Tag Archives: usage

Your Guess Is as Good as Mine

What’s clear in a writer’s head is not necessarily clear in readers’ minds. This truth I learned the hard way during my first year of teaching, when I directed students to “answer true or false” on a pop quiz. Not a few wrote true or false after every question. With this episode in mind, I sympathize with these sign writers. No doubt they thought their meaning was obvious. It isn’t.

First up is this sign, which I spotted in a restaurant window:

I won’t even speculate about the meaning of dishrealated. I’d rather focus on intolerance issue. If the chefs indeed have a solution for intolerance, I hope they share the recipe. The world needs as many servings as possible, STAT.

The world might need this product, too:

Um . . . I know the product has SEED in it, with Detox is the goal. The words in the green band mean . . . well, I don’t know what they mean! Frankly, I find this sign a little scary.

One last puzzle:

Are those quotation marks equivalent to a wink and a nod signalling that “officially there’s NO PARKING but you can park here anyway”? Or is the writer attempting to emphasize NO? And where does HAZARD fit in? Is there NO PARKING HAZARD?

Because your guesses are as good as mine, I hope you’ll share them with me in the comments.

Goodbye, 2022

My last post of the year, written during this busy holiday/winter-storm/school-vacation season. First up is a cafe menu. Pay attention to the third-to-last line:

CAESAR CONTAINS NUTS, does he? What a clever way to indicate that power corrupts! Or maybe it’s an indictment of Nero, Julius, Augustus, and other CAESARS?

Next is a message from a dry-cleaning shop. It’s a poor quality photo, so I’ll reproduce the words: BUSINESS IS MOVING FROM JUNE TO A NEW PLACE.

A NEW PLACE? Like July or October? What was wrong with JUNE? Too many weddings and graduations?

Now to Seatac Airport in Seattle:

It took me two days to decode this sentence, partly because I lose my mind when I’m traveling and partly because there’s a missing comma. I kept reading the message as FIRE ELEVATORS, a noncombustible (and most likely nonexistent) subset of ELEVATORS. I think we can all agree that IN CASE OF FIRE, signs with instantly obvious instructions are preferable. (With that in mind, I’d be happy to proofread this airline’s signs in exchange for a free trip. If you’re an executive with Alaska Airlines, leave a comment and I’ll get back to you.)

Finally, a van parked on my block:

Wouldn’t it be nice to hire this company for the stock market? The economy could use a BOOM right around now.

BOOM or not, I wish you a peaceful, joyful, healthy 2023.

Light-Hearted Questions

Holiday season is upon us, so I’m assuming that you, like me, need an antidote to the tension that comes with it. Hence this post of silly signs and light-hearted questions about them.

First up is this earnest appeal:

Questions: Is the sign-poster a fan of knocks or a hater of bells? Is it so difficult to ring the bell that customers have to be warned about attempting to do so? Does anyone attempting to ring the bell fail?

Next is this command, posted on a fence:

Questions: How many people, in a city where theft is not unknown, simply lean or tie their bikes? And how does one post a bike? Why doesn’t the sign mention “park,” “lock,” or “chain” — what bike riders in New York generally do with their vehicles?

Now to the gym:

Questions: What goals could 1 have? To grow up to 2? To find a soulmate and become 11? To add some muscle and reach 10 or 100? And how does one — er, I mean 1 refine those goals?

Last up is this sign:

Questions: How do you drop off a shoe shine? Can people pick up what they dropped off, or is the shoe (or pair or shoe shine) gone forever? Has there been an increase in shoelessness around this shop?

After enjoying (or at least surviving) your Thanksgiving meal, feel free to send me answers.

The Favor of a Reply Is Requested

I have a few questions for you, starting with your thoughts on this advertisement for cigarettes:

Is this company trying to corner the health-food market? Organic says yes, but tobacco seems to undercut that message.

I gnashed my teeth when I read this label on a bottle of mouthwash:

What does less intense enamel taste like? Does the enamel on your teeth have any taste at all? I don’t think mine does.

I’ve held onto this photo for a long time — not for an entire historic era, but for a year or so:

Does climbing or descending these steps change history, altering the timeline or plunging the world into a different branch of the multiverse? Maybe the steps have fallen into disrepair and the homeowner is using historic as a get-out-of-being-sued excuse? Attention, attorneys: Would this hold up in court if someone did sue?

