Gray is a Color, but Grey is a Colour.

“Some people have a way with words, and other people...oh, not have way.”

 -Steve Martin

“Boy, those French! They have a different word for everything.”

 -Steve Martin

     As a writer, I depend on language to help me write good. Make that more better. Finding the right word is imperative when attempting to convey one’s particular perspective.  Yet as diverse as our language is, we rarely utilize its full potential. There is a strange, vacuous region into which certain words and phrases fall. They lay there, mingling with their colorless counterparts, floundering in a linguistically languid, torpid amalgamation of mediocrity, providing nothing more than a lackluster quiver from which to draw our verbal intimations. That’s stupid. Our words should caress the nuances we wish to purvey. They should dance gingerly and ecstatically with their subject, weaving a threaded tapestry of brilliant, verbal luminosity through the prose into which they have been invited. We have held on to these wearisome morphemes far too long, and like an old shoe, they have been ground to tatters, barely holding on to the glory of their former selves to the point where they hardly look like a shoe at all. “You’re still wearing those?” as in, “You’re still using that?” It is lamentable that we, as creatures who are able to read, speak and occasionally write, have not aspired to coin new, stimulating terms of articulation for everyday locution.

The tech world and cyber community on the other hand, have both done an exemplary job of cooking up new words and phrases to accommodate their needs for exacting descriptions. “Sexting”, “Hotspot” and “Retweet” to name a few. But more often than not, non-geek culture still embraces the tried and true patterns of literary replay, repetition, reiteration and recapitulation. As adults, we tend to hold on to the expressions to which we have grown accustomed. They are reverse comfort food. We are at ease when we hear them flow from our lips, and become unsettled when venturing outside of our adopted style of communication.

Kids (now I sound old), as well, are constantly reinventing language. We are perpetually barraged by modern day, pop culture colloquialisms, which somehow just beg to be used by us older folks. Unfortunately when we hear the vernacular of a twenty-something come out of the mouth of a forty-something, it leaves us with a slightly uncomfortable taste in our ears. It is a verbal comb over. We’re not fooling anyone. Those words are not for us, and we’d best leave well enough alone. However there is a way to afford ourselves a makeover in the language department without aggravating the obvious disparity in age and coolness. And that is…go British. Not all the way mind you, just slightly. I like my teeth. As adults, using phrases like “homey” and “dope” will undoubtedly get us kicked out of the party. No ecstasy for us. But toss in a “chap” and a “brilliant” every once in awhile, and we just seem well traveled.

In keeping with this inability to pawn off current hipster language as my own, I made a pact with myself several months ago, to adopt more British vernacular into my everyday speech. The looks I get from my peers do not convey the “Why are you using that word old man?” sentiment, but rather, “You hardly have any accent at all.” “I lost it in the war” I tell them.

The British have panache with language that can only be envied by us Yankees. In all manners of social interaction, the Limey lingo seems to surpass ours at every turn. I’m not sure how the word “loo” refers to relieving oneself, but it beats the crap out of “bathroom”, or “restroom”. I’m not planning to bathe or rest.  Maybe a quick nap on the toilet, I mean “kip” on the “khazi”, but that’s about it.  And why are we wasting so much time taking the “e-le-va-tor”, when using “the lift” is so much more efficient? And should it still be called a “lift” if it is bringing you down to a lower level? I would prefer taking the “lift” up to my “flat” and taking the “drop” down to the lobby.

A brief example of my newly adopted cant.

After I settled in Saratoga, I went to the store to buy sundries. They arrived by semi-truck, and I paid the cashier with money. But when living in Liverpool, I had to find a “shonky” that sold “bits and bobs”. The “lorry” was late so I had to look “left, right and center” for a “bog roll”. Eventually I found one in a “Paki-shop” and gave the chap a few “quid”.

The relationships that I have with my cohorts have undergone a major overhaul as well. My friend in Phoenix is a fool, but my “mate” from Manchester is merely a “mong”. Sorry for “slagging-off”, but honestly, I can’t stand either of those “lads”. And my neighbor? Complete idiot. That guy never shuts up. But over in South Hampton, he was merely a “sop”, “nakker” and a “twit”. Always gushing from his “gob”.

