en·nui (än′wē′, än wē′)
noun
weariness and dissatisfaction resulting from inactivity or lack of interest;

This perfectly describes my situation over the past, oh, 6 months or so, give or take? So yeah, weary describes it, as does a general sense of dissatisfaction and overall lack of that industrious feeling that, I suppose, I should be having. And sure, I’ve been sorta inactive, mentally, but more precisely, I’ve lost interest. And to be honest, I’d source it in my Masters program.

In fact, when I started this professional Masters degree program in Computer Science not only was I at a different school (DePaul U.), but I had that frenetic, pioneering impulse you experience when you confront a new subject in all your high-spirits. It’s sorta like when you were a kid and, even though you hated the impending start school at the end of a long summer, somehow shopping for school supplies was always a fun and fulfilling experience–at least for me it was. I mean if only for the fact that you got to be a gleeful and active consumerist, running down isles of choices from rulers to pencils, to notebooks and bags, erasers and pencil cases, coloring sets and oh my isn’t this a treat! I remember the trapper keepers of yore, and the lunchboxes and thermoses that carried my daily fuel (Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve had a generously mayonnaised arepa, compliments of my dear loving mother). But I digress.

Oh what I wouldn’t do for a return to those states of emboldened conviction and unchecked expectation. If I could then only find a way to extract that, replicate it, store it for later use, and re-inject it into my system during spells like these. But I guess that’s just it, there is a way to replicate that impetus to move forward and seize what is rightfully yours, and it’s more willful than I’m willing to concede at times. In fact, in the very definition of the term ennui is the answer to my problems. Because it’s that simple. If you’re weary or dissatisfied, bored and full of angst, change that face, and put on a fresh coat of paint. Take some interest in what you do, and don’t let yourself become inactive in life.

There, I did it. Ennui, with this post I smite thee, and turn to face life anew! Oh, CAPITAL!

Anywho, as you might gather from the title, I wanted to share a little bit about an online book purchasing service I like to use. It’s called IndieBound, and is like Amazon.com, except they only trade in books. The way IndieBound works is, you find a book on the site, select a local bookstore in your area, and order online. As soon as the book arrives, which is normally only a few days after you place the order, you can pick it up at your bookstore.

Of course, like Amazon IndieBound offers a couple of useful features, allowing you to connect with other fellow readers, as well maintaining a wishlist of must-have books. I keep a running list of books that I would like to own, both for my own records, but also to share with family and friends as gift ideas. So, give it a try, and support your local bookstore!

A couple of tips if you decide to join the IndieBound community. The search feature is clunky, and feature-poor. What I normally do is, use a service like Worldcat, LibraryThing (more on this wonderful, social book collecting site at a later date), or (blech!) Amazon to find a book, then copy the ISBN into the IndieBound search box. This method never fails, and I’ve managed to find every book I’ve searched for.

For rare books, check out Abebooks.com. Just like IndieBound, you can keep a wishlist of wanted books. The difference here is that your wishlist is more like a ongoing search query. So, say you want a rare book by a 20th-century Venezuelan author. You enter the name of the author into your wishlist, and whenever a book of theirs becomes available, Abebooks sends you an email to that effect. That said, I have little trouble finding copies of rare Venezuelan books on their site, and new (though often used) copies often pop up.

“Las repetidas elecciones son esenciales en los sistemas populares, porque nada es tan peligroso como dejar permanecer largo tiempo en un mismo ciudadano el poder. El pueblo se acostumbra a obedecerle y él se acostumbra a mandarlo; de donde se origina la usurpación y la tiranía. Un justo celo es la garantía de la libertad republicana, y nuestros ciudadanos deben temer con sobrada justicia que el mismo magistrado, que los ha mandado mucho tiempo, los mande perpetuamente.”

