And by wild I mean Matt and I just spent a considerable amount of time comparing our respective pronunciations of the word "Alabama."
I pronounce the third "a" as I would in flat or cat, but Matt pronounces it like spam or clam. He tried to back up his argument for his pronunciation by saying that it's how Florida Georgia Line sings it in their songs, except he pronounced Florida as "Floor-i-duh" instead of "Flar-da" which is how I say it AND IT'S LIKE I DON'T EVEN KNOW HIM.
I think diction and pronunciation is endlessly fascinating. In fact, my family has endured countless hours of listening to me pontificate on the belief that if we're going to pronounce train as "chrain," we either need to change the spelling or change the way we say it.
After Matt had burned out on the topic, I broached the subject with Emily. We discussed our pronunciations for bagel (beggle), syrup (seerup), and water (wooder).
And just when I thought we couldn't analyze those words any longer, Emily told me that when she uses the word water in a sentence, she says wooder. But, when she says the word by itself, she says wah-ter.
She is so complex.
Speaking of being complex, or maybe the opposite, I've been listening to a lot of podcasts since I've been working from home so much. I was in the market for some new ones, so this weekend I checked out the top rated podcasts of the week, and decided to subscribe to one called Limetown.
It. Was. Fascinating.
It's about the investigation surrounding three hundred people who disappeared ten years ago in Tennessee under very mysterious circumstances. Since it was only ten years ago, I thought I'd be able to recall hearing about this case on the news, but I couldn't. So yesterday I decided to do some serious Limetown research.
And right away, I found out why there was no news coverage.
Because it's fiction.
I'd been duped.
It reminded me of my freshman year of college when I had to take a psychology class. As part of the class, we had to participate in three studies run by grad students. I signed up for my first one, trekked all the way to the graduate studies building, signed in, and took a seat in the waiting room.
Another student who was waiting struck up a conversation, and we made small talk as we waited for our turn. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. I began to get frustrated because didn't they know my time was precious and I could be
When the grad student leading the study came out and called my name, I said goodbye to my waiting room friend and followed the grad student into the meeting room.
"Well, you can go!" he said. "You're all done. The student in the waiting room was part of the study. We are observing how people react to strangers in various stressful situations."
I did what any angry eighteen year would do in that situation which was to march right out of that psych building and call my mother. I was FURIOUS. I felt betrayed. I hated knowing that I was being judged on what I said and how I acted without being told ahead of time.
I bet that same grad student is the man behind the Limetown podcast.
And that's why I wasn't a psychology major.
But maybe I should've studied linguistics.