The /bɪɡɪnɪŋ/ of the /ɛnd/
A Letter from the Editor-in-Chief

Automagically Transcribed℠ by the
LingTechCo Dictaphonemizer 3.1™

T.J.: (yelling) Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ I can’t figure out how to get this new-fangled Dictaphonemizer to turn on. I already wrangled a one-month extension and I still don’t have anything for my editorial, which is due in... 29 minutes and 14 seconds and I need to come up with a plausible explanation why SpecGram is ceasing publication this year—and not waste time fighting with this pointless technology. Where are my papyri? And how am I supposed to add footnotes with this infernal machine?

X.OMBvdFdA.: (from afar) Coming, sir!

T.J.: Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ (whispering) How did I get talked into hiring the great-grand-step-grand nephew-in-law of the Co–Vice President of the International Ancient and Malignant Order of the Sons of Patronymy as my personal assistant? Oh, right... those sweet, sweet kickbacks. Ugh, I should have hired Arkhie when I had the chance. (yelling) Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ I’m tired of yelling for you!

X.OMBvdFdA.: Patience, sir! I’ll be there momentarily.

T.J.: I’m not impatient, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ—I’m physically exhausted from making sure I get the silent alveolar click in your name right.

X.OMBvdFdA.: (arriving) Naturally, sir. It can be quite difficult to pronounce for the phonetically unsophisticated.

T.J.: Watch yourself. I can have you demoted to intern and flogged.

X.OMBvdFdA.: Of course, sir.

T.J.: Speaking of interns, do you think we can blame the coming shut down of SpecGram in October on the emergence of her Lord High Editorial Omnipotence II of Nauru? We could say she and her intern adherents embezzled All The Monies and we can’t afford to go on.

X.OMBvdFdA.: That could lead to an outpouring of donations, sir, which would “fix” the “problem”. Also, in half a millennium, when our intergalactic tax returns are inevitably made public, the truth would come out.

T.J.: Fair enough. We could say that the interns are revolting—which they are, ha!—and that we are too busy putting down the rebellion and quelling spontaneous Indogermanischen Urlaub celebrations to publish any more issues.

X.OMBvdFdA.: Plausible, sir, though the last ... (checks notes)... fourteen thousand, seven hundred and sixty eight intern rebellions have been successfully quashed—almost a hundred of them by you—largely without interrupting publication. It would reflect poorly on your leadership for the most recent one to be so successful.

T.J.: Et tu, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ Omnia vanitas!

X.OMBvdFdA.: You are well aware, sir, that that is not what that phrase means.

T.J.: Just let me have this one, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ

X.OMBvdFdA.: Of course, sir.

T.J.: There are legal troubles we could blame it on. The non–class action claimants in the matter of Thorkell Leifsson vs. SpecGram are still litigating.

X.OMBvdFdA.: Only three claimants opted out of the class action, sir. And discussing them at all in public could adversely affect Brynjólfur Sveinsson vs. SpecGram.

T.J.: Shhhhhhhh!, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ! Don’t even say that name aloud.

X.OMBvdFdA.: Sorry, sir.

T.J.: Indeed. Ok, speaking of Þe Olde Dayes™, what about saying we are resurrecting Íslensk Tölvumálvísindi? That should buy us a couple of decades. ÍslenTölvum was well-loved back in the day, so maybe people would be more accepting of that as a reason for an indefinite hiatus.

X.OMBvdFdA.: A few decades would be nice, sir, but the Grammar Entelechy is bound to come snooping around well before 2059.

T.J.: Darned Grammar Entelechy!

X.OMBvdFdA.: Darned, indeed, sir.

T.J.: Are you fawning or mocking, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ?

X.OMBvdFdA.: Yes, sir.

T.J.: Hmph! What about this infernal machine, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ? What does (click) ðɪs swɪtʃ du? ə lɪtl̩ laɪt keɪm ɔn. (click) Off. (click) ɔn. (click) Off. (click) ɔn.

X.OMBvdFdA.: aɪ bɪliv ðæt ɪneɪbəlz ðə soʊkɔld foʊnimaɪzɹ̩ fʌŋkʃən ti ɛm, sɝ.

T.J.: (click) Neat. (click) klɪki (click) clicky (click) klɪkɪti (click) click.

X.OMBvdFdA.: Quite, sir.

T.J.: Okay, okay. Focus. What about leaking and then responding to the story that M.A.Y.N.A.R.D. went rogue in 2021 and engaged in some “genetic algorithms” with a sentient copy of WordNet that was slumming it on some sketchy overseas FTP site, which led to the sudden rise of a better class of LLMs?

X.OMBvdFdA.: Unlike your other suggestions, sir, that story is actually true, and M.A.Y.N.A.R.D. is still fairly upset about the editorial you wrote, unfavorably comparing LLMs to crypto and calling them “shallow and facile”, if I recall correctly.

T.J.: I said nice things about her in that editorial!

X.OMBvdFdA.: (checks notes) “That barely incorrect basilisk everyone gets upset about has nothing on M.A.Y.N.A.R.D.!” Very flattering, sir.

T.J.: A.I.s can be so touchy.

