DoWriteRight

NPR

2011-07-17T11:17:00.000-07:00

Recently on Twitter I asked why National Public Radio’s Neal Conan specifies that he’s in Studio 3A. After all, it's not as if we need to know the studio number -- just introducing guests "here in the Washington studio" should suffice.

One follower suggested that it gave Mr. Conan a sense of ownership and stability ... plus (she added humorously) it kept us from mistaking them with the guests in Studio 4A.

Meantime, NPR Managing Editor Mark Stencel (@markstencel on Twitter) took the opportunity to put me in Studio 3A, virtually.

Being there almost in person, well now, that put a whole new light on things. "Studio 3A" it shall be!

Attention, shoppers!

2011-05-01T05:14:00.001-07:00

If you were driving along a road and saw something interesting, you wouldn’t stop in the middle of the road to ponder it, would you? Of course not. You’d have to hope that all the other cars on that road would maneuver around you safely.

However, if you’re in a grocery store and you want to study an item or two, are you likely to stop your cart in the middle of the aisle? Oh, I hope you’re not among the millions who do.

Now that I’m an impatient old person (I used to be an impatient young one), I wish the stores would change from grocery carts to bumper carts. Ring those suckers with thick rubber bumpers so if someone stops in the middle of an aisle, you could just smack their cart with yours — utilitarian and fun at the same time.

Let me just mention a few more aggravations one can encounter while buying groceries. I’ll feel better. Thanks.

The grocery store I use has free samples of bread, along with toppings like butter and cream cheese. The trouble is, some shoppers tend to stand there, oblivious to others waiting behind them, as they take the bread, spread the topping, eat the sample … chew it, moan a little, wipe their mouths, think about how good it was, etc. Please, pay attention.

Are you a thief all the time? If you take food from the bulk candy bins and eat it without paying for it, that’s stealing. The same applies to fruit, vegetables, any loose food not designated as a free sample.

Do you like the temperature in most grocery stores? You do if you’re a penguin. I can only guess that it’s to help with all the refrigerated and frozen products, because it is freezing most of the time, even in the summer.

Last week I saw a middle-aged male customer take a handful of the free samples of strawberries (not stealing, just piggish), then walk over to fruits that were displayed on a mound of crushed ice. This guy repeatedly wiped his dirty, strawberry-juiced hand on the ice, back and forth, just to clean some of the goop off his fingers.

Oh, and eggs. It takes more time to find a carton of 18 unbroken eggs than it takes to fill the rest of the should-be-bumper cart. The cracks might be on the underside, they might be on only three or four eggs, but trying to find a crack-free carton? Forgeddaboudit.

Maybe this next gripe is just in my store, I don’t know. But its public-address announcements sometimes are horrendously loud. Some of the staff members understand that amplification through a microphone means they don’t need to shout, but others simply go nuts. It can only be described as ear-splitting. Stop it.

Finally, here’s a sincere “Stop it” note. I don’t care how few items you are there to buy; I don’t care if you’re only running in to return something. Do not park in the fire lane.

“Oh, I'm just picking up milk and beer.” Doesn’t matter. If you park at the very front of the store, right beside or on top of the “No Parking” and “Fire Lane” signs, you could be responsible for a catastrophe.

The fire lanes are there to provide access to fire trucks and personnel if there is ever a fire in the store. Being able to pull up close to the entrance is what can save us all if there is a fire.

And don’t think that you’ll be able to run to your car and move it if it comes to that. You’ll likely be trapped inside, standing behind Frick and Frack as they slowly slather free cream cheese onto bread samples.

Please, park in the parking lot every time. If you don’t, we might put you in a rubber-bumper grocery cart. Try driving that home.

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Mike Clark is a freelance writer who lives in Greensboro and provides daily language tips on Twitter (twitter.com/writermike). He can be reached at writermike@bellsouth.net.

A Buttermilk Christmas

2010-12-21T14:05:00.000-08:00

My mother had chronic pains in her neck and head. She often had migraines, “sick headaches” she called them, and she’d have me mix her a “headache cocktail” — a barbiturate called Doriden with two Empirin Compounds (an analgesic mix) into a paper napkin, crushed by a heavy coffee mug into a fine powder and then shaken into a fruit-juice glass.

The final step was to add one teaspoon of spirits of ammonia, bought from the pharmacy in small bottles, to the mix, stirred with a dollop of water. Stinky stuff.

Doriden, a wonderful barbiturate, helped, haunted and hurt my mother and our family for years. It’s still around today, but used sparingly, in a classification along with cocaine, morphine, PCP and injectable methamphetamine.

It didn’t always help the pain, but if anything would, this would. It also usually put her to sleep. Unfortunately, in December 1955 the kind doctor prescribing the drug decided Mom should not have it anymore. The results were alarming.

In truth, doctors in those years didn’t really know all that we do now about addictions and how to handle them. I had just turned 10, and all I knew was that in December my father asked me to sit on my mother’s ankles. She had fallen to the floor in the living room and was convulsing from classic barbiturate withdrawal. He could hold her head, but he needed me to try to contain her legs.

He was calm during these episodes, as he was calm during almost everything. It was a tableau that typified our behaviors — Dad was quietly making everything all right, Mom was the focus of our attention, I was the helpful boy.

Over the next few weeks, Dad and the doctor arranged for Mom to be admitted to a hospital in Oklahoma City for experimental treatments that might help her back and head pain. Dad and I packed up the ole Buick and headed north from our hometown, Houston, with Mom sitting in the back.

That’s how Dad and I found ourselves alone and hungry in Oklahoma on Christmas Day of 1955. Mom had been set up in her hospital room and basically medicated to an extent that kept her from being alert. About the time it got dark, Dad said: “Son, let’s hop in the car and leave the hospital. We’ll go downtown for a special Christmas dinner, eh?” I was all for it.

Turns out downtown Oklahoma City on that Christmas Day offered very little. All of the chain restaurants and fast-food places that now dot every American town didn’t exist back then.

As we drove up and down the deserted streets, I began to think we wouldn’t be eating. In fact, we should have had a cheese sandwich in the hospital cafeteria … again.

“Isn’t this great,” my dad said, “it’s like a modern ghost town, and we’re the only ones here. Makes this Christmas special, almost downright mystical, just by its emptiness.”

After a few more turns we saw what seemed to be a diner. It was in the middle of a downtown block, and it appeared to have lights on. We parked on the deserted street and went in, filled with hope and hunger.

Sure enough, it was a diner open for business. We were the only customers, and Dora — a middle-aged big-haired waitress with a white apron, a wide smile and sensible shoes — met us right away and with a sweeping arm gesture gave us our choice of seating. We selected a red-leatherette booth by the window, letting us watch for any other vehicle that might happen through the streetlights.

Dad had sliced ham with sweet potatoes; I went for fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Of course, Dad let me steal the melted marshmallows off his sweet potatoes.

We enjoyed the meal unencumbered by the noise of any other diners, and then I asked Dora if by chance they had a slice of pecan pie. “You know, Sug,” she said, “we do have one back in the kitchen, made right here with two kinds of Karo syrup and with extra pecans. We’ve been holding it for a special 10-year-old customer.” “I’m 10,” I almost shouted. Doris smiled, raised her eyebrows and said, “Well then, I think it’s your’un.” She then looked at my father and said, “What about you?”

Dad said: “Gosh, what I’d really like for this Christmas meal is a small glass of buttermilk, but I bet that’s not something you offer, is it?” Doris pulled out the pencil from her hair, used it to scratch a spot just above her ear, and said: “You know, I think we have one small glass left.” She went back to the kitchen.

“Why’d she call me ‘Sug,’ Dad,” I asked. “That’s short for ‘Sugar,’ I think,” he said. I was about to ask him how he could stand to drink buttermilk, that horrid-looking lumpy stuff, when I looked out the window and saw what seemed to be the backside of Dora, wearing a jacket and scurrying away from us down the sidewalk.

A few minutes later I saw her coming toward us, with a lit cigarette in her mouth and a small, uncovered glass of buttermilk in her right hand, held out in front to smooth out her steps.

Right after that she appeared at our booth, minus the jacket and the cigarette, to deliver a huge piece of pecan pie and what to Dad was a glorious glass of buttermilk. He sipped and smiled as I greedily devoured the pie, certain that I tasted two kinds of Karo syrup.

The treatments didn’t cure Mom’s pain, but the time in the hospital allowed her to stop using barbiturates for a good while. We would spend other holidays in other hospitals in the years to come, always hoping for the right cure. But the magic of that feel-special Christmas night in Oklahoma City didn’t happen again.

It was truly special, almost downright mystical.

Suck it in

2010-12-12T06:55:00.001-08:00

Actor Burt Reynolds once retired from acting, and replied thus when asked why: “I’m tired of holding in my stomach.”

We’re an affluent country, and we tend to be, well, let’s say “large.” But often we have thin, young and muscled celebrities looking quite different from us. That tends to make us normal (as in not sculpted) people want to suck in the tummy, no?

I’ve always held in my stomach. Almost always, anyway. Until the 7th grade I was painfully skinny, so when I first started showing some tummy, I happily distended it to the fullest, paunch-proud.

Since then, though, all the time … almost. If I really held in my stomach all the time, it might actually create some muscle tone. That’s not the goal. Hiding is the goal.

To state it precisely, I hold it in whenever anyone’s looking. Or seems to be looking. Or could begin looking.

There’s something of an art to that kind of hiding, you know. If you stand casually, with your tummy hanging out at full flop, you can’t quickly suck it up when someone glances your way. That’s so obvious that it looks ridiculous.

No, the way to do it is this: When the other person begins to glance your way, turn your head, as if being almost startled by something off to one side, stand up extra-straight and rein in the ole tum-tum at the same time. The head can serve as a complete misdirection, which is good. Even if it doesn’t, the change in posture makes the abdominal suck-in seem almost natural, as if that part of your body naturally belongs in there anyway. Try it.

A middle-aged friend and his wife go to the beach a lot, and a common activity is comparing their bodies to others that are displayed there. The goal always is to discover people who are even larger than they themselves are.

His concern, of course, is the stomach; hers is more generalized, in that women often care about things other than just their stomachs. (Men have other body parts they’re obsessed with, but this is a family newspaper.)

They set up beach chairs, lie back with an opened book or magazine and pretend to read as they peer through sunglasses at the parade of bodies. “How about this one?” is the usual code, meaning look at this person approaching and tell me if I’m fatter than that. The best answer is, “Be serious,” and the worst begins with “Ummmm …”

Many people joke about the middle part of the body, of course. The urban word “dunlop” is popular. It means that the belly is so big, it done lopped over the belt. And comedian Bill Cosby used to do a routine that pondered why men with 40-inch waists still wear 32-inch underwear. He might have used different numbers, but the idea is valid: We men often continue to buy the size we used to wear, even when that size is too small. Is it frugality, lack of awareness or downright self-delusion? Don’t ask.

Here’s a question I do ask … every day. When I see someone, let’s say a male, happily living with a really huge middle, I always wonder: Is he completely at ease with his size — a very good thing from a mental, if not physical, health standpoint — or, and this is the scary part, is he holding that sucker in right now? After all, it might be twice that size if I look away.

Whichever, I’ll bet he’s wearing 32-inch underwear.

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Mike Clark is a freelance writer who lives in Greensboro and provides daily language tips on Twitter (twitter.com/writermike). He can be reached at writermike@bellsouth.net.

Is it just me?

2010-06-07T05:41:00.001-07:00

My favorite Charles Manson quote (all right, my only Charles Manson quote) is this: “Is it hot in here, or am I just crazy?”

Yes, that’s just a joke. But have you ever been in a situation where you wonder if you’re the only one who’s aware of something, bothered by something? Is it just you, you might wonder. It happens to me. A lot.

Say you call a company about an account you have there, and a recording says, “In order to expedite your request, enter your account number now.” So you do that, then you wait. When you finally get a real person, the first thing that person says is, “What is your account number?” What? I just entered it. Isn’t that idiotic, or am I just crazy?

It seems to me that every magazine scent sample — the kind you scratch to sniff — is the same smell. Have you noticed that? “Lift here to experience … the smell.” I don’t need to; it’s the same as all the others.

Let’s say a friend of yours requires knee surgery. I’ll bet you right now that he didn’t hurt his knee, he didn’t break it or rupture it or smash it. You know what he did? He “blew out his knee.” Right? Isn’t that always the phrase? And it’s funny, that one, because you always blow out your knee, but just your knee. You don’t blow out your shoulder. Or your hip.

Of course, you’ll always use “one of the top surgeons in the country.” Am I crazy, or is almost every surgeon in the country — you know, the ones your relatives and friends use for their blown-out knees — said to be one of the top in the region?

This one’s equally irritating and predictable: Videographers zoom in extra tight anytime someone on camera is about to cry. I think they’re trained and certified in tear-zooming. Don’t zoom in, we take your camera away and give no severance pay. Zoom in and you go national. After all, what is grief for if not to be made public, with an extreme close-up.

While we’re on camera things, am I crazy, or has the once-revered National Geographic TV channel gone tacky? In the (good) old days, that brand, that name, meant class. Now it can be almost as low-class as any other cable show. Even the name has become Nat Geo. Say what? Yes, that’s how the promos go: Nat Geo.

Cell phones. Many, many times I’ve noticed cars with four businesspeople, all suited up and on their way to business doings, and each of them is on a cell phone. All four in the same car, wearing ties and talking … not to each other. Unless, of course, they’re calling each other.

Sometimes names make me shake my head, thinking I must be crazy. They simply strike me as beyond belief. I just heard a bird expert on national radio: Dr. Dove. You know who the commissioner of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration is? Dr. Hamburg. Where we used to live there was a dentist named Dr. Pepper, and tonight I saw a cook on TV — Mary Cleaver.

Tell me this: Am I crazy, or are those new-fangled envelopes a mess? I’m referring to the ones that say you MUST remove the side panels first. First the side panels, then at this perforation, then stand on your head and tear here. They take forever to open and the carbon-lined inside is ugly. I hate them.

Oh, am I the only one who’s noticed that every alarm in the house — carbon monoxide, smoke, whatever — is designed to work our last nerves? The batteries always go bad in the middle of the night. At first you hear a quick beep, but it’s so, so loud. And you deny that you heard it: Oh no, it was nothing, it won’t happen again BEEP. So you have to get out of bed — always on a night before some really important activity requiring extra lucidity and strength the next day — and you get a ladder from your neighbor’s garage and you try to stop The Beeping.

That means that you need to discover a way to get to the bad battery, hoping that you’re not deafened and knocked off the ladder while cursing. The alarms are all different, so there’s no point in trying to remember how to do it. I’ve always found it best simply to use a hammer and then replace the whole unit the following weekend.

I don’t know how Charlie Manson would do it.

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Mike Clark is a freelance writer who lives in Greensboro and provides daily language tips on Twitter (twitter.com/writermike). He can be reached at writermike@bellsouth.net.

I’ll go first, I’m old. It happens.

2010-04-29T14:41:00.001-07:00

This is weird. It’s been happening more and more lately, too. I’ll be walking, usually indoors, and people will step out of my way. Here’s why: I’m now old.

I’m not pushing my way through a crowd, I’m not stumbling or scowling or walking with a cane, but evidently I now look old. And interestingly, it motivates people to step aside in restaurant aisles, to hold the door, to smile and say, “Go ahead.” That feels strange to me. It’s also, if I ever get used to it, rather pleasant.

A lot of my jobs have been high profile, so I’ve been interviewed through the years. The descriptions in those have gone from “athletic” to “active” to “spry.” Wait a minute — “spry”? And I was 55 at the time.

It happens.

The joke is that we all have three ages: youth, middle age and “You’re looking well.”

You learn that over time, things go wrong with your body. By middle age you understand how it’s possible for some elderly to have serious medical problems that they leave untreated. After all, by their age, they’ve gone through decades of enduring countless aches, an array of pains. Life becomes: “Oh, I’ll just put up with it and it will go away eventually.”

Here’s the way I see it about our bodies. When you’re young, the question is “What’s wrong?” When you’re middle-aged, the question is “What’s wrong now?” And when you’re old, the question is “Can it be fixed?”

When I was 12 years old I made a three-fold vow to myself: I would never be bald, I would never get hemorrhoids and I would never talk down to a 12-year-old. So far, I’ve kept two out of three.

You know you’re old when you when you pass an attractive dog-walker of the opposite sex and then realize you were checking out the dog.

The hard part at my age is on a day when you feel young, but then someone says, “You’ve had a good life.”

It’s also hard when you realize that you’re doing the very things that you’ve always noticed about the elderly (you know, those who really ARE old). You find yourself humming. You find your mouth opening sooner than it needs to when food is incoming. When you climb into a car, you moan. You find that you really have forgotten to zip the ole zipper.

It happens.

Then we have the Senior Citizen Discount. When I was 49, I ordered some chicken at a KFC. The clerk said, “Do you get the senior discount?” I left.

A version of that still happens. My wife and I grocery shop on the seniors discount day every week, and the experience would be much more enjoyable if the clerks would ASK me if I qualify. They never do.

Oh, I meant to tell you. If you’re a senior and you eat at Chik-fil-A, they give you a free drink. It’s called a “Senior Drink,” and it’s slightly smaller than … wait a minute. I wonder if they have a kiddie drink, too, that’s smaller. Is this a kiddie drink?

That’s the problem, isn’t it? As we get old, we start to resemble the children, then the infants, we once were. We begin to eat like them, we cry easily, we walk like them. It’s fascinating.

Eventually, as you live in the Years of Discounts, you start to think in terms of Lasts: This will probably be my last house, my last dog, my last car. And the older you get, the shorter-term the lasts are. My last house is easy to live with, but then you reach your last suit, your last vacation trip, your last … banana?

It happens.

If you’re lucky.

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Mike Clark is a freelance writer who lives in Greensboro and provides daily language tips on Twitter (twitter.com/writermike).

Besieged by bazillions

2009-11-14T20:23:00.000-08:00

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.

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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).

In loo of a proper restroom

2009-10-17T09:11:00.001-07:00

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.

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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).

Twitterary allusions

2009-09-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

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.

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A novel approach to language

2009-08-16T23:57:00.000-07:00

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.)

###

Some beg you not to beg the question

2009-07-18T20:22:00.000-07:00

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

Readers get A's for their Q's

2009-06-20T20:30:00.001-07:00

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.

