I Wouldn't Learn English Either If I Had To Talk To Crazy Rednecks
My neighborhood newsletter arrived with a large font headline: Should the Citizens Association Exist?
I've been reading this neighborhood newsletter since 1979. Back then it was two pages stapled together and printed in a kind of purplish ink. Occasionally there would be a little drawing of a boxwood shrub or a maple tree in the margin. I'm told the association's mimeograph machine is still sitting in a storage hutch.
If you paid the four dollars in association dues, you would get free of charge a neighborhood phone directory. This was a clump of stapled pages filled with closely typed names, street names, and phone numbers for every house in the neighborhood. Some names would be blacked out with a marker before the directories were delivered. I used to think this was some kind of mafia hit list thing, and that those people were targets for removal. Vans with tinted windows scared the shit out of me for years because of this little fantasy.
Now the newsletter is a slick affair and the directory has email addresses. Ah, progress. But the association itself is in a bit of trouble. Out of more than 1,600 houses, only about 400 pay dues. Out of an estimated 6,000 residents, thirty show up for meetings. The latest newsletter asked for ideas.
I'm a good little citizen, so I sent in my idea. My left side neighbors have lived there since 1983, and they speak mostly Spanish. My right side neighbors moved in during 1986, and they speak mostly Korean. They own their homes, take great pride in the upkeep of their property, and have been awesome, caring neighbors to live between. I even invited the Korean couple to my wedding, for heaven's sake. Also on this block are two other Hispanic families, and another set of Koreans. So my idea was simple - print the newsletter headlines in English, Korean, and Spanish. And while I wouldn't want to have the WHOLE thing translated into three languages, basics like "Creek Cleanup Day" and "Neighborhood Yard Sale Day" and "Large Item Disposal Day" should also see a little trilingual action.
See, all of the immigrant families speak some English - it has been decades since they stepped ashore in most cases, after all; pure osmosis has gotten them a working vocabulary. But they won't bother to puzzle out a whole newsletter if something doesn't grab their attention right away... like a headline in their native language. I don't want to translate the whole thing because I'm a little bit of a snob, and would like a national language to, you know, exist. But headlines and general annoucements seem like a fine (and free) way to get the citizens involved, especially given that over a third of the 'hood speaks English as a second language.
My idea is not going to fly, however. This is an old neighborhood. Many people who bought in originally in 1955 are still here. The houses were cheap, and convenient to major highways. Until recently, you could buy a quarter acre and a decent little house for a very reasonable price. (Not anymore, mind you, but that's a whole different rant.) A number of the folks who moved in during the seventies are what I'd call white trash if I wasn't so closely related to my very own trailer division. I'm talking old school white trash - crappy rustbuckets on blocks, beer cans in the driveway, and thousands of plastic toys rotting in the front yard.
Even though these people do not pay association dues, and would have more trouble puzzling out the newsletter than the Korean grandmother up the street what with their native tongue being so hard to spell and all, I know one thing for sure. They would have a fucking ANEURYSM if the newsletter came out with a teeny headline in Spanish.
I know this because I'm a voter. I stood side by side with my native born brethren at the polls this past November. On one side, I had a woman who thought that all our problems would be solved if we just closed down the Pentagon. And yes, she WAS carrying a handwoven purse made in Guatemala, how'd you know. On the other side was a short, plump lady in plastic flip flops carrying a cracked vinyl purse and wearing a stained t-shirt telling me how her cat was purr-fect. I was not at all surprised to find out that she had eight kids, and three stepkids, and four of the children were currently using a derelict camper as a bedroom in the backyard, but still, she was nice. She seemed normal compared to Crazy Peacenik Lady.
Until she told me that she knew for a fact that there was a shrine to John Kerry in North Vietnam. And that the Vietnamese worshipped him. Because he was a Commie war hero.
I tried using reason - my dad happens to be something of an expert on Southeast Asia, and in fact lives in Southeast Asia at this exact moment. There *is* a photo of John Kerry, very small, as part of one picture in a very small exhibit in a museum in Ho Chi Minh City (which, by the way, the locals call "Saigon"). The entire exhibit is labeled "Anti-War Sentiment in the USA." In case you're worried that this is some Commie plot, I should point out that there is a much larger exhibit on the same topic with pretty much the same spin at the Smithsonian in Washington, DC.
She refused to believe that John Kerry wasn't venerated as a god in Vietnam. She wouldn't even stop shaking her head at me long enough to listen. The Crazy Peacenik Lady was in tears.
On the other side of the Crazy Redneck Who Lived In A Shoe was an elderly Korean woman. She had been watching the entire conversation, and I'd have bet money she understood every word. There's too much of a difference between a look of blank incomprehension and the look of an engaged bystander, no matter what the cast of the features may be.
"No speek Ingrish," she said, when asked for her opinion.
"Tsk," clucked the redneck.
