Feeling shopped-out?
I’m surprised to find that “shopped-out” is not included in the dictionary, even though we all know exactly what it means: the sensation (or actual state) of having completely and thoroughly (the redundancy is necessary for emphasis) exhausted oneself and one’s wallet in shopping for multiple gifts for multiple people for a certain occasion.
How do you know when you’re “shopped-out?” I compare it to the moment at a feast or big dinner when you realize you absolutely cannot take another bite. You know you’re shopped-out when the thought of buying one more thing – another mug, picture frame or tube of hand lotion -- becomes a mere physical impossibility; like an injured racehorse at the starting gate, you simply cannot enter another store or stand in another line (or “on” another line, if you’re from New York) or open your wallet for anyone but, ahem, yourself. (By that time, a grande eggnog soy latte might hit the spot.)
The key is to stop shopping before the words, “Bah humbug!” start tripping from your lips. Now, anyone who grew up with “Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol” knows full well that “Bah humbug” comes from Charles Dickens’s immortal Ebenezer Scrooge, the miser transformed by the Christmas spirits Past, Present and Future in his book, A Christmas Carol. That book, so memorably transformed to a TV cartoon special in the 1960s, is one of the three literary mainstays of the Christmas season, the other two being the Nativity story itself, and then “The Night Before Christmas,” the 1822 poem that gave us flying reindeer, a chimney-hopping St. Nicholas, and stockings for Santa to fill.
But Scrooge himself has made such an impression on English and American culture that his name is now used as a proper or common noun, and is defined in the dictionary as a person who is miserly and mean, just as Dickens created him.
Dickens, however, was a little more descriptive than my American Heritage, and if you haven’t read A Christmas Carol lately, it’s worth reading his description:
Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his think lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice.
Such an amazing collection of words and images! Granted, I think Dickens got paid by the word, but he chose words that have transcended time and entered our culture. Will our new words, like website or panini or barista do the same?
And how to describe today’s corporate, money-grubbing bigwigs. Invisible, for the most part – unless they’ve gotten caught for some felony or other. But what bothers me most about these invisible heads of food and service corporations is the language they force into the mouths of their service people working the counters on the frontlines:
No longer is it simply enough for a customer to make a purchase or order something to eat or drink. The clerks and baristas are now supposed to ask, oh so gently but firmly, if you wouldn’t like to buy something ELSE.
Take the cafes at Barnes & Noble, for instance; this is not one Barnes & Noble Café, but all over. If you ask for a small tea, which comes to about $2 and is at least 10 times the cost of the bag, water and cup it’s served in, it still gives a patron the right to sit and enjoy the moment at a table while reading any amount of unpaid- for items. Considering all that, a $2 tea is quite a bargain. What I can’t stand, however (and at the risk of sounding like Andy Rooney) are the questions that follow the simple order:
Would you like to try our new, larger size cup for just 20 cents extra?
Would you like a biscotti with that?
Would you like a panini with that?
Are you a Barnes & Noble Club member (for a cost of $25)?
This offensive type of language is something so pervasive in our culture that I have coined it, “Hucksterish,” a huckster being a particularly aggressive sales person. Modern Hucketerish seems to have started with the “Some fries with that?” automatic question at McDonald’s – a question that often even followed orders including fries. Similar questions abound at the Gap, Pier One, and Abercrombie & Fitch and practically every other type of store, save the grocery store. (Also, Starbucks seems to be above this language, though their non-verbal tip jars apparently bother some.)
While shopping at Pier One the other day, I was in line next to a woman purchasing a sofa for the sale price of $1,047 including tax and delivery fee. Not bad for a couch but still no small sum. And yet what did the young, personable sales woman have to say: “Would you like some throw pillows to go with that?”
A friend of mine’s daughter works at the preppy porn palace of Abercrombie & Fitch and is required to ask all holiday shoppers as they walk in, “Have you seen our sexy new fleece?”
It’s all simply ” fries with that?”
Perhaps that is the American way, along with Santa and Superman, but it’s as offensive and brazen as anything P. Diddy ever rapped. If I asked for tea but neglected to ask for a $7 panini because I “forgot,” then let me go hungry. The poor Hucksterish-speaking barista will not benefit either way – the profits simply go into the mill, and the server keeps earning minimum wage. Bah humbug!
So who are these scrooges who force this verbiage upon us unarmed consumers? We read articles about what “sophisticated” and “savvy” shoppers we have become, but that’s a small order of fries compared to the people selling them to us. And yet these Masters in Command are nowhere to be seen to the average customer. Sure, I can visit the website, but where on Barnes & Noble’s, can I complain about The Four Questions? Who invented the line, “sexy new fleece” and forced it into the mouth of a young and hard-working sales clerk? And why didn’t the Pier One sales woman simply throw in some throw pillows as a courtesy? Now, that’s the spirit of Christmas!
