Apparently, the words of one strange messenger DO mean something.
I spent my lunch hour walking, as I so very often do, and found myself singing as I walked. Now, once I realized I was singing, I also realized that the song I was in the middle of -- 'I Can't Decide', by the Scissor Sisters -- was, perhaps, not entirely appropriate, due to language. I promptly switched songs, selecting the much less offensive ' Strange Messenger', by the lovely Vixy.
For those of you who don't know, 'Strange Messenger' is based on one of the stories told about German explorer Alexander von Humboldt, who was one of the first Europeans to enter parts of South America. Supposedly, while he was traveling the Orinoco River, he found the burial ground of an entire lost tribe...and a single parrot who still remembered their language. Forty words of it. In Humboldt's words:
"It is to be supposed that the last family of Atures did not die out until a long time afterwards: since at Maypures -- bizarrely -- there still survives an old parrot that nobody, say the natives, can understand, because it speaks only the language of the Atures."
Whether this is true or not doesn't really matter; it's a beautiful story, and it sings to the pain of language, culture, and a people lost. Thanks to Vixy, the story itself can now be sung...and as I was turning off of Market Street, blithely sallying on by, a man grabbed my arm. To quote this unexpected participant in my day:
"I am so sorry, I really didn't mean to, I'm not trying to -- IS THAT ABOUT HUMBOLDT'S PARROT?!"
Dude.
Turns out the gentleman is a professor of linguistics at a local college, and has been using that story in his classes for years now. So today, in my capacity as walking billboard, I sold a copy of an album that hasn't even been released yet.
Tomorrow: flying monkeys.
For those of you who don't know, 'Strange Messenger' is based on one of the stories told about German explorer Alexander von Humboldt, who was one of the first Europeans to enter parts of South America. Supposedly, while he was traveling the Orinoco River, he found the burial ground of an entire lost tribe...and a single parrot who still remembered their language. Forty words of it. In Humboldt's words:
"It is to be supposed that the last family of Atures did not die out until a long time afterwards: since at Maypures -- bizarrely -- there still survives an old parrot that nobody, say the natives, can understand, because it speaks only the language of the Atures."
Whether this is true or not doesn't really matter; it's a beautiful story, and it sings to the pain of language, culture, and a people lost. Thanks to Vixy, the story itself can now be sung...and as I was turning off of Market Street, blithely sallying on by, a man grabbed my arm. To quote this unexpected participant in my day:
"I am so sorry, I really didn't mean to, I'm not trying to -- IS THAT ABOUT HUMBOLDT'S PARROT?!"
Dude.
Turns out the gentleman is a professor of linguistics at a local college, and has been using that story in his classes for years now. So today, in my capacity as walking billboard, I sold a copy of an album that hasn't even been released yet.
Tomorrow: flying monkeys.