Category Archives: Now trending

Observing and all too often criticizing language trends

Busting what?

Recently The New York Times quoted a politician’s reference to “ordinary people busting their necks.” Instead of thinking about the presidential campaign, socio-economic class, and other important issues, I got stuck on one question: Why “necks”?

When I was a kid, “busting” (or “breaking”) your neck was a description of physical danger, as in “slow down or you’ll bust your neck.” However, the politician was talking about people who work hard, day in and day out. What “ordinary people” were busting, linguistically, were body parts considerably closer to the floor than their necks.

Not to be coy: The phrase the politician should have used was “busting their butts.” But — “butt” isn’t always accepted in polite company. Hence the proliferation of euphemisms, such as “seat,”  “rear,” and “bottom.” And “butt” isn’t the only body-part word to land in the improper column. In the 19th century, ladies ordered “seat fixing,” not “rump steak,” and ate “chests” or a “slice of bosom” instead of chicken breasts.

But we’re in the 21st century, not the 19th. I searched the Internet to see whether the expression had changed. I found some videos with disturbing titles like “busting pimples on your neck,” which I wisely decided not to watch. I also found  references to “break ya neck” in song lyrics. Those were about sex — I think — not jobs.

So the politician’s comment was inaccurate. There’s a shock! At least this time the mistake was in word choice, not facts. I admit I may be missing something because I spend a lot of time “busting my neck” at the computer, composing this blog and writing books. And I also admit that in a campaign season filled with outrageous statements, retaining a bit of shame is somehow comforting.

Ritual Pick-Up

I spotted this sign in a food court near Battery Park in Lower Manhattan. I lurked for a while, hoping to see what sort of customers or services were associated with it. But it was a holiday weekend, when most New Yorkers were anywhere-but-here, so I was left alone with my speculations.

Rituals, outsourced.

All I wanted was coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First, I concentrated on “ritual.” This is a city with its own unit of time — a “New York minute,”  which lasts only a couple of nanoseconds and which a comedian once defined as “the interval between the traffic light turning green and the guy behind you honking his horn.” To save time, New Yorkers will do almost anything. So, I reasoned, if you’re too busy to plan, say, a wedding ceremony, a baptism, or a bar mitzvah, you can pick one up here. And if the timing is right, your next life event may even be on sale.

Then I shifted my attention to “pick-up.” Perhaps, I thought,  this is where you meet when you’ve donned your sexiest outfit, artfully mussed your hair, and practiced lines like “Come here often?” or “What’s your sign?” or “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes/great abs?” Nice to know that the hackneyed has an official spot in NYC, I thought.

A quick Internet search revealed that an app called “Ritual” allows you to order and pay for food online, which you then pick up at this location. Efficient and useful, true, but much less fun than my interpretations.

 

 

Stop full stop.

I’m not against periods, the punctuation mark the British call “full stops.” But everything has its place. Traditionally, periods appear at the end of sentences that make statements or give commands. They’re also used in abbreviations. Lately, though, periods have been popping up in odd positions, as in this sign in front of a coffee shop:

And the period is there because?

Why is there a period after “birch”?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The shop’s name is “Birch” — I think. It may be “Birch.” Or is it “Birch. coffee”? And why is the period there at all? Is it supposed to add authority or emphasis? Perhaps the store owner wanted to give a sense of completion, as in “sip your latte here and your life will be complete.” The only thing I know for sure is that the punctuation mark doesn’t indicate a command. (“Hey you! Birch now or face the consequences!) Nor does it end a statement, because there is no statement.

I expect strange things from retailers, but somehow I thought that religious institutions, with help from the Almighty, would do better. At least I thought so until I spied this sign:

This church needs heavenly punctuation guidance.

This church needs heavenly punctuation guidance.

 

True, this sign contains more words than the café sign, but they don’t form a sentence. The church indeed appears to be “warm, welcoming and beautiful,” but not grammatical.

Nor can you count on the banking system to come to a full stop (in punctuation or in finance):

Two nonsensical, non-sentences appear in one sign.

Two nonsensical, non-sentences appear in one sign.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t expect “pleasure” from my bank. Do you? The “2% cash back” sounds great — but 2% of what? And back to whom? I can’t blame the Great Recession on faulty punctuation, but a lack of clarity in bank communications appears in both. Just saying.

My advice: For a period of time, let’s agree to put a stop to unnecessary full stops. Then we can  decide whether to give this punctuation mark additional duties. That is, “Extra. Duties.”

Extra! Read all about it all!

As a teacher I read many three-page essays that were buried inside six pages of typing. I tend to be ruthless in deleting unneeded words. I do not edit signs, though, because (a) graffiti is against the law and (b) it’s more fun to mock what’s there. For example:

Darn. I like my leather renewed like old.

