Tag Archives: English usage

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.

Punc. Puzzles

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What governs whether a sign-maker has room for letters and punctuation? Font? The size of the sign? I’m going for chaos theory, based on these signs. The first is from the “Dept of Transportation”:

Somehow “ped” got a period, but “dept” didn’t. Both are abbreviations, “ped” being the shortened form for “pedestrian” and “dept” for “department.” In case you’re wondering (actually, despite the fact that you’re not wondering at all), I should mention that this NYC “dept” isn’t consistent when it comes to punctuation relating to walkers:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe the plural “peds” seems different to the dept? Grammatically, it’s not.

Not only “depts,” but also building owners get creative with punctuation:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neither of the two sentences on this sign ends with a period. Also, “owners” should have an apostrophe, before the s or after it, depending upon how many people own the bikes. I gave up the apostrophe battle a long time ago, so I won’t dwell on that issue here. I do wonder (a) how the landlord can figure out who owns a bike and (b) exactly how the “expense” is collected. I’m betting this sign is an empty threat. (Also ineffective, given the number of bicycles that have nearly run me down on New York sidewalks. What’s the dept doing with the time saved by ignoring punctuation rules?) I also wonder about the criteria for capital letters in this sign. If standard rules for caps had been in effect, only “No” and “Removal” would qualify (first word of each sentence), as well as the “Ps” in the title, “Private Property.” If the caps were for emphasis, why is “expense” in lower case?

Another:

I understand that consistency is difficult to achieve in, say, a 200-page document. But if you’re working with only two sentences, you ought to be able to spare a period for each or omit the punctuation mark entirely.

Last but not least:

Okay, no period at the end of this sentence: I’m used to that. But I can’t find any reason for a comma before the conjunction “or.”  For that matter, I can’t find a reason for the text as written. Why not just say “DO NOT FEED BIRDS”? Theories welcome. Punc also.

Quick Questions

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I’m not going to ask whether it’s “hot enough for you,” the standard query in NYC during August. In deference to the fact that everyone’s brains are fried, I’ll just post a few signs and ask a simple question about each. Feel free to answer.

On a sidewalk near Second Avenue:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Question: Do they think pedestrians will hurdle over the orange-and-white bars without this reminder?

In a shop on the West Side:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Does the flu vaccine advertised in the small circle to the left of the larger sign complement the lipstick or the powder?

From The New York Times:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is “wildly unparalleled” a zig-zag or a right angle?

Finally, from a mini-golf course in Seattle:

Does this mean you should ignore the hand rails that are NOT provided?

Prize for the best answers is, well, nothing. But try anyway!

Puzzles

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Although it’s still July, I can’t help feeling that we’ve hit the dog days of summer, which should show up in late August. Maybe it’s just me. Or climate change. Regardless, it seems like a good time to present some puzzles to take your mind off the heat. Here we go:

 

 

 

 

 

 

First of all, this sign does not include the word “free,” so it isn’t saying that if you buy one shoe, the store will throw in another one without an additional charge. I don’t need to point out that in the non-shoe world, buying one thing usually results in your getting one thing. An upsetting possibility is that shoe stores are beginning to follow the playbook established by airlines: Charge a basic rate that includes almost nothing, and then add fees. “Want the matching shoe? Upgrade to the pair rate!” If that’s the case, I think I’ll hop.

My friend Catherine spotted this sign:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over several glasses of wine, we decided that this place either offers head-to-toe service or caters to clients with hoof-and-mouth disease. Other theories welcome.

Then there’s this sign:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I didn’t realize that Bento Boxes were “Irish to the Core.” I may have one with a glass of Japanese-to-the-Core Guinness.

Last one:

The truck handle underlines the crucial word, which seems to promise 24-hour service if you need a stringed instrument (the “Viol”) removed. The puzzle: There’s a period after “Viol,” implying an abbreviation (most likely candidate: violation). But there’s also a red dot between “Viol.” and “Removal,” separating the two concepts. Why would a company offer “violation” (abbreviated or not) to its customers? You figure it out. I’m going out for some iced coffee. Or an Irish bento box.

 

Down with Apostrophes!