###

I’m too flusterated to conversate

2009-05-15T20:27:00.000-07:00

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.

###

Dialects and twitterary criticism

2009-04-18T17:24:00.000-07:00

When I was 21 years old (so long ago, rope was a new invention), I lit out for the territory, driving from my native Texas to attend graduate school in Pittsburgh, in large part simply to learn what Yankees were like. I’ve never been the same.

On the drive north, I spent much time fretting over how to talk to Northerners. The greeting was the first and the most problematic issue. I feared that my Texas accent and my choice of words would lead to ridicule.

I wondered if people Up There greeted each other the way we real people did. Whenever we hailed each other, it was with a simple “Hey” or, even more commonly, “Haddy!” — a word I’ve mentioned before that rhymes with “caddy” and was the way we Texans said “Hidy,” our version of “Hi.”

So I worried as I emigrated, driving north and practicing what I thought might be right: Hello, Hi, Hi there, How are you, Good day. Gosh, I was lost; it was hopeless. I stopped rehearsing and vowed simply to be mute until I had observed enough to parrot what they said.

Of course, it all worked out. I learned that my fears were mostly unfounded, that I could — and should — say whatever came to mind without forethought; that other people offered many, many different styles of greeting; and that the Yankee I married would even occasionally ask me to “talk Texan” … and she still does.

Here’s the surprising part of the story: I have a point to make. Yes! Even though it’s been buried, here it is. How you talk is often influenced by where you are, by the context of the communication, and that’s just fine.

Kids who are born and spend a few years in one part of the country and then move with their families to another will often become bi-dialectal. They’ll play with their new neighbors outdoors, speaking with the patois of those new friends, and revert to the dialect of their own family when they’re in the house.

I feel pretty confident that the same transformation can occur, will occur, in fact does occur with today’s young people as they move from technology-based talking to formal writing, from daily talk to giving a speech, and so on.

Many people lament the fact that kids use a “terrible” form of language when they utilize text messaging, instant messaging, tweets, email, etc. I don’t think we need to worry. I think that just as I went from Texan to other sounds in my daily speech, today’s technology-using young people will change as well. Just as little kids change their language from the playground to indoors with family, context will triumph over technology. (Or with it.)

Your young person might spend hours a day typing short, cryptic messages onto some electronic medium — a cell phone with texting, a computer … any of a slew of PDAs (personal digital assistants). You might wring your hands over messages filled with “brb,” “lmao,” “OMG,” “lulz” and countless other codes. I say relax.

Just because (or “b/c”) texters use abbreviations and other tech slang throughout those communications does not mean that they will use them in all other settings. It’s no different from using slang with friends but not when making a class presentation. They will know, or can be taught, how different contexts call for different language, different dialects.

I mentioned “tweeting” above. That’s the term for messages sent over Twitter, a program that lets you communicate in messages of 140 (or fewer) characters. Twitter often is disparaged because, for instance, “I don’t need to know every time you have a bagel.” In many ways that’s a shortsighted complaint, in that Twitter facilitates easy and quick communications that can be very useful – following breaking news, updating relatives on hospital situations, reporting things that matter to those who “follow” you.

And think about those parameters. Imagine what a good exercise it is to write something in 140 characters (including punctuation and spaces) max. I think it was Pascal who wrote: “I’m sorry for the long letter. I didn’t have time to write a short one.”

If you’re a teacher, you must like that kind of discipline for your students; it forces them to focus, to write with attention and precision. The preceding sentence is 141 characters. Can you effectively remove one character? Twitter people can, even the young ones. Let’s say hello to a new age of talking: Haddy.

###

Sending thanks to sharp-eyed readers

2009-03-21T09:20:00.000-07:00

When I signed on to write these columns, my wife said, “Do you have enough to write about?” I laughed, saying: “I have enough material to write several per day.” Get this: Today marks the beginning of this column’s 4th year, and one of the reasons it remains easy is that you, readers nonpareil, have an endless supply of topics that you ask me to address.

Without any contest, the # 1 complaint that prompts readers to write to me, and I do mean far and away the most deeply felt, the most complained about, the favorite by far (get the picture? this is the big enchilada) deals with the improper use of personal pronouns.

It is a widespread problem area, I’ll admit. Here’s an example, part of an eloquent email from Reader Page after the last presidential campaign: “I've noticed within the past few years that often pronouns are used incorrectly, especially in the objective case. Our own president-elect, whom I admire and support, erred in an instance during his first press conference after the election. Mr. Obama said that President Bush had ‘graciously invited Michelle and I’ to the White House.

“This is a case,” she goes on, “where folks will argue with you about ‘I or me,’ saying that their teachers and mothers insisted that they always say ‘So-and-so and I,’ regardless of case. I've heard lawyers do it, preachers do it, school principals do it, college professors do it, CEOs do it, your best friend does it and now, presidents-elect do it. I guess I'll forgive him, but we need to give him a bit of help in the good grammar department.”

I touched on the problem in the November 2007 column (http://dowriteright.blogspot.com/2007/11/readers-could-care-less-really.html), but even if we devoted every column to it, the misuse wouldn’t go away. In case you’re reading a print version of this column now, and can’t easily click on the link to the earlier column, here is a portion of what I proposed as a solution.

--------------------------
Good news: It’s pretty easy, if you stay calm. Just take your time with the sentence and use this little ploy. When you’re deciding how to word a statement with Someone and Someone, just mentally try it without the first Someone.

Example: “The prizes went to Bob and … .” Uh-oh, to Bob and I? To Bob and me? Eliminate the first one, ole Bob, and it’s easy. The prizes go to me. So now you can comfortably (and correctly) say, “The prizes went to Bob and me.”
--------------------------

The reader complaint that probably comes in second — although it truly represents an infinitesimal fraction of letters compared to the first —deals with using apostrophes incorrectly to form plurals. We have covered that before, too, talking about dogs and cats versus dog’s and cat’s. I think it’s still a common complaint because the error’s easy to find. (Were you on heightened alert when you saw “error’s”? I wanted to stick in a contraction, where the apostrophe stands for the “i” in “error is,” to show an apostrophe in one of its legitimate uses.)

Here’s an example, this one from Reader Scott: “I went to the local cafe Monday and noticed that the menu featured white beans and pinto's. The lady manager stopped and asked if everything was OK. I couldn’t help it; I said: ‘I see you have added white beans and pintos to your menu.’ She said: ‘Honey, we’ve always had them.’ I said, ‘Oh look, there is an apostrophe after the word pinto.’ She blithely explained, ‘That's to take the place of the word beans.’

Scott adds that as he drove home, he glanced at a sign in front of his neighborhood Arby’s. The sign sported an arrow and said “Delivery’s.”

Reader Rusty emailed me this note: “Yes, that wandering apostrophe has landed in another strange place. A sign in North Asheboro offers Cash For Junk Car's.”

While we’re with Reader Rusty, let me give you one more he sent: “Don't want to be a pest, but just had to pass along this wonderful sign observed by my wife today at a store: No Credit Card Orders For Under $10 Excepted. We have no idea what this may mean.”

That’s a good one. My guess is that the policy calls for credit cards to be accepted only for orders of $10 or more. Say, for a big ole mess of pinto’s.

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I’m gonna be sick

2009-03-03T09:41:00.000-08:00

If I’m not very careful, this could become the most disgusting article ever to appear in this paper. Nay — in any daily newspaper. At least, I hope you agree with me that it’s disgusting. You might think I’m just out of touch.

Here’s the problem: Let’s call it, um, regurgitation. And I’m talking about in movies and on TV, not in real life. In real life, regurgitation is usually not an option. In movies and TV, it is always an option, and I think it’s an activity that need not be shown.

In the good old days, when hula hoops were new and hot dogs were a nickel, fictional characters did not regurgitate on screen. They seldom did it in novels, for that matter. Now it’s everywhere, almost every time we start a story.

Whether you think of it as tossing cookies, vomiting, hurling, ralphing, puking or throwing up, it is meant to provide a touch of shocking realism on screen. At least, I suppose that’s why it has become so ubiquitous — the people in charge think it will be grossly funny or realistically gripping. It’s not. It’s disgusting.

Even though I’ve included TV shows and novels in my whining here, it’s really movies that have become most saturated with it. (I must find different words … soon.) I can’t think of a movie that I’ve seen in the last several years that did not feature this abhorrent act, and usually it’s in the first half. “The Reader,” a wonderful recent film, features its young hero retching his guts out (sorry — violently regurgitating) almost before you have time to dive into your popcorn.

That, of course, brings us to another aspect of the complaint. It’s not easy to enjoy stuffing movie snacks into one’s mouth while watching this trend that I’m unhappily describing. Keep in mind that if you shell out wads of hard-earned money to see a movie in a theatre these days, the event, the activity, the tossing of cookies will be shown on a huge screen with surround-sound enveloping you — a presentation many times larger and louder than in real life. And, of course, the concession stand is now open.

Here’s a suggestion. The next time you watch a TV drama or any fairly recent movie (comedy or drama), pay attention to the phenomenon. See if it happens, and see if you think it was absolutely essential to the character or the plot development.

Seriously, how can it be essential? Unless the story concerns a plague that is identified by massive regurgitation, then we do not have to see it, hear it, be grossed out by it. Do we? The character could do it off camera and then tell someone that it happened.

I’m certain that it is simply a trend in modern movie making. There have been other trends, also designed to provide a shock, a jolt, of realism — profuse blood flow, slow-motion gunplay, head-butting. Of course, more mature (old) viewers have complained for decades (maybe forever) about sex and profane language in movies. Admittedly, the complaining has not decreased the incidence of those trends.

However, you do see what I mean about vomit being an option, right? Think of the most egregiously violent scenes in movies, such as the massive shootings of Bonnie and Clyde in their car and of Sonny Corleone at the toll booth; the fight scenes of Rocky and Rockys 2,3,4,5, etc.; the gunfights at all of the OK corrals. Those were crucial, pivotal, downright necessary to the telling. On the other hand, we can be told that someone has hepatitis or is drunk or has the flu or whatever other million things evidently make all actors regurgitate … can’t we?

Let’s all work together to aim for a Tell, Don’t Show policy. If you don’t agree with me yet, maybe now you’ll notice the trend and come to my side of the argument. I must admit that many people are fans of this thing I find so revolting. Fans, I tell you. But I’m optimistic that you’ll join my parade.

Once you do agree, once you are disgusted and insulted by the gratuitous displays, do this: Send an email to the production company of the offending movie or TV show. It’s easy — in that email, simply say “Please stop it,” and then link to this article you’re reading now. Simply paste this URL (http://dowriteright.blogspot.com/2009/03/im-gonna-be-sick.html) into your email.

Just think: Together we might be able to curtail this Linda Blair Pea Soup Phenomenon, this if-you-drink-you-must-puke mindset.

A Stephen King short story and then movie, Stand by Me, featured a whole crowd of people vomiting. Let’s turn the tide. Let’s collectively say, Don’t Stand Anywhere Near Me.

###

Drowning in language errors

2009-02-15T05:11:00.000-08:00

Well (to quote the outrageous Little Richard), good golly Miss Molly, it seems that errors surround us.

You would expect that Barack Obama would merit more than his fair number of typos and other errors, given the vast amount of copy dedicated to him since he entered the race for president. You would be correct. Let’s look at two Obama-related grammar mistakes that have jumped into my brain in the last few months.

The first one came from the newspaper wire services: “Obama, wife Michelle and their two young daughters flew to Chicago … .” If you have read and memorized every one of these columns of mine (as you should have), you’d know right away that “wife Michelle” would be correct only if Mr. Obama had more than one wife. That is, you could correctly state that he went with his wife Michelle but his wife Heather did not join them … if he had wives named Michelle and Heather. Otherwise, it should read “Obama, his wife, Michelle, and their two young daughters … .” The commas surrounding “Michelle” make the difference.

There is a daily news update emailed to subscribers from a local TV station, and I always enjoy reaching for a calculator to tally the egregious errors in that daily smile. During the campaign I noticed this in one of the TV news postings: “Obama have pulled ahead of McCain in the three states that have historically chosen the president.” You like that “Obama have”? I think it refers to Barack, Michelle and Heather.

In that very same e-news came this typo about a student with tuberculosis: “The student will the potentially fatal disease has alerted health officials and the community.” If you’re like me, you had to read that thing more than once to figure out that the author meant to describe the student “with,” not “will,” the disease.

Finally, on that same fateful day, the newsletter gave us this: “The Senate now has their turn to vote on the $700B bailout, but also plan to discuss raising the federal deposit insurance limits.” No matter what your position is on whether “The Senate” should be treated as plural or singular, our wonderful e-news did it wrong, at least in part. (Or, the TV people might contend, they did it right, at least in part. Nothing quite like a half-full glass.)

See, we have “The Senate now has.” There’s no question that “has” is singular. “The Senate now has their turn.” We all know that “their” is plural, so we have the collective Senate followed by a singular “has” and a plural “their.” You see? Singular and plural together. But we’re not done. Let me condense the sentence to get to the next problem: “The Senate now has … but also plan to discuss … .” So we have the combo of “The Senate has” with “The Senate plan.” Are you confused by this whole thing? Don’t blame me! (Blame the government.)

Even in People magazine you find uglies (language uglies, that is). The People people certainly have time and expertise to find and correct typographical errors, no? Try this, directly from People: “Jake Gyllenhaal and Mark Ruffalo, who's wife Sunrise Coigney is expecting their third child, joke around … .” Of course you know that it should have been “whose” wife.

A recent photo caption for a wire-service story about the talented basketball-playing Curry brothers reads thus: “Stephen says the game’s traditional powers overlooked both he and Seth.” You know, certainly, the easy test to determine the right pronoun (overlooked “him”). Does everyone make mistakes? Certainly.

Mark Stencel is a prestigious editor and columnist in Washington, D.C., as well as a terrific writer with an astonishing resume. He told me that recently he was a panelist speaking about media careers to a group of journalism students at the University of Virginia. With his focus on online writing and editing, Mark emphasized that in today's world, many journalists are asked to blog frequently, so mastering the discipline and skills to edit one's own writing is critical.

Right after the discussion, Mark received a text message from an eagle-eyed reader, alerting him that in his latest blog posting, Mark had left out an important “r” when he wrote about "an Obama T-shirt."

See there — even with the best of us, shirt happens.

###

Words can be so darned funny

2009-01-17T20:06:00.000-08:00

After my last column appeared, Reader Amanda said, “I have to give you the title.” What title, I dutifully asked. “My curmudgeon title. I think you’ve earned it.” What? Me? Oh — you mean my complaining just a little bit, here and there, about the occasional use of language that makes me want to scream. Oh, that.

Then Reader Cheryl hinted that the column was a little, um … I think “dense” was the word we agreed on. Any way you look at it, the result is that I might have complained a step too far for some readers. So today’s column will be — ta da! — filled only with smiles and laughs, just for you who want to see how language is still the cornerstone of our humor (unless there’s an available banana peel).

Most of these language laughs — none of them written by me — have been circulating electronically for quite a while, but I’m hoping that at least some of them are new to you.

Try these definitions, reflecting our current society. Cube Farm: An office filled with cubicles. Prairie Dogging: When someone yells or drops something loudly in a cube farm, and people’s heads pop up over the walls to see what’s going on. Ohnosecond: That minuscule fraction of time in which you realize that you’ve just made a BIG mistake (like after hitting “send” on an email by mistake). WOOFS: Well-Off Older Folks. Irritainment: Entertainment and media spectacles that are annoying but you find yourself unable to stop watching them.

Of course, words don’t have to be new to be amusing. Try these thoughts: In a democracy it’s your vote that counts; in feudalism, it’s your Count that votes. A chicken crossing the road: poultry in motion. With her marriage she got a new name and a dress. Local Area Network in Australia: The LAN down under. A boiled egg is hard to beat. He had a photographic memory that was never developed. Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end. When you’ve seen one shopping center you've seen a mall. When she saw her first strands of gray hair, she thought she’d dye.

Is this fun? Do you prefer it to my saying “Next time you hear someone say ‘Thanks for inviting my wife and I’ you need to yell STOP IT!”? In case you’re enjoying the humor, here are some more smiles, many of them attributed to George Carlin, some to be found on T-shirts, all using language for amusement: One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor. Atheism is a non-prophet organization. I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman, “Where’s the self-help section?” She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose. If a deaf person swears, does his mother wash his hands with soap? If someone with multiple personalities threatens suicide, is it considered a hostage situation? Is there another word for synonym?

Where do forest rangers go to “get away from it all”? What should you do when you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant? If a parsley farmer is sued, can they garnish his wages? Would a fly without wings be called a walk? If a turtle doesn't have a shell, is he homeless or naked? If the police arrest a mime, do they tell him he has the right to remain silent? One nice thing about egotists — they don't talk about other people. How is it possible to have a civil war? If one synchronized swimmer drowns, do the rest drown too? If you try to fail, and succeed, which have you done? Why is there an expiration date on sour cream? (What happens after that date? Does it turn sweet?)

Finally, let’s look at some signs that the online community has made well known. Are they real? Who knows? They use language as the basis of their humor, so here we go.

In a podiatrist's office: Time Wounds All Heels
On a plumber's truck: We Repair What Your Husband Fixed
On a maternity room door: Push. Push. Push!
At an optometrist's office: If you don't see what you're looking for, you've come to the right place
At a propane filling station: Thank heaven for little grills
In a veterinarian's waiting room: Be back in 5 minutes. Sit! Stay!

There, that’s it for the laughing stuff — the next column will be All Curmudgeonly!

###

Write right, read right, be right

2008-12-14T07:25:00.000-08:00

Let’s leap into language today with some actual examples that have darkened my path recently. We’ll start with a tennis announcer who said: “The thing about [Rafael] Nadal is that he forces so many unforced errors.” As a former tennis player myself, I know what the announcer meant, but really — on the face of it, does it make any sense at all? I think not.

The same goes for this military expert’s quote: “We need a new strategic strategy.” By definition, every strategy is strategic. It might be ill-timed or badly executed, but it’s still strategic.

A weathercaster on TV recently gave us this: “We could potentially see scatterdly thunderstorms.” hahahaha. I’m sure you’re with me on “scatterdly,” but let me ask you this: Would you have cringed had he said, “We could potentially see scattered thunderstorms?” You should, and not just to avoid getting wet.