Quick translation (italics are my own):

“Regular elections are essential in popular systems [of governance], because nothing can be more dangerous than for one citizen to remain in power over a long period of time. The people become accustomed to obeying him and he gets used to ruling them, where from originates [the threat of] usurpation, and tyranny. A certain degree of justifiable zeal will be the guarantee of republican freedom, and our citizens should fear with equal license [the possibility] that the same official, who has commanded them for a long time, rule them in perpetuity. “

Speaking from his palace balcony this morning, the 10-year Venezuelan ruler joined a crowd of enthusiastic supporters by chanting, “The people, united, will never be defeated!”

“Como elemento integrador [entre Venezuela y Cuba] el cable submarino puede proporcionar comunicaciones seguras y con mayores prestaciones que las proporcionadas por los enlaces satelitales [comerciales de uso actual] en combinación con las redes terrestrales.”

Translation (author’s own):

“As an integrative element [between Venezuela and Cuba] the underwater cable is capable of supplying secure communications, with more capacity than what is provided by the current [commercial] satellite links in combination with terrestrials networks.”

I know, it doesn’t sound all that contentious, but consider what this allows for, given rumors of secret rooms in Maiquetia (Caracas’ international airport) where Cubans and Venezuelans spy on domestic and international telephone calls, not to mention CANTV’s infiltration by the DISIP (yes, admittedly this comes from a screaming-head opposition source). CANTV is the state-owned, national telephone company.

That said, here’s a bit on Cuba’s intelligence infrastructure, and specifically as it pertains to telephone conversations and other forms of communication on the internet. The key section follows (dump it into Google’s Translator for other languages).

“Un grupo es para espiar las telecomunicaciones de Estados Unidos en general. Otro grupo es para espiar telefonos y computadoras asignadas de antemano. Un tercer grupo es para espiar mediante el sistema moderno de “reconocimiento de voz” para interceptar llamadas desde cualquier telefono al reconocer el patron de voz de la persona.”

Of course, Venezuela would not be the first country to spy on its own citizens. Indeed, the country where I reside has a long-standing love affair with wire-tapping and other types of espionage directed inwardly at civilians. Lately it’s been sanctioned and gained more public scrutiny under the cause of the War on Terrorism. But we all know that these practices are nothing new to the world of US intelligence operations, though their reach has certainly grown. Notwithstanding, the key to the new, unfettered link between Cuba and Venezuela lies in the autocratic nature of their current governments.

What new problems might this more intimate, high-density and immediate exchange of information “under the sea” bring to Venezuela and its people? I shudder at the implications and can only hope that people will be a bit less myopic in their characterizations of Venezuela and Chavez, as defender of all things anti-Bush.

Thoreau’s separation from society was of course as much a mental exercise as it was physical. Though the remoteness of his cabin may be questionable, his self-distancing from the customs and obligations of the quotidian New England lifestyle offered the ideal environment in which to ponder the trivialities of the common citizen’s existence, and proselytize on the foundations of a righteous and self-fulfilling life. Thoreau takes aim at the places of residence and the division of labor that defines the lives of his fellow Concord townsmen, asking

“Who knows but if men constructed their dwellings with their own hands, and provided food for themselves and families simply and honestly enough, the poetic faculty would be universally developed, as birds universally sing when they are so engaged?”

He offers an age-old recipe for bread-making, originally inscribed by Cato, tallies the cost and materials used in his home-building, his farming inputs and outputs (he manages to make a small profit after his work is done and his meals satisfied), the tools necessary to a hermit-like existence, and even seemingly-trivial housekeeping details–did you know that sand and water, applied with a broom, much like sandpaper, make a great mixture for wood-floor scrubbing and cleaning? Most importantly, though, Thoreau emphasizes the accessibility of his humble lifestyle, and even attempts to convince a poor Irish family squatting in a run-down home outside of Concord. In his own words,

“If my house had been burned or my crops had failed, I should have been nearly as well off as before.”

But despite Thoreau’s conviction that a just way of life is attainable, even for the poorest amongst us, he was quick to note that it’s not his that others should model, much less a philosopher’s. Says he that,

“I would not have any one adopt my mode of living … but I would have each one be very careful to find out and pursue his own way, and not his father’s or his mother’s or his neighbor’s instead.”

