My Essay--Critique?

jpps1
Mon, 01 Nov 2004 13:52:10 +0000

Hey, I’ve applied EA to Chicago, but I’m looking for some opinions on my essay (as I know it’s a major part)…I did the “language as a connector” option (#2).

O fair God! ‘Tis thee that hath charged us with the peculiarities of the tongue! To the Greeks, thou hath given the ancient words of Homer; to the Romans, the playful adornments of Ovid. Come hither, ye English, and revel in our development of language—for by heaven’s time it will be too late, and all men will speak as one.

The Bard I am not. Clearly, I have yet to master the ins and outs of the iambic pentameter. Nor do I possess the poignant qualities of a poet, instead being forced to melt my girlfriend’s heart with a steady stream of gifts rather than heartstring-pulling sonnets.


However, what I lack in rhythm and emotive guile I make up for with a rather innovative vocabulary. I’ve always been fond of combining words—from the aforementioned “heartstring-pulling” to “grandiloquent,” (a combination of grandiose and eloquent) I always manage to invent the perfect word if the thesaurus is not sufficient (aside from which, thesauruses—or is it thesauri?—are too uncomfortable and a little disconcerting to others for me to keep in my breastpocket). Obviously, I need to go outside more.

My friends tell me that my vocabulary is a wide and esoteric one. Other people possess lexicons shaped by sports, philosophy, medicine and even fashion. Our passions, interests, and knowledge—essentially our innermost selves—are defined by the words we choose, from the colloquial to the technical. Venturing out into different phraseology is like putting on a costume—you change who you are with the words you use and connotations you attach to them. Which is why I always find it fun to talk like a rapper at times—“What izzle uphizzle G-unit?” I’ll say to my friends. They find it funny because it is unlike me to use those words, just as I find it amusing when some of my less intellectually-esteemed peers say to me, “Greetings and salutations!”

It’s not just my vocabulary that differentiates me. There are subtle cadences to my speech as well—most of the time, I’m talking too fast for my own good and end up contracting words or melding one suffix into the next word’s prefix. For example: It’s prolly nodda gud’idea to typapers like this (translation: It’s probably not a good idea to type papers like this). Evidently, it loses some of its humour and playfulness on paper, as speech is always more dynamic than prose. Some may call it mumbling and poor enunciating (I pronounce “tt” like “d”—i.e. “button” becomes “budden”)—I say it simply allows me to pack the maximum amount of information into the smallest breath possible. And when I just cannot think of anything to say, I put together long strings of “Whatchamacallit…you know…”

Language is the fingerprint of the mind, revealing the true nature of individuals. The village idiot could conceal himself as an intellectual by donning a lab coat, thick-rimmed glasses, and by sticking a calculator in his pocket—but as soon as he opens his mouth, he’ll be exposed. In the same way, anyone listening to me speak with a friend will be able to figure me out: I like to read (a lot), I watch an obscene amount of Jeopardy! and I’m messy and absent-minded. If you want to find out the truth about someone, don’t analyze their ideas, as those can be faked—analyze the words and how they are said, be it fast, slow, prosaic or florid. Because while people can tell lies, people never lie.