Category Archives: Uncategorized

A Little Help

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The Beatles got “by with a little help” from their friends, and so do I. These signs come from a cadre of alert observers. Presented with thanks, first to Sharon:

How polite to say, “Please do not become alarmed” immediately before asking passengers to “please use the button marked ‘Alarm.'” Nice to know there’s a “telephone ‘if furnished.'” Impossible to decipher, but nice to know.

Now another, courtesy of Jacqueline:

I have never visited that part of the world, but if I ever do, I will be sure to spend “less than tow nights.”

Another, this time from Don:

What’s with the S and its double duty? Labor-saving? Eco-conscious?

Now a menu from another friend via her friend in Madrid, both of whom prefer not to be named:

This one is a little hard to read (in more ways than one!) so I’ll type the most important line: “Salad with all it must have.” That’s how I always prepare salad. Don’t you?

One more, from my friend Marlene: an ad on Craigslist for a “2 year old Teacher on Long Island (Deer Park).” I don’t have an image for this one, but I’ll let you make your own, complete with a toddler, her grade book, and a bunch of chalk. I wonder whether the school offers free diapers to its faculty? Time-outs for tantrums? Bibs?

Grammarian in Dublin, Part 2

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I don’t know whether everyone in Dublin has kissed the legendary Blarney Stone (“legendary” as in “imaginary or invented”), thereby picking up facility with language along with whatever microbes the previous kisser left behind. I do know that words seemed, to this tourist, more intriguing in Ireland than in many other spots I’ve visited, such as West 34th Street or Brooklyn Heights. Take this sign:

Alouders unite.

“Alouders” isn’t in the dictionary, but who cares? It’s easy to recognize “alouder” as “reciter.” Easy for everyone and everything except for autocorrect, that is, which keeps trying to change “alouder” to “alder.” I may never see “a poem as lovely as a tree,” to quote Joyce Kilmer, but I’d hate to trade the spoken word for a forest. 

Then there’s this sign, cemented into an outer wall of the Museum of Decorative Arts, which is located in a former military installation called the Collins Barracks:

I have two theories about this sign. It may mark the location of a last-ditch line of defense. I mean, what else are you supposed to use if you run out of bullets and your saber’s edge is dull? Or it may be an art project, a cryptic reference to what can break bones. (I couldn’t find a similar panel labeled “Words That Can Never Hurt Me.”) 

 Perhaps my favorite Dublin sign is this one:

Grammar School

The school building has undoubtedly been modified since its founding more than four centuries ago. But St. Patrick’s Grammar School is still there, and still in session! Across the street in the Marsh Library (established in the 16th century also), a grammar book used by some of St. Patrick’s original students is on display. 

That’s not blarney. That’s education.

Grammarian in Dublin

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I’m not Irish, but a recent trip to Dublin almost made me wish I were. A few reasons: the Dublin Writers Museum, the National Library’s exhibit on William Butler Yeats, and the bartender who explained that his job was “coaxing frogs to water.” I mean, how can you not love a place with this sign:

The display of ancient Irish artifacts behind the card was interesting, but more appealing was the fact that Ireland’s National Museum of Archaeology assumes that visitors know the meaning of “plinth.” (I looked it up: “a heavy base.”)

Near a busy intersection I spotted this electronic notice:

Cyclists were plentiful, but no one was smoking. It was daytime (though cloudy), and if any bikes had headlights, I missed them. Thus I have no clue what the sign means, but I like it all the same.

Here’s one of my favorites, painted on the wall of the Little Museum of Dublin. The room recreates the office of an editor of the Irish Times:

This quotation is from an editorial published in April 1916, while bloody battles raged throughout the city. To paraphrase: If you have to stay inside to avoid getting killed in a civil war, you may as well read Shakespeare. I’m in peaceful surroundings now, but I may just follow the newspaper’s advice. More Dublin gems will appear in my next post.

Scratching an It

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Pronouns create more problems per letter than any other part of speech, in my humble and completely unscientific opinion. You’d think that a scarcity of letters would open up fewer chances for error, but the opposite is true. Consider “it,” which is nearly as small as it gets, pun intended.

This sign is posted in a bathroom in a building owned and operated by a distinguished university, which shall remain nameless but not blameless:

I support the plea, the lavatory version of the Golden Rule, but not the pronoun. As the sentence is worded, “it” has to refer to “stalls and sinks.” Those items are clearly plural, and “it” is singular.

Now a few words from a distinguished newspaper, which shall also remain nameless:

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I first read this article, I thought that Loftsson’s whaling operation did not recognize “an international ban on commercial hunting.” Duh, I thought. They’re hunting; hence in the company’s view, the ban isn’t valid. A few minutes later, I realized that Iceland doesn’t recognize the ban. I probably would have caught on sooner had I had my morning coffee before reading the paper. But that’s why the rules for pronoun antecedents exist: to keep things clear even in the absence of caffeine.

