Local Color

Sep242009

An Exercise in Utah-ization?

Every region of the country has its own dialect, a collection of pronunciations, vocabulary, and so forth that are unique to that place, and Utah is no exception. But usually that dialect is confined to spoken language; with the exception of Mark Twain, no one writes words the way people actually pronounce them. So I can only assume that whoever wrote this brief paragraph about Tool Logic Survival Cards in the Salt Lake Tribune was not intentionally trying to capture the weird way Utahns flatten words that sound like “eel” into “ill”:

The 1.3-ounce Survival Card I includes a fixed serrated stainless still blade, a magnesium allow fire starter, a loud signal whistle, an 8x power lens, a compass, tweezer and toothpick.

I could be wrong, of course, since this description appears to have been lifted more or less directly from the product’s Web page, and over there the blade is said to be made of steel. Perhaps this really was an exercise in what we marketing and tech-writer types call localization, i.e., when a document’s spelling and usage is adjusted to suit the area where the document is to be published. (True story: A co-worker of mine who hails from Mississippi and Georgia and has worked very hard to rid herself of her Southern accent — she feels that it’s too often misinterpreted as a sign of low intelligence — recently thanked me for pronouncing “deal” properly, instead of like “dill”; it’s apparently one of her pet peeves about living here. I’m far more bothered by the a/o inversion myself; many Utahns, especially older and/or rural ones, would say “born” like “barn” and vice versa. I cringe when my mom talks about “hornessing the harse.”)

However, I don’t think even localization can excuse the “magnesium allow” thing. That’s just plain wrong.

For the record, this entry marks the beginning of a whole new category of entries here on Simple Tricks and Nonsense: The Bloody Red Pen, a compendium of all these dippy grammar and usage errors I seem to keep running across. If I can find a few free moments, I’ll go back and re-categorize the older such entries, so you can find all these little rants in one convenient bin. Assuming you’d have any reason to, that is…

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Jun252009

In Memoriam: Sam Weller

It’s been a busy, busy week here in the Proofreader’s Cave, and I haven’t had the time to even think about blogging, let alone actually do any (very frustrating, especially with today’s pair of celebrity deaths — one expected, the other shockingly not — practically screaming for my attention). But I would like to briefly note the passing on Tuesday of one of Salt Lake’s leading citizens, Sam Weller, whose eponymous Sam Weller’s Zion Bookstore has long been the literary epicenter of the city. Sam didn’t actually found the store, but he did change its name when he took it over from his father in 1946. In a painfully ironic twist, he was forced to retire 12 years ago — leaving the store in the capable hands of his own son, Tony — after losing his eyesight. That’s always struck me as an impossibly sad fate for a bookseller, and just a little too uncomfortably close to that old Twilight Zone episode that starred Burgess Meredith. You remember, the one called “Time Enough at Last,” the one where the bookworm survives a nuclear war and looks forward to finally catching up on his reading now that there’s no one around to bug him, but then he drops his spectacles and they shatter, leaving him blind as a bat. Ugh…
Anyhow, you can read more about Sam’s life and his store here. He was 88 years old. I have more to say about my own experiences with Sam Weller’s Zion Books, but it’ll have to wait. Like Burgess Meredith pre-apocalypto, I simply haven’t the time right now…

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Jun162009

Is It a Sign?

If you don’t happen to recognize him, that golden dude up there at the top of this entry is the Angel Moroni, an important figure in the LDS faith. Most Mormon temples are crowned by a Moroni statue; in these parts, where we have four temples in the Salt Lake Valley and two more in the adjoining valleys to the immediate north and south, they’re a pretty unremarkable sight. But every once in a while, something snaps you out of your comfortable complacency and forces you to notice things that have long since faded into the background. Such as the meteorological consequences of placing a ten-foot-high statue covered in highly conductive metal on the highest point of a building that towers above its neighbors.

