Tag Archives: English usage

Shop for . . .

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Who’s selling what, and where? The answers to those questions should be fairly obvious. Should be, but aren’t, as evidenced by the signs of New York, which increasingly appear to be written by people who assume we’re all clueless. In another post, found at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=735, I discuss a sign explaining that the drugstore has a “pharmacy dep’t. within.” (Oh good. I hate when pharmacists fill prescriptions on the sidewalk.) On the other end of the huh? spectrum is a “Sidewalk Sale Inside” sign. (See it at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=620).)

And then there’s the issue of what, exactly, is for sale. What would you purchase in this shop?

At least they're not roaming around the sidewalk.

At least the little guys are not roaming around the sidewalk.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I should point out that every item in the store windows, and everything visible behind the windows, was an article of clothing meant for small humans. These questions arise: (1) Why the imperative statement “SHOP”? Does this mean that “just looking” is grounds for ejection? (2) Why the plural noun “kids” and the singular noun “baby”? (3) Aren’t babies kids? So why “kids and baby”? (4) As the sidewalk outside the store was empty, why mention “inside”? I’m not discussing the missing noun “clothing.” The idea of shopping for people is too terrible to joke about.

Here’s another. Are you a big fan of holidays? If so, you may wish to purchase this one, at half price:

How much is New Year's?

How much is New Year’s?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Think of the licensing fees you can collect next December! And here I thought the Christmas shopping season began right after Halloween. I guess it begins now, in early January, with the holiday itself on sale. Go for it!

 

Air, Scare, or Simply There

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My almost-seven-year-old granddaughter has recently discovered air quotes, the curly-fingered gesture that encloses spoken words in quotation marks. To make an air quote, you bend the pointer and middle fingers of each hand a couple of times, and whoever is listening or watching is supposed to know that you’ve distanced yourself from whatever you’ve just said.  Air quotes are the bodily equivalent of scare quotes, the punctuation marks in written material that separate the writer from the quotation, as in don’t blame me for this dumb opinion or yeah, like I believe that. Both scare and air quotes are gestures of irony or sarcasm. Usually, that is. During my first year of teaching about a million years ago, I used air quotes to tell the class that I was quoting from a text, not using my own words. I didn’t find out until June (June!) that the kids perceived a particularly nerdy wave, not a punctuation mark. Sigh.

My granddaughter tosses out air quotes with abandon. (“I’m ‘nice’ and so are you,” she’ll say with active fingers, meaning that she and I are actually “nice.”) She enjoys the gesture more than its significance. No problem. She’s little and deserves time to experiment. I’m not sure the creator of this sign should receive the same leeway:

Come again?

Come again?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I snapped this photo during New Year’s weekend, when this store and everything around it was closed for celebration or recovery from celebration. I’m still not sure what it means. Is the shop expecting a door bell delivery? Is someone hiding out inside, waiting for a package and not coming forth until the door bell rings? Does the shop owner know that the door bell is broken and “door bell” is a useless phrase?

I’m sure the letter carrier or package deliverer liked the John Hancock squiggle under the last line. I’m also sure that everyone reading this sign pressed the door bell, just to see what would happen. (I did. Nothing happened.) But that’s it. I’m sure of nothing else – certainly not the meaning.  The sign is a mystery. Or maybe I should say a “mystery.” Your theories are welcome – really welcome, not “welcome.”

Hold on, Holden

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On a NYC bus recently, I watched a toddler bounce from seat to seat, across the aisle, and over feet and backpacks – all without realizing that (a) he was endangering himself and (b) he was totally annoying everyone else. Everyone but his caregiver, that is, who was busy texting and who contributed nothing more to the situation than an occasional “settle down,” murmured to the screen, which presumably paid as little attention to her words as did the toddler, who limited himself to “no,” shouted often and earnestly. I contemplated the little sign that appears on every NYC bus, explaining that “assaulting a bus operator is a felony.”

