Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Incredibret's LiveJournal:

Friday, July 1st, 2005
11:00 pm	A heartbreaking LiveJournal entry of staggering genius    Well, my dear readers (all of you!), this will be my last post for a few weeks. Early morning Sunday I'm going on a three-week backpacking adventure in the Trinity Alps of California. If I don't come back on the 24th, please send out a search party. Chances are a bear will have eaten me, or at least kidnapped me. Love, Bret (Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 28th, 2005
2:16 pm	Le Sheaurt Nonfictión, Russia Edition       "Will you be bigger, Bret?" Nadyezhda the Host Mom asked. I caught the two words: "Bolshe budyesh?”, managed to separate them in my head, and define them individually as I knew them. Bolshe = bigger, budyesh = you will be. "Bigger will you be?"    It made sense, in a strange way, that a Russian woman would be asking me this.    I had just finished a massive plate of potatoes and sausages drenched in sour cream, as unhealthy as anything I’ve ever eaten, and she was asking me if I was going to be bigger.    "Da!" I said, thinking that if I ate like this all the time, I certainly would be a lot bigger. I also thought I was completing a two-part Russian after-dinner custom of asking if you’ll be bigger and answering with a resounding yes.    "Da?" she asked.    "Da!" I repeated, maybe even more enthusiastically than the first time. I had answered correctly, I thought, I did the right thing. This whole Russia thing was going to work out after all.    But then she grabbed my plate and brought it over to the stove. Hmm, I thought, the stove? That’s not where you wash dishes. Not even in Russia. I watched to my dismay as she piled on another heaping portion of potatoes and sausages, returned it to me proudly with a big smile, and simply said: "Eat."    Eat? I just did that! Many times!    I stared in disbelief, as my peaceful, extremely full stomach slept below the table, unaware. No way was I going to be able to eat this.    And then came the "chay budyesh?" from her mouth, the same chay budyesh that I have heard a million times since. This is when I started to realize that maybe my translation of "bolshe budyesh?" might have been faulty. This new question now stood in my head as "will you be tea?"    My theory was breaking down fast. I was not going to be tea, not now, not ever.    Then, Ohhhhh, I suddenly thought. "Budyesh" must mean, in this case, "do you want?"    But what about "Bolshe?" I racked my brains, my feeble, two-years-of-college-Russian brains, for something else it could mean.    I decided to pull out the big gun, trusty ol’ "Minutechku, pazhalsta" (one li'l minute, please) on her to escape to my room for the first of what was to become many quick dictionary lookups. I scurried off down the hall to my room and grabbed my dictionary. Bolshe, bolshe…    Another ohhhh dawned in my mind. "More." "Bolshe budyesh?" means "do you want more?"    Of course.    Shit, I thought, there’s a giant plate of hot food out there with my name on it, and a very nice lady who’s going to be vexed if I don’t eat it. So, I did the only thing I could do: I ran circles inside my room about twenty times, in order to increase my appetite, you see, and marched back into the kitchen armed with grammar and a will to be bigger.      The answering with a quick "da" was one of my strongest weapons. It was a fairly foolproof plan, except for every once in a while when it would totally backfire. Nadyezhda spoke fast, extremely fast, and seemed unclear on the fact that my Russian was terrible, and that I wouldn’t understand if she repeated the same thing at the same speed. "A little slower, please," didn’t seem to have much effect. Neither did blank silence.    "Jhkunk usfgh hfg?" she’d ask. Oh shit, I would think, she’s talking to me. I just know she’s talking to me.    Up I’d look from my soup. She was talking to me.    "Shto?" I’d ask, knowing I had about two seconds to try and prepare my brain for another Russian sentence.    "Jhkunk usfgh hfg?" she’d repeat. Fuck. No idea.    "Sh…to?" one more time. Same sentence again. Once more would be ridiculous.    "Oh!" I’d exclaim. "Da!" Or maybe even throw in an occasional "konyeshna!" (Of course!). Flash a smile.    And usually, that would satisfy her, and she’d turn to the TV. But sometimes this da response would puzzle her, and so I’d quickly change it to a no. There we go.    And then… then there was that one time, might have even been the first night, my stomach full of potatoes and sausage and dried fish and salad and tea and most of all beer and vodka, my head filled with case endings and imperfective verbs, when I tried the "da," then reverted to the "nyet." She looked shocked at the da, but even more shocked at the nyet.    What is there between yes and no? I don’t think I’ll ever know. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, June 24th, 2005