The problem is “could potentially.” You see, “could” means that potential exists. “You could fall if you’re not careful” means that the potential for falling exists. A potential is always present in “could,” so it’s always redundant to say “could potentially.” The solution is easy. Just say “could.”

We’ve looked at avoiding redundancies many times before, with “kinda sorta,” “also too,” “totally and completely” and “new innovation” leading the pack at times. Today let me add “The reality is is … .” There’s something about “The reality is” that almost compels some of us to add an extra “is.” I don’t understand it, but you hear it consistently (as opposed to scatterdly). The trouble is is (it must be contagious) that now whenever I hear “The fact is” or “The reality is” or sometimes even “The truth is,” I grit my teeth in anticipation of an extra “is” being tossed onto the sentence.

Oh, here’s a good one. I recently heard a noted historian say this: “Alexander Hamilton was literally the loose cannon.” Nooooooo. No he wasn’t. Not literally. “Literally” means for real, babe. It means “in an exact sense.” All right, I know that today many sources tell us that it is used loosely in an informal sense, but you and I don’t have to give in, do we? Do we?? Do we have to accept the lack of logic in hearing that “last night that comedian literally killed us”? I hope not.

All right, quickly spot the error in this. It’s from the front page of a local university’s pamphlet I received in the mail: “The Paralympic Games are a window into the human spirit. [The university] supports that spirit through it’s sponsorship of the U.S. Paralympic Team.” Did you get it? It should read “its sponsorship.”

Ace Reader and Favored Nephew Steve Clark emailed me this about a TV rerun of Family Feud: “Name something a surgeon keeps near them during their work.” He adds that not only did host Richard Karnes read it, but also the text appeared on the screen. You do see the problem, yes? “A surgeon” is obviously only one, but both “them” and “their” mean more than one.

That singular versus plural challenge appears elsewhere in even more subtle forms … harder to discern but, well, I think you’re up for it. See if you can catch and correct the inconsistencies in these. From a local paper: “UNCG is moving their annual event.” From USA Today: “Agency says they will keep DeGeneres’ dog.” And from a wire service: “Congress is mixed on this. They are fighting over the details.”

In each of those examples, we begin with singular subjects — UNCG is, Agency says, Congress is — but then we go to plural pronouns (their, they, they). Don’t do that. Instead, say UNCG is moving its event, Agency says it will keep the dog and Congress is mixed and it is fighting. Nice, eh?

Why do people often say “oftentimes”? Does it add anything that plain ole “often” doesn’t give? The same goes for “summertime.” If it’s summer, it’s summer.

Finally, let me explain why some words ending in “ly” are followed by hyphens whereas others are not. (Admit it — this question has kept you awake many nights.) Here’s a nice general rule: Don’t use a hyphen after adverbs ending in “ly,” but do after nouns that end that way. For example, you could write about a family-owned tanning salon that is heavily financed but badly managed.

(Sounds like they could potentially make a profit in the wintertime.)

###

Readers show love of language

2008-11-16T14:37:00.000-08:00

Occasionally I’m able to share some of the entertaining and intriguing notes I receive from readers of this column. Today is one of those times.

After I wrote about a trip to Arkansas, Reader Barry sent this. “My father, who passed on in 1998, carried the following classified ad in his wallet until his dying day, clipped from [a small Arkansas paper].” And then Barry included the following ad for a dog, probably a form of the American Eskimo (a member of the spitz family), copied exactly:

For Sale. Eskimo
Spits at corner of
Walnut and Oak.
535-6617

Reader Catherine, who says she is 84 years old and has 10 grown children, sent this delightful note: “Am acutely aware of capitals for Mother and Father as names, but admit I’m fearful when I mention ‘your mom’ or ‘your dad’ in my Grammy notes to my kids and grands. They'll think I've slipped. Hate to seem preachy, knowmsayin’? (And isn't that one a bummer -- right up there with the constant ‘y'know’!)”

Yes, Catherine, “knowmsayin’” is a bummer, and it is right there with “y’know” for irritability, except when you, Catherine, write it. I’m still laughing from reading your note. And yes, “Mom and Dad said this” is right, and “Your mom and your dad said that” is right. Of course, you, too, are right to worry that it might seem wrong to your “grands.” But let’s face it, they can still learn from you!

Catherine also asked that I talk about the suffixes –ous and –ual, specifically in “continuous” and “continual.” I had not done so previously because there is no easy answer (and that’s what we all seek, yes, easy answers?). In general, “continuous” means without interruption. “Continual” also can mean that, but in precise usage it means frequent, repeating at intervals (in other words, WITH interruptions). Many experts fail to draw a clear-cut distinction between “continuous” and “continual,” so there is no easy answer.

She adds this: “Also, I once knew and have forgotten (soggy memory syndrome) the further/farther drill.” Gosh, she might not like this answer any more than the one about “continual.” See, back when Catherine and I were young, “farther” was urged on us to express distance (it’s far from here, even farther), and we were encouraged to stick with “further” when expressing advancement to a greater degree. The “further” rule is still happily in use — you further your education, you do things without further delay.

However, the old advice about distance … well, “further” and “farther” are now used interchangeably in those cases. As the Oxford English Dictionary says, you can move farther down the train or further down the train. There you go; I have nothing further to say.

Reader Libby does, though. She sent some great thoughts, including this: “As for ‘farther’ and ‘further,’ I figure that’s a lost cause. Nobody uses ‘farther’ anymore, and I guess the game is lost when KFC’s current slogan, repeated prominently in their commercials, is, ‘Your dollar goes further at KFC’!” Gosh, Libby, I haven’t seen those commercials. Darn.

Reader Bill says he wants me to discuss “absolutely.” He says: “It is becoming the standard reply to every question or comment on the tube. No, yes, perhaps won't work. Am absolutely sick of absolutely.” Wow, Bill, I know how irritating the overuse of any word or phrase can be. I’ll send you my list.

Reader James writes this: “Being a language person myself, I greatly enjoy your column on language usage in the Greensboro, N.C., newspaper, which a friend sends to me in Tennessee. I am writing to suggest you caution your readers … against the incorrect use of the word ‘less.’”

James is talking about “less” versus “fewer,” of course. He spells it out nicely, saying this: “‘Less money’ is correct, as is ‘less time’ or ‘less effort,’ but ‘less people,’ ‘less cars’ and ‘less problems’ — all of which I have heard or seen recently — are not. ‘Fewer’ is, of course, correct in those instances. (‘Fewer’ with so-called countable nouns; ‘less’ with mass nouns.) Surely no one would make the same mistake in the opposite direction, saying ‘fewer money,’ ‘fewer time’ or ‘fewer effort’; why then abuse ‘less’ with ‘less people,’ etc.?”

Why indeed, James. Are you right? Yes. Have you said it all? Absolutely. (Uh-oh.)

###

A little language laughter

2008-10-18T16:59:00.001-07:00

Because this is Sunday, I’m reminded of some of the church humor that’s been circulated widely lately, all of it supposedly (key word, that one) derived from real church bulletins and all funny because of language. You may have heard or read many of these, but maybe not. For instance, “The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been canceled due to a conflict”; “The Fasting and Prayer Conference includes meals”; and “Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community.”

The beauty of these is their reflection of exactly the kind of language errors we make daily. (Reader and university professor Chris says that his students would likely write “the beauty is there reflection” or “the beauty is they’re reflection.”) For instance, sometimes we forget to pay attention to the placement of the components of a sentence and to the fact that the placement really matters: “For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs,” or “Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.”

Look at this one: “Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.” You know what? That example epitomizes the raison d’être of this column. My hope is that once in awhile — not always maybe but at least occasionally — this column will serve to encourage you to listen to what you’re saying, read what you’ve written, simply pay attention to how it might be misunderstood. And then, if you’re so moved, make a change (e.g., Please place your donation in the envelope along with the name of the deceased person you want remembered).

I mean for heaven’s sake (couldn’t resist that), think about what you’re saying: “The Youth Group will present Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ in the church basement Friday at 7 p.m. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.” Or even worse: “Weight Watchers will meet at 7 p.m. at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use the large double door at the side entrance.” And then we have this, um, less tasteful one: “A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall. Music will follow.”

Before we leave the church and turn to medicine for some more examples, let me issue the important disclaimer that none of the above came from the bulletin of my church (relax, Rev. Alex) … and none of the following came from any of the doctors I’ve known. Well, they might have, but I didn’t discover them. All of today’s lil’ smiles came from lists that arrived from friends and family via email. All of these supposedly actual mistakes have been around for a long time, and therefore I’ve received them … let’s just say multiple times. I hope some are new to you.

Remembering the advice of Mary Poppins about sugar and medicine, we turn now to sweet errors from doctors and hospitals. Again, their humor depends somewhat on accepting that they are real, and, as above, I’m sending them your way because they remind us to pay attention to how our words might be misunderstood. For instance, “On the second day the knee was better and on the third day it disappeared.” Ouch! “She is numb from her toes down.” Say what?

Sometimes we come close to using the right word, but our choice is either slightly off or we type it wrong: “While in ER, she was examined, X-rated and sent home.” “I saw your patient today, who is still under our car for physical therapy.” “The lab test indicated abnormal lover function.”

Often, however, we know what we want but we simply fail to give sufficient detail to make it clear: “The skin was moist and dry.” I’m sure there’s an explanation for that, but it isn’t revealed in that sentence. Actually, the description reminds me of a radio voiceover I did once where the audio engineer gave me this direction for reading a particular line: “I want to hear an excited nonchalance.” It’s now decades later and I still remember it, that’s how puzzling it was.

We’ll end today’s language potpourri with a final church note. Please remember that I am not inventing these; they are allegedly from printed church bulletins. Ready? “The sermon this morning: ‘Jesus Walks on the Water.’ The sermon tonight: ‘Searching for Jesus.’”

###

Dealing with two nasty words, and more

2008-09-21T07:25:00.001-07:00

Today I’m going to use two words you may find nasty (or, as some say, “nassy”). But think of today’s column as you do medicine — something that is good for you, even necessary. So take your meds and keep reading. Here they are, those two words. Ready? Subject, verb. KEEP READING! I promise that you will be a better language person if you’ll just soldier on with me here. It won’t hurt (much).

The problem is this: More and more people, it seems, are using singular verbs with blatantly plural subjects … and to illustrate the silliness, the ugliness, the just-plain-wrongness of that, I have collected examples from the press.

From People magazine: “Praise and solid scores from the DWTS judges wasn’t enough for [the contestant], who was sent packing Tuesday night.” Do you see the problem? Praise and solid scores wasn’t, it says. You, knowing better, would realize that X plus Y equals two things. Two things make a plural! So you’d say “X and Y weren’t enough,” or “praise and solid scores weren’t enough,” right?

Think of it this way. Would you say, “We was happy” or “We were happy”? With a plural subject, “We,” you’d use a plural verb, “were.” This is easy, right? We (plural) were (plural) happy. I’m feeling pretty pleased, myself!

So why would People — or any other publication — say that praise (that’s one thing) and solid scores (that’s at least one other thing) “wasn’t” enough? Dunno.

This from Patti Davis, daughter of Nancy and Ronald Reagan: “How lucky celebrities are to be able to go to one of these [rehab] facilities and to benefit from the wisdom and help that waits behind the gates.” So, we have a plural subject (“wisdom and help”) followed by a singular verb (“waits”). Yech.

Try this statement from newspapers concerning a song from the wildly successful High School Musical 2 and quoting co-star Monique Coleman: “It was performed very beautifully and the connection and chemistry was just exceptional.” You’re starting to catch the problems, right? The connection (that’s one thing) and chemistry (that’s a second thing) “was” — uh-oh! We’re in “We was happy” territory!

Now read this from the President’s Challenge Adult Fitness Test: “Muscular strength and endurance is critical to both your health and ability to carry out daily activities.” So, both strength and endurance is critical, eh? And I bet the adults is hungry, too. Maybe they even is as hungry as they is happy.

We’re not finished. I’ve been clipping examples for this peeve for a long time, and the scissored snippets are covering my desk (or, they is covering it). Here’s one from a monthly magazine talking about a baseball team’s on-field host, named Spaz: “Never before has a name and personality matched up this perfectly.” How about matching a plural subject with a plural verb?

In the paper, from last MLK Jr. Day: “The nuance and breadth of Martin Luther King Jr.’s message escapes most Americans.” Evidently, plural verbs escape us, too.

This one, with the paper quoting a new author/publisher, is amazing: “The three things that helped me realize my dream is belief, determination and the preparation.” Oh my. Well, I s’pose the three things is important, all right.

Did you read any of the praise for talented Jim Schlosser when he retired from the News & Record? One award he was given had this as part of its presentation: “While newspapers and journalism has changed over many years, readers of the News & Record know when they see the Jim Schlosser byline … .” Got it?

And this from a regional radio broadcast: “More information and a list of sponsors is available … .” Look closely at that quote and you can see one of the reasons that we tend to use a singular verb with a plural subject. Whoever wrote it probably thought that “a list” was the subject, and so a singular verb was the way to go.

In truth, the more distance — and the more words — you have between the subject and the verb, the more likely you are to make the plural-singular agreement mistake. A second common reason for the error is having a collective noun (crowd, family, group, committee, etc.) as the subject. Those really do tend to take a singular verb — the crowd was dispersed, the group is ready to meet, the family was in attendance.

But don’ gimme no “We was happy” talk.

###

Odder odds with still no ends in sight

2008-08-17T00:36:00.000-07:00

My last column admitted right up front, “there is no theme here!” It was a brazen emptying of Mike’s Miscellany, and it felt terrific (for me, at least). So we’re doing that again today. Odds and ends, kids, and here we go.

An ugly arrived in the mail today, and it’s the last straw. I’ve had it with this particular language misuse, and to compound the injury, this mail is from an alma mater of mine — the University of Texas at Austin (actually from The Texas Exes, those of us branded as alumni). On the outside of the envelope it says this: “Now you can save up to $327.96 or more a year on auto insurance.” I have no trouble with saving money, of course. But do the good people at UT not realize that “up to” means that the figure about to be stated is the TOP, the maximum that can be reached? You can reach up to seven feet, for instance, or save up to, well, $327.96. But don’t then say “or more.” I mean, you can, but only if you want to appear idiotic.

Are you familiar with the company called Lands’ End? It was originally a sailboat equipment company, with the name Land’s End. But the misplaced apostrophe was a typo that appeared on promotional materials (or so the story goes), and the owner couldn’t afford to reprint them. So Land’s End became Lands’ End.

Being from Texas, I grew up drinking Dr Pepper (every kid in Texas must do so; it’s a state law). (Just kidding.) You may not have noticed it, but there is no period in Dr Pepper. The story is that the period was used sometimes and forgotten sometimes until the 1950s, when the logo was redesigned to include a slight slant. Because of the tilt to the letters, the period almost looked like a colon, so Dr. looked like Dr: (it has to do with how the “r” is shaped). Anyway, the Pepper people decided to drop the period permanently — partly so there would be no implicit medical claims, but mainly because it looked better.

One more product note from the 1950s: I remember when Lite products were introduced. Memories of my mother almost always include the image of her with a lipstick-coated bottle of Tab in one hand and an unfiltered Camel in t’other (ah, those were the days). I also remember how the spelling, Lite, incensed my young language-loving brain cells — “Lite? LITE?? Don’t people know how to spell ‘light’ these days?” We all had a role to play — marketing people were deliberately respelling “light” to indicate reduced sugar, rather than reduced weight; I was practicing for this column.

Let’s jump to today, where we have an area radio station telling us that we have a chance to win “400 dollars in free gas.” Oh boy. Free gas? Are they kidding? What is free gas, and if it’s free, how can we win 400 bucks of it? If it’s free gas, then it’s free! Come on, radio people, think for just one second before you run a promotional campaign. Maybe it’s Lite gas.

Tell me this: If you subscribe to a bimonthly magazine, how often do you expect to receive that publication? Twice a month? Once every two months? Most publishers agree that their bimonthly product is due every two months. However, some people receive a bimonthly paycheck, and that normally means twice a month. You’ll admit that twice a month is very different from once every two months, yes? But the word “bimonthly” has those two meanings. Same goes for “biweekly” — twice a week or once every two weeks.

Here’s the rub, though (in case it’s been too easy so far). “Biannual” means twice a year, period. Not every two years. So if you subscribe to a biannual newsletter, look for it twice a year. But remember — if it’s bimonthly, it probably will not appear twice a month! Hold on, we have one more in the mix. “Biennial” means lasting or occurring every two years. Isn’t that just flat-out too much to handle?

So, to recap for those keeping score: biennial is every two years; biannual is twice a year; and biweekly can be twice a week or once every two weeks, just as bimonthly can be twice a month or every two months. Whew.

Worn out? Me, too. Bi bi for now.

###

Language odds … with no ends in sight

2008-07-19T17:07:00.001-07:00

Oh, this is exciting. At least for me it is. I’ve decided to forego all pretense of attaining a topic, a theme, a focus for today’s column. Today we simply clear out some of Mike’s Miscellany — a way to handle some odds and ends that have lived with me long enough. So, in no order whatsoever, here we go.

One day as I walked through Lowe’s hardware store, I heard this recorded announcement: “Special assistance needed in the blind cutting area.” Gosh, I expect so.

One of my relatives made a needlepoint for a wedding gift, and it said this: "What God hath joined together, let no man put us under." Truly it did say that.

“The best kept secret.” Gosh, could we stop saying that, please, about everything? And we do not need an “s” at the end of “anyway,” at the end of “somewhere” or even at the end of “toward.” And for goodness sake it’s “across,” not “acrosst.”

Say “henceforth” or say “forevermore” (if you like), but don’t use the redundant “henceforth and forevermore.” The word is “infinitesimal,” not “infintesimal” (it has six syllables, not five). Say “LACKadaisical,” not “LAXadaisical,” and you can stick an “r” in “Washington” if you must, but only if you promise to warsh your hands in warter.

In our ongoing battle against inappropriate jargon — meaning usage that tends to confuse, or at least fails to clarify — let me give you this description of a wine that I heard on the radio: “This is a highly complex wine for the price point. You can tell it’s angry because it gives a back-end tannin structure. And it is extremely raising on the nose.” At least I think that’s what I heard. This next one I read in the paper, so I don’t have to guess. It quotes a Yale University art student: “This piece creates an ambiguity that isolates the locus of ontology to an act of readership.” Whew.

