Tag Archives: English usage

How Do I Look?

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I’ve been Zooming around a lot lately. I’ve had virtual dinners with friends, virtual classes (on both sides of the virtual desk), virtual doctor visits, and some virtual interviews about my new book. (Yes, this is a shameless plug for 25 Great Sentences and How They Got That Way, which debuted this week.) What I haven’t had is the ability to ignore my appearance while Zooming. I suspect I’m not alone. In fact, I bet the first humans fretted over their skin and hair whenever they knelt to drink from a pond.

These New York City signs, snapped pre-pandemic, indicate a whole new level of obsession. First up, skin:

I admit that German Black Forest sounds authoritative, though why those ingredients should surpass, say, the Appalachians I could not explain. And what has to happen for something to be wild crafted? Is a deer or a bear involved? A squirrel? For me, the words that tip this sign into lunacy are the last three. Does anyone create a system designed not to work?

A little more skin:

Given the lack of hyphens, this shop may be offering a consultation about the camera you use to check your scalp. Or, the store may have its own special scalp camera. Either way: eww. Why would you want to stare at follicles and record the experience for posterity?

Now, hair. Here’s a message I agree with:

Keep each tress to yourself, please! It should be easy to avoid passing one, if you’re Zooming. Not so easy, but much more important: stay safe!

Huh?

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I’ve always believed that one challenge of writing is distinguishing between what’s in your head and what actually makes it into the world. You know what you’re trying to say (presumably), but your words don’t always say it. Thus your reader or listener is left with one question: “Huh?”

Consider this sentence from a local politician’s newsletter:

Another portion of the East River Esplanade collapsed despite securing more than $275 million as Co-Chair of the Taskforce with Congress . . .

Ungrateful Esplanade! It collapsed despite securing so much money, though perhaps it was unreasonable to ask an esplanade to serve as co-chair of a Taskforce. Also, I have to sympathize with the rubble pile: we’re all on the verge of falling apart these days.

Then there’s this statement on the website of an airline I frequently patronize:

We’ve instituted a workstation cleaning program for the check-in lobby counters and gate counters where the surfaces are wiped down with a disinfectant at a frequent cadence.

A cadence is a “musical beat,” “voice modulation,” or “horse’s gait.” It’s not a time interval, and it can’t be frequent. I can only hope the airline staff’s antiviral efforts are more effective than their communication skills.

Then there’s this sign, courtesy of my friend Sean, by way of his friend Tom:

Sadly, the incoherence of this red-and-blue message seems to be the norm these days, when an esplanade has a tantrum and a cleaning product a cadence. One message I hope is crystal clear: stay safe!

On Location

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Perhaps as a consequence of being cooped in, I’ve found myself thinking about the importance of location. An example:

I snapped this photo during a pre-pandemic shopping trip to a department store. The store was in North America, and the escalator next to this sign was in limbo, or maybe the repair shop. Either way, an elevator in CHINA was not in any way a convenience.

Moving on to another sort of location:

Et tu, New York Times? I thought I could count on my hometown newspaper to place descriptions in the proper location. I don’t know much about history or mathematical predictions, but I do know that the modifier that was used for D-Day should appear after method.

Another location problem, courtesy of my friend Ellie:

I can only conclude that whoever wrote this sign has really, really long arms.

Last one:

Say you’re driving a taxi. What happens after 46th Street? Does your passenger — or your car — go directly to jail without passing Go and collecting $200? Turn into a pumpkin? And what happens if you’re driving a couple or a group? Can your vehicle legally remain in bus lanes after 46 St?

This signs may be confusing, but one thing could not be clearer: the correct location in 2020 is socially distant. Stay safe and well!

Regarding Irregardless

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Regardless first appeared in the mid-16th century as a description meaning “not worthy of attention.” That definition is obsolete, but perhaps it shouldn’t be. In fact, it may be the best label for the current debate about irregardless, which reignited last week when Merriam Webster defended the inclusion of irregardless in its dictionary. Much outrage ensued, regardless of the fact that Merriam Webster and many other respected dictionaries have listed the word for years. All label it “nonstandard” and some “humorous.”

As I write this, many issues are indeed worthy of attention: the pandemic, injustice, and climate change, to name just three. In that context irregardless can’t compete. In fact, even had 2020 not proved to be a strong candidate for “Scariest Year of Our Lifetime,” the status of irregardless would mostly be irrelevant.

Granted, it’s a double-negative. The prefix ir- means “without,” as does the suffix -less, so irregardless, as many commentators have pointed out, effectively translates to “without without regard.” English sometimes adds two negatives and gets a positive (“I couldn’t not ask for a raise,” for example, means “I had to ask for a raise”), yet no one thinks the Rolling Stones are expressing contentment with “I can’t get no satisfaction.” Anyone who knows what regardless means also knows what irregardless means.

Here’s the thing: language lives. It often moves from (1) that’s not a real word! to (2) it’s a real word but educated people don’t use it to (3) class, remember to double the R when you write “irregardless.” We’re currently in stage two.

Regardless of everything I just wrote, I do support standards, and I most definitely support teaching them. Like it or not, what executives and academics deem “proper” matters when it comes time to hire, fire, and grade. Knowing the rules is important — but so is knowing that rules change. Irregardless of my personal preference for regardless, irregardless may someday switch from “nonstandard” to “standard.” I suspect the world, and the English language, will survive.

Challenge

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This post is a challenge: Can you reword these well-meaning but misguided signs, all of which have “do” problems? One point for a grammatically correct answer, two for grammatically correct and punchy, and three for a revision that fits the first two categories and maintains some sort of verb. I’ll tell you what I came up with for each, but fair warning: my revisions are terrible. Ready? Then we’re off to the barber shop:

The original, “We do hot shave,” has to go. My attempts: “We hot shave.” I don’t think so. “We shave hot.” Nope. “We shave hotly.” Definitely no. How about “We stick hot towels on your face before we shave you”? Not unless the storefront widens considerably. (And when did shaving become a team effort?)

