The Importance of Pronunciation

 

pronunciation - noun - the way a word is spoken or sounded out (Wikipedia).

Juliet Capulet in William Shakespeare's ever-enduring Romeo and Juliet emotes, "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Naturally she is referring to her lover Romeo, whose last name, Montague, is abhorrent to her family. She even suggests (as far as I remember) that he drop his last name altogether. Okay, I get that. But let's say that Romeo were a unique name back then, hard to remember. For the sake of argument, let's also say that Juliet decides to start calling Romeo, Romy, a similar sounding, yet more common name in the present day. Do you think he would correct her? Or do you think he would let it slide, especially since he is blindly in love with her? (He might taken to the name. Love is a powerfully potent potion.)

Personally, I think pronunciation is important, particularly of names, the first, the middle, and the last. A name is identification. A person is born with one and grows up into adulthood with the specific identifier. Yet what if a person cannot relate to his/her/their given name? Well, the person has the option of changing it. A friend of mine embraced her parents' choice of Jacqueline until she was in her twenties. At which time, she changed it to Arianna. She was a New York cabaret singer; ergo, the name change worked as the latter is more musical than the former. 

Let's return to my initial point, though. What if the person is assigned a rarer moniker that is close to a more common one? What if the two are separated by only one letter, but the pronunciation of each is different? For example, there is "Lisa" and then there is "Liza," two names that fall into this category. The "s" in "Lisa" does not sound the same as the "z" in "Liza," so therefore, the two names are not interchangeable although people think they are. Poor singer, actor Liza Minnelli, a victim of perpetual mispronunciation, went to the trouble of having a television show produced (Liza with a Z), a song written, and an album made ("Liza with a Z") just to get fans to stop mispronouncing her name. Ugh. How frustrating!  

Recently, I learned that entertainer Gwen Verdon, Bob Fosse's former wife and creative partner, was born "Gwyneth," which is pretty much my name (Gwyn), like Gwyneth Paltrow, who is also mispronounced as "Gweneth." My guess is that Verdon got so tired of correcting people's pronunciation of her name that she just changed it to "Gwen," what I consider to be a notorious domesticity for "Gwyn," an easier name to say (think "sin," "gin," "win" as they rhyme with it) than "Gwen," short for "Gwendolyn," way too Medieval sounding for words. The only word I can come up with at an instant's notice that rhymes with "Gwen" is "pen," as in penitentiary, one of the reasons why I distain the name. I like the idea of freedom. Of course, if your name is Gwen, I'm sorry. You were actually born lucky in a sense. I don't think my parents liked me very much as they could have easily chosen the more common of the two Welsh names that both mean "fair/blessed" but are never confused in Wales. Why are the two names confused in the U.S.? Here people just don't like things that are out of the ordinary, I guess. There is too much effort involved in differentiation. 

I would like to involve you, readers, in my conundrum. Usually, I do not correct people when they call me "Gwen" because it happens ALL OF THE TIME. But lately, some of my oldest friends have resorted to using the tag, and as I am turning into a curmudgeon with age–an inevitable transition–they are starting to irk me in a big way. They know my name is "Gwyn" as they have associated with me for over fifty years. 

So, what do you think I should do? 1. Should I just ignore them like I ignore everyone else? 2. Should I start calling them names close to their names, but not quite their names just to get even? 3. Should I offer them an option? (Please call me "G.E." instead. Or "G." Why not?) 4. Or should I be completely honest, lay into them, and say, "You know you're pissing me off. Why don't you pronounce my name correctly?" (I know. This is probably the worst choice of the four.) 5. Or you can come up with an idea of what I should do on your own. I'm open.

Please leave me your sound advice in the "Comments" portion of this blog. I will try to respond to all of the thoughts. And, of course, I will tell you what I wound up doing even if you could care less. (I'd conjecture that there are some of you out there in the same predicament.)

#pronunciation, #names, #mispronunciation, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay

The Friend versus the Acquaintance: Which are you?