It’s never too late to change, as Scrooge himself discovered:
(Scrooge) became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them … His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.
So perhaps it’s a good thing to feel shopped-out: All you can do then is to stop, relax, enjoy! Make some pumpkin bread for yourself and family, sit down for a moment and pick up a book, not a catalogue; or finish wrapping presents with a little “White Christmas.” Do anything that’s corny, sentimental and full of love and laughter – and kiss “bah humbug” goodbye.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Gifts You Never Knew You Wanted
Our house is now certainly decked* out for Christmas, from the kitschy* to the elegant* (I can hear some of you readers* who know us adding, “But mostly kitsch.”) No matter what, the effect is warm and cheery* and I hope the season so far is a happy one for you all.
Now, this week’s “gift” (i.e. posting) includes bringing alive some of the fairly ordinary words that I have asterixed above -- (yes, “asterix” – Latin for “star” -- is also a verb, according to the computer’s dictionary). Those starred words span more than 1,000 years of history. And if you read to the end to the end of the blog, you’ll find another unique holiday gift – this one a rare translation of the chorus to a well-known American seasonal song into a Western European dialect so regional that it has no official written language.
Whether you’re as excited as children checking their stockings, or feeling like Aunt Margaret just delivered her annual box of dried prunes and fruitcake, here are this week’s offerings:
* Deck – from the 15th century Middle English word, “to cover.” Today, the German word for “blanket” is “Decke.” I always thought that “deck” was some anglicized variation of “decorate,” which comes from the Latin word for “ornament.” Even though both words go back to the Indo-European root, “dek” you can see that they both went their separate ways.
* Kitschy – From the 20th century Germanic word, “kitschen” meaning “to throw together sloppily;” and no -- “kitsch” and “kitchen” are not linguistically related: “Kitchen” is a variant of the Latin “coquere,” meaning, “to cook” -- though in my case the dual connection might apply. Anyway, “kitschy” itself grew out of the word “kitsch,” which sprang into use in Germany in the 1860’s –70s, when the newly moneyed middle class started trying to show off their status by buying art work – with the market supplying all kinds of cheap imitation art, meant to convey affluence and good taste, but in fact, did the opposite. By the 1930’s, however, “kitsch” was so popular that art theorist Theodor Odomo called kitsch a “threat to culture.” Today, for many, kitsch just implies retro, or ironic humor.
* Elegant – This comes from the 15th century Middle English, by way of Middle French, by way of the Latin, “elegere” for “elect,” or “select,” with the “ant” part just being an adjective ending. Since the words “deck” and “elegant” originated at about the same time, it seems likely that they needed elegant to describe the decking, which was apparently not “kitschy,” which, as stated above, is a relatively new word. (Though I imagine bad taste existed before the 20th century, it seems to have taken an extra 500 years to come up with a precise word for it. Now that’s progress!)
* Readers – Wo! It’s now time for a trip in the “Way-Back Machine” (remember Mr. Peabody and Sherman?) Our word “read” dates back to before 900, when the middle vowels were reversed in “raeden,” meaning “to counsel, advise or explain.” In German today “reden” still means “to advise,” but their word for “to read” is “lesen,” (lay-zen); in fact, all the other Western European languages – except English -- eventually turned to Latin derivatives for their words for “read” and “write:” (Swedish: lasa, skriva ; French: lire, ecrire; Spanish: leer, escribir)
Our word “write” goes back to Old English for “to tear or scratch,” which does for the current definition what “kitschen” does for “kitchen.”
* Cheery – How cute: “cheery” comes to us from 12th century Middle English by way of Old French, “chiere,” which is from the street Latin word “cara” meaning, “face.” There are some synonyms for “cheer” -- joy, mirth, merriment, gladness, and glee – words we all know but are more special occasion words; whereas cheer, as well as cheery and cheer up, are all-year-round sorts of nouns, verbs and adjectives, which is nice because just saying those words makes me smile.
And speaking of smiling, I now give you the words to “Jingle Bells” in Swiss German -- a dialect of German that Germans themselves cannot understand. Swiss German has simplified and scaled down standard German – to the point where there’s not even a past tense! (They use the present tense, and context, to distinguish.) The language is spoken locally, among all social strata, but not spoken in school, where it is all German. Still, Swiss German is the “linguistic home” to about 4 million people. So should you ever venture to the environs of Zurich, you will perhaps be praised to Matterhorn heights with this rendition – well known even in English over there -- of this 1857 classic, here written down and translated by 11-year-old Dominik from near the Alpine city of St. Gallen:
JINGLE BELLS (in Swiss German)
Jingle bells, jingle bells, alli stigat i! (Pron: all-ee stee-goat ee)
(Everyone gets in!)
