Tag Archives: grammar

Expensive Words

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Every trip to the store reminds me that inflation isn’t just for balloons. I don’t pretend to understand the economic forces involved, but I do know some things that inflate the cost of food. Here’s one:

General rule: If you double the P in “shop,” you double the price. Which is understandable, because it’s expensive to import food from the 16th century.

Another general rule is “fancy language equals fancy prices,” especially when the words are associated with Britain:

“Made to order” isn’t cheap, but it is cheaper than “bespoke.” I would deduct 10% from the price for misspelling “disappoint,” however.

A variation of the fancy language rule sets higher prices to anything described by a three-syllable word that most people have to look up in a dictionary:

A “distributor” can’t charge as much as a “purveyor.” Oh, and “chefs” pay more than “cooks.”

To sum up: If you’re on a tight budget, stay away from shoppes that are purveyors of bespoke fruit baskets.

Geographically Challenged

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Does anyone study geography these days? Judging from the photos below, no. Or maybe the world has simply gotten a lot more interconnected than it used to be.

First up is a package my friend Priscilla spotted in an iconic New York City grocery store:

Perhaps the label should read “Produit du Pérou.”

Moving on: This poster advertises French Fries (no surprise there, except for the capital letters), along with Poland Water and Chicken Tundra.

I did a little research and confirmed what I suspected: Poland does indeed have water and probably can spare some small bottles. However, places classified as tundra generally aren’t associated with chicken coops. I mean, arctic chickens? Someday, maybe, if the climate continues to warm. (Don’t ask me about Tune Melt. I can’t deal with defrosted music today.)

This menu item features an ingredient from France by way of Voltaire:

I like my ginger candide, don’t you? I just hope it hasn’t been sitting in the cupboard since the Enlightenment.

By the way, the subtitle of Voltaire’s novel Candide is The Optimist. Let’s hang onto that and pretend that the world — and its geography — will sort itself out someday.

Quality Time

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How do you judge the quality of something you’re purchasing? By listening to friends’ recommendations, checking online reviews, reading tea leaves? Perhaps you place your trust in signs — not omens, but actual signs, such as this one:

This may be the workplace of a superb tailor, but I object to the phrase one of the best. What does that mean, exactly? One of the best on the block? (That’s likely, as it’s the only tailor on the block.) One of the best in the neighborhood? There might be some argument about that. In the country? The world? The universe? (Hey, if there can be a “Miss Universe,” there can be a “Best Tailor in the Universe,” too.) However vague the claim may be, the store has guaranteed it. It would be interesting to see a dissatisfied customer try to collect!

I had to check the dictionary for this next statement of quality, painted on the side of a van. I usually hide company names when I post signs, but in this case, the name is part of the point.

WE STAND UP TO OUR NAME! When I read this sentence, I pictured someone from the High Definition Cooling Company with hands on hips, defiantly facing the name because . . . well, what does a name have to do to motivate workers to stand up to it? Unable to think of a plausible scenario, I turned to the Oxford English Dictionary for other definitions of stand up to. I found “remain firm in the face of” (stood up to a strong wind), “pass a test” (stood up to close examination), and “rise for a purpose” (stood up to dance). I confess I can’t make any of these definitions work.

Nor do I know what this sign means:

Returning to the OED, I read that uncompromising means “not willing to seek compromise,” “stiff,” “stubborn,” and “unbending.” Okay, the signwriter is touting a style and quality that will not change. But what sort of style and quality does the product have? If it’s an ugly style or a poor quality, most people would prefer a little compromise. I would, and in that spirit, I welcome alternative interpretations of these signs and of the style and quality of this post.

Quiz Time

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Why? Such a simple question. Unfortunately, the answer may be anything but, especially when it comes to signs, as in “why did they write that, in that way?”

My friend Amy sent this photo:

There’s some punctuation missing from the sentence beginning with wildlife. A comma after area would directly address wildlife, telling them to be cautious. That interpretation gives rise to two questions: (1) Aren’t wildlife instinctively cautious? and (2) Can wildlife read? Another possibility is that a colon went AWOL from its spot following area. Reinsert it and the sentence becomes a command to be cautious, addressed to whoever is supposed to STAY OUT. That’s more logical but probably ineffective, because some forms of wildlife (the human variety) are capable of interpreting a simple prohibition as a dare. Side point: can somebody please explain the rationale behind the capital-letter and period distribution?

