speak and spell

Music: Calexico/Iron and Wine: In the Reins When I was a kid, I fondly recall a toy made by Texas Instruments called Speak and Spell. I didn't have one (indeed, my family was too poor for such luxuries, until I was like ten, when I had the awesomest Christmas morning and got my first video game machine, the Vextrex), but my friends and neighbors did. I can recall our typing various "dirty words" into the machine and trying to get it to say offensive things about the bus driver. The problem was that Texas Instruments had programmed the thing not to say a majority of the four-letter words we had in our meager nine-year old vocabularies (it would say "ass" and variations thereof, though).

Lately I've been noticing what can only be referred to as stupid linguistic variations on common words. For example, I live in the Old Towne condominium complex, but there is absolutely no reason to have the extra, Old English "E" on "towne." What other purpose does that damned "e" serve other than pretension? Then there is the Safeway water I've been buying: it's called Refreshe. What effin' dictionary does "refreshe" appear in? That's not old English-it's just plain dumb. But the goddamn advertisement that set off my rant-o-meter was L'Oreal's (insert accent over the previous "e") new hair color product, "Coleur Experte." Give me a fucking break! I know French is the language of lovers, but on what planet is it the language of hair color? "Make them wonder how you got that color," the copy goes, but I'm wondering how they came up with that ridiculous trademarked name. I mean, is there some brainstorm meeting in a PR firm where someone goes: I got it! Let's spell color in a way no one will remember!

Sometimes I fantasize that we could will the Speak and Spell into the Kantian categorical imperative: we should only use and say those words that can be pronounced by the Texas Instruments computer circa 1979. Sure, this would eliminate the beautifully flexible "fuck," as well as the collected works of Judith Butler, Jacques Derrida, and Dr. Seuss, but the imperative would also save us from the "idea men/women" who come up with stupid product names like "Haire Magique."

Until then, I am changing my name to "Joshe." That's pronounced "JAWSH-EH." That extra "EH" on the end is to be inhaled, as if I've just given you the most wonderful and intense orgasme in the worlde.