pronominal system. The first and second person singular are ti3 and gi1xai3 respectively (the superscript numbers represent tones, with 1 being the highest). There are numerous third person singulars, of which hi3 is animate human (and apparently default masculine). The most common first and second person plurals are combinations of the singular persons; first person plural inclusive is ti3 gi1xai3 (first + second), first person plural exclusive is ti3 hi3 (first + third), and second person plural is gi1xai3 hi3 (second + third). The plural also has forms using a suffix -(a)(i)tiso – I'm not sure what causes the variation between ti3a1ti3so3 (first plural), gi1xa3i1ti3so3 (second plural), and hi3ai1ti3so3 (third plural, possibly exclusively human).



There are at least five third person singular pronouns (possibly derived from nouns, as many third persons around the world are), which break down into a simple binary chart. The highest branch divides animate from inanimate; inanimate singular is a3. An animate-inanimate distinction is the first divison one would expect if any division is made. The next division, human versus non-human, is also a common divison. The human pronoun is hi3. Humans come in two varieties, male and female (it would be inappropriate to quip about Genesis here, since the Piraha~ have an aversion to myth), and the specifically female pronoun is i3. Non-humans come in two varieties also, but the division is not between male and female, but aquatic and non-aquatic. The aquatic pronoun is si3, the non-aquatic i1k. If you lived in a land that flooded twenty feet every year, you'd be interested in this distinction!

Canoe Trip 2011

Recently, we went on the fall canoe trip on the Russian River. The group was a little top-heavy in terms of age, but bonding is bonding. The trip, sadly, is no longer a two-day water trip, although it is an overnight - every night you pitch a tent counts for camping! We embarked below the campsite, and headed out. I'd been practicing my oar strokes in a wooden canoe on a relatively sheltered part of Lake Tahoe, so it took a while to adjust to the current and a battered (but fortunately not leaky) metal canoe. My power was better than my control, but my old sailing instructor at Tahoe could have told you that. The water in the river was much higher than the warm, green, scummy ride of last year, and the riverine topography now included additional broad shallows that extended under the bushes. This is a trip on which I am glad I am shorter than the average Caucasian male! We ate a bit later than I had anticipated, but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Yes, there were swamped canoes and at least one lost paddle, but nobody was hurt in the process.

The campfire in the evening featured songs, skits, and yells, including a canoe-themed skit. No doubt the boys , were they writing this, would spend more time on the campfire than I shall. The next day we awoke and breakfasted. Since we can no longer do the stretch from Asti to our campsite, Sunday has become a day for some early fall skill advancement, in this case knots. I trust this stood the Scouts in good stead at the next meeting, where they worked on lashings.

The Scout's Own format has evolved somewhat, and now there is a Scout perspective as well as a parent speaker. I like this structure, because it gives the Scouts ownership over the service (I don't know what else to call it) without obscuring the focus of this part of the trip. If the Scout's insight varies from the superficial to the profound, I could say the same of a sample of homilies.

Credo and Quechua

Recently, I went to a talk at St Dom's on changes in the English translation of the Mass (I always did wonder why the Catholic CHurch, which should know its Latin backwards and forward, translated the first word of the Creed "We believe"). All the talk of why the Creed uses "we" or "I" and how Christian know what they know made me think, and not just about the Creed itself. On Memorial Day, I took a road trip with a friend and a priest, a man of Quechua descent specializing in indigenous theology.

Now, Quechua is a tongue with both clusivity and evidentiality. Clusivity is a recurring linguistic feature of this blog; it's the difference between we = you and I (inclusive) and we = I, but not you. Inclusivity (and, I suspect, a desire to separate the Church from the "personal Jesus" Evangelicals) was the goal of the inaccurate translation of "credo" as "we believe". It seems to me that if the Nicene Fathers had intended the first person plural they would have used it.

They certainly chose to use it in the phrase "crucifixus etiam pro nobis" "He was crucified for our sake" (a benefactive!), but how is it rendered in Quechua? It happens that I don't read Quechua well enough to tell which form "muchurqa" is (the Creed is never a fair comprehension st, since one already knows what it says) - I know more about the verb forms than the pronominal ones. It could go either way - inclusive to indicate that God's plan of salvation is for all, or exclusive to indicate the authority of the Catholic church. If I want to know, I suppose I'll have to find a Quechua grammar and dictionary. I did find this link:
http://www.yoyita.com/Quechua/Rosario/Inini_credo.php

The other interesting feature is evidentiality, the mandatory marking of how you know what you know. These epistomological endings, I expect, would have an impact on the composition of the Creed - one of the reasons the Pirahã of the Amazon have not been converted is an unwillingness to belive in more than second-hand information. Some languages have more flexibility than others in evidentiality, and I believe that Quechua is on the harder end. I wonder what Aquinas looks like in Quechua!

WorldCon Reno

Last weekend, I went to WorldCon in Reno (for which I had signed up due to proximity). I had a blast! I'd been to WonderCon in San Francisco several times, but I'd never committed to a con before. It was amazing. I met several folks (especially from the Language Creation Society) whom I only knew from online, and could fully relax the guardedness of the science fiction fan among the general populace. The authors were friendlier than I expected, but I guess that comes of being a fan before a writer. I certainly didn't expect to meet a Vatican City astronomer! I also saw Paul and Rosemary, whom I will see again in the fall. The Hugo Awards were fantsstic, although the comedy was mediocre. My only regret is that I only went for Saturday and Sunday, but next year I'll go to Chicago for the entire con.