Grappling with Grammar: A Grammar Gallimaufry

Here's the list I've created for Friday's assignment:

Spiders - villains or victims?

It has come to my attention (well, it came a long time ago, but really - who's keeping track?) that a good majority of people in this world are deathly afraid of spiders. I've found this to be utterly absurd - I mean, these little guys are not even an inch long, yet people will flee in abject terror at their slightest proximity! Somehow our society has learned to tolerate the presence of clowns, mimes, and other demons of the underworld with a sick kind of bemused pleasure, yet these little friends of Gaia are hated with more intensity than a Trekkie at a Star Wars convention. Attempting to understand this sad commentary on the state of our society (as well as the loss of what should be a rich and harmonious relationship), I have attempted to compile a list of all the reasons people fear our little arachnid brethren.

1. "They're everywhere!"
Clearly, this seems to be the most universally accepted reason for hating spiders. But then again, grass is everywhere too. Are you gonna decorate your Halloween pumpkins with that?

2. "They've got all those horrible legs!"
I'm from California people. If you want to see some terrifying legs just head to Laguna Beach on Senior Citizen's Day. Put on some pants, Grandpa!

3. "They're everywhere!"
This one keeps popping up, just to warn you. As soon as one little spider appears in a room, people will start to scream this incessantly. Everywhere, folks? Really?

4. "They've got deadly mandibles of doom!"
I bet half of these people don't even know what a mandible is.

5. "They're everywhere!"
You really can't get over this, can you?

6. "They're poisonous!"
OK, now this one seems like a legitimate fear at first. Until you realize that it's not a black widow you're looking at; it's a dirty patch of fur from your mangy cat. Now THAT is a scary animal.

7. "They're everywhere!"
Scientific fact: you are never more than three feet away from a spider at any given time.

8. "They'll eat my pets!"
Because apparently pet houseflies are all the rage these days.

9. "They're everywhere!"
Oh put a sock in it, dearie.

10. "They're UGLY!!!"
Look kids, I hate to say it, but this is just unfair. Are we really so shallow that we judge our animal friends based solely on their looks? Your friend Mr. Platypus is venomous too, but just because he looks like the love-child of Mr. Beaver and Daisy Duck you think he's adorable - is this fair? It's what's on the inside that counts people. If you got to know spiders a little better, I bet you'd be surprised to find that they're people just like you and me.

And let's face it sweetie - you're no spring chicken yourself.

How much punctuation can I fit into one sentence? Or better, how much can I use in a Labryrinthine sentence while still maintaining the grammatical integrity of the effort? This is not an attempt to craft a serious piece of literature; in fact I hope that this will be looked at from a humorous point of view. I suppose this kind of sentence is what would happen if Gothic/Victorian novels were still in vogue, which thankfully they are not.

Now let's see what I can do!

"Is this really where my life is heading, a dark road into an abyss of misery and woe forever plagued by this woman before me who can't even write a simple check (or spell my name for that matter, even though we've gone over it a dozen times (although I must admit that English is after all her fourth language, which, while a valid excuse, is still no justification for the way she uses me to cater to her every desperate need (which are many, considering that accursed disability which makes everything almost impossible for her to do without asking for some kind of assistance (which leads me to wonder, why doesn't she just hire some help instead of using her boyfriend as her personal maid (though I confess I'll almost do it gladly when I'm caught up in the moment, those fleeting moments when her sad, quivering smile gleams on me and cuts into me with the light of tender attachment which shines through the years of suffering and grief that I've endured - oh, how I love those smiles!)))))?" he thought suddenly - and it was!

“Don’t do it Rachel!”

That was not the response I was expecting. I called my mom for support, and when she was not doing a good job, I asked for my dad, the nicest person in my family: number one. That’s what we call him—we have arranged our family in order of niceness, one being the nicest, six the meanest (I am number five, in case you were wondering). I was expecting to hear, “You can do this, Rachel. We support you. This is a good thing.” But no. My dad decides to go along with my mom and be funny right at the moment when I need seriousness.

Of course my dad was surprised when I started crying—I should have been laughing. I knew that in my head, but I also had a lot of other things going through my mind: William Wallace, Scottish knight and war hero, Anselan O Kyan, fleeing to Scotland after defending his Irish home from Danish conquerors, “Clarior Hinc Honos,” family motto, family crest, family plaid, pioneers bravely crossing the planes, my father wearing his army uniform. My family heritage. Those are the things that come with the name Buchanan. My name.

That name is my identity. Rachel Lynn Buchanan. That is who I have been for twenty-one years. That is me. That name just fits. It flows so beautifully in perfect trochaic trimeter with the RachelLynn blending together, connected by the “l” sound at the end of Rachel and the beginning of Lynn. RachelLynn. I’ve always loved the way that sounded. It’s just so cute and girly. And then Buchanan. There’s something about that name—the three syllables perhaps?—that says this is a special name. Or it could be the fact that I love my connection with my family, and not just my family history.

