Tag Archives: English idioms

Tense Teaching

Labor Day has passed, and school has begun. Like autumn leaves, rants from nonteachers about what’s wrong with our schools/teachers/kids pop up, exasperating pretty much everybody who’s ever actually entered a classroom and tried to educate some kids. It seems like a good time to examine a photo my friend Catherine, a fine teacher, sent me:

Catherine spotted this in a doctor’s office, where the medical staff either believed that their patients already knew everything or saw the task of educating them as hopeless. Or, more likely, the docs were too busy filling out insurance forms to tuck some pamphlets into the container.

But there’s another way to interpret this sign. It labels “education” as “patient.” In my opinion, that’s what true education is and what teachers must be. Patient people know that change takes time. And time is tense  (not the physical and emotional state, though “tense” is what anyone would feel after spending the day with twenty squirming, wish-it-were-still-summer, small beings). In grammar, tense creates a time frame.  

Teachers work in three tenses. They must take into account what their students already know (past tense) and what the kids are doing now (present tense), be it wadding gum into the spout of the water fountain or solving long division problems. Invisible but most important is the work teachers do in and for the future. Good teachers don’t simply impart information. They cultivate critical thinking, healthy life habits, and an appreciation of others’ perspectives. They don’t see immediate results. But those seeds grow, slowly. In the future, what teachers planted — they can only hope! — matures and ripens.

I have one more sign for all nonteachers espousing unfounded and unfunded ideas about education:

 

 

Politicians and pundits: Go ahead and disturb all the classes that aren’t “in session.” Then take a moment to thank teachers for creating our future.

Service with a . . .

The rule used to be “service with a smile,” to which employees in stores and restaurants at least paid lip service. (Pun intended.) The rule has changed. Witness this sign, which my granddaughter spotted in a flower market:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I certainly sympathize with selfie-opponents, having been backed into, stepped on, and nearly blinded by people more interested in proving that they’d seen something than in actually seeing it. Think for a moment: the amazing place/thing/person that prompts people to take selfies is behind them. And unless, like countless generations of parents, you claim to have eyes in the back of your head, you aren’t seeing what you’re snapping. My sympathy for the flower seller doesn’t change the fact that her customers aren’t receiving any smiles here.

Or here, as noted by my friend Sharon:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grammatically speaking, an introductory verb form (“To Better Serve You,” which by the way displays a strange set of capital letters) modifies the subject. In this sentence, the implied subject is “you,” as you are the one who is supposed to “Refrain From Cell Phone Use.” I’m not quarreling with the sentiment expressed by this sign. Everything I said about selfie-shooters applies to many cellphone-chatters also. But in the sign, grammatically, no one is serving “You.”  The sign really means “shut up and let me do my job and we’ll both be happier or at least not hate each other quite as much.” I think. The logic befuddles, but at least the sign writer was polite.

As was this one:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Kindly”? Traditionally, that adverb was for the customer: “Kindly refrain from throwing paper money at the waiter,” or something like that. Here the restaurant believes that it is acting “kindly” by reminding you that you’re a dinosaur if you think you can pay with currency. I do like “cashless,” which, judging from the prices, isn’t going to be a problem for the owners unless their bank account is hacked.

I’ll end with refreshing honesty:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I prefer wine, but I think I’ll go to this restaurant anyway. Who can resist “mediocre service”?

Help Wanted. Please!

Still summer, still hot, still trying to figure out what some signs mean. A little help, please!

I understand “Credit and Non-Credit,” “Online,” “Leadership,” and STEM.  (In case you aren’t familiar with the acronym, that’s “Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math.”) But “Location-Based”? Last time I checked, everything was in a location. Are students getting credit for thinking about where they are? I imagine this advertisement, which is from a university with an excellent reputation, refers to study abroad or in locations that invite scientific or sociological research (e.g. Antarctica or a rainforest). If so, say so, I thought. Then I tried to reword the line and came up empty. Suggestions?

Here’s a physical/verbal oxymoron:

 

 

 

 

 

 

The posted bill (which the dictionary defines as “a written or printed notice”) outlaws itself. I  spent some time wondering how to get around this problem. You could say, “Post no other bills,” but that sounds clunky and invites reactions such as “What’s so special about your bill?”  A few weeks later I saw the same words stenciled on a wall. Does a stencil count as writing? Is a non-paper bill a bill? No idea. Thoughts welcome.

