Tag Archives: signs

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.

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.

PRE- Views

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Three letters, three problems. Maybe more, if you estimate the number of misinterpretations possible with these signs, all of which contain the letters P, R, and E. Such as this one:

The prefix “pre-” means “before.” The office referred to in the sign above (a center providing services to senior citizens) closed . . . before its proper time?  forever, as in “permanently”? Perhaps both are true, and, I might add, tricky topics when you’re talking to or about old people, who may find distress in the concept of closing “premanently.” I passed one of the new locations of this organization yesterday, by the way. It’s at the bottom of a steep outdoor staircase, with no elevator in sight. They might be inviting a few premanent climbing injuries.

Onward and upward, to this ad, which appeared in today’s paper:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Pre-owned” used to be the new “used,” but now, in a post-truth world, “pre-owned” is “new.”  (Digression: If this is the post-truth era, what was the pre-truth era like?)

I’m not wild about “pre-owned,” but to my mind it’s better than this expression:

 

 

 

 

“Pre-loved”? Seriously? I like my handbag. I use my handbag. I carry it everywhere. When I was little, the only expression I learned in Croatian, which my parents spoke when they wanted to hide something from me, was “watch your handbag,” so afraid were they that a passerby would snatch up my lunch money. But love? Nope. And if someone did “pre-love” a handbag, you have to wonder what shape the bag’s in. I think I’ll stick to “new” and “used,” premanently.

Where?

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Take the Q32 bus between Manhattan and Queens (two of New York’s five boroughs) and you see just how diverse this city is. On a single bus route you find an Irish pub, an Ecuadorean restaurant, a Nepalese shop, and countless other spots that celebrate the residents’ heritage. That makes sense to me. These signs do not:

It’s not that I want to see Brazil’s influence wane, but is there something wrong with American bees? I realize that “Brazilian Waxing” refers to hair removal, but surely most people, like me, don’t know exactly which areas are targeted by Brazilian Waxing as opposed to, say, Canadian Waxing (if that exists). I have glimpsed ads for “European Wax,” but once again I don’t know that continent’s hair-removal conventions. Nor would I like to find out.

Moving on to academics:  A young friend of mine studies, according to the cover of his  textbook, the “Japanese system” of math. Presumably his schoolwork is different from the lessons here:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silly me. I thought numbers were the same everywhere. Then there’s this store:

 

 

My favorite French teacher, Jacqueline, would be the first to tell you that my verb conjugation could be cleaned up, but I doubt this store would help. I’ll be in Paris next month, where I’ll check for stains. If I don’t find any, I’ll consider bringing my garments here for French cleaning.

And what is this business selling? Stoves that do a great job on bratwurst? If so, sign me up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last but definitely not least is this exercise regimen, offered at a gym near my home:

I googled “Russian Kettlebells” and discovered that (a) they exist and (b) they’re handheld weights and (c) they’re the subject of much controversy. (Is anything connected with Russia not controversial these days?) Apparently some people swear by American Kettlebells, and others are faithful to the Russian version. I have no intention of trying either exercise, but I do wonder whether patriotism is part of the equation. Maybe if I’d studied Russian Mathematics I’d know.

How to Speak Real Estate

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In a previous post, “(Truly Real) Real Estate”  (http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=783),  I went over the basics of how to speak the NYC dialect of Real Estate. I explain, for example, that “cozy” means small, and  a “charming” apartment hasn’t been renovated in fifty years.

For anyone moving on to the intermediate level — perhaps members of Gen X, Y, or Z looking for a spot in one of the city’s boroughs, here’s lesson two. Similar dwellings move up the price-ladder in this order:  “apartments” are cheaper than “residences,” which in turn cost less than “homes.” My personal favorite, “boutique,” is the most expensive. In the commercial market, the price of “an opportunity” is much more than what you shell out monthly to the landlord of a “store for rent.” Furthermore, assume that deadlines are open to interpretation:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I cut off the right side of the photo because I don’t like to give real phone numbers. I do like to give real dates, unlike the sign, which promises that the “residences” (price alert!) will be “Available Fall 2017.” I took the picture three days ago, in the spring of 2018. Judging from the scaffolding and debris scattered around, not to mention the “mandatory hard hat” sign, spring of 2019 is more likely.