Onward, and not upward:

As it is now, this sign feels like a retort to someone who said, “I wish you tailored.” (“We do tailor!”) My revisions: “We tailor and do alterations” and “Tailoring and Alterations Done Here.” Way too formal, way too long. Your thoughts?

Last one:

There’s an easy fix: cut off the first line of the top sign. That earns two points, but can you go for a three-pointer?

I’ll tally everyone’s points. The reader with the highest score will win . . . well, nothing. But DO try anyway.

Chickening Out

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Every time I think a bit of rationality has invaded food ads (which occurs, I admit, never), I see a sign so loopy I have to laugh. And snap a photo:

How is a “whole whole chicken” different from a “whole chicken”? Is it “wholer”? Or is there something missing in the usual “whole chicken” that I should know about? Perhaps, in these hyperbolic days, we need to repeat something just to make it seem true. Sigh.

Here’s an even more disturbing sign:

Maybe this sign explains the previous one: Perhaps the “whole whole chicken” includes the brain, obliquely referred to here as the quality it confers, “smart.” The whole (whole whole) thing makes me shudder and sigh.

I think I’ll eat veggies tonight. How about you? Having trouble deciding? Try this:

No decisions, just a grab. Ideal, until you notice that it’s “our favorites,” not “your.” Sigh again.

Writing this post has made me hungry. I think I’ll grab my favorite snack, which is not chicken — not “whole,” not “whole whole,” and definitely not “smart.” Bon appetit!

In Case of . . .

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“Emergency” seems like an important topic these days. Given all that’s going on in the world, it’s easy to panic. Here’s a sign from someone who obviously has:

I’m not here to judge whether step-sitting constitutes an emergency. For all I know, plopping on the staircase might slow a life-saving organ transfer. I do know that the sign-writer has a punctuation emergency, specifically the soon-to-be worldwide shortage of exclamation points. I mean, we can only produce so much punctuation, despite working 24/7 to churn it out! (or out!!!). Be reasonable, people.

And if you can’t be reasonable, at least be friendly:

My first thought, after I blessed the sign-writer for the single exclamation point, was “speak for yourself,” because for many of us, “emergencies” are definitely not “welcome.” Though I guess if you’re bored, the right emergency can add a little zing to your day.

So can a mistranslated phrase:

Yes, help for those pesky infernos is on the way, “to crash in event of fire.” With apologies to the Borg (Star Trek’s best villains, in my opinion), assistance is futile.

For the New Year

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Pundits are splashing us with rivers of ink to emphasize how crucial 2020 will be in determining the future of, well, pretty much everything. I’m not a pundit, but I do have some thoughts on the new year.

This sign offers good advice, albeit ungrammatically:

With the intense emotion floating around, “defensive boxing” seems like a good skill to have. Will you “learn to boxing” in 2020? I probably won’t (too conflict-averse), but I will obey this sign’s orders:

This is no time, I think, for “sitting or standing on the barricades,” and not only because it’s easy to fall off. I’ve resolved to educate myself, decide which side of an issue I’m on, and cross barricades whenever I can. I may even storm a few, but peacefully.

Realistically, here’s the sign I know I’ll follow:

You, too, will “do what you’ve got to do, to get through it.” I mean, what choice do you have?

Happy New Year to all!

I Can Only Hope

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When Pandora opened her mythical box and the world’s evils flew out, what remained was hope. In these signs, grammar and spelling and punctuation have taken flight. This post concerns what I hope remains. First, skill with scissors:

I hope the proprietors are good barbers, because the salon is certainly not wasting any energy inserting an apostrophe in kids’ (or kid’s, if only one child is welcome as a “walk-in”). Fortunately, men’s is properly punctuated.

This sign directs my hope to falling (actually, NOT falling) masonry:

What do I hope? That the company maintaining the exterior walls looming over my head in NYC is better at pointing, painting, piping, and venting than it is at spelling. Verticle? Seriously? Moving on to moving:

Here I hope that every client’s move is a great experience. Were I to use this firm (not that I’m going anywhere except on vacation), I would hope for better grammar (our employees our?) and punctuation (safe positive?).

Last but definitely not least:

Where do I start? Spelling: seperate or softner? Subject-verb agreement: work include? Punctuation: double quotation marks for the first line and single for the second? And why any quotation marks at all? I think I’ll have this shop clean my clothes, which I hope will be handled with more care than this sign.

Grammarian in a Watery City . . .

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The city being Venice, where I spent ten wonderful days and where at every turn I was startled by beauty, and, occasionally, by some creative use of the English language. Please note that I’m not criticizing here. How could I when I once wrote the Spanish-equivalent of “pitifully, I cannot accept your invitation”? As you read, imagine that I’m smiling gently at these menus. This one, for example:

I’d like to see a “cattlefish,” as long as it’s not stampeding toward me, leaving a trail of inky hoof-prints. Perhaps they reel it in with a lasso instead of a fishing pole?

Here’s another:

I won’t comment on “dishrealated.” I prefer to think of it as a positive, whatever it may be. I’ll just commend this restaurant for its “accurate procedure that leave unchanged the organoleptic qualities,” which, I discovered when I searched the dictionary, relate to the senses. In fact, from now on I’m ordering organoleptically. I also appreciate that the establishment is willing to engage with any “intolerance issue.” We all need help with that these days.

With “respect,” too:

And I thank you, dear reader, “for your delicate attention.” More on Venice when jet-lag abates.