Lexigenesis And Metavernacularation

“The Conclave will now hear Rapper Drake’s defense.”

The voice boomed in the hall, reverberating flatly off the black marble walls and floor, causing the flames on the candles gutter in the skull-motif candelabra.  All along the walls, robed figures stood, observing the solemn proceedings. 

At the end of the hall was a high dais, upon which stood the Grandmaster and the most senior members.  In front of this dais was a smaller podium, currently occupied by Drake, his aspirant’s robes a much lighter hue than those of the senior members around him.

“Honored elders,” the young man began, the trepidation evident in his voice, “I meant no offence with my actions.  I never intended this phrase to reach the popularity it has-“

A harsh voice from the dais cut him off.  “Don’t try that line with us, young man!  You knew exactly what you were doing when you started this ‘yolo’ business.  You acted with intent to create a new word and release it into general use.  You broke one of the cardinal rules of this order and jeopardized the Compact!”

Murmurs spread throughout the hall, rising in volume until the Grandmaster slammed his staff of office upon the marble floor.  Silence fell quickly, and he turned to face the elder who had spoken.

“Elder McDaniels, let us hold these proceedings with dignity, civility and compsure, as has always been our way.”  The other bowed respectfully, though he glared at Drake from beneath the thick spectacles he wore.

The Grandmaster turned back to face the accused.  “You know our laws.  Can you offer any excuse, any precedent that might serve to mitigate your offense?”

Drake licked his lips before proceeding, having clearly rehearsed his statement.  “I cite the case of Naughty By Nature, from 1991.” 

There were more murmurs about the room, and the Grandmaster gave a sad and disappointed frown.  He looked towards Elder McDaniels, who gave a grin of triumph as the Grandmaster gave him the nod that he should proceed.

“The case you are referring to, the so-called ‘O.P.P. exception,’ does not apply here.  That was an initialism, and falls well within the rules of the order.  Your infraction is an acronym, and as such is in direct violation of the lexigenesis accords of the Compact!” Elder McDaniels thrust his finger emphatically at the now terrified young man.  “In doing so, you threaten the fundamental agreement that has afforded  the members of this board the gifts we now enjoy.  I move for censure!”

This time, the hubbub in the room was deafening, with members shouting over each other, and it took several minutes of banging his staff upon the floor before the Grandmaster could again regain control over the group.

“That is enough!” he was finally able to say when the din had quieted.  “This is a serious matter, and must be handled carefully.  Although his guilt is incontrovertible under the law, whether or not Aspirant Drake has actually endangered the Compact must be determined before any punitive measures can be taken.  This of course will require communion with the Source.  That will take time.  As of now, I am tabling this discussion until after the Source has given its opinion.”

Another round of grumbling was heard, and Elder McDaniels leaned in towards the Grandmaster, lowering his voice.  “Flash, we’ve got to take care of this quickly.  Think of what this precedent could lead to.”

“We are in conclave, old friend.  And while we are, you will address me by my title.”

McDaniels lowered his gaze at the rebuke.  “Yes, Grandmaster.”

The other sighed.  “But you are correct.  Nonetheless, let us move with prudence over celerity.”  The Grandmaster straightened up and faced the assembly.  “For now, have Aspirant Drake taken hence.  He shall face the decision of this Conclave another day, but until then, these proceedings are closed to him.  We have more important matters this night.”

The young man was escorted away, and the chamber’s massive, soundproofed doors secured shut behind him with a resonant boom.

“And now, fellow scribes of the street, we commence the ritual that is at the heart of our organization.  Tonight we honor the Compact, so that for us, language will serve as palette and brush, and we shall paint our masterpieces upon the airwaves, and our lyrical gifts of rhythm and rhyme shall flower, delivering us the immortality of fame.”

As he spoke, more robed figures brought forth a large, ancient tome.  Its cover threadbare and faded, the fabric worn through in places, revealing distressed wood beneath.

“The Compact grants us these gifts, but in return, there must always be sacrifices.”  The book was placed upon a stone plinth before the Grandmaster.  “Language is a living entity.  It grows and expands, words die and are born, grammar rules change.  And this change breeds strength.  Thus we use our fame, afforded us by virtue of the skill we gain from the Compact, to expand the language.”

He flipped open the cover of the book, revealing its title as an 1841 edition of Noah Webster’s American Dictionary of the English Language.  Placing his hand upon the frontispiece, he continued.

“Each year, we guide the development of the English Language by taking a word and giving it new life, new purpose.  It is the solemn duty of every member here to use this new word, to give it free tongue, that it may spread to every ear, enter every mind, and dwell in every heart.  This year, we shall have a new word to use, to disseminate and to make part of the Living Language.”

From behind him, Elder Wright began unfurling a scroll bearing the previous words ‘sacrificed’ upon this altar.  Drawing forth a quill, he moved its tip down the long line of metavernacularized words to find the next blank spot, beneath ‘creep,’ ‘swag’ and ‘ratchet.’

The Grandmaster then began riffling through the pages of the sacred book, his eyes firmly closed, until a voice inside him told him to stop.  The whole assembly watched, breath held in anticipation.

Next, he raised his finger high into the air, and muttering a silent prayer to himself, brought it down upon the page, his eyes still shut tight.

No one moved.

Finally, the Grandmaster opened his eyes and looked where his own finger pointed.  He glanced to either side, to confirm that the other two elders had seen and acknowledged the choice of the word.  Only then did he nod to Elder Wright, that he may inscribe the word upon the scroll.