Renew like new.

 

Darn. I like my leather jacket renewed “like old.”  Well, I would if I had one, and I don’t. Here’s another:

 

Recycling what?

Recycling what?

 

How can you recycle something that hasn’t been “used” already? Also, is “this establishment” recycling “cooking oil” or “services”? And how exactly do you recycle a service? Inquiring minds want to know.

Now for the animal kingdom:

Aren't dogs pets?

Pet dogs?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From this sign, I gather that wild dogs are welcome in this store, as are other animals people keep as pets – cats, rabbits . . . maybe even boa constrictors. But if you have a pet that is a dog, you have to leave Fido at home when you shop.

Not that every repetition is wrong. I love this sign, which appears on the door of a restaurant that caught fire a few weeks ago. I am ignoring the grammar errors, though I acknowledge that “roofer’s” shouldn’t have an apostrophe and “electrician” should be “electricians.” A couple of periods would be nice, too. But the wordplay is just plain fun:

Electrifying electricians.

Electrifying electricians.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s it for today. Feel free to find unnecessary words in this post and mock me as much as you like.

Short takes

No lengthy discussion today. These signs speak for themselves. True, they speak gibberish, but they do speak.

First up is a photo my friend Jacqueline sent me:

What brand is your kid?

What brand is your kid?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ignoring the pretty important fact that baby-selling is illegal, I’m surprised that babies are branded. If you purchase one, does the kid come with a little logo?

Here’s another puzzler:

With what?

Look younger with what?

So you wear the spa, accessorized with pearls?  That would be quite a fashion ensemble! And do you have to have the spa custom-fitted?

One more for today:

If you're disorganized, go for it.

Define “organized.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you’re completely disorganized (and just about every kids’ sport I’ve seen falls into that category, as do the Yankees at times), you’re fine. If you’re organized, go somewhere else.

Maybe somewhere with signs that make sense.

Deer Equals Phone?

I thought I’d seen it all, grammatically speaking, until I read an interview with Phil Schiller, the marketing tsar for Apple’s empire. If you think you have several iPhones, according to Schiller, you’re wrong. You have several iPhone (or iPad or iPod). Schiller likened the products’ names to the words “deer” and “clothes,” which, he said, can each be both singular and plural.

Good to know. And good luck with changing people’s habit of referring to the “iPads” on display in an Apple Store. If I were Schiller, I’d worry more about misappropriation of the lowercase letter i, which you see in this clever (but probably trademark infringing) sign:

Does Apple know?

Does Apple know?

I ( i ?) should point out that no one ever talks about one eyelash, except when referring to an errant hair falling into an eye. In this sign, though, “iLash” is a modifier of the noun “salon,” so the singular makes sense. (Sort of. Does anyone actually need a salon for eyelashes, or iLashes, or iLash?) Plus, following Schiller’s edict, “iLash” can be plural. Would Schiller say that this sign may be singular, or does his rule apply only to the lowercase letter  i ?

 

One eyebrows.

One eyebrows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here I thought that the singular form for this feature was “unibrow.”

If Schiller prevails, these two signs will be correct:

How many?

How many?

 

 

How many "cent"?

How many “cent”?

 

I guess I should celebrate the “s” on “wings,” which, I’m happy to say, aren’t “iWings.” Yet. And I should note that Apple’s marketing materials do add “s” to their product names. The interview didn’t take place on April 1st, but Schiller may have been fooling around anyway. Time, or times, will tell.

Live from NY, it’s Mother Nature!

New Yorkers tend to see nature as something you beat into submission by (a) covering it with concrete or (b) manicuring it so that any semblance to actual greenery and wildlife is accidental. My favorite moment during a recent blizzard took place outside Eli’s, a fashionable (and expensive) food store on the Upper East Side. A store employee was loading plastic-wrapped logs into a taxi, presumably so their new owner  — who was wearing high heels! in the snow! — could keep warm. Roughing it, New York style.

But I digress. This post is about signs in Central Park, Manhattan’s closest brush with nature. The first appeared near a large open space dotted with some tufts of . . . well, some tufts. (I’m a New Yorker. Don’t ask me to identify plants.)

Renovation: Not just for houses anymore.

Renovation: Not just for houses anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can envision “reseeding,” “rehabilitation,” or even “new sod.” But “renovation”? Nor was I aware that a lawn could be “closed.” The day I snapped this photo, the sparrow population of the area hadn’t gotten the message.

Logically, anything that’s closed can open. Hence this sign:

How do you open a lawn?

Unzip  each blade of grass . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even the animal kingdom is subject to New Yorkers’ orders:

Noisy turtles, beware.

Noisy turtles, beware.

 

Good to know that, as in Amtrak’s quiet cars, no one around this pond will be distracted by turtles talking on cell phones or playing loud music. Now if we could just get the snapping turtles to tone it down a little . . .

