Brandon Hardesty’s impersonations of Patrick Stewart and Alfre Woodard, from perhaps their best scene together in Star Trek: First Contact, is perhaps only describable as “amazing.”

In, around, or about 450 AD, a bunch of Germans came to what is know known as England. They spoke, of course, an ancient tongue of Germanic, but as soon as they stepped ashore, they spoke what we today know as Old English*. In essence, the date for the start of the English language is more or less arbitrary. (Languages shift over a course of a thousand years — which means that a person speaking English - or German or Italian or whatever - today, would not be able to understand a person speaking the same language 1,000 in the past or the future).

English is divided into three periods:

OLD ENGLISH 450 - 1150AD
MIDDLE ENGLISH 1150 - 1500AD
and MODERN ENGLISH, which is subdivided again into:
1. EARLY MODERN ENGLISH 1500-1650
2. MODERN ENGLISH 1650 - Now.

The written language also changed. It was originally a runic alphabet, but became Latinized when the Romans came over with their monks and scribes. When the monks were trying to write for the English language, however, they found out that English has sounds Latin doesn’t - namely, our ‘th’ and ‘w’ sounds. For those, they borrowed the runic symbols.

Old English did not have the following letters: Z, K, Q, J. It also had no punctuation, and capital letters weren’t used the same way as they are in Modern English.

The Old English letter for “W”, which resembled a retarded Y, was called a “wynn.”

*They, of course, were still speaking the same Germanic tongue they had been speaking before, but it evolved into a dialect of that language, and then into its own language, which we today know as ‘English’.

I’m sure, after reading all of this, you feel smarter. You’re very welcome.

So there I am, knocking on the door, and this old guy shows up — maybe early seventies, and maybe I shouldn’t be surprised about what happened. Anyway, there’s “for rent” sign at the end of the gravel driveway, and he’s splattered in paint. They’re getting the place ready for new tenants, I assume.

“Come in, come in,” he says, and I step into the foyer.

“Ann’s upstairs,” he tells me.

Mind you: I’m dressed in the franchise’s uniform, which is damn near littered with the corporate logo. I’m holding a damn pizza bag and a 2-liter of soda. My car, just outside, is running, and the stupid sign — with the logo — is brightly lit. So I’m like, “Oh, is this hers?” Because, y’know, my shoes are caked in mud and I don’t actually want to go walking through the house they’re trying to clean up for new tenants.

“Oh,” he says, squinting. “Aren’t you a friend of hers?”

“Um, no,” I replied. “I’m trying to deliver some pizza?”

Anyway, so the order wasn’t from Ann — (there are several houses on this driveway and they’re poorly labeled, unless you live there and know where the house is) — who was also paint splattered (and I’m assuming the old man’s daughter), but was able to tell me where the house I was looking for was located. Huzzah!

***

My stop before that, I nearly peed myself when a giant bush attacked me. Actually, it was a big dog that had been standing still in the corner between bushes, and I’d thought it was a bush (because this was at night). Then it ran towards me and I nearly screamed, nearly wet myself, and nearly ran back to my car. But he was big and friendly and enjoyed being scratched behind his ears.

I offered to let his owners have their food for free if I could have him, but they said “hellz no.”