Today we’ll examine the horrendous act of blending two decent words into one trendy and ugly new thing (I hate to call the new things “words”). Let me state what should be obvious by now: I am not a linguist. Linguists are scholars. They really, really know about words. Also, they describe language as they study it. Describing what has been done to our language is markedly different from prescribing what needs to be done.
Your favored columnist (that would be me), on the other hand, prescribes like a madman. He is no language scholar, nor does he claim to be. He’s more of a, um, well, not to put too fine a point on this, a language curmudgeon. And today’s griping will focus, as said, on that one part of our language’s evolution that gives us ugly, irritating, overused and unnecessary-to-begin-with new words.
Of course there are some great new words in our lives today, and thank heavens. After all, very few of us want to go around speaking the English of Chaucer. But some of the new stuff, well, keep reading.
Many young people, all over the world, now say that they are chillaxin’. In case that’s confusing, they’re both relaxing and “chilling,” another word for relaxing. So with the new word, we get two words for relaxing combined needlessly into one new and ugly word.
We can’t blame youth alone for this trend. TV Guide recently wrote, “Is there a showmance in the works on Top Chef’?” Of course, “bromance” has been around for a good while, combining the deep affection that males, not necessarily brothers in fact, feel for each other. It only makes sense, I suppose, that if the bromance is on a TV show, we get a showmance.
Of course, if things go badly in a bromance or a showmance, you can end up with frenemies — a combo of friends at times and enemies at other times. Wow. Does any of this bother you, too, or should I simply be chillaxin’?
It seems to me that this kind of word blending began about the time we started using “guesstimate,” which is said to have come to us from statisticians in the mid 1930s. Some feel that the delicious combo “guesstimate” means a guess that is made without sufficient information. Really? I’d call that a guess. Others say it’s an estimate arrived at by conjecture. Again, I’d go with “guess” or “estimate,” and I’d never feel deprived by not using “guesstimate.”
Anyway (and please, try to avoid ever saying “anyways”), we’ve now gone down the path to “dinnertainment” (dinner with entertainment, of course), “twonversation” (I’m not sure what that means, but it rhymes with “conversation,” if that helps), “daditude” for today’s fathers and, for extra thin men, “manorexic.” Shoot, there’s even a respected organization in D.C. now with a building named “The Newseum.” Golly, isn’t our new language swell?
Here’s a request from me to you: Might we please stop with the -illion permutations, such as gazillion, jillion, bajillion and gadzillion? Maybe we can move into kill-illion. Oh, and let’s toss “ginormous,” the blend of “gigantic” and “enormous,” into the Kill Pile, as well. It’s been around since 1948; that’s long enough.
Previous generations used to say “We’re doing this for the umpteenth time,” and that was similar to the –illions. Maybe it was less irritating to me because it didn’t spawn an umpzillion permutations.
My clever nephew Steve Clark has written me to say that he agrees — “daycation” and “staycation” are unappealing (not his exact word, but you get the drift), and he offers us some new -cation terms, just to see how they fly: Praycation — a religious day camp; Haycation — a farmers’ retreat; Gaycation — a getaway to San Francisco; and Ayyy-cation — a chance to spend the day with Henry Winkler.
He sent more, but I’ll stop here. The list could go on ad Newseum.
###
Mike Clark writes a monthly language column for the News & Record. Reach him at writermike@bellsouth.net or follow him on Twitter (twitter.com/writermike).
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
In loo of a proper restroom
Many, many years ago, way back in 19cough-cough (all right — it was 1969 and some of you weren’t even born yet), I was in London for the first time. I found myself in a car rental office, eager to start driving on the wrong side of the road. As I waited, I needed to use a men’s room.
Of course, I knew that British English and American English had differences, and that them Brits (as we Texans are likely to say) said “loo” or “water closet” to indicate the facilities. But when it came time for me to ask the nice lady for permission, I simply lacked the courage to try either of those words. So I reached for the most courteous-sounding term I had, and I said, “Is there a restroom I can use?” She thought for a moment, then said, “No, just that settee in the corner.” I realized that she truly thought I want to “rest,” and the sofa was all she had to offer.
Last month I had occasion to return to England, and I found some other language differences that you might find interesting. Let me start by telling you that the restrooms — the men’s rooms and ladies’ rooms — are still called loos and water closets … sometimes cloakrooms. But mostly they’re simply called toilets. And where we have handicapped restrooms, they have adapted toilets.
Not surprisingly, a lot of their terms are a bit more genteel than ours. For instance, instead of commanding that tourists stay on board while the bus is moving, they ask that you not alight whilst vehicle is in motion. Alight and whilst — genteel. And they don’t cook tea, or even brew it; they allow it to infuse. Yes.
On the other hand, their signs can be quite graphic (forgive the pun). We saw one street sign that warned of elderly people crossing the road, and the artwork featured drawings of people who were bent over, shuffling behind canes and walkers. And then we saw an even more graphic one showing exactly what kind of dog mess one is expected to handle (another pun to pardon).
The text on a nearby sign sounded genteel, though: “It is an offence to allow a dog to foul the footway.” Alliterative, even.
You don’t rent a tux there; you hire a dinner suit. We went to a wedding in a chapel at Oxford University, and the invitations had this: “No photography is allowed in the Chapel … and no confetti is allowed full stop.” Darn, I was hoping to stuff my hired dinner suit with confetti. But full stop, well, that put a definite halt to it. (“Full stop” means “and nothing less.”)