And there’s this beauty from the New York Times:

The verb “refund” is transitive; that is, it takes an object. To whom is the bank refunding “Mr. Kemm”? Does he come in a large version of those bill-shaped envelopes you get when you withdraw a lot of cash? Is he shrink-wrapped, like (I imagine) deliveries from the treasury? Speculation invited.

I spotted this problem on a menu sign in the cafeteria of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I couldn’t come up with a solution:

I was fine with the first two lines and the last, but the third one stumped me. “Bolognaise” (often written as “Bolonese”) is a meat sauce. But before I got to that word, I pictured “house-made beef” and immediately wondered where the Met was raising its cattle. In those mysteriously roped off galleries? Hidden in the basement and taken out at night to graze in Central Park? My first thought was to drop “beef” as unnecessary information. But I did a little more research and found that Bolognaise sauce may contain beef or pork, or, for all I know, ostrich or aardvark. So “beef” is actually essential information. I spent several hours trying to reword the sign to avoid the cattle-on-Fifth-Avenue issue. (Yes, I really should get a new hobby.) My best answer was a comma after “house-made.” I could also envision a hyphen (beef-bolognaise). Neither satisfied me as much as the pasta, which was quite good. Chefs, how would you word this sign?

Again with the Prepositions

The title of this post begins with an adverb and a preposition, in that order. For those who’ve never heard the expression “again with,” imagine those words spoken in exasperation, the same tone you’d use for “not again!” (eyeroll optional).  I hear “again with” often in New York City, but I don’t know whether it’s in common use in other areas. Custom, not set-in-stone grammar rules, generally governs prepositions. I wait “on line” in New York, but my granddaughter, who lives in Seattle, waits “in line.” Both of us are grammatically correct (and usually impatient).

Although you have a fair bit of leeway with prepositions, some usage is downright strange:

 

 

 

 

 

 

The odd texture of this photo comes from the screen in front of the sign. Every time I pass “these windows,” I wonder why a double preposition (“BY or NEAR”) appears. Either would make the same point. Coupled with the tripled exclamation point in the last line, I suspect the people living behind “these windows” aren’t happy with their ground-floor apartment. In NYC, that location means you’re essentially living in (on?) a crowded sidewalk, because screens and  glass do little to keep out smoke and between-puff conversation.

Another confusing preposition:

 

 

 

 

I hope the company’s food prep is better than its grammar, because “since” means the company was established at some point between 1983 and the present — including, say, this morning. A different preposition, “in,” would place the company in the “thirty years and counting” category, which I suspect is where it belongs.

Another:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not sure why, but “repairs on” sounds odd to me. It makes me envision someone hovering above a necklace or a ring, loupe and screwdriver in hand. A helicopter jeweler, perhaps, for this era of helicopter parents? I’d substitute “to jewelry” or “repair of jewelry” or simply “jewelry repair.”

Last photo:

To be honest, I’m not sure what this sentence means, regardless of prepositions. I do know that “in points” should be “at points,” but the significance of “affected by” escapes me. Theories welcome AT any time, DURING any time period, FOR the foreseeable future.

Command Performance, Part I

Now trending: signs that command you to do, or not do, something. Also trending: ignoring the signs that command you to do, or not do, something. I found so many examples of this genre that I’m splitting my trove into two parts. I’ll start with my own command: Check these out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My friend Ellie sent me this beauty, which visually commands you not to bring cigar-smoking, wine-swilling, skateboard-riding dogs into this park. A boomerang may be tucked in there also.

Delivery people have strong arms, right? Good, because this sign commands them to be boxers or construction workers:

 

 

 

 

I guess if you’re a bicep-deprived UPS, USPS, or FEDEX employee, you’d better bring a phone.

Need a rest? Try this place:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Enter here” and emerge four months later. No problem! But if you’re driving on the Upper West Side, this sign is definitely a problem:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not counting the absence of punctuation, the grammar is correct. The meaning? It’s perfect, but “egress”? Really? P.T. Barnum, the 19th century showman and trickster, moved the maximum number of people through his museum each day by posting a sign reading “This way to the egress.” Few equated “egress” with “exit” until they were outside, re-entry prohibited. Which prompts this question: How many New York drivers can define “egress”? And where will they park while they’re googling it? My guess: right in front of the sign.

