I’ve been participating in some online discussions about using naughty words – and what a naughty word consists of. In one discussion, somebody brought up the point that in Quebec, people swear using the words “tabernacle” or “chalice.”
I thought he was “having the piss” – to use a Brit phrase.
snip:
“When you get mad, you look for words that attack what represses you,”
said Louise Lamarre, a Montreal cinematographer who must tread lightly
around the language, depending on whether her films are in French or
English. “In America, you are so Puritan that the swearing is mostly
about sex. Here, since we were repressed so long by the church, people
use religious terms.”The French here also modify the oaths into non-words, depending on the
level of politeness desired. The word “bapteme” — baptism — is used
as a strong oath, but a modification, “bateche,” is milder. The
sacramental wafer, a “host” in English and “hostie” in French, can be
watered down to just the sound “sst” in polite company. “Tabernacle”
can become just “tabar” to avoid too much offense.
Hey, my peeps are, well, they’re French. What can I say? The Trois Riveres branch of The Family is one that I’ve never spent much (barely any, really) time with. Just enough to acquire a taste for smoked salt on steaks now & again at an excellent French bistro at The Grove called “Morels” and a slight sympathy for the Quebeckers’ quixotic quest for sovereignty.
Well, actually not so much on the last one. But come on! When’s the last time you got to do a 3-word alliteration using the letter “Q” huh? Never right? So back off, Jocko.
Meanwhile, down in my lungs, the little bronchitis cells are all sitting around a table in their hideout, unrolling a map with the word “emphysema” scrawled in red across the top and muttering intently.
Christ, I’m about ready to snake down a sump pump hose and just suck out the fluid in my chest. It seriously feels like there’s a cinderblock in there, and every time I move, the block bashes against the underside of my (oh-so-manly) pectorals. So I cough. And cough.
Blaaaach! hack. hack. I feel like John Constantine in “Dangerous Habits.”
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