Sunday, March 1, 2009

English spelling reform & alternate orthographies

For years, decades, and centuries, writers and such have been complaining about the ridiculousness or unreasonableness of English spelling and writing. The Latin alphabet was adapted to English over a thousand years ago, and wrote it pretty well at the time, with the addition of a number of Germanic runes and Irish letters to represent sounds not found in Latin. Later, these letters (such as thorn, eth, and the ligature of ae) were dropped, and English went through a series of sound changes and vowel shifts. so that now the individual letters used to represent a word bear small relationship to the sounds they are intended to represent. It is a parody of an ostensibly phonemic, alphabetic system.

Spanish has five vowels. It is well served by the Latin alphabet, which has five letters to represent vowels. English has more than a dozen vowels, dipthongs, and two dozen or more consonants, depending on dialect. However, the Latin alphabet only has 26 letters. These days, a vowel-letter can represent nearly any English vowel-sound, in the right context. The letter "A," for example, represents different vowel sounds in "what," "cat," and "father." How is it that the first vowel letter of "women" rhymes with the first vowel letter of "linen," but not with the first vowel letter of "woman"? Why does the spell-checker insist that "correspondance" is incorrect, while "correspondence" is great...does it really matter which letter represents that unstressed vowel, when the sounds that letters represent vary so greatly?

The consonants are bad enough. "Q" has no job that couldn't be done by "K": it's a completely superfluous letter. "C" sometimes sounds like "K," and sometimes sounds like "S." The only sound that is unambiguously represented by "C" uses the digraph "CH," as in "cheese," but which often also substitutes for the sound of "K." Why not just have "K" do its job, "S" do its job, and let "C" represent the consonant at the beginning of the word "cheese"?

The digraph "GH" among the most infamous, since it used to represent a phoneme barely present in modern English. It is said to represent the sound we associate with "F" at the end of words. as in "cough." It represents a "hard G" at the beginning of words such as "ghost." In the word "through," the digraph is silent; the alternate spelling "thru" is unambiguous, understood by everyone, simpler, and almost universally regarded as incorrent for some reason. The tetragraph "ough" is great fun in general.

The guidelines for deriving the sounds of spoken English from the patterns of the letters are of infernal complexity. Here is a list of 56 rules for deciding how to pronounce words based on their spelling, which correctly pronounces about 85% of them; it has trouble with more than one word in 10. The popularly simplified form of "night" is not "nit" or "nait," but "nite." The relationship between letters and sounds is not arbitrary; but perhaps it is more accurate to say that groups of letters correspond to groups of sounds, with numerous, significant exceptions.

Some of these irregularities are a consequence of English's plunder of the world's vocabulary, but many of them have terrible justification. "Island" was originally written as Anglo-Saxon "iland," but an "S" was added just to make it look more like the French word "isle," derived from the etymylogically seperate Latin word "insula." There is no good reason for the "P" in "ptarmigan;" someone tacked a "P" onto the beginning of a Scottish Gaelic word to make it look Greek, and for some reason it stuck as the "correct" spelling. We'd do just as well or better without it.

While it is true that Enlish orthography represents the etymology of and lexical relationships between words well, it is an extraordinarily complex written language that is difficult to learn proficiently. People often regard Asian ideographic characters as extremely difficult because there are thousands of individual glyphs compised of several strokes, each of which ideally represents a discrete idea. But is not English orthography, composing individual words as a unique but seemingly arbitrary sequence of letters, similarly complicated?

Attempts at a more phonemic writing began long ago. In the mid-17th century, Frances Lodwick developed an abugida to write the languages of western Europe, including the vowels of English, French, and Dutch, as a "universal alphabet" in the intellectual currents of the time. Benjamin Franklin, a printer by trade, proposed a reformed alphabet in 1768. But the biggest advance for reformed English spelling came after Isaac Pitman published his system of shorthand in 1837. Quick, legible, and attractive handwriting was very important in the 19th century, after literacy and printing became widespread, but before everyone had a typewriter or computer. Shorthand, which allowed the quick transcription of speech, was developed much earlier, but Pitman's shorthand was phonemic rather than relying on a system of symbols to represent common words. Shorthand became popular among many authors of the time, who, recognizing the advantages of phonemic handwriting, became advocates of phonemic orthography and simplified spelling more broadly. Mark Twain praised Pitman's "phonography" in his 1899 essay "A Simplified Alphabet."

Nineteenth-century spelling reformers such as Alexander J. Ellis took great delight in the absurdity of English writing: "fish" written as "ghoti" is the most famous example, but he described comical respellings of "scissors" as "schiesourrhce," "favorite" as "phaighpheawraibt," and "orthography" as "eolotthowghrhroighway." Or, you write potato, I write ghoughpteighbteau. "Ghoti" is often criticized by the apologists for conventional orthography, but "phoche" illustrates much of the same point.