2:37 pm	Mormon? I barely know 'im!       This year, I wrote a book - co-wrote, I should say - with my good friend Andy Eberle. It's called The Four Fortunes, and it's totally awesome. Lulu is a great website that will print basically any crap you send them as long as it's properly formatted - in return for a few bucks, they'll send you a brand-spanking-new copy of your very own book. And it actually looks like a real book! That way you can fool your friends. They slap a basic production fee on each book (because they only print one at a time), and then from there, you (as the author) can add an additional fee, of which you take 80% home. So say the base cost is $8, if you added $5 to your book (making each one cost, every time you sold a book, you'd take home $4.      We wrote the book over a period of 8 or so months by sending emails back and forth to each other while at work. We began with absolutely no guidelines at all. As far as a writing project goes, it was great - you get to play little games with your writing partner, slyly make fun of him, slyly compliment him; you can go with what he's feeling, or take the story in an entirely different direction. It's kind of like an improv game.      Our story ended up being about Mormons - rather, a cult offspring of Mormonism called the Four Fortunes (The fortunes being Faith, Futility, Fairness, and Falling Down). The only reason it came to be about that was that very early on, I made a character be a Utah State Cop. I almost made him an Alaska State Cop, but changed my mind at the last minute. From there sprang a Modern Latter Day Saints tale. The back of the book reads:      "Chupa," begins the Tribal Chief, addressing the beast, "I am troubled. Lately I have been having visions - visions of  a white man. A white man named Jimsy Bimsy. And yet - the visions, though they are strange, give me comfort, comfort deep down in my bosom.    "Heh, bosom," thinks the Lion.      The harrowing comedadventure 'The Four Fortunes' begins simply enough. A man, a lion, and his visions. However, before long we are plunged into a world where highly-trained assassins wake up next to dead hookers, Mormon cults scheme for world domination, and relationships are revealed for what they truly are. Through laughter and tears, this is a story that gets to the heart of that eternal question: Why are we here?        Two amusing things about this book: one, I wrote it while at work. Two, my boss might be a Mormon. She's definitely a Mormon sympathizer, which is almost equally amusing. She went to the University of Utah and calls Mormons "LDS." It's the cool way of saying Mormon.      Today, she sat down by my desk with her cup of coffee to discuss the day. I had carelessly left my copy of The Four Fortunes right there on my desk, and my boss proceeded to pick it up, glance at it, and say: "Is this your book?"      I froze. This was going to be interesting. "Um… yes. Yes it is." I imagined saying: "Yes. This is the book I wrote while working here for you. Oh, and also it is very offensive to Mormons."      "How is it, is it good?" she asked. Either she hadn't seen my name on the cover or she was trying to be funny. It's hard to tell, sometimes.      "Yeah, um, it's really good, so far."      Then she put it down. "I've heard a lot of great reviews about it," she said.      I wanted to ask her where she'd heard these reviews, but… I decided against it.     (1 Comment |Comment on this)
9:05 am	Gee - that's sad    By happenstance, this morning as I Munied to work, three consecutive songs played in my iPod in which the last verse is totally sad and devastating.    The first was Two-Headed Boy Part II by Neutral Milk Hotel, and it goes: Two headed boy she is all you could need She will feed you tomatoes and radio wires And retire to sheets safe and clean But don't hate her when she gets up to leave    The second was She's a Jar by Wilco: She's a jar with a heavy lid My pop-quiz kid A sleepy kisser A pretty war With feelings hid You know she begs me not to hit her    Then to round out the bunch, I got to hear Chelsea Hotel No. 2 by Leonard Cohen, which ends thusly: I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best, I can't keep track of each fallen robin. I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel, that's all, I don't even think of you that often.    This may be a bad omen for the day. But probably not - it's Friday and I only have to work until 3:00. Then I will go home, take a nap, eat Indian food, and have myself a Friday Night. (Comment on this)
Thursday, June 23rd, 2005
7:30 pm	Shit.    Once again, I've found myself obsessed with trying to make a McSweeney's list. This is all Drew's fault. Drew, you're a bastard.       I have four things published on McSweeney's, yet only ONE of them has my complete and accurate name on it. It was a list I made. As I wrote before, the two other lists are under other peoples' names because, well, I was embarrassed to keep sending them in. Then there was this - I had several emails back and forth with a woman named Heidi in which she promised to correct my name, but never did. Hard to trust someone named Heidi, really.    Once, long ago, I sent in the following list as a complete joke:                       PEOPLE OR GROUPS OF PEOPLE THAT RANDY NEWMAN HATES    Short People    Asians    John Warner, that nice mans who rejects my lists, wrote back the most thought-out rejection I've gotten from him. Usually it's along the lines of "Thanks for the look, but I think we'll pass," or "it's clever, but not quite right for the site. Try us again!" This time, though, it was:    "This is tempting - but I'm afraid people won't understand, does that make any sense? I think Randy Newman meant his song "Short People" as a satire. I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass. Sorry."    I don't really know what he meant, because the joke is funny in a sort of a strange way (to me). I wonder what he didn't think people were going to understand about it. Maybe I will never know. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 22nd, 2005
