A Language Problem, and an Evening at the Troubadour

I think we have a language problem, Bush. And I'm not talking, this morning, about yours. We know about that one: you do tend to trip up over words and mangle your syntax, in what I take to be a sometimes worthy effort to keep things clear and simple. But I'm talking today about Ellie and me, who are deep in real estate paperwork hell. The problem is that perfectly simple and agreeable understandings, when translated into what passes for language in the guise of real estate legalese, turns into something that sounds antagonistic and potentially litigious, if not outright hostile. It's enough to piss everyone off and cause creeping paranoia.

Here's what I think is at the root of the problem: over the years, in our obsessive need to protect ourselves from every eventuality, we have developed a language so convoluted, so hidebound in its exclusion of any possibility of misunderstanding and inclusion of every conceivable contingency that it has reached a point of virtual incomprehensibility. I understand how it is that your people have managed to make a political asset of your genial, senseless amblings and simple-minded repetitions. To some, it seems like a breath of fresh air. I wonder, too, how much the recent European rejection of the EU constitution has to do with language, and the way in which its legal manifestations create confusion rather than clarity, and promote fear and anger rather than agreement.

Anyway, listen, Bush, I need to take a moment this morning to qvell. Ellie and I went last night to hear our daughter playing in a band at the fabled Troubadour. The last tme we were there was in 1969 or 1970, I think, to hear Elton John--before he became "Elton John", let alone "Sir Elton"! I should explain that Sarah plays the drums for two bands, one of which is Azalia Snail. And here she was, performing at the Troubadour! Amazing! What a kick! Azalia and her band was on top form, and Sarah was just great. For someone who has been suffering from severe physical pain for three months now, or maybe four (I have mentioned this on several occasions, Bush, since before we left for Egypt,) she managed to look terrific, seemed easier in her physical movement and, as one of her band-mates put it, "really in charge of those drums." We had left home truly exhausted and somewhat dispirited from the day's continuing installments of our real estate saga, and ended up just so happy to have made the effort. Thanks, Sarah. Thanks Azalia and gang. That was exhilerating!