Schwa?
Maria Hinojosa used to piss me off. She still does, but she used to, too. (How I miss Mitch!)
But really, though, in the middle there was a time when I thought I saw eye-to-eye with her. My dispute with the excellent host of Latino USA is the way she pronounces her name; she snaps quickly out of her appropriately lazy Anglo voice and into the schwa-less militancy of Spanish vowel sounds. She confuses her first name's R with a D; she drops her last name's H. Then right back into Gringo-ish. The change sounds forced and awkward, like bad radio.
But by some train of thought I realized one day I was being unfair. As great as one day I might become at speaking Spanish, I can't imagine ever pronouncing my name with a long O. (Incidentally, my good friend R. has a short O in his name as well. To further erode his anonymity, let me say that his Philippine in-laws can't pronounce his name. They must get caught up on the spelling; re-spell it with an A, silly as it would look to United-Statesians, and they would get it perfectly.)
But traveling last month, a United-Statesian friend of mine, who speaks excellent Spanish, would introduce himself with an Argentinian accent, including pronouncing the double-R in his own last name with a trill of the tongue. Now, granted, when he gave his last name it was often, for example, to hotel clerks, etc., who needed to write it down on some form or other, so his Spanish pronunciation was likely, in part, to facilitate phonetic spelling. But so then when, in general, is it preferred to slip into a different accent? Another friend, H., goes virtually apoplectic when still another, mutual, friend, J.L., who is United-Statesian but of Hispanic descent, orders "tortillas" schwa-lessly, as though in solidarity with the restaurant waitstaff.
Not knowing another language, I don't think I ever change my accent, either for words that I say or for my audience. Word choice is a different matter. I do notice that my vocabulary gets meaningfully less erudite when I'm asking for directions in a San Antonio gas station, as opposed to explaining how I measure fracture strain to a scientific audience. And not simply because I need to use fancier words; I'm much more likely to, for example, avoid ending my sentences with prepositions in the latter case.
So I tailor my speech for my audience. I think most everyone does. (J.G. tried to explain to me once how her father's accent drastically changed as he drove from, maybe, Essex to Liverpool, but my unfamiliarity with England prohibited the details from cementing into my brain. Same point though.) What one says, and how he says it, communicates not just the content of his words but any number of things about him. What region of the country is he from? Is he educated? Is he a high-falutin' city-boy? Is he, like my traveling companion, considerate of other people's phonetic capabilities?
What does Maria Hinojosa's pronunciation of "Maria Hinojosa" say about herself? I absolutely abhor the thought of judging her. I would rather wince at the beginning of every episode.
But really, though, in the middle there was a time when I thought I saw eye-to-eye with her. My dispute with the excellent host of Latino USA is the way she pronounces her name; she snaps quickly out of her appropriately lazy Anglo voice and into the schwa-less militancy of Spanish vowel sounds. She confuses her first name's R with a D; she drops her last name's H. Then right back into Gringo-ish. The change sounds forced and awkward, like bad radio.
But by some train of thought I realized one day I was being unfair. As great as one day I might become at speaking Spanish, I can't imagine ever pronouncing my name with a long O. (Incidentally, my good friend R. has a short O in his name as well. To further erode his anonymity, let me say that his Philippine in-laws can't pronounce his name. They must get caught up on the spelling; re-spell it with an A, silly as it would look to United-Statesians, and they would get it perfectly.)
But traveling last month, a United-Statesian friend of mine, who speaks excellent Spanish, would introduce himself with an Argentinian accent, including pronouncing the double-R in his own last name with a trill of the tongue. Now, granted, when he gave his last name it was often, for example, to hotel clerks, etc., who needed to write it down on some form or other, so his Spanish pronunciation was likely, in part, to facilitate phonetic spelling. But so then when, in general, is it preferred to slip into a different accent? Another friend, H., goes virtually apoplectic when still another, mutual, friend, J.L., who is United-Statesian but of Hispanic descent, orders "tortillas" schwa-lessly, as though in solidarity with the restaurant waitstaff.
Not knowing another language, I don't think I ever change my accent, either for words that I say or for my audience. Word choice is a different matter. I do notice that my vocabulary gets meaningfully less erudite when I'm asking for directions in a San Antonio gas station, as opposed to explaining how I measure fracture strain to a scientific audience. And not simply because I need to use fancier words; I'm much more likely to, for example, avoid ending my sentences with prepositions in the latter case.
So I tailor my speech for my audience. I think most everyone does. (J.G. tried to explain to me once how her father's accent drastically changed as he drove from, maybe, Essex to Liverpool, but my unfamiliarity with England prohibited the details from cementing into my brain. Same point though.) What one says, and how he says it, communicates not just the content of his words but any number of things about him. What region of the country is he from? Is he educated? Is he a high-falutin' city-boy? Is he, like my traveling companion, considerate of other people's phonetic capabilities?
What does Maria Hinojosa's pronunciation of "Maria Hinojosa" say about herself? I absolutely abhor the thought of judging her. I would rather wince at the beginning of every episode.
posted by john at
10:55 AM
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