10:46 am	This time it's Googlable    Inspired by The Master of all Things Blog, I decided to do a little investigation into what Google thinks I'm all about. I have summarized some of the highlights, and, yes - some of the lowlights. - First result - Six of Bret Turner's songs are on some dude's playlist, including: People on TV are so much better than me, Raised by a teti, and The stupid song (actually me). - Possible Names for a Third Team of Pickup Basketball Players If Shirts and Skins Are Already Taken, a list from McSweeney's (really me. For the record, this is also me, as is this - I didn't want them to think I was obsessed, so I made up different names). - Bret Turner has AIDS, and in [his] personal set of beliefs Cosmo is a representative of Infinite Knowledge. His brain is actually the universe and thus when asked a specific question he can answer it (not me). - Bret Turner stars in "Alice in Commuland," and sings a song, too! Look at all the ladies around him. He's clearly awesome (actually me). - Terry Schoby defeated Bret Turner of Concordia by fall, 1:03, in a wrestling match (not me. I would have won). - "Bret Turner is a qualified Licensed Aircraft Maintenance Engineer (LAME) and he has built more than two sport aircraft" (not me. That's totally lame). - Assistant to the IHS Principal (actually me - but not for long!) - Bret Turner, again with the Russian ladies! (actually me) - "Bret Turner, 30, climbed into the chair next and said Bush had his vote because of his Christian values. Turner had met Bush at a rally and promised to pray for him. 'He said, That means a lot, because I know the power of prayer'" (not me - that's not why I voted for Bush). - "As loyal reader Bret Turner observed, there was a time when it appeared as if Ichiro might finish with twice as many hits. Well, needless to say, no hitting champ has ever doubled his fellow champ's hit total" (the loyal reader is really me! Except I'm not sure how he knew I'm loyal because it was the first time I wrote to him). - "Executive Chef Bret Turner takes pride in not only using the finest produce, proteins and baked goods but also a carefully selected array of liquors, wines and beers found in all of SIP’s Inventive Plates" (not me) - Mason Jennings guitar tab corrected by Bret Turner (actually me. It had been wrong) - Helped write an awesome movie (actually me) - And the very best one of all: "Damon Killgrave has been fighting a losing battle against the Beast in Bret Turner. The Beast rules Bret Turner. I'm sorry. Really sorry." (not specifically referring to me, but rings true)   (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, June 20th, 2005
10:11 pm	Family fun!    My dad's log of a family vacation from summer 1984: June 13 - Mary in bed with flu, sore throat. Bret home with pink eye. I take him to Kaiser, Katie to school. June 14 - Mary sick in bed; Jenny babysits all day. June 15 - Friday: last day of work for papa. Kids both in school all day. Mary still sick in bed. June 16 - Katie gets pink eye. Mary stricken with ear infection in the night, takes herself to Kaiser for examination. June 18 - Katie to Kaiser for hurt tummy: constipation. Prescription of mineral oil and Metamucil. New eyedrops, too. June 19 - Drive from Berkeley to Tahoe, but a stop first at Kaiser to try a third kind of eye drops. June 20 - Katie's tummy still hurts, visits doc in Tahoe City who recommends lots of juice, no milk. Katie barfs on the rug on the way out of the doc's office, again in the car on the way back to the cabin June 21 - Bret pukes and shits in bed in the middle of the night, then pukes later on his pillow, and then once again in the morning all over his mama June 22 - Daddy barfs up his dinner. Katie has a writhing fit that mama calms in two hours. June 23 - Katie gets contact lens cleaner in her eye by mistake. June 24 - No one sick. Kids play with Heidi, Heather. June 25 - Mary spends four and a half hours throwing up and shitting during the night. June 26 - Katie's pink eye seems to return. Honda gets a nail in its tire. June 27 - Mary starts a new cold. June 28 - Much better. Hike part way to Eagle Lake. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
12:18 pm	Thanks, Top Jimmy! When I order pizza with Andy, which is sometimes, we team up to make the ordering experience a little more fun. I've come to realize now that the pizza itself is almost secondary to the ordering process. Don't get me wrong - I'm a guy who loves his pizza, especially under certain circumstances. But I find myself lookin forwarded to calling more than eating. So when I order, the challenge is (partway through the call) for Andy to tell me something amusing to say to the pizza guy. Then without thinking about it, I say it. Some favorites, edited for length: Pizza guy: That'll be about 30 or 40 minutes Me: Thank you. I love you. Pizza guy: Hi, I'm James, welcome to Domino's. How can I help you? Me: Hi James, I'd like a large sausage pizza please. Pizza guy: Ok, large sausage pizza. That'll be $12. Cash or charge? Me: Cash please. Pizza guy: Ok. See you in about 30-40 minutes. Me: Thanks, Top Jimmy! Pizza guy: See you in about 30-40 minutes. Me: Thank you, sir. You pizza with the best of them. Pizza guy: I what? Me: I said, you pizza with the best of them. Pizza guy: Uh... thanks. Pizza guy: See you in about 30-40 minutes. Bret: Thank you, sir, and may the force be with you: The Revenge of the Sith. Pizza guy: I'm sorry? Bret: I said, may the force be with you: The Revenge of the Sith. Pizza guy: Thanks... Pizza guy: See you in about 30-40 minutes. Me: Ok thanks. Hey, I have a question. Pizza guy: (pause) Yes? Me: Did you hear about the fire at the circus? Pizza guy: (silence) Me: Did you? Pizza guy: I'm sorry? Me: Did you hear about the fire at the circus? Pizza guy: (pause) Um, no, I didn't. Me: It was in tents. Pizza guy: (silence) Me: (realizing he might think the whole thing is a prank call and cancel my order) It's a joke. Pizza guy: It'll be about 30 minutes. Pizza guy: Round Table, may I take your order please? Me: Yes, I'd like the Dorm Special. Pizza guy: Ok, $10.99. Will this be cash or charge? Me: Cash. Pizza guy: Anything else? Me: (British accent) To the Knights of the Round Table! Pizza guy: Excuse me? Me: (British accent) To the Knights of the Round Table! Pizza guy: (silence) Me: I'd like a Coke, a Sprite, and another Coke. Pizza lady: We have Pepsi. Me: Oh, I don't like that as much. Pizza lady: Well, that's what we have. Me: Well, do you have Sprite? Pizza lady: No. We have Sierra Mist. Me: Oh, Jesus. Could I have a Coke? Pizza lady: (silence) Me: I'm just kidding. Pizza lady: Ok... Me: Can I leave a two-dollar tip for the driver? Pizza lady: You can do that when he gets there. (Comment on this)
Friday, June 17th, 2005
9:51 am	It is said that the Incans sacrificed flies    So, I'm wondering.    Runner on third, less* than two outs. The batter hits a fly ball to center, which is caught, after which the runner on third darts home for a run. The batter has thus sacrificed himself (what a guy) for the good of the team and the city for which he plays, and is accordingly rewarded by 1) being credited with a Run Batted In (RBI), and 2) not being credited with an At-Bat. So instead of going 0-for-1, he goes 0-for-0 and therefore does not lower his batting average. This is nothing knew to anyone with a decent knowledge of baseball.    Situation the second - runner on first, less than two outs. The batter drops a nice little bunt down the line, which is fielded by the first baseman, say, and is thrown out at first. The runner on first, being in on the plan, heads over to second where he now stands triumphantly in a place called Scoring Position. The batter is not given an RBI this time, because he did not Bat In a Run, but he does get a Non-At-Bat as reward for his selflessness. Everyone is happy.    Finally, Situation the Third - runner on third, less than two outs. The batter slaps a ground ball to the right side, where it is deftly fielded by the second baseman, who, having no other options at his disposal, throws the runner out at first. The runner at third runs home, crosses the plate, and the hometown nine are happy. The batter is credited with an RBI, but is also slapped with an 0-for-1. Which lowers his average. Which makes him sad. Outwardly, he appears happy to have served his team, but inwardly he knows his avg. and obp. will dip a bit. Which makes him a little less attractive to the Ladies.    My question is, why this difference? A huge part of baseball's allure is the infinitely exciting system of statistics. I can read box scores for hours, and sometimes do. I suppose the reason, in theory, could have to do with the fact that those who decided all of this believed that, in such a situation, a fly ball is more intentional than a grounder to the right side. Of course, a bunt is the most intentional of all batting tactics, so we won't go there for now. But as a former baseball player, who started when he was 8 years old, I can say that I was taught over and over to "get something to the right side" when runners are in scoring position. Why can't we call it a "sacrifice grounder," say? Or does it have to clearly be on purpose?    One of the reasons baseball statistics are so fucking interesting has to do with the fact that they deal with issues like personal sacrifice. It's noteworthy that baseball has tried to integrate teamwork into its statistics, but I think the system is a bit flawed. If you're going to reward someone for moving a runner over, you should do it every time someone does it. Furthermore, whoever decided that moving a runner from first to second deserves more compensation that grounding a runner home to score must have been smoking the dope-weed, yo! Sheeit.    This is all a bit ironic, however, when you realize that beyond the thin sheen of Teamworkness you see that stats are actually extremely personalized. Examples - when Pitcher A is yanked in the middle of an inning, and has left a runner on third, when Pitcher B comes in and allows that runner to score, it's credited to Pitcher A's line. Furthermore, if that run breaks a tie, and Pitcher A's team never reties or takes the lead, Pitcher A is hit with the loss. Other example - if there are two outs, and someone makes an error, any runs that score after this point are considered unearned. Meaning, the pitcher is not held responsible. He is vindicated with regard to his Earned Run Average.    I could write about this for hours, but I won't. I have work to do.      * Pee Ess - I know I "should" have written "fewer than two outs." But I stringently refuse to adhere to that, for many reasons I won't really go into. They involve the fact that we only have one word for the opposite (we say both "more potato chips" and "more time"), and also the fact that language is always changing. When we say "15 items or less," do we not understand? Do a lot of people not say it? So what's the freaking problem? (31 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 14th, 2005