I signed up for a newsletter online with these instructions: “Fill in your details here and we’ll tip you the nod every few weeks.” Isn’t that interesting? Tip me the ole nod.
The vent in an English bathroom (well, toilet) is called an isolator, I suppose because it isolates the odors one wants isolated. Glass blocks are called air bricks, which makes sense. Scotch tape is called celly, Saran Wrap stuff is called cling film, and of course they watch adverts on the telly. (I assume they have adverts for celly on the telly.)
Finally, you and I have talked before about the British saying “he’s in hospital,” where they drop the “the” that we would use before “hospital.” I pointed out that we do it occasionally ourselves, such as in “he’s in school right now.” But they win, hands down — I heard all of these: “She’s downstairs in kitchen,” “Have we got problem?” and even “I’ll be down in minute.” Makes me want to write “the” a few thousand times and mail it over there as a helpful gift.
Can’t do it now — I need to go see if my dog has fouled a footpath.
###
Mike Clark writes a monthly language column for the News & Record. Reach him at writermike@bellsouth.net or follow him on Twitter (twitter.com/writermike).
Of course, I knew that British English and American English had differences, and that them Brits (as we Texans are likely to say) said “loo” or “water closet” to indicate the facilities. But when it came time for me to ask the nice lady for permission, I simply lacked the courage to try either of those words. So I reached for the most courteous-sounding term I had, and I said, “Is there a restroom I can use?” She thought for a moment, then said, “No, just that settee in the corner.” I realized that she truly thought I want to “rest,” and the sofa was all she had to offer.
Last month I had occasion to return to England, and I found some other language differences that you might find interesting. Let me start by telling you that the restrooms — the men’s rooms and ladies’ rooms — are still called loos and water closets … sometimes cloakrooms. But mostly they’re simply called toilets. And where we have handicapped restrooms, they have adapted toilets.
Not surprisingly, a lot of their terms are a bit more genteel than ours. For instance, instead of commanding that tourists stay on board while the bus is moving, they ask that you not alight whilst vehicle is in motion. Alight and whilst — genteel. And they don’t cook tea, or even brew it; they allow it to infuse. Yes.
On the other hand, their signs can be quite graphic (forgive the pun). We saw one street sign that warned of elderly people crossing the road, and the artwork featured drawings of people who were bent over, shuffling behind canes and walkers. And then we saw an even more graphic one showing exactly what kind of dog mess one is expected to handle (another pun to pardon).
The text on a nearby sign sounded genteel, though: “It is an offence to allow a dog to foul the footway.” Alliterative, even.
You don’t rent a tux there; you hire a dinner suit. We went to a wedding in a chapel at Oxford University, and the invitations had this: “No photography is allowed in the Chapel … and no confetti is allowed full stop.” Darn, I was hoping to stuff my hired dinner suit with confetti. But full stop, well, that put a definite halt to it. (“Full stop” means “and nothing less.”)
I signed up for a newsletter online with these instructions: “Fill in your details here and we’ll tip you the nod every few weeks.” Isn’t that interesting? Tip me the ole nod.
The vent in an English bathroom (well, toilet) is called an isolator, I suppose because it isolates the odors one wants isolated. Glass blocks are called air bricks, which makes sense. Scotch tape is called celly, Saran Wrap stuff is called cling film, and of course they watch adverts on the telly. (I assume they have adverts for celly on the telly.)
Finally, you and I have talked before about the British saying “he’s in hospital,” where they drop the “the” that we would use before “hospital.” I pointed out that we do it occasionally ourselves, such as in “he’s in school right now.” But they win, hands down — I heard all of these: “She’s downstairs in kitchen,” “Have we got problem?” and even “I’ll be down in minute.” Makes me want to write “the” a few thousand times and mail it over there as a helpful gift.
Can’t do it now — I need to go see if my dog has fouled a footpath.
###
Mike Clark writes a monthly language column for the News & Record. Reach him at writermike@bellsouth.net or follow him on Twitter (twitter.com/writermike).
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Twitterary allusions
Please read this entire column, whether you hate Twitter, love Twitter or don’t even know what Twitter is. The reason I’m writing to you about Twitter is this: I want to offer periodic advice on language via Twitter, and you can help make it happen.
It’s a challenge, you see, to write helpful notes about language in the teeny space that Twitter postings, known as “tweets,” allow: 140 characters maximum. That counts all letters, spaces, punctuation, etc. It makes one work a little bit to distill thoughts all the way down to the essence … similar to haiku, perhaps. (Forgive me if I sound all in a twitter.) Let me give you some sample tweets that I’ve already posted on Twitter — see what you think.
“Prices on the New York Stock Exchange rose higher yesterday.” Of course they rose higher; could they have risen lower?
Do you see how it works? Short, if not sweet. Here’s another one.
Which is correct - it's "a lot" [2 words] of fun, or it's "alot" [no such word] of fun? There's your answer.
Each of those is pithy (yeth indeed), and necessarily so. Look at two more, and then we’ll talk.
Do letters get an "s" or an apostrophe and an "s" for plurals? Singles get apostrophes (your p's and q's vs. the POs and two Ph.D.s).
Journalists get this one right, generally, but nonjournies do not. Ready? Under way, two words.
Please know that I am neither endorsing nor complaining about Twitter. What I am saying is that if enough of you sign up to “follow” me, then I’ll know that Twitter is a good way to pass along my language tidbits, and I’ll happily craft and post language tweets regularly.