I spotted this sign in a botanical garden on the east bank of the Hudson River:

The Shop is stocked with unusual items, and I’m always interested in checking out a sale. I didn’t buy anything during my visit, though, because I spent my time wondering why at is italicized. Also, why at? What’s wrong with The Shop in Wave Hill or The Shop of Wave Hill? Even The Shop for Wave Hill makes sense, as this is a nonprofit.

My friend Jacqueline found this message in a fortune cookie she cracked open after dinner at (unitalicized!) our favorite Chinese restaurant:

She pointed out that what is right and what you should do are generally supposed to be the same thing. Right?

I welcome your theories about (or for, on, or even at) these signs.

Surprise!

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When I snap photos of signs, I am frequently amused and often puzzled. Seldom am I surprised, but occasionally . . . well, take a look.

I saw this sign at a construction site in Seattle, where on average it rains 149 days a year and where the news media keep headlines like “Heavy Rains Bring Floods” ready to roll:

Even though Seattle has not escaped climate change (no place has), it’s still startling to think that someone needs to rent rain there. Also, quick question: if you rent rain, how do you return it when the lease is up?

This sign left me dumbfounded:

There may be a connection between preschool children and beloved dog/dogs, but I’m not seeing it. Thoughts, anyone?

Bureaucracies are generally boring, but Seattle’s Department of Construction delivered this surprise:

I don’t know about you, but I still don’t have an answer to the question What is it? Whatever it may be, don’t look there for units or parking.

Last one, courtesy of my friend Barry:

I can understand banning smoking, but poets? True, the average poet makes, as Calvin Trillin once remarked, “in the high two figures,” but that situation would seem to be covered by an income minimum, not an art form. Maybe someone walked out of English class with Post Traumatic Sonnet Disorder?

If you run across any surprising signs, please feel free to let me know.

Proof

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The signs in this post are proof (noun) that you should always proof (verb) your writing. If you don’t, well, read on to see some possible consequences.

My friend Barry sent me this headline:

Oh, the irony! Also the confusion, because the Spelling Bee might be on Thursday if the letter h went astray or on Tuesday if the letter r was mistakenly inserted in place of an e. Perhaps this year’s champ can be enlisted to proofread next year’s notice.

Also sent by Barry is this portion of a law proposed by state legislators:

The politicians crafting this sentence telling teachers how to teach should have spent a little more time on their own homework. Then perhaps they’d know that the word they were looking for is tenets, not tenants. Again, the irony.

This one, which my friend Mary sent, is fun:

I don’t own a car, but if I did, I’d certainly obey this sign and DRIVE WITH CAKE.

Last but not least:

Perhaps the council snatched an r from the Spelling Bee headline and grabbed an extra e from somewhere else?

The point of all these examples: rememberer two proffread!

The Trouble with D

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At first glance, D seems like a simple letter. It’s hard to mispronounce and easy to write, so long as you remember where the lower-case letter bulges and don’t draw a “Happy Webbing” card for a bride and groom, as a child I know once did. But deciding when and where to insert the letter D is anything but simple, judging from signs I see around the city. I posted examples of problematic D signs in two previous posts (Got a D? | Grammarian in the City and Grade D+ | Grammarian in the City). A recent spate of signs mishandling this letter prompts me to revisit the issue.

Here’s an example I saw at an arts venue:

Advanced? Are we talking tickets with doctorates? Stubs with evolved thinking?

Another gem, courtesy of my friend Catherine:

Ignore the misspelling of appreciated, if you can, and focus on the d. If the business owners appreciated (or appriciated) the business, what do they do now — take the business for granted?

This one comes from my friend Wendy:

Further noticed sounds like a temper tantrum: until we get more attention and are further noticed, we’ll be closed.

This sign, sent by my friend Ruth, lacks the letter d:

Selective? Hm..m. Does the store owner say, I’ll let you buy this at a discount but the guy behind you has to pay full price”? Or maybe the selective items refuse to be bought by customers who are not up to the items’ high standards? Substituting selected for selective solves the problem.