Last is this caption, posted near the excavation of a Roman site. Mindful of my own frequent errors in the second and third languages I’ve studied, I’m ignoring the obvious translation issues. Instead, I’m focusing on the last word, “it”:

The photo is a bit unclear, so I reproduce the text here:

“Opening a settlement, to public visitors, would make some interventions destined for restoration, conservation, and spreading. The objective is to guarantee that the remains, mosaics, walls or paintings, wouldn’t deteriorate more than they are and, at the same time, visitors could understand them. Its appearance is never the same as the one in the excavation, neither is the one that had while the Hispanic-romans were using it.”

I dare you to define “it” with certainty. After reading other signs posted around the excavation, I realized that I was looking at the remains of a bath house and latrine. This “it,” in other words, has a lot in common with the modern restroom where I found the first sign. The more pronoun errors change, it seems, the more they stay the same.

 

A Valentine for You

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I’ll keep this short and sweet for Valentine’s Day because you’re probably too busy (1) hugging your sweetheart or  (2) wishing you had a sweetheart or (3) marketing to sweethearts.  Which is what this store attempts:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m awarding a D- grade to the person who typed this sign, especially the last line. (“Your love one”? Really?) I’m also giving a D- to anyone who thinks caviar is a better Valentine’s present than chocolate. Or roses. Or even a trip to a fast-food place without kids, cats, or in-laws in tow. I mean, caviar is fish eggs, right? Don’t expect an “A+” from me for fish eggs! But I’m a grammarian, not a gourmet, so if “your love one” likes fish eggs, go for it. Just don’t call the gift “your caviar.” You’re a sweetheart, not a sturgeon.

NIMS and NOMS

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We New Yorkers, have, upon occasion, been known to be a tad self-absorbed. Common wisdom holds that Londoners see their city as the center of the world and New Yorkers view theirs as the world itself.  Nor are we New Yorkers known for patience. I read somewhere that telemarketers receive special training so they can convey their messages to New Yorkers at double the pace they employ for other locations. And, this just in: New Yorkers also like to complain.

Add self-absorption, impatience, and irritation and you get a phenomenon known as NIMBY – “not in my backyard.” NIMBY occurs all over the world, of course, but in New York City, where backyards aren’t common, it’s more often NIMS – “not in my street,” or NOMS, “not on my sidewalk.”

Check out this NOMS sign:

Note the italics.

Note the italics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I might not have snapped a photo of this sign had it not italicized THESE PREMISES. The italics add emphasis and imply that you are free to loiter somewhere else, just “not on my sidewalk,” or NOMS.

A variation, which I’m still trying to decode, appears on this sign:

Let Fido poop on the sidewalk. Just not my sidewalk.

Around tree?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a flush of optimism (no pun intended), I first saw this sign as a request to steer dogs to the stretch of curb around tree. (An impatient New Yorker, the sign-writer had no time to add the.) But this sign appears in New York, so I must conclude that instead of offering canine accommodations, the sign-writer wants dogs to go on somebody else’s sidewalk or street. It’s a NIMS/NOMS.

Slightly off topic, but too good to omit, is this sign:

Blessed or punished?

Blessed or punished?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The tenuous connection to NIMS is the fourth statement, Private Property. Implied by that phrase is “go somewhere public” (NIMS). But I have to admit I snapped the photo because of the five exclamation points, each a vehement finger stab in the eye. (How New York is that?) The sign also attracted me by including one our language’s strangest words, sanctioned, which means (a) official permission and (b) punishment. You have to love a language in which a word may be its own antonym.

And you have to love New York City, or at least I do, for displaying signs like these.

Fisherperson?

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Some years ago, while I was teaching Elizabeth Bishop’s poem “The Fish,” a student stumbled over the proper term for the person who caught the animal. He started out with “fisherm…” and then stopped himself and went with “fisherperson.” Fisherperson? Really? I consider myself a feminist, but even I was taken aback by this word. It was fair, of course, because both men and women go fishing. But it sounded like something a late-night television host would mock. Yet what is the alternative? Fisher? Trout-worker? Marine life catcher? Perhaps letter carrier and firefighter also sounded strange when they first entered the language in place of postman and fireman.

I thought about this issue when I saw this sign on a construction project:

A single-sex project.

A single-sex project.

 

Only men work there? Or are only the male workers dangerous? Neither meaning is likely, so the sign is incorrect. The habit of assuming that a male term is understood to include both men and women – the “masculine universal” – has been out of favor, and for very good reason, for many years. Yet “MEN AND WOMEN WORKING ABOVE” seems artificial. How about “DANGER: CONSTRUCTION ABOVE”? Or, “WATCH OUT! WE’RE WORKING UP HERE!”

Here’s another sign:

No more "busboys"?

No more “busboys”?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Okay, busboy doesn’t work, not least because some of those doing this job are a couple of decades past boyhood (or girlhood). I can’t really support busser, as buss is a slang word for “kiss.” Table cleaner isn’t accurate, nor is plate remover. So, I’m stumped. Any suggestions?