Shoot — just stick your toe in. If you don’t like it, stop.
Yes, many people grouse at the very thought of Twitter. “If I want to know every time people eat a bagel, I’ll ask them” is a common kind of complaint. By the uninitiated, I might add. Here’s the way one tweeter, a young British comic, tweeted to make fun of that kind of posting:
I have my knees in my T-shirt, stretching it to a more desirable size. Stay tuned to my Twitter for more developments as they happen.
As I said, that’s a joke. If you encounter someone who really is mundane, simply stop following that person. The people and organizations I follow on Twitter tell me useful things — I follow news organizations and newsmakers to find out breaking news far ahead of stories on the wire services, for instance. Millions of people follow various celebrities for various reasons. You can keep up with your relatives if they’re tweeting. And, of course, you can send your own messages. Say your spouse is hospitalized, and friends and relatives want constant updates. Tweets can provide that, instantaneously and for free.
Here — have two more samples of my language tweets.
Bellwether = mix of bell and wether, a castrated male sheep, from the practice of hanging a bell from the neck of the flock leader.
Header in today's paper re BOA: 'Backing out of the deal might have lead to ouster ... .' Try not to use a metal (lead) for the verb (led).
Ready to sign up? It’s extremely simple to do. The whole process is free, and getting started truly takes only a few seconds. Simply go to Twitter.com and fill in the blanks to join. Then add writermike as someone to follow, and we’re set.
To update the James Taylor lyric, how tweet it is.
###
It’s a challenge, you see, to write helpful notes about language in the teeny space that Twitter postings, known as “tweets,” allow: 140 characters maximum. That counts all letters, spaces, punctuation, etc. It makes one work a little bit to distill thoughts all the way down to the essence … similar to haiku, perhaps. (Forgive me if I sound all in a twitter.) Let me give you some sample tweets that I’ve already posted on Twitter — see what you think.
“Prices on the New York Stock Exchange rose higher yesterday.” Of course they rose higher; could they have risen lower?
Do you see how it works? Short, if not sweet. Here’s another one.
Which is correct - it's "a lot" [2 words] of fun, or it's "alot" [no such word] of fun? There's your answer.
Each of those is pithy (yeth indeed), and necessarily so. Look at two more, and then we’ll talk.
Do letters get an "s" or an apostrophe and an "s" for plurals? Singles get apostrophes (your p's and q's vs. the POs and two Ph.D.s).
Journalists get this one right, generally, but nonjournies do not. Ready? Under way, two words.
Please know that I am neither endorsing nor complaining about Twitter. What I am saying is that if enough of you sign up to “follow” me, then I’ll know that Twitter is a good way to pass along my language tidbits, and I’ll happily craft and post language tweets regularly.
Shoot — just stick your toe in. If you don’t like it, stop.
Yes, many people grouse at the very thought of Twitter. “If I want to know every time people eat a bagel, I’ll ask them” is a common kind of complaint. By the uninitiated, I might add. Here’s the way one tweeter, a young British comic, tweeted to make fun of that kind of posting:
I have my knees in my T-shirt, stretching it to a more desirable size. Stay tuned to my Twitter for more developments as they happen.
As I said, that’s a joke. If you encounter someone who really is mundane, simply stop following that person. The people and organizations I follow on Twitter tell me useful things — I follow news organizations and newsmakers to find out breaking news far ahead of stories on the wire services, for instance. Millions of people follow various celebrities for various reasons. You can keep up with your relatives if they’re tweeting. And, of course, you can send your own messages. Say your spouse is hospitalized, and friends and relatives want constant updates. Tweets can provide that, instantaneously and for free.
Here — have two more samples of my language tweets.
Bellwether = mix of bell and wether, a castrated male sheep, from the practice of hanging a bell from the neck of the flock leader.
Header in today's paper re BOA: 'Backing out of the deal might have lead to ouster ... .' Try not to use a metal (lead) for the verb (led).
Ready to sign up? It’s extremely simple to do. The whole process is free, and getting started truly takes only a few seconds. Simply go to Twitter.com and fill in the blanks to join. Then add writermike as someone to follow, and we’re set.
To update the James Taylor lyric, how tweet it is.
###
Sunday, August 16, 2009
A novel approach to language
Everyone makes typographical errors at some time, yes? What’s troubling me is that organizations that should not make them — book publishers — do.
We should be able to read a novel without finding egregious mistakes, don’t you agree? All right, I admit that some people feel that popular fiction need not be held to high standards. But c’mon, really? If it’s a book?
Let me give you a few examples that I’ve found in novels recently. And please keep in mind that these are from publishers with international reputations for high quality, not some DIY firm.
In fact, the mistakes I’ll tell you about are from the novels of New York Times best-selling authors. The first we’ll examine has written dozens of books, all best sellers and all published by leading publishing houses — Ballentine Books, Bantam Books, etc. I won’t tell you his name, but his initials are J.K., and these errors are to be found in every one of his books. Every one, I tell you.
Guess what? That’s the first one (I hope you got it). As we all know, “guess” is a command, not a question. So kill the question mark, J.K., and use a period. Here are some others. Let me combine them into one sentence for you, just for purposes of illustration. Here we go — I told the both of them to continue on, because they knew more about the agencies in the city than anyone.