Yeah, sure, old woman. I'd have faked it too.
I've been reading this neighborhood newsletter since 1979. Back then it was two pages stapled together and printed in a kind of purplish ink. Occasionally there would be a little drawing of a boxwood shrub or a maple tree in the margin. I'm told the association's mimeograph machine is still sitting in a storage hutch.
If you paid the four dollars in association dues, you would get free of charge a neighborhood phone directory. This was a clump of stapled pages filled with closely typed names, street names, and phone numbers for every house in the neighborhood. Some names would be blacked out with a marker before the directories were delivered. I used to think this was some kind of mafia hit list thing, and that those people were targets for removal. Vans with tinted windows scared the shit out of me for years because of this little fantasy.
Now the newsletter is a slick affair and the directory has email addresses. Ah, progress. But the association itself is in a bit of trouble. Out of more than 1,600 houses, only about 400 pay dues. Out of an estimated 6,000 residents, thirty show up for meetings. The latest newsletter asked for ideas.
I'm a good little citizen, so I sent in my idea. My left side neighbors have lived there since 1983, and they speak mostly Spanish. My right side neighbors moved in during 1986, and they speak mostly Korean. They own their homes, take great pride in the upkeep of their property, and have been awesome, caring neighbors to live between. I even invited the Korean couple to my wedding, for heaven's sake. Also on this block are two other Hispanic families, and another set of Koreans. So my idea was simple - print the newsletter headlines in English, Korean, and Spanish. And while I wouldn't want to have the WHOLE thing translated into three languages, basics like "Creek Cleanup Day" and "Neighborhood Yard Sale Day" and "Large Item Disposal Day" should also see a little trilingual action.
See, all of the immigrant families speak some English - it has been decades since they stepped ashore in most cases, after all; pure osmosis has gotten them a working vocabulary. But they won't bother to puzzle out a whole newsletter if something doesn't grab their attention right away... like a headline in their native language. I don't want to translate the whole thing because I'm a little bit of a snob, and would like a national language to, you know, exist. But headlines and general annoucements seem like a fine (and free) way to get the citizens involved, especially given that over a third of the 'hood speaks English as a second language.
My idea is not going to fly, however. This is an old neighborhood. Many people who bought in originally in 1955 are still here. The houses were cheap, and convenient to major highways. Until recently, you could buy a quarter acre and a decent little house for a very reasonable price. (Not anymore, mind you, but that's a whole different rant.) A number of the folks who moved in during the seventies are what I'd call white trash if I wasn't so closely related to my very own trailer division. I'm talking old school white trash - crappy rustbuckets on blocks, beer cans in the driveway, and thousands of plastic toys rotting in the front yard.
Even though these people do not pay association dues, and would have more trouble puzzling out the newsletter than the Korean grandmother up the street what with their native tongue being so hard to spell and all, I know one thing for sure. They would have a fucking ANEURYSM if the newsletter came out with a teeny headline in Spanish.
I know this because I'm a voter. I stood side by side with my native born brethren at the polls this past November. On one side, I had a woman who thought that all our problems would be solved if we just closed down the Pentagon. And yes, she WAS carrying a handwoven purse made in Guatemala, how'd you know. On the other side was a short, plump lady in plastic flip flops carrying a cracked vinyl purse and wearing a stained t-shirt telling me how her cat was purr-fect. I was not at all surprised to find out that she had eight kids, and three stepkids, and four of the children were currently using a derelict camper as a bedroom in the backyard, but still, she was nice. She seemed normal compared to Crazy Peacenik Lady.
Until she told me that she knew for a fact that there was a shrine to John Kerry in North Vietnam. And that the Vietnamese worshipped him. Because he was a Commie war hero.
I tried using reason - my dad happens to be something of an expert on Southeast Asia, and in fact lives in Southeast Asia at this exact moment. There *is* a photo of John Kerry, very small, as part of one picture in a very small exhibit in a museum in Ho Chi Minh City (which, by the way, the locals call "Saigon"). The entire exhibit is labeled "Anti-War Sentiment in the USA." In case you're worried that this is some Commie plot, I should point out that there is a much larger exhibit on the same topic with pretty much the same spin at the Smithsonian in Washington, DC.
She refused to believe that John Kerry wasn't venerated as a god in Vietnam. She wouldn't even stop shaking her head at me long enough to listen. The Crazy Peacenik Lady was in tears.
On the other side of the Crazy Redneck Who Lived In A Shoe was an elderly Korean woman. She had been watching the entire conversation, and I'd have bet money she understood every word. There's too much of a difference between a look of blank incomprehension and the look of an engaged bystander, no matter what the cast of the features may be.
"No speek Ingrish," she said, when asked for her opinion.
"Tsk," clucked the redneck.
Yeah, sure, old woman. I'd have faked it too.
posted by Sanya at 9:46 PM
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