Hut gots uf a schlittafahrt und alli si da bi! (Pron: hoot goats ooff oh shlittah-fart,
oond all-ee see da-bee)
(Here we go on a sleigh ride and everyone is there)
Jingle bells, jingle bells, gal du nimsch oos mit; (Pron: guel doo nimsh oos mit)
(Be sure to take us with you)
So na wildi schlittafahrt isch schonsti wo es git! (Pron: so no vil-dee shlittah-fart ish shoon-stee vo es git!)
(Such a wild sleigh ride is the greatest thing there is!)
Catchy – without being kitschy – isn’t it?! I hope this leaves you feeling cheery, dear readers, while you continue to deck your elegant halls and otherwise enjoy the season.
Now, this week’s “gift” (i.e. posting) includes bringing alive some of the fairly ordinary words that I have asterixed above -- (yes, “asterix” – Latin for “star” -- is also a verb, according to the computer’s dictionary). Those starred words span more than 1,000 years of history. And if you read to the end to the end of the blog, you’ll find another unique holiday gift – this one a rare translation of the chorus to a well-known American seasonal song into a Western European dialect so regional that it has no official written language.
Whether you’re as excited as children checking their stockings, or feeling like Aunt Margaret just delivered her annual box of dried prunes and fruitcake, here are this week’s offerings:
* Deck – from the 15th century Middle English word, “to cover.” Today, the German word for “blanket” is “Decke.” I always thought that “deck” was some anglicized variation of “decorate,” which comes from the Latin word for “ornament.” Even though both words go back to the Indo-European root, “dek” you can see that they both went their separate ways.
* Kitschy – From the 20th century Germanic word, “kitschen” meaning “to throw together sloppily;” and no -- “kitsch” and “kitchen” are not linguistically related: “Kitchen” is a variant of the Latin “coquere,” meaning, “to cook” -- though in my case the dual connection might apply. Anyway, “kitschy” itself grew out of the word “kitsch,” which sprang into use in Germany in the 1860’s –70s, when the newly moneyed middle class started trying to show off their status by buying art work – with the market supplying all kinds of cheap imitation art, meant to convey affluence and good taste, but in fact, did the opposite. By the 1930’s, however, “kitsch” was so popular that art theorist Theodor Odomo called kitsch a “threat to culture.” Today, for many, kitsch just implies retro, or ironic humor.
* Elegant – This comes from the 15th century Middle English, by way of Middle French, by way of the Latin, “elegere” for “elect,” or “select,” with the “ant” part just being an adjective ending. Since the words “deck” and “elegant” originated at about the same time, it seems likely that they needed elegant to describe the decking, which was apparently not “kitschy,” which, as stated above, is a relatively new word. (Though I imagine bad taste existed before the 20th century, it seems to have taken an extra 500 years to come up with a precise word for it. Now that’s progress!)
* Readers – Wo! It’s now time for a trip in the “Way-Back Machine” (remember Mr. Peabody and Sherman?) Our word “read” dates back to before 900, when the middle vowels were reversed in “raeden,” meaning “to counsel, advise or explain.” In German today “reden” still means “to advise,” but their word for “to read” is “lesen,” (lay-zen); in fact, all the other Western European languages – except English -- eventually turned to Latin derivatives for their words for “read” and “write:” (Swedish: lasa, skriva ; French: lire, ecrire; Spanish: leer, escribir)
Our word “write” goes back to Old English for “to tear or scratch,” which does for the current definition what “kitschen” does for “kitchen.”
* Cheery – How cute: “cheery” comes to us from 12th century Middle English by way of Old French, “chiere,” which is from the street Latin word “cara” meaning, “face.” There are some synonyms for “cheer” -- joy, mirth, merriment, gladness, and glee – words we all know but are more special occasion words; whereas cheer, as well as cheery and cheer up, are all-year-round sorts of nouns, verbs and adjectives, which is nice because just saying those words makes me smile.
And speaking of smiling, I now give you the words to “Jingle Bells” in Swiss German -- a dialect of German that Germans themselves cannot understand. Swiss German has simplified and scaled down standard German – to the point where there’s not even a past tense! (They use the present tense, and context, to distinguish.) The language is spoken locally, among all social strata, but not spoken in school, where it is all German. Still, Swiss German is the “linguistic home” to about 4 million people. So should you ever venture to the environs of Zurich, you will perhaps be praised to Matterhorn heights with this rendition – well known even in English over there -- of this 1857 classic, here written down and translated by 11-year-old Dominik from near the Alpine city of St. Gallen:
JINGLE BELLS (in Swiss German)
Jingle bells, jingle bells, alli stigat i! (Pron: all-ee stee-goat ee)
(Everyone gets in!)