In other words, lightning struck this Moroni statue during one of the truly spectacular thunderstorms we had over the weekend. You can see that the electrical blast blackened his trumpet, arm, and face. It looks like it also zapped the sphere he’s standing upon, or possibly the current emerged from the statue at this point as it was seeking ground. In other photos of the damage, I’ve seen a lightning rod protruding from the statue’s head, so this bolt must’ve either missed the rod or else was so big that the rod made no difference. It must’ve been an incredible sight, if you’d happened to be looking in the right direction at the moment of impact.

This particular Moroni stands atop the Oquirrh Mountain Temple west of my house, a temple so brand-new that it hasn’t even been dedicated yet. I wonder if the interior now smells, in addition to fresh paint and new carpeting, of ozone and slag?

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Feb202009

To My Out-of-State Readers

I imagine by now you’ve probably heard about the latest outrageous remarks spewing from the pie-hole of Utah state senator Chris Buttars, and you may be thinking to yourself, “what the hell is with that place anyhow?” Well, I live in this place, and I don’t get it either.

As far as I’m concerned, Senator Buttars is an ignorant, hateful old son-of-a-bitch who oozes contempt for anyone who isn’t just like him, i.e., white, male, heterosexual, Republican, Mormon,* and dressed by Mr. Mac. I have no doubt that in another time and another place, he would’ve been proud to stand alongside Governor Wallace on the steps of that elementary school. He is an embarrassment to this state and he ought to be an embarrassment to his church, as well, although I know there are quite a few people in both who agree with his opinions but are too polite to phrase them in terms as inflammatory as he likes to use. There’s got to be or else he wouldn’t keep getting elected.

When you’ve spent your entire life in Utah, as I have, nearly 40 years now, it is impossible — or at least highly dishonest — to deny that there’s a deep, ugly wellspring of bigotry flowing beneath this state. It’s directed at many types of people for all kinds of reasons, all of which basically boil down to someone being “different.” But not everyone who calls Utah home drinks from that spring. Not everyone here is afraid of people who don’t look like they were pressed out of some kind of biological cookie-cutter, or who don’t believe the things we do or behave and think in exactly the way we do. It disgusts me that this big-mouthed, belligerent, obstinate asshole keeps drawing national attention to himself and making it look as if his bad attitude is representative of what Utah is all about, even as he tries to portray himself as a misunderstood victim of a liberal press and “mean” special-interest groups. Mean, Buttars? Seems to me that’s a classic case of the pot talking to the proverbial kettle.

This isn’t about the political football issue he’s discussing in the interview that started this brouhaha, gay rights, not really. It’s about a nasty-spirited, awful man who likes to try and hurt people he doesn’t like. You can see it in the video excerpts of that interview, the glitter in his eye when he starts throwing around nasty terms like “pig sex” — a term I’ve never heard before the righteous Mr. Buttars introduced it to me, by the way, and I fancy myself a reasonably worldly guy — he’s itching for a fight, and he’s being deliberately provocative in hopes of getting it. He’s a bully and an ass, as bigots usually are.

Buttars makes me ashamed of my home state, ashamed that this is a place where enough people agree with his thinking to keep voting him into office. But I have to say again, and keep saying it as loudly as I can, that not everyone from Utah is like him.

* Disclaimer: I’ve got nothing against Mormons. As I’ve said before, most of my friends and family are Mormon and they’re good people whom I love, even when I occasionally disagree with them. But a lot of Buttars’ bile is fueled by, or at least informed by, his religious beliefs. I don’t suggest he’s a bigot because he’s Mormon — you can find fearful, close-minded bastards in any particular group — but Mormonism gives shape to his bigotry, and membership in the church is very obviously one of the criteria he uses to judge others, so I consider it fair to mention it here.