Still, he hoped to inspire in others the volition necessary for a contented life of quiet reflection. This is what most attracted him to one of his visitors while living in the forest, a Canadian wood-chopper:

“He interested me because he was so quiet and solitary and so happy withal; a well of good humor and contentment which overflowed at his eyes.”

But most importantly, Thoreau was enthused by discovering in this man, if ever so fleetingly, a certain degree of real individuality, the glimmers of a skeptic mind:

“There was a certain positive originality … in him, and I occasionally observed that he was thinking for himself and expressing his own opinion … and it amounted to the reorigination of the institutions of society.”

It is this disposition to question without bound or restraint the life that is given to us by our antecedents that Thoreau most valued. His aim, above all, was for all men to take hold of the reins to their own lives, as if to drive a cleaver through the thick of our quotidian existence and discern, somewhere in the intervening space the beginnings of a life that we may eventually call our own. And it is during the waking hours of our daily lives that Thoreau hoped we might find the most fertile terrain for the origination of that timeless, enduring journey:

“Every man has to learn the points of compass again as often as he awakes … Not till we are lost … do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations.”

All in all, I must remark, Walden makes for quite the arousing read. So much so that, aye, this humble reader may yet course those same waters. Who knows? With that, I leave you with a poem, a quote, and a question, for your rumination.

A poem:
While looking into a fire, Thoreau quotes his contemporary, the poet Ellen Sturgis Hooper,

“Never, bright flame, may be denied to me
Thy dear, life-imaging, close sympathy.
What but my hopes shot upward e’er so bright?
What but my fortunes sunk so low in night?
Why art thou banished from our hearth and hall,
Thou who art welcomed and beloved by all?
Was thy existence then too fanciful
For our life’s common light, who are so dull?
Did thy bright gleam mysterious converse hold
With our congenial souls? secrets too bold?
Well, we are safe and strong, for now we sit
Beside a hearth where no dim shadows flit,
Where nothing cheers nor saddens, but a fire
Warms feet and hands—nor does to more aspire;
By whose compact, utilitarian heap
The present may sit down and go to sleep,
Nor fear the ghosts who from the dim past walked,
And with us by the unequal light of the old wood-fire talked.”
(Italics are my own.)

A quote:

“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.”

A question:

Given a humble, contented life with only the barest of animal necessities and human comforts, would man choose to look inward in his “idle” hours, or would he, rather, relinquish himself to that source of all life, great and small, only to commune with our animal brethren in careless abandon? I suspect that all of us, like Thoreau’s wood-chopping acquaintance, would more easily and resolutely choose peace and quietude over the more abstracting, assuming qualities of our human nature.

So first, a little background on the wilderness. The Leatherwood Wilderness is located in the Ozark National Forest, just under one hour south of the Missouri-Arkansas state line. It features semi-rugged terrain marked by numerous “mountains” (we’re talking about the Ozarks here) that peak at about 1200 ft. The wilderness contains 4 creeks (one bearing its name) and various smaller bodies of water that course into these. Elevations range from peaks at 1200 ft, to creek valleys lying around 500 ft above sea level. To the west, the wilderness is bounded by the Buffalo River, to the north, south and east, by Push Mountain Rd. and the Ozark Highlands Trail. The temperature in late November dipped into the 20s at night, with 50 and 60 degree readings in the day. Finally, be warned, be doubly-warned, in fact, that seeing as it is located right smack in the middle of the country, airplane passes are rather frequent and disruptive–I counted 1 for every one of five hours at one of my campsites.

I’ll be referring to the two maps at the end of this post for reference. I started my trip at the NE corner of Map 1, at the beginning of the yellow pencil line. When I surveyed the area on USGS and Google maps, I had assumed (incorrectly) that the so-called “roads” were actually navigable by car. Instead, I found myself with an additional 2 miles of hiking into the wilderness, and the same distance back out. Not that this is of any major concern–after all, hiking is precisely one of the things that I most enjoy about these trips!