Hut gots uf a schlittafahrt und alli si da bi! (Pron: hoot goats ooff oh shlittah-fart,
oond all-ee see da-bee)
(Here we go on a sleigh ride and everyone is there)
Jingle bells, jingle bells, gal du nimsch oos mit; (Pron: guel doo nimsh oos mit)
(Be sure to take us with you)
So na wildi schlittafahrt isch schonsti wo es git! (Pron: so no vil-dee shlittah-fart ish shoon-stee vo es git!)
(Such a wild sleigh ride is the greatest thing there is!)
Catchy – without being kitschy – isn’t it?! I hope this leaves you feeling cheery, dear readers, while you continue to deck your elegant halls and otherwise enjoy the season.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
A Merry Little Yuletide, Now (Presently)
Despite a globally warmish December air in New York, it’s still very much the Christmas season, with Christmas songs playing as a backdrop to our days and gift-shopping quests. Those songs have a way of connecting one year to the next and most of them are as familiar as old friends. And yet within the familiar words and tunes, language change is all over the place.
Take the song lodged in my head right now: it’s the Judy Garland/Frank Sinatra/James Taylor/Alvin and the Chipmunks (they all sang it) favorite, “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas;” there is a line in that song that says “Make the yuletide gay”: now, most of us can guess from context that “Yule” (heard in other songs) means Christmas, and then extrapolate that “yuletide” probably means Christmas time -- but where do those words come from? And why do we sing them?
In fact, Yule is the old Germanic name for the winter solstice celebration, a big bonfire-oriented festival that traditionally fell on the December solstice. In those pagan days, and in those northern European climes, the cold, snowy land looked fairly bleak and days were short and dark. By December 21, the shortest day of the year, the theme of those solstice parties was “light” – as in Bring It Back. Building bonfires and dancing around them was no doubt a big morale booster for those worried that the sun was dying; other bright or light-themed decorations and festivities were a major feature – then as now.
Even the word for our color, “yellow,” or Old English “geolu” (give the “g” a “y” sound) is rooted in the ancient word for “bright.” And the Anglo-Saxons’ word for the month of December was “geola.”
Although “Yule” predated Christianity in northern Europe, once the people were converted, Yule came to be another word for Christmas. Even today, Scandinavians wish each other “God Jul” (Good Yule) “Tide” is the Germanic word for “time,” with “yuletide” traditionally stretching from December 24-January 6.
As for making the yuletide “gay,” well, it’s clear in 2006 that that word has also undergone some meaningful change since the song was written in 1944, when the word still meant "happy." Even then, though, in some circles, “gay,” had an extended meaning of “carefree – including "living outside the norm.” For a while, straight men who were bachelors could be considered “gay,” if their lives were unconventional enough, as in the Fred Astaire movie, "The Gay Divorcee." But by the late 1960s the word had come to mean being homosexual or lesbian. Still, James Taylor, in his 2001 version of "Have Yourself", sings the word the way it was originally intended and it sounds just right. Sometimes, context is everything.
Speaking of word change, this week’s posting includes a question from a Language Lady reader, who asks:
Q. Can you teach me the difference between "presently" and "currently”? I avoid these words because I'm confused.
-- Bev, from Virginia
A. No wonder you’re confused, Bev: “Presently” means both “now” and “later.” You’ve caught a word that seems to be in transition from one meaning to another. It usually takes decades or longer for a word to fully realize the change, so we are not used to noticing the changes going on in our own lifetime. However unwittingly, you have found one! In the Encarta World English Dictionary, the first meaning of “presently” is “in a short while;” the second meaning is “now,” with synonyms listed as “at the moment,” “at present,” and – last but not least – “currently.”
It is the second meaning of “presently” – as “now,” or “currently” – that is the Definition Upstart. In my 1978 American Heritage Dictionary, the Usage Panel said that although the word was increasingly used that way, it was acceptable to only 47% of the Usage Panel. Twenty years later, my Oxford Essential English Dictionary says that both meanings – “soon” as well as “now” are widely used.