“The word,” The Grandmaster began, “the word that we shall use this year.  The word that shall have new meaning, and shall be reborn into the Living Language this year…that words is…” the entire room leaned forward unconsciously.

“Scuff.”

For several seconds, there was silence, followed by an awed susurrus of excited whispers.  At a single raise of his hands, the Grandmaster stilled the crowd.  He drew forth a small envelope from his pocket and consulted it as he spoke.

“By prior agreement amongst the elders, the definition of this new word shall be..’to speak of an individual, especially a male, in a disrespectful or disparaging manner, implicitly as regards their musical, athletic or sexual prowess.’”

He replaced the envelope in his pocket and announced the end of the Conclave’s proceedings.

“You all have the new term for the year, so now we must go forth and spread this term as best we can.  Use it in your music, in interviews and public appearances, and with your friends and family.  It falls upon us to make this work.”

“Now go in peace, and may the Living Language nourish and keep you all.  May it cradle you to its bosom, and serve you as we serve it.”

He ended with the antiphonal response that had been the call sign of the Order since its very inception, uttering it in a quiet voice, as it was echoed back from hundreds of mouths, reverberating throughout the marble hall.

“Word.”

Varying Reactions To Animated Rats

My daughter is a coward.

This is a well-established fact, and there simply is no room for debate, based on the overwhelming amount of evidence.  From the earliest age, when we would expose her to fine video entertainment, she would run out of the room and hide in her room.

I'm not talking about scenes of intense action and tension, she would run away when the Big Bad Wolf showed up on Sesame Street.  When the sight of a muppet, no matter how lupine its aspect, is enough to send you scurrying away, a paucity of courage must be acknowledged.

This habit continues to this day, and she puts her fingers in her ears and retreats to the safety of her bed whenever a movie or TV show takes a turn for the sinister (such as if a character is about to be caught taking cookies without permission, real gripping stuff.)

Now, a more sexist father would say that it doesn't matter, since she's 'only a girl,' and boldness will be unnecessary in her life.  But I am no such chauvinistic caricature, I am more of a general monster, and demand insanely high standards of all my children, regardless of gender.

But she is still young, and I guess there is still time for her to grow out of this phase, and I will love her either way, yadda, yadda, yadda.

But I'm not here to talk about her.

She has a younger brother, two years her junior, who has never shown any such trepidation, even when a little fear would be prudent (he shows no decent respect for the power of gravity, for example, and chooses to jump off of any and all surface to which he has access.)

Up till now, he hasn't really interacted with what was happening on the screen beyond occasionally holding his head at an angle like a confused dog.   But tonight was the first time he showed any kind of reaction to tension or scary action.  And it was truly remarkable.

So I'm remarking on it.

We were watching the Secret of NIMH, because we are the most awesome parents ever.  We got to the part where Dragon the cat is chasing Jeremy and Mrs. Brisby, which has lots of running and biting and excitement and foofaraw.  Grace was sitting there with her fingers in her ears, but Arthur was rapt.

Then the screaming started.  He jumped up and down shouting "what's happening? what's happening?"  With each lunge of the cat, he would suddenly shift left or right, as if trying to evade.  As the characters scrambled in terror, he stood, running in place, as if he could guide their actions to help them escape.  He was absolutely crazy, and looked utterly ridiculous.

It was awesome.

For the rest of the movie, he was riveted, and squealed with delight at al the scary/action scenes.  He was getting involved with the story the way few teenagers or grownups remember how.  It is my goal to foster that interaction, to make sure that imagination isn't just something he's supposed to grow out of, a silly phase suitable only for the early years, before relentless reality boils down life to a thick, syrupy goo of the practical and mundane.

Right now, my boy plays with toys, really plays with them.  I hear him playing in his room (when he and his sister are not competing in the 100 meter circular dash competition of the Screamalympics,) sitting on his floor with some Little People or toy cars, trains or plastic animals.  These become avatars of a nascent imagination, expressing hopes and fears, living their simulated lives at the whims of their tiny creator.

And that should never change.  While adults are supposed to outgrow playing with toys (who are you looking at?  I collect scale military models, thank you very much,) the fertile mind that gives life to those inanimate blocks of plastic should never be boxed up and sent to the curb.  An imagination, even a wild, eccentric one, may not be considered an essential part of any corporate portfolio, but it is crucial to being a fully developed person.  We are meant to have hopes and dreams, realized in the cinema of our minds.  It is humanity's birthright not merely to gaze up at the stars. but to people them with dreamfolk of all descriptions, and fabricate in our dream the means by which we might one day travel there.

How do you think we got to the moon?  Math?

Right now my boy has all that.  My job now is to encourage that, feed and water it with exposure to the right kind of books, music and films (his first version of Alice in Wonderland will be illustrated, not animated,) and most importantly to protect it.

Because the world will try to crush it out of him.  More so than his sister, he will be pressured by his peers to follow trends, watching what the others like, whether or not he finds it compelling.  He will be told to color within the lines, and to use the right voices when playing with toys, as canonized by the cartoons.  Later he will be told that creativity is not cool, and will be encouraged to abandon stories and narrative for 'reality TV' and humor based on people inflicting pain on their bodies with the shattered remains of their dignity.

It won't be cool to jump up and down with excitement over a story.

But in this house (whether it be here or moved to the lee of the stone,) he will know that his imagination is safe, and he can always express himself, no matter how outlandish his ideas.  Even if his sister has to leave the room during the tense parts.

I still love them both.



(Edit: okay....I guess math helped.)