 

Sweet mysteries of life in NYC

Like a squirrel hoarding nuts, I’ve been stockpiling a few mysterious signs, hoping that at some point their meanings will emerge. These signs, all from shops selling food, defeat and delight me. I offer one or two interpretations and invite you to add your own commentary. First up is this beauty, which appears on a chalkboard in front of a hip (i.e. overpriced) restaurant:

 

I prefer maximal, myself.

I prefer maximal, myself.

 

My interpretation: You may find a grain or two (sand? wheat? spelt?) in the food, but grainophobes have nothing to fear here. Same restaurant, different sign:

 

Bring a lasso.

Bring a lasso.

My interpretation: The loaf lopes around the dining room. If  you can catch it, you can eat it. Or, the loaf parties all night and won’t follow any rules.

One more, from a different store:

Two-foot ceilings.

Two-foot ceilings?

 

My interpretations: This shop (a) sells neatly ironed, fruit-based beverages or (b) was a normal- height building before King Kong’s foot flattened it.

Your ideas are welcome. As you interpret the meaning, though, keep in mind that these signs appear in New York City, which may be defined as having a

Oh, yes we are.

Oh, yes we do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

New post? Totally.

The recent battle between Apple and the US Department of Justice over an encrypted iPhone was rendered moot when the DOJ figured out how to get into the device without the company’s help. Apple’s argument in favor of privacy would appeal to me more if  I could find a shred of evidence that privacy has not already become a faint, nostalgic glimmer of the past, in the sort of story that old people begin with the phrase “in my day.”

I say this as a frequent customer of the New York City Transit Authority. Consider this incident. Setting: a crowded M15 bus. Characters: Young Mother (YM) with a toddler and an infant, seated in the back. Young Guy (YG) with friends, standing near the front. The dialogue goes like this:

YG: Hey! I haven’t seen you in ages!

YM: I got fired!

YG: You got fired?

YM: Totally.

Keep in mind that this conversation spanned the length of a double bus — the kind of vehicle that bends in the middle to make turns easier. So in effect, the participants were half a block apart. It’s not that getting fired is necessarily — or ever — something to hide. In my day, though, we gave out this information privately, not as a public service announcement. (See what I mean about “in my day”?)

But this isn’t a post about privacy, primarily. Instead it’s about the word “totally.” If YM was “totally fired,” does that mean someone can be “partially fired,” as in “you have to work on Mondays and Wednesdays. You are fired on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays”? Somehow that scenario doesn’t seem to fit the definition of “fired.”  Instead, “totally” in this context seems to mean “really,” a way to indicate that you meant what you just said. That such an affirmation is necessary is a sad commentary on the status of truth nowadays. (“Nowadays,” but the way, is another favorite word in senior circles.)

My advice: Hit the mute button in your own mouth a little more often, especially in mass transit situations. Then the privacy issue won’t be moot. Not totally, anyway.

Political Speech

I am not, in this season of completely unexpected but totally inevitable political events, going to talk about the language some presidential candidates have used for the size, shape, and function of body parts belonging to themselves and their loved ones. In that, by the way, I am part of a group small enough to meet in the elevator of my building. An elevator which, like most in New York, is not all that big. (There. I’ve justified including this topic in my blog by creating a microscopic link to New York City. Now, back to politics.)

In this post I turn my attention to how campaigns end –  not that many do. Instead, candidates now “suspend” their bids for the nomination. “To suspend” is to call a temporary halt to an action, to pause before resuming whatever was suspended. It’s less permanent than “dropping out,” “ceasing,” or, heaven help us, “giving in.” Since the days of Richard Nixon, who famously said that he was “not a quitter” (and, at another time, that he was also “not a crook”), presidential hopefuls have suspended and not ended their efforts. Mostly. Mike Huckabee, who I expect would disagree with me on many issues, is my favorite campaign-ender. He said that he stopped running for president because of illness: “Voters are sick of me.” Now that’s honesty.

All this suspending makes me wonder whether the candidates are secretly hoping that at the last minute they will be called out of seclusion (“suspended animation”?) to become their party’s standard-bearer. And this year those hopes may not be entirely unrealistic. But what about other definitions of “suspend”? “The word also means “to hang something.” Because it’s “something” and not “someone,” I doubt this definition applies to any candidates’ secret hopes.  Finally, “suspend” may be “to hold off punishment until a specified period of time passes without further offenses.” Politicians may hope that this definition applies and that they will escape punishment for their campaign excesses, but the rest of us . . . well, most of us view “without further offenses” as a poor bet. Like, awesomely poor. Epically poor. The greatest poor ever.

See? The language of this campaign is contagious. I’d better suspend this post now.