9:50 am	Newsswarthy    Something to mull, like hot cider:    (From the esteemed San Francisco Examiner) - Time magazine reported this week that the interrogation of at least one prisoner in Guantanamo Bay included heavy doses of Christina Aguilera. The prisoner, Mohammed al Quatani, is widely believed to be the 20th hijacker involved in the Sept. 11 attacks. According to a secret 84-page log obtained by Time detailing the interrogation of "Detainee 063," al Quatani has been interrogated nightly beginning at midnight. According to the document, when al Quatani dozed off, interrogators woke him by dripping water on his head or playing Aguilera's music. The singer has not yet commented on the use of her work as a method of torture.    I hope she comments.    (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, June 13th, 2005
12:10 pm	Le Sheaurt Fictión    I knew it was going to get me in trouble one of these times.    In fact, Sam and I had just the night before finished discussing the danger of using such an expression with someone I didn't know. Amy was such a person, but I was a little bit drunk and I decided to go for it. I should have noticed before that she was a bit of a sad person. She had one those sad glints in the eyes, you know? Sometimes you can tell a bit.    Sam had said, "Amy, would you care for some dip?" while holding out a bowl of Ranch. Amy bit off the end of her carrot.    "Thanks, I actually don't like dip," she said, and then finished off the carrot. She might have been somewhat drunk as well. A switch was flipped in my mind and I shuttled over to Amy's side and threw my arm gingerly over her shoulder. We had only been introduced moments before. I waited until everyone was looking at me doing this and then gave one of those dramatic pauses. I felt Amy tense very slightly.    "Dip killed her father," I said.    Usually, the reaction is immediate. It's funny. Of course, for it to be funny, the entire audience has to know that the subject's father is alive and well. If he's dead, or even sick, or something, you can't really do that. That's shitty. I took a chance. The second no one laughed, I knew. I felt a little sick.    Sam tried. "Who wants more beer?" he asked overloudly. "I could sure use some beer. Where's that keg?" he asked, and left. There were maybe five other people in the circle and they all looked into their drinks. My arm was still around Amy's shoulder, unfortunately.    A few minutes later, everyone had left the circle and I stood with Amy. She was looking down.    "What's your name again?" she asked. My throat was dry and I gulped.    "Bret. It's Bret."    "Bret, don't worry. How would you know?"    "I'm really sorry."    "You know what's funny, Bret," she said. She said my name pointedly. My name had never sounded so... pointy. "What's funny is that dip sort of did kill my father. He drowned in a big tub of hummus."    I stared at her and withdrew my arm. "Some might not consider hummus a dip, of course," she said.    "I think it's a dip," I said. It ranked among the stupidest things I've ever said.    "I'm kidding. He died of cancer." There was a long pause, during which I felt a range of emotions. One of them was pity. For myself. I took one final stab at humor.    "Dip cancer?" I offered, pretty quietly. She closed her mouth in that way people do where a facial expression says more than words would. She patted me condescendingly on the shoulder.    "Dip cancer," she affirmed. She walked off. I looked into my beer, and then I finished it. (9 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 8th, 2005
4:11 pm	Punk'd!    The other day I heard someone say "whom may I say is calling?" and I thought, Ha! You've been punk'd by the English language. Robin Lakoff, who is the ex-wife of renowned Berkeley linguistic/cognitive scientist/political mind George Lakoff, a great thinker in her own right, described this type of thing as "language's little revenge." This is obviously a liberal interpretation of what's happening here, given that she's claiming that Mr. Language would be on the side of linguists and descriptivists. But hey, I'm liberal, and so is she.    It's called a hypercorrection, because it's a sentence that's so fucking correct that it zooms all the way past correct right into incorrect. Other examples include "Julia gave a stern lecture to Brad and I," and "I'm feeling pretty badly right about now." Things like this happen because certain "rules" are hammered into us with such regularity when we're young that some of us get confused. Children who say "Tim and me went to see Space Jam on a dare" are frequently told they're wrong; "Take out the Tim part, and then say it, and see how ridiculous it sounds." People become afraid that the "Tim and me" type of construction will be wrong, so then they start using "Tim and I" all the time, even when it's actually wrong. Then, language sits back and has a good laugh.    