Monday, June 28, 2010

No mas.



I know there’s a lot of debate out there about Spanish. One side says there are umpteen million Spanish-speaking people in this country and we should accommodate them. The other side says that if you want to create a permanent underclass, make it easy for immigrants to not learn English. One side says Spanish has become part of the American culture, the other says it splits that culture in two, like French does to Canada. But neither side is addressing the real issue with incorporating Spanish into every package, sign, ad and TV’s closed-captioning software:

It’s waaaaaaayyyy too long.

I first came to this realization when we translated a radio script for a client. In English, it was a well-paced 60 seconds. In Spanish, it was 75, even though the announcer was reading it faster than a disclaimer for a used car lot’s 0% financing event. We were cutting out complete sentences just to get it close to 60, and finally were left to eliminating all pauses after periods. Then time compressing it by 10%. You’d have to have a blue whale’s lungs to say that much that fast.

Brands, advertisers and politicians (of course) think they’re currying favor with Spanish-speaking people in the U.S. by accommodating, promoting and using their native language. But did anyone ever bother to ask just why these folks left their Spanish-speaking country? Maybe, just maybe, they were desperate to escape Spanish.

Look how long it takes to say things:

“50% more fiber!” is just seven syllables. But in Spanish (Cincuenta por ciento de fibra más!) it’s 11. That’s 57% more syllables to tell me I get 50% more fiber.

Officer! That man took my baby!” (9 syllables) translates into the 14-syllable-long, “Oficial! Ese hombre tomó a mi bebé!”  I got news for you: ese hombre is half-way to the next county by the time you spit that out.

In the sign above, telling employees that they must wash their hands takes a mere six syllables in English. In Spanish, 14. By the time you’ve read that in Spanish, the guy who read it in English has finished blow drying his hands with one of those heatless, earth-friendly dryers and is at the bar with your date, who was impatiently wondering what was taking you so long but is now agreeing to go check out this dude’s F150 king cab. The only thing waiting for you at the bar is the tab.

English is also much simpler because it’s flexible enough to slam words together and still have them make sense. Look how long it takes to tell someone in English that the 3 oz. Dixie Cups they’re buying are for use in the average bathroom: “Bath Cups.” That’s it. “Bath Cups.” You get it. You know they’re cups for the bathroom. Now look at the Spanish: “Vasos para el bano.” Four words, seven syllables to say “Bath Cups.” Even if you just say “Bano Vasos” it’s twice as long syllable-wise.

The Spanish version of “War and Peace” must be nearly six hundred billion pages long.

This isn’t to disparage the Spanish language. I recognize the lyrical quality to Spanish. It’s a beautiful language. But that’s no excuse for loquaciousness. English can be beautiful, too. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?,” “Do not go gentle into that good night,” “Kirk to Enterprise, three to beam up.” See? Gorgeous. And brief.

Friday, June 4, 2010

It's Time For a Name Change


Having lived here for 20 years now, I can tell you there’s a lot to like about western Pennsylvania. The names of some of the places, however, don’t make the list. I’m not sure where these names came from, but someone should give them back. It’s our only hope.

Blawnox
I’ve always imagined that the elder in charge of announcing the winning entry of Blawnox’s naming contest got as far as, “And the official name of our community is” when he suddenly threw up. The town stenographer tried to spell the sound of retching as best he could and, voila. “Blawnox.”  Since then, I’ve learned that the founders waited too long to name their town, and the only three names available were Stinktown, Upper Diphtheria and Blawnox. After 52 ballots, Blawnox beat Stinktown in a runoff by one vote.

Leet
That’s not a name. That’s a facial tick.

Leetsdale
A town of facial ticks.

Pittsburgh
I know it’s a tribute to William Pitt, a friend of the colonists, and that’s all good and whatnot. Still, these are two pretty harsh syllables slammed together and they just don’t sound good. Back in 1907, when Pittsburgh annexed Allegheny City, they had a golden opportunity to pick the better of the two names. They blew it. Bad. Don’t believe me? Which name do you think has a better chance of completing this sentence: “And the 2024 Summer Olympics are awarded to…”? Pittsburgh? Uh-uh. Allegheny City? “Why, that sounds like a lovely place to hold the Olympics!”

East Pittsburgh
They should have just called their town “Too Lazy to Feign Originality.” “There’s Pittsburgh. We’re east of that. East Pittsburgh. Motion to adjourn? Good. Commence drinking.”

Wall
I guess “Roof” and “Floor” were taken. “Support Beam” was a close second in the voting.

Glen Osborne
That’s not a town. That’s a B-movie actor who died under very mysterious circumstances. “Glen Osborne was found dead this morning inside his laundry chute. He was wearing a Spanish bullfighter cape. Several goats were found locked in his attic. Police suspect foul play and are still searching for the murder weapon, which is believed to be a ham.”

Plum
“I live in Plum” must sound funny to immigrants. “You live in Plum? Your wife, she live in Peach?”

Green Tree
If ever a bunch of town founders mailed in a name, it was the guys who founded Green Tree. They looked for something distinguishing about their town, and all they came up with was a tree? That’s green? What tree around here isn’t usually green? If they found a blue tree, then I could see naming a town after it. Folklore has it that Green Tree’s founders joined the westward migration and established the town of Flatter Than Hell, Kansas.

Munhall
I think that’s actually the title of a Neanderthal chieftain. 

Pittcairn
“Cairn” is from the Irish and denotes a manmade pile of stones. So this is William Pitt’s pile of stones. Fantastic. Why not just name it, “Please Don’t Come Here”?

Squirrel Hill
I know it’s a lovely part of town and all, but seriously? You named it after squirrels? Squirrels are goofy little mental cases that run around burying nuts and immediately forgetting where they put them. Watch a squirrel some time. Just as soon as he finishes covering up the nut, he stands there and thinks, “Shit. Where’d I put that nut?” Then he runs fifty yards away and starts digging frantically because for some reason, he’s convinced that that’s where he left it. On top of that, what hill in Pennsylvania ISN’T loaded with squirrels? Every hill we have is squirrel hill.

Rankin
If you want to guarantee that the town you’re founding will always be well known for it’s assortment of eyesores, call it Rankin. Or Pus. Or Goiter. How about Gammy Leg? Snot? Maggot! No, on second thought, Rankin sounds worse. That’ll do the trick.

Wilmerding
These guys just had to be drunk.