Did you catch all of those mistakes? “Both” means “the two of,” so saying “the both of them” is like saying “the the two of them.” Kill the “the” before the “both.” Also, “continue” means “go on,” so “continue on” is the same as saying “go on on.” Stop it. The final error is trickier to explain, but stay with me.
The last portion of the illustrative sentence should have read this way: “they knew more about the agencies in the city than anyone else did,” or, more simply, “they knew more about the agencies in the city than anyone else.” It’s the “else” that’s crucial. You always want to be careful about including an “else” when you’re saying “more than anyone” or “better than anyone” or any other comparative statements with “anyone” in the mix.
Let’s say your goal is to say that Bob knows more about cooking than any other person you know. Bob, we assume, is a person. That is, Bob himself is an “anyone.” See? If you simply say that ole Bob knows more about cooking than anyone, that means more than ANYone! But wait – he is an anyone, so it makes no sense. (Are you confused yet?) If you’ll just toss that “else” in there, all becomes clear. Instead of saying that Bob knows more than anyone (in the world), say that Bob knows more than anyone else in the world.
If that’s still confusing (and if you care), let me know and I’ll tackle it again later. For now, I’ll stop. You’re welcome.
Now we come to a New York Times best-selling author from Greensboro, a brilliant and talented writer with the initials J.H., published by St. Martin’s Press. Check out these two sentences from his latest novel: (1) Detective Cross was in the yard; so was his wife and Gerald. (2) Yoakum lead the boy away.
You see the problems there, yes? You’d have said, “Detective Cross was in the yard; so were his wife and Gerald.” And I can almost guarantee that you and the author, if asked, would vote to substitute the verb “led” for the metal “lead.” My point is that these errors belong to the editor, who works for the publisher.
Maybe hard economic times at publishing houses have led (I was tempted) to using fewer editors. Are they getting the job done? I’d say no, but tell me if you disagree. Otherwise, I’ll continue on whining louder than anyone. (I had to, sorry.)
###
We should be able to read a novel without finding egregious mistakes, don’t you agree? All right, I admit that some people feel that popular fiction need not be held to high standards. But c’mon, really? If it’s a book?
Let me give you a few examples that I’ve found in novels recently. And please keep in mind that these are from publishers with international reputations for high quality, not some DIY firm.
In fact, the mistakes I’ll tell you about are from the novels of New York Times best-selling authors. The first we’ll examine has written dozens of books, all best sellers and all published by leading publishing houses — Ballentine Books, Bantam Books, etc. I won’t tell you his name, but his initials are J.K., and these errors are to be found in every one of his books. Every one, I tell you.
Guess what? That’s the first one (I hope you got it). As we all know, “guess” is a command, not a question. So kill the question mark, J.K., and use a period. Here are some others. Let me combine them into one sentence for you, just for purposes of illustration. Here we go — I told the both of them to continue on, because they knew more about the agencies in the city than anyone.
Did you catch all of those mistakes? “Both” means “the two of,” so saying “the both of them” is like saying “the the two of them.” Kill the “the” before the “both.” Also, “continue” means “go on,” so “continue on” is the same as saying “go on on.” Stop it. The final error is trickier to explain, but stay with me.
The last portion of the illustrative sentence should have read this way: “they knew more about the agencies in the city than anyone else did,” or, more simply, “they knew more about the agencies in the city than anyone else.” It’s the “else” that’s crucial. You always want to be careful about including an “else” when you’re saying “more than anyone” or “better than anyone” or any other comparative statements with “anyone” in the mix.
Let’s say your goal is to say that Bob knows more about cooking than any other person you know. Bob, we assume, is a person. That is, Bob himself is an “anyone.” See? If you simply say that ole Bob knows more about cooking than anyone, that means more than ANYone! But wait – he is an anyone, so it makes no sense. (Are you confused yet?) If you’ll just toss that “else” in there, all becomes clear. Instead of saying that Bob knows more than anyone (in the world), say that Bob knows more than anyone else in the world.
If that’s still confusing (and if you care), let me know and I’ll tackle it again later. For now, I’ll stop. You’re welcome.
Now we come to a New York Times best-selling author from Greensboro, a brilliant and talented writer with the initials J.H., published by St. Martin’s Press. Check out these two sentences from his latest novel: (1) Detective Cross was in the yard; so was his wife and Gerald. (2) Yoakum lead the boy away.
You see the problems there, yes? You’d have said, “Detective Cross was in the yard; so were his wife and Gerald.” And I can almost guarantee that you and the author, if asked, would vote to substitute the verb “led” for the metal “lead.” My point is that these errors belong to the editor, who works for the publisher.
Maybe hard economic times at publishing houses have led (I was tempted) to using fewer editors. Are they getting the job done? I’d say no, but tell me if you disagree. Otherwise, I’ll continue on whining louder than anyone. (I had to, sorry.)
###
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Some beg you not to beg the question
We all have our pet sayings, yes? You know people who say “you know,” others who rely on “um” or, well, don’t even get me started on “like.” Thing is, any saying can be irritating if it’s used to excess.
Take the ever-popular “bless her heart.” That phrase, with its various permutations (his heart, your heart, etc.) has been used, discussed, trotted out as quintessentially Southern, laughed at and with, reviled and revered for decades, at least. It’s useful, but you must admit that if it’s in every other sentence, it’s tiresome.
