Author Archives: Geraldine

About Geraldine

Forty years of teaching English, a lifetime of walking around New York City, and fifty or so books: my qualifications for making snarky comments on language as I see and hear it in New York.

Grammarian in Dublin, Part 2

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I don’t know whether everyone in Dublin has kissed the legendary Blarney Stone (“legendary” as in “imaginary or invented”), thereby picking up facility with language along with whatever microbes the previous kisser left behind. I do know that words seemed, to this tourist, more intriguing in Ireland than in many other spots I’ve visited, such as West 34th Street or Brooklyn Heights. Take this sign:

Alouders unite.

“Alouders” isn’t in the dictionary, but who cares? It’s easy to recognize “alouder” as “reciter.” Easy for everyone and everything except for autocorrect, that is, which keeps trying to change “alouder” to “alder.” I may never see “a poem as lovely as a tree,” to quote Joyce Kilmer, but I’d hate to trade the spoken word for a forest. 

Then there’s this sign, cemented into an outer wall of the Museum of Decorative Arts, which is located in a former military installation called the Collins Barracks:

I have two theories about this sign. It may mark the location of a last-ditch line of defense. I mean, what else are you supposed to use if you run out of bullets and your saber’s edge is dull? Or it may be an art project, a cryptic reference to what can break bones. (I couldn’t find a similar panel labeled “Words That Can Never Hurt Me.”) 

 Perhaps my favorite Dublin sign is this one:

Grammar School

The school building has undoubtedly been modified since its founding more than four centuries ago. But St. Patrick’s Grammar School is still there, and still in session! Across the street in the Marsh Library (established in the 16th century also), a grammar book used by some of St. Patrick’s original students is on display. 

That’s not blarney. That’s education.

Grammarian in Dublin

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I’m not Irish, but a recent trip to Dublin almost made me wish I were. A few reasons: the Dublin Writers Museum, the National Library’s exhibit on William Butler Yeats, and the bartender who explained that his job was “coaxing frogs to water.” I mean, how can you not love a place with this sign:

The display of ancient Irish artifacts behind the card was interesting, but more appealing was the fact that Ireland’s National Museum of Archaeology assumes that visitors know the meaning of “plinth.” (I looked it up: “a heavy base.”)

Near a busy intersection I spotted this electronic notice:

Cyclists were plentiful, but no one was smoking. It was daytime (though cloudy), and if any bikes had headlights, I missed them. Thus I have no clue what the sign means, but I like it all the same.

Here’s one of my favorites, painted on the wall of the Little Museum of Dublin. The room recreates the office of an editor of the Irish Times:

This quotation is from an editorial published in April 1916, while bloody battles raged throughout the city. To paraphrase: If you have to stay inside to avoid getting killed in a civil war, you may as well read Shakespeare. I’m in peaceful surroundings now, but I may just follow the newspaper’s advice. More Dublin gems will appear in my next post.

Twenty Something

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Regarding the title of this post: “Twenty,” because that’s the number trending on signs around town. “Something,” because the message of each of these signs means something. I just don’t know what. Take this sign (please, please take it away):

I like a discount as much as the next person, but I’m a little hesitant to buy a “damaged boxes item.” And no, there was nothing under or near the sign to give me context. No damaged boxes, no item.

Here I know what they’re selling, sort of, but there’s still a problem:

Actually, several problems. Once you say “Coca-Cola,” doesn’t that narrow things down, making “beverage” redundant? Are there Coca-Cola sandwiches? Cookies? (Forget I asked. I don’t want to know.) My real issue is with “200Z,” which looks like a serial number. Given the nearby illustration of more sugary beverage than anyone should ever drink, I’m assuming that “200Z” needs a space, as in “20 OZ,” the abbreviated form of “20 ounces.”  I’m not sure whether the pizza crust and sauce under the pair of cheese slices are included in the $5.95 price, but at least the store inserted the hyphen correctly.

I saved the best (actually the worst) for last:

If you hope to meet a regular customer, your odds are 4 out of 5, I guess, because  “today” has “20% new clients.” Actually, new “client’s.” I was tempted to erase the hyphen with my sleeve, but I can’t spend all day deleting apostrophes from NYC signs. I have better things to do, like figure out what the shop offers. The part I glimpsed through the window left me clueless. Besides, the sign may be referring to something belonging to the 20%, in which case the possessive is appropriate.  The only problem, aside from the fact that there’s no indication of what’s possessed, is that the apostrophe should appear after the letter S (the plural form), because “20%” implies more than one person. They can’t chop up one person!  I think at least twenty-something percent of us can agree on that point.

 

Happy Halloween!

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Before or after you hit the trick-or-treat trail, take a minute to enjoy  these holiday photos. This one comes from my friend Milton:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Punking” seems perfectly suited to the “trick” part of the Halloween slogan, don’t you think?

