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Accent on Accents

Considering the geographic mobility of most Americans and the homogenization of the culture, I’ve often been concerned that our regional accents have become less pronounced in recent years. Of course, I’m not a linguist, just someone who wants to get cheap laughs talking like a Southerner. But my concern may be misplaced. This page has a quiz designed to identify your regional accent. And it looks like it hit my nail on the head. Or something. Is there a bad metaphor quiz I can take?

What American accent do you have?

Your Result: The Inland North

You may think you speak “Standard English straight out of the dictionary” but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like “Are you from Wisconsin?” or “Are you from Chicago?” Chances are you call carbonated drinks “pop.”
Philadelphia
The Northeast
The Midland
The South
Boston
The West
North Central
What American accent do you have?
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The term “Inland North” has come up in my reading in the past few years. I really like it. Majestic and remote. No one thinks the Great Lakes are all that great anymore. Reminds me of “Inland Empire”, in Southern California. Almost as good as “Hermit Kingdom.”

And listen. Nobody’s ever asked me if I’m from Wisconsin, or I’d give ’em my full blown Nort’ Woods act. I was born in Detroit and got my accent during my years working in the Merchant Marine on the big lake they call Gitchi-Goomee.

Via Cynical-C blog.

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Another Red-Letter Day

Fifteen years ago today, on a very frigid and windy Chicago day, my wife and I were married downtown. An intimate chapel in a larger, very beautiful church. Wearing my grandfather’s tuxedo from the 1920s. A wonderful ceremony that I can’t remember anything of. A rollicking reception at a restaurant around the corner. Dancing till all hours to the jump jazz of Dominic Bucci and the International Fingers. Tributes from performer friends during the band’s intermission. Never had a bite of food. Overserving the band quite a bit. Dancing the Batusi. Friends, family, and the official start of a beautiful life together. My brother said it was the best blues wedding he’d ever been to.

So we’re leaving the kids with my in-laws and taking a long weekend in San Francisco together.

It is indeed a wonderful life.

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Oh, Frabjous Day!

Three great things happened today. In no particular order:

1. I handed in my manuscript to my publisher.

2. Donald Rumsfeld resigned.

3. I got my iPod to work on my car receiver.

I was tempted to climb in bed at 4 pm, just so nothing could come along to wreck the day.

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It’s Almost Over–Soon They’ll Be Back Under Their Rocks

I've sworn off the stuff...It was a mere ten days ago that the Detroit Tigers choked so miserably in the World Series and lightened the wallets of many gamblers around the country. It was a depressing thing to watch, and I was planning to post an entry here about the nostalgic pull that a team can have on someone throughout their lives, how what’s imprinted on the minds of young people ten or eleven years old may become weakened or modified during their lives but is never completely expunged. But ten days after the fact makes those kinds of ideas a little stale, or at least worth putting back on the shelf until the next season rolls around.

But the election tomorrow has me thinking all about the ideas of nostalgia, hope, and idealism all over again. Because just as I used to think that my baseball heroes were paragons of character and effortlessness, I used to think that most adults knew what they were doing and could generally be counted on to do the right thing. And I also believed that democracies worked because, win or lose, everybody involved believed in the process, because the alternative was tyranny.

But to watch the behavior of people during election season time after time descend into such treacherous filthy pits that I can’t talk about elections with my children makes me want to strangle a whole lot of people.

To catalog all the depravity and thievery that’s gone on during the last few elections is too time-consuming and infuriating, and there are many better places to get a more thorough catalog of them. Besides, here in Chicago, a person is supposed to adopt a devil-may-care attitude about corruption, stolen elections, filthy tricks and indicted officials. It shows you’re tough, worldly wise. If we didn’t have our corruption, we’d be no more interesting than Minneapolis.

But the turd du jour in the news—about many districts across the nation where robocalls are pummeling voters and pretending to be from the Democratic Candidate, when they’re actually paid for by the Republican National Congressional Committee—just makes me want to take all these clever dimwits and throw them in a cage with a couple of gorillas in heat. Is it really so hard for these numbnuts to keep their jobs that they can convince themselves this is a good idea?

At the risk of sounding like a motivational poster, I ‘d like to suggest that, before trying some crappy underhanded trick like that, a person would do well to try and explain it in his/her imagination to someone who was important to them when they were 10 years old. A mom or dad, a coach, a cool uncle, someone. And then maybe that person could get over the uneasy feeling that he/she is actually a lizard in human skin.

Or more simply, what would the ten-year-old inside them say?

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Quit Pushin’ Already!

Okay, now I find out that November is actually something called National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo, kemosabe). So here I’m patting myself on the back for settling down to blog writing again, and I’m told that it’s time to start scribbling a novel. Lay off, willya? Isn’t the world choked with enough bad novels as it is? To say nothing of airport bookstores.

Speaking for all us slow writers, John Green has launched “NAtional Finish A Draft Of Your Book I Mean Seriously Come On Month” , or NAFADOYBIMSCOM.