What I would love to see happen is, for example, an official standardization of a sentence like "Julie gave a stern lecture to Brad and I." Language purists, generally prescriptivists, are very concerned about language changing and often do their little part to stop it. They live in a delusional world where language change is a bad thing and is further evidence that one day we will wake up and no longer be able to understand each other, conveniently ignoring thousands of years of proof of the contrary. They generally don't like the fact that mistakes and variation can and do often become standard; so, if something that they created via hypercorrection actually gets standardized, well, then shit! That's awesome on a couple of levels. One, it will have been their fault, and it will make them feel a deep shame and maybe secede from the Union. Two, it will show that a grammatical item can take quite a journey, going through various stages of correctness. And three, ha! Stupid prescriptivists. Current Mood: Cromulent (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 31st, 2005
3:31 pm	More like, The Super-Awesome Vowel Shift!    Can I talk, just a little bit, about something? Something linguisticsy? Thanks.    The Great Vowel Shift is one of the coolest, strangest things that has ever happened in the history of history, at least to a language dork. Sometime at the end of the 14th century, maybe the beginning of the 15th, a major shift began to happen in spoken English (followed, interestingly enough, by changes in written English*) with regard to vowels, specifically long vowels. Apparently, the change happened so fast that, for example, an adult in 1400 might pronounce words completely differently from the way his grandchildren would 50 years later. For example - the word take used to be pronounced the way we now pronounced talk, but gradually the vowel moved upwards (in terms of positioning in the mouth) and became a diphthong. Another example - the word boat was then pronounced as we now say boot. Across the board, the vowels moved, generally upwards.    In the chart below, the weird semi-trapezoid shape is the human mouth. The slanted line represents the back of the mouth, and the stright line to the right represents the front. The upside-down e is a "schwa," the last vowel in the word sofa. It is our most neutral sound, meaning it occurs right in the middle of the mouth (try it!). The 8 steps are generally recognized to comprise all of the major shifts:    Why did this happen? This is one of the great linguistic mysteries of all time. The only theory I've ever heard has to do with the Black Death, after which there was a mass immigration to South England. From there, some scholars argue, various accents meshed together to form a new sort of English-only lingua franca.    One of the most interesting aspects of this shift is that it (at least partially) helps explain English' seemingly nonsensical spelling. Even though our spelling often seems very confusing and yes, a bit retarded, it actually shows a fair amount about the way our language has changes, pronunciation-wise. It would be like if Americans still had hair all over our bodies, but we just chose not to see it. Foreigners would see it, but then once they learned our ways, they would gradually come to not see it. See? That's a perfect analogy. Fucking awesome. Current Mood: vowelly (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 24th, 2005
10:45 am	Sometimes the wind blows. And you and I float.    I've been listening to Antony and the Johnsons for the past couple days. The man's voice is crazy good - he can switch from Nina Simone to Jeff Buckley in one breath, then two seconds later come up with a note you never thought he could get to. Some reviewer wrote that "Every emotion in the planet is in that gorgeous voice;" Somewhat of a dramatic statement, but the music itself is so dramatic that it fits. Two songs can be heard on his site, along with strange animations of a flying rat-ish creature. "The Mysteries of Love," a slow, beautiful, entrancing number was actually written by David Lynch. Angelo Badalamenti, the man responsible for the creepy, awesome jazzy soundtrack to Twin Peaks, received a six-line poem from Lynch for Blue Velvet, and said:     "It had no chorus, no rhyme and I called David, and said, 'What will I do with this?' He said, 'Something cosmic, angelic, very beautiful.' So I wrote this thing and David went over the moon about it, and then asked me to score the whole movie."    If you look at the words, you won't immediately assume the song would be beautiful. In fact, it would have been very easy to produce a shitty-ass song from these lyrics: Sometimes a wind blows/ and you and I/ float/ in love and kiss/ forever/ in a darkness and the mysteries/ of love/ come clear and dance/ in light/ in you/ in me and show/ that we/ are Love Sometimes a wind blows/ and the mysteries of Love come clear.    I'm especially wary of lines like "we are love," but I'll be damned if the guy doesn't pull it off. And somehow this is all enhanced by an animated rat flying a biplane through the clouds. Current Music: Antony and the Johnsons (Comment on this)
Friday, May 20th, 2005