Now to a Seattle parking area:

Is the sign on the right intended to help firefighters? Somehow I thought they were supposed to notice things like hydrants without assistance from signage. Maybe some drivers back out without looking. If so, is there a way to revise the driving test to exclude them? I’m really hoping the answer to that last question is yes.

I also eagerly await your theories.

Logic-Challenged

It’s almost August, which is as good an excuse as any for why logic has exited through some sort of universal escape hatch and left us in a complete muddle.

Speaking of the universe, my friend Constance alerted me to this headline:

Science fiction multi-verses aside, logic dictates that “the universe,” by definition, encompasses everything, and therefore everything has to be in it. Or, as Constance notes in her email: Where else would a galaxy be? In a closet? In my backyard?

Next are some dividers I spotted while shopping for a greeting-card:

Shouldn’t the photo on the right read “for anyone who’s not funny?”

Now turn your attention to the back of my son’s car:

To any mathematician reading this: I’d appreciate your explaining what “partial zero” amounts to.

Moving on:

How can Paper House have a “New Home” if it’s been there “Since 1976”? What’s the time frame for becoming an “old home”?

Fingers crossed that Covid-variant outbreaks will soon give way to an outbreak of rationality, just for a change of pace. In the meantime, stay cool and, if at all possible, logical.

Quiz Time

Why? Such a simple question. Unfortunately, the answer may be anything but, especially when it comes to signs, as in “why did they write that, in that way?”

My friend Amy sent this photo:

There’s some punctuation missing from the sentence beginning with wildlife. A comma after area would directly address wildlife, telling them to be cautious. That interpretation gives rise to two questions: (1) Aren’t wildlife instinctively cautious? and (2) Can wildlife read? Another possibility is that a colon went AWOL from its spot following area. Reinsert it and the sentence becomes a command to be cautious, addressed to whoever is supposed to STAY OUT. That’s more logical but probably ineffective, because some forms of wildlife (the human variety) are capable of interpreting a simple prohibition as a dare. Side point: can somebody please explain the rationale behind the capital-letter and period distribution?

I spotted this sign in a botanical garden on the east bank of the Hudson River:

The Shop is stocked with unusual items, and I’m always interested in checking out a sale. I didn’t buy anything during my visit, though, because I spent my time wondering why at is italicized. Also, why at? What’s wrong with The Shop in Wave Hill or The Shop of Wave Hill? Even The Shop for Wave Hill makes sense, as this is a nonprofit.

My friend Jacqueline found this message in a fortune cookie she cracked open after dinner at (unitalicized!) our favorite Chinese restaurant:

She pointed out that what is right and what you should do are generally supposed to be the same thing. Right?

I welcome your theories about (or for, on, or even at) these signs.

The Trouble with D

At first glance, D seems like a simple letter. It’s hard to mispronounce and easy to write, so long as you remember where the lower-case letter bulges and don’t draw a “Happy Webbing” card for a bride and groom, as a child I know once did. But deciding when and where to insert the letter D is anything but simple, judging from signs I see around the city. I posted examples of problematic D signs in two previous posts (Got a D? | Grammarian in the City and Grade D+ | Grammarian in the City). A recent spate of signs mishandling this letter prompts me to revisit the issue.

Here’s an example I saw at an arts venue:

Advanced? Are we talking tickets with doctorates? Stubs with evolved thinking?

Another gem, courtesy of my friend Catherine:

Ignore the misspelling of appreciated, if you can, and focus on the d. If the business owners appreciated (or appriciated) the business, what do they do now — take the business for granted?

This one comes from my friend Wendy:

Further noticed sounds like a temper tantrum: until we get more attention and are further noticed, we’ll be closed.

This sign, sent by my friend Ruth, lacks the letter d:

Selective? Hm..m. Does the store owner say, I’ll let you buy this at a discount but the guy behind you has to pay full price”? Or maybe the selective items refuse to be bought by customers who are not up to the items’ high standards? Substituting selected for selective solves the problem.

I wished you a happy 2022. Oops — make that wish. And I really do!