Following down that yellow line, I reached the end of the road. These roads are really leftovers passages cut-out by old-time miners and settlers in the region. They are quite wide, and you could easily fit two horses side-by-side along their pathways. They eventually give way to more narrow trails which in turn give way to bush. And here is where the fun began, at bushwacking marker 1. And boy was this was fun! I had the pleasure of scraping my arms, legs, and torso against trunks, branches, thorns and all-manner of dead matter. Add to this the fact that I had to be extra careful going down one of the many streams the feed the wilderness’ eponymous creek. For if I slipped on one wet stone, I risked injury and a considerable soaking. My reward for all of this? The gentle, rocky-faced Leatherwood creek.

Once I reached the end of the (left) side valley, I met with the dried-up head of the Leatherwood Creek. Just a mile or so down, past small and medium-sized rocks carved gently by the slow waters of the creek, was my final resting place for the day. Here I soon discovered a hidden, “unofficial” trail that runs alongside the creek in its entirety. The hiking from this point on, until my next bushwacking segment, would offer little excitement, and I spent my first night with the calming flows of the creek to comfort my sleep.

The next day was an exciting one, for instead of being faced with the challenges of the bush, I found much-welcomed relief in the form of a trail that I surmised was used mostly by Forest Rangers (and adventurous types such as your esteemed author). As it turns out, the wilderness is handsomely traversed by narrow trails, up and down side valleys, along streams, and beyond. Naturally, USGS maps mark little besides the wider roads strewn about the wilderness, leaving miles of trail to be discovered by pioneering-wannabe’s such as myself. This is all in good fun, of course, and helps keep foot traffic to a minimum (this is a wilderness we are dealing with, after all).

The next helping of adrenaline did not come until I reached the second segment of bushwacking, between markers 3 and 4. Here I realized that I had strayed from the course due north and away from the creek. So, instead of backtracking, I dug in my heels and made the decision to scale 500 ft up the side of the mount, in order to reach the Brush Creek trail. Along the way I learned that, in order to get a good footing on the steep incline, that you should kick vigorously into the soil with every step, burrowing securely under the thick carpeting of fallen leaves (it’s fall time, kids!). I also learned that backpacking alone, you do your best to make prudent decisions, steering clear of compromising situations that could spell trouble for a solo tripper in the wilderness. Sounds reasonable, right? And yet there I was, my 45 lb bag snugly against my torso, faced with a 12 ft wall of rock. What did I do? Why, attempt to climb the straight-faced rock, of course! One step up the rock, however, and my good conscience caught hold of my testosterone-induced drive to conquer. Phew, for that was certainly a close one! I soon found a less daunting entryway up the mount, and pumped my fists in triumph as I reached the top of the summit. It was at that point that I proudly inherited the Balboa family name.

At the summit, looking across and over the glen.

After a short reprieve, I regained my strength and marched on towards the creek. On the way there I heard the sounds of a human-sized biped pacing slowly through the thickly-foliaged trail, maybe a half-mile ahead. I quickly got excited by the prospect of trading stories and experiences with other fellow hikers. But alas, though the evidence of human trekkers was clearly present, I pushed onwards as I did throughout my solitary trip. (And what’s not to like about that, just you, nature and your thoughts to keep the soul company.)

A hiker’s solitary companion.

When I reached the creek valley I was disappointed to find a dried-up channel of water, with all manner of rocks and leaves strewn about. So it was only natural that I made the decision to push on during my final hour of daylight, until I reached the banks of the Buffalo River. Just like on my previous evening, I quickly set about to making camp, and eventually laid to rest with the riffling current of the Buffalo River to soothe my sleep.