But if you ask me, “presently” meaning “now” – as in, “We are presently undergoing technical difficulties,” is the more popular understanding of the word; however, “presently” is not the kind of word we say when speaking. For example, we would never think to say, in answer to a question, “Oh, he’s presently out of the office.” Even if that were a written response, it would be on the formal and stilted side. But using “presently” to mean “shortly” sounds even more stilted -- to my ears like nature shows with some English (British) narrator speaking in low tones: “And presently we’ll see the hungry python devour the curious rat …”
Nonetheless, saying, “We are presently not accepting any more applications” is absolutely correct and clear, and fine for form-letter types of writing. However, I prefer the word, “currently” – as much for the acoustic strength of the “hard-C” as for the lack of confusion; as in, “We are not currently accepting …” Plug in “now” and you get: “We are not now accepting …” which is all right but sounds a bit hard – “now” is just too short, and not fluid enough for my taste in that context; still, it is certainly clear and concise. The only thing you should not do is substitute any of the “now” synonyms for “at the present time,” or “at this point in time,” those being way too wordy and bland.
In today’s New York Times Magazine William Safire discusses the transition of the words “rear” and “raise”: It used to be, he said, that people “reared” their children and “raised” their crops, and for years he used to politely correct friends who mentioned “raising kids.” But in today’s article, Safire conceded that the word for bringing up one’s children was now – as baby boomer and younger parents can attest from personal experience and usage -- definitely “raise.”
So you could say: In 1966, “raising children” would only PRESENTLY be the standard way to express “bringing up children;” whereas in 2006 “raising children” is PRESENTLY, or CURRENTLY, the only way to say it.
Well, presently, the presents will be presented; the Yule will be celebrated and we’ll once more recite “The Night Before Christmas” and still not really know what, exactly “visions of sugar plums” look like – but that’s okay. You can still have yourself a merry little yuletide, presently.
Take the song lodged in my head right now: it’s the Judy Garland/Frank Sinatra/James Taylor/Alvin and the Chipmunks (they all sang it) favorite, “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas;” there is a line in that song that says “Make the yuletide gay”: now, most of us can guess from context that “Yule” (heard in other songs) means Christmas, and then extrapolate that “yuletide” probably means Christmas time -- but where do those words come from? And why do we sing them?
In fact, Yule is the old Germanic name for the winter solstice celebration, a big bonfire-oriented festival that traditionally fell on the December solstice. In those pagan days, and in those northern European climes, the cold, snowy land looked fairly bleak and days were short and dark. By December 21, the shortest day of the year, the theme of those solstice parties was “light” – as in Bring It Back. Building bonfires and dancing around them was no doubt a big morale booster for those worried that the sun was dying; other bright or light-themed decorations and festivities were a major feature – then as now.
Even the word for our color, “yellow,” or Old English “geolu” (give the “g” a “y” sound) is rooted in the ancient word for “bright.” And the Anglo-Saxons’ word for the month of December was “geola.”
Although “Yule” predated Christianity in northern Europe, once the people were converted, Yule came to be another word for Christmas. Even today, Scandinavians wish each other “God Jul” (Good Yule) “Tide” is the Germanic word for “time,” with “yuletide” traditionally stretching from December 24-January 6.
As for making the yuletide “gay,” well, it’s clear in 2006 that that word has also undergone some meaningful change since the song was written in 1944, when the word still meant "happy." Even then, though, in some circles, “gay,” had an extended meaning of “carefree – including "living outside the norm.” For a while, straight men who were bachelors could be considered “gay,” if their lives were unconventional enough, as in the Fred Astaire movie, "The Gay Divorcee." But by the late 1960s the word had come to mean being homosexual or lesbian. Still, James Taylor, in his 2001 version of "Have Yourself", sings the word the way it was originally intended and it sounds just right. Sometimes, context is everything.
Speaking of word change, this week’s posting includes a question from a Language Lady reader, who asks:
Q. Can you teach me the difference between "presently" and "currently”? I avoid these words because I'm confused.
-- Bev, from Virginia
A. No wonder you’re confused, Bev: “Presently” means both “now” and “later.” You’ve caught a word that seems to be in transition from one meaning to another. It usually takes decades or longer for a word to fully realize the change, so we are not used to noticing the changes going on in our own lifetime. However unwittingly, you have found one! In the Encarta World English Dictionary, the first meaning of “presently” is “in a short while;” the second meaning is “now,” with synonyms listed as “at the moment,” “at present,” and – last but not least – “currently.”
It is the second meaning of “presently” – as “now,” or “currently” – that is the Definition Upstart. In my 1978 American Heritage Dictionary, the Usage Panel said that although the word was increasingly used that way, it was acceptable to only 47% of the Usage Panel. Twenty years later, my Oxford Essential English Dictionary says that both meanings – “soon” as well as “now” are widely used.