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Maybe it’s the spirit of rebellion inspired by the approach of Bastille Day, but I have to ask: Why do we need apostrophes?  Perfectly respectable languages — French and Spanish come to mind — manage without them. Does anybody really think that writing “Georges flag” instead of “George’s flag” will mislead a reader? Unfortunately, abolishing apostrophes is not an option I can exercise unilaterally. And while they remain part of the language, I do think they should be used correctly. Often, they aren’t:

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this sign “sheets” is a plural, not a possessive. Therefore, this apostrophe isn’t okay. (Neither were the sheets, which looked a bit faded.) Maybe I should have razored out the apostrophe from that sign and inserted it into this one:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry for the blurry photo; a grate, a screen, and a window blocked me, perhaps an unsuccessful attempt to mask a punctuation problem. The space between the N and the S implies that the sign writer had an inkling that “men s” was a possessive requiring an apostrophe, not a plural to be written without one. Yet somehow the punctuation never made it onto the sign. Nor is it clear what “men s wanted current designers” means. But that’s not an apostrophe issue. “Men’s wanted current designers” is just as confusing.

Here’s a fine pair, from two different stores. Care to guess which is correct?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I vote for the second, reluctantly. In the first, “dine” isn’t a noun. The hot dog and fries could be a “kid’s dinner,” or “kids’ dinners,” if they don’t eat much. But something has to change (both grammatically and nutritionally). The case for the second sign is that “kids” functions as an adjective. Despite watching the “Yankees game” instead of “the Yankees’ game,” I prefer “kids’ classes.” Also a hyphen in “pizza-making.” Nobody ever said I wasn’t picky. Just willing to guillotine apostrophes out of the language.

 

Again with the Prepositions

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The title of this post begins with an adverb and a preposition, in that order. For those who’ve never heard the expression “again with,” imagine those words spoken in exasperation, the same tone you’d use for “not again!” (eyeroll optional).  I hear “again with” often in New York City, but I don’t know whether it’s in common use in other areas. Custom, not set-in-stone grammar rules, generally governs prepositions. I wait “on line” in New York, but my granddaughter, who lives in Seattle, waits “in line.” Both of us are grammatically correct (and usually impatient).

Although you have a fair bit of leeway with prepositions, some usage is downright strange:

 

 

 

 

 

 

The odd texture of this photo comes from the screen in front of the sign. Every time I pass “these windows,” I wonder why a double preposition (“BY or NEAR”) appears. Either would make the same point. Coupled with the tripled exclamation point in the last line, I suspect the people living behind “these windows” aren’t happy with their ground-floor apartment. In NYC, that location means you’re essentially living in (on?) a crowded sidewalk, because screens and  glass do little to keep out smoke and between-puff conversation.

Another confusing preposition:

 

 

 

 

I hope the company’s food prep is better than its grammar, because “since” means the company was established at some point between 1983 and the present — including, say, this morning. A different preposition, “in,” would place the company in the “thirty years and counting” category, which I suspect is where it belongs.

Another:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not sure why, but “repairs on” sounds odd to me. It makes me envision someone hovering above a necklace or a ring, loupe and screwdriver in hand. A helicopter jeweler, perhaps, for this era of helicopter parents? I’d substitute “to jewelry” or “repair of jewelry” or simply “jewelry repair.”

Last photo:

To be honest, I’m not sure what this sentence means, regardless of prepositions. I do know that “in points” should be “at points,” but the significance of “affected by” escapes me. Theories welcome AT any time, DURING any time period, FOR the foreseeable future.

Almost Perfect

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Perfect isn’t possible, as we all know.  Almost perfect, on the other hand, is not only possible but common. But oh, sometimes that little gap between what you mean and what you write makes a huge difference. Here’s a bar with parenting problems:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Mom” is my favorite day of the week. What’s yours? You can also see the first line of this sign as the beginning of a short-wave radio transmission: “Mom to Fri: I cooked all morning and you’d better show up for lunch!”  In that scenario, Fri is the son or daughter of someone with really poor naming skills.

Next is the announcement of a Supreme Court decision, sent to me by my son the attorney:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Let’s” is the contraction of “let us.” The headline makes sense, sort of, if you insert a comma: “Court, let us states legalize sports betting.” The comma places “Court” in direct address, signifying that the states are pleading for legalized gambling. Which some were, as I understand.  I imagine that the headline writers were too busy canceling their bookie accounts to recognize that an apostrophe shouldn’t appear in that spot.

This sign was sent by a friend. I suspect the Tourist Board was rather upset to see that some important letters were missing:

 

 

 

 

 

 

To answer the question in line one: I did not know. Kansas City probably didn’t know either. Nor, I guess, did visitors. My advice: substitute “yearly.” It’s easy to make that word perfect.

