Tag Archives: English idioms

A lie by any other name . . .

A recent reference to “false facts” in an article in my hometown paper, The New York Times, set me to thinking about the ways journalists talk about lies. Given the current presidential campaign, this is a hot topic. My first reaction to “false facts” was that the phrase is an oxymoron . . . a contradiction of itself. If something is false, it’s not a fact. If it’s a fact, it’s not false. Other popular ways to refer to lies are “misstatements,” “misunderstandings,” “exaggerations,” “stretches,” and “wrong impressions” (this last from the liar who says something like “I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression” when caught).

Despite my reference to lies, I do know that a “false fact” may simply be a mistake, not an attempt to mislead. I am holding onto that belief with both hands lately, with flashbacks to the days when I hoped for, but did not expect, the Tooth Fairy to be real.

Yet how should the media characterize what Politifact (note the name) calls “pants on fire” assertions? One tactic is not to label something as true or false but instead to present information alongside contradictory claims. The problem, of course, is that this approach sometimes leads to the mere appearance of fairness and gives credence to the ridiculous, as in “a member of the Flat Earth Society countered NASA’s claims of that Earth is a spherical planet.”

Nor is the opposite approach perfect. If we rely on pundits to decide what’s factual or fanciful, we’d better make sure that we have great pundits. Extraordinarily wise pundits. Impeccable pundits! All of which are as abundant as unicorns. Complicating the problem, of course, is the fact (and I do assert it as a fact) that many people seek out an expert who will confirm what they already believe.

But this is a post about language, not politics. Back to “false facts”: I’d replace that term with “false information” or “false statements,” with accompanying proof.  And if it’s intentional, I vote for “lie.” This political season, that may be the only choice I have.

Covering Up

The site: an elegant building in midtown with a glassblock wall rising maybe thirty feet, topped by the usual brick construction for many, many feet beyond that. A small patch of greenery, waist-high. In the middle, this paper sign (slightly the worse for wear after a rainy afternoon):

Lean, yes. Sit, no

Lean, yes. Sit, no

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The applicable dictionary definition of “façade” is “the face of a building.” Unless you have Spider-Man’s powers, it’s hard to imagine that you can sit on a façade. You can, of course, lean against it, if (in this location) you don’t mind trampling some perfectly innocent ivy.

The second definition of “façade” is “an outward appearance that is maintained to conceal a less pleasant reality.” In a normal election year, I’d mention that politicians lean (as in “rely”) on facades all the time to conceal their “less than pleasant” plans or personality. This particular presidential campaign, though, gives me pause, and not just because I disagree with most policies of many candidates and some policies of all candidates. If this crew is leaning on a façade, it can only be to conceal a more pleasant reality.

With the possible exception of nudist camps, did you ever think you’d miss cover-ups?  Campaign 2016 is indeed different.

Neither hair nor there

Primates spend a lot of time tinkering with hair, and we homo sapiens are no exception. But I’m beginning to think that, when it comes to hair, “sapiens” (Latin for “sensible” or “wise”) should be changed to “stupidus.”  The number of shops offering to change, remove, or add hair to some spot on the human body is impressive. The signs advertising such services – not so much.

What do you make of this sign?

European Human?

Europeans aren’t human?

 

I get the distinction between “human” and “synthetic,” but somehow I always assumed that the category “human” included “European.”  Silly me. And why mention “European” at all? Grown-in-America hair (or grown-anywhere-hair) isn’t good enough for this store’s customers? Then there’s “lace front.” Does the wig have a flapper-style band of lace at the front? Maybe the wig-wearer laces the wig to his or her front? If so, which part of the “front”? And how? Seriously, I’d like to know.

The previous sign isn’t clear, but the next probably means exactly what it says, a fact I do not find comforting.

P1010608 (4)

All together now: head, hands, feet.

This store offers its customers a chance to have their hair blow-dried (and autographed, if you spend forty bucks on the “signature” service) while simultaneously receiving a manicure and a pedicure. Anyone who chooses all three services presumably sits like a starfish with team members stationed at all extremities (fingers, toes, scalp). New Yorkers are famously impatient, but if we’ve reached this point, “sapiens” does not apply.

Oops, I actually meant that!

In the pre-Internet era, a student-researcher asked me whether New York City maintained “a government suppository of documents.” Yes, I thought, but not in the way you imagine. It’s easy to make fun of misused words, though I believe that kids’ errors should be out of bounds. So with a reasonably straight face, I explained to the young man that “depository” or “repository” would have been a better choice for that sentence.

Politicians and other public figures, however, are fair game when it comes to mockery. I’ve come to believe that when they stray from their speechwriters’ polished prose and venture to express themselves, they sometimes (gasp) reveal what they really think. Call it a Freudian slip, or, in print, a Freudian typo. To be clear, this phenomenon is nonpartisan. The more you talk, the more you slip, regardless of political affiliation.

First up is Sarah Palin’s endorsement of Donald Trump, as reported by my local paper, The New York Times. Referring to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, she declared that Americans are “paying for some of their squirmishes that have been going on for centuries.” Squirmishes is a nice blend of two other words. “Skirmish” refers to fights or battles, usually on a small scale and at irregular intervals. “Squirm,” on the other hand, is what you do when you wiggle or twist your body, often because you’re nervous. Was Palin nervous about the endorsement, conflicts in the Arab world, or something else?