4:43 pm	Saved by the buoyancy of citrus    For some reason when I'm walking behind or next to someone, I don't like it when our footsteps perfectly align. So I'll usually try to stagger my steps to throw it off. This also happens with clapping. I'm not sure why that is, though maybe it has to do with my unbridled yearning to break free from the norm?    If there's one thing I can't stand, it's flighty Frenchards. There are a few of them here, and they're the ones who get all agitated when something of minor importance occurs. Mr. Franck Bessone, for example - Unshavy McCigarette Breath as I call him- strolled up to me yesterday and interrupted a lovely conversation I was having with a student about Israeli couscous. "Bret," he said, actually in French, "what is going on out there with my room?"    So I said, "well, I had to move your class next door today because there's an exam going on in your room."    He furrowed his French brow and put his fists down on the table and rolled his knuckles a little. "Why, then, did I just find out about this RIGHT NOW?" he said, a little yelly.    "Well, Franck," I said a bit pointedly, "because I only learned this morning of it myself."    "Because it's very difficult to move my class around like this at the last minute."    "But Franck, you have 10 students and you're only moving next door. Also you're usually late."    He didn't like that but he knew I was right, so did a little French grumbling and walked out the door. Then I resumed my conversation about Israely couscous and learned that actually, you cook it more like rice than like regular couscous.    Something I like doing with the younger students when they come into my office for something is to look very stern and ask them, "Excuse me - do you have an appointment?" Their reactions can be quite amusing. Most of them tense up and back away and say sorry, although a few have seen right through the bullshit. These kids here are smart, sometimes smarter than I give them credit for.    Current Mood: dinner-killy Current Music: I killed my dinner (with karate) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, May 12th, 2005
4:08 pm	Have some 1 over or go somewhere A note I found scrawled by two kids during class:    Are y'all going to the dance?    Yeah are you?    Yeah are you inviting anyone?    No are you? I thought anyone could come as long as they have their student ID.    Iono, I might invite some chick or some dude.    Um, cool. Like Emily or something?    No, I didn't invite her but she's coming anyways. So how's Pippa? You guys seem 2 be like... homies.    Um, no, haha. We hung out a bit but she's really just friends w/ Kelley. A little too blonde, she is.    Lol, yeah, sure, a little too dumb/fuckin' doesn't know when she's borin' the hell out of everyone around her. Same difference I guess.    What are you gonna do b/4 the dance?    I think I'm going to Faustine's or something. The girls want 2 see Faustine's corress, so... yeah I'm not sure. What about you?    Oh, I'm not sure yet have some 1 over or go somewhere.    Tite. Current Mood: accomplished Current Music: Baby beluga (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, May 11th, 2005
8:38 am	This things I believe    Sometimes I wonder.    If maybe "lobby" shouldn't be the British equivalent of one of our American words. It just doesn't sound like we should be saying it. Like where they say, "Wait for me in the lobby," we should be saying "Cassandra waited for her appointment in the sit-spot." Or "Let's meet up in the Meety-Place at 5." Or, something.    If "cupboard" got mangled so much that now we pretty much ignore the p there, then maybe we should give "clipboard" the same treatment. Clibbard. "Bret, we're going to need two hundred clibbards for our final exams. I think they're in the cubbard."    Why it's so hard for people at school to understand that my name has only one t. My email address has two t's in it, but someone named Dumbass McMoronsberg would be dumbassm@(the rest) (don't click on that address. It's not actually a real guy!) It's a first-name-plus-first-letter-of-last-name-system. So if my name is Brett, then I have one question - what's my last name? Huh? It's not like people call Alex Xander "Alexx," although maybe in fact they should. "Alexx" is fucking awesome. Current Mood: Wondrous Current Music: Joanna Newsom medleys (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 10th, 2005
4:00 pm	I'M GONNA BLOG ABOUT IT!   A kid at my school won a contest for TeenPeople magazine, meaning the esteemed band Yellowcard will soon be coming to play an assembly, and so now I have three hundred and thirty Yellowcard CDs in my office. I also have a few hundred "Relient K" CDs. I don't exactly know how to pronounce that second one, but I do know 'relient' is not a word. I imagine the band tried to call themselves "Reliant K," but they messed up, and by the time someone pointed it out, they had already ordered their band T-shirts and those cost like $10 each.    Yellowcard is pop-punk, I guess, but here's the twist: they have a violin! Whoa! Those are pretty. Tonight I have to listen to both CDs and determine whether or not we can hand them out during the show. I'm not entirely clear on what I'm to look for, but maybe it's so that if they ever sing "shit!" or "fuck!" or "have sex without a condom a whole bunch of times when you're young!" then we can't promote that. I'm secretly hoping we nix them, because then I can sell them. The lowest used price on Amazon for the Yellowcard CD is $5.45, so logic dictates that if I set the price at $5.44, I can sell all 330 copies. A quick puncharoo into my calculator, and BAM: One thousand seven hundred ninety five dollars and two cents! I have enough to give one dollar to everyone who reads my blog and still have enough left over to have about $1,793.20 left over. Also it should be noted that I read my own blog.    