 

Summer Slump

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Summertime, and the living is sort of easy, depending on who you are (kids v. parents) and how well your air conditioner works. Most of us slump in the summer, because it’s too hot to do much of anything else. These NYC signs may offer some relief for slumpers, or at least food for thought. For example:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I won’t point out that this food market feels the need to state that it’s “open to the public.” Not for me to ask “what else would it be? a storefront that sells food only to family members?” Nope. Not a word. What I am interested in is the “daily action station.” I’m pretty sure that would come in handy for . . . well, I don’t know. But for something.

Then there’s this one:

My hair turns into a frizz field in NYC’s summer humidity. The sign suggests I turn to “Hairdecor.” Which is, I guess, different from a “hair cut” or a “blowout.” More a complete change of hair furniture than a new sofa pillow. Note the period, which the British call a “full stop.” This term suits the sign’s punctuation because “full stop” implies that “hairdecor” is the end of a story. Once you’ve got hairdecor, you’re done. The next time frizz sends me into a slump, I’ll go here.

But not here:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t need “detox.” Honestly, my main vices are an occasional scoop of ice cream and a binge session of British reality shows. (Try them. Everyone’s nice, and there tend to be a lot of fields with sheep.) Back to the sign: I’m not even sure what the “detox” is supposed to detox you from — the “fresh juice”? the “smoothies”? Nor am I interested in “pre/post work-out drinks,” though I admire the  nicely placed hyphen. I guzzle tap water when I get off my exercise bike. Some may say that’s why I should buy a “life shot.” And perhaps they’re right.

But I doubt it. Regardless of the composition of the “shot,” it promises to hit the purchaser with “life.” My experience is that life gives all of us shots from time to time, whether we want them or not. For free, too. And if you’re lucky, you learn to duck at the right time.

Let’s toast to the arrival of summer, with a shot of whatever you want.

Command Performance, Part 2

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Bossing other people around is fun, isn’t it? Being bossed around, not so much. How many people do you think obey commands that appear on signs in NYC? Enough to sit comfortably on a beach towel, I imagine, based on what I generally see. Maybe that’s why this sign seems to sigh with resignation right before it screams:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fine, “Management” implies, I know you may take a puff or bite or sip, but don’t even think about skating into my store. I hung out for a half hour without  glimpsing a single wheel. Nor did I see any cigarettes or snacks — just one water bottle peeking out from a handbag. Verdict: This sign is a rarity. It’s effective.

Not so these:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could have snapped six more shots of signs prohibiting bicycles, each surrounded by bicycles locked to the railing, but you get the point. If any locks have been cut off and bicycles removed, new ones have sprung up in their place.

Some commands just beg to be disobeyed:

 

 

 

 

 

 

This sign makes me want to stay put. Alas, New York is always on the move, so that wasn’t an option. The next sign (courtesy of my friend Catherine) makes me want to move, quickly, to somewhere — anywhere — else:

Please explain what Fido is supposed to do if the curb is shut off. (At least the hyphen is right!) On second thought, please do not explain what Fido is supposed to do if the curb is shut off. I’d prefer not to know.

One more thought: The sign that accompanies each blog post (“Don’t Block the Box”) commands drivers to stay out of the intersection unless they’re sure they can drive through before the light changes. Yesterday, I did an informal survey. Cars blocked 9 out of 10 “boxes.” Pedestrians (including me) wove between vehicles, making what should be a straight path in a crosswalk into a curvy, almost choreographed, group dance. No one (including me) looked surprised or upset. Just another day in New York City.

Command Performance, Part I

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Now trending: signs that command you to do, or not do, something. Also trending: ignoring the signs that command you to do, or not do, something. I found so many examples of this genre that I’m splitting my trove into two parts. I’ll start with my own command: Check these out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My friend Ellie sent me this beauty, which visually commands you not to bring cigar-smoking, wine-swilling, skateboard-riding dogs into this park. A boomerang may be tucked in there also.

Delivery people have strong arms, right? Good, because this sign commands them to be boxers or construction workers:

 

 

 

 

I guess if you’re a bicep-deprived UPS, USPS, or FEDEX employee, you’d better bring a phone.

Need a rest? Try this place:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Enter here” and emerge four months later. No problem! But if you’re driving on the Upper West Side, this sign is definitely a problem:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not counting the absence of punctuation, the grammar is correct. The meaning? It’s perfect, but “egress”? Really? P.T. Barnum, the 19th century showman and trickster, moved the maximum number of people through his museum each day by posting a sign reading “This way to the egress.” Few equated “egress” with “exit” until they were outside, re-entry prohibited. Which prompts this question: How many New York drivers can define “egress”? And where will they park while they’re googling it? My guess: right in front of the sign.