Turning again to The New York Times, I found an odd statement from Abraham Foxman, former director of the Anti-Defamation League.  In a lengthy article describing the often tense relationship between President Barack Obama and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Foxman was quoted as saying that Obama “bore his soul about how much he cares about Israel.” Three verbs are entwined: bare, bear, and bore. “Bare” is “disclose or uncover”; the past tense is “bared.” “Bear” is “endure, carry a burden.” The past-tense form is “bore.” And of course, “bore” also refers to what politicians do best: make their audiences desperate to change the subject. Now, my question:. Does Foxman think that Obama feels burdened by the US-Israeli relationship or tired of the whole issue?

I know what I think, but I’ll withhold the information to avoid getting into a squirmish.

Fatal Messages

I was strolling through the East Village and Chelsea recently, two areas of Manhattan with a fairly high hipness score. (I can tell you right now that, not having any tattoos, I felt like an enemy agent, or at best an emissary from the Country of Old People.) I noticed these signs, which I hope were aiming for humor and not accurately reporting services offered. But these days, who knows? First up:

Do the police know?

Do the police know?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wondered whether the shop operated a guillotine or something less fatal. (Repeat business, after all, doesn’t flourish if the head is in a basket and the body in a chair.) Seeing no rivulets of blood seeping under the door, I kept reading:

Apostrophes would be nice.

Please tell me we’re talking about hair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where do I start? “Mens” needs an apostrophe, and “women” needs both an apostrophe and the letter S. Given the guillotine reference, I wouldn’t mind seeing “hair” before the word “cuts.” But in a neighborhood where anyone who doesn’t display a pierced something is an anomaly, maybe the sign should say “men and women cut,” to inform the public that the slicing and dicing on sale is gender-neutral.

The next time I need a cut – and I do refer to hair – I may stop by. I’ll let you know the result, if I’m still alive.

You talking to me? at me? or with me?

New Yorkers wait “on line” (when they’re not cutting ahead, which is impolite – and yes, lady at the supermarket yesterday, I’m talking to you). The rest of the US waits “in line” (most likely, more politely than New Yorkers). In the UK, something may be “different to” something else, but in the US it’s “different from.” In other words, prepositions – on, in, to, from, and many other relational words – slide all over the map. If you don’t know the customary regional preposition for a phrase, you can end up with a meaning you did not intend. And, I should point out, sometimes a preposition may lead to confusion everywhere.

Take this sign (please):

Note the poinsettia in the background.

Note the flower and leaves in the background.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These words appear on (in?) the window of a dry cleaning shop. I’m betting that the sign is an attempt to say that your clothes won’t be shipped to another state but instead be cleaned and pressed right there. The sign should probably say “all work done in our plant” or “on the premises.” Instead, the sign implies that workers are fertilizing, watering, snipping dead leaves, and doing other routine chores “on our plant.” Right behind the sign, by the way, are two poinsettias. They look like they need some work.

Check out this one:

Business with?

Business with?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This sign makes me picture a business meeting between an animated, talking, Disneyesque building and whoever uses this service entrance. After all, the sign specifies “approved business with this property.” Not with the owners, the residents, or the staff on or in or at this property. “With this property” has a nice ring to it, though, and raises a number of questions. Can a property negotiate business deals? Is this property, a large and elegant structure, harder to do business with than, say, a small brownstone or a five-storey tenement? Send your theories at me. Or to me. Maybe towards me.

 

Don’t Mess with a Grandma

I more or less gave up on apostrophes a long time ago. There seems to be a cosmic jar filled with this punctuation mark, which writers shake over their texts, letting apostrophes fall willy-nilly into words. Thus I ignored this sign, which shoves an apostrophe into a plural, where it does not belong:

Tuesday's. Sigh.

Tuesday’s. Sigh.

Some grammarians call this usage a “greengrocer’s apostrophe.” (Notice the correct use of the possessive apostrophe in the term, which names a punctuation error.) Why “greengrocer’s”? My opinion, based on no research whatsoever, is that people who use this term believe a shopkeeper (greengrocer) is more likely than a non-business owner to insert apostrophes into plurals. That belief doesn’t match my experience. If I stacked all the student essays, term papers, and other writing I graded and corrected during my teaching career, the top of the pile would be within spitting distance of the moon and maybe even topple over onto a moon rock or two. Nearly all of those writing efforts included a “greengrocer’s apostrophe,” and none of the students were grocers, though many were (environmentally) green.

Though I scarcely glance at extra apostrophes, I did stop short when I saw this sign:

Granny

Granny’s combative.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The color difference between the first and last pair of lines initially led me to believe that the tavernkeeper was making a statement about grandmothers and their alleged capacity to slug someone. But I’m a grandmother, and though sorely tempted at times, I have never punched anyone. Then I noticed that no punctuation appeared anywhere at all. Perhaps the sign is a statement about grannies’ tendency to wallop cocktails, I mused. (Sidepoint: There are hot cocktails? Who knew! ) The image of grandmothers bopping martinis, mimosas, and other drinks made me wonder whether a new temperance movement was brewing. I still don’t know what the sign means. Just to be safe, I have one piece of advice: Don’t mess with a grandma, especially when she’s drinking.

Shop for . . .

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!

 

Hold on, Holden

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

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.