Instead of writing an entirely new novel in a month, all you have to do is finish one you’ve, say, been working on for many months.

Thanks, John, but I’m more at the stage where National Finish That Mad-Lib Sitting On Your Desk Month (or NaFiTMaLiSitOnYDe) is more doable.

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The Eleventh Month

November is here. Probably the least appreciated month of the year, what with the dwindling daylight, the prospect of elections, somber Veteran’s Day, and that dutiful holiday called Thanksgiving. Don’t the calendar makers realize that every month should be fun fun FUN? Why are they keeping us from jumping straight from Halloween’s excesses to Christmas’ excesses?

Not convinced? Okay, here are some of the things we’re supposed to celebrate in November:

British Appreciation Month
Good Nutrition Month
National Alzheimer’s Disease Month
National Stamp Collecting Month
Religion and Philosophy Books Month
Peanut Butter Lover’s Month.

This dreary parade cannot even be saved by National Fig Week, which we are enjoying right now.

But I’m not letting it get me down. One reason is, I’m practically finished with the manuscript for my new book, which will eliminate a lot of tension around the house, at least until the weeks before publication in March. My editor and I have even agreed to a title, which is a long, boring story about which I may post sometime.

Another reason is, our TIVO is finally back and running, along with our DSL modem, cell phones, and dishwasher. Can you dispute the existence of gremlins at this time of year?

So it’s a good time to revisit my New Year’s resolutions and finally toe the line. One of those resolutions was, blog every day. This can still be accomplished, since I never designated a starting date. November 1 is as good a date as any, I guess.

Besides, Nov. 1 is also the birthday of the hydrogen bomb (1952) and the brassiere (1914).

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Take Home an Amusement Park

Santa’s Village Amusement Park in Dundee, Ill., is a staple of the childhood memories of local Baby Boomers that closed last year. While nothing can take the place of those memories, those with the yard space can bring home big souvenirs tomorrow as they auction off the equipment and rides like The Dragonfly, the Fire Chief Crazy Bus, and the Tubs-O-Fun. The auction catalog can be found here. They’re even selling off their Zamboni machines. Come on, you always wanted a Zamboni, right? Probably cheaper than a Hummer.

All I want is one of their Skee-Ball alleys. With enough practice, maybe I could finally beat it.

Via Gaper’s Block.

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Scraps

* This morning, at 7:46 Eastern time, America welcomed its 300,000,000th citizen, according to the Census Bureau. He then managed to pimp me out of the last parking space in the lot.

* Speaking of pimps, the gentlemen with the bling are one of the biggest Halloween costumes this year, at least from what I can see at the transient stores that pop up in empty storefronts. Pimps and pirates this year. Hmmmm. Is there a political joke in there?

* But considering how slutty the other costumes are getting, it’s hard NOT to imagine having pimps around.

* Hey, Dr. Frankenstein: Re-Animation is Murder Backwards!

* I’m trying to figure out a way to keep our pumpkins safe from the hordes of ravenous squirrels in the hood. Thinking of spraying them with oil mixed with Thai hot sauce, but I’m afraid they’ll start to like that little endorphin rush and keep coming back for more, looking for jalapeno poppers or something.

* I was all set to make a stand this fall, and not bother to watch any football at all on TV. I had plenty of reasons–the main one being that, if a guy follows more than one sport, he’s got too much time on his hands. And what do I get for my resolve? A Chicago Bears team that apparently employs witchcraft to win games (see last night’s failed field goal by Arizona) and a Michigan team that might make it to #2 by the time the Ohio State game rolls around. Great. Just great.

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No Music, No Chicken, Just Guts

Just got through watching Kenny Rogers’ PHENOMENAL pitching job for the Tigers against the Yankees. I’ve never seen someone so in control of his curveball. He could be with Tom Cruise and the Impossible Mission squad, and throw round things with great accuracy, like into melting nuclear cores past a bad guy with a smacker of some kind. And eventually he’d snap Cruise into little pieces, so it would be entertaining AND a public service.

And he got to do it against the Yankees. Christmas in October. It’s so nice to see Joe Torre give his best Frankenstein face in the dugout, and watch Jeter and Damon and the rest of them just give up. After every strike toward the end, Rogers shouted at Rodriguez, “Come on! Gimme the Ball!” I expected him to take a bite out of it like a big Granny Smith. He’s never had any luck against the Yankees, and maybe they got lax, but he was so fired up I thought he’d have an aneurysm. It’s just so cool to see a man set a goal and rise to the occasion against all the stats. Dare I say it, I live for this.

I didn’t want to sit and watch a ballgame all night, have other important things to take care of. But that game was one for the ages, and if the Tigers are going to advance in the playoffs (a big if–I expect the Yankees to score about 15 runs tomorrow, just out of blue-ball frustration), I needed to see this one. Hoo Dog. I’m going to go strap some ice on my thumb, cuz I kept rewinding the Tivo to replay the pitches.