As I mentioned before, my father is in the army, which means that my family moves a lot. Through every move and every change, every new school, neighborhood, and ward, from Arizona to West Virginia to Maryland to Texas to Japan back to Maryland to El Paso then San Antonio on to Virginia and finally Washington—through everything, I have always had a place to belong. With my family. No matter where we went, I was always a Buchanan, always a part of their circle, always an important member of their group. That was my place, and even though I didn’t have a home in the sense of one specific house or one specific hometown, my home was with my family. I always believed my family was special and I felt so lucky to be part of it.

These are the things I was thinking about when my dad picked up the phone. This is why it was so hard for me to make the change on my own. This is why it was so hard for me to make a decision. I didn’t want to give up any of those things.
Finally understanding my tears, my father said, “Rachel, you are not losing anything. You are still part of our family, and your heritage is not going to change.” My mom took back the phone and reminded me of my grandmother, Helen Elizabeth, my soul clone, and her father, Frederick Arthur Hall, the schoolteacher and poet, his father, Heinrich Hahl, who came over from Germany with his wife Sophie, and the house that their sons built in Wheeling, West Virginia. I felt a particular closeness to my grandmother and great-grandfather at that moment because of the change I was making. I felt that they would like the German name.

Finally I thought about Justin, my wonderful husband who does so much for me every day, the man that I promised to give my life to and spend my life with, the reason I was going through all this in the first place. I thought of his family, his sweet sisters, his wonderful parents, and the way that they accepted me into their family and offered me their love. I remembered the weekend Justin and I went to visit them in El Paso—the weekend we got engaged. I thought about all the reasons I married him and all the reasons I am so glad I did. I thought about spending the rest of my life with him and about putting him first, choosing him over everyone else, leaving my parents and making him my family. My husband, my sweetheart. I am entirely devoted to him. My name can also symbolize that devotion.

Then I decided. Rachel Lynn Bauer.

Dear Everyone,

The first time I encountered orthographic variation was when I was little, reading the stories of John Lennon. He has books. Have you read these? A Spaniard in the Works and In His Own Write are the most popular. Well, Lennon loved to play on words. Oh boy, he loved to. And it shows in his books. That's really all his books are. Some of the stories are just so...out of control with orthographic variations, you can barely read them. When I was little, I would read them out loud and laugh so hard because they were so different.

Here is a good example. This is his "About the Author" from In His Own Write:

About the Awful
I was bored on the 9th of Octover 1940 when, I believe, the Nasties were still booming us led by Madalf Heatlump (Who only had one). Anyway they didn’t get me. I attended to varicous schools in Liddypol. And still didn’t pass – much to my Aunties supplies. As a member of the most publified Beatles my and (P, G, and R’s) records might seem funnier to some of you than this book, but as far as I’m conceived this correction of short writty is the most wonderfoul larf I’ve ever ready.
God help and breed you all.

Hahahaha. I love it. Isn't it fabulous? I have the books if you want me to bring them to you so you can look through all of his craziness...

Love, Natalie

current
total
projected
=
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52000
24000
6000
82000
26000
So much depends upon: order, structure & punctuation

Reasons. October.

Pockets weather. No mittens or gloves or muffs. Slip your hands into your jeans
Rich burnt oranges and crimsons and yellows
Real football weather
(real shivering)
Sunday walks with crisp leaves for crunching
Plump orange pumpkins and those other "ornamental" squash
(Seriously? Ornamental? I think I'll eat the one ornamenting my apartment shelf. Raw)
Sweater weather. Don't try a cable-knit just yet, but yes to the cardigan
Extra-blanket-nights
The canyon
Puffs of your breath, walking up the hill to campus
(fifty pounds of books in my bag, walking up the hill to campus)
Spiced apple cider
First spotting of snow sugaring the mountains
(clear sign that snow will be at my door in bags of sugar in no time)
One whole grocery aisle devoted to too-sweet orange and purple and green and black bliss
Occasional fog or mist or drizzle or downpours,
Which leads to occasional puddle jumping
(wet socks)

Eye grew up in a place kinda different from lots of peeple eye no. For me tha idea of orthagrafic variation doesn't seem to weird u no? Kinda natural? Eye ain't no grammar freek or nun a dat and eye like to rite, and rite simple. It iz like a realease. We r alwayz barked at 4 mistakes, sumtiems eye just wanna rite "wit my hare down" no concern, just whutever. It feelz good to just let luse and rite in a way that iz so unconventional. Also we should b aware of r classrooms and there abilitys; alotta peeple rite wut they here. My friendz mom iz a teacher in New Orlenz. She haz sum good stories concerning riting samplez she gitz. She issuez verry ez quizez to her eight graderz cuz they do not read verry well. Wun question axed "what is your favorite ice cream?". Wun student rote "Butter Bacon". Mrs. Hansen wuz confuzed and showed anotha student in disbelief. Tha student looked for a secund and verry perplexed said. "What's wrong Mrs. Hansen? You ain't never heard of no butter bacón?" Tha studentz here "butter bacón" insted of butter pecan. Teacherz r essentially fiting against ritten and spokun language, and sumtimes this first (spokun) language iz even English.