Same goes for “sounds like a plan.” Certainly you’ve heard that one; you’ve probably said it. There’s nothing wrong with it … unless, of course, you say “Here’s the plan,” you detail it, and then someone else says, “Sounds like a plan.” Of course it’s a plan. Didn’t you say it’s the plan?
Anyway, it’s repetition that gets to me. I once ate lunch with a very respected and talented reporter friend. While we were eating, he uttered one sentence — and admittedly, he was flustered by something — in which he said: “You know, I mean, you know, uh, you know, this, you know … .” I did the only normal thing. I sat there, transfixed and counting. In that one sentence alone, he said “you know” 19 times. A talented writer, who would never use “you know” in his writing, even once.
Overuse, that’s the key to some of my whining today. Not the actual words, but their overuse. That’s what makes them lose effectiveness. They become irritating. They make diners count up to 19.
I once wrote a whole column on the overuse of “sort of” (http://bit.ly/15C9Xm), and the same goes for “clearly,” “actually” and “just.” It’s amazing, but people who say any of those (especially “just”) once in a sentence are likely to say it repeatedly, in every sentence: I just hope that you just know that we just need to just just just … help!
If you hear someone say “kind of,” “sort of” or “just,” you should start counting big time. Just for your own secret pleasure, of course. There is something about those particular verbal crutches — once they get their hooks into you, they own you. They rule your speech.
Some words and phrases currently riding high in popularity are “at the end of the day,” “powerful,” “transparent,” “sea change” and — oh, here’s one that’s ubiquitous — “Best. Something. Ever.” Sometimes there is a period after each word, but not always. TV Guide, talking about an online game: “Best. Game. Ever.” On another page: “When Dave met Blago. Worst. Idea. Ever.” And again: “Colbert and McCartney: Best. Interview. Ever.” British YouTube sensation Tom Milsom, announcing a live online show: “Best BlogTv Show Ever.”
There are some phrases, however, that are simply wrong, no matter how infrequently (or frequently) they are used. You know not to say “not hardly,” “can’t hardly” or (as a state senator just said) “cain’t hardly” when you mean “hardly.” So “she can hardly carry that by herself” is correct, whereas “she can’t hardly carry that by herself” means just the opposite from what you want.
Have you ever said, “begs the question,” as in this example from an Associated Press story about a performer appearing on the TV show Dancing With the Stars: “Lil’ Kim had an X-rated public image until she appeared on DWTS. Which begs the question: Is DWTS the new rehab?”
It’s a complicated phrase to judge. It began as a form of logical fallacy, described by Aristotle a very long time ago. Today’s usage is the result of confusion over the translation of “petitio principii,” which literally means “assuming the starting point.” However, “petitio” also means begging; as a result, “this begs the question” may incorrectly be translated as “this begs us, entreats us, to raise and consider the question.”
Even though some recent dictionaries grant that the newer usage is correct (standard), some purists still fight it. There’s even a website (cafepress.com/begthequestion) that offers T-shirts and other merchandise saying, “Oops — you used Beg the Question in an improper way.”
Who’s right? Old fuddy-duddies like Aristotle (bless his heart) or modern linguists, descriptivists who say that language is always changing, so live with it? Hmmm, I’d say it actually, just, you know, like begs the question, clearly.
###
Mike Clark writes a monthly language column for the News & Record. Reach him at writermike@bellsouth.net
Take the ever-popular “bless her heart.” That phrase, with its various permutations (his heart, your heart, etc.) has been used, discussed, trotted out as quintessentially Southern, laughed at and with, reviled and revered for decades, at least. It’s useful, but you must admit that if it’s in every other sentence, it’s tiresome.
Same goes for “sounds like a plan.” Certainly you’ve heard that one; you’ve probably said it. There’s nothing wrong with it … unless, of course, you say “Here’s the plan,” you detail it, and then someone else says, “Sounds like a plan.” Of course it’s a plan. Didn’t you say it’s the plan?
Anyway, it’s repetition that gets to me. I once ate lunch with a very respected and talented reporter friend. While we were eating, he uttered one sentence — and admittedly, he was flustered by something — in which he said: “You know, I mean, you know, uh, you know, this, you know … .” I did the only normal thing. I sat there, transfixed and counting. In that one sentence alone, he said “you know” 19 times. A talented writer, who would never use “you know” in his writing, even once.
Overuse, that’s the key to some of my whining today. Not the actual words, but their overuse. That’s what makes them lose effectiveness. They become irritating. They make diners count up to 19.
I once wrote a whole column on the overuse of “sort of” (http://bit.ly/15C9Xm), and the same goes for “clearly,” “actually” and “just.” It’s amazing, but people who say any of those (especially “just”) once in a sentence are likely to say it repeatedly, in every sentence: I just hope that you just know that we just need to just just just … help!
If you hear someone say “kind of,” “sort of” or “just,” you should start counting big time. Just for your own secret pleasure, of course. There is something about those particular verbal crutches — once they get their hooks into you, they own you. They rule your speech.
Some words and phrases currently riding high in popularity are “at the end of the day,” “powerful,” “transparent,” “sea change” and — oh, here’s one that’s ubiquitous — “Best. Something. Ever.” Sometimes there is a period after each word, but not always. TV Guide, talking about an online game: “Best. Game. Ever.” On another page: “When Dave met Blago. Worst. Idea. Ever.” And again: “Colbert and McCartney: Best. Interview. Ever.” British YouTube sensation Tom Milsom, announcing a live online show: “Best BlogTv Show Ever.”