Only bus drivers?

Only bus drivers?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What about assaulting a toddler, I mused. Felony? Misdemeanor? Was I willing to risk a misdemeanor to achieve a quiet ride? (I’m kidding. Really. I’d never hit a kid, or anyone else for that matter.)

Finally, the texter rose to leave, calling, “Holden, this is our stop!” as she grabbed his hand. Holden – famously rebellious protagonist of Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye.” Yup, I thought. Perfect name for the future juvenile delinquent, who someday can rightfully plead neglectful parenting as an excuse for bad behavior.

But I digress. The point of this post is actually a recent study about language acquisition and children, inspired by Holden’s repeated shouts of “no.” Researchers found that worldwide, most kids say “no” much earlier (and more frequently) than “yes.” Why? Well, common sense provides the answer. Who would bother answering a caregiver cooing, “Baby want a toy?” If the baby wants a toy, the baby takes it. “No,” on the other hand, serves a purpose. A positive action is easy to perform, a negative not so much.

My experience with Holden has led me to change my habits: Faced again with an unruly toddler, I now put on my best teacher face, stare at the kid, and quietly hiss, “No.” Invariably, the kid subsides, the caregiver continues texting, the other bus riders smile, and the journey continues. No misdemeanors or felonies necessary.

Now if I could only get this technique to work on sidewalk-bicyclists.

Facing the new year

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Closing out 2015, I find three signs aptly express my feelings about this season. First:

Ten fingers? Check. Ten toes? Ditto.

Ten fingers? Check. Ten toes? Ditto. Sanity? Doubtful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I checked the definition of “checkout,” which involves a summing up of obligations and payment thereof.  This sign caught my eye, and not only because it signals a further decline in customer service. (I’ve just completed two transcontinental airline flights, so that topic is on much my mind.)  What drew me is the “self” portion of the sign. January approaches, and like the Roman god Janus (who was probably not the source of the name “January”), I look both forward and back. But mostly I look inward, to “checkout” the state of my “self.” I won’t place my findings here – too private – nor will I stop as January ends. The unexamined life is not my style. Obsessive worrying, alas, is. (And yes, compulsive snark, too.)

Here’s the second sign:

To where?

To where?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could insert a wish here – that the sign not be a prediction of my, your, or our collective future. But a daily dose of The New York Times shows, beyond a doubt, that a “rough road” is likely for all of us. Nor in good conscience can I insert a platitude – something about life’s bumps strengthening character. Sometimes life’s bumps lead only to bruises. Yet Yogi Berra – the late, great Yankee catcher and creative grammarian – gave good advice: When you come to a fork in the road, take it. Rough or not. After all, what’s the alternative?

Finally, no new year (and no New Year’s post) would be complete without a resolution. Mine begins with this sign:

Who wants to be "the top bell"?

Who wants to be “the top bell”?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I saw this sign behind a construction fence enclosing access to the Second Avenue Subway. It contains, in my opinion, the coolest job title ever. I resolve to become, by the end of this new year, “the top bell.” Whatever that is.

 

Grade D+

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I’ve written elsewhere (“Missing and Presumed” at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=311) about dropping the letter D from expressions such as “grill cheese,” “old fashion,” and “never close, open 24/7.” This sign has the opposite problem:

Grilled and Deli Man

Grilled and Deli Man

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reflected light mars the photo, so to clarify, the store is hiring a “Delivery, Cashier, Grilled & Deli Man.” If I take the noun “man” as the center of this statement from a non-equal-opportunity- employer, the other words serve as modifiers. So the store seeks a “delivery man,” a “cashier man” (turning the noun “cashier” into an adjective), and a “grilled and deli man.”

The last phrase leads me to a couple of questions. Does an applicant have to submit proof that detectives placed him in a windowless room under a bright lamp where they grilled him for hours about, presumably, his qualifications for working in a deli? I can hear the boss now: “Pre-grilled applicants save interview time.” Or is the shop hiring a man who has spent some time over charcoal? I shudder at that last possibility. I shudder at the spelling/grammar error too, but less. Much less.