The next day I hiked down the southern stretch of the Brush Creek Trail. My plan was to reach the point where the side-valley sloped gradually down to the meeting point of the Buffalo River and the Leatherwood Creek. And to my surprise, I found a well-traveled path at the point where the trail turns E-NE, to E-SE. So I happily descended down the mount at markers 5 and 6 (the direction of this path is admittedly guesswork, and the meandering course was actually curvier than depicted). I eventually was forced to veer off the trail, as it appeared to turn straight east across the mount. After some careful bushwacking down and through a few rock faces, I stumbled upon another, smaller trail. As it turns out, the Wilderness is handsomely intersected by “unofficial” trails (i.e., those that go unmarked in USGS maps), along creek valleys and sloping streams. My best guess is that most of these are man-made, esp. seeing as they are narrow and shallow, unlike the rock-covered, dried stream channels I found near and beside these trails. Once I reached the Leatherwood Creek, I slowly made my way through shallow creek water and sand banks, to a place of temporary respite. But before I tell you about what I found there, I’ll make a quick detour to a disheartening but noteworthy truth about Wilderness Areas.

Seeing as they are natural spaces that experience infrequent travel, Wildereness Areas have a tendency to amass human refuse through the years. You see, most people (except hunters of the beer-chugging variety, of course, the same ones that take to tearing up gaping wounds in this here earth of ours in their four-wheel monstrosities with such contemptible disregard >:|) have become aware of our common responsibility as stewards of nature. Thus, what you find in these areas are curious time capsules of human waste from bygone years–canned goods, softdrink bottles, beer cans and the like, which are ocassionaly accompanied by spent shotgun shells (hmmph!). My reaction to these finds is rather schizophrenic–on the one hand, I’m itching to lay my eyes on outmoded tokens of wasteful consumerism and, on the other hand, I shed a tear for the very practice itself.

The forested wilderness, keeper of human waste.

Back on the trail I found a rather alarming, but curious sight–a bear-print the size of my hand! The print was freshly stamped on the edge of a still-moist sand bank, and you could discern 3-4, inch-long claws, complete from root to tip.

An arresting sight.

I impulsively bellowed out a loud and clear “Hey Joooeeee!” to alert any nearby members of the family Ursidae and, after turning the corner on a sizable mound at the forked-mouth of the creek, I found a rather beautiful sight. A steep, evergreen mount with a prominent summit situated precisely at a bend in the Buffalo River and, preceding the bend, a shallow riffle caused by small rock, the likely feeding ground for any animal capable of fishing. So I did the prudent thing and decided to drop my pack and enjoy a leisurely lunch. Luckily, I myself did not become lunch, and I laughed silently at the sight of stunted, leafless trees along both sides of the river bank, leaning at sharp angles in the direction of the river current.

After this short recess, I gathered up my belongings and hit the trail. The rest of the march alongside the Leatherwood creek offered little to comment on, other than mangy, thick forest covered abundantly in the leaves of fall. I eventually found my final resting place for the day just beyond Spencer Hollow, at the end of the blue line, where I slumbered once more with the nearby sounds of the trickling creek to keep me company.

The next morning I set about to carrying out my regular chores with utmost alacrity–I wanted to reach my car around noon time, to allow for plenty of time for the eleven-hour trip back to Chicago. So it was that on this morning I actually managed to leave camp just around 9am! The morning had been a rather chilly one, this following an abrupt change in temperature as a sudden gulf of warm air had temporarily descended upon the wilderness the night before. My first task of the day was to climb up the side of the nearest mount on my way to the Leatherwood Road. Once I reached the trail, at the end of markers 7 and 8, I pushed on confidently with a steady, though elevated heartbeat. My final reward on this trip was a soft but thick snowfall during the final 2 hours of hiking. And so it was that as I took in the entirety of my adventure, and huffed and puffed through the quieting snowfall, I was suddenly and unexpectedly confronted with my Toyota Corolla, safely parked just a couple of dozens steps away. So I bid farewell to the wilderness, and cheerfully embraced my safe return to the comforts of civilized life.