 

acquaintance - noun - a person whom you know slightly, someone who is not a close friend (Merriam-Webster)

friend - noun - a person whom you know, like, and trust, who is not a member of your family (Merriam-Webster)

The acquaintance is the outlier of friendship, the one who hugs the border between committal and noncommittal, someone who either does not choose to rise to the high expectations of being an actual friend or is otherwise too self-centered to go the distance. 

Most of us say that we know what a friend is, but in truth, since most are ensconced in the limited microcosms of our own making, we don't. Or we have just forgotten out of convenience. ("I really don't have time for this.")

If you are continuing to read this blog, then you might be willing to reflect on the complete definition of "friend."

According to Better Up.com (and I agree), the attributes of a friend are as follows:

Trustworthiness: a friend will keep your secrets safe and remain loyal when you are not around.

Dependability: a friend will show up when things get hard and follow through on their commitments.

Active listening: a friend will pay attention to your feelings and will hear you out without judgment.

Empathy and kindness: a friend will treat you with respect, will comfort you in tough times, and will care about your well-being.

Honesty: a friend will tell you the truth with good intentions even when it is hard to hear.

Boundary respect: a friend will give you space when you need it.

To the list, I'd also like to add: 

Initiative: They will reach out to see how their friends are or to set dates with them. They will not expect their friends to take onus consistently. (There is no one cruise director.)

The authentic traits of a friend are not easy to come by in a person, making Better Up's friend a rare gem. With these in mind, just how many people who occupy a space in your life possess these characteristics? 

Am I a good friend? I would say that I might score high on all of these except for the first. If a friend does not come right out and tell me not to impart shared information to anyone, I will naturally think that if a mutual friend asks, I have the authority to tell because after all, we are all friends, or that is my assumption. I can also be a bit opinionated. I call the kettle black if that is what it is. If this level of honesty makes me disloyal, then I suppose I am. Note that honesty also comes into play. So maybe I'm coloring inside the lines as it is. The bottomline is that despite being an imperfect human, I try to work hard on being the kind of friend that I wish to have. 

With all of these things in mind, how many true friends do you have? Remember: family members in your microcosm do not count although you may treat them as friends. I think out of the legions of acquaintances (people who are either capable or incapable of the attributes of a true friend), I probably have maybe ten actual friends. Which is quite extraordinary when you think about just how self-centered people are these days. I would conjecture that most people only have about five friends each. And if you trust Instagram, I am right. "The average person has three to five (close) friends." ("Close" in my mind is inessential. You are either a friend, or you are an acquaintance.) 

Women tend to have more friends and larger social support groups than men because they are willing to take the initiative. They value friendship. The men whom I've encountered often view their wives' or girlfriends' or mates' friends as theirs as well so that they do not have to put in much effort. They might have one or two of their own male friends if they are lucky. But then again, there are extraordinary people out there, both women and men, who are true friends to a number of people who may return the favor. They are just hard to find. Most of mine have been my friends for over twenty years. One dates back over fifty. I consider her a sister. 

One of the reasons I decided to delve into this topic was because a close family member of mine confided in me that in order to manage her expectations (she likes to hold her friends to the aforementioned qualities that she herself owns), she has gone through the inventory of people who surround her and has organized them under two classifications: 1. Friends 2. Acquaintances. The friends have proven their worth as friends. The acquaintances may be people whom she knows well, but they do not care enough to embrace the entire definition of a friend. Fair enough. (I'm thinking of doing the same thing. Sometimes you just have to weed out the roses from the dandelions.)

So what is the takeaway? Put yourself to the test. How good a friend are you? Can you honestly say that you possess the above features of true friendship? 

I think we all could stand to be better friends rather than just acquaintances. 

Go the distance. If you do, your efforts may just be returned. 

#friendship, #acquaintance, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay 

Prophetic A.I. and Dream Interpretation

 

prophetic - adjective - related to predicting future events or to a prophet and divine messages (Merriam-Webster).

