Rollover Beethoven and tell Tchaikovski the news: Stop putting spaces in verb phrases. Such as demonstrated in this email I just received:
Now, many English-speakers would write that as “Roll over your 401(k),” but I fear that such speakers are becoming increasingly rare. The practice of compounding verb phrases is continuing to pick up. Or pickup.
Don’t get me wrong. I find nothing wrong with compounding. I tend to accept and generate compound words more quickly than others. I write website when others still prefer web site. And in my more lyrical fiction endeavors, I’ve written of, for example, “moonshards” to describe scattered light within a forest.
And there’s nothing wrong with language change—as long as it fills a void or brings additional communicative flexibility . . . and doesn’t confuse, introduce grammatical nonsense, or just plain ol’ sound stupid:
Confusion: To embellish my previous smartass example, consider “Pickup the truck.” Versus “Pick up the truck.”
Introducing grammatical nonsense: Consider an instruction you wouldn’t be shocked to see nowadays on a web page (and I believe lax website instruction-writing is at the root of much of this odd compounding): “To get started to rollover your 401(k), signup and login.” On the surface such construction seems clear. “Rollover your 401(k)” sounds nearly identical to “Roll over your 401(k)” (nearly, and more on that in a moment). But how do I express the fact that I am now acting on that instruction? “I am rolling over” or “I am rollovering”? Past tense: “I rolled over” or “I rollovered”?
Bonus item: Failing to mirror spoken sound. Say “The rollover is dead” aloud, and then say “Roll over and play dead.” Compare the compact (more concrete?) noun versus the flowing, more fluid verb phrase. Form and content.
Sounding stupid: Well, I always do that. But let’s return to our first example. “To get started to rollover your 401(k), signup and login.” Why not “To getstarted,” as long as we’re at it?
Or, for that matter, why not “whynot”?. And with that, I’ll stopit and shutup now.
(Musical side note: “Roll Over Beethoven” to me is like “On Broadway”—a fabulous, core rock and roll song of which there is no definitive version. That said, I deeply love the Electric Light Orchestra rendition. Check out the video below for that version, additionally delightful because Richard Pryor introduces the song, and YouTube—compound word and all—does indeed call it “Roll Over.”)
When I came out of grad school I landed a literary internship at the infamous Joseph Papp Public Theater in NYC and I had the fortune of co-dramaturging Don Cheadle’s play GROOMED.
Infamous? Has this renowned theater gone bad? Perhaps there were student’s there:
As has been pointed out, maybe this is correct, after all—maybe it’s simply a contraction of singular “student is.”
Or perhaps the theater is infamous because the actor’s, intern’s and student’s are dodging golf balls. Here’s a note from infamous JohnnyB, regarding a newspaper article about a school next door to a driving range:
I found this quote interesting.
So far no children have been hit by errant golf balls, although some have flown over the playground and a few cars have been hit.
Flying children would seem to be more noteworthy than flying golf balls, but that’s just my opinion.
We have all skeptiquoted someone at some time or another. “He said he was ‘visiting a sick friend,’” when the he in question was dallying with his mistress—that sort of thing. Placing the words “visiting a sick friend” in quotes communicates skepticism, a sly wink, or bold acknowledgement that the quoted material involves at best a euphemism and at worst a lie.
So why do so many people place quote marks around words and phrases that are hardly dubious, and clearly true? That’s the thrust of a fun blog called (I won’t put the name in quotes), The “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks.
Now, at least one word observer contends that such “usage” is not unnecessary at all—just misunderstood. Specifically, I’m referring to Grant Barrett, who has joined Martha Barnette on the A Way With Words NPR program (I say “away with words,” too! They’re so troublesome . . .). As you’ll see here, Barrett points out that such quote marks are intended for emphasis, and he calls them “shout quotes.” Barrett’s point is good—in that the intent in overused quote marks usually is indeed emphasis. But we should judge not intent but success, not what the writer sought to communicate but is communicated. The primary uses of quotes—to indicate specific spoken or written words, and to signal sardonic, doubtful or smirking reference—are too powerful for “emphasis” to overcome such implications. This is particularly so when the shout toolkit has so many other devices. Am I “shouting” by using those quotes, or do I accomplish SHOUTING shouting *shouting* shouting !shouting! shouting shouting more efficiently with other typographic devices? (I’d do a double underline if it didn’t mean getting a Ph.D in HTML coding . . .).
Of course, we’ll continue to see “quote” mis”use”, and I’ll grant that it might even become increasingly accepted should it spreads. I accept and cherish a changing language, though I champion change when it fills a void—and using quotes to “shout” when you can SHOUT, AND SO ON in so many other ways is redundant “at best” and confusing and mockable at worst.
By the by, Barrett refers to the skeptical quotes as “scare quotes.” I like to call them “wink-wink-nudge-nudge” quotes. Know what I mean? Then say no more!
Excuse me while I crawl into Jonathan Swiftian “infusion of Enthusiastick jargon” depression mode. Here’s a brief quote from an online chat I was privvy to recently. Among the noncapitalization, the elipses longer than the Panama Canal, the fact that someone thinks Deep Space Nine is entertaining, and the misspelling, note the irony of the quickly following self-correction (which was apparently the subject of some thought) contrasted with the beginning of the original post.
DisguisedName: lol im watching the funniest episode of deep space 9 ever lol…………..ferengi thinking they are commandoes DisguisedName: commando’s
Rather, misspelling lessens . . . lessens the impact of this newsletter coverage of a recent poll. Subject: impact of the digital age on the commercial viability of books.
Myself, I’d like to think that the digital age might serve to “significantly lesson” some postmyblog-nownownow digital age writers (if you grant me the verbification of lesson as a synonym for instruct). The issue is not whether the digital age will send legions of little electronic silverfish onto our bookshelves to gobble up all the paper books and cast the pages within from their tomes into their tombs. The issue is whether the digital age will send those silverfish into our writerly brains to kill the words themselves.
I’m being overly dramatic here, of course. Yet, I ask you to appreciate the irony of a web newsletter talking about the potential death of books via electronica while displaying the death of language precision via electronica. Is the “lessen lesson” attributable to relying on homonym-blind spell-checks? Or to what I consider to be the far greater danger: Instant publication sans editorial filters (that is to say, real editors, writers who actually look at their words twice other than to admire them, and real editors who edit the words of writers enamored with their own words).
Mistakes happen. I understand this personally, as I admit that I’ve fallen into the “lessen lesson” homonym trap myself—in drafts and not, to my knowledge, in published material.
The real danger to writing and to books is neither technology nor the digital age. It is haste. Slap-dash postmypearlsofwisdomnownownowhastehastehaste. Haste doesn’t necessarily make waste. Haste makes nonsense.
In the spirit of both the 4th of July and the sober debate of our current Presidential campaign, I will this Independence Day engage in a bit of the national pastime. Taking cheap potshots.
And I’ll take those potshots at participants in that other national pastime, which would be baseball.
In Write Tight, I advise writers to listen to sportscasters to study best practices in concise communication. Sportscasters provide perfect examples of what not to do. To be fair (OK, somewhat fair, as we’re frolicking in potshot land right now), studying almost any oral communication will reveal multiple laughable pitfalls. In my work, I deal regularly with raw interview transcripts, which has taught me that nearly every spoken sentence begins with the word so and contains at least one instance of actually (the “educated” version of um). That said, start ducking, sportscasters; I’m pitching a few high fast ones. Most of the examples below come from last night’s Cincinnati Reds win over (of course, it’s the Independence Day weekend) the Washington Nationals:
“This team has been devastated—and I mean devastated—by injuries this season.” Thanks for the clarification. The first instance of that wimpy word devastated kinda confused me.
“I know you’re married to your wife . . .” Pretty reliable scouting report, apparently.
Regarding skill improvement: “Those players must continue to move forward in a positive direction.” Oh, where do we begin? Never mind. A snark about that one has all the meaning of a batting-practice home run. Instead, let’s continue to move forward in a negative direction to the next example:
“If they can hang on for two more innings . . .” Whew! I’d hate to see them hang on for two fewer innings.
“They’re holding the runner tightly at first base.” Hey! Watch it, fella! This isn’t the “friendly confines” of Wrigley Field!
A few days back: “We’ll turn the calendar to the month of July beginning tomorrow.” Good thing you specified; my first thought would have been turning the calendar to the Republic of July. And when will you be ending turning the calendar to the Republic of July? Oh, the dangers of waxing pathetic.
While we’re at it (trying not to, as a sportscaster once said, “beat a dead horse to death”), here’s an oft-quoted classic: “He was originally born in Philadelphia.” And later born in Pittsburgh?
But back to last night’s game for the final at-bat, discussing a player personnel move—a triple play! “We reclaimed him [OK, solid swing] back [ouch—foul tip] again.” Redundancy three! You’re out!
I had the honor of meeting Carlin in 1975, as part of a small group of student journalists interviewing him after a show in Madison, Wisconsin—physical miles and philosophical eons away from Milwaukee, where he was arrested after a 1972 show. The charge: disturbing the peace, because he had uttered the seven words you can’t say on television.
In that ‘75 group interview, Carlin was relaxed and reflective, talking the craft of comedy . . . and the craft of words. He said something in that interview that I’ve quoted dozens of times in the near dozens of years since that interview: “The funniest number of all is 105.” Then he repeated it, stretching it: “A hundred and faahve.” He paused. Perfect timing. “It takes a long time to go through all the others to prove it to you.”
I wrote up that quote as a humorous brief that I submitted as part of my 1976 job interview with Writer’s Digest magazine. I didn’t get that specific job, but I did well enough to be recommended for another spot at the company, and years later became the editor of the Digest. I like to believe that my love of words was instrumental in landing that position; I suspect that relying on Carlin’s wit and perspective communicated that love better than I did myself. Thanks for speaking so well, George.
I find it sadly ironic that the web page displaying the story that told me of his death had two “Related Video” links. One was headlined in words Carlin would have cheered: “Comedian George Carlin dead at age 71.” Right below it, a second link labeled “Comedian George Carlin Passes Away at 71.” Carlin railed against such empty, soft language as “passes away,” and the headline writer has insulted Carlin’s work by using not only the sort of dodge words but also specific dodge words Carlin attacked. Enjoy one of his tart diatribes against euphemisms—including, yes, “pass away”—at YouTube.
I doubt that I’ll be the only person to say this, or even the first. But when I heard this morning that Carlin had died, I uttered a couple of those words you can’t say on television.
From the Lingua Techna blog from Paul McFedries (of WordSpy fame):“Is the English Language Full?”, some nice grousing about an anti-neology blog. McFedries is commenting on a Guardian piece, which writer Paul MacInnes begins:
The English language is a growing concern. Every year, Collins gets a pile of free publicity by publicly announcing new additions to its dictionary . . .
My potshots before shooing you off to Lingua Techna: I’m almost certainly overreacting, but am I supposed to infer that dictionary publisher Collins is adding words for the publicity alone? Let’s then also take to task that cynical Encyclopedia Britannica, which keeps adding facts in new editions, the mercenaries! Besides, doesn’t the wealth of publicity bestowed on the announcement indicate that others are interested in said new words, perhaps more so than certain writers? Finally, the Write Tight editor in me must resort to persnickitation and grumble about the redundant “new additions.” Knee-jerk reaction and all that.
Spotted in a blog:
To atone if your’e a jargoneer: Pick a page (or a paragraph) on your website full of buzzwords and industry jargon. If you can’t be an objective judge, have your husband/wife/teenager/friend read it for you. Cross out all the offensive words. . . .
your’e has a certain bit of French panache to it, doesn’t it? Perhaps the symbol is really a slightly miscentered accent over the E. I’m particularly amused by “Cross out all the offensive words.” Like your’e, perhaps? Granted, this is a typo and not pure misuse, but what the hell, sometimes you gotta swing at the softballs tossed at you. For more graphic illustration of true misuse in everyday life, check out the Apostrophism and Apostrophe Abuse blogs. And mull the, shall we say, understated attitude of GrammarBlog: “Do you think people who don’t know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’ should be strung up by their gonads? You do? Welcome to GrammarBlog.”
Speaking of French panache, let’s talk about some French pan-ass:
At Dennis Baron’s The Web of Language: More on the Académie Française insisting on wearing “Donnez- un coup de pied moi!” (”Kick me!”) signs on its collective back: Not only does this institution continue to demand purging all non-French words (“One recent example is the Académie’s recommendation of the use of the word ‘courriel’ instead of the English ‘e-mail’”), but now the institution and the people who belong in one demand (no s’il vous plais! involved) that France refuse to recognize even the languages native within its own borders, such as Occitan. Baron writes, “on Monday [June 16, 2008] the Académie Française rejected any attempt to constitutionalize local languages as ‘an attack on French national identity.’” My favorite quote from the post:
France has always been a linguistically-diverse country—the nation is even named after the Franks, a medieval Germanic tribe . . .
Plus, ya gotta like a writer who uses Monty Python to illustrate his points.
Well, we needn’t worry about what the press release was touting. We must instead fuss about apostrophes whilst I don my persnickitor hat.
The apostrophe in “head’s up” has, of course, wandered in from the great catapostrophic* void. As the phrase is presented here, the press-release author is giving me an up that apparently belongs to a head.
“Heads up!,” as all of us except the press-release writer already know, is a warning call, akin to shouting “Fore!” when teeing off. We used the call quite a bit in my thankfully brief days in the theatre. While building sets or mounting lights, the occasional clumsy technician (whose days in the theatre would be thankfully brief) might drop something or knock something over, potentially onto someone’s head. Heads up! Or, more succinctly, Heads! And not Head’s! It’s very difficult to shout an apostrophe.
Do catapostrophes make you cringe happily, the way people go to horror movies or take ride roller coasters to scream in fear and have fun? Check out the Apostrophe Abuse blog. My favorite abuse recorded there? “Bake’t muffin.” That should make my head spin. Instead, it make’s my head’s pin.
, I advise writers to listen to sportscasters to study best practices in concise communication. Sportscasters provide perfect examples of what not to do. To be fair (OK, somewhat fair, as we’re frolicking in potshot land right now), studying almost any oral communication will reveal multiple laughable pitfalls. In my work, I deal regularly with raw interview transcripts, which has taught me that nearly every spoken sentence begins with the word so and contains at least one instance of actually (the “educated” version of um). That said, start ducking, sportscasters; I’m pitching a few high fast ones. Most of the examples below come from last night’s Cincinnati Reds win over (of course, it’s the Independence Day weekend) the Washington Nationals:
, 
and 
