Language is musical

I watched a TED talk a few weeks ago where the guy claimed he was going to make me fall in love with classical music, or if not fall in love with it, at least learn to appreciate it, or if not learn to appreciate it, at least learn to love classic rock. Except for that last part. He failed completely in his objective. I already have a good relationship with classical music: I listen to it very rarely but I can appreciate it. Classic rock on the other hand...

Despite his failure, the lecturer made a very interesting point that I carefully catalogued and put to use today when showing someone why normal English sentences sounded stilted in their rendition. The point that Mr. Classical Music made was that when you start out with music, you don't know what to stress, other than the mistakes. So the beginner will stress every note or at least every beat in a measure. When the beginner gets a little better (given the odds, chances were that this story would be about the 99.9% who quit, but did I mention I have incredibly good luck? The fictional beginners in my stories stick with it!), he/she starts putting accents every other beat, and then just at the first beat of the measure, and then eventually, according to Mr. Classical Music, the former beginner and now accomplished musician puts only a single accent in every phrase, or perhaps even in the entire piece, and the music magically stops sounding like an exercise and starts to sound like the classical music that everyone knows and loves and listens to at rave parties.

Jia Yan (female), one of our mutual friends, asked me today to listen to her read a few English sentences and tell her what was wrong with her pronunciation because she found it inexplicably abhorrent. I listened. To my own thoughts of course, not to a word she was saying. And after she was done, I pronounced a diagnosis based on no data whatsoever. I felt like an accomplished psychiatrist. I told her that the English language is like music, and like music it...and then I gave her the spiel on accents. She thought it was brilliant. Just kidding, she didn't understand what the hell I was talking about. But I felt quite intellectual. If I knew anything about wine, I'm sure I would have poured us both a glass and then lectured her on the proper way to drink it. I'm more of a Coca-Cola guy, so instead I taught her how to clean a toilet with it.

Mario is history

Mario left yesterday, back to the land next to the land of the burrito. For the last three months we've been singing the refrain "if Mario leaves..." then "if Mario leaves in July..." and finally to "if Mario leaves at 1:30AM on July 9th..." (Note to self: good outline for a song). It started because Jia Yan and Yuan Yuan are hopelessly romantic at heart, having their brains filled from an early age with Chinese soap opera sludge. It still leaks out their mouths though we've stoppered their eyes and ears. If life were a soap opera, there would be a final "if" at the airport, a plaintive "if you leave me now..." and Mario's heart of anti-(social)matter would finally signal to him in furious Morse code that he has to stay. For the orphans, of course. Alas, the orphans will have to fend for themselves this time. Mario would appreciate the irony, he loves Charles Dickens.

When the game started, Mario would roll his eyes as he hadn't the shred of a Parmesan cheese crumb of a doubt that he would leave on schedule. But eventually he joined the party. "I haven't decided if I'm going to live with Ben or by myself when I go back. If I go back, I mean. And if Ben doesn't move here..." We all laughed at each episode of "If Mario leaves" and I'm sure Jia Yan's heart broke a little each time but she did a great job of hiding it. I only once saw her puffy eyed and that was on the last day, when the mystery was about to be solved and the "will Mario leave?" question was about to be casually duh'd out of existence. Apparently it was a four player game because it doesn't seem as fun anymore.

Today our new roommates arrived, fresh from the roommate factory. They're a Chinese couple, and half of them are pregnant. The first thing the pregnant half did upon arrival was jump on our electronic scale and complain about not being fat enough. I'm in love with her already.

They seem...nice. Like elves. After the weigh-in, they offered to take me out to dinner, which I politely refused, then they walked around outside until they hit their quota of toxic air and went promptly to sleep at 10:30. I have a feeling they might get up at 6 and make me breakfast, then leave some on the table and quietly slink off to work so I won't be shy about eating the leftovers in front of them. Then they'll come home and quarter me for eating their food. Cause they're evil elves. We'll see.

Here's a slice of Mario before you go:

Mario: what do you think would be easier, if space was limited or time? ...Probably space.

Mark: unless you're stuck inside an egg

Mario: yea, good point. Even if the egg is light years across. Uhh...I feel so claustrophobic