There are some phrases, however, that are simply wrong, no matter how infrequently (or frequently) they are used. You know not to say “not hardly,” “can’t hardly” or (as a state senator just said) “cain’t hardly” when you mean “hardly.” So “she can hardly carry that by herself” is correct, whereas “she can’t hardly carry that by herself” means just the opposite from what you want.
Have you ever said, “begs the question,” as in this example from an Associated Press story about a performer appearing on the TV show Dancing With the Stars: “Lil’ Kim had an X-rated public image until she appeared on DWTS. Which begs the question: Is DWTS the new rehab?”
It’s a complicated phrase to judge. It began as a form of logical fallacy, described by Aristotle a very long time ago. Today’s usage is the result of confusion over the translation of “petitio principii,” which literally means “assuming the starting point.” However, “petitio” also means begging; as a result, “this begs the question” may incorrectly be translated as “this begs us, entreats us, to raise and consider the question.”
Even though some recent dictionaries grant that the newer usage is correct (standard), some purists still fight it. There’s even a website (cafepress.com/begthequestion) that offers T-shirts and other merchandise saying, “Oops — you used Beg the Question in an improper way.”
Who’s right? Old fuddy-duddies like Aristotle (bless his heart) or modern linguists, descriptivists who say that language is always changing, so live with it? Hmmm, I’d say it actually, just, you know, like begs the question, clearly.
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Mike Clark writes a monthly language column for the News & Record. Reach him at writermike@bellsouth.net
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Readers get A's for their Q's
What is more enjoyable than a good, old-fashioned question-and-answer session? Well, here’s what I come up with: ice cream, golf, movies, good books, the beach … wait a minute. I’d say almost everything is more fun than boring questions and answers. But we’re going to do a Q-and-A format today because these are special Q’s — they come from you, faithful readers. So by definition they are fascinating.
Q: In the sentence “Everyone should mind their manners,” “their” is plural and hence is not in agreement with the singular “everyone.” The correct version, “Everyone should mind his or her manners,” sounds clumsy, and so everyone simply minds their manners! What’s the solution?
A: Like it or not, many experts now allow that inconsistency as standard. My ongoing advice: Make it all plural (“People should mind their manners”).
Q: I read and re-read my work and still end up with errors. I write my book club blog, commercial real estate descriptions for work and personal and business letters. How can I become a better proofreader of my own writing?
A: First, know that you will seldom, if ever, see a perfect document ... and that goes for novels, ads, technical reports, cereal boxes, you name it. So don't be too hard on yourself. Second, find someone with a good eye to be your backup proofreader. Third, create good (well-proofed) templates whenever possible, then use those to reduce typos. This might be a good tactic for business letters. Fourth, read your writing out loud and slowly. That will help you find missing words, especially. Finally, if it's something really short (say a bit of real estate description), try reading it backwards slowly, one word at a time, after you've read it aloud. Going backwards will help expose spelling/typing errors.
Q: I'm so long beyond my grammar books, I need a new, succinctly written guide. Any suggestions?
A: I always tell people that two main rules apply: (1) If a style guide is designated for what you’re writing, follow that; (2) Be consistent throughout the writing assignment. That might mean choosing a style guide to follow if none is specified. Some of the most popular guides are the Associated Press Stylebook (for journalists), the APA Style Book (the American Psychological Association has a style guide that is widely used not only in scientific writing but also in many university settings) and the Chicago Manual of Style. Investigate several until you find one that seems friendly.
Q: Please write a column on the ridiculous phrases that are acceptable, such as “near miss.” Isn’t a near miss a hit?
A: hahahaHAHAhaha. That's a great thought. In fact, "near miss" is a quasi-legal term that refers (or at least referred originally) to the actual distance between or among objects that almost collided. In other words it was a miss in which the objects came perilously near each other.
Q: My sister is a cheat. Should I tell on her?
A: Wrong column. You want Annie’s Mailbox.
Q: My alma mater advertises this: “… every student receives an extraordinary education in a fun environment." I was always taught that “fun” is a noun, as in “to have fun.” I realize that “fun” is used increasingly as an adjective, and I know that it is colloquial, meaning enjoyable, but I still don't like it, especially advertising quality education in a college or university. It sounds ignorant and smacks of slang to me. (I'm not really a curmudgeon, at least most of the time!)
A: Having spent the last eight years of my employment marketing a private college, I feel that your university went with the “fun environment” phrasing precisely because it is, as you said, colloquial, a slang use. The goal is to sound very informal in an attempt to appeal to high school students. Unfortunately, “fun” as an adjective is now widely accepted in informal use, along with (and this part could send you over the edge into permanent curmudgeon-ness) “funner” and “funnest.” I'm not kidding. I'm not pleased, but it's true.
Q: I hear the state of Massachusetts sometimes pronounced “Massatusetts,” with the “chu” changed to a "t.” Also, the word “nuisance” [two syllables] is sometimes heard as three syllables: nu-i-sance. Finally, the word “mischievous” [three syllables] is often pronounced mis-chee-vee-ous, with four syllables. Are any of those pronunciations correct?
A: No, but they are among the funnest.
###
Q: In the sentence “Everyone should mind their manners,” “their” is plural and hence is not in agreement with the singular “everyone.” The correct version, “Everyone should mind his or her manners,” sounds clumsy, and so everyone simply minds their manners! What’s the solution?