Map Legend:

*red = Day 4
*yellow = Day 1
*green = Day 2
*blue = Day 3
**numbers denote the beginning (odds) and end (evens) of bushwacking segments
***quadrants measure roughly 1 mile per side

Map 1: Days 1, 2 and 4

Map 2: Days 2, 3 and 4

Jerome McDonnell, you’re my hero!

Therefore, by way of example I introduce this post with the following excerpt:

(1) Getting married and having a child is better than having a child and getting married

Semantically speaking, the sentence retains its meaning even when the subordinate and superordinate clauses are swapped (i.e., the parts on either side of than). However, pragmatically speaking we can derive a richer meaning out of the inverse, flipped-over version of the sentence. So, a casual speaker would regard the following with a different meaning than (1):

(2) Having a child and getting married is better than getting married and having a child

And therein lies the difference between semantics and pragmatics, namely that the former concerns itself with sentence and (generally) truth-conditional meaning–or the “literal” meaning extracted of a sentence—while the latter is more about context-based meanings. The what, you might ask? The context, dummy! So, while the conjunction and generally does just that (i.e., link clauses together) contextually we can imbue it with a richer, temporal meaning, as the case may be. In fact, any speaker of the English language would regard (1) and (2) as conveying different meanings based on the fact that and implies a sequence of events (i.e., “first this and then this”).

So what about the truth-conditional part, isn’t that about context? Not exactly. Truth-conditional simply means that the sentence means exactly what it looks like it means, and nothing more. In other words, that the sentence cannot be reinterpreted based on contextual indexing. This is really just a fancy of way saying that, semantically speaking, the following sentence,

(3) And my name is George W. Bush!

can only be uttered by a person with that name. So, the sentence’s truth-conditional meaning is dependent on this fact (that the speaker is in fact named George W. Bush). Pragmatically, however, we know that this sentence can be employed with sarcastic meaning if uttered by a speaker named Barrack Hussein Obama. Such an interpretation can be gleaned only if we are made aware of the context of the utterance. As an example, preceding (3) with the following might fit such an interpretation

(4) Barrack Hussein Obama, your policies are based on an undeniably statist-groundwork that borders on socialist tyranny!

Of course, as a reader of this blog you might extract additional, pragmatically-based meaning out of these sentences. So, despite any insistence on your humble blogger’s part that these sentences do not betray my political affinities (at least not in a straightforward manner :), you might place this blog’s political-leaning on this camp or that. Or better yet, coupled with this parenthesized insistence on my behalf, perhaps you will choose to further hone the context-based meaning of sentences (3) and (4). I leave that up to you, oh gentle reader. Ahh, pragmatics!

Now, to build on this seemingly minor exposition, I will touch upon the Gricean concept of meaning-nn. Paul Grice defines this as

(5) S meant-nn z by uttering U if and only if:
(i) S intended U to cause some effect z in recipient H
(ii) S intended (i) to be achieved simply by H recognizing that intention (i)

Man, that’s a whole lotta variables, ey? But seriously, to quote Stephen Levinson (1983), who writes in Pragmatics that what this is means, essentially, is that “communication is a complex kind of intention that is achieved or satisfied just by being recognized.” Doesn’t help clarify things much, you say? Well, in straight English, it means that S knows that H knows that S knows that H knows (ad nauseum) that S has a particular intention in mind.

Pretty cool stuff, if I may so myself! And this is where I’ll leave you for now, though I plan to post much, much more on this stimulating subject in the coming weeks.

Addendum: Here’s a verbatim quote from Levinson’s introductory text that helps flush out the relationship (and borders) between semantics and pragmatics,

“Suppose, as is now common in logical semantics, we view a proposition as a function from possible worlds to truth value (i.e. as an abstract assignment of the value true to just those states of affairs which the proposition correctly describes. Then one way in which we can accommodate context-relativity is to say that the proposition expressed by a sentence in a context is a function from possible worlds and that context to truth values.”

Hehehehe, I just love it when complicated things are expressed in such elegant terms.