Mary Shelley’s famous novel, Frankenstein, is also a good fit for this holiday. The Morgan Library has a fine exhibit celebrating the 200th anniversary of the monster, who, by the way, has no name and is actually much less monstrous than most of the human characters in the book. (Frankenstein is the name of the doctor who sewed body parts together and animated the creature.) I learned a lot from the exhibition, including this information about early theatrical performances of the classic work:

Leave it to Mary Shelley, inventive in so many ways, to add an apostrophe and the letter S to a row of hyphens to create a possessive form of “the unnameable.”

Once Halloween is over and you’re fighting sugar rush and paying dental bills, you might plan for another holiday, one that tends to be stressful. Show this sign — sent by my friends Pilar, Naomi, and Aracelly — to any of your unruly offspring:

“Behave or I’ll drop you off.” Simple but effective! But before your kids call Children’s Protective Services, be sure to explain that you’re just punking them.

What Are You Reading?

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I was the kind of kid who fell down the stairs because I didn’t want to stop reading whatever book I’d just taken out of the library. Then I became an English teacher and a writer. So you’ll understand why my heart went pitter-patter when I saw this on a forklift outside a large food market in my neighborhood:

I pass this store often, so I can report with confidence that every forklift has a “literature packet” strapped to its vertical shaft. I’ve spent a lot of time speculating about the contents of the “literature packet,” wondering what genres are represented and whether the literature changes with the seasons. This being autumn, I’d choose Frost’s “After Apple-Picking”  or “This Is Just to Say” by William Carlos Williams, possibly the best poem ever written about food larceny. (It’s the one where the speaker confesses that he has “eaten the plums” that someone was “probably saving for breakfast.”)  Or maybe the packet contains the script of “Babette’s Feast” or the Christmas dinner scene from Great Expectations.  Yes, I know, the “literature” is probably operating instructions, but a grammarian can dream, can’t she?

Less appealing is this headline from The New York Times, the newspaper I read every day and which, in my opinion, should know better than to write this:

According to the dictionary, a “drove” is “a herd or flock” or “a large mass of people acting in unison.” Therefore, “Zimbabweans” can turn out in “droves,” but not “Zimbabwe.” Unless a mass of countries with that name  somehow didn’t make it onto the map?

Hanging by a thread onto the theme of this post (that you have to read the sign is my only justification, other than the fact that this one is too good to omit) is an ad for Crocs:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My friend Trent snapped this photo while on vacation. He said thought it might be for “those participating in hop-scotch tournaments” who need a spare Croc “in case of a “blow-out.” Excellent theory. As for me, I wonder whether someone taking advantage of this deal ends up with five shoes, as depicted in the sign, or five pairs. The first would be quite useful for those of us who have five feet — huge, untapped market there! — and the second for people who don’t feel their shoe supply is adequate unless they can cover every weekday with a different pair of Crocs. I’m not in either category, and I strongly suspect not many readers fit Trent’s theory either. If only this sign came with a literature packet! Then we’d know. If there are any “droves of Croc” reading this post, please feel free to enlighten us. In the meantime, happy reading.

I Give Up

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After decades of bellyaching about the sad state of NYC signs, I have officially given up  — on some issues, not on all. Grammarian in the City will no longer object to the following:

As far as I’m concerned, BOGO all you want. I once thought that the concept of “buy one get one” was an unnecessary statement of the standard deal between buyer and seller. But now I see that most BOGO-users are too busy surfing social media to add an “F,” for “free.” Or maybe they think that BOGOF sounds like a mediocre brand of caviar. I commend this sign-writer for specifying the terms of the deal, spelling out “buy one get one” for “50% Off,” though strictly speaking the sign should read “BOGAOF50%O” (buy one get another one for 50% off). I concede that such a sign resembles the kind of password people concoct and promptly forget. I will, however, raise an objection to “tight.” I  prefer to cover both legs with “tights,” not just one with a “FREE tight.” And $75 is a little steep, don’t you think?

I’ve also thrown in the towel when it come to hyphens:

My first glimpse of this truck made we wonder whether Bunsen burners are prone to out-of-control blazes. If so, I thought, there is certainly a need for “scientific-fire prevention.” But perhaps this company pursues customers who prefer that the laws of physics take priority in battling flames? That meaning would call for “scientific fire-prevention.” Whatever. I’m done with fulminating about hyphenating.

Nor will I say one word about the silliness of this sort of sign:

Okay, just a couple of words: Is there anyone who believes that amateurs rent stores, buy equipment, and have signs painted so that they can repair “hand-bags,” zippers,” and “luggage”?  Judging from the trend to specify “professional” dry-cleaning, barbering, and other services, I guess the answer is yes. No matter. I don’t care. I can even live with this sign’s reference to moribund footwear (“dying” not “dyeing”).

Inaccurate acronyms, missing hyphens, and dead shoes:  This “professional” grammarian has given up on them all.

What’s Open?