A: Like it or not, many experts now allow that inconsistency as standard. My ongoing advice: Make it all plural (“People should mind their manners”).
Q: I read and re-read my work and still end up with errors. I write my book club blog, commercial real estate descriptions for work and personal and business letters. How can I become a better proofreader of my own writing?
A: First, know that you will seldom, if ever, see a perfect document ... and that goes for novels, ads, technical reports, cereal boxes, you name it. So don't be too hard on yourself. Second, find someone with a good eye to be your backup proofreader. Third, create good (well-proofed) templates whenever possible, then use those to reduce typos. This might be a good tactic for business letters. Fourth, read your writing out loud and slowly. That will help you find missing words, especially. Finally, if it's something really short (say a bit of real estate description), try reading it backwards slowly, one word at a time, after you've read it aloud. Going backwards will help expose spelling/typing errors.
Q: I'm so long beyond my grammar books, I need a new, succinctly written guide. Any suggestions?
A: I always tell people that two main rules apply: (1) If a style guide is designated for what you’re writing, follow that; (2) Be consistent throughout the writing assignment. That might mean choosing a style guide to follow if none is specified. Some of the most popular guides are the Associated Press Stylebook (for journalists), the APA Style Book (the American Psychological Association has a style guide that is widely used not only in scientific writing but also in many university settings) and the Chicago Manual of Style. Investigate several until you find one that seems friendly.
Q: Please write a column on the ridiculous phrases that are acceptable, such as “near miss.” Isn’t a near miss a hit?
A: hahahaHAHAhaha. That's a great thought. In fact, "near miss" is a quasi-legal term that refers (or at least referred originally) to the actual distance between or among objects that almost collided. In other words it was a miss in which the objects came perilously near each other.
Q: My sister is a cheat. Should I tell on her?
A: Wrong column. You want Annie’s Mailbox.
Q: My alma mater advertises this: “… every student receives an extraordinary education in a fun environment." I was always taught that “fun” is a noun, as in “to have fun.” I realize that “fun” is used increasingly as an adjective, and I know that it is colloquial, meaning enjoyable, but I still don't like it, especially advertising quality education in a college or university. It sounds ignorant and smacks of slang to me. (I'm not really a curmudgeon, at least most of the time!)
A: Having spent the last eight years of my employment marketing a private college, I feel that your university went with the “fun environment” phrasing precisely because it is, as you said, colloquial, a slang use. The goal is to sound very informal in an attempt to appeal to high school students. Unfortunately, “fun” as an adjective is now widely accepted in informal use, along with (and this part could send you over the edge into permanent curmudgeon-ness) “funner” and “funnest.” I'm not kidding. I'm not pleased, but it's true.
Q: I hear the state of Massachusetts sometimes pronounced “Massatusetts,” with the “chu” changed to a "t.” Also, the word “nuisance” [two syllables] is sometimes heard as three syllables: nu-i-sance. Finally, the word “mischievous” [three syllables] is often pronounced mis-chee-vee-ous, with four syllables. Are any of those pronunciations correct?
A: No, but they are among the funnest.
###
Friday, May 15, 2009
I’m too flusterated to conversate
Sometimes people misuse or even make up words, and when they do, readers of this column seem to be within hearing (and note-taking) distance. That’s good for me, because they tell me about it. Here are some examples.
Reader Douglas offered a “conversate” note: “Loved your column today, as usual! Let’s conversate about it!” I had never heard that word, possibly a verb derived from the noun “conversation,” but soon thereafter came this from Reader John, lamenting the language of people he once knew: “No amount of gently telling them … could keep them from using the word ‘conversate,’ as in ‘I would love to conversate with you.’ Oh, me.”
Golly, I guess I’ve missed out on a lotta conversatin’. Reader John had some others up his sleeve, as well: “Where I live, I often hear the terms ‘flusterated’ and ‘chimley’ for, of course, ‘frustrated’ and ‘chimney.’ I guess they just combine ‘flustered’ and ‘frustrated’ and come up with ‘flusterated.’ Where ‘chimley’ comes from, Lord knows.”
I’ve heard “chimley” myself, John, and all I can add is that it seems to be slang for “chimney” in Dorset, in the southwest of England, but that doesn’t tell us much.
Did you happen to notice my use of “myself” in the preceding sentence? Readers ask me about the proper use of “myself” more than they ask about any other single word. Here’s an example, from Reader Audrey: “I am an uneducated 72-year-old homemaker … [who does] not remember the rules of grammar and would have difficulty identifying the parts of speech beyond the initial ones. But, I frequently hear things that I feel are incorrect because they just sound wrong. Recently, it seems people being interviewed by the media use the word ‘myself’ when I think they should say ‘I.’ Could you comment?”
Audrey, I couldn’t have said it better myself. Other than occasional exceptions granted by poetic license, “myself” should be used only to refer back to the subject of the clause (I hurt myself) or for emphasis (I myself could not swear to it). And by the way, your practice of deciding whether a usage is correct by how it sounds means that you’re paying attention to what’s said, and you’re striving to use language correctly. Great awareness.
Reader Steve sent this: “I just heard a new word, and I hate it — shoportunity.” It’s safe to say that I always agree with everything this Reader Steve says. Try these, also from him: “On my all-time hate list are ‘happytizers’ and ‘happyteasers.’” I know what you mean, Steve. It’s enough to drive you to drink.