Papiamento is a creole spoken in Aruba, Bonaire, and Curaçao, and serves as an official language for all three islands. While its origins are a bit murky, it’s thought to have been born of African, Dutch and Portuguese roots, with influences from Spanish. The language has spent its life largely amongst Afro-American speakers in the Caribbean-basin region. Its impact on Spanish in the region is likely not considerable, however there are reasons to believe that it affected the Afro-Spanish of Cuba and Puerto Rico, and particularly in the nineteenth century.

Specifically, the Papiamento construction ta + [verbal infinitive] is present in that time period, in those two islands. This is true for the present tense, and alternates with the more common bozal (i.e., Afro-Hispanic) form in the third-person singular, as well as an unconjugated infinitive. Its usage, claims Lipski (1994) can be illustrated via the following examples:

(Puerto Rico) ¿Po que tú no ta queré a mi?
‘Why don’t you love me?’

(Cuba)Horita ta bení pa cá
‘Soon she (will) come here’

Additionally, the origin of this construction should be be confused with a potential genesis stemming from esta[r]. This form can be confirmed convincingly from examples where the verb employs a locational role, as well as in combination with an adjective (e.g., Yo no pue ta quieto ya, ‘I can’t be still now’). However, should this origin really be limited to these contexts? After all, we can find abundant examples in present-day Spanish of the region where the present tense is employed to describe future actions. Thus, the Cuban example might be rephrased as Horita va ta bení pa cá. In fact, though Papiamento employs lo as future marker, bozal speakers generally use the present-tense or a periphrastic future with va. Moreover, there are analogous constructions in West Africa where a preverbal tense/aspect particle is used, a trait that Lipski claims has been reproduced in African-influenced “Atlantic” creoles. As such, could it be that what we are seeing here is in fact a versatile tense marker? It would certainly make sense when taking into account the wide-spread tendency to simplify verb forms in “foreigner” Spanish.

Regardless, says Lipski that the use of ta in the above examples can be found in Iberian-based creoles throughout the world, in places such as the Philippines, W. Africa and S. and SE Asia. Moreover, via some socio-linguistic reasoning it’s possible to surmise on the processes and contexts through which this phenomenon may have been transmitted. Thus, in addition to similar structures in W. African languages, we can add the following items from <i>bozal</i>:

(1) Use of ta from está/estar in conjunction with adjectives (e.g., el palo ta duro, ‘the [wood of the] tree is hard’);

(2) the loss of final /r/ in infinitives starting in the sixteenth century;

(3) use of uninflected infinitive stems in bozal Spanish.

Along these lines, one might surmise that what sounded like “broke” speech to some may in fact have seemed more natural to bozal speakers. This is even more probable when we consider that Papiamento was employed as a native or near-native language by slave laborers imported from the former Dutch settlement of Curaçao. These laborers, it should be noted, were brought en masse to Cuba and Puerto Rico due largely to the Sugar boom of the late eighteenth-century. As a result, it is believed that a number of other bozal traits may have been influenced by Papiamento.

Now, all of this talk about African-based creoles and pidgins begs another persistent-claim among many Latin-American linguistics. That is, that at some point or another there existed a relatively homogenous creole that served as a sort of lingua franca among the numerous ethno-linguistic communities from W. Africa represented throughout the region. This somewhat seductive and facile line of inquiry seems to stem from, mostly, suppositions that point to a Portuguese-based origin. The most common argument within these claims points to the overwhelming and lasting Portuguese domination of the sending ports and stations in the Atlantic slave trade. As result, supporters hold that a common creole would have arisen among the multitudinous communities of W. African speakers held captive for prolonged lengths of time in these sending points. The problem with this argument, however, is that the few, tenuous bits of evidence for it are overwhelmed by the tide of challenges stemming from bozal texts.