For many of the 19th-century reformers, the chief cited benefit of phonemic writing is reducing handwriting. They meticulously count the number of strokes needed to write a selected passage and compare it to the number of strokes needed in some preferred system. These arguments seem unconvincing these days, since most of the writing contemporary people do is on a keyboard (also organized in a confusing way to slow down writing). But some research shows it takes children twice as long to learn to read English as it takes children to learn to read other European languages. Partly this is because English syllables are complicated; but this complicated language is written in a very complicated way.

People learn to read by sounding out the sounds of words, and this learning is hampered by the opaque, complicated relationship between letter and sound in English. Fast adult readers have become proficient in quickly sounding out the word in their head. But how can we blame bad spellers, when any particular sound sequence could be written any number of different ways?

As Hieratic and Demotic originated as shorthand for Egyptian hieroglyphics, Cicero's secretary recorded his speeches in the Notae Tironianae, the Japanese syllabary began as simplified phonemic glyphs for the ideographic Chinese characters, and the lower-case Latin letters started as cursive versions of the Roman capitals, shorthand systems can yield important innovation in writing standards. Pitman's shorthand inspired the Deseret alphabet created by Mormons at the University of Deseret in the 1850s.

Another 19th-century advocate of shorthand and phonemic writing was Anglo-Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw, who wrote his plays in shorthand and had them transcribed by his secretary. A Fabian and socialist, Shaw saw how class discrimination on the basis of sociolect inhibited the advancement of working peoples, portraying the abandonment of (rich, historic, and interesting) dialects as desirable in his preface to "Pygmalion"

In his will, Shaw stipulated that a sum of money be set aside to fund the creation of a new alphabet for English, but following his death in 1950, this aim became delayed. After several years, a contest held for the design of the alphabet was won by amateur typographer Ronald Kingsley Read in 1958, and Shaw's "Androcles and the Lion" became the only book published in the Shavian alphabet. Eight years later, Read distributed a reform of the Shavian alphabet, aimed to make the script easier to handwrite and create connected, cursive forms. This script became known as Quikscript or the Read alphabet. The PDF of the Quikscript manual is the place to start; the Read Alphabet Yahoo Group has many invaluable resources.


I started learning Quikscript about a year and a half ago; here's a sample, a near-pangram of my idiolect (missing one dipthong). It says: "With pleasure, the fox is baiting the dog with more chow: a juicy dough of fish oil and hair."

Other alternate orthographies for English include the Pitman Initial Teaching Alphabet , Unifon, and Visible Speech.

Miles per burger

For a long time, I thought of bicycle fuel efficiency in terms of "miles per spaghetti dinner." A few weeks ago, I realized that "miles per burger" was a better acronym: short and accessible, even if spaghetti is a better source of carbs.

Lo and behold, Good magazine uses the metric in their fuel efficiency graph.




No real high-speed rail on the chart tho: just Amtrak.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Unemployment during the Great Depression

It seems that there are no actual measurements of unemployment during the Great Depression; all the numbers are later estimates by economists. Eric Rauchway notes that some folks are relying on earlier estimates rather than more contemporary ones.

Rauchway has a graph on his blog, but not the actual numbers. The Historical Statistics of the United States has their data online, but they charge a fee. Fortunately, my city taxes fund a useful educational institution known as a public library, which I pass every day on my bicycle ride home from work, and which holds a usefully broad collection of standard reference works. In few minutes, and for little more than two bits, I obtained photocopies of the relevant tables.

There are four editions of HSUS. The first three were published by the US Department of Commerce; the most recent of these was the Bicentennial Edition in 1975. The most recent edition was the Millenial Edition, published by Cambridge University with the permission of the Department of Commerce in 2005.

The earlier edition was based on a 1964 reconstruction by Stanley Lebergott, while the revision relies on a 1992 study by David Weir. The key difference is the handling of WPA and CCC workers, HSUS reports, but Weir also drew on a broader range of sources to assess non-manufacturing unemployment.

Below are the unemployment estimates from the two editions, from 1928 to 1943.

Historical Statistics of the United States, Millenium Edition
Unemployed, as a Percentage of Civilian Labor Force:
1928 - 4.74
1929 - 2.89
1930 - 8.94
1931 - 15.65
1932 - 22.89
1933 - 20.90
1934 - 16.20
1935 - 14.39
1936 - 9.97
1937 - 9.18
1938 - 12.47
1939 - 11.27
1940 - 9.51
1941 - 5.99
1942 - 3.10
1943 - 1.77

Historical Statistics of the United States, Bicentennial Edition
Unemployed, Percent of Labor Force
1928 - 4.2
1929 - 3.2
1930 - 8.9
1931 - 16.3
1932 - 24.1
1933 - 25.2
1934 - 22.0
1935 - 20.3
1936 - 17.0
1937 - 14.3
1938 - 19.1
1939 - 17.2
1940 - 14.6
1941 - 9.9
1942 - 4.7
1943 - 1.9

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Didgeridoo Sleeptime

My girlfriend helpfully informs me of a study indicating that practicing the didgeridoo every day helps with snoring, by training the muscles of the upper airway with circular breathing exercises.

But this story about didgeridoos has perhaps the most nonsensical statement I've ever read in a piece of science journalism.

"If didgeridoo players had ears in their mouths, they'd go deaf."

What kind of sense does that make?