    Admittedly, I am NOT a fan of A.I. I don't like that it robs most, particularly students, of motivation, the conscientious effort needed to support industry. If learning comes too easily, most likely the facts gathered go in one ear and out the other pretty rapidly. As a former teacher, I found that my students retained what I was teaching when an engaging process was involved, i.e. gleaning via kinesthetic learning when coupled with auditory and visual. A.I. is cut and dry. A question is asked; an answer is provided. Satisfaction comes within seconds, which does not stimulate the long-term memory to retain data. And it certainly doesn't provide the learner with a valuable work ethic.

    On the other hand, at present, I don't have to involve the kids, especially as I retired from teaching in 2019. Right now, if I am looking for immediate gratification, i.e. a definition, a synonym, a translation, or an interpretation, I do rely on Google. If that makes me a hypocrite, I guess I'll plead guilty. This morning, A.I. acted as a prophet, interpreting a dream that I had right before opening my eyes. I dreamt that my deceased father, who was not visible to me in the dream, told me and my daughter to travel down a shoveled path through deep snow in the middle of the night to get to a resort hotel that had been his favorite haven in life. (Please pardon the stair-step prepositional phrases. If you don't know what I mean, Google it :).) We listened to him. Unfortunately, I woke up before we arrived at the hotel. As the dream fascinated me, I wanted to know what it meant. After I gave A.I. all of the necessary details, it immediately spat out the following:

  "When you connect the pieces, a beautiful narrative emerges: You, your daughter, and the memory of your father are all connected across generations. You and your daughter are walking through a quiet, cold, or reflective period of life (the snow and night), but you are well supported, and the way has been made manageable (the shoveled path). By directing you to the hotel, your father is reassuring you that there is a safe, warm, and comforting destination ahead for you and your family. It is a dream of deep reassurance, continuity, and ultimate shelter."

    It all makes perfect sense. I could not have come up with all of it within seconds myself. If I had called my analyst ex, he might have unearthed something similar, but being that he is somewhat tainted by subjective feelings (I broke up with him, not the other way around), his interpretation might have been tinged with negativity. Since A.I. does not know me a all, it can be totally objective, gratis. No human therapist can go that distance. 

    Am I a tad intimidated by A.I.'s intelligence, its ability to get to the crux of the matter sans a modicum of hesitance? Yup. It is a definitive, scary force that even has its creators taken aback. Which is perhaps the most frightening part. Frankenstein goes through the same quandary in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and he is a student scientist living fictionally in the late 1700s. I'm thinking schools might have to consider reinserting the work into their curriculums unless it may be a little too late? I digress. 

    What is the takeaway here? Everything we experience, particularly inventions, in this life is fine in moderation. It is when we become completely dependent on these things at our own expense that we lose our way. As humans, we have free will. We have to exercise it with caution. 

    Enough said. 

#A.I., #dream interpretation, #prophecy, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay

The Summer Cold: An Oxymoron?

 

oxymoron - figure of speech that puts two contradictory words side by side (Merriam-Webster)

At first glance, the title of this blog post presents itself as an oxymoron, side-by-side, contradictory terms, as summer is generally associated with heat, not cold. However, what a foreigner who is having difficulties with learning English might question and then curse is the language's preponderance of homonyms. "Cold" here refers to the virus, not the temperature even though the two are spelled and pronounced the same. In English, context is vital. 

A staunch defender of integrity, I am strictly against anyone's catching a wicked cold in June, July, August, or September as it's not only unjust, it just isn't humane. How cruel is it to be relegated to the interior confides of one's 12 X 10 apartment bedroom as families of tenants engage in joyous banter, indulging in grilled delicacies hot off the barbecue, three flights downstairs in the garden courtyard! The mismatched chorus of voices and marinading scents of the seared menu are amplified due to the concrete structure of the building and creep up to egg the hungry prisoner into wanting to cry. Yet there is no time for useless emotion as the afflicted is too busy negotiating disruptive sneezes, jarring coughs, and periodic nose blows. Ugh! The agony of it all! 