I had a funny interaction with some students just recently. I told them my favorite joke ("Did you hear about the fire at the circus? (pause) It was in tents"), and they sort of laughed a little. One girl said, "Bret, you know what I like about you? It's not that you're witty, it's that you think you're witty."    "But you think I'm witty too, right?" I asked.    "Sort of... more like, clever. Some combination of witty and clever," she answered.    "Clitty?" I said, and then did that whoop!-cover-my-mouth thing. I just said clitty to a bunch of students. They thought it was the funniest thing ever and went to tell all their friend what Bret said, as I futilely explained to them that I first thought of "wever" but that it sounded dumb, and then without any kind of brain-to-mouth filter, I said clitty.    I think I'm fairly clitty. Current Mood: Relient Current Music: Yellowcard! (Comment on this)
8:33 am	A sad day for trees Various:    I saw a note scrawled on a subway wall at Embarcadero under the "Take Muni to Bart" sign, and it said: Muni and the Giants, sucking together. Yeah.    Near the end of Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Part 1 (the song), Mr. Lead Singer starts singing "Yoshimi/they don't believe me/but you won't let those robots eat me." The thing about that is, is that I'm totally following everything until that point with utter and complete understanding and even compassion. "You won't let those robots defeat me" is an apt line, but once it gets into the eating, it loses me. Robots don't eat people! Not even evil ones like Yoshimi is battling. They live off car parts and shopping carts. Things made out of metal.    I feel like the I Feel Like trend is careening out of control, like some sort of linguistic spinout. I know that when you're spinning out you're supposed to steer into the spinout, but I feel like it's taking over our lives. I'm usually a guy to accept all funny or annoying language things, but maybe can we come up with something else to sort of counter it. "I think that" or "it crosses my mind that" or even "It's like my mother always says."    On Ripley's Believe it or Not, which, believe it or not I watched some of yesterday, a poor man was driving on a regular street in his hometown when all of a sudden a two-foot-long steel pipe lying in the road was kicked up by another car and sent flying. It managed to crash through the guy's windshield and lodge itself right in his forehead. When he then lost control of the car and crashed, it drove the pipe even further through his brain so far that 3 inches of it came out the other side. He actually remained semi-conscious through the whole thing, and to make a long story short, he made it out alive and with no brain damage. He walks funny and can't really use an arm, but I think he'll take it. But the thing is, the TV people kept saying, over and over, how fortunate this man is. "Oh, he was truly blessed on that day." But... but he had a two-foot steel pipe in his head! And now he walks funny! Weren't people paying attention?    For the record, Kevin Brown didn't pitch well against the A's. Mike Mussina didn't really, either. It was like Stanford playing Berkeley High. Current Mood: Listy Current Music: I like music! (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, May 9th, 2005
11:28 am	So this is one o' them "blogs"    Which is short for weblog. Which is short for world wide web log. Log seems to be derived from the Middle English word logge, which I assume means the same thing. I will assume that if they had weblogs back in those days, they would have called them blogges. Maybe that would have rhymed with doggies. Like, Keep them doggies movin!    Maybe this will finally be a way for me to keep a journal. A livejournal, really. I've tried before but have never really been able to keep one. I always have these fancy ideas about carrying around a notebook and jotting down all sorts of awesome cool things that I see and hear and think about every day, but that usually dies after a few days. When I was in Russia I kept a sort of diary for the first week, but that was mainly because I had nothing else to do and I was terrified of going outside. So I stayed in my little room, avoiding speaking Russian at all costs, and just wrote. But then I made some friends, became more comfortable with my spoken Russian, and suddenly, writing in a little book no longer carried with it the same allure.    I read other peoples' blogs, like Tom and Jake and Drew, and I like them a lot. They're all pretty different - Tom's is basically about his life, and he posts a couple times a month. Jake's entries are much shorter and he generally posts at least once a day, and he provides lots of funny slash entertaining links. Drew posts sometimes and talks about various things. Fun!    So who knows what this will be? Maybe just a collection of thoughts. Maybe someday I'll even invite people to read it. E-read it, I mean. You have to add "e" in front of everything when it has to do with the internets. Current Mood: Bloggy! Current Music: Randy Newman (Comment on this)