I wished you a happy 2022. Oops — make that wish. And I really do!

A Rough Road

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When I snapped this photo a couple of years ago, I had no idea how accurate its message would be, nor how long it would remain relevant:

Rough indeed. As Covid-19 turns toddler age, we’re all fraying at the edges. And it shows! Clarity has turned to ambiguity and often dipped into downright incomprehensibility, as in this headline from the Seattle Times:

I’m happy to report that later editions of the paper added an H to pus. I am even happier to confirm that there is no pus in the hepatitis A vaccine — or any other vaccine, for that matter.

Covid has also melted our sense of time:

An hour that lasts from 12:00 PM – 10:00 PM — that’s 600 minutes! I do hope employees aren’t paid an hourly wage. Sidepoint: Why not say Every Day instead of Monday – Sunday?

One last thought, about a photo my friend Sean sent me:

Please DON’T light up Christmas with a can of fuel. The road is rough enough already. Instead, stay safe. See you in the new year!

Number Games

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Innumeracy — the mathematical equivalent of illiteracy — is on full display in signs I’ve seen around New York in the last couple of years. Take a look at these:

Notice that Off-Broadway Week is 14 days long and Muji Week runs for 32 days. That’s good news for ticket-buyers and shoppers, but potentially bad news for actors, crew, and other employees. I hope they get paid by the hour, not by the week.

Here’s a sign I spotted on the First Avenue bus:

A note to non-New Yorkers: Manhattan streets are laid out on a numbered grid. The numbers get larger as you travel uptown and smaller as you travel downtown. The photo is a bit fuzzy (snapped on a moving vehicle) so I’ll type out the relevant parts: The stops are 14th Street, 23rd, 34th, 29th, and 42nd. Loopy route or miscalculation? Judging from the ride I took, I can affirm that the latter description, unlike the sign, is correct.

Before you go, check your numeracy by solving a math problem based on this sign:

If Alex and Sasha polish off six, 8 FL OZ servings of this beverage, how many calories does each ingest if Sasha drinks twice as much as Alex?

This is the spot where I should place the answer, upside down so you’re not tempted to peek. That’s beyond my Word Press skills, so I’ll leave you hanging. Post your answer in a comment, and I’ll let you know whether it’s correct. If you have trouble solving the problem, meet me on the uptown bus, somewhere between 34th and 29th Street, and I’ll tell you the answer.

Obviously! Or Not.

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On some of my excursions around New York City, I find signs that are stunningly obvious, the equivalent of a message I once saw on a book of matches: “Warning — may cause fire.” Here’s one such sign:

Does the owner think anyone’s going to pay $26.00 for amateur haircuts & shaves? Professional would seem to be self-evident, given that someone is paying rent, utilities, and so forth to hang out inside and tend to customers’ tresses in exchange for money.

Also obvious is this sign I saw in Midtown:

If you were searching for a satellite, where else would you look? Under the sidewalk grate? Not obvious is what’s holding the satellite. A giant leash? A Star Trek magnetic field? Also, why are they holding it? Send the satellite into orbit, already! Despite the pandemic, rents in New York City are high, and Space is free.

Also unclear is the meaning of this message, which I glimpsed on the side of a van belonging to a cleaning service:

I have always assumed that every doorman in my building showers, with perhaps an occasional bath as a change of pace. That a doorman might opt for dry cleaning never even entered my mind. Now that the thought is there, though, I wonder whether the dry cleaning ticket is pinned or taped on, and to which body part. Actually, on further reflection, I’d rather not know.

One more puzzler, to balance out the pair of obvious signs earlier in this post:

The bar looks old, so I’m not questioning the age of the place but rather the quotation marks around 100, which are most commonly used to indicate a direct quotation. That doesn’t seem likely here. Nor is it likely that the marks signal doubt about the accuracy of the information enclosed by quotation marks, as in We listened to Henry’s “singing” until our eardrums ruptured. The dates show 100 years (2021 – 1921 = 100). So why quotation marks?

Obviously, I invite you to send me your theories.