What’s for Dinner?

Now that the holiday season has arrived, it seems appropriate to look at what we’re eating — not in terms of nutrition but rather identification. This is not always easy to do, as this label reveals:

How do crackers qualify as entertainment? They’ve always seem rather boring to me. I imagine the person who came up with this label decided consumers need to be told when to serve the product. But is it really so hard to figure out when to serve crackers? Are there rules for cracker serving, like a penalty if crackers show up in a lunch box?

On the same theme, take a look at this label for a vegan product, a Celebration Roast:

At least the label lets consumers know which veggies and fruit they’re eating when they tuck into a Celebration Roast. But stuffed implies a wrapper or a container (e.g. a turkey), and there’s no way to tell exactly what is stuffed with butternut squash, apples & mushrooms. The celebration? The cellophane the roast is packed in?

These signs offer specific (and useless) description:

Nice to know what shape my ham is in and the color palette and nationality of my cheese. And yes, I do know that American Cheese is the name of a processed product that bears a passing resemblance to cheddar. Nevertheless, I can’t help thinking that these signs lack essential information, such as whether the ham is cured or uncured and how many additives are present in a sandwich made from pear shape ham and yellow or white American cheese.

Bottom line: Please tell me what I am eating. Don’t tell me when I should eat it or what it looks like. Bon appetit!

Obviously! Or Not.

On some of my excursions around New York City, I find signs that are stunningly obvious, the equivalent of a message I once saw on a book of matches: “Warning — may cause fire.” Here’s one such sign:

Does the owner think anyone’s going to pay $26.00 for amateur haircuts & shaves? Professional would seem to be self-evident, given that someone is paying rent, utilities, and so forth to hang out inside and tend to customers’ tresses in exchange for money.

Also obvious is this sign I saw in Midtown:

If you were searching for a satellite, where else would you look? Under the sidewalk grate? Not obvious is what’s holding the satellite. A giant leash? A Star Trek magnetic field? Also, why are they holding it? Send the satellite into orbit, already! Despite the pandemic, rents in New York City are high, and Space is free.

Also unclear is the meaning of this message, which I glimpsed on the side of a van belonging to a cleaning service:

I have always assumed that every doorman in my building showers, with perhaps an occasional bath as a change of pace. That a doorman might opt for dry cleaning never even entered my mind. Now that the thought is there, though, I wonder whether the dry cleaning ticket is pinned or taped on, and to which body part. Actually, on further reflection, I’d rather not know.

One more puzzler, to balance out the pair of obvious signs earlier in this post:

The bar looks old, so I’m not questioning the age of the place but rather the quotation marks around 100, which are most commonly used to indicate a direct quotation. That doesn’t seem likely here. Nor is it likely that the marks signal doubt about the accuracy of the information enclosed by quotation marks, as in We listened to Henry’s “singing” until our eardrums ruptured. The dates show 100 years (2021 1921 = 100). So why quotation marks?

Obviously, I invite you to send me your theories.

Paging Autocorrect

Before autocorrect, I’d sometimes proofread my work and find hte. “C’mon, computer,” I’d think in exasperation. “You know I meant the!” Autocorrect has brought its own problems, of course, but it certainly would improve these mangled expressions:

I can think of a lot of reasons to swing open cell doors, but criminalized onion relish isn’t one of them. Side point: Is Prime topside a real cut of beef?

Next is a sentence a friend found in a concert announcement:

We’re excited to open the series with a performance featuring renounced vocalist. . . .

I’ve omitted the name of the renounced vocalist, who is innocent, I’m sure. The copywriters, on the other hand — let’s just say that if we weren’t already in pandemic lockdown, I’d recommend they serve detention.

Whoever wrote this should do serious time for Crimes Against Language:

The spelling mistakes don’t bother me. If I can type hte, I can forgive becarse and unassemboed. Ditto for the odd capitalization and punctuation. What gets me is the last sentence. Is there really a correct way to cause a series of problems? Extending the point, is there an incorrect way? Just thinking about this is enough to make the screws loose.

Keep your screws tight, try not to renounce anyone, and don’t criminalize condiments. And stay fsae. I mean safe. Thanks, Autocorrect.