And count on hyperbole. If a building is advertised as being “steps from Central Park,” the statement may be true only if you take about a thousand steps and have fairly long legs. (I actually saw this phrase on an ad for a building on my block, which is a brisk fifteen-minute walk from the park.)  Another hyperbole: a “home” (price alert again) advertised as on the 20th floor may actually be much lower. If you’re in an elevator on the way to an open house, notice whether the buttons skip, say, floors seven through nineteen. Then do the math.

But those are minor quibbles. Anyone can be late or exaggerate, right? Redefinition, on the other hand, is another matter entirely. Take a look at this ad:

For readers who have lived only in houses, I should explain that a “studio” is a one-room apartment. Except if it’s the studio advertised on this sign, which somehow has “2 room.” The hyphen, by the way, is missing in the compound adjective, “two-room” or, in this sign, “2-room.” (It’s probably hiding, too embarrassed to be part of this ad.)  The accompanying photo shows a large, bare room with no visible doors. Maybe they’re counting the bathroom as a room? Or they assume you can hang out in the basement with your bike, designating the storage area as a living room? Perhaps they believe you will pitch a tent in the “communal garden,” which, because we’re talking about New York City, could possibly have plants but may also be a patch of concrete without a roof.

Lesson for the NYC house hunter: learn to speak our real-estate dialect, and, as always, buyer beware.

Hopes

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Life dishes out major disappointments all the time. But is it too much to hope that a few little things go according to plan? For example, after a hard day tramping around New York City, all I want is a bit of relief. Instead I’m offered:

 

I don’t need “salts to ache” my feet. I can do that all by myself. I can feed myself, too, but when I’m starving and stop in a restaurant, I want quick service. (There’s a reason “a New York minute” is only a nanosecond long.) Instead I see:

At least the staff warns you that the meal will arrive late. Now if only Amtrak would do the same.  Speaking of Amtrak, I won’t mention their habit of running out of food in the café car on a four-hour ride. Nope. Not a word from me about that. But when I dine in a nonmoving setting, I don’t expect ticketing. In this spot, though . . .

Is it accidental that the sign appears next to a subway station? And yes, I know that the other definition of “fare” is “food.” But what else would you expect a restaurant to offer? Perhaps a properly spelled menu:

 

 

 

 

 

 

The only thing I can say about this dish is that the words on the menu were better than the taste of the “Shepard’s Pie.” This type of  pastry, by the way, is more commonly referred to as “puff pastry.” “Puffed” fits nicely with the price, though.

Amid disappointments, however, life has a way of inserting a happy moment, which is what I experienced when I came across this sign:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you, Church of the Holy Trinity, for restoring my faith in responsible (and humorous) signage.

A Valentine for You

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I’ll keep this short and sweet for Valentine’s Day because you’re probably too busy (1) hugging your sweetheart or  (2) wishing you had a sweetheart or (3) marketing to sweethearts.  Which is what this store attempts:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m awarding a D- grade to the person who typed this sign, especially the last line. (“Your love one”? Really?) I’m also giving a D- to anyone who thinks caviar is a better Valentine’s present than chocolate. Or roses. Or even a trip to a fast-food place without kids, cats, or in-laws in tow. I mean, caviar is fish eggs, right? Don’t expect an “A+” from me for fish eggs! But I’m a grammarian, not a gourmet, so if “your love one” likes fish eggs, go for it. Just don’t call the gift “your caviar.” You’re a sweetheart, not a sturgeon.