Are you still with me? Here’s another from higher education. Examples of degrees one can earn include a bachelor of science degree and a master of public health degree. In so doing, one then holds a bachelor’s degree or a master’s degree. That’s where the possessives (bachelor’s, master’s) are appropriate. But you don’t earn the bachelor’s of arts or the master’s of arts degrees.

How often do you hear promos on television along these lines: “Stay tuned for an all-new episode of Prison Break [or whatever]”? Why is it proclaimed as “all-new”? Does that mean that sometimes the new episodes are really part new and part old? I don’t think so. I assume it’s ALL-new, if it’s a new episode. And boy howdy would I love to get back to the days when we had plots and stories and themes and any number of things other than “arcs.” (“Look for a 10-episode arc on Showtime’s drama set in the ’hood.” Yuck.)

Speaking of themes, you have a recurring theme (or dream!), not a reoccurring one. Also, I recommend that you go with “preventive” rather than “preventative” measures and with “orient” rather than “orientate” (when talking about finding your direction or becoming accustomed to something new). What about “flammable” versus “inflammable”? If you’re referring to something that might catch on fire literally, go with “flammable.” However, if you’re describing something that is easily inflamed — your temper, perhaps — then “inflammable” works all right (as opposed to the nonstandard “alright”). Of course, we all know to say “regardless” and to avoid the horrid “irregardless” like the plague.

Here’s a rule of thumb for you when using some possessives. It should be Jack and Jill’s insurance policy, with only one apostrophe, if they jointly own that policy. However, say Jack’s and Jill’s cars if each of them owns a separate car. Get it?

Let’s stop saying “the Rupert Murdochs of the world,” or “the Donald Trumps” or the Whoever Elses. Recently an ESPN reporter, talking about the L.A. Lakers, said, “What is going to happen to the Farmars, the Vujacics, the Radmanovichs and the Waltons [of the world]?” Please. We’re all unique. There is only one Rupert Murdoch, one Donald Trump (thank goodness), one You!

Finally, having railed against silly hybrid word inventions before — including “guesstimate” and “harassination” — let me tell you what I just now heard on the radio: “All I can say is that I have deep skeptimism.”

Heaven help us.

###

Language lessons from the open road

2008-06-15T05:42:00.000-07:00

Road trip! Oh, is there anything else in the world as much fun as a road trip? All right, maybe there is, but I just returned from driving 700 miles to Arkansas (and 700 back), and as a lover of language, well, golly, the open road is filled with wondrous sights and sounds.

It started in Tennessee, where I was behind a large (or, as they say there, one of them big ole) 18-wheelers. This one was a beauty, and someone — I assume the driver/owner — had paid a pretty penny to have some very fancy lettering scribed onto the back, up near the roof. The sentiment was writ large, loud, clear, patriotic and interesting, all at once. In fancy script, it said this: “Support Our Troups!”

Not long after that, the car radio delivered a jewel. I heard a male speaker describe a colleague at work who stood up for his principles, saying: “He fought the bosses tooth and neck.” That was rich enough, but that evening, I turned on the TV in the motel, and a speaker on a cable network put it this way: “They were fighting tooth and tongue.”

As I settled into the car seat for the next day’s leg of the journey, a pompous legal expert was asked if torture could ever provide valid information. He said, “That is one way to effectuate that result.” Isn’t that a great example of using language that is more complicated than necessary?

Throughout most of the state of Tennessee, I noticed recurrent billboards for an adult bookstore — a chain of them, I’d guess. The sign promised “video’s, magazines, toys and more.” I checked each sign as I drove, thinking maybe one of them would offer “video’s, magazine’s, toy’s and more.”

When I stopped to buy a soft drink at a gas station, I had a hot, sweaty, dusty guy in front of me, mulling over a bottle of Brisk sweet tea. I helped him decide by saying, “That stuff is great.” He said, “OK, I’ll try some,” whereupon he immediately opened it and took a long swig. He exhaled loudly, looked at me with an expression close to rapture, and said, “That is the best thang I have ever drank.” Thinking of this column, I honestly replied, “I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

When I arrived at my destination, Arkansas, the fun intensified. I went there to be with my brother, who had to spend some time in a hospital. One day as I was standing in line at the hospital cafeteria, the female cashier glanced at a man walking in and said, “Ha wheel.” I finally figured out that she had said “Hi, Will.” It was like North Carolina on steroids.

A friend of my brother’s, we’ll call him Pete, is unusual. He plays golf right-handed but he putts left-handed. I heard someone ask him, “How can you do that?” Pete’s answer was memorable: “I guess I’m amphibious.” Later that day, I heard Pete say: “I told you that was going to happen. Sometimes I can predict things.” When asked how, he said, “I guess I have ESPN.”

When my brother got home from the hospital, he called the city library to ask if he could renew a library book over the phone. I swear to you, the library worker said this: “You want to renew? You has to come in for that.”

I don’t want to give the impression that Arkansas and Tennessee have any kind of monopoly on language limitations. This great note came from Reader Marty: “When traveling through Virginia recently, I saw a sign posted in a gas station window advertising ‘Pure bread pit bull pups for sale.’ I couldn't resist asking the attendant if the pups were really made of pure bread.”

When I got home, Reader Chris — a university professor — told me about grading papers a week or two earlier. He said that one paper included this: “He made some comments that were definitely anti-semantic.” Yup, I had just heard a lot of those kinds of comments on my trip.

I have one more thing to tell you. While in Arkansas I saw an ad in the paper. It offered quite a deal, proclaiming: “Celebrate Mother's Day with a family golf outing! Play after 11 am on Sunday May 11 and Mom's play free!”

Sounds fun! Unless she’d rather stay home and watch video’s with wheel.

###

Sometimes a dot’s just a dot, period

2008-05-18T05:29:00.000-07:00

Have you noticed how computers have affected our language? My Uncle Hubert (yes, that was his name) used to work on typewriters for a living. You remember typewriters— they’re those things that used to ring a wee bell when the carriage reached the end of the paper and you had to … oh, never mind.

These days we use keyboards that contain more keys for functions than they do for letters. Computers have changed the way we type (or the way we input). Computers also have changed the way we verbalize certain symbols. You probably know that what used to be a “period” is now a “dot.” What used to be an “exclamation point” or “exclamation mark” is now a “bang” (Bangs are fun! Have another!).

You do remember the asterisk, that * symbol that so many people mispronounce (it’s asterisk, not asterick), yes? These days it’s also known as a star. That makes sense; it looks like a star. But what has confused some older people is the # symbol — now commonly called the “pound” key. Some knew it as a symbol for “number,” or they called it a hash sign or hash mark, but not “pound.”

(An aside: One statistic claims that people over 60 spend more time on computers now than people under 30. My nephew claims it’s because we older people can’t remember how to turn the computer on.)

Also confusing to technology neophytes is “underscore” for this mark _. And many argue about which is a backslash and which is a forward slash. One easy way to keep those straight is to go by the direction the top of the symbol points. That is, the top of / points forward (in the line of text), so it’s a forward slash, whereas the top of \ points backward (hence, a backslash).

The forward slash was always a “virgule” to me, and it still is. And oh — where do you find the backslash on the keyboard? Under the pipe, of course! (The pipe looks like this |, and it’s also called a vertical bar. [It’s to the right of the brackets.])

Isn’t this fun? Believe it or not, one of the questions I am asked most often seems, at least to me, quite arcane. So I’m always surprised, but here it is — how does one make the apostrophe slant the correct way when abbreviating a year or a word? Here’s what they mean. Let’s say you want to abbreviate 1990 as ’90. Look at the slant of the apostrophe there as opposed to ‘90. Or let’s say you want to write ’N Sync instead of ‘N Sync. See the difference?

I’m surprised people pay attention. Surprised but happy, of course. The answer is this. Some new programs do it for you automatically now, but if your computer does not, I don’t know a single key to hit to make it happen. So here’s what I do: Type the apostrophe before inserting the space before it. So it first looks like this: “abbreviate 1990 as’90.” See how it made the apostrophe slant correctly? Then simply go back and insert the space, and the apostrophe will stay the way you want it. So 1990 as’90 turns to as ’90 and write’N Sync becomes write ’N Sync.

This last hint is for those who sometimes write computer addresses — URLs for the Web and email addresses of all sorts. Let’s say you worry about whether a period (ending your sentence) will be mistaken as a dot (part of the address). Here are two examples of what you might want to say:
For more information, go to www.lookitup.org.
For more information, contact Jim at jim_smith@yahoo.com.

But you’re afraid that some people might try to use www.lookitup.org. as the Web address, and you know that the dot/period at the end will mess it up! Same with the email address. What to do? Omit the period at the end of the sentence? Noooo.

The solution is easier: Don’t put the address at the end of the sentence! Try this:
“Go to the Web (www.lookitup.org) for more information.”
“Contact Jim (jim_smith@yahoo.com) for more information.”
You can even give ole Jim’s phone number after the address if you want to avoid parentheses: “For more information, contact Jim at jim_smith@yahoo.com or at 123-456-7890.” There. No more worries.

Did you ever expect to have so much fun thinking about such things? Neither did Uncle Hubert.

###

Transparency, transformation, traction: Trendy

2008-05-08T14:24:00.001-07:00

Mrs. Willie Loman said “Attention must be paid.” Of course, she wanted attention paid to Willie; I want it paid to our use of language.

How many of the following trendy words have you yourself used in the last 24 hours? Transparent, transformation, traction, on the ground, gravitas, impact, price points, push back, blowback, powerful. How about sea change, mindful, at the end of the day? Ring any bells?

Please know that I am not against the use of any of those words and phrases. No sir, nope, not me. Golly, those are all fine words — attractive, healthy, kind and considerate, I’m sure. No, what I am against — and I hope to get you on my side in this — is their overuse.

You admit, don’t you, that any word or phrase (or gesture, for that matter) used to excess will be counterproductive, in that it will draw attention to itself, distracting from the real message? Of course, overdone things also can be downright irritating. (Reader Jim asks that I attack “having said that” and “at the end of the day” because, as he puts it, “Both are very annoying to me.” Shoot, Jim, you know nothing gets done by the middle of the day!)

“Transparent” has meant several things for many years, and being open to public scrutiny is one of its main meanings. To say “Elections in Pakistan pledged to be free and fair and transparent” is absolutely fine. However, we’re about to overuse the word. I read this recently: “The report should be transparent, the results are to be transparent and the necessary actions will, therefore, be clear and transparent.” Huh? Stop.

Ideas that are popular or widespread now “gain traction.” And “on the ground”? Oh my goodness. That lil’ phrase can drive a person batty, it’s so overused these days.

When we talk about troops on the ground, we mean in the air and at sea, too. The “ground” part is often used apparently (not transparently) as a figure of speech. But the expression has gained so much traction (ahem) that it’s losing clarity. I heard this on the radio: “Your support during this fundraiser is making a huge difference on the ground, where it really counts.” Oh, great. Landscaping? And this: “We need to stabilize the housing market on the ground.” Good gracious. What does that mean?

“Gravitas” — nice word, but sometimes it’s really all right simply to say “dignity” or “seriousness,” if you want. The same goes for “impact.” Unless it involves harsh contact (a bullet impacts its target), you probably just mean “affect.” One thing affects another.

Here’s another trendy one — in the old days, we used to change things; now we “transform” them. It is everywhere. A transformation is a dramatic change, so when we use the word “transform” to describe a change that is not thorough or dramatic, well, we tend to exaggerate. Do you want to exaggerate? Maybe, maybe not.

That’s the thing about trendy words and phrases. They can become hackneyed, losing their power through overuse. However, they can be used to advantage if they’re not yet clichés. Their very familiarity makes them comfy to some readers/listeners.

Let’s just be aware of the trends. Many retail people these days prefer to talk about price points rather than price. “The collection will encompass a variety of sizes, styles and price points.” Designers, also, have been known to mention “price points,” but they say it less than they say “pop” and “space.” You’ll hear, “That color makes the room pop,” and we’re now told that we have a kitchen space, an office space, a bathroom space. Pretty fancy, huh?

We used to resist; now we “push back.” And “blowback”? There are many meanings to that (some of which we’ll not address here), but it seems that the military meaning — a negative effect one suffers from one's own weapons — has been adapted to the civilian world. Now it’s just a negative effect one suffers from one’s own actions or speech. Nothing wrong with that. Unless we overuse it.

U.S. Sen. Lindsey Graham, back from Iraq, said this: “What I saw on the ground this time was stunning, impressive and a sea change in terms of security.”

Wow. A sea change on the ground. Maybe not transparent, but definitely transformational. And having said that, I admit that Graham’s gravitas gives traction … at the end of the day, of course.

###

Trendy words: Use or lose, you get to choose

2008-03-16T18:08:00.000-07:00

“Heather,” I said, reading the nametag on the shirt of the cashier at a local grocery store, “would you tell me where the film is, please?”

Milk, wienies, bread … those would have been easy. But I needed film for a 35-mm camera, and I had searched the store. Heather said, “Film?”

Uh-oh. Age alert! Age alert! “Yes,” I said, “I need to buy film for my camera.” She repeated, “Film?”

Oh my goodness. There it was, and there it stayed. I explained how some cameras don’t use memory cards and don’t serve as telephones. She still had no inkling what film is. Finally a neighboring cashier overheard us and pointed me to the Customer Service spot, where a few vestigial rolls of film awaited dustily.

It stands to reason that as time goes on, some products go away. So successive generations, I suppose, inevitably will have no knowledge even of some WORDS that we more, um, mature people have. (“What’s a record?”) On the other hand, I’ll bet that every teenager in America can tell you what brb, ttyl and btw mean, even if you have no idea.

I’ll explain those later — or, as those same teenagers might type, L8r. Let’s look at some words that are abundantly popular with all of us today. Clichés, of course, are words or phrases that are so overused that they become predictable and essentially meaningless. We try to avoid them, choosing fresh and more expressive terms, but we all slip. (A character in Neil Simon’s “Chapter Two” says: “Be that as it may — and I hasten to add that I never use expressions like ‘Be that as it may’ or ‘I hasten to add’!”)

Some words and phrases that are extremely popular today may be clichés by tomorrow. So let’s stop overusing them before that happens, eh?

Before I mention some of the popular utterances that I fear already are being used to excess, sucking their force out of them, let me state categorically that these words and phrases are not wrong. They are not mistakes, they’re not bad grammar, they’re not even to be avoided at all costs. S’matter of fact, you might even be well advised to use them in certain circumstances, simply because they are so popular, familiar, comfortable. I’m cautioning only against overuse, not against use. Almost anything done to excess is ineffective and/or annoying (“Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”).

We need to start with excellence, as in academic excellence, excellence in education, schools of excellence, the pursuit of excellence and all the other uses of “excellence” associated with education. When will educators, educated as they are, realize that the word has been used to excess, that it has lost real meaning, that they need to find other ways to express their goals and standards? A fresh, new term — that would be excellent.

Surely you’re aware that we over “ize” things these days, adding that suffix as a too-easy way to make an action word out of a noun. We prioritize, of course, and we even monetize, levelize and, if you can believe this replacement for “rotate,” we now circularize. Yesterday I heard that one part of the world was about to Talibanize.

You know what would make me happy? The death of “location, location, location.” Undoubtedly the first time it was used by someone selling a house, it was clever. Now it has wormed its way into areas of life other than real estate, and it’s even more annoying. If you’re in a vow-taking mood, let’s pledge to stop all unnecessary uses of things in threes, shall we (e.g., etc., etc., etc.; no, no, no; wait wait, wait)? Thank you.

These days, “inform” is appearing all over. “These convictions will inform his presidency.” “I hope this report informs some legislation.” “They tell how their experiences can inform the national debate.” Sometimes it’s enough simply to shape, influence and define.

More from politics: “Edwards’ message didn’t resonate with the voters.” Boy, we love to resonate. And his campaign lacked, get this, “traction.” I guess he needed the farmers’ support. Oh wait, that’s tractors.

Gosh, my space (not MySpace) is almost gone, so let me make this Trendy Words Part One and give you the promised explanations — “ttyl” means talk to you L8r, “btw” is “by the way,” and I hasten to add that “brb” stands for “be right back.”

I’m off to buy film, so ttyl.

###

Colons on parade: Meet your new best friend

2008-02-17T05:12:00.001-08:00

What in the world is going on with colons? I’ll bet that you have avoided thinking about colons — as punctuation, that is — most of your adult life. Maybe most of your pre-adult life, as well. Not anymore. Colons are in, way in.

“I never know the difference between colons and semicolons,” people tell me, “so I avoid using either.” That’s OK. Writing around confusing punctuation and phrasing is a great exercise.

(By the way, let me spell out the purpose of this lil’ column I’m allowed to write, the one that now has you reading about colons, of all things. It’s simple: My goal is to get you to enjoy an awareness of language. That’s all. Just enjoy the benefits of paying attention to what you say and write. If I’m lucky, I’ll also paste a wee smile on your face along the way.)

Now, about those frisky colons. These days they’re everywhere (including 13 in this column). I’m not complaining (surprise!), just noting. For a long time, if you needed a colon you’d go to the title of a professor’s writing. Simply turn to any college or university website, find a professor and look at her/his publications/presentations. You’ll find enough colons to last a lifetime. Look here — “Integrating Locomotor Energetics, Mechanics and Gaits: Insights and Key Directions at the International Congress of Vertebrate Morphology.” Can you find the colon?

What’s amazing to me is how those little bitty things, one dot lined up over another, now permeate movie titles. The current movie listings boast seven movie titles with colons, right here in our fair city. They include National Treasure: Book of Secrets; Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story; Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street; and The Water Horse: Legend of the Deep.

Isn’t that interesting? And just to illustrate colons and semicolons working together happily, look at the list of movie titles again to see how semicolons separate the items. (Reminds me of the old joke: “I’m not yet 50 years old, so my doctor said I need to have only a semicolonsocopy.”)

I won’t spell out all the ways colons are used appropriately (mainly to introduce a list, a definition or a direct quote). My purpose is merely to share the observation that a punctuation mark is in vogue. Maybe colons will become less scary through familiarity.

Let’s look briefly at that punch line again: “I need to have only a semicolonoscopy.” The placement of the word “only” within a sentence is important to several people who have written to me. It began with Reader Leila, who wrote from the mountains of North Carolina in May 2006 (here comes a colon; enjoy): “LOVE the column. Please do one on the misuse of ‘only.’ As in, ‘The President only asked Congress for a ba-zillion dollars.’ Is that — only the President? Or — asked only the Congress? Or — only asked but didn't demand? Or — asked for only a bazillion dollars? Placing ‘only’ in the correct position would give one of my pet peeves a rest!”