Didgeridoos are interesting instruments. I've often wondered how a didgeridoo would sound in a jug band. Jug bands are so named coz they included instrumentalists who focused on playing the jug. But some jug bands instead had performers playing the stovepipe: a length of stovepipe played identically to the jug, a few inches away from the mouth.

Most homemade didgeridoos are just lengths of PVC pipe, with a mouthpiece made of beeswax. The playing style is much more sophisticated, creating a complex drone with circular breathing, rather than the simple rhythm of the jug. But it certainly seems like it'd fit in the novel aesthetic of the jug band. Plus, it'd probably be great fun to play "Foldin' Bed" on the didgeridoo.

Apropos of nothing, here is Rufus Harley, the jazz bagpiper.

Whistled Language & Palatal Whistling

I've been interested in whistled languages for a while now; replacing the voiced sounds of speech with whistled sounds seems like it would be really fun to hear. It's a phenomenon which has cropped up in languages across the world, mostly in isolated, rugged terrain, and most frequently among tonal languages.

Silbo Gomero has the best known whistled language, which was adapted from the indigenous language into Spanish. And who wouldn't like to visit the Canary Islands? Whistled languages are fairly common in West Africa, especially among the tonal Niger-Congo languages. Busuu.com has a couple of interesting videos demonstrating the whistling of the silbadores. They use fingered whistling, which is very loud. But it consequently seems like they map spoken phonemes to whistled phonemes that are different. It seems like whistled languages are more common in languages with a fairly small set of sounds.

Whistling is an interesting skill. Some vaudeville performers integrated whistling into their acts, usually as a novelty activity; several were able to whistle tunes with a variety of objects such as spoons in their mouths. Apparently, some people can whistle and hum at the same time, or whistle two tunes at once, or all sorts of strange things. Whistling has fallen out of favor as a musical enterprise, though. In elementary school, I whistled several tunes at my elementary school talent show.

I only have one or two memories of learning to whistle when I was a kid. I remember trying to pucker whistle in the passenger's seat of my Dad's old brown VW pickup in Oklahoma, some 20 years ago, when I got my first whistling sound. I never learned to finger whistle, because while it seemed usefully loud, I could already pucker whistle so much more fluently.

This NPR story, Whistling to Communicate in Alaska, is what really sparked my interest in whistled language. One of the Yupik girls interviewed whistles an English sentence, which was mostly readily intelligible to me, although she said whistling English was "difficult." It's been a little hard to figure out how to do this, though, because people can whistle in different ways and audio-only recordings aren't very instructive. I can only do pucker whistling, and since your lips are busy making the whistling sound, they can't make the consonant sounds of speech. English doesn't reliably distinguish vowels based on tone only: There's a limit to what Harpo Marx can communicate using only a slide whistle or a bulb horn.

At some point, I got the idea that whistled language like the Yupik girls were using was palatal whistling. I had never heard of such a thing: in the world of my childhood, you could whistle with your fingers, or you could whistle like how they explained it in that clip from "To Have and Have Not."

Trying to figure out palatal whistling, I found the Web site of whistling virtuoso and professor Tamas Hacki, which is both amazing and enormously helpful. He has recordings of whistled classical music on his site, but more helpfully, there are a number of YouTube videos of him performing. Apparently, he's been doing this since the 1960s.



It seems that the way to start to learn to do this is to make a "sh, sh, sh" noise until you get some whistle harmonics, and improve on that sound. The first few times I tried doing this for 10 minutes or so, the hyperventilating made me light-headed, so I only practiced it very rarely. In the last month or so, I've taken to attempting this on my 10-minute bicycle ride to work every day. It's a convenient block of time that I use for little except trying to avoid getting hit by cars.

Progress has been slow. At first, I was only shushing, with some rare, weak whistle harmonics here and there. Shushing a tune helped sometimes, but mostly because it forced a variety of changes in position of various parts of the mouth. About two weeks ago, I started to reliably be able to produce a whistle tone, although I can't vary it much without losing the whistle. Trying to memorize the position of my tongue when I successfully whistle this way has helped. Now, I can generally produce a whistle tone without many misfires, although I cannot control it well yet. Certainly I am not ready to join the International Artwhistling Philharmonic Society.

It's hard to describe, but it feels like my tongue is pressed against the rear of the roof of my mouth. It has a slightly rolled shape, presumably with a small opening for air at the front. Usually, my lips have a somewhat narrow rounded shape.

If I had to do this over, I'd learn Morse code at the same time, because it would give you something more interesting to do while you practice one note over and over.

Developing...

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

日本語

日本語で書けるかな。。。

たぶん大丈夫な。

Initiation

It looks like I have actually started the blog here. I've been blogging at louisvillemojo.com/zombiesurvival since...April 7, 2006, wow!

It's been fun there, but Mojo lacks a couple of features I would like. Unicode is the main issue: I want to blog in Japanese, as well as unconventional or made-up languages and alphabets.

Who is Panglott? Perhaps a foolish disciple of the optimistic doctor, a necromaunt of inkhorns, or merely boring, pedantic, and unfun.