Sunday, May 18, 2003

A few weeks ago Kel

A few weeks ago Kel acted on a long-standing desire to expand our rap and hiphop collection by picking up a big seller by Nelly, whose work has gone into, among other things, ads for chevrolets, I think.  Around the same time a friend sent me a collection of archival Grateful Dead stuff from 1965 and ‘66.  We were both listening to our respective selections quite a lot.  We started internalizing the music - it became the soundtrack to our lives.  I was telling Kel that I couldn’t stop thinking of the chorus of “Fire in the City,” an insistently cheerful song about the violent cruelty of intollerance.  I quoted the words that were running laps in my head: “What are the thoughts that go racing through your head and mess your mind up, at the sight of a city that’s gone completely insane - where will it wind up?” Kel told me that she was having a similar experience with the title track of her album, but she wouldn’t repeat the lyrics that were fixated in her brain.  “They’re full of
words I don’t say,” she explained. 

It seems to me there’s a fundamental disconnection when popular, essentially mainstream entertainment products consist so substantially of unspeakable words.  And we’re not just in the realm of profanity here - Kel can curse with the best of them, given appropriate circumstances.  These are terms of racial opprobrium.  I’m meeting more and more people who don’t use certain words that are hurtful or demeaning to a class of people.  I really respect that choice, but I can’t say that I’ve made it myself and that makes me wonder why not.  I’ve even said stupid, cruel, and insensitive things, not maliciously but still in a way that caused pain.  I continue to try to make peace with those incidents and the person I was - I am - to have said and done what I’ve said and done. 

Yet I can’t bring myself to commit to the idea that I won’t say certain words.  I’ll treat them like the instruments of destruction and devisiveness that they are, and with according respect and delicacy, but I’m not deciding not to say them.  Rather, without deciding not to say them, I just generally won’t.  Every word sometimes needs to be said, and every idea has to be recognized at some point.  I can’t remove a concept from the universe of discourse just because I find it offensive - but I can try to concentrate on other concepts or less offensive words.  And when I have to say what I find offensive, I won’t be breaking any rules to say it plainly.

And yes, there are things that I won’t say.  Not on ethical grounds, or moral grounds, but because I can’t get away with it.  As a precondition to preserving my stature in society, such as it is, I cannot permit myself to utter what has taken the place of what young people used to say when I was one of them.  Youth usage - linguistically speaking - I mean the way young people talk - their vocabulary - anyway, I can understand it, but I cannot effectively use it.  By “effective” I mean, able to speak without reducing my audience to such hysterical laughter that I can’t be heard, much less understood.  When I express myself in the modern idiom it’s the verbal version of those 70-year-old women by the beach in the little outfits from The Limited and all that makeup and hairspray - not just anachronistic, but wrong.  WRONG. 

So I’ve started compiling a list of things I really am not able to say without making a huge ass out of myself ("Hugh Jass, I have a phone call for Mr. Hugh Jass...").  As to which: If any of you hear me using any of the following words or phrases in any but the most ironic, clinical or representational ways, you are authorized - nay, invited warmly - to bitchslap me. 
“Down with“: I may be down with something, but I’d better say that I’m “in favor of” or “endorse” it.  If I say I’m “down with” something, it’s likey to stay down for the count.
“Hella“: Despite the apparently Greek derivation, this word in fact has nothing to do with Hellenistic civilizations.  Once I made that mistake the first time, I struck the word from my vocabulary forever. 
“Peace out“: Said by a dude on a skateboard in hemp shorts, it’s like “shalom” for the millenial generation.  When I say it, it’s either like a cop drawing his gun (get your peace out, he’s not cooperating fast enough) or some sort of indecent exposure (yes, officer, then I turned around and he had his peace out).  Either way, not too flattering for me. 
“Props/Peeps“: I often wish I could ask for some props for my peeps.  Alas, such a request only brings forth choking giggles.  My peeps are therefore, at present, still propless.  It’s a sorce of shame and pain for me. 
“Shizzy“ or any word inventively reliant on “z"s, “f"s and “sh"s: I tried to use one of these once and my tongue got caught in my blingbling.  The embarassment remains with me to this day, though I accidentally swallowed the blingbling. 
“Wack“: I’m not even sure how to spell this.  I can “whack” something, but I can’t use the word adjectivally: I can’t say something is “wack” with any authority.  There’s only one response when I say that something is “wack” and that’s to point at my face, laughing openly, saying “yeah, dude, it’s YOU.” I’ll save you the trouble.  I just won’t say it. 
“Word“: I had a good talk with a guy in his early 20s and he kept on saying “word” in a soft, respectful way.  It was meaningful and expressive, but I can’t carry it off.  I say “word” and people start trying to guess which one I’m thinking of.  Fair enough, it’s “maladaptive.” “Obsolete.” “Moribund.” After that, they become more pungent.

I know there are a lot more that belong on this list but I am not qualified even to know what they are.  I’m going back to my rocker by the fire now, with my bread pudding, port and vitamin E oil.  There’s not much I can say any longer, but I’m full of creative ideas.