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Dec292008

People Annoy Me

If you drive due west from Salt Lake City, past the Great Salt Lake and out across the West Desert, you’ll arrive in an hour or two — depending on how heavy your right foot happens to be — at a dusty outpost town called Wendover. Well, technically you’ll find two Wendovers out that way, because the town straddles the Utah-Nevada border. On the Nevada side, a handful of casinos and other, ahem, adult businesses lend West Wendover a certain glitz and affluence. Wendover, Utah, on the other hand, is much quieter, darker, and sadder, a fading remnant of more important days.

Continue Reading…

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Oct292008

Another Episode of the Utah Follies

Nothing irritates me faster or more thoroughly than when some finger-wagging scold takes it upon themselves to save the rest of the community from the creeping stain of immorality instead of simply minding their own damn business and letting others go about theirs. This sort of thing, unfortunately, goes on all the time here in my home state, something which I’ve been depressingly aware of since I was a fairly young boy. Not a month goes by, it seems, without a letter-to-the-editor from some ninny who thinks the windows of Victoria’s Secret ought to be painted black, or news of yet another effort to “simplify” Utah’s ridiculously arcane liquor laws. Just this week, I’ve encountered two major eye-rollers from the front lines of the never-ending culture war:

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Oct282008

Where (Some)body Knows Your Name

Some time back in the dim mists of history — farther back than I really want to admit — The Girlfriend and I discovered this neat little place called The Organ Loft. I’ve written about it before, but for those of you who are just joining us, I should explain that The Loft is an unassuming little building in South Salt Lake wherein resides an unexpected treasure: one of the few surviving theater pipe organs of the type that were designed and manufactured in the early 20th century to accompany silent movies. Now, I’m the sort who would be satisfied if the organ had simply been preserved for people to look at, but the really cool thing about The Loft is that its owner puts it to use. Once or twice a month during the fall, winter, and spring, you can see silent movies there with live music (and sound effects!) played on the Mighty Wurlitzer, just like you would have experienced if you’d been around in about 1925.

It’s great fun, and for several years, Anne and I were regular fixtures around the place. We went frequently enough that we — or at least I, since I was the one who always made our reservations — got to be known by name. Every time we walked through the door, the owner and host, Larry Bray, would greet me with a jaunty, “Good evening, Mr. Bennion.” It was curiously gratifying to be recognized like that; it made us feel like we had a personal investment in the place, like we were in a friend’s entertainment room rather than an impersonal movie theater. It made us feel like, well, somebodies instead of just run-of-the-mill nobodies, like everyone else.

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Oct082008

Remembering Home

It sounds strange, but after spending a week in San Francisco, with its cosmopolitan and determinedly liberal — some would even say libertine — spirit, I kind of forgot what it’s like here in the Land of Zion. Fortunately, as I’ve been catching up on my blog and newspaper reading from last week, I’ve found plenty of items that remind me of those finer details that make living in Utah so very special.

Continue Reading…

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Aug052008

Ricin Maker Pleads Guilty

If you’ve been following that bizarre story about the guy who was brewing up the deadly toxin ricin a little too close to home for my comfort, here’s the latest:

A former Utahn suspected of making ricin pleaded guilty Monday in a Las Vegas federal court to possession of the deadly toxin and possession of unregistered firearms.

 

As part of his plea, 57-year-old Roger Von Bergendorff agreed to forfeit a pistol and two silencers. He faces up to 10 years in prison and a $250,000 fine on each count when sentenced Nov. 3 by U.S. District Judge Robert C. Jones. Prosecutors are recommending 37 months behind bars.

Now, I’m not really a reactionary throw-away-the-key kind of guy, but doesn’t “37 months” and “agreeing to forfeit” a gun sound a little light for making a poison so potent that a drop the size of a pinhead can kill a person? And why does he have to “agree” to give up the pistol and two silencers? Aren’t silencers illegal, and given everything else we know about this guy, shouldn’t the weapon simply be confiscated as a matter of course?

One other thing that struck me: the court records reportedly say Bergendorff knowingly possessed the biological agent for an “unjustified purpose.” Isn’t that a cute little piece of jargon… “unjustified purpose.” What would be a justified purpose for owning this stuff?

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