Saturday, February 13, 2010
Old Relia ....
After much thought and careful consideration of my options, I have decided to throw away Eska's "blanket" - the part mattress-cover, part bedsheet, part giant fluffy mess that sits at the base of her crate. It has been through urination and peanut butter stains, and shit bombs and the rest, but I don't think it can withstand another bout of vomit (like this morning's). I tried washing it in my tub (since it releases fuzz into the washing machine, making my neighbours quite happy with me), and I was even pretty successful at it, but you know what? I just don't care anymore. I am going to buy her a new one - maybe something that won't remind her of bodily fluids and that won't, then, inspire her to go ahead and emit them. Maybe that will help.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Polyglot
I have many skills. It's true, I do. Among them: language acquisition .... or should I say (more often than not), language invention.
I am fluent in English, French, Italian, and Trevor, and have elementary reading knowledge of Latin. (German REALLY doesn't count). I am most accomplished, however, in Eskese.
I have been building a steady Eskese vocabulary over the past five months. I started small with things like, "coo" (for cookie), "yanta" (for "do you want a"), and "qui-see" (syntactically inverted italian for "we're going this way").
But Eskese isn't all about vocabulary. In fact, a much larger portion of the things I tell Eska are particular not in the words I select, but in the way in which they are put together, enunciated, or delivered.
To wit:
me: Deshanta mai, sheese da bess won?
Eska: (looks up)
me: Yissa my yissa. Sheese da bess won.
(Is my girl the best one? Yes. She's the best one.)
Or:
me: Skarina, my love. Kava kesh?
Eska: (no reaction)
me: COME ON! Not even a kesh, I can hava. Kava kava, my girl? Kava a lel lel won?
Eska: (steadfast)
me: Fine. Have it your way. But dass not even varry varry. In fact, iss varry varry.
(Eska, my love, can I have a kiss? COME ON! I can't even have a kiss? Can I have one, can I have one, my girl? Can I have a little, little one [kiss]? Fine. Have it your way. But that's not very [nice of you]. In fact, it's very [mean of you]).
Getting the hang of it?
I am fluent in English, French, Italian, and Trevor, and have elementary reading knowledge of Latin. (German REALLY doesn't count). I am most accomplished, however, in Eskese.
I have been building a steady Eskese vocabulary over the past five months. I started small with things like, "coo" (for cookie), "yanta" (for "do you want a"), and "qui-see" (syntactically inverted italian for "we're going this way").
But Eskese isn't all about vocabulary. In fact, a much larger portion of the things I tell Eska are particular not in the words I select, but in the way in which they are put together, enunciated, or delivered.
To wit:
me: Deshanta mai, sheese da bess won?
Eska: (looks up)
me: Yissa my yissa. Sheese da bess won.
(Is my girl the best one? Yes. She's the best one.)
Or:
me: Skarina, my love. Kava kesh?
Eska: (no reaction)
me: COME ON! Not even a kesh, I can hava. Kava kava, my girl? Kava a lel lel won?
Eska: (steadfast)
me: Fine. Have it your way. But dass not even varry varry. In fact, iss varry varry.
(Eska, my love, can I have a kiss? COME ON! I can't even have a kiss? Can I have one, can I have one, my girl? Can I have a little, little one [kiss]? Fine. Have it your way. But that's not very [nice of you]. In fact, it's very [mean of you]).
Getting the hang of it?
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