National media are rife these days with uses of “bromance” for brotherly romance, “frenemies” for people you love and hate, “dramedy” for stories that can make you laugh and cry and even “staycation” for taking a vacation where you stay at home in tough economic times. And if that’s not enough, I just heard a National Public Radio host talk about “celebutantes,” meaning, I suppose, someone who’s a celebrity debutante.
Some new words are actually quite useful; others are downright endearing. Reader Scott sends us this: “As [beloved baseball announcer] Loel Passe used to say on KTHT [radio] in Houston when a Houston Buffalo would hit a home run, ‘Hot ziggity-dog and good ole sassafras tea!’”
I remember that, actually. I also recall Loel saying, “Now you chunkin’ in there.” For those unfamiliar with the patois, if you’re throwing a ball well, you’re chunkin’ it. See why I like the Loel Passe sayings? They’re colorful and memorable.
We turn now to Reader Wiley, who writes me this: “In your article you mention ‘prioritize,’ ‘levelize,’ ‘monetize’ and ‘Talibanize.’ Another common use is ‘accessorize,’ and I think I saw the ultimate use of this practice recently when a writer said someone had been ‘funeralized’!”
Whoa, that is ultimate, Wiley. It demonstrates how things can get ugly when we add the suffix “ize” to make verbs where none have gone before.
Finally, we come to this from Reader Ginny: “Today I was watching Fox News … [describing] the Obamas’ European trip. The hostess, Martha McCallum, told what gift the Queen had given them. She said that it was a silver framed picture of ‘she and her husband.’ I wanted to throw something at the TV set but restrained myself.”
Yikes. I’m glad you restrained yourself. That would have been a costly way to satisfactionize.
###
Reader Douglas offered a “conversate” note: “Loved your column today, as usual! Let’s conversate about it!” I had never heard that word, possibly a verb derived from the noun “conversation,” but soon thereafter came this from Reader John, lamenting the language of people he once knew: “No amount of gently telling them … could keep them from using the word ‘conversate,’ as in ‘I would love to conversate with you.’ Oh, me.”
Golly, I guess I’ve missed out on a lotta conversatin’. Reader John had some others up his sleeve, as well: “Where I live, I often hear the terms ‘flusterated’ and ‘chimley’ for, of course, ‘frustrated’ and ‘chimney.’ I guess they just combine ‘flustered’ and ‘frustrated’ and come up with ‘flusterated.’ Where ‘chimley’ comes from, Lord knows.”
I’ve heard “chimley” myself, John, and all I can add is that it seems to be slang for “chimney” in Dorset, in the southwest of England, but that doesn’t tell us much.
Did you happen to notice my use of “myself” in the preceding sentence? Readers ask me about the proper use of “myself” more than they ask about any other single word. Here’s an example, from Reader Audrey: “I am an uneducated 72-year-old homemaker … [who does] not remember the rules of grammar and would have difficulty identifying the parts of speech beyond the initial ones. But, I frequently hear things that I feel are incorrect because they just sound wrong. Recently, it seems people being interviewed by the media use the word ‘myself’ when I think they should say ‘I.’ Could you comment?”
Audrey, I couldn’t have said it better myself. Other than occasional exceptions granted by poetic license, “myself” should be used only to refer back to the subject of the clause (I hurt myself) or for emphasis (I myself could not swear to it). And by the way, your practice of deciding whether a usage is correct by how it sounds means that you’re paying attention to what’s said, and you’re striving to use language correctly. Great awareness.
Reader Steve sent this: “I just heard a new word, and I hate it — shoportunity.” It’s safe to say that I always agree with everything this Reader Steve says. Try these, also from him: “On my all-time hate list are ‘happytizers’ and ‘happyteasers.’” I know what you mean, Steve. It’s enough to drive you to drink.
National media are rife these days with uses of “bromance” for brotherly romance, “frenemies” for people you love and hate, “dramedy” for stories that can make you laugh and cry and even “staycation” for taking a vacation where you stay at home in tough economic times. And if that’s not enough, I just heard a National Public Radio host talk about “celebutantes,” meaning, I suppose, someone who’s a celebrity debutante.
Some new words are actually quite useful; others are downright endearing. Reader Scott sends us this: “As [beloved baseball announcer] Loel Passe used to say on KTHT [radio] in Houston when a Houston Buffalo would hit a home run, ‘Hot ziggity-dog and good ole sassafras tea!’”
I remember that, actually. I also recall Loel saying, “Now you chunkin’ in there.” For those unfamiliar with the patois, if you’re throwing a ball well, you’re chunkin’ it. See why I like the Loel Passe sayings? They’re colorful and memorable.
We turn now to Reader Wiley, who writes me this: “In your article you mention ‘prioritize,’ ‘levelize,’ ‘monetize’ and ‘Talibanize.’ Another common use is ‘accessorize,’ and I think I saw the ultimate use of this practice recently when a writer said someone had been ‘funeralized’!”
Whoa, that is ultimate, Wiley. It demonstrates how things can get ugly when we add the suffix “ize” to make verbs where none have gone before.
Finally, we come to this from Reader Ginny: “Today I was watching Fox News … [describing] the Obamas’ European trip. The hostess, Martha McCallum, told what gift the Queen had given them. She said that it was a silver framed picture of ‘she and her husband.’ I wanted to throw something at the TV set but restrained myself.”
Yikes. I’m glad you restrained yourself. That would have been a costly way to satisfactionize.
###
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