The larger point is that language changes slowly, especially when it’s tied to a social movement, in this case feminism. And yes, gendered language matters. Children asked to draw a scene with cavemen hardly ever include women, while those asked to draw cave people more or less balance the sexes. So we do need these changes if we’re to see possibilities and eventual equality. Along the way, though, we may have to deal with some fisherpeople.

 

 

Expensive Words

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The old saying, “words are cheap,” isn’t always relevant when it comes to marketing strategy. Add an old word – especially one that appears British – and the price rises. In these signs, holdovers and resurrected terms signal merchandise that costs more and (they hope you’ll think) that is actually worth the extra money. First, pharmaceuticals:

An apothecary!

An apothecary!

 

 

Chain pharmacies – Duane Reed, Walgreens, and Rite Aid in my neighborhood – could never be apothecaries. They emphasize price (as in low) and convenience. In my imagination, an apothecary wears a striped apron and requires a few minutes of polite chit-chat before filling your prescription or directing you to the toe-fungus section. (Not that I have toe fungus.)  In a non-apothecary (the word apothecary applies to both the person and the shop), I don’t expect a discount. I do expect personal service and a gentle shopping experience.

I expect the same in this food store:

Not general items here. Only specialties.

No general food here. Only specialties.

 

 

Doesn’t purveyor sounds better than merchant? About 20% better, judging by the prices for the specialty foods within. Don’t go into this store searching for, say, a box of Wheaties or a Hershey chocolate bar. Instead, look for food with advanced degrees – of both pretention and price.

Every rule has an exception. This store, in NYC’s garment district, sells doo-dads that attach to clothing (buttons, lace, sequins, and the like). This banner features a blast from the past:

Not from a research study!

Not from a research study!

 

 

The term findings  more frequently appears in connection with an inquiry, poll, or research project. In this sign, though, it means “tools or materials used by artisans,” according to dictionary.com. Comparing this shop with others on the block, I found lower prices and slightly scruffier décor in the findings store. (Or should I say shoppe?) Perhaps in this case, the owner modernized neither language nor prices.

I’ll keep searching for strange words, and let you know my findings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Station(a) (e) ry

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In an old joke, someone asks, “Do you have trouble making up your mind?” The reply: “Well, yes and no.” I thought of this exchange when I saw this sign on an awning:

StationAry

StationAry

 

I saw this sign on a board in front of the same store:

StationEry

StationEry

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The store, which has, to put it mildly, an eclectic inventory, needs a new awning. It sells paper goods and office supplies (stationery), not an adjective meaning “fixed in one place” (stationary).   The sandwich board could use some revision, too, as you can sell  “beauty aids” (objects) but not  “aides” (people who assist).  Still, at “99 Cents Plus,” the price is right, even if the spelling isn’t. See you later. It’s time to go shopping.

 

 

 

 

Gate Keepers

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After the last Super Bowl, “Deflate-gate” consumed football fans. Were the Patriots’ footballs too soft during the AFC championship game? If so, who let the air out? I am by no means interested in that scandal or that sport. Traditionally, I go to the movies during the Super Bowl in an attempt to ignore all the hoopla. But I am interested in the suffix -gate. It’s tacked onto various words to signal “scandal” or “wrongdoing plus a cover up” (which is, of course, a fine breeding ground for scandal).

I know the origin of the word, having lived through Watergate – the scandal about a break-in at a Democratic National Committee office that ultimately led to the resignation of Richard Nixon from the presidency. I know this because I am old. But many of those discussing squishy footballs or sitting in traffic (during “Bridgegate,”  the questionable closing of most lanes leading to the George Washington Bridge, a major commuter route to New York City) had not even been born when burglars snuck into Washington’s Watergate complex. So how did they learn the meaning of -gate? My guess is that so many scandals have occurred between 1972 and the present day that the term never had a chance to become history. It has remained in the language because it’s always in use. A quick search for –gate on the Internet turns up dozens alleged scandals on several continents. Some, like Watergate itself, involve serious constitutional issues. Others, like “Bibgate” (champion skier jumps without his assigned bib), do not.

So -gate is keeping up with the times (partly because the Times prints the term fairly often). Which got me to thinking about other words or expressions that have remained long past what I’d have imagined their “sell-by” date to be. This sign, for example, appears on nearly every construction fence in New York:

Did you pay your bill?

Did you pay your bill?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No one sees these signs as banning public displays of electric bills or credit card statements. Nor is the sign interpreted as a demand that Congress keep its laws off our building sites. Despite the fact that this definition of bill – a public notice or advertisement – is old and uncommon, the signs persist. Maybe they need an update, given the number of “bills” plastered over them. I suspect, though, that blank fences will always tempt those searching for free advertising space, regardless of the language used. So why is post no bill still around? Because it’s short? Because it sounds firm – three single-syllable words? My working theory is that “post no bill” is a tradition. It persists because that’s what traditions do. I’m open to other theories, though. If you have one, feel free to comment here.

Just don’t expect me to bail you out if you post your ideas on a bill.