How could this happen? Isn't the immune system supposed to be at its most functional during the summer? Hmm. Could the young man vying for the same bag of slaw as I was in Trader Joe's be the culprit? I vaguely recall his unapologetically sneezing in my face. Where was my N95 when I needed it the most? Where was his? 

One ribbon of silver in the cumulus cold has to do with Artificial Intelligence. It gives the victim time to test AI to see how accurate it is. I can't tell you how many times I Googled "average length of the common cold" just to see if the information had not been edited in the meantime to read the optimistic "three days" as opposed to the realistic "7-10." If it is indeed correct, I learned that one with an upper respiratory infection is contagious for up to ten days. The peak of the annoying symptoms is four to five days into the virus. And here's something else that isn't common knowledge: one can generously and unknowingly give the heinous bug to another three days before his or her own symptoms kick in. A truly anonymous gift. (It makes me want to err on the side of paranoia and invest in a stash of new masks.) Despite a plethora of over-the-counter remedies, one can't escape the virus. If one gets a little testy and thinks he or she can outrun a cold, it is never a good idea as it could wind up evolving into pneumonia, something I just had in March that I don't recommend. 

When it comes down to tackling the summer cold, patience is a virtue. Despite having to postpone or give up plans to do myriad fun, social things that I do in the summer, I'd rather listen to Mother Nature and ride out the miserable creature horizontally. Alone in bed. Contagious only to myself. After all, how many opportunities do I get to lose myself while binge watching any and all of the movies or series based on novels by Jane Austin on streaming? Practically none. And with my sole companion, a hefty box of Kleenex by my side, I am prepared for unlimited mucus as well as tears. I just can't complain, but I desperately want to. 

The moral of the story is stay six feet away from anyone who looks capable of sneezing in your face at Trader Joe's even if it comes down to losing the store's most coveted item, the last box of Steamed Pork and Ginger Soup Dumplings, to the culprit. As soup is what is recommended for the cold sufferer, he may need it more than you will. 

#cold virus, #common cold, #facts, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay, #humor

The Veracity of the Seen and Unseen

 

veracity - noun - the quality of being true, accurate, or honest (Merriam-Webster)

    Although I have a feeling that I confessed this truth before, I appreciate funerals more than weddings. (You might want to read my blog on how the two compare.) I apologize if I am coming across as morbid, but if funerals include more than one eulogy (as in the case of Jewish memorials), they can be informative, if not downright enlightening. From the eulogies, sometimes bitingly candid, I usually learn more about the deceased than I knew prior to his/her passing. Conversely, weddings are innocuous fluff as the speeches given purport to induce laughter as opposed to education, which makes sense given the occasion. But no matter how exposing the exposition is at either celebration, is it possible to see the veracity of what has been kept unseen? 

    In life, there are those who wear masks, hiding secrets that they believe will never be revealed, and those who prefer to be naked, metaphorical exhibitionists who are not afraid to revel in veracity regardless of whether or not others may find their candor offensive. Yet it is on the masqueraders that I wish to focus. Grifters at heart, they tread lightly and whisper half-truths, fooling friends and family as they sideline expectations and allude negative judgements. (It must be exhausting to be a successful pretender.) They are so good at deception that once exposed, no one wants to believe the factual evidence against them as it appears too farfetched. (Unable to take responsibility, the "victims"–usually guilty–use "I was framed" as their standard retort. It is no doubt overly used in prisons.)

    Two cases in point: I know of two sisters; the younger actually stole the identity of the elder, meaning she took her name, her resume, her credit cards, etc., and made good use of them. Delusional, the guilty party who never served time for her crime is most likely under the impression that few know about her misdeed. She hides behind her beauty that has allowed her room to be dishonest. Another pretender is someone I've known for fifty-some years, a teacher from a good family, well educated and seemingly together. Recently, he spent a month or two in rehab, recovering from thirty years of crack use, an egregious habit he hid from all until it nearly killed him. When I found out about it, I didn't want to believe the reality as it was incongruent; it just didn't fit into the equation. How could someone in a position of reverence be living a double life? Like many, he became lost in his masquerade, finally removing the mask before it destroyed him. By taking responsibility as opposed to playing the victim, he regained respect he had lost from friends and family and is doing well in the present. Thank Goodness! 