And finally, Rich in Roswell uses a rubber to diminish his chances of having a baby, while in Raleigh, Reginald will be using it to fix his spelling mistakes.

It’s not that our culture is unable to author more colorful language, it’s just that we tend to opt for more obvious and overt idioms to eliminate the possibility of having our words be misconstrued. Saying “smashing” instead of “awesome” immediately brings to mind images of glass and hammers. We are also lazy. We use the word “great” far too frequently. When compared to how an Englishman might express his affections towards a subject, “great” is a middle of the road, wishy-washy, humdrum modifier. “That milkshake was great, and so is that new record by blahbitty-blah.” There is no dynamic here. No differentiation between sugar and art. How can you throw a dairy product into the same bin as an artistic composition? Yes we use words like “Fantastic, incredible and unbelievable” for varying degrees of greatness, but these words are also tiresome. The milkshake may have been great, but I believe the word you were looking for when describing the album was “Brilliant”. Americans use “brilliant” when describing certain people, but we would be better served if we were to give it greater powers of denotation. Objects should have the opportunity to be brilliant as well. Like this essay.

Another baffling aspect of the American utilization of the English language is our affinity towards corporate product name recognition and usage. From here on out, my days of endorsing capitalistic interests are over. No one is paying me to use brand names when referring to everyday household items, and unless the wigs at Johnson & Johnson start forking over some “dosh”, never again will I put on a Band-Aid, or wrap my leftovers in Saran Wrap. Next time I cut “meself”, or find that I am left with an inordinate supply of “Scrummy nosh”, I’ll apply a “plaster” and wrap that grub in “cling film”. I don’t owe Saran anything. And even though “cotton buds” are a bit more syllabically demanding than “Q-tips”, there is nothing “Q-ey” about them. “Buds” for me thanks.

With this in mind, it’s obvious that not all British slang is exemplary -the term “French Kissing” for example. Although I can’t remember the last time I actually called it “Frenching”, I would much rather “French” someone than “snog” them. “Snogging” sounds like something you do in a parking lot, involving motor oil, a lot of contortion and possibly a seat belt or two. Admittedly the French were probably not the first to shove their tongues down their lover’s throats, but they have the patent on the term and my devotion to the word.

There is one word in particular that the Redcoats have embraced above all others. And that is the word “piss”. The Brits absolutely love the word “piss”. I love writing the word “piss”. Piss, piss, piss, piss, piss. But stateside, it merely refers to anger and urine. The British on the other hand can be “on the piss”, tell you to “piss off”, call you a “piss head”, and open a “brolly” when it’s “pissing down”. They can “take the piss”, call something a “piece of piss”, “piss all over”, be “piss poor”, “piss up” and just “piss about”. I’m sure there are more phrases that I could include in this piss, but I’m late for a piss rally.

The Isle folk also preponderate when it comes to insults. If a bloke wants to put you down, he will have much more verbal ammunition at his disposal than you. Be prepared. Their derisions are more finely tuned, encompassing greater variations in degrees of intensity. We might call someone an ass, idiot and a moron, but ultimately these words all seem to embody identical connotations; however, twat, prat, twit, git, pleg, spacker, spacky, spazmo, spanner, twonk, wally, wazzock, wanker, divvy, joey, mong, nonce, pilchard, pillock, prannet, pranny, prannock, plank, plonker pleb, (and arse), are all tailored to more accurately define someone who, while he or she may in fact be an ass, idiot or moron, possesses certain qualifying traits which put him or her into a more specific sub-category of idiocy.

The written word has the power to add luminosity. Tincture. Iridescence. Carefully chosen lexemes afford us hierarchical intensities, enabling an exalted embellishment of viewpoints and opinions. Whether native or foreign, we have at our disposal, a virtual arsenal of terminology and utterances, and as a man of words, I will utilize these weapons of confabulation to the best of my ability, both in written and spoken form, in order to propagate a more diverse if not totally confusing writing and speaking style.

A perfectly healthy sentence, it is true, is extremely rare. For the most part we miss the hue and fragrance of the thought; as if we could be satisfied with the dews of the morning or evening without their colors, or the heavens without their azure.

 -Henry David Thoreau

*Note: No thesaurus was harmed in the formulation of this discourse.