Speechless in New York

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It takes a lot to shut New Yorkers up, especially this one. But every once in a while I see a photo that leaves me speechless. Here’s one, sent by my friend Jacqueline:

Pork for Hanukkah?

Pork for Hanukkah?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The only way to deepen the irony would be to add a shrimp cocktail appetizer. (For those unfamiliar with Jewish dietary laws, neither pork nor shrimp is kosher.)

One more, from a barber shop:

You have to ask for scissors?

You have to ask for scissors?

 

I won’t comment on “hair line clean up,” though that line makes me picture barbers with pointy sticks and trash bags, patrolling the border between forehead and hair, like work-release prisoners on a garbage-strewn beach. Instead, I’ll focus on the middle line. I know little about barbering tools, and my “stylist,” who refrains from sighing when he asks if I want “the usual” during my thrice yearly visits, snips away with scissors automatically.  So I’m perplexed. If you don’t request scissors at this salon, how does the barber cut your hair? With a lawn mower? A scythe?

Okay, I wasn’t speechless after all. If you aren’t either, please feel free to add your comments.

Woof

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Most of my posts are about two-footed New Yorkers, but this one concerns those traveling on four feet – actually, four paws. What do you make of this sign, painted on the window of a store specializing in wireless communication devices?

"Proud to be . . . dog friendly"

“Proud to be . . . dog friendly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Does this mean that the phones are chew-resistant or taste like premium dog chow? That they transmit every nuance of “arf arf” with perfect clarity? That the keyboard letters are far enough apart for paw-typing? I pondered these questions as I stared at the window. My first theory was that the store allows dogs inside, perhaps handing out chew toys or meaty bones. I considered the fact that lots of stores brag about their welcoming attitude to customers’ dogs.  But those signs are usually smaller and located near the doorknob or handle. This one takes up a good portion of the shop window. Letting Fido into the establishment would seem to merit a less prominent sign. I still don’t know why it’s there, and I’m too shy to go in and ask.

This one is much smaller and located in the usual spot for such notices, right on the door. But it’s still strange:

Everyone else's pets - come on in!

Everyone else’s pets – come on in!

 

The sign suggests that employees’ pets are banned, but customers’ pets are “allowed in the store.” What do you think?

Hey, I’m Walking Here! Part 2

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As a pedestrian in New York City, I generally feel that I am the lowest of the low, the bottom of the barrel, the – well, insert your favorite metaphor for “unimportant” here. Why? Stoplights are timed to move motor vehicles along, not to give me a chance to put one foot in front of the other and reach the other side of the avenue before the next wave of cars approaches. Bikes get their own lane on many streets and all too often, uninhibited and unticketed, dominate the sidewalk as well. And then I saw this sign:

I'm "traffic" now.

I’m “traffic” now!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I thought about the phrase “pedestrian traffic” as I plodded through the detour this “notice” required. According to the dictionary, the noun “traffic” means “vehicles moving on a road,” “dealing or trading in something illegal,” or “communications between people.” I am not a Ferrari, a drug transaction, or a text message. I am a person who travels via feet. So what does this sign really mean? If the first definition applied, I’d expect an upgrade in “pedestrian traffic” flow – lights timed to the average traveled-foot-inch per minute, for example. Nope. If the last definition applied, I’d expect the Department of Transportation to respond to the many cries for bike-free sidewalks. Nope again. So I’m choosing door number two. And I thank the DOT for banning trades of, say, one babysitter pushing a double-wide stroller for two guys with briefcases plus an oblivious texter to be named later.

Emboldened by this upgrade to “traffic” status, I went out again – and found this:

Wait where?