    Getting back to the funerals for a sec, what dozens have taught me over the years is that we can never know the entirety of a person, not even if that person is a close relation. Each individual composes his/her own play, conveniently editing out revelatory, potentially damning asides that he/she, the main character, should relay, yet doesn't to save himself/herself from what he/she might just deserve: a reckoning with veracity and the aftermath that follows. 

     In this life, there is the seen and unseen, the two are locked in an invisible competition. Seen should remember that sooner or later, Unseen will be exposed. Most likely, there will be a high price to pay. So yes, to answer the initial question, the unseen can be seen. Yet another question remains: Will the onlookers accept the truth about a person's dark, unseen side when it leaks out into the light to be seen? 

#veracity, #seen vs. unseen, #truth, #blogger, #personal essay, #blog

Desiccated New Mexico: The Final Frontier

 

desiccated - adjective - thoroughly dried out; depleted of moisture; lifeless; dull (Merriam-Webster).

    In 1983, I agreed to help my sister, a music teacher in Odessa, Texas, relocate to Salt Lake City, Utah via her classic Caprice sedan. We wound up doing some sightseeing throughout New Mexico on the way. The only memory I retained from the expedition was of Santa Fe. I had bought a ring from an Apache woman near the steps of the capital building. I still have the memento. Because it has been nearly 45 years since I had visited the state, I accepted an invitation from my friends Brian and Chuck, a sweet, gay couple I had met on the world cruise, who own a former B&B in Corrales, a desiccated village nestled between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. 

    If you have never been to New Mexico, you may be unaware of the first hand effects of climate change. According to Chuck, who has been residing in semi-rural Corrales for decades, this summer has been an inferno of unrelenting heat, usual for a typical desert, but unusual for their semi-rural hamlet of 8,500 that sits at about five thousand feet above the sand. The daily afternoon rains, the entrance of which once could be predicted down to the hour, have been as unreliable as an adolescent in his/her last semester of high school. What I found disconcerting was that the Rio Grande River running through Albuquerque had vanished. In its place was a parched, serpentine ditch decorated by yellow-leaved cottonwood trees drooping beside the banks. Sad, especially when the Mid-West is underwater from recent torrential precipitation. 

    What I observed as hopeful is the abundance of Native Americans who still hold onto to their fine art and crafts. As I was departing from the airport, thousands were entering from all over the globe to attend the annual Indian Marketplace held in the center of Santa Fe. Native tribal people representing over 200 nations (who knew there were that many left?) congregate there to sell their unique turquoise and silver jewelry, handmade leather goods, sand paintings, baskets, woven tapestry, and pottery off of blankets spread out on the concrete: the most beautiful collections of physical storytelling that I have ever seen. Those not in the business of retail are landowners (President Bill Clinton was responsible for giving most of the government land back to the tribes) as well as casino proprietors. Of course, many are not as successful as there is a high incidence of drug addiction and alcoholism in their communities. But I can say the same for those outside of their nations. Addiction is ubiquitous in this country. 

    Although I did not see any ranches with cowboys or ranch hands in the area, I did see plenty of corralled horses next to modest and not-so-modest, adobe-clay homes, contributing to the pervasive sense that New Mexico could just represent the final frontier, the last (dry?) taste of the former, Wild West that has been relegated to mythology. If you are not American but are interested in seeing an authentic, unique portion of this sumptuous country or if you are a citizen but would rather go to Europe instead, visit Albuquerque and Santa Fe before they dry up completely. You won't be sorry you did. There is no place in the world even remotely like New Mexico. 

