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brightrosefoxSo, my husband, my mother, and my cousin Luciano all the way from Brooklyn were talking to me about Saturday, and I kept thinking, what the fuck is so great about this Saturday? and then Adam said he had asked for Saturday off so he could spend time with me for my birthday with the cheesecake, and then I facepalmed. Oh, right, I'm turning thirty-four on Saturday. Shit, I forgot. At which Mom laughed and said, "Don't worry. After thirty, you almost stop caring."
Also, thanks for the phone call, Luciano. I miss you guys.
Mom and I were discussing the "New York Voice" affect - about how when both she and I hear a New York accent, we automatically (literally) slip into a Brooklyn accent no matter how long we have been away from Manhattan or Brooklyn. The New York accent is so pervasive, specific, and intense, that a person could live across the country for thirty years and still fall into Brooklynese for an hour straight (a friend of the family moved from Brooklyn to Phoenix Arizona forty years ago and still slips into that New York accent). My old boss Ray had lived in Washington DC for twenty years and still has a powerful New York accent.
New York alters the shape of the mouth, the way the tongue presses against the teeth, the movement of the lips, the way the muscles of the jaw work. Every single person in my family does this and understands this. Unfortunately it isn't good if we're not actually in New York. It gets embarrassing if it goes on for more than half an hour. It actually starts to sound fake. Mom made the suggestion that we give ourselves a half hour time limit and then force ourselves to stop. Because we literally cannot help it. We are that sensitive to New York Voice. Our brains pick it up so easily that it kind of gets neurologically embedded.
I ran into trouble with it yesterday, when a contractor with a Brooklyn accent came over to take measurements and assess the cost. I slowly, quietly began slipping into Brooklynese. And by the time he left, Adam was snapping at me to "quit it" and I was snapping at him to "shaddup." It went on for forty-five minutes. I couldn't stop. What Adam didn't understand was that Brooklyn is not just an accent. Brooklyn is a voice. It shapes the mouth. It shapes the person. He kept saying "You're 33, you're not from Brooklyn anymore, stop talking like you're from Brooklyn." And I rose up like a snake, with deadly pride and said, "I am from Brooklyn. Brooklyn is in me. I will always be from Brooklyn." New York City is my badge of honor.
Anyway. You guys know what I mean, right? Not just New York City, but other places, right?
Also, thanks for the phone call, Luciano. I miss you guys.
Mom and I were discussing the "New York Voice" affect - about how when both she and I hear a New York accent, we automatically (literally) slip into a Brooklyn accent no matter how long we have been away from Manhattan or Brooklyn. The New York accent is so pervasive, specific, and intense, that a person could live across the country for thirty years and still fall into Brooklynese for an hour straight (a friend of the family moved from Brooklyn to Phoenix Arizona forty years ago and still slips into that New York accent). My old boss Ray had lived in Washington DC for twenty years and still has a powerful New York accent.
New York alters the shape of the mouth, the way the tongue presses against the teeth, the movement of the lips, the way the muscles of the jaw work. Every single person in my family does this and understands this. Unfortunately it isn't good if we're not actually in New York. It gets embarrassing if it goes on for more than half an hour. It actually starts to sound fake. Mom made the suggestion that we give ourselves a half hour time limit and then force ourselves to stop. Because we literally cannot help it. We are that sensitive to New York Voice. Our brains pick it up so easily that it kind of gets neurologically embedded.
I ran into trouble with it yesterday, when a contractor with a Brooklyn accent came over to take measurements and assess the cost. I slowly, quietly began slipping into Brooklynese. And by the time he left, Adam was snapping at me to "quit it" and I was snapping at him to "shaddup." It went on for forty-five minutes. I couldn't stop. What Adam didn't understand was that Brooklyn is not just an accent. Brooklyn is a voice. It shapes the mouth. It shapes the person. He kept saying "You're 33, you're not from Brooklyn anymore, stop talking like you're from Brooklyn." And I rose up like a snake, with deadly pride and said, "I am from Brooklyn. Brooklyn is in me. I will always be from Brooklyn." New York City is my badge of honor.
Anyway. You guys know what I mean, right? Not just New York City, but other places, right?
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Date: 2013-04-04 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-05 05:23 pm (UTC)When I was 14 and in a summer camp for a month, I spent a week in the infirmary with an Australian nurse. I started talking with an Aussie accent without realizing it, and it kept going when I went home. My parents were rather confused until Mom realized I was doing that chameleon thing that she did.
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Date: 2013-04-05 04:15 pm (UTC)Then again, my niece has been in Brooklyn for all of eight years now, and she's apparenly permanently afflicted with the accent. We might have to fly her to Toronto for saturation therapy.
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Date: 2013-04-05 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-05 05:37 pm (UTC)But a nice Winnipeg or Moose Jaw would be decent. Ooooh, or Nova Scotia. If I could retire anywhere in the non-US, it would be there. (Me, I'm too far removed from my linguistics studies to pin down exactly what distinguishes the regional voices, but just like how I had a professor that could tell what street of London you came from by the accent, my Dad is ace at pinning down Canadian accents....)