Others emailed about the same problem. Then, in my last column, I wrote this: “… and so far the claims have only been about my uses of language that would be … ill advised for formal writing.” Uh-oh. Look at the “only” in that sentence. I committed one of the “only” sins.

Reader Raymond was on it, emailing me this: “The restriction of ‘only’ should be closest to the subject of restriction. … The restrictor word should be as close as possible to whatever is being restricted. I would prefer, ‘And so far the claims have been about ONLY my uses …’ Why split a verb (‘have been’) when better comprehension is posited upon ONLY being closest to its object of restriction?”

Better comprehension; can’t argue with that, Raymond. So I agree, and I wonder: Does Raymond know Leila?

One more note about readers. I asked to hear from readers who are under the age of 30, and some kindly responded. Not everyone gave an age, but of those who did, the two youngest were 14-year-old Kelli and “almost 14” Stephanie. All of them professed a love for language, with one proclaiming thus: “Of course, I say the word ‘like’ about every five seconds and stuff, but as far as just incorrect grammar, I try to avoid it.”

If only everyone would.

###

Readers are language sticklers, too

2008-01-20T15:42:00.000-08:00

I’ll say it again: The readers of this column are, by definition, bright and wonderful. (That means you. Congratulations.) They also occasionally email me to ask if I have not, in fact, broken one of my own language rules. Sometimes they gleefully claim that I have erred. Ouch, babe.

Of course, the rules I praise are not mine; they’re yours and mine. And so far the claims have only been about my uses of language that would be, I readily admit, ill advised for formal writing. However, any column that includes expressions such as “Ouch, babe” is not an example of formal writing.

That’s why I told my wonderful brother, when he questioned it, that my ending a sentence with a preposition is OK in this informal context. And so is beginning a sentence with “And.”

One phrase I used shook up Reader Jane, who wrote: “As a retired English teacher, I enjoy your column immensely. I often hope my ‘educated’ acquaintances read it as well, since I find myself buttoning my lips to squelch the urge to correct them. Please tell me, however, that the closing paragraph of today's [Nov. 18] column is a trick question! ‘I'm done for now’ is one of my pet peeves. I do correct my grandchildren by responding, ‘So I guess you are FINISHED cooking!’”

Naturally, I encourage anyone with a pet peeve to pursue its proper use relentlessly. But this complaint is subject to context, in that “done” does mean “finished” in informal uses. (I won’t tell your grandchildren.) Again, some of the strict rules for formal writing don’t have to be in play for informal uses.

Reader Linda wrote this: “When I was in school, we were taught that the proper way to read ‘125’ was ‘one hundred twenty-five,’ not ‘one hundred AND twenty-five,’ which is what often assaults my ears. Now I know, in the overall scheme of things, this is unimportant. But I, too, am a stickler for good spelling, punctuation and grammar, and while I know that all of this is in a continual state of flux, I suspect that much of what is passed off as ‘modern’ is simply laziness or carelessness on the part of the speaker/writer.”

Golly, Linda, that “state of flux” statement could fill several whole columns, with you and me on one side and linguists — true scholars — on t’other. I’ll table that discussion for a while. As for the (incorrect, according to you) “and” in pronouncing numbers exceeding 100, I wish we had an absolutely simple answer to that. Wait a minute, WAIT a minute — that’s what this column is for. (Do you like that sentence with a preposition at the end?) I’m here to give clear-cut dicta. So here we go: I’m with you. Say “125” with no “and,” and tell Jane’s grandchildren to do the same.

This arrived from Reader Bud: “I have not seen this addressed by anyone and have grown very distressed over the years as its usage has seemed to grow to include virtually everyone except me and possibly you. I am referring to ‘take’ and ‘bring.’ When I was growing up, a correct sentence would have been, ‘I am taking my mother to the doctor.’ Now, the word ‘take’ has completely disappeared from this usage. Now it's, ‘I have to bring my son to school each day.’ I see this almost daily, and nobody but me seems to be bothered by it! That is why I'm hoping you will be too, or if you aren't, could you explain to me what is going on?”

Let’s not fool around here, Bud. Let’s cut to the end — I agree with you. Take that to the bank. (Don’t bring it; take it.) Rule of thumb: Take it there, bring it here.

In the near future, I’d like to discuss the language used by young people. Are there any readers of this column under 30? I don’t think so, but I’d love to be wrong. If you’re 30 or younger, please drop me an email. Even if you’re reading this for a class assignment, I’d like to know. You don’t have to write a letter; just tell me that you’re under 30.

Just for a smile, let me close with what my young nephew Steve emailed me recently. He saw this sign posted in his D.C. condo complex: “We are aware of the garage door staying in the up position. Bare with us.” Ouch, babe.

###

He drives me cra-zy, whoop, whoop

2007-12-16T19:40:00.000-08:00

It’s time to make a wee confession: I drive my wife crazy with the language stuff. It’s OK around other people — I manage to suppress all comments and face-making in public (mostly). However, at home it seems to go differently.

I assume that you are somewhat the same way. After all, you’re not likely to read a language column unless you care about language more than the ordinary person does. Maybe you can relate to this.

Yesterday I happened to glance at a check that my wife had just written. She saw the glance and said, “What?” I replied that all was fine. Evidently, there was an infinitesimal catch in my voice. A teeny tone thing that gave me away.

“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Hmmm, then what would you have done differently?
“Well … .”

Then I explained that when you write a check, you want to hyphenate numbers with “ty” in the first part (forty-one, twenty-four, etc.). She had written, simply, “thirty two.” After my explanation, she kindly suggested that a future column of mine might look at how an excessive degree of language awareness can, well, how to put this … it can drive a spouse CRAZY!

Let me quote British author Lynne Truss in “Eats, Shoots & Leaves” as she talks about us language sticklers: “In short, we are unattractive know-all obsessives who get things out of proportion and are in continual peril of being disowned by our exasperated families.”

We know that our desire for correct punctuation, spelling and usage is based on the fact that language is the building block of thought, of communication. We’re not seeking precision for the sake of precision, you and I. Certainly not, nope, nuh-uh, not us. We’re seeking correctness strictly to avoid any possible misunderstandings, doncha know.

It’s all a matter of balance, isn’t it? The people who fear talking to us (remember — you’re right here with me on this), fear writing to us, simply because they assume that their language will be riddled with embarrassing errors — they and all friends and relatives who might somehow occasionally think you and I are too aware of language … all of those people are still quick as a cobra when they need help, hmmm? They’re more than willing to say, “What’s the rule for commas and quotation marks?” Or “Is it ‘different than’ or ‘different from’?”

They want to have their cake and their cookies, too. They want us to stifle our normal inclination to react slightly to language errors (you know — our barely perceptible eye-closing, head-shaking, hands-on-mouth-to-prevent-screaming gestures) in front of them, but they want us on call when they need us!

At least I’m not alone. Here’s what Reader Catherine says: “You can't know, until now of course, how much I enjoy your column and look forward to it each month. You've hit so many topics that I've seethed about for years. My grown kids (10, count ’em) tease about my being the grammar police, but I don't mind; those nuns in elementary school drummed it into my head, all right. … (Incidentally, does continual repetition really make ‘alright’ all right???)”

Catherine, I am happy to report that “alright” is still considered nonstandard, even though it has become increasingly commonplace since it first appeared (in the 19th century). What’s more important is that you’re right there with me on the GPF (the revered Grammar Police Force). Also, thanks for raising another important point when you write this: “I confess to making a few gaffes myself … I am an 83-year-old who’s a long time out of class. [But] before I conclude, please attack the poor use of the verbs ‘lie’ and ‘lay.’ The nuns drilled, ‘lie, lay, lain’ if the subject, even inanimate, is doing the action; and, if you could substitute ‘to put or place,’ use ‘lay, laid, laid.’ Is my memory of this now obsolete? … How many times do we hear someone was ‘laying on the couch’?”

Right you are, Catherine. If you put an object down, you lay it someplace. If you put yourself down, as in assuming a reclining position, then you lie somewhere — if you’re lucky, someplace comfortable. You lie on the couch, you lay the book on the desk, you have lain on the bed a long time, you have laid the plates on the table.

It’s not easy being a stickler, and that’s no lie.

###

Don't revert back - give 110 percent

2007-12-04T10:21:00.001-08:00

Do you like morning radio shows? I don’t. The main problem is that so many of them feature broadcast studios filled with various obsequious-sounding staff members who laugh like hyenas at every inane utterance by the morning hosts. The constant laughter is not my morning cup of tea. But millions of people love it. They go gaga over the morning laugh fests. (There’s an interesting saying for us to consider — going gaga. Have you wondered about how someone can go gaga? Supposedly gaga evolved from a French saying in the early 20th century, and it had to do with losing your marbles, as in your senses. So if you go gaga over something, you’ve lost the ability to think reasonably about it. I’ve always wondered if an infant could go goo-goo gaga.

Now my question to you: Did you spot the wee punctuation error in the preceding paragraph? I don’t have any statistics about it, but it seems to me that people who use parentheses are almost as likely to leave them open as they are to close them. That’s what I did in the first paragraph — I deliberately failed to close them. Don’t do that.

My wonderful nephew Stephen knows of — and shares — my inability to read a parenthetical remark without first glancing forward to see if the parens are closed. Being a perpetual scamp, Steve sends me emails in which he never closes them. Who cares? You should, because you probably use parentheses, and not closing them (as in this example makes it difficult to read.

You might be surprised to hear it, but I have a point to make here. Most radio personalities have some specific language uses that irritate me (surprise!). It is almost a certainty that if the radio station runs a contest, the listeners hear something like this: “Be the 11th caller and you’ll qualify for an all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii!” Wrong. That lucky caller will NOT qualify for the trip. The caller will qualify to continue as a contestant, moving on to the next round. If you’re caller 11 and you truly qualify for the trip, pack your bags, babe, and get some swimwear.

Here’s another — “Stay tuned for our extra-long 40-minute music set.” Think about it. Forty minutes is 40 minutes, period. I recently called one of the stations saying that and told the representative, “If your 40 minutes really is extra long, it’s only because you’ve picked boring music.” The response I received is what I expected: “Huh?”

This morning I heard an announcer on a national radio show say, “Every since it happened … .” That’s a common usage in some dialects, but it’s no more correct than “ain’t” is. You and I should work to eliminate “every since” and the ubiquitous — on the radio and off — “110 percent.”

Logic applies: There is no “y” in “ever” and for heaven’s sake you cannot give 110 percent. I know, those who talk about giving 110 percent are trying to express that one should give more than humanly possible. The trouble is, it’s a self-defeating phrase. If one can give 110 percent, then one theoretically could give 111 percent. Or, if you really, really tried, maybe even — oh, I don’t know — 114 percent. What about 150, or 213 or (as some truly say) a thousand percent?! A thousand! Why, that makes 110 seem paltry. He must not have really wanted it — he gave only 110 percent.

While we’re in a helpful mood, let’s stop our friends and neighbors from saying “revert back” and “repeat it again.” If a speaker has repeated something and you need to hear it a third time, then “repeat it again” is all right. Just keep in mind that you utter something the first time, the second time is a repetition and only THEN are you able to “repeat it again.” So — if you want to hear something a second time, ask the speaker to repeat it, not to repeat it again. And “revert” means to go back, so naturally we never want to say “revert back” (unless we intend to say “go back back”! Is that what you want want? Here comes a close parenthesis. Enjoy.).

Don’t go gaga, but I’ll repeat this again — I’ve heard “revert back” every since I was a child (giving only 500 percent effort at the time), but it’s terrible to hear it for an extra-long 40 minutes.

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Write right? Write on

2007-12-04T10:19:00.000-08:00

People tell me this a lot: “I wanted to write you, but I was afraid of making mistakes.” It’s a shame that people would not want to talk or write to me just because they think I’ll catch (and include in a column?) any little language transgression.

I received this great, clever email from a college professor, written in telegraph style: “Read your article in the paper. STOP! Laughed a lot. STOP! Writing in short spurts to try to avoid misuse of words. STOP!”

We all make mistakes in life, of course, and we all make them in our use of language. Pick up a cereal box, read an advertising flyer, even open a novel and you’ll find mistakes.

Unfortunately, I’m not immune to it myself. In a recent column I wrote this: “For all of us, the words we choose and how we say them are, to varying degrees, dialectical.” In response, alert reader Sandy wrote: “You want to say ‘dialectal,’ not ‘dialectical.’” You’re right, Sandy, you are so right. I say thank you (and at home, alone, I holler “ARRRRRRRRGH!”).

I just flat out had typed the wrong word, and I failed to catch it when I proofread my own writing. Which leads us (yes, finally!) to today’s topic: getting it right.

The best advice is to get someone else to proofread your writing for you. The closer we are to what we’re reading — if we write it ourselves, we’re very close indeed — the more apt we are to overlook obvious errors.

Proofreading is not easy. Did you know that we are able to read and understand words and sentences that have letters missing or are terribly jumbled? Check this out; it’s been on the Web in many guises and discussions, and it is interesting:

Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht frist and lsat ltteer is at the rghit pclae. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by itslef but the wrod as a wlohe.
If you’re able to decipher that, just imagine how your brain will accept other little errors in text, especially if they are isolated. A tip: Let’s say a co-worker asks you to look over a proof of an advertisement, a business card or some other small print job. If you will read it backwards, it will really improve your chances of catching spelling errors. It won’t help with other mistakes, of course, like omitted words, but it does isolate words to make spelling more obvious.

Try it with this sentence. Start with “sentence” and read to the left. Do it now, please. See how it makes you read more slowly and examine each word?

Do pay attention to what words you use and how you use them, but don’t get paralyzed from fear of making little mistakes. They are practically impossible to avoid making. The News & Record has some truly talented writers and award-winner editors, and mistakes still happen. (Getting a daily paper out the door is a miracle; don’t look for perfection!) See if you spot the mistakes in these three examples from the N&R (ignore the punctuation; that’s not the problem).

“Princeton isn’t exactly desperate for attention — not when it counts a couple of U.S. presidents and Nobel Peace winners among its alumnus”

“High School Football Practice Gets Underway”

“They … will give shoppers a 10 percent discount on Crane and William Arthur stationary orders through the end of September”

It should have read “among its alumni,” “Gets Under Way” and “stationery.” Big errors? Certainly not. Life goes on. Now for one of my favorites.

From syndicated columnist Leonard Pitts: “It was … a violent, controversial and moving account of the crucifixion of Jesus that lead many Jewish leaders to accuse Gibson of an anti-Jewish agenda.”

Did you see it? It happens often — writers mentally say the word “led” but type it “lead.” And editors sometimes rush past it, also hearing the right word in their minds. Right sound, wrong word.

Try for perfection but accept the best you can do at the time. Shoot, Pitts has won a Pulitzer Prize. All you need to do is drop me an email. Write on.

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Be listening out there for redundant words, and so on and so forth

2007-11-18T09:11:00.002-08:00

Today’s column will, I willingly admit, contain no small amount of whining on my part. However, if we’re lucky, you’ll agree with some of my points, you’ll learn from one or two others and, all in all, I’ll end up a happier person. Not bad for one column.

Let’s start with OUT THERE. I put it in caps here to create what I hope will be a splashy farewell. By my estimate, more than nine out of 10 uses of OUT THERE are simply not necessary. All of us want to reduce (eliminate?) our use of unnecessary words, yes? Listen to how often people throw in “out there,” and mentally, quietly, ask yourself if the statement would make as much sense without those two terribly overused words.

Let me cite some recent examples from the radio. “Is there any evidence out there that contradicts this suggestion?” See that? Take those two oft-repeated words away, and you have a shorter, cleaner sentence that’s even easier to understand.

Here’s another: “There are many programs out there that can help — Fannie Mae’s out there, some others are out there … many programs already exist out there and are helping.” First, you have to believe me when I say that’s a direct quote, with a national financial expert using “out there” four times in one sentence. Second, those two words give some comfort to the speaker (obviously), and they are not wrong, but they are off-putting in their repetition and usually not needed.

One more, from the radio on the same day: “There are two faith-based arguments out there that contradict what you say.” Do we need that “out there” out there?

The other thing is, kill “The other thing is” — unless you have set it up. Here’s what I mean (and boy, I’m starting to feel better already). Many people say “The other thing is” without first saying “There are two things here. We’ve covered one of them, now here’s the other one.” A better way to phrase it, in this perfect language world you and I are building, is “Another” thing is, rather than “THE” other thing is.

This next one slays me. “He loves her more than anyone on Earth.” Really? Then where is she? Isn’t she on Earth? The solution, of course, is to say “more than anyone else on Earth.” Prick up your antennae whenever you approach any “any” words (anyone, anything, anywhere, etc.). Today I read this in a university magazine: “I think Carnegie Mellon University placed more emphasis on that plan than any other university did.” See there? That’s the correct approach. The “other” lets us smile.

Another antenna alerter is “annual,” as in this from the paper recently: “The company will create jobs with average annual salaries of more than $94,000 a year.” Oh, please. See the redundancy there?

Now let’s zip through some. It’s tenterhooks, not tenderhooks. It’s smorgasbord, not smorgasborg. It’s biceps and triceps for both the singular and the plural of those muscles. It’s convenience, not convience. Don’t say “In my mind I was thinking … .” Where else would you have been thinking? In your elbow, perhaps?

We need to stop people from referring to the real truth and to true facts. All truth is real and there are no false facts, only false statements. And, as you may know, it’s harebrain, not hairbrain. You lose change that is loose, you swim a lap that you swam yesterday, and for heaven’s sake you care about language a lot, not alot.

Please tell me that you don’t say someone graduated college. The person graduated FROM Wake Forest (or wherever), FROM college. Language purists will point out that the institution does the graduating — we are graduated from the school. Four little letters (f-r-o-m). Use ‘em.

Do you say “And so forth and so on” or “And so on and so forth”? I hope not. Are they wrong to say? Of course not. But tell me what “and so on” adds that isn’t already covered by “and so forth,” and vice versa. Keep it simple; you don’t need both parts.

Is it a card shark or a card sharp who cheats when playing? Actually, they’re interchangeable, along with card sharper.

“Prices on the New York Stock Exchange rose higher yesterday.” Have you ever heard that? Of course they rose higher; could they have risen lower?

