Those Wily Latin Lovers

You’re at a party. You want to appear smart, so you throw out a few French phrases. And, frankly, they fall flat. The general consensus of the crowd is that:

(a) You sound pretentious.

(b) You sound like Miss Piggy.

The fact is, it’s getting harder and harder to seem intelligent these days. (Understand we’re not talking about high IQs here, just faking it successfully.)

It used to be that knowing a foreign language-- any foreign language--made you a member of that elite group known as The Intellectuals. But which language does the trick this decade?

German would be an obvious choice, given the recent reunification. Alas, it’s too obscure unless you own the Berlin Wall concession. Spanish and Japanese are so ubiquitous that speaking them is more a must than a special skill. And Russian doesn’t qualify because it may not be around much longer depending on the state of the Soviets’ union.

That leaves Latin, the language of $300-an-hour lawyers, prep school lunkheads, Jesuit literates--and now maybe even you, thanks to a new guide to this old tongue, “Latin For All Occasions.”

Sorrowfully, I am one of those scores of scholars who truly believed we wasted years of our lives--in my case, eight--on what we presumed to be this deadest of dead languages.

In return for this investment in learning, I’m able to sing “Gaudeamus Igatur” at graduations, read the inscriptions on statue bases and little else. As for all that hype about Latin being the Rosetta Stone to other languages, all I know is that every time I go to Italy and try to speak Latin, someone tries to sell me a dress for $100,000.

Henry Beard is another eight-year scholar who found that the language of the ancient Romans hadn’t been all that helpful. So, this National Lampoon co-founder has penned a handbook for conversational Latin--until now, an oxymoron.

Something of an iconoclast, Beard--whose previous literary masterpieces include “Miss Piggy’s Guide to Life” and “Golfing: A Duffer’s Dictionary”--has written a useful if irreverent little book that goes a long way toward destroying the myth that Latin is as dead as the Nehru jacket.

The first and best thing about Latin, Beard points out, is that you don’t have to worry about pronunciation. All you really need to know is that the c ‘ s are hard, and the u’s are like oo’s . And, it’s not like there are any ancient Romans around to correct you, right?

But the key point Beard makes in his book is that even the most nonsensical sentence, when uttered in Latin, can’t help but sound smart.

Take, for instance, the chapter on cocktail party chitchat. Imagine the fun of saying the phrase, Elvem ipsum etiam vivere (“Elvis is still alive”), and having people think you’ve uttered something profound. And Quanto putas mihi stare hoc horologium manuale? (“What do you think I paid for this Rolex?”) sounds a lot brainier than boastful.

Of course, if someone calls you on the carpet for sounding off in such a stupid language, you can always feign surprise.

Denuone Latine loquebar? (“Was I speaking Latin again?”)

Me ineptum. Interdum modo elabitur. (“Silly me. Sometimes it just sort of slips out.”)

The other thing about Latin is that it covers a multitude of sins. Beard contends that embarrassing situations are less red-faced, bald-faced lies are more believable and intimate subjects easier to broach when said in the language of the ancient Romans.

Maybe President Bush wouldn’t be slipping in the popularity polls if he had thought to say Labra lege and Odi brassicam instead of “Read my lips” and “I hate broccoli.” And turning to the restaurant table next to you and asking, Tibi gratias agimus quod nihil fumas (“Thank you for not smoking”), is bound to invoke a better reaction than: “Hey, tobacco breath, put the butt out!” Plus, whispering Braccae tuae aperiuntur is nicer than, “Your fly is open.”

Next time, you want to stay home and watch soap operas, tell your boss you’ve got to see Iuvenes Inquietesque. You may get a raise--that is, if the boss doesn’t know that’s Latin for “The Young and the Restless.”

Or if you’re planning to rob a bank (or just a service station, given gas prices these days), here’s an all-purpose stick-up note that will puzzle the police for months: Catapultam Habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam. (“I have a catapult. Give me all the money, or I will fling an enormous rock at your head.”)

Now, for you Hollywood types, Beard provides ice-breakers, from Tuos iube meis dicere (“Have your people talk to my people”) to Prandeamus, vere! (“Let’s have lunch, really!”)

Think how much more heat your next project will generate in that pitch meeting when you throw in a couple Credo nos in fluctu eodem esse (“I think we’re on the same wavelength”) and Nunc hoc in marmore non est incisum (“Now, this isn’t carved in stone”). Soon the studio VIPs will be answering you with Volo pactum facere (“I’d like to cut a deal”).

To which you should counter: Potesne plus pecuniae in mensa ponere? (“Can you put more money on the table?”). But watch out if the response is Ecce pactum. Id cape aut id relinque. (“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it”).

Now, let’s say the Pope visits Los Angeles again. A good opener is: Ubi possum potiri petasi similis isti? (“Where can I get a hat like that?”), or a line about the Sistine Chapel, Ecce lacunar mirum! (“Now, that’s a ceiling!)

But whatever you do, don’t get confused and use one of Beard’s recommended phrases for a family reunion: Comes, quando aliquam in matrimonium duces? (“Buster, when are you going to get married?”)

The book even provides Latin terms for medical conditions that your doctor doesn’t know about--yet. For instance, I suffer from inopia celeritatis , a mild dyslexia that makes it impossible for me to arrive anywhere on time. And too many people in L.A. come down with dolor anteprandialis , a gastric problem that occasionally makes them cancel lunch.

But of all the expressions in the book, my personal favorites have to do with lawyers. The next time your attorney starts throwing Latin terms and other gobbledygook at you, just hit him with your best shot:

Heu, modo itera omnia quae mihi nunc nuper narravisti, sed nunc Anglice. (“Listen, would you repeat everything you just told me, only this time say it in English?”).

Or Quantum in una hora imputas! (“You charge how much an hour?”)

And, finally, Ego te demitto! (“You’re fired!”)