For The Love of Scrabble

I am a horrible speller. Back in the day of weekly spelling tests and book reports, mine looked like a battlefield. Phonetics never ring true with me and my aptitude for memorization is lousy. Like many things, spelling is a knack. Someone who is a natural can spell words they have never seen before. I struggle with everyday words like restaurant and embarrass.

It would seem ironic that I enjoy writing (and got a degree that focused on it). I am also addicted to Scrabble. I could play it for hours and if I don’t play it in a few days I miss it. I have started playing it over breakfast in diners. Sometimes it's a travel version; yesterday it was the full version at McDonald’s. I have played it so much in the last 6 months; I might even credit it to helping my English vocabulary. (When you are desperately trying to get rid of a J, Q, or Z you tend to learn new words.) Luckily my mom and I play a friendly game otherwise I might have started drinking something stronger than tea to play.

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Cane Shaking Strange

Oh music. Next to current events and television it’s a popular topic to discuss. It tells you a lot about the person, yet remains comfortable and unintrusive. “What kind of music do you like?” they ask. “Aren’t you clever?” I think. Jokes on them because I don’t have an answer. I couldn’t tell you who my favourite band is, or why I like a certain song. I rarely listen to music and when I do it’s quickly forgotten.

In college, I used to work at my computer and listen to talk radio. I know I’m probably not old enough to admit this, but I like talk radio. I enjoy the banter, the stupid callers, and the format of the shows. I never understood all the people that sat in their rooms and listened to music for hours. I guess it was a fun way to pass the time? My sister used to tell me to do that, but I didn’t understand the stereotype.

I'll stick with my Alan Combs, Bill O'Reilly, and George Noory. In the meantime, keep listening to your music, don't worry about me, and stay off my lawn.

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I Don't Speak No Stinking English

Anyone trying to learn English will tell you the same thing: It’s a hard language. The rules are inconsistent, it can be phonetic but not always, and don’t forget slang. I come from an English speaking home but it trips me up. Certain words or pronunciations don’t flow. I have a few default lines to remedy this. My favourite is to tell people that it's my second language. This one confused my poor cousin. Heck, it confuses everyone, but it’s effective.

For here, I like to tell people I'm Canadian. Why that works, I honestly don’t know. I spoke strangely back home too. My made up or mispronounced words didn’t make any more sense. My accent is another story. I have something between a Midwest American and Western Canadian accent. It leaves me with neither.

In the end, as much as I hate English, I’m glad it’s my native language. If I learned anything from my citizenship class it's how easy I had it. My follow classmates struggled learning to read, write, and speak English as adults.

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What's Worth Saying

A coworker mentioned that half of the conversations we have at work would be grounds for termination elsewhere. People here often describe us as family. It feels like work, but we kid around and have a strange bond. This week I counted at least 5 completely inappropriate conversations (making it a slow week). Today I mocked our sales rep for being bald. Earlier our discussion involved heavy sexual innuendos. My favourite was the sales manager discussing what grass would be like if it were gay. Gay grass? The surrounding details were equally strange.

Beyond the conversations, they have inappropriate games. A popular one on the dock is: “Would you sleep with (insert name) for a million dollars?” To which, after much discussion, the answer is always yes.

To be fair, this is a manufacturing shop. Nudie pictures in toolboxes or a relaxed vernacular should be expected. Blue-collar jobs have some advantages. If those advantages happen to sneak into the office, I’m not going to complain.

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I Hate You Too, Adverbs

Homework is a lot of work! A coworker’s grandchildren came in today and we tried to help them do their homework. I helped the older one with a poem, while he helped the younger one with her math. Then she needed help with her English. We both speak it, I like to proofread, no problem! The question that stumped both of us: What’s an adverb? He sent her to ask me, so I looked it up. I told her it modifies a verb. Her response: What’s modifies? It took 3 employees to help a 9-year old do her homework. Why do you need to know the parts of a sentence? This is why I’ll never be a good writer. I only care if the sentence is complete, not how.

School was a struggle for me. If I worked hard, I would do relativity well. Courses that bored me and confused me had no hope. Like social studies, I hated that class more than anything. It was full of boring facts and people I couldn’t remember.

Homework is what you put into it. I realise that now. I also realise I’m not smarter than a 5th grader.

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