So why do these claims persist? Could it be that proponents are allurd by the Otherness of African-based creoles and pidgins, propelled in the search for a lost, common root to the influences of African-based languages by the errant elegance of what are essentially unempirical, armchair-based lines of inquiry? Perhaps I’m being a bit unforgiving here, but seriously folks, considering the large expanse and territories of the Americas, not to mention its multi-faceted cultural heritage, shouldn’t linguistic heterogeneity be the more compelling trait here? I leave that to you, Oh gentle reader to decide upon. But do keep in mind that, as with all things human, the truth of any Anthropological matter is rarely simple or elegant.

Specifically, between 1840 and 1890 as many as 40,000 Canarians emigrated to Venezuela. Their numbers quieted somewhat after this period, when many preferred Spanish-government sanctioned destinations like Cuba and Puerto Rico. However, following the Spanish Civil War, which created economic hardships for much of Spain including the islands, Canarians once again set their sights on Venezuela, a trend that held until the 1960s. Unsurprisingly, writing in 1994 Lipski informs that Venezuela continues to have a large Canary-born population. You might wonder why a chain of islands with a population numbering maybe 240,000 in the mid eighteenth-century saw so much emigration to Latin America. Read on for the answer, my gentle reader.

The Spanish settled the Canary islands starting in 1483, largely displacing the native population. Starting with Columbus’ pioneering voyages to the W. Indies, the Canarian population was employed as provisioners of passing ships, military conscripts and settlers for the new colonies. As you might guess, then, the islands served as a way station for Spanish ships en route to the New World. Moreover, due largely to reasons of economic hardship, many canarios chose emigration, and in large numbers beginning in the eighteenth century. Logically, they took to the Antilles due to professional reasons, as well as matters of convenience—i.e., going from one chain of islands with largely maritime forms of employment to another island region receiving the ships that passed through the Canary islands on their way to the Americas. A noteworthy fact stemming from this trend is the fact that Spanish brought by Canarians is still spoken in St. Berndard Parish, Louisiana.

Now onto the meatier part of this post. In fact, you might ask what all is the linguistic influence of Canarians? Well, my inquisitive reader, the truth is that it’s not so easy to separate the influence of canarios from their not-too-distant cultural brethren, the Andalucians. However, among verifiable examples of their impact on American Spanish are lexical items like guagua, or ‘bus’, a term paradoxically absent in Venezuela, and syntactic ones like the combination más nada (vs. the Castillian nada más). However, there is yet another level of complexity at work in this latter example. In fact, this type of construction is common among Galician Spanish speakers and, as such, cannot be wholly attributed to Canarians in countries that saw large numbers of immigrants from the former group, such as Venezuela and Cuba. As well, Galicians left a documented influence on the Canary islands. Fun stuff, ey?

A parallel trait in Venezuelan Spanish (i.e., the influence of maritime trade) is the tendency to favor maritime terms like botar, amarrar and the multitudinous usage forms of the term concha, or ’shell’. In fact, as documented by Angel Rosenblat, this term can be used to denote any type of peel, rind or skin of all manner of fruit and vegetables, as well as the human and serpentine skin. The term also sees new life in interjections like Cónch-ale/-ole, Concho and Córchole, and countless popular refrains like the equivalent of “Pot calling the kettle black”, cachicamo diciéndole a morrocy conchudo, which roughly translates to ‘armadillo calling the turtle cheeky.’

Could this pronounced maritime influence on Venezuelan Spanish be attributable to a Galician/Canary influence? Chances are that, more likely than not, this trait stems from the largely coastal population of Venezuela, as well as its solid placing along long-established Caribbean trade routes. In fact, Rosenblat attributes the many-hued usage of concha to the general littoral flavor of Venezuelan Spanish, and more specifically, possibly to the pearl trade that saw much success just off the coasts of Venezuela. Overall, says Lipski, the “Canarian contribution [in the Spanish of the Antilles and Venezuela] is largely supportive rather than innovative.” So it may be that, thanks in part to the influence of our Canary friends, Venezuelans went forth happily in their colorful celebrations of maritime language.