I’m done for now. What a relief. Thanks.

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It’s no problem, between you to me

2007-11-18T09:11:00.001-08:00

Language changes with the times. We all know that. Sometimes it’s even for the better. There are a few cases, however, that are so irritating they make my teeth hurt. Even the crowns.

These days if you go to almost any store and say “thank you” to a clerk under the age of 30, the odds are very good indeed that the person will respond with a two-word phrase. That’s OK, because in English the standard response to “thank you” already is a two-word phrase. You know it; you grew up with it. It’s one of the hallmarks of polite conversation. Someone says “thank you”; you respond with “you’re welcome.” Neat. Tidy. Standard.

But the two words you’ll hear now are “no problem.”

Is that a problem? You bet. Here’s why: It implies that I just got you to do something that could have been a problem. Handing over my change is simply doing your job.

The same applies to something like holding a door open for two extra seconds to accommodate my passage. To be courteous, I’d normally say “thank you.” Now I cringe, knowing I’m likely to get a “no problem.”

No problem? Well thank heavens. I don’t even know you; I certainly don’t mean to cause trouble.

Unfortunately, this is not simply an American or an age issue. It may have started with young Americans, but it is becoming a phrase to dread from people of all ages. It’s not grammatically incorrect, but it’s irritating.

The next peeve, however, is as wrong as it is off-putting.

It’s a little more difficult to describe, but it is SO wrong that you’ll want to think about it just for your own protection. Even well known journalists – people actually paid to write for a living – make this mistake … but you can avoid it with a moment’s thought.

“The prices of the sweaters range between $10 to $50,” she said. And boy howdy was she ever wrong. The prices might have been accurate, but that “between … to” is definitely wrong.

Think about it. Would you ever say “Let’s just keep this between you to me”? Of course not. You would never say that Burlington is located “between Greensboro to Durham.”

What you want – and you always want it – is to use “and” instead of “to.” That is, things are between A and B, between you and me, between $10 and $50.

It must be the numbers that throw some people off. We’re used to saying that the store is 10 to 15 minutes away, or that we need to diet to lose 15 to 20 pounds. But “between” changes everything.

Just keep in mind that you would never say, “Something happened between here to there.” Instead, and naturally, you’d say, “Something happened between here and there.”

Or you can always remember the usage mentioned above: “This is just between you and me.”

Let me end by pointing out two massively unnecessary repetitions. Maybe the most interesting thing about these two examples is how widespread their usage is. Ready? PIN number and ATM machine.

Here’s betting that you have used at least one of those at least once.

You might not even know that ATM stands for Automated Teller Machine. It does, though. That means that saying “ATM machine” is the same as saying “Automated Teller Machine machine.”

Sometimes we want to repeat things to drive home a point, but “machine machine”? I’d guess not.

Now let’s look at the ole PIN number. I bet you do know that PIN stands for Personal Identification Number. So you see, saying “PIN number” is the same as saying “Personal Identification Number number.”

What’s really fun is lumping those redundancies together — “I’m going to the Automated Teller Machine machine to try out my new Personal Identification Number number.”

Does that help? Don’t thank me. It’s no problem.

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Be looking for a tiny little problem at 12 noon

2007-11-18T09:09:00.000-08:00

Are you ready for some language challenges? Whether English is a first or a subsequent language for you, odds are good that you have a long list of redundancies unknowingly engrained in your speech patterns.

You don’t want to say things that are unnecessarily repetitive, do you? Previously in this column we looked at ATM machine and PIN number as popular redundancies. Let’s start today with one that is certain to be part of your everyday speech – tiny little. It was a tiny little cookie; we lived in a tiny little place.

As opposed to what – a BIG little cookie, a huge little place? Obviously, if it’s tiny, it’s little. But you know what? It is somehow … satisfying to lump those two words together, isn’t it? That’s not to say they’re both necessary or that it’s not redundant. I’m just saying, I understand.

Let’s look at another very common redundancy, at this point in time. The comma is there because that’s it – “at this point in time.” It would be enough just to say at this point. Or at this time. You don’t need them both.

Sometimes I’ll translate, saying “at this point in time” means “now.” If that is true, then “at this particular point in time” must mean “right now.”

That probably makes some sense, yes? It makes sense that you would do something simply at this point or at this time. The next one, however, could require some deep thought on your part, and some open-minded thought, at that. Not only because you and the rest of the civilized world have said it forever, but also because its illogic seems, at first glance, logical.

Here it is: 12 noon. Now work with me on this. Your first thought probably is what’s wrong with that? When I respond that there is no 11 noon, no 10 noon, etc., that noon alone is sufficient, you’re likely to think yeah, but there’s a 12 midnight.

I say there should not be. Midnight suffices.

Do you see? Noon is noon, period. Midnight is midnight, period. Drop the 12 from the phrasing and you’re home free.

Finally, let me address one tiny little (so much fun to say) matter of punctuation. Don’t shy away from this; it’s not hard at all. It’s about questions. Are you familiar with questions?

Guess what. Saying “Are you familiar with questions?” was correct with the question mark because it is a question. More important – and the point of this paragraph – is that “Guess what.” correctly did NOT have a question mark.

Guess what is NOT A QUESTION. So every time you see it followed by a question mark (yes – even in well-known newspapers), know that you are staring at a mistake.

If you say “guess what,” you are issuing a command. You are telling someone what you want done. Question marks are meant for questions, not commands.

If we put these all together, we can have: “Guess what? It’s 12 noon so we’ll take a tiny little break at this particular point in time.”

Riiiiiight.

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When statements? Sound like questions?

2007-11-18T09:05:00.000-08:00

Warning: This column could get ugly. There is a trend in current speech that is so pervasive that, well, I hate to say it, but it might be found in your own family. And it is, to put it nicely, obnoxious.

The headline? For this column? Shows you what I mean?

The trend is for an increasingly large number of speakers to put a question mark where there is no question, often in the middle of a statement as well as at the end. It is said that this unappealing tendency began in California – certainly a state that has some wonderful things going for it, but if the San Fernando Valley and Valley Girls started this, then I am not happy with them.

I can hear a teenaged Valley girl now: “So, like, Heather goes, ‘Josh is like happy? When he like plays baseball? Or when he’s like drunk?’ And I go, like … what-EV-er.”

How do we put an end to this assault on our sensibilities? I have, in fact, a remedy – a little phrase that we can use to correct such behavior. Surely you have little tricks that stay with you from childhood (how do you spell arithmetic? A-r-i-t-h-m-e-t-i-c … a-rat- in-the-house-may-eat-the-ice-cream! Easy. Memorable.).

Here’s one little thing to remember to help fight The Question Inflection. It’s only two words. You can simply say these two words to anyone vocally misbehaving. Here they are: “Stop it!”

Do you know who Terry Gross is? She is the host of “Fresh Air” on National Public Radio, and many listeners feel that she is arguably the most accomplished, effective and entertaining radio interviewer there is. But I have bad news – over the last year or two, she has become the stereotypical teenager parodied above.

Her inflections are constantly and needlessly rising, and she even intersperses the aggravating and unnecessary “like” uses to match.

The truth is, how we speak is a choice on many levels, and people who go up? In their inflections? When they don’t need to? (OK – I’ll stop.) I say that talking like that is a choice. Terri Gross is an adult who makes her living by talking. If she chooses to adopt the language of a Valley Girl, we should blame her, not the girl in California.

Let me use one more name: Mark Niegelsky. He’s local, and he’s one cause for hope. I have never met or talked to 15-year-old Niegelsky, but he is brilliant with language. He writes occasional columns for the section of this newspaper called “the ’boro,” and without ever having heard him speak, I can guarantee he’s no Valley thing.

Niegelsky is, as I said, a hope. He is a teenager, and his writing is engaging, insightful, considered and at times elegant. Young people do not have to speak in cadences that are irritating, in words that are imprecise, in sentence fragments that reveal no awareness of language. They can, instead, be like Mark.

Mark, if you ever meet Terry Gross, tell her for me: Stop it!

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Very sort of perfect: The repetitive use of a filler phrase

2007-11-18T09:04:00.002-08:00

You’ve heard it all your life, and you’ll probably hear it or read it before today is done. It’s the oft-used phrase “sort of.” The biggest problem with it, in my view, is how often it is used and misused.

Anything done to excess is bothersome, and people who say “sort of” tend to say it ALL THE TIME.

“We can all have a delightful time sort of enjoying the beach.” Sort of sort of sort of … . Here’s my standard, helpful advice: STOP IT!

It’s like a potato chip for some people — they can’t have just one. Maybe they say it to soften their views, to keep from sounding too opinionated, too harsh. Maybe they feel it makes them sound kinder, gentler. It also makes them sound wishy-washy, unfocused, bumbling and, if I may say so, it makes them deeply irritating.

“The Smiths brought a sort of casserole to the event, a sort of neighborhood gathering that sort of brought all the residents together to sort of meet and sort of chill out.”

You have to ask yourself if that statement is even worth hearing.

In the first place, what in the world is a “sort of” casserole? For heaven’s sake, if it’s a casserole, call it that. Same for a neighborhood gathering and for a bringing together and for every other thing you want to say the rest of your life. Say it all and take your chances.

Try this experiment — next time you hear someone say “sort of,” pay attention. Start counting. You’ll be amazed and secretly delighted as the count soars. They cannot help it.

Of course, we all know that “like” users do the same with their favorite crutch, as do those who use “you know” repeatedly. And “kind of”? Same as “sort of.” (Don’t even get me started on those who say “kinda sorta”! Whoa.)

There’s an extra danger with “sort of.” The people who can’t escape using that language space filler, that weakening and softening toss-in phrase, go so far that inevitably they mess up their language even further.

With their endless (but not countless, thanks to you and me) uses of “sort of,” they eventually make statements like, “It was a very sort of happy time,” or “We were very sort of shocked.”

See the problem? You can have very, and you can have sort of, but you can’t have them together. If something is very anything, then it can’t be sort of that thing. The hole is either very deep or sort of deep; it is not very sort of deep.

In what instances is it a good idea to say “very sort of”? Oh, never.

Now here’s the worst of all. At some point, our “sort of” user will declare that something is “Sort of perfect.” No, nope, nuh-uh. There are no degrees of perfection. It’s perfect or it’s not.

My daddy used to say, “There’s no such thing as a little bit of garlic.” Same goes for perfection.

You’re aware of some absolutes — things that either are or are not. It seems obvious, does it not, that perfect is an absolute, as are unanimous and dead. Some add pregnant to the list.

However, a few scholars maintain that something can be “more perfect” or “less perfect.” Their argument is that nothing in the world is perfect, and we therefore should acknowledge the degrees of it.

Naturally, those experts toss ole Thomas Jefferson and his “more perfect union” into their argument. I say it’s a mistake to let the language get so loose. It’s perfect or it isn’t.

“That is the most perfect gift!” No it’s not. Can’t be.

Personally, I like garlic. Flavorful, aromatic, plentiful and healthful. All in all, it’s very sort of perfect.

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Having a hang-up with the word 'up'

2007-11-18T09:04:00.001-08:00

We all use words in ways that are familiar to us, even if those uses are not smiled upon by the rules of formal English. Have you ever noticed the many uses of “up”? I’ll bet you’ve said “Wait up” or “Hurry up” when you meant for someone simply to wait or hurry. Or “Listen up” when you really just meant “Listen.” Why add the “up”?

In recent years, the most famous use of “up” undoubtedly came from the Budweiser commercials chanting “Whassup,” with the phrase spreading around the world. But I have to tell you, I have rewritten this column many times, and it has nothing to do with beer (this is not Bud Write). The truth is, the column was going to look at some interesting uses of “up,” but examine other fascinating (I hoped) things as well. However, every time I’d walk away from writing, more colloquial uses of “up” came up (see there?). I’d either say it or hear it, and I’d have another example I just had to include here. There are so many ways we all use “up” that it could fill several columns (but cheer up, I’ll soon finish up).

All right, now that we’ve set up the topic and geared up for examples, I’ll try to clear up any confusion by listing things you might say or hear often. If it’s time to leave, you might say, “Let’s pack up now.” Of course, saying it’s time to pack would work just as well. Ever heard this with leftovers in a restaurant — “Want me to box that up for you?” Sure. Don’t just put it in a box; box it UP for me. Tastes better, probably.

“We got caught up” means you had a chance to talk and fill each other in on the latest happenings, whereas “We got caught” is entirely different. “Up” matters. Sometimes those two innocent little letters, “u” and “p,” mean bad news. You know you do not want to get stood up. Never a good thing. And we all know that if we ever mess up, we’re likely to get written up. Robberies, of course, are holdups (or stickups), and if we’re late, it’s likely that we got held up (but probably not in a holdup). If you have hang-ups, that’s not good, and of course breaking up is hard to do, even for a stand up guy with a leg up on the competition.

Moving up in the world (maybe movin’ on up, to the East Side), running up a large bill, holding up a line, cheering up, finishing up a task, creeping up on someone and, of course, throwing up. What’s up with that? It goes on — we sign up to volunteer, we cough it up if forced to pay, we talk it up to promote it, we even cook up some grub (you’ve done that, ‘fess up).

If we want to get next to someone, we chat ‘em up. If the outcome is uncertain, we say it’s a toss up. As we prep for a challenge, we ramp up, and a smart-aleck is just a cut up. Think about make up. Those two words can be cosmetics, of course, but also a lie (you make up a story), a special task if you missed class (your make up assignment is …) or what you do after you break up (you can even kiss and make up).

Sorry. I’ll let up … but I won’t give up. Feel free to email me your language thoughts — hit me up sometime, but don’t call me up. I guess it’s time to wrap this up. Things are looking up, but time’s up.

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Redoubtable readers’ rejoinders

2007-11-18T09:02:00.001-08:00

The readers of this column share one important attribute: intelligence. (If that doesn’t keep you reading, what will?)

Because every reader note I’ve received so far has begun with praise for my writing, it’s perfectly obvious that every writing reader of this column is a person of great intelligence, taste and manners.

After I moaned about people saying no problem as a response to thank you, many people sent me suggestions for responses. Reader Bob wrote this: “I experienced a great joy in reading your column this morning … . I am probably a crotchety 84 year-old coot, but when the expression began to take hold, I would simply respond … I didn’t expect any problem.”

Actually, the pattern of reader emails has been surprisingly consistent. First come some words of praise (that’s the best part, of course), then agreement with one or two of my language complaints and finally the kicker — almost every writer goes on to tell me what REALLY is irritating. Many of them state that if I should decide to cover their peeve in a future column, well, that’d be swell.

So here we go.

Reader S.P. praises former major league pitcher, Duke baseball coach and author Colby Jack Coombs, who “admonished outfielders never to say I’ve got it or I got it as a fly ball approached. The correct thing to say was I have it, and, by George, if you played for him, I got it … got you removed from the game and a seat in the dugout.” Now, that’s teaching. Unfortunately, even though people who prefer a formal approach to language will say that I’ve got the answer is redundant, preferring the simpler I have the answer, the truth is that we’ll never escape the informal use of got. I agree that the cleaner version is more appealing — you’ve got me there.

Reader Earl has a long list of irritants. Here are a few: “What really galls me is the apparent interchangeability of your and you’re. I see it all the time — I hope you’re business is good, or Your the best salesman I know.”

Earl, I like to tell myself that most people remember that the little apostrophe stands in for the letter that we lose in the contraction as we go from you are to you’re, but that they simply are in a hurry or are thinking about the rest of the sentence. If that is the case, it’s not a matter of education (as you fear) so much as one of attention.

Earl goes on: “Also the confusion over almost and most, as in — Most all of our customers are advertising agencies. Boy, that gets my skin crawling in a hurry.”

I think your good example clears that up nicely, Earl. (I almost said you’re good example just to drive you crazy, but I stifled.)

Reader Earl and Reader Dave both wrote me about went missing, what Earl calls “an idiot phrase.” Dave says: “It may be grammatically correct, but something about it just sounds incorrect, and I can’t find my old high school English book. Susie disappeared sounds better than Susie went missing. Maybe it’s no problem.”

Cute, Dave. In fact, went missing has been a hot topic for quite a few years. We happily say that we went shopping or went hiking, but it’s often less appealing to hear that someone went missing. The answer seems to be simply this: It’s a British phrase, a choice of dialect. Many Americans seem to feel the British are welcome to keep it at home.

“Do you have any idea why our British cousins say someone is going to hospital or is in hospital and we always say going to the hospital or is in the hospital?” asks Reader Jim.

That phrase is so common among the British and the people of former British colonies that many Americans wonder about it. The tiny word the demonstrates an important syntactic difference between the British and us. Interestingly, they and we have some syntactic parallels that also omit that little word — we both say Jim is in jail or Jim is going to school.

More readers’ comments will appear in future columns. Thanks to you all.

###

Readers Could Care Less, Really

2007-11-18T09:00:00.000-08:00

Years ago, when my wife and I lived in a farmhouse with enough land for horses, we bought a beautiful Appaloosa mare. My wife wisely declined my request to name the horse Spot. Over the intervening years, as we have taken on dogs, she also has resisted my impulse to name one Peeve, just for the fun of the introductions: “This is my pet, Peeve.”

Today’s column focuses on the pet peeves of readers of this column who have written to me. Here’s one of the peeviest of the peeves, one mentioned often and a long-standing complaint of mine, as well. Reader Tony says: “Have you ever heard people say they could care less about something, when they actually mean they couldn’t care less? If they could care less, then whatever they’re talking about isn’t so bad because they still care a little.”

Reader Don says: “In earlier years, when I first began to hear ‘I could care less,’ I tried to explain why ‘I couldn’t care less’ probably better expressed the intention. However, it seemed to fall on deaf ears; people didn’t understand the difference.”

If there’s something that doesn’t matter to you, then you don’t care about it. Maybe you care so little, you could not possibly care less. So don’t say you COULD care less! For heaven’s sake. This has been going on for decades, and the good readers are right — it should stop.

Don must be right about deaf ears, too. On page A1 of the paper recently was a paragraph mentioning two groups of people — those who “live by” instant messaging and “those who could care less.” If this keeps up, we’ll all stop caring.

Reader Walt, also railing against the “care less” misuse, goes on to ask me to address the use of the word “hone” for “home.” He says: “I know that a homing torpedo is one that homes in on a target. And I know that one hones a knife to sharpen it. One does not hone in on a correct answer any more than one homes one’s skills.”