Verbal Warfare

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No, I’m not talking politics. This is a grammar blog! I’m talking about verb forms employed as nouns or descriptions, adding a dash of information — or, in the case of these signs, misinformation. Have a look:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I appreciate the sentiments, which appeared in one outpost of a national coffee chain, and I enjoy the creative capitalization. The last line of the message was a little alarming, though. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to see employees “serving,” not “servicing,” customers. If I need an oil change, I’ll look elsewhere. (I won’t make a pun about the other definition; this is a G-rated post. Besides, a little dictionary research won’t hurt you.)

Next up is this offer:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m willing to overlook “toping” charges for my pizza, but not “designed your own salad.” As the sign reads (lacking punctuation, of course), a “personal pizza designed your own salad.” Huh. I can only hope the ingredients of the salad are better than the grammar.

And then there’s this one:

I was thinking about upgrading my shower, but I guess I waited too long. This company “specialized in bathrooms” but now has moved on to bigger and better things. Too bad.  I do need someone I can rely on. Perhaps I’ll try this place:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ll be charitable and assume that the shopkeeper is busy making sure light fixtures don’t catch fire and has no time to correct the sign. Points for artistry with duct tape, though.

Maybe I’ll turn to this firm:

If they’re “certified,” they can’t be that bad, right? Don’t ask me what they’re “certified” in (or “of,” as the sign says). At least they’re in NY — well, make that “Ny,” but nothing’s perfect. Not even verbals.

It Takes Two . . . to Confuse

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How much can you communicate in just two words? And how much confusion can you create with two words? The answer to both questions: quite a bit. Check out this sign, which my friend Catherine found in a subway station:

“Rescue Assistance”? Is this where EMTs, firefighters, and other first responders go for help? Or does the NYCTA  envision rescues that need a little extra oomph? NYCTA, by the way, is the agency that runs the subways, “run” being applicable only when the trains are actually moving, which, as riders know, isn’t all that often these days. And what’s with the wheelchair icon? Do subway officials think only wheelchair users need “rescue assistance”? If so, they’re not paying attention. First of all, plenty of riders walking around on two feet need “rescue” or “assistance.” (I can’t be sure that they need “rescue assistance” because I don’t know what that phrase means.) Second, in a subway system more than a century old, elevators and other sorts of accommodations for wheelchair users are few and far between. I can count on the fingers of half a hand how many wheelchairs I’ve seen in a subway. Maybe a quarter of a hand. A fifth? Okay, never.

Moving on:

 

 

 

 

 

 

This sign reminds me of a scene in a Simpsons episode when Bart is working on his science project. He stares at a spud and writes something like: “Four o’clock. Still a potato.” I did “watch ice” at this spot for about fifteen minutes. It stayed there, being ice. I got cold and moved on.

And then there’s this one, which I spotted in Madrid. It’s in Spanish, but I think the meaning — the literal one, anyway — is easy to grasp:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I admit that poetry and psychoanalysis are related. I’m just wondering about logistics. Does the therapist have the patient recite poetry and interpret it? Then there’s insurance coverage. How does one file a claim for a sonnet?

These two-word dilemmas may drive me to buy something at this store, depicted in a photo snapped by my friend Kelly:

Whoever sent the text to the sign manufacturer had clearly imbibed some “sprits” first. Memo to owner: Proofread before you hang an awning. Memo to self: Stay away from the liquor cabinet before blogging.

Another Inconvenient Truth

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There are lots of “inconvenient truths” out there these days, one of which is this: “Convenience” and “convenient” are like the dinosaurs ten days after the asteroid hit. They’re still around, but they’re wobbling, as you see in these signs:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So much to love here: “The Inconvenient,” for one, plus the capitalization. Also, the sign doesn’t tell where “The Other Location” is. I guess it’s in the “if you have to ask, you can’t afford to shop here” category.

Round two:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m trying to decide whether “sorry for inconvenient” is better than “The Inconvenient.” Also, the dash over the letter i is a nice touch.. But this one is the best:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Points in favor include the fact that it’s not “inconvenient store.” But this is a backlit, permanent, glass sign. Nobody thought to spellcheck “convenience”?

I’d write more, but it’s an inconvinience time.