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When my son was little, we couldn’t walk down our block without having the baker rush over with a piece of bread, the dry cleaner offer candy, and the deli clerk donate a cookie. Toddler paradise! When I walk down that same street with my granddaughter, her experience is different. So many stores have closed! E-commerce and, I’ve read, some unwise rent laws have led to a surge in vacancies. What’s open, and when? These signs offer absolutely no help:

Given this timetable, I expect another empty storefront soon. Here’s another:

I’m happy about the “Grand Open”; at least the storefront isn’t vacant. I do wonder whether the $29 price includes both feet. I also wonder how long after the “grand open” I’ll see this sort of sign:

Near where the “out business” used to be is this sign, professionally printed and posted all over a building under construction:

According to the dictionary, “amenities” are “desirable or useful features of a building or a place.”  This sign is okay — grammatically, at least. Winding through scaffolding to play billiards or to sit near a communal wine cellar before your apartment is constructed is not okay, at least for me. But if you don’t care, go for it.

Although the word is correctly used in the last sign, I couldn’t help thinking about another definition of “amenities”: “social courtesies.” Sadly, everything I see in our public life shows me that this sort of “amenities” is absolutely NOT “now open.” If we can’t find our way back to civility, I fear that soon we will also be “out business,” and not just from 11 to 12 each day.

Unmentionables

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This morning, for algorithmic reasons beyond my comprehension, a video of a woman squeezing herself into some sort of elastic tube appeared on my social-media feed. Her message, after the tube had turned into a tourniquet around her waist, was that this garment hurt. Well, duh. Call me old-fashioned, but there are a few things I’d rather not see. Or know, such as what this sign means:

I know it costs $4. I know that the number one and “Pcs” don’t match. I don’t want to know what an “ashtray glass bra” is, much less buy or wear one. In case you’re wondering, this sign was in front of a (strapless) jar.

Nor do I care to discuss this sign:

Is $12 the sale price? Or are the bras even cheaper, now that they’re on sale? Are they made of glass ashtrays? Forget I asked. I don’t want to know.

Moral of this post: The Victorians called underwear “unmentionables” for a reason. A good reason.

Tense Teaching

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Labor Day has passed, and school has begun. Like autumn leaves, rants from nonteachers about what’s wrong with our schools/teachers/kids pop up, exasperating pretty much everybody who’s ever actually entered a classroom and tried to educate some kids. It seems like a good time to examine a photo my friend Catherine, a fine teacher, sent me:

Catherine spotted this in a doctor’s office, where the medical staff either believed that their patients already knew everything or saw the task of educating them as hopeless. Or, more likely, the docs were too busy filling out insurance forms to tuck some pamphlets into the container.

But there’s another way to interpret this sign. It labels “education” as “patient.” In my opinion, that’s what true education is and what teachers must be. Patient people know that change takes time. And time is tense  (not the physical and emotional state, though “tense” is what anyone would feel after spending the day with twenty squirming, wish-it-were-still-summer, small beings). In grammar, tense creates a time frame.  

Teachers work in three tenses. They must take into account what their students already know (past tense) and what the kids are doing now (present tense), be it wadding gum into the spout of the water fountain or solving long division problems. Invisible but most important is the work teachers do in and for the future. Good teachers don’t simply impart information. They cultivate critical thinking, healthy life habits, and an appreciation of others’ perspectives. They don’t see immediate results. But those seeds grow, slowly. In the future, what teachers planted — they can only hope! — matures and ripens.

I have one more sign for all nonteachers espousing unfounded and unfunded ideas about education:

 

 

Politicians and pundits: Go ahead and disturb all the classes that aren’t “in session.” Then take a moment to thank teachers for creating our future.

Grammarians in Other Cities

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New York is generally the city  this grammarian is in, but not always.  On a recent trip to Washington, D.C., I found myself puzzled by more than politics:

This sign was in the window of a shop specializing in shipping and receiving packages. At first I thought the clerks were tired of inquiries about a service they did not provide, but the walls were lined with mail boxes. My next theory was that the sign would disappear when the mail showed up. Over the course of four days, though, the sign remained, even at night. My third and final thought — though I’m open to suggestions — is that this sign is an existential statement (“The mail is not here because it, like life, is an illusion”).

Before I returned to New York to retrieve my all-too-existent mail, mostly ads and bills, I walked around the capital. Tiring, I headed for the metro on 12th Street.  I was heartened by the fact that I was currently on 13th. Only one block to go, I thought. Wrong! Here’s what I saw at the next corner:

That’s it for Washington. Friendly grammarians in other cities sent me these gems. From Ellie in Montreal:

One can only hope that this fellow’s brick work is better than his spelling of “chimney.”

Here’s a contribution from Don in San Francisco:

I do hope that the “ethnic ingredients” have been cooked into some sort of meal, rather than presented as a set of separate, grocery-store packages. Ditto for the “can vegetables.” And while we’re on the subject of “can vegetables,” is that something the restaurant really wants to brag about?  Or is this some sort of “truth in labeling” requirement?  Given that both halves of the sign are labeled “lunch & dinner,” the offerings are strange. I guess you could enjoy them on a half-street, next to a fireplace with a clean chimniey, as you read no mail.