X.OMBvdFdA.: Nonetheless, sir, if you make her too angry, she will hunt you down like a dog.

T.J.: Can we somehow blame the youth? Millennials have been blamed for killing all sorts of things.

X.OMBvdFdA.: That would be Gen Z, now, sir. Many Millennials are in their 40s. The youngest are nearly 30.

T.J.: Whatever.

X.OMBvdFdA.: So very Gen X of you, sir.

T.J.: Okay, Gen Z, then. Skibidi, skibidi. SpecGram be lowkey bussin’, yo, but TFW u feel delulu and ur heading for a Menty B. IYKYK, no cap.

X.OMBvdFdA.: Ok, Boomer.

T.J.: Unacceptable, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ!

X.OMBvdFdA.: Ok, Boomer, sir.

T.J.: I’m shook, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ I’m shook!

X.OMBvdFdA.: To the very core, sir, I’m sure. 18 minutes and 23 seconds.

T.J.: Big oof.

X.OMBvdFdA.: Mood, sir.

T.J.: So, what do we tell the plebes? After all, we are still generally contractually obligated to provide linguistic entertainment triskaidecahebdomadally to prepaid and lifetime subscribers at the Golden Handcuffs level and above. O, Golden Handcuffs—the irony is palpable!

X.OMBvdFdA.: I have Alanis Morissette on standby, sir. The monthly stand-up set that Dr. Professor Noarn Chornsky performs in Tamarian at Club SpecGram, Cydonia, technically more than fulfills that contract.

T.J.: Darmok, his pants around his ankles! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, aaaaahhh! That’s the good stuff, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ

X.OMBvdFdA.: So you have said, sir.

T.J.: Ugh. I need a laugh, or at least a short brain break. What’s on the Universal Entertain-O-Tron? (click)

A.M.: ♫ It’s the good advice that you just didn’t take. ♪

X.OMBvdFdA.: See, sir, I told you.

T.J.: Shush, you! (click)

G.K.: ♪ Where am I to go now that I’ve gone too far? ♫

T.J.: Too real. (click)

J.C.: I’m tired, boss.

T.J.: I feel ya, Coffey. I feel ya. (click)

N.C.: Darmok, his pants around his ankles!

T.J.: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha—now with synchronicity! That’s the good stuff, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ That’s the good stuff.

X.OMBvdFdA.: As I have said, sir, so you have said.

T.J.: Okay, that’s not helping. (click)

X.OMBvdFdA.: 12 minutes and 57 seconds, sir.

T.J.: That’s not helping, either.

X.OMBvdFdA.: You could actually mention the time lag, sir.

T.J.: I suppose. I could couch it as an explanation...

X.OMBvdFdA.: 10 minutes and 44 seconds, sir.

T.J.: ... wrapped in some frame-dragging word play...

X.OMBvdFdA.: 8 minutes and 29 seconds, sir.

T.J.: ... inside an enigmatic lesson...

X.OMBvdFdA.: 6 minutes and 8 seconds, sir.

T.J.: ... on time travel–related tenses.

X.OMBvdFdA.: 4 minutes and 33 seconds, sir.

T.J.: How so very Cagian.

X.OMBvdFdA.: 2 minute warning, sir.

T.J.: I guess I will have been used to be going to be_1SG.TTRAV late again. (beep) What was that? The Dicta-whooza-whatzit is now flashing a message of some sort.

X.OMBvdFdA.: 1 minute and 35 seconds, sir.

T.J.: Where are my glasses, Mr. Ó McBar van der Fitzez del Abבןsøn­ович­όπουλ­escuǃ?

X.OMBvdFdA.: On your head, sir?

T.J.: Of course. Who set the interface language on this thing to Rongorongo?

X.OMBvdFdA.: You did, sir?

T.J.: Why!?

X.OMBvdFdA.: You said you needed the practice, sir.

T.J.: Why!?

X.OMBvdFdA.: An enduring mystery, sir. 58 seconds.

T.J.: Shush, I say! Let me see... covenant, accusative, translation, genitive, danger, nomina— no, also genitive.

X.OMBvdFdA.: 38 seconds, sir. I believe that is best translated as protocol.

T.J.: Right, right. Danger translation protocol and mechanized conveyance...

X.OMBvdFdA.: 23 seconds, sir. Both conjuncts seem to be complements.

T.J.: Oh! Emergency translation and automatic conveyance protocol... passivization marker, some evidential I don’t remember, future tense, betrothed? Betrothed?

X.OMBvdFdA.: Transcription and engaged, sir, and imminent future tense. 8 seconds.

T.J.: Ooo, ooo! Emergency transcription and automatic conveyance protocol will to be engag—

[LingTechCo Dicta­phonem­izer 3.1™ Auto­mation Ac­tions En­abled. Engag­ing Emer­gency Tran­scrip­tion and Auto­matic Deliv­ery Proto­col. Tran­script deliv­ered to print­ing depart­ment. Über Red Emer­gency Prior­ity, No Revi­sions, Imme­diate Type­set, Final Answer. Autho­rized by the Majesty of the Office of the Editor-in-Chief℠.]

	Letters to the Editor
	SpecGram Vol CXCIV, No 3 Contents