Right you are, Walt. You hone to sharpen (skills or appetites or whatever), and you phone home. It’s confusing to many people, I think, simply because the two words sound so much alike.

Let’s move our peeve watch now to what seems to be an infinitely confusing area. Reader Candy writes about “for she and Bob.” Reader Wayne wants me to “take aim at the modern-day butchers of our language who hack it unmercifully with phrases like ‘between you and I.’” Reader Gene cites “He gave it to her and I.” Reader Paul gets displeased “when people use the nominative pronoun instead of the objective pronoun,” adding, “I hear this all the time, from movie stars to college graduates.” (But not from Candy, Wayne and Gene!)

It must be truly challenging, this her and me and I and we and them stuff. We can’t expect normal people to remember grammar rules from decades ago, can we, or to deal happily with terms like nominative and objective, or know what “pronouns acting as objects” means. Life is complicated enough these days, just with cell phones taking pictures.

Good news: It’s pretty easy, if you stay calm. Just take your time with the sentence and use this little ploy. When you’re deciding how to word a statement with Someone and Someone, just mentally try it without the first Someone.

Example: “The prizes went to Bob and … .” Uh-oh, to Bob and I? To Bob and me? Eliminate the first one, ole Bob, and it’s easy. The prizes go to me. So now you can comfortably (and correctly) say, “The prizes went to Bob and me.”

One more. “He told Heather and ME? I? the truth.” Wipe Heather out of it for a split second: “He told me the truth.” There ya go. It should be “He told Heather and me the truth.”

Reader Gene suggests placing parentheses around the first part. “He told (Heather and) me the truth.” That works.

Finally, here’s one that drives Reader (and Neighbor) Steve downright batty: “We should have went yesterday.” Ouch. Some mistakes become so widespread that they get accepted into standard usage. We must be vigilant here. Remember: The past participle of “go” is “gone.” What does past participle mean? It means you should have gone. GONE, you hear me? Always should have gone, never should have went. Hang tough, Steve. We’re counting on you.

###

puh-TAY-toe, puh-TAH-toe

2007-11-13T13:09:00.001-08:00

We were sitting in the NBC studios in Manhattan, waiting impatiently with other audience members for the taping of a game show to begin. Behind me were two women, obviously together, and a man, even more obviously alone. The women were in their 20s, he was late 40s. At one point he leaned to the woman closer to him and said, “So, uh, where youse from?”

She smiled weakly and said, “Excuse me?” He said, “Where youse from, are youse from New Yoak?” She thought for a moment, then said, “Oh, I’m from Detroit.” He said, “And who’s dat which youse?”

Of course, at this point I’m all ears. This might be better than the game show. She pondered his last words, and then she said, “Ah — this is my sister.” Then he uttered my favorite question, “So, is de bodie youse from Detroit?”

That just flat out stumped her. She looked at him right in the face, and said nothing. He repeated, “Is de bodie youse from Detroit?” She said, “I’m sorry, I can’t understand your …” So with some vigor, he said, “De bodie youse, de bodie youse — is de bodie youse from Detroit?”

Here’s the end of it, and I promise you I am not making this up. She looked at him and said, “I’m so sorry, but what’s a bodie?”

The point of the story is that how we pronounce words does matter. Dialects — the particular forms of language and speech determined by geographic regions or by groups of people — make language rich and interesting. For all of us, the words we choose and how we say them are, to varying degrees, dialectal. But that is not today’s topic.

I want to talk with you today about some pronunciations that are very common … and very wrong. Remember, this rundown has nothing to do with dialects; it has to do with wrong.

Let’s start with hearing how you say “Realtor.” Say it aloud and count the number of syllables. If you say it with three distinct syllables (REE-la-tor), then you are wrong. The word has two syllables (REEL-tor). Can you find any dictionary that gives three syllables as an option? Yes, but most that do so also indicate it’s a less-than-desirable pronunciation. Trust me: two syllables.

Let’s look now at “jeweler.” Say that one out loud and listen to yourself carefully. If you say JULE-er or if you use the British JOO-el-yer, you’re fine. Here’s the off-putting and wrong version: JULIE-yer. Have you heard that? Let’s hope it’s not from your own lips.

While we’re on that topic, let’s make sure we’re all saying “jewelry” correctly, shall we? That two-syllable word, to be pronounced JOOL-ree, is not meant to sound like JOO-la-ree.

You know that we cannot discuss pronunciations without at least mentioning “nuclear.” Regardless of how you feel about our current president, his NOO-kew-lar pronunciation is wrong. I grew up in Texas. Have I heard others pronounce it NOO-kew-lar? Sure. Does that mean it’s an endearing component of the Texas dialect, helping make spoken English a varied and appealing aural landscape, adding to America’s rich tapestry of sounds? No, it’s just wrong.

These next two take a bit of thought. They’re great words, but pronouncing them offers some challenges — “erudite” and “virulent.” Each can be said with or without a “y” sound (although I invariably cringe if the “y” is there), but the absolutely wrong way to handle them is with four syllables. You do not want to say VEER-ee-u-lent, as I heard a National Public Radio announcer in D.C. say last week. Just as important, limit the sound of “erudite” to AIR-uh-dyte or AIR-you-dyte. You do not want to say AIR-ee-you-dyte, as thousands of ill-informed people say, in an effort to sound erudite.

Finally, is it “sherbet” or “sherbert”? Do you know? These days it’s spelled both ways and pronounced both ways, depending on where you are and what you’re talking about. Sherbet is a cold drink, frothy and sweet. Sherbert is an American version. We added milk and other ingredients to ice, threw in an extra “r” and made a tasty frozen treat. Many people, including some readers of this column who have written me about it, feel that only “sherbet” is correct.

If there’s no easy answer, why did I bring it up? It’s always nice to end on a sweet note.

###

Language laughs – For the health of it

2007-11-13T13:07:00.001-08:00

We think in words, mostly. So if we have a lot of words at our command, and if they are complex and sophisticated words, we can think complex and sophisticated thoughts. That seems only logical, yes? It doesn’t mean that poor language skills make us dumb, but it does mean that a rich vocabulary can lead to fuller, more intellectual thinking.

That’s why language is both essential and worthy of our attention, even of our study. Today’s column, however, looks at a different benefit of a full and robust vocabulary — humor. No one will deny the sheer classic joy of using a banana peel properly, but humor that is word-based brings a different kind of delight, and it can take many different forms.

Playing with words’ sounds or appearance can make a joke, often by using a familiar phrase or concept in a new way. Look at the following examples. Attribution for them is mixed at times, but the Internet has facilitated their widespread enjoyment.
- If the police arrest a mime, do they tell him he has the right to remain silent?
- If a parsley farmer is sued, can they garnish his wages?
- Rigor Morris: The cat is dead.
- Respondez s’il vous plaid: Honk if you’re Scots.
- Acupuncture is a jab well done.

A favorite of mine is the silly Groucho Marx line, “Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.” It’s clever because it uses two meanings of “flies,” two meanings of “like,” and a wonderful sense of rhythm. The two clauses are so similar in cadence that you’re caught unawares when you get to “banana.”

Another from Groucho: “A child of five could understand this. Fetch me a child of five.” I laugh every time I remember that one, partly because it fits his snide persona, partly because “fetch” is so much funnier than, say, “bring.” “Fetch” is funnier because the “f” sound is better (the play and movie of “The Sunshine Boys” will explain that), but also because “fetch” is more arcane. “Find me a child of five” would give the “f” sound, but it’s too common.

I don’t know which of his classic sayings Groucho wrote and which he bought, if any, but his bizarre humor is apparent in this one: “Outside of a dog, a book is your best friend, and inside of a dog, it's too dark to read.” Weird humor, but I mention it because it is dependent on the double meaning of “outside,” without which the joke couldn’t go inside.

Here are a few more, all from well-known humorists who were extremely aware of words and how to use them.

“I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.” - Mark Twain
“He had delusions of adequacy.” - Walter Kerr
“Some cause happiness wherever they go, others whenever they go.” - Oscar Wilde
“He has Van Gogh's ear for music.” - Billy Wilder

Of course, it helps to be old or learned enough to know who those people were, because most of the quotes fit the public persona of the speaker. Are you familiar with Mae West? If so, you can hear the inflection of her voice in this quote: ““His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.”

Finally (and this might very well be just me), I find daily humor in unintended redundancies. For example, my wife and I have terrific yoga instructors, and almost all of them give the instruction to “slowly lower yourself down to the mat.” Naturally, I always do so with a smile as I wonder if the really advanced yogis can lower themselves UP.

Here’s another. It’s not a knee-slapper, but I’d like you to think about it. Sometimes, numbers are treated in this way — “We have sixty-two (62) faculty members; twenty-four (24) have graduate teaching status.” What part of “62” or of “sixty-two” is so confusing that one needs both words and digits? Oh — I read sixty-two, but I didn’t see any digits, so I thought you meant eleven!

Let’s finish with an amusing redundancy that is almost universal and certainly will never disappear. Let it serve as a reminder to pay attention to what we’re saying. Do you like tuna fish? Do you see the redundancy? It makes me want to order chicken fowl.

###

You completely and totally annihilated that word

2007-11-13T13:05:00.000-08:00

Oh, people. Sometimes we say such dumb things, don’t we? Then we hear others say dumb things, and we wonder if there is a way to let them know a better way, a right way. OUR way, of course.

Many readers of this column have written me asking how to stop people from saying things badly. Today’s suggestion: When you hear something egregiously wrong and/or irritating, simply shout, “Stop it!” It might work, or it might get you hurt. We’ll just have to see.

Sometimes people say ugly things by combining words to make a new one. “Guesstimate” now is well established as a combination of “guess” and “estimate,” and it never fails to irritate me. You can guess at something, you can make an estimate. Either one will suffice, neither is precise, why combine them? Stop it.

Heard just last week: “It was a rememorable weekend.” “I got so flustrated I couldn’t speak.” “They need to stop calling — it’s downright harrassination.”

We also hear people who like to sound educated, so they use unnecessarily long words (sometimes inventing them on the spot), relishing all the syllables. I’ve heard these lately: parameterized, polarizabilities, summarization, derivatization, containerizing … and, perhaps my favorite of this group, reflectionization. Long words can play important roles in language, but unnecessarily long ones can sound, well, puffed up.

The same goes for many phrases that many of us use (you? do you say any of these?), and that are really short. The trouble with them is, they’re still longer than they need to be. Consider the following, and see if you notice a reflectionization of yourself in here.
• continue on — “continue” means to go on with something, so “continue on” is like saying “go on on.”
• safe haven — “haven” means a safe place. So why say “safe safe place”?
• protected sanctuary — see “haven,” above.
• may or may not make it happen — “may make it happen” automatically means it might, it might not. So we don’t need to add the “or may not.”
• how to behave and not behave — face it, knowing how to behave covers how not to behave.
• complete and total annihilation — if something’s complete, it’s total; if it’s total … well, you know. Besides, annihilation is total by definition.

Now for a Stop it that makes me want to scream. Ready? “Sooner than later,” as in “This is an important move, so we need to do it sooner than later.”

If I had hair, I’d pull it out. SOONER THAN LATER?? What kind of phrase is that (other than immeasurably annoying)? If you mean something needs to be done quickly, say “We need to do it quickly.” If it has to happen soon, say “We need to do it soon.”

To be closer to correct and a tad less irritating, you would say that it should be done sooner rather than later. Rather! However, sooner is ALWAYS going to happen before later happens. So ditch the “later” part altogether and simply say that it needs to be done soon.

Now that we’ve salved the sooner than later burr under my saddle, let’s try to stop similar annoyances. See if you can stop others — or yourself — from uses such as “stronger, not weaker” (heard on National Public Radio yesterday), “taller rather than shorter,” “happier rather than sadder” and all the rest of the “rather than” sayings that belabor the obvious. Of COURSE most things have opposites, for Pete’s sake — you don’t have to spell it out with up not down in not out cold not hot white not black just Stop it!

Now that we’re rolling, let’s stop people from giving their phone numbers faster than a speeding bullet. “What’s your number?” “Three three six seven zip zip zipzipzipzip.” Say what? Especially on an answering machine. I’ll have to play that sucker back a hunnert times, and I still won’t understand it. Is it a new contest of some sort? Stop it. Slow down.

One more and we’re done for the day. I know, you can’t hardly wait. That’s it. Can’t hardly. Somewhere in the back of your brain there probably lurks a grammar school lesson on the evils of double negatives. Dust it off. If you’re having trouble waiting (or hearing or seeing or moving or whatever), then you can hardly wait (hardly hear, see, move, etc.). If you say you can’t hardly, then you’re saying the opposite of what you mean. You CAN hardly. Do you sometimes say “can’t hardly”?

Stop it.

###

Before you hang that big ole sing, proofread it first

2007-11-02T08:02:00.001-07:00

You’ve done it — you’ve driven innocently along a road and glanced over to read a huge sign with some horrendous language error proudly displayed. It’s one thing to make mistakes in private, but to pay someone to make a mistake on a sign … and then to display it? Well, that’s another story.

For a long time I’ve enjoyed going along Market St. downtown and seeing the big banner shouting about the wonderful “Condo’s” for sale. (I think it’s gone now.) Let’s talk a little about plurals, shall we? Do you think that the same people would offer dog’s for sale? Or cat’s? What in the world inspires some people to add an apostrophe to plain ole words? Do those people buy ticket’s for a show or get meal’s to go?

As I said, it’s one thing to do that unthinkingly, but don’t PAY a sign maker to do it, and — worst of all — don’t put it on display. Check with someone first. Go online and look it up, use a dictionary, ask an English teacher. (N.B., I did not say to ask a columnist.)

A long-standing and common public error occurs on signs and in menus. You’ll often see restaurants bragging about their special “dinning room.” I have noticed that misspelling so much that at home I now tend to call it that, rhyming it with “winning.”

Mistakes happen. My strong advice is to ask someone before you take your print job to the printer. Shoot — ask the printer!

There’s a private college in Greensboro that has signs in many of its toilet facilities, and the signs read, “Please flush comode.” At least the signs say “please”; they could have just issued a comand.

Oh — you know the apostrophe-for-plurals mistake we began with today? I think we should talk about a similar error that you might have made yourselves: your mailbox. All right, it might be a freestanding sign in your front yard. Let’s see if you have it right.

Let’s say your last name is Smith. Let’s also say you have a family with people using your last name, and they live in your house. Would that make it a house containing Smiths, or would it give us a house filled with Smith’s? Remember the dog-and-cat rule: one dog, two dogs; one cat, two cats. It applies here, as well: one Smith, two Smiths. Simple.

So why do some Smith people put out signs saying Smith’s? You see it all over — Hudson’s, Wilson’s, Johnson’s, etc. Interestingly, apartment dwellers (I was tempted to write “dweller’s” just to keep you alert) don’t seem to suffer the same plural problem. On their mailbox plates, they tend to write Hudson or Johnson or whatever, in the singular. As in, this is the Smith apartment.

Maybe the Smith’s people think that their apostrophe shows ownership. You know, the Smith family members own this house, so it is the Smith’s house. Unfortunately, if that’s the desire, then Smiths’ is the way to go. Make it plural first, and then show some possession.

Enough. Let’s drive along some more streets and laugh at more commercial signs. You have to love the ones enticing you to “pre-register” for something. Another favorite of mine is when a new complex puts up a banner screaming that it is “pre-selling.”

You do see the problems, yes? No one is going to pre-register. You simply register. And how can you pre-sell something? You simply sell the darned thing. I get mail announcing that I’m “pre-qualified!!” No, I’m put out. Stop the pre-nonsense.

We all goof up when we’re in a rush, but please try to be extra careful before you go public. Also, try to remember that if you have a simple noun or a simple name, odds are that the way to make it plural is just to add an “s” at the end. If it already ends that way, “es” is the way to go (the Jones family, the Joneses). And if you want clients to register early, say just that.

Gotta run — we’ve finished pre-cooking our steak’s so I’m off to the dinning room.

###

You guessed it: Did-dint, could-dint, and so on and so forth

2007-11-02T08:01:00.000-07:00

Have you heard announcers and hosts and others on radio and television say what distinctly sounds like this: “We did-dint know the answer,” or “He could-dint stop it”? It’s sweeping the nation, it’s like a wildfire and it’s driving me crazy.

Let’s assume that throwing the extra “d” sound into “didn’t” and “couldn’t” is done for a noble reason. Let’s assume the speakers are merely trying to enunciate as clearly as possible. Chances are, that’s exactly what they’re trying to do — speak clearly and distinctly. Unfortunately, it lets us hear clearly and distinctly how wrong they sound.

Do this: Say “did.” Say it aloud, please. How many “d” sounds do you pronounce in that word? Try it again — “did.” Two, right? That is also how many there should be in “didn’t.”

There should be only one “d” sound in “couldn’t,” in “wouldn’t” and even in “shouldn’t” — one each. No extras, as in did-dint, could-dint, would-dint, should-dint. Holy consonants, Batman, we need to get busy. We’ve blinked in the past, and the language has suffered. Let’s put the pride back in did-n’t.

Speaking of speaking, there’s a phrase that, you guessed it, drives me bananas. It’s “even as we speak.” It wouldn’t (not would-dint) bother me if the people who say it were truly engaged in a two-way conversation when they say it. Trouble is, it’s usually tossed in when only one person is speaking. In those cases, it’s both inaccurate and off-putting. The person really means that the thing is happening “as I speak,” but it would be much better merely to say that it’s happening “now.”

Another irritating phrase is “you guessed it.” I used it in the preceding paragraph as an example. Look back and try to remember if you really did guess that I was going to say that the thing drives me bananas. I doubt that you guessed it. The phrase is used widely in newspapers and in broadcast, and almost every time I encounter it I shout: “NO. I DID NOT GUESS IT.” It makes me feel better, but so far it hasn’t changed anything else.

While I’m on a semi-rant about speech matters, let’s look at “et cetera.” In the first place, it’s to be pronounced et cetera, not ex cetera. Second, its abbreviation is etc., not ect. Third, because it means “and the other things” or “and the rest,” it is redundant to write or say “and et cetera,” because you are in effect saying “and and the rest.” Finally, one et cetera covers ALL the rest of the things you’re discussing, so you do not have to say “et cetera et cetera.”