Think Before You Name

I’ve been reading a lot about Generation Z recently. Also known as “post-Millennials,” Gen-Zers were born between the ’90s and the early ’00s.  Speaking of the ’00s, I remember debates about what to call those years (2000 — 2009). I rejected “the zeros” but liked “the oughts,” perhaps because I spent most of those years thinking about what I ought to do and then not doing it. Like staying on topic, which I always ought to do and just now did not. Anyway, back to Generation Z: I don’t care much about the traits and careers of Generation Z. I do care about the name. Generation Z came after Generations X and Y. Where do we go from here? Someone started us close to the end of the alphabet, undoubtedly rebelling against the parental generation, the Baby Boomers. (You notice that group had a sensible name. World War II ended and boom, a bunch of kids were born. A big bunch. Enough to make a boom.)

So what’s next? Maybe there will be a return to the beginning of the alphabet (Generation A, which will probably have too much self-esteem because of the label) or doubles (Generation ZZ, which will perceive a license to sleep wherever they please). I can also envision computer terminology creeping into the picture: Generation Z.2, anyone? They’ll all be wired, anyway.

Lack of foresight in assigning labels, by the way, isn’t confined to generation-naming. Art fell into the same trap with the term “modernism,” a movement that began in the late 19th century and continued through the early part of the 20th — not exactly antiquity but also not what I’d include in a statement about “modern times.” Ditto for post-modernism (mid-1980s onset). I guess everything after that is post-post-modern. Quick quiz: How many “posts” does it take to make autocorrect self-destruct?

My conclusion: Think before you name. Think before you do pretty much anything! Otherwise you end up with a mobile ballet studio

 

 

 

or a name that has no place to go.

Hopes

Life dishes out major disappointments all the time. But is it too much to hope that a few little things go according to plan? For example, after a hard day tramping around New York City, all I want is a bit of relief. Instead I’m offered:

 

I don’t need “salts to ache” my feet. I can do that all by myself. I can feed myself, too, but when I’m starving and stop in a restaurant, I want quick service. (There’s a reason “a New York minute” is only a nanosecond long.) Instead I see:

At least the staff warns you that the meal will arrive late. Now if only Amtrak would do the same.  Speaking of Amtrak, I won’t mention their habit of running out of food in the café car on a four-hour ride. Nope. Not a word from me about that. But when I dine in a nonmoving setting, I don’t expect ticketing. In this spot, though . . .

Is it accidental that the sign appears next to a subway station? And yes, I know that the other definition of “fare” is “food.” But what else would you expect a restaurant to offer? Perhaps a properly spelled menu:

 

 

 

 

 

 

The only thing I can say about this dish is that the words on the menu were better than the taste of the “Shepard’s Pie.” This type of  pastry, by the way, is more commonly referred to as “puff pastry.” “Puffed” fits nicely with the price, though.

Amid disappointments, however, life has a way of inserting a happy moment, which is what I experienced when I came across this sign:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you, Church of the Holy Trinity, for restoring my faith in responsible (and humorous) signage.

It Takes Two . . . to Confuse

How much can you communicate in just two words? And how much confusion can you create with two words? The answer to both questions: quite a bit. Check out this sign, which my friend Catherine found in a subway station:

“Rescue Assistance”? Is this where EMTs, firefighters, and other first responders go for help? Or does the NYCTA  envision rescues that need a little extra oomph? NYCTA, by the way, is the agency that runs the subways, “run” being applicable only when the trains are actually moving, which, as riders know, isn’t all that often these days. And what’s with the wheelchair icon? Do subway officials think only wheelchair users need “rescue assistance”? If so, they’re not paying attention. First of all, plenty of riders walking around on two feet need “rescue” or “assistance.” (I can’t be sure that they need “rescue assistance” because I don’t know what that phrase means.) Second, in a subway system more than a century old, elevators and other sorts of accommodations for wheelchair users are few and far between. I can count on the fingers of half a hand how many wheelchairs I’ve seen in a subway. Maybe a quarter of a hand. A fifth? Okay, never.

Moving on:

 

 

 

 

 

 

This sign reminds me of a scene in a Simpsons episode when Bart is working on his science project. He stares at a spud and writes something like: “Four o’clock. Still a potato.” I did “watch ice” at this spot for about fifteen minutes. It stayed there, being ice. I got cold and moved on.

And then there’s this one, which I spotted in Madrid. It’s in Spanish, but I think the meaning — the literal one, anyway — is easy to grasp:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I admit that poetry and psychoanalysis are related. I’m just wondering about logistics. Does the therapist have the patient recite poetry and interpret it? Then there’s insurance coverage. How does one file a claim for a sonnet?

These two-word dilemmas may drive me to buy something at this store, depicted in a photo snapped by my friend Kelly:

Whoever sent the text to the sign manufacturer had clearly imbibed some “sprits” first. Memo to owner: Proofread before you hang an awning. Memo to self: Stay away from the liquor cabinet before blogging.