Wait where?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the start of my first year as a teacher – and this is a true story – I questioned my principal about the schedule calling for me to teach two different classes at the same time on two different floors. Her answer? “Young people don’t want to face obstacles.” Oh. So too, at this corner, was I obliged to “wait” at two different places at the same time.

I won’t bother discussing the indignity of being a “ped.” It’s nice out. I’d rather take a walk.

Hey, I’m walking here! Part 1

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I’m not a great fan of the classic film Midnight Cowboy, but anyone who walks around New York can sympathize with Dustin Hoffman’s rant at a car that cuts him off in a crosswalk – the line I used as the title of this post. I found so many examples of signs telling walkers where to go (pun intended) that I’ll post them in two parts. Here’s the first one:

 

 

At least this one's polite!

At least this one’s polite!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Use opposite side of street.” Hm…m. Not the opposite sidewalk? Okay, I’ll put that one in the “you should know enough to walk on the sidewalk” category,  notwithstanding the number of people wandering in the roadway near this sign – and everywhere else in NYC. But there’s another problem. Given that Midtown street corners inevitably host a small crowd, regardless of the time of day, the singular “pedestrian” is puzzling. Maybe the signwriter thought the personal touch – I’m talking to you, only you! – would be more effective? New Yorkers, after all, have a reputation for self-absorption, and common wisdom holds that we frequently ignore rules.

That rebelliousness, though, may simply be confusion. What would you do at this corner?

How's that again?

How’s that again?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lest you think that two crosswalks, one open and one closed, are involved, let me reassure you that only one appears at this site. So you should use the crosswalk, which is closed. Got it?

One more for today:

Clear, but nonsensical.

At least this one is clear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In case the context isn’t visible in the photo, this spray-painted sign tells “pedestrian” (again with the singular!) that under no circumstances can he or she walk through the stone wall of the building behind the sign. (And yes, I know it’s a temporary barrier, but it’s been in place long enough to qualify as “nonsense walkers put up with” in NYC.)

Stay tuned for part 2, coming soon, but not to a theater near you.

 

New in New York

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A recent discussion on New York City’s public radio station repeatedly referred to “a new initiative” to reduce the number of traffic accidents. As someone who walks around the city every day, dodging bicycles (illegally) on the sidewalk and aggressive drivers in pedestrian crosswalks, I should have been listening carefully. Yet my mind drifted, caught by the phrase “new initiative.” I wondered whether there was such a thing as an “old initiative.”

My dictionary lists four definitions for “initiative,” the most appropriate in this context being “an act or strategy intended to resolve a difficulty or improve a situation; a fresh approach.” That last bit fits poorly with the adjective “new,” because then you’re talking about a “new fresh approach.” It’s worth noting, though, that the dictionary’s sample sentence refers to a “new initiative.” Why?

I was still trying to figure out the answer to this question when my husband snapped a photo of this sign:

New tradition?

So much better than an old tradition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Traditionally, a “tradition” is a custom passed along from generation to generation. How do you know you’re creating a “new holiday tradition”?  By employing a soothsayer? If so, how much does that career pay? For some reason, it’s not listed in the Occupational Outlook Handbook published by the US government’s Bureau of Labor Statistics. I can’t imagine why. After all, this is a city in which the marketing campaign for a building under construction referred to the structure as “prewar.” (For non-NYers, let me explain that “pre-war” in a real estate ad generally means “built before World War II.”) Given the state of the world, it’s likely that everything, everywhere, at any point in time is pre- some sort of war, but still, you have to wonder what the builders foresaw.

Mulling all this, I finally came up with a theory. The desire to distance oneself from the past with a “new initiative” or to control the future by establishing a “new tradition” is hardwired into New Yorkers’ psyches. Notwithstanding  the fact that the city sports a record-breaking concentration of psychotherapists plumbing our personal pasts, the city that never sleeps never stops changing, too. New Yorkers reinvent themselves and their city. It’s our tradition. Maybe we should slow down and savor what we already have. A change like that, though, requires initiative. New or not.