While we’re in this category, is it absolutely necessary to say “and so on and so forth”? Don’t you think “and so on” covers it? When is enough enough? Same thing goes for “in any way, shape or form.” Really now. “In any way” covers the gamut. You can stop there.

I have a preacher friend who says, “… in any way, shape, form or fashion.” Oh, all right, I can happily announce that he used to say that. I think he’s gone to the more economical “in any way” these days, but I can’t shake the feeling that on occasion the rhythm of the long version might seduce him.

Rhythm probably does not explain why some people repeat the “or not” in a “whether or not” sentence. I always cringe when I hear “whether or not,” waiting for the repetition. “Whether or not he resigns or not” was on the radio this morning. Blech. My preacher could say “whether or not he resigns or not or not or not.” You could almost dance to it.

Some final pronunciation thoughts — My personal preference is to pronounce the “g” in “recognize.” Many people do not, and in some places it’s listed as optional, but I think it belongs. It gives the word so much more presence, no? It’s already there, go ahead and give it a good hard hit. And for heaven’s sake, the word is pronounced “supposedly,” not “supposebly.”

Where do people come up with this stuff? “She was here before, supposebly, but I did-dint recuhnize her.”

Whether or not you want more or not, my time is, you guessed it, up.

###

It won’t wrong, just Southern

2007-11-02T07:58:00.001-07:00

One of the reasons I went to college up North was to see what Yankees were like. At first, they sounded funny. Then, over Christmas break, I found myself having trouble understanding even the dialect of my home state.

I grew up in Houston, but when I went to spend the holiday with relatives in a small Texas town, I was called an unusual name. Driving slowly through the neighborhood, looking for the right house and enjoying the warmth with the car windows open, I occasionally waved at little kids playing in their yards. Almost every time I waved, a kid would smile, wave back and holler “Hattie” at me. It happened repeatedly, always “Hattie.”

When I got to the right house and settled in, I asked about it — who’s Hattie? Why in the world would kids call me Hattie? The answer: “Oh, they were just being friendly and saying hello.” But they didn’t say hello, they called me Hattie. “Oh no,” said the relatives, “they were saying ‘Hidy,’ as a form of hello.”

So the Texas dialect had them saying hidy for hello, and the thick, small-town accent made it sound like Hattie. It makes me glad for the North Carolina “Heyyyyy”!

I learned some other interesting phrases and pronunciations when we moved to North Carolina, decades ago. One involves “won’t,” as in “She didn’t see it coming, but it won’t no surprise.” Putting aside the misuse of “won’t” for “wasn’t,” the “won’t no” double negative means it WAS a surprise (as would be the equally incorrect but less used “wasn’t no surprise”). However, few people who hear “it won’t no surprise” misunderstand.

Also interesting are the pronunciations of “Wal-Mark” for “Wal-Mart” and “dest” for “desk.” They’re interesting mainly because the “k” and “t” sounds are switched so neatly. At one point I had some scratch pads printed that said “From the dest of Mike Clark,” but too few people caught the joke.

There are tons of books that talk about Southern pronunciations and other language quirks attributed to the South. I’m mainly interested in regional sayings that convey some real meaning while having a style that is interesting, filled with character, often rhythmical.

Another Houstonian, Dan Rather, used Texas-styled sayings throughout his career. Many people felt they were inappropriate, but some of them were interesting. Consider these: “This race is tight like a too-small bathing suit on a too-long ride home from the beach”; “Bush has run through Dixie like a big wheel through a cotton field”; and, possibly his most famous, “We don't know what to do. We don't know whether to wind a watch or bark at the moon.” The Ratherisms weren’t successful all the time, but at least they encouraged a closer listen.

My mother used to exclaim, “Oh for heavenly stars and garters.” Have you heard that expression? I think it goes back to a British astronomer in the 1800s. He was reputed to have commented on the heavens with “my stars and garters,” with the garters referring to a mark of his knighthood. But even if that’s the case, I have no idea how my mother got to her version of it, or why she used it.

Of course “bless her heart” and “sit a spell” and others are so widespread that they raise no eyebrows, but if your family has sayings that sing, some phrases that contain a touch of poetry in the depth of regionalism, please email them to me at the address below.

In the meantime, let me address one school phrase that you hear from grade school to graduate school. You must admit that at some point, your teacher told you to write a paper that would compare and contrast something. I have had this reaction to “compare and contrast” since I was 8 years old — in three words: (1) drives (2) me (3) crazy.

What does it mean to compare things? It means to examine them to see where they’re the same and where they’re different, to note the similarities as well as the dissimilarities. So if you compare things, you automatically contrast them. I’ll admit that a “contrast” command would look only for differences, but if you compare, you’re done, finished; no further contrast work is needed. So teachers, stop saying “compare and contrast,” please. Makes us want to bark at the moon.

###

Language mavens, we’ve come so far

2007-11-02T07:57:00.001-07:00

Talk about preaching to the choir. You’re not reading this column — or any column about language — unless you’re already converted to the mission, the goal, the lifelong quest. You and I are here to ferret out abuses of our language and, even more important, to correct them!

We’ve come so far, you and I. We’ve effectively stopped people from saying “No problem” instead of “You’re welcome.” We’ve stopped others from saying or writing “at this point in time,” “tuna fish” and even “12 noon.” Shoot, we’ve even corrected all the abuses of personal pronouns, so we’ll never again hear “It belongs to her and I.” We’ve done all that.

Haven’t we?

Let’s pretend that we have. And with that kind of success under our collective belt, let me give you some items that you, yourself, language maven that you are, might benefit from. Today’s column is for you, babe.

We’ll start with acronyms. The mistake is in thinking that “acronym” sounds fancier than, but is really a synonym for, “abbreviation.” It does sound fancier, but the two words are not interchangeable. IBM and HTML are abbreviations; NATO and AIDS are acronyms. Can you figure out the difference?

An acronym is a word. Yes, it comes from the initial letters of a group of words, but it has its own pronunciation. So here’s the easy test: If you pronounce each letter of something (IBM), it’s an abbreviation. If you pronounce the letters as if they comprised a new word (NATO), it’s an acronym.

There are some well-known lowercase acronyms, including laser (for light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation) and scuba (for self-contained underwater breathing apparatus). I mention that because it leads us to the next just-for-you-I-hope-you-enjoy-it item: The word “lowercase” is just that, a single word. Same goes for uppercase. (But remember — “under way” should be two words.)

Now let’s talk about some of your pronunciations. This’ll be fun, yes? (We can start with making sure you never pronounce that word “pronounciations.”) Some people — even those who are particularly literate in many ways — pronounce “particularly” this way: “particurly.” Dropping one of the word’s sounds or syllables is called an elision, and it is not something we want to do.

How about this one — have you ever heard people say “finely” instead of “finally”? I’m sure you have never done that yourself, but you might KNOW people who have. The same goes for “didn’t.” In an earlier column, I talked about the current trend of over-pronouncing that word, making it “did-dint.” But today’s topic of elisions means we need to ensure that we never say “dint,” dropping the second syllable.

Being a native of Houston, I’d like us to talk about the different ways we pronounce the letter “h.” The word is Houston, not You-ston. There is a huge hill over there, not a yuge hill. And while we’re at it, let me encourage you not to say, “It was an historic event.” If you pronounce the “h,” then precede it with an “a”; if the “h” is silent and the word starts with a vowel sound, then swing right into an “an.”

That means you would correctly say, “It was an honest mistake, the event was a historic one — all in all, a horrid tale.” Yes, some sophisticated people like to say “an historic.” I think that they think it makes them seem even more sophisticated. La-dee-da. Some say, “Well, it’s British!” (So, it must be classy, eh?) It might be British, in that some British accents give us, “She’s an ‘istorian, Guv,” with the “h” being dropped.

In truth, so many people say it that it is not considered wrong. But you and I know better. Don’t say “an history book,” don’t say “an historical day” and don’t say “that was an hysterical joke.” Not even in Houston.

Thinking of things British and with a nod to both Roger Federer and Rafa Nadal, let us all promise that we will never, ever, even accidentally, pronounce Wimbledon with a “t.” It might take some vigilance, but “Wimbleton” is flat out wrong.

A final thought for you. One day I was with Greensboro College President Craven Williams, and he laughed at a sign in front of a house. It said: “For Sale by Owner.” I asked why he was chuckling, and he said, “Aren’t they all?”

Think about it.

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Oh Nurse, like, more meds

2007-10-30T17:54:00.000-07:00

Now I understand why young people think we old people are crotchety. It’s because old people get that way from hearing young people suck all intelligence and nuance and grace from the English language.

I assume it happens in other languages and countries as well, thus explaining the global rise of crotchety-osity.

Several weeks ago I was in Washington, D.C., and a teenaged girl plopped down on a chair next to me, placing both of her pink-sneakered feet directly onto the upholstered furniture as she made a cell-phone call that opened with, “Like, where are you?” I wanted to bolt.

“Are you, like, still at the mall? Oh. My. God. Like, I’m still here, and it’s like sooooo boring.” I wanted to scream.

“There’s like, nothing to do.” Let me point out that we were in the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian. Unfortunately, the museum had no, like, video games.

She went on: “Waitwaitwait listen. Like my cousin? Rachel? Like she was here last year? And, like, she got so bored? That they, like, had to practically put her in like an institution?” I left.

My wife insists that all generations after ours will speak with the question inflection (where sentences? and phrases? all end with an upturn? of the voice?) and with “like” sprinkled throughout all speech. I say put me in a retirement home now. She says it won’t help — that all staff members will speak that way from this point forward. I say I’ll need good medications.

Yes, I have complained to you about both of those uses in the past. However, the problem seems to be spreading. Perhaps you, dear readers, need to be even more conscientious about confronting the guilty parties and hollering “Stop it!” very loudly, just to raise language awareness.

Admittedly, even those of us who avoid the question inflection and the like-like irritants still make our share of silly mistakes. Let me offer you what might be an error you’ve not considered before. Have you ever mentioned your hot water heater to anyone? Do you see the error?

Why would you spend money for a machine that would heat hot water? If the water’s already hot, you’re done. Pass the soap.

In fact, water heaters (the term you’ll want to use, I hope) heat water that is not hot. Most of the time, that underground water is pretty cool when the heating starts. In that case, if “water heater” just isn’t enough for you, you might want to go with “cold water heater.” People will think you’re bonkers, but it might help you avoid saying “hot water heater.”

Next we turn to a description that you yourself must have used. I owe an awareness of it to my friend and sociology professor Paul Leslie, who pointed out to me some years ago that talking about “the real world” is usually a specious use. Putting the MTV reality series “The Real World” aside, most of the time we refer to “the real world,” we’re saying that the current living conditions are not truly the real world.

Example: “You think you have it bad as a college sophomore — just wait until you have to function in the real world.” In fact, most of the time we use that phrase, we’re talking to or about students, and usually they’re in college. Not always, but usually.

The life of a young person, whether in high school or in college, is the real world for them at that time. Deadlines are real; tests and exams are real; relationships are intense and very real. So are all the daily challenges of food and laundry and beer (oops). The realities of a young adult might not be the same as those of an older adult, but they are no less real.

Think of it this way: Even if you’ve said something about a young adult having it easier now than in the real world, I doubt that you’d turn to a 9-year-old and say, “Yeah, you think that broken bike is serious? Wait till you get in the real world!”

I know I’d never do that, and here’s why. The wee one, tears flowing down his or her scrunched-up little face, would likely say: “Um, like, my bike? That’s, like, broken? Well, um, it, like, is the real world to me.”

Nurse!

Right red is good to go

2007-10-30T14:53:00.000-07:00

I knew I was Back South when the doctor looked in my mouth. I had spent 18 years Way Up North (sounds like Alaska; it was Omaha), and we had just moved back to the South, to North Carolina. My throat was killing me, so I went to a doctor.

After he inserted the standard popsicle stick and shone his little burglar’s flashlight beam into my mouth, he uttered the words that brought me back to my roots: “Yup, it looks right red.”

I had lived Way Up North for so long that I was unsure at first, and with my mouth still agape I gurgled a “Huh?” back at him. The repetition confirmed that he had not, in fact, said it was “bright red” or “quite red,” but “right red.” I knew better than to wonder if there is a wrong red. I knew I was home.

Many generous readers have sent me some of their own favorite Southernisms. There are too many to include them all here, but I would like to mention a few. Reader Nelda wrote me that she had spent a good amount of time living in my hometown in Texas: “It took some adjusting when I moved to Houston and found out that when a person leaned too far back in his chair, he might pitch ofen the porch or even tump out into the yard.”

Yes, Nelda, yes! I never use “ofen” myself, but I admit to saying “tump” freely my whole life. It takes a few years for some transplants from Way Up North to take to the use of “tump” (not to mention to take to the phrase “take to”), but it is, many admit, worth the effort. Even my wife has learned our ways and now knows that things are liken (yes, liken) to get tumped, or even tumped over. These days she herself can be heard to say, “Will you please tump over that bowl to get the water out?”

Obviously the software I’m using to write this does not recognize the wonderfulness of “tump.” It gives a red jagged warning underline, and it suggests that what I REALLY want to say is “tamp, thump, trump, stump or dump.” Nuh-uh.

Reader Watts tells about hearing “Hit’s a-comin’ up a storm,” whereas Reader Harry reports a similar phrase with “come a cloud,” meaning a large thunderstorm. In Houston, the worst possible weather news, other than hurricanes from the Gulf, was usually stated simply as, “a nor’easter’s comin’.”

Reader Harry also sent me a phrase from his Drives-Me-Crazy collection. He says this: “In giving directions, people often say to go to the third red light and turn left instead saying to go to the third traffic light. When I hear this expression, I am wont to ask, what if the light is green? I have heard this only in the South.”

Gosh. I guess if that traffic light is green, you keep going until you hit a third red one. Ha. Speaking of only in the South, until I moved to North Carolina in 1986, I had never heard “Good to go.” Now, of course, it’s everywhere. It has a nice folksy sound to it, and it somehow expresses more than merely saying one is “ready.”

Readers Randal and Kimberly added a footnote to my mention of the Southern pronunciation of “Wal-Mart” as “Wal-Mark.” They say: “Recently you spoke about ‘Wal-Mark.’ Around here, people go to the Wal-Mart, the Food Lion.” They’re right about that “the.” I do hear “You can get it at the Wal-Mark.” Sometimes it’s even plural, as in “the Wal-Marks.”

Remember Reader Watts who told us hit was comin’ up a storm? He also wrote me about this one: — “My battrey's done died on me!” Well, that’s a cryin’ shame right there. Or, as my grandmother would have put it, “Well, foot.”

I need to tell you and Watts that yesterday a Summerfield woman told me that the rain on her farm this summer “put a hurtin’ on that crick yonder.” I looked, and sure ‘nuff, that crick done run so hard it were plumb tuckered out. It’s calmed down some, but it won’t never be the same.

Finally, this morning a nice woman said to me: “Are you the guy what writes that column in the paper?” Naturally, I gave the only appropriate response: “Are you the one what reads it?”

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To read well, well, read

2007-10-30T14:27:00.000-07:00

My normal advice to young (and not-young) people who want to become better writers is this: Read. Read a lot. The same advice holds for those who want to become better readers — read.

Reading copiously can give you great pleasure, can expand your perspective of the world and can shed light on how your own life relates to that of others. It also can give you an appreciation of language — its style, its powers, its versatility and beauty.

However, keep in mind that words and punctuation in print sometimes … how can I put this nicely? Um, they’re wrong. Yep — books and magazines (even newspapers, on occasion, can you believe it?) make errors. So don’t simply assume that everything in print is correct. Let’s look at some recent examples and play a wee game at the same time. I’ll give you some excerpts from recent newspapers and magazines, and you see if you can spot (and correct!) the errors. To make it more interesting, not all of these examples will have mistakes. Ready?

(1) “The chart below illustrates the number of residents over the age of 25, who are high school graduates and those who have a bachelor’s degree or higher.”
(2) “Pam takes us back in time — with gorgeous photos by her husband Mike — for a leisurely day on the grounds.”
(3) “There’s glacial deposits on top.”
(4) “She was beautiful, the penultimate embodiment of sensuality.”
(5) “[The company called] PrideStaff, has 39 offices.”
(6) “My father left; Mother went too.”

How do you think you did? Was it easy? Let’s look first at the comma challenges, shall we? The first excerpt displays the mistake that many writers make: Being unsure about when to use a comma, they buy a basket of them and then sprinkle them over the paper, letting them fall wherever the breeze blows. See that comma after “25”? Kill it. Now look at #5. There is no reason in the WORLD for the comma in that sentence, except that the wind blew one there.

Next we’ll examine #3. “There’s” means “There is.” Would you say, “There is deposits on top”? I didn’t think so. Number 4 is easy, too. The speaker meant to say that she is the quintessential embodiment. “Penultimate” means next to last.

Now let’s take a deep breath and attack #2. You might have some trouble with this one. Husband Mike is the problem. So many people write about “his wife Kathy” or “her husband Jeff.” Wrong. Try to keep this in mind: If you have more than one of something, then no comma is the correct way to go. But we don’t normally have more than one spouse at a time, do we?

Let’s say you have three sisters — Abby, Betsy and Carla. In that case, it would be correct to write about your sister Abby, your sister Betsy or even your wonderful sister Carla. But here’s the tough part: If you have only one of something — spouses, children, dogs, cats — set it off with commas. Say “His wife, Kathy, left.” Two dogs? “This is my dog Fido.” One dog? “This is my dog, Fang.” It’s not easy, is it? But now you know.

Number 6 has no mistakes. Capitalize Mother and Father as names; lowercase my mother and your father.

Turn to your favorite style guide to find the right way to write, but simply READ to develop a love of language. Start at an early age and read forever.

I returned some library books today at a branch that has a little conveyor belt outside the door. You put your books on it, chided by a harsh recording that commands, “Place the books on the belt ONE AT A TIME!!” I always feel chastised. Anyway, ahead of me were a woman with her two small girls, around the ages of 5 and 9.

The 9-year-old was dutifully placing the books on the moving belt (ONE AT A TIME!), and when she got to the last book she took a slight beat — just enough for her mom and sister to turn and start walking away.

Then, left basically alone, the girl performed one small movement with the final book that I was just able to see. It was a tiny gesture, but extraordinary. She looked at that book’s cover, almost longingly, and right before placing it on the belt, she kissed it.

Ah, I thought, there’s hope.

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