Big words
Everyone has their own way of relaxing. Some people go out for a good run around their local area as a way of giving their mind a rest. Others like nothing better than to sit down with a good game of Dwarf Fortress to figure out the ludicrous intricacies of micromanaging a community and make it thrive (or die in an entertaining way).
One of the ways that I like to relax is a way that, these days, I don’t really get to indulge in very often. One of the reasons I really enjoy talking to my sister (when I get the chance, which is increasingly rare these days as our lives get progressively busier and busier) is that when I talk to her, I never have to worry about restraining my vocabulary.
My sister and I both have gigantic vocabularies, so when we talk to each other, it’s uniquely relaxing. We can both use whatever word we have in our minds to describe whatever it is we want to talk to each other about, without any fear of the other not knowing what we were talking about. One example that sticks out in my mind was when she sent me a casual email where she said, “I always have trouble keeping track of your peregrinations…”-she knew that I would know that word, and she had no fear about using it. And it was exactly the right word to use in the situation.
I get the feeling that Greg Graffin from Bad Religion has the same problem. He deals with it by using his great big vocabulary in his songs. Bad Religion is apunk rock band, but unlike the stereotype, he is a ferociously-smart person with a gigantic vocabulary-and when he feels like using his gigantic vocabulary, he sits down and writes a song full of big words. Never mind Peter Gabriel stretching his mouth to let the big words come out-Greg Graffin has all of those big words right there for him to use at will.
The downloadable version of Bad Religion’s latest album, New Maps of Hell, is a treat all by itself. But it comes with an extra helping of candy: a selection of acoustic versions of songs from the album, and other songs from Bad Religion’s past.
The acoustic versions are brilliant-you can hear every last word of the song, without any roaring electric guitars to distract from the meaning. Instead there are minimal acoustic-guitar or piano accompaniments. In the atheistic paean “God Song”, his complaints about an “anthropocentric god” come through loud and clear. “And have they told you how to think, cleansed your mind of sepsis and autonomy? Or have you escaped scrutiny and regaled yourself with depravity?” indeed.
Which isn’t to say that the main attraction isn’t worth listening to. The centerpiece is the anthem “Honest Goodbye”, with a beautiful call-and-response chorus: “Did you laugh? You know I did. Did you cry? I couldn’t get it right. Did you live? Always on the edge-Did you lie? Causing such a fright; Did you love? Oh, to be forgiven: Did you try? But it wouldn’t be right; God, it feels like an honest goodbye!”
The feeling of mental escapism that I get from talking to my sister-or to other people who I know I don’t have to restrain my vocabulary with-is the same feeling that I get when I listen to Bad Religion songs. It’s a seriously-nice feeling, and I wish I could escape like that more often.
Actually, it’s one of the biggest sources of frustration I get when I talk to Chie: we always talk to each other in Japanese, and to be honest, my Japanese vocabulary is pretty damned thin. I wish I could just relax and unleash a torrent of great big words at her. I guess I should just keep learning, and one day I might be able to hold forth in Japanese as well as I can in English.