But if you ask me, “presently” meaning “now” – as in, “We are presently undergoing technical difficulties,” is the more popular understanding of the word; however, “presently” is not the kind of word we say when speaking. For example, we would never think to say, in answer to a question, “Oh, he’s presently out of the office.” Even if that were a written response, it would be on the formal and stilted side. But using “presently” to mean “shortly” sounds even more stilted -- to my ears like nature shows with some English (British) narrator speaking in low tones: “And presently we’ll see the hungry python devour the curious rat …”
Nonetheless, saying, “We are presently not accepting any more applications” is absolutely correct and clear, and fine for form-letter types of writing. However, I prefer the word, “currently” – as much for the acoustic strength of the “hard-C” as for the lack of confusion; as in, “We are not currently accepting …” Plug in “now” and you get: “We are not now accepting …” which is all right but sounds a bit hard – “now” is just too short, and not fluid enough for my taste in that context; still, it is certainly clear and concise. The only thing you should not do is substitute any of the “now” synonyms for “at the present time,” or “at this point in time,” those being way too wordy and bland.
In today’s New York Times Magazine William Safire discusses the transition of the words “rear” and “raise”: It used to be, he said, that people “reared” their children and “raised” their crops, and for years he used to politely correct friends who mentioned “raising kids.” But in today’s article, Safire conceded that the word for bringing up one’s children was now – as baby boomer and younger parents can attest from personal experience and usage -- definitely “raise.”
So you could say: In 1966, “raising children” would only PRESENTLY be the standard way to express “bringing up children;” whereas in 2006 “raising children” is PRESENTLY, or CURRENTLY, the only way to say it.
Well, presently, the presents will be presented; the Yule will be celebrated and we’ll once more recite “The Night Before Christmas” and still not really know what, exactly “visions of sugar plums” look like – but that’s okay. You can still have yourself a merry little yuletide, presently.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
An “I” for an “I” (and Thanks, Liz from Maryland)
Please consider the following recent quotations by two enormously successful men who have made their fortunes dealing with words, either their own or others’:
“I and senior management agree with the American public that this was an ill-considered project.”
- So said internationally renowned multimedia news and publishing mogul Rupert Murdoch, upon canceling a book that would have given us O.J. SImpson’s ghostwritten account of the infamous murder he was acquitted of ten years ago.
And:
“I was 12 … when I and two sisters were assembled for an hour of ’music appreciation’.”
- This is from today’s New York Times Book Review, in a review by the outspoken, conservative columnist, editor, author, etc., William F. Buckley, who is as famous for his strong opinions and biting intellect as for his command of the English language; in his review of “Johann Sebastian Bach: Life and Work” by Martin Geck.
Both Tabloid King and Renaissance Conservative broke a grammar rule so basic, so elementary, my dear Watson, so entrenched in English and other languages as to be difficult to find the rule for -- but here it is: “In a series of two (or more) subjects or objects, the pronoun, “I” (LL adds: or object pronoun, “me”) comes last, for the sake of politeness.” This is from “Modern English: A Practical Reference Guide,” by Marcella Frank,1972, a grammar guide I bought secondhand right out of college: It’s not cute, witty or fun like so many guides today, but it dishes the stuff straight.
Of course, teenagers love to break this “others first” rule by saying, “Me and her are going to town,” and other dialectical variations; but Rupert and Bill are senior statesmen of words and media and grew up in the days when students were thoroughly schooled in grammar – especially these two students who, respectively, went on to Oxford and Yale universities.
When I mentioned Mr. Murdoch’s grammar gaff to a newspaper editor, he replied glibly (granted, it was on the early morning train) that the CEO of Fox News was so rich and powerful, he could say whatever he liked. Well, Mike Tyson was once rich and powerful but that didn’t mean he could bite off Evander Holyfield’s ear without repercussions.
The question is why these two astute, worldly and word-wise men both broke normal phrasing and basic grammatical etiquette to put themselves first. In Mr. Murdoch’s case, why couldn’t he have started off: “Senior management and I …” Was he thinking, “I should be the first to blame for initially greenlighting O.J.’s book, not senior management …” or was he just putting himself first because he’s so rich and powerful?
As for Mr. Buckley – shame on him! For a wordsmith of his caliber, “I and two sisters” should have triggered a Klieg-sized light in his head. I cannot imagine why “my sisters and I” did not slip unhesitatingly off his tongue. And who was the Times editor that let that one slip past?
Let’s hope these two titans are not sparking a trend in “I” speak. Think how different the world would be with the musical, “I and the King;” or a Downeast humor duo called, “I and Bert;” or Linda Ronstadt singing, “I and you travel to the beat of a different drum.” You get the picture.
I can accept language change in general, but in this case, well, what’s the harm in holding onto a little verbal nicety in putting others first – senior management and sisters included -- and ourselves last. At least, so think I.