Practice What You Pre-ach

The prefix pre- is a useful little syllable that means “before” — a fact that makes this sign, which appeared on the window of a new store, particularly confusing:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m assuming that “Pre Open” means the store hasn’t had an official grand opening with flags, pop-ups on social media, and token gifts for customers. “Liquidation” is what stores do when they turn all their assets into cash prior to going out of business. So this sign means that the store is (a) not yet open and (b) preparing to close forever. If you want to buy anything here, you have to jump right on the line between existence and nonexistence.

Here’s another mangled  pre- sign:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Huh? This sales pitch is the equivalent of “Hurry in! Today’s $50 trinket will be $25 tomorrow! Take advantage of our “pre sale” and lose money!” Who could resist that offer?

Taking a break from writing this post, I checked Facebook, which told me that this blog had drawn “ten new previews” since the last time I looked. I know from the weekly stats Facebook sends me that Grammarian in the City gets twice as many “previews” as views. What I don’t know is the Facebook definition of preview. Someone takes a quick look and decides nope, not for me? But isn’t that a view? Anyone out there who knows, please share the knowledge.

All this talk about pre- makes me ponder post-, a prefix meaning “after.” When it’s not in that role, post shows up as a noun meaning “letters that come in the mail,” “a job,” or “an upright building support,” among other definitions. The derivations are different, but it’s tempting to think those words arose from the assumption that mail is always late, as are workers and contractors. Not to mention bloggers, whose posts appear several days after their intended publication date. Yes, I’m in that tardy group, as I’d planned to publish this post last Wednesday. My pre-New Year’s resolution is not to postpone posts. Preview this page frequently to see whether I keep my resolution.

Calling All Creatives

Words slide from one part of speech to another all the time. How else could I meet some Yankees (noun) or watch Yankees baseball (adjective)? Nor is it rare for words to pick up new and fanciful definitions, though I confess that the first time I see the unexpected, I tend to assume the writer is wrong. Alas, pride does indeed go before a fall, because often I am wrong and what I thought was an error turns out to be a creative expression or a specialized usage.

Are these sign-writers visionary, knowledgeable, or grammatically inept? I’ll let you decide.

Man shirt?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The usual expression is “men’s shirt” or, in an apostrophe-stricken way, “mens shirt.” “Men’s” with the apostrophe is a possessive noun. Without the apostrophe it’s a mistake.  “Man shirt” turns “man” into an adjective. The dictionary allows for “man” as a noun (the man at the counter), a verb (to man the barricades) or an interjection (Man! That was awesome!) True, I don’t flinch at “man cave” (not at the wording, anyway). Perhaps the sign-writer didn’t want the correct but trite “men’s shirt.” But how to change it? “Male shirt” endows the clothing itself with gender.  “Shirts belonging to men” is too long and often inaccurate, as lots of people who aren’t men like the button-down look. “Masculine shirt”? That seems to rely on outdated stereotypes. Maybe “man shirt” isn’t so bad after all.

Moving on:

In my ignorance I was ready to impose an “unauthorized part of speech” penalty — until I looked up “creative” in the dictionary, which enlightened me to the fact that “creative” can be a noun applied to people who, well, create for a living: writers, artists, composers, and so forth. Apparently I’ve been a “creative” for decades and never knew it.

Last one:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Availability” as a noun is pretty common, but usually in the abstract sense: “Her immediate availability makes her the ideal candidate for Fire Warden, because two million acres are aflame and another million at risk.” But every dictionary definition of “availability” begins with “the quality of” or “the state of,” not “the place where.” On the sign, “availabilities” is a stand-in for “property you can rent if you have enough money.” (A little research into real estate prices showed me that “availabilities” are more expensive than “space for rent.”) Before I leave this sign, I have to address the meaning of “RSF.” I found a site listing 53 meanings for this acronym. I scrolled past “Royal Scots Fusiliers,” “Resource Selection Function,” “Rivista di Studi Fenici” (Journal of Phoenician Studies) until I arrived at “Rental Square Feet,” which seemed more apt than Scots, ecologists, and Phoenicians.

This whole post, by the way, arose from a New York Times article that quoted the phrase “negative effectives” from a judge’s decision.  Given that an “effective” is a “soldier ready for battle” and the ruling was about the military, the phrase might have made sense. Sort of. Then I checked other papers, all of which referred to “negative effects.” Sometimes a “new usage” isn’t creative or specialized. It’s just a typo.

Moral of the story (and note to self): Check before you scoff.