BATH
[pronuncia americana: bèth; britannica: baath]
BATHE
[béjdh]
bath = bagno.
In Inghilterra si dice "bath" per verbo come per sostantivo. Sembra stranissimo all'orecchio americano il che distingue sempre "bath" da "bathe".
Quindi da questo lato dello stagno ("on this side of the pond," cioè l'Oceano Atlantico) si dice sempre:
I took a bath.
Mi sono fatto un bagno.
When we were children we bathed [béjdhd] every day.
Come bambini ci bagnavamo tutti i giorni.
Questo "bathed" sembra un arcaismo americano. Spesso una lingua coloniale ritiene caratteristiche delle quali la lingua della Patria s'è sciolte.

NYT "anything goes" Thanksgiving pairing post: Still up-ending wine journalism
Blogger response to my post ranged from dismissive (Frankly My Dear) to the "chortling" and "chuckling" variety (Do Bianchi). I especially appreciated Jeremy Parzen's use of the subjunctive ("Lest he think..."), not to mention the context which inspired it.
I can't speak for Eric Asimov or his tasting panel of radicals, but I received a torrent of emails and Tweets from anguished wine journalists, or aspiring ones (5). I received many more (2) from simple consumers. All were angry, confused, upset.
Typical of the consumers' ire was this note from Marcia Watson of Watson Holler, NC: "Damn you New York City smart-asses! I was all set to serve a nice little Chenin Blanc from the Loire, France, with my turkey BUT YOU HAVE THROWN ME INTO CONFUSION. I guess it's back to beer and ice tea. Speaking of tea, now I understand the fury of the tea-baggers. Jerk!"
Here's a heart-wrenching email that I got just yesterday from Ivan Scurry of the Council Bluffs Dispatch & Dollar Trader:
Dear Mr. Strappo,
I know you don't mean to hurt people with your sarcastic wit, but you've caused one more American journalist to enter the lists of the unemployed. Me.
You see, I've been the wine writer and reviewer for the paper since 1976. Or, rather, I was.
I started out with a bang. They loved my columns on what to drink at the Bicentennial*, and it led to the full-time union job with great benefits that I had until this week. I built my entire professional life around wine reviews and pairings for the holidays. I prepared from July, tasting, noting, eating and drinking various pairings. I did it with patience, dedication and good old Midwestern methodicalness. Oh, we aren't exciting or trend-setting out here. We're just hard-working regular people who want a good day's pay for a good day's work.
Thirty-three years I plied my craft, I honed my profession. I wrote a seminal work on Iowan wineries and wine personalities. That's a third of a century, Mr. Strappo. A working man's lifetime. I was young. Now I'm old.
And I was happy. I had a place in the world. People knew me in the street. Sometimes even when I crossed over to Omaha. My very presence seemed to bring a smile to every face.
Now they turn away. I am nobody. My career and life are in ruins. Thanks to you and those "trendy" folks at the New York Times. People who don't take seriously the struggles of ordinary Americans in the Heartland to wean themselves off of lite beer and cola drinks. People who forget how hard it was to gain all that wine knowledge in the first place.
Management used your words as the hammer to beat me with. "Goodbye, Ivan. Call us next week. Maybe you can freelance for us."
I'd kill myself. But I'm already dead.
Jerk.
Sincerely,
Ivan Scurry
* In the acclaimed "Bicentennial wines" series of columns Mr. Scurry created the "All Americans Wine Rainbow", which consisted of 100% American-grown and made wines with names that honored different American ethnic groups. It was a surprisingly inclusive list, featuring such favorites as Gallo Hearty Burgundy, Sebastiani Green Hungarian, Carlo Rossi Chianti, Manischewitz Concord Grape (a clever bow to both Jewish and white-bread small-town WASPs) and Richards Wild Irish Rose wine. It remains a masterpiece to this day.
Posted on November 21, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (0)