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Thanks, Liz from Maryland!
A Christmas-colored package arrived in the mail yesterday, addressed to the Language Lady, and with the explicit instructions to open ASAP and not wait until Christmas. Inside was a paperback titled, “Woe Is I: The Grammarphobe’s Guide to Better English in Plain English,” by Patricia T. O’Conner, the revised edition, 2003. So thoughtful, Liz! Thank you!! Being at home with a nasty cold, I got back into bed, fluffed up the pillows and proceeded to read this fun, funny, clever, helpful, and bestselling book that any of you faithful readers would also enjoy – or at least might want handy when The Language Lady is not clear enough for you. Patricia T. O’ Conner has apparently written loads of successful language books that are out on the market, some co-written with her husband, Stewart Kellerman, who, a zillion years ago when we both worked at United Press International, was the first to teach me the difference between “which” and “that.”
“I and senior management agree with the American public that this was an ill-considered project.”
- So said internationally renowned multimedia news and publishing mogul Rupert Murdoch, upon canceling a book that would have given us O.J. SImpson’s ghostwritten account of the infamous murder he was acquitted of ten years ago.
And:
“I was 12 … when I and two sisters were assembled for an hour of ’music appreciation’.”
- This is from today’s New York Times Book Review, in a review by the outspoken, conservative columnist, editor, author, etc., William F. Buckley, who is as famous for his strong opinions and biting intellect as for his command of the English language; in his review of “Johann Sebastian Bach: Life and Work” by Martin Geck.
Both Tabloid King and Renaissance Conservative broke a grammar rule so basic, so elementary, my dear Watson, so entrenched in English and other languages as to be difficult to find the rule for -- but here it is: “In a series of two (or more) subjects or objects, the pronoun, “I” (LL adds: or object pronoun, “me”) comes last, for the sake of politeness.” This is from “Modern English: A Practical Reference Guide,” by Marcella Frank,1972, a grammar guide I bought secondhand right out of college: It’s not cute, witty or fun like so many guides today, but it dishes the stuff straight.
Of course, teenagers love to break this “others first” rule by saying, “Me and her are going to town,” and other dialectical variations; but Rupert and Bill are senior statesmen of words and media and grew up in the days when students were thoroughly schooled in grammar – especially these two students who, respectively, went on to Oxford and Yale universities.
When I mentioned Mr. Murdoch’s grammar gaff to a newspaper editor, he replied glibly (granted, it was on the early morning train) that the CEO of Fox News was so rich and powerful, he could say whatever he liked. Well, Mike Tyson was once rich and powerful but that didn’t mean he could bite off Evander Holyfield’s ear without repercussions.
The question is why these two astute, worldly and word-wise men both broke normal phrasing and basic grammatical etiquette to put themselves first. In Mr. Murdoch’s case, why couldn’t he have started off: “Senior management and I …” Was he thinking, “I should be the first to blame for initially greenlighting O.J.’s book, not senior management …” or was he just putting himself first because he’s so rich and powerful?
As for Mr. Buckley – shame on him! For a wordsmith of his caliber, “I and two sisters” should have triggered a Klieg-sized light in his head. I cannot imagine why “my sisters and I” did not slip unhesitatingly off his tongue. And who was the Times editor that let that one slip past?
Let’s hope these two titans are not sparking a trend in “I” speak. Think how different the world would be with the musical, “I and the King;” or a Downeast humor duo called, “I and Bert;” or Linda Ronstadt singing, “I and you travel to the beat of a different drum.” You get the picture.
I can accept language change in general, but in this case, well, what’s the harm in holding onto a little verbal nicety in putting others first – senior management and sisters included -- and ourselves last. At least, so think I.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Thanks, Liz from Maryland!
A Christmas-colored package arrived in the mail yesterday, addressed to the Language Lady, and with the explicit instructions to open ASAP and not wait until Christmas. Inside was a paperback titled, “Woe Is I: The Grammarphobe’s Guide to Better English in Plain English,” by Patricia T. O’Conner, the revised edition, 2003. So thoughtful, Liz! Thank you!! Being at home with a nasty cold, I got back into bed, fluffed up the pillows and proceeded to read this fun, funny, clever, helpful, and bestselling book that any of you faithful readers would also enjoy – or at least might want handy when The Language Lady is not clear enough for you. Patricia T. O’ Conner has apparently written loads of successful language books that are out on the market, some co-written with her husband, Stewart Kellerman, who, a zillion years ago when we both worked at United Press International, was the first to teach me the difference between “which” and “that.”
Guest Blogger: Smoke Gets in Your Brain
The Language Lady would like to present her first guest blogger, a transplanted New Yorker now living in the warm but smoggy Southern California coast, and writing under the name, “Gunish Helfen.” (Anyone know what her name means?)
Letter from Los Angeles:
Smoke Gets in Your Brain
One of the more startling aspects of living in Los Angeles for a New Yorker like me is the manner in which Los Angelenos choose their words. Being vague, it turns out, is not only essential for social interaction but something which, if you do not do, results in punishment in the form of social ostracization. That is, if you speak properly, people will, after looking at you weirdly, avoid you.
There is, of course, the over- and incorrect usage of “like,” used repeatedly in one sentence as in, “Like, we have, like a low-fat blueberry muffin or like an apple-cinnamon, like, fat one.” This has been written about many times before and has become quite ordinary usage for nearly everyone. But, out here, we like to add the word “umm” to “like,” as in “I’m going to, umm, like, get a green tea frappucino.” It is of particular note that “umm” is not a sign of hesitation on the speaker’s part or a bleep the speaker uses to create time in order to decide what he or she will be ordering. It’s more like an announcement to others to pay attention, similar to the Principal clearing his or her throat at a student assembly. When the speaker adds “you know,” well, then you have almost the full L.A. narcissistic experience in one sentence. As in, “Like, you know, you take the, umm, 10 East to LaBrea.” What the speaker means is, “Oh, it’s so boring that you have to take the freeway rather than using that time to listen to me. So I will take ten minutes to say what can be said in two.”
Almost. For we cannot forget “totally,” as in “I totally thought it was a banana muffin.” Unlike “like” or “umm,” totally is actually a meaningful word, which makes its usage more brain-addling than the others. How can one “totally” think something? Certainly, one can have an idea ingrained in one’s mind and then be mistaken. One can be consumed or obsessed, even when facts tell you differently. But to totally think something? It would be more proper, if, umm, awkward, to say, “I thought with all that thoughts’ totality that it was a banana muffin,” but then it would take even longer to get your muffin and get on the freeway.
Language is a tool of thought. When it is made imprecise, bland, repetitive, well, I find it disappointing at best and infuriating at worse. Then it takes even more effort to repress the thought of putting the offending speaker’s hand into the iced blended blender. That I could even think like that like, totally, umm, makes me want like a, umm, Cantaloupe Frozen. Totally.
Signed,
Gunish Helfen (That’s Yiddish for “Nothing Helps.”)
Letter from Los Angeles:
Smoke Gets in Your Brain
One of the more startling aspects of living in Los Angeles for a New Yorker like me is the manner in which Los Angelenos choose their words. Being vague, it turns out, is not only essential for social interaction but something which, if you do not do, results in punishment in the form of social ostracization. That is, if you speak properly, people will, after looking at you weirdly, avoid you.
There is, of course, the over- and incorrect usage of “like,” used repeatedly in one sentence as in, “Like, we have, like a low-fat blueberry muffin or like an apple-cinnamon, like, fat one.” This has been written about many times before and has become quite ordinary usage for nearly everyone. But, out here, we like to add the word “umm” to “like,” as in “I’m going to, umm, like, get a green tea frappucino.” It is of particular note that “umm” is not a sign of hesitation on the speaker’s part or a bleep the speaker uses to create time in order to decide what he or she will be ordering. It’s more like an announcement to others to pay attention, similar to the Principal clearing his or her throat at a student assembly. When the speaker adds “you know,” well, then you have almost the full L.A. narcissistic experience in one sentence. As in, “Like, you know, you take the, umm, 10 East to LaBrea.” What the speaker means is, “Oh, it’s so boring that you have to take the freeway rather than using that time to listen to me. So I will take ten minutes to say what can be said in two.”
Almost. For we cannot forget “totally,” as in “I totally thought it was a banana muffin.” Unlike “like” or “umm,” totally is actually a meaningful word, which makes its usage more brain-addling than the others. How can one “totally” think something? Certainly, one can have an idea ingrained in one’s mind and then be mistaken. One can be consumed or obsessed, even when facts tell you differently. But to totally think something? It would be more proper, if, umm, awkward, to say, “I thought with all that thoughts’ totality that it was a banana muffin,” but then it would take even longer to get your muffin and get on the freeway.
Language is a tool of thought. When it is made imprecise, bland, repetitive, well, I find it disappointing at best and infuriating at worse. Then it takes even more effort to repress the thought of putting the offending speaker’s hand into the iced blended blender. That I could even think like that like, totally, umm, makes me want like a, umm, Cantaloupe Frozen. Totally.
Signed,
Gunish Helfen (That’s Yiddish for “Nothing Helps.”)
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