#New Mexico, #desert, #Wild West, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay, #travel 

Polyamory and the Pipes

 

polyamory - noun - having more than one romantic or sexual relationship at the same time with the knowledge and consent of everyone involved. (Cambridge Dictionary)

If you have been reading my blog posts religiously (and who has?), you may recall that I tend to start my day listening to the headlines via The New York Times app. Since the basic news is just downright discouraging to hear first thing in the a.m., I gravitate towards human interest stories, articles that appeal to us as human beings. Most typically, they are positive in nature. Fortunately for the subscribers, The NY Times has succeeded in keeping the idea of "good news" alive and well. 

This past week, I picked up on two such human interest stories. The first is the most recent podcast under the nomenclature of "Modern Love." It features a doctor of psychology who has experimented with polyamory. During the interview, she answers two main questions: 1. What is the rationale behind polyamory? 2. Why be polyamorous?

But before I continue to answer the aforementioned, I'd like to comment on the term itself. When I think of polyamory, adultery comes into my mind. It used to be that adultery left a bad taste in society's mouth and was grounds for divorce. In the Bible, it is the only grounds for marital separation.Yet polyamory is a tad different than adultery. What separates the two boils down to the duality of honesty vs. deception. What has made adultery so unseemly is that it is done on the sly. The disloyal party goes to great lengths to hide the extracurricular love affair(s) from his or her or their spouse. On the other other hand, polyamory– another name for open marriage for those who are joined legally at the hip–is mutually agreed upon cheating. The cards are all facing up on the table before the deeds are committed. And they remain that way. Which makes it okay? I guess so. So much has changed in my lifetime that it is dizzying. 

Back to the questions. The rationale behind polyamory is that if you engage in it, you can share your love with more than one person. Why be polyamorous? You can experience the complete, unmitigated fulfillment of romantic love with more than just your main squeeze. Which is reminiscent of the thinking that was popular during the 1960s: "Love the one you're with" (CSNY). Personally, I would worry about sharing more than one STD, but sexually transmitted diseases are not the focus in the podcast. (Perhaps they should at least come up? Or is there an implied assumption that all of the male polyamorous wear condoms? Maybe. The men of my generation sure don't, but I digress.)

As in most human interest stories, there is irony. In this one, the featured psychotherapist, who was once in a heterosexual, polyamorous relationship herself, understands why people are polyamorous. Yet she herself, who admits to being a lesbian, would not participate in polyamory if she were, hypothetically, in love. From my own experience, people who are in love don't wish to share their partners with anyone else. Commonly in most humans, the intensity of romantic love unearths insecurity and jealousy, two deal-breakers when it comes to sexual partnerships. Perhaps humans do have the ability to mate for life monogamously after all?

Okay, so now you're wondering where the "pipes" come in. Well, I and the Times are not referencing your plumbing or your vocal cords here. We are talking about the bagpipes. According to the audible segment "The Headlines," bagpipers living in NYC can no longer find practice spaces inside of the city. Apparently, involuntary listeners in the various apartments and parks, notably Central Park, do not appreciate the often grating sound of the instrument and are complaining about it. Ergo, the pipers (and there are many since there are multiple bagpipe bands in the New York area) are leaving the inner city and relocating to the suburbs where the population is less dense. Whether or not they will be more appreciated there is left up to speculation. I can say that I grew up in a suburb of NYC with a sister who played the pipes. Although she practiced alone in our woods and was separated from neighbors by at least one acre, the teenage boys next door retaliated by riding their noisy motorcycles on their side of the fence until the air was filled with cacophony, i.e. noise pollution. One good deed deserves another? Well, not exactly. It's more like noise invites noise. The New York pipers may wish to move near cornfields, such as those in Iowa. I think they would be safe from unappreciative ears and/or retaliation there. 

So what is the takeaway here? If not taken seriously, human interest stories can be quite entertaining. One thing is certain: They are a good way of ignoring the 24-7 news cycle and the anxiety that it disseminates.

#human interest, #TheNewYorkTimes, #good news, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay