Tag Archives: Advertisements

Artistic License

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I was on the way to my accountant’s office (tax time, don’t you love it?) when this sign stopped me cold:

Is the building bragging or warning? I didn’t know and had no way to find out. So too with this sign, which I spotted in Madrid:

Translated, this sign proclaims “GROUP ZERO” in pink and “POETRY AND PSYCHOANALYSIS” in smaller, black lettering. The illustration seems to promise a Freudian experience, but where does poetry come in?

I bet whoever created this sign would answer, “Everywhere!”

Somehow Poetry Alouders, with or without an exclamation point, sounds more joyous than “Open Mic.” Plus, if you read the pink letters aloud, you hear the homonym allowed, which makes a better statement than this ad does:

Perhaps this landlord should have a chat with the ARTIST RESIDING IN BUILDING. Fear of art, as well as fear of nearly anything, tends to dissipate with human connection. And just for the record — artists, shrinks, alouders, and poets are all welcome in my home.

What’s For Lunch?

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In my neighborhood, just about every store that isn’t a nail salon is a restaurant. Thus it’s not surprising that enterprising food purveyors do whatever they can to entice customers, including displaying these signs:

The price of one of these LUNCH SPECIALS ($15) isn’t unreasonable in New York City, especially considering that they’re offering WOODFIRED SANDWICHES, which are . . . well, I don’t know what they are. Bread charred by burning branches? Unemployed victims of forest downsizing?

My friend Catherine sent this one:

I had no opportunity to speak with the SANDWITCH, who I assume was selling a consultation lasting as long as it takes to drink a cup of FREE COFFEE. If I had, I would have asked about the accuracy of the spells in Harry Potter as well as the rationale for enclosing FREE COFFEE in quotation marks. Perhaps the brew isn’t actually COFFEE?

I should note that the prices listed below have increased since I snapped the photo:

Inflation or not, who could resist an offer to DESIGNED YOUR OWN SALAD? Also, 16 oz (ounces) equals one pound. Thus the restaurant is offering a one-, two-, or three-pound salad, each with 1 meat and unlimited vege. I must ask: Who has room for much (many?) vege after eating three pounds of DESIGNED SALAD?

Last one:

If Mom gets Fri, who gets all the other days? I’m a Mom, but I prefer Tuesdays. Can non-Moms get the LUNCH Special on Fri?

My advice is to choose a restaurant carefully, eat well, and in the spirit of today’s MLK holiday, find a way to work for a more just world.

Confusing Animals

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Signs referring to nonhuman animals have occupied my mind this week, setting me on a hamster wheel of confusing possibilities. Clarity, O Clarity, where art thou? Not here:

A few questions: How does one decide whether a Chicken is Smart? Is managing to stay whole enough? Or does a Chicken have to prove its intelligence by refusing to eat artificial ingredients, thereby achieving organic status?

More confusion:

How many PETS actually spend time COOKING BICYCLES? Have those Smart Chickens created a recipe for roasted or braised handlebars? Do they use organic ingredients?

This sign prompts another question:

Can a dog read well enough to follow instructions explaining how to wash itself? Somehow I thought instinct alone would be sufficient.

Last but not least:

This sign seems a bit sexist. I mean, where are male deer supposed to park? And how exactly does the tow-truck driver decide whether VEHICLES belong to a DOE or a stag? Antler gashes on the dashboard? Perhaps the Department of Education will explain the identification process.

I’ll end this post with one clear message and one shameless plug. Message: Be kind to animals, human or not. Plug: If clarity is your goal, check out my online course, “How to Explain Anything,” which will take place on August 19th from 1:00 — 4:00 EDT (10:00 — 1:00 PDT). Enroll at www.hugohouse.org.

Say Wath?

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The title of this post isn’t a typo. It’s a reaction to a sign I saw recently:

I don’t know WATH a COFFEE with a BOTTOM is, but I do know that someone should have proofread the sign before placing it on the sidewalk. Ditto for this one:

I’m ignoring the quotation marks around include. (Seriously, though, why would anyone enclose include in quotation marks? Forget I asked! I just remembered I’m ignoring!) Instead, I direct your attention to the next bullet point, 30 min message. A message from whom? About what? Thirty minutes makes for a lengthy message, but it’s a decent amount of time for a “massage.”

One more:

GARBADGE caught my eye first, perhaps in a moment of nostalgia for my Girl Scout days, when I earned quite a few badges. But the part of this sign that most interests me is FROM THE RESTAURANT. I still can’t figure out whether THIS SPACE is FROM THE RESTAURANT (which, grammatically, is the correct interpretation) or the GARBADGE CONTAINERS are FROM THE RESTAURANT. I guess either/both could work better than the sign, which was posted a few feet above several overflowing GARBADGE bins. I may go into THE RESTAURANT and ask, after I stop for a COFFEE with a BOTTOM and a 30 min message. You’re welcome to join me!

Numbers Game

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Recently I heard an AI-generated voice announce that the next bus stop would be “One Oh First Street.” Huh? I’d made peace with the same voice on a different bus alerting me to the stop for “Central Park TraVERSE” (accent on the second syllable, missing N) instead of “TRANSverse” (accent on the first syllable). But “One Oh First”?

With numbers, accuracy matters. Unfortunately no one told the person who designed this description of the M15 bus route:

Check the middle: E 23 St, E 34 St, E 29 St, E 42 St. In other words, after stopping on E 23 St (East 23rd Street), the bus zips to E 34 St (East 34th Street) and then doubles back to E 29 St (East 29th Street), whereupon it loops up to E 42 St (East 42nd Street). Mathematicians, NYC Transit needs you!

So does Social Security:

Check the age groups. According to this ad, if you’re 71, 72, 73, or 74, you’re out of luck. No new benefit for you!

This message popped up on my friend Catherine’s computer. It has all the right numbers, but the meaning is bonkers:

For non-techies, 404 is a computer-generated code indicating that you’ve entered a wrong or obsolete web address. The numbers are supposed to be followed by what Wikipedia calls “a human readable reason phrase.” Well, I’m human and I read, but I fail to see reason here. How can you find something that doesn’t exist? That’s a question for philosophers, as are these: If I’ve reached that page, does my computer exist? Do I?

This page does exist, thanks to those who creatively mangle the English language. Keep at it, people! We need reasons to smile. And if you spot silly signs, please send them to me along with the snarky comments they inspire. With your help, Grammarian in the City will never be a 404.

Body Parts

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I’m hoping the proofreader was napping when the headlines and signs in this post got the final okay, because if they’re accurate, somebody better call the Board of Health.

First up is a coronation-week special:

I believe even the most ardent anti-monarchist would agree that Charles’ bowels are off limits. The phrase this headline writer aspired to is “shot across the bows,” which arose from the 18th century practice of firing a warning shot over the fore-end of ship, not the nether end of a king.

More horrifying is this label, sent by my friend Terena:

Epic auto-correct fail? Cannibalism? You decide.

Onward to this confusing, but harmless, awning:

I stood in front of this store for a while, trying to decide which of my feet is the back one. Quadruped customers don’t have this problem.

Presumably this shop takes care of any body part:

I didn’t go in. I have no desire to Relive Stress. Once was enough! Nor do I want to Pour my Digestion out. I may ask for help with my foot (the back one), which is sore because of Over Use in Jares. (Say it aloud and it makes sense: in jah rees — “injuries.”)

Until next time, take care of all your body parts. And proofread!

Sizing Up

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How do you choose your food? I consider nutrition, taste, and price, but judging from these postings, people who sell shrimp and olives believe that size is the most important factor. Take a look at this offer:

Colossal? The dictionary definition of colossal is “vast in size, amount, extent, or scope.” Not the ideal term for a shellfish you can pick up with a salad fork. To be fair, I should mention that shrimp sizing begins with tiny and progresses through degrees of small and medium before hitting oxymoron status with large and jumbo, arriving eventually at colossal and then super- and extra-colossal. And here I was thinking that all those stories linking fishing and exaggeration were a baseless attack on fishermen! And fisherwomen. All fisherpeople, in fact.

Shrimp are small fry compared to olives. Here’s a chart I snagged from the internet:

I won’t comment on MAMMOUTH except to say that it would be a great name for a snarky extinct mammal. Nor will I discuss SOUPER, a word that makes me wonder whether anyone puts olives in, say, clam chowder. I will direct your attention to the extremities of the olive scale: BULLETS and ATLAS. Which would you rather eat? I prefer BRILLIANT and SUPERIOR, in hopes that I’ll become what I eat.

One more (non-edible) size for your consideration:

This isn’t the clearest photo, so I’ll reproduce the last two lines here:

3. 10″ foot massage

4. 10″ shoulder massage

If you have a 10″ [inch] foot or shoulder, this salon is for you. Otherwise, you’ll have to content yourself with a mani-pedi for $60. That’s not a colossal deal, but it’s not tiny either. Enjoy!

And the winner is . . .

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This being awards season, I thought I’d structure today’s post as a contest. Which sign wins your vote for “most nonsensical”?

The first contestant is an offer:

WE BUY . . . CASH and TURN it INTO CA$H). Interesting concept — almost as strange as trying to TURN YOUR OLD BOY FRIENDS into CA$H. I suggest changing BOY FRIENDS to BOYFRIEND’S, thereby averting arrest by more than the grammar cops.

The next sign could win an illogic contest:

I can understand (sort of) how you can Shop for something that’s FREE. But why would you have to Save to have enough money to pay nothing?

This book cover, sent by my friend Ellie, is another strong contender:

Read this book if you want to know where to go on a date with, say, a two-story bungalow or a skyscraper. I do have one question: Is there a Tinder for the brick-and-mortar crowd?

My vote goes to this sign, which graces the door of a nearby food shop:

How can a CHICKEN, FREE RANGE or not, be HARVESTED? Scratch that question: I’m not sure I want to know! A similar sign appears inside the store, where photos are not allowed. It touts lamb, which, the sign declares, was also HATCHED, RAISED, & HARVESTED IN THE USA. Are lambs HATCHED from giant Easter eggs? Asking for a friend.

Select your favorite and, better yet, send me photos of other signs that make you smile.

Traffic Jam on the Information Highway

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Signs and labels are supposed to offer information, but sometimes the message doesn’t reach its destination. Take a look at this ice cream container I bought recently:

I admit I’d never given much thought to where the cherries in Cherry Vanilla ice cream came from until I read this label’s proud claim to country-harvested fruit. Ever loyal to my urban home, I hesitated before dropping the package into my cart, wondering whether I should search for ice cream made with city-harvested cherries. Unfortunately, Second Avenue is not rife with orchards. Even Orchard Street on the Lower East Side is treeless these days. So I bought the product, reasoning that the label’s reference to vanilla and cherry flavor with other natural flavors and cherry pieces implies more lab-harvesting than anything else, and the lab could indeed be in my home city.

Onward to Broadway, courtesy of my friend Orli:

As Orli pointed out, the construction of this sentence depicts Audra McDonald as packed with suspense. Anyone who’s ever seen her perform knows that Ms. McDonald is packed with talent, which no amount of suspense can replace. I, for one, plan to buy a ticket.

Now to the front door of a medical office:

Verbally granted access? Um … okay, if you say so ( and you literally must, according to this sign). Yet I can’t help wondering what other type of granted access doesn’t measure up at this location. Are buzzers banned? If I enter through the door an exiting, silent patient holds open, will I be thrown out?

As always, theories welcome. And as we approach whatever wave of the pandemic is next, I hope you stay safe!

This Is Not a Post

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It’s a promulgation, the fanciest near-synonym of post I could find. Fancy, by the way, is today’s theme. Here’s a paragraph from a catalogue mistakenly delivered to my mailbox:

I leafed through the catalogue but didn’t notice any serpentine candlesticks or large-scale hummingbirds (and I definitely wouldn’t buy any if I did). Instead I focused on expressive materiality, which means . . . well, what does it mean? I’m thinking quadruple pricing, but maybe that’s just me.

Onward and upward to this sign on a recently completed apartment building:

To protect the guilty, I try not to include company names, but I will tell you that the building has “Manor” in its name, a word equal in snootiness to Sculpted in Stature. All sorts of construction machinery littered the site for a year or so, but no stone-sculpting tools with which to carve Stature. And how does one carve Stature? Does that even have a meaning?

Skip the misspelled word on line three and go directly to the fourth line of this sign:

All this to describe paint! If only one person is making it (the sign says craftsman, not craftsmen), small wonder that the product is made only in small batches. Then there’s formulation and curated collection — words I reckon cost an extra hundred each, per can. Or jar, or whatever they sell curated paint in. Grecian urns? Space capsules? Something expensive, that’s for sure — unlike this completely free promulgation about snobbery.