Category Archives: Now trending

Observing and all too often criticizing language trends

A lie by any other name . . .

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A recent reference to “false facts” in an article in my hometown paper, The New York Times, set me to thinking about the ways journalists talk about lies. Given the current presidential campaign, this is a hot topic. My first reaction to “false facts” was that the phrase is an oxymoron . . . a contradiction of itself. If something is false, it’s not a fact. If it’s a fact, it’s not false. Other popular ways to refer to lies are “misstatements,” “misunderstandings,” “exaggerations,” “stretches,” and “wrong impressions” (this last from the liar who says something like “I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression” when caught).

Despite my reference to lies, I do know that a “false fact” may simply be a mistake, not an attempt to mislead. I am holding onto that belief with both hands lately, with flashbacks to the days when I hoped for, but did not expect, the Tooth Fairy to be real.

Yet how should the media characterize what Politifact (note the name) calls “pants on fire” assertions? One tactic is not to label something as true or false but instead to present information alongside contradictory claims. The problem, of course, is that this approach sometimes leads to the mere appearance of fairness and gives credence to the ridiculous, as in “a member of the Flat Earth Society countered NASA’s claims of that Earth is a spherical planet.”

Nor is the opposite approach perfect. If we rely on pundits to decide what’s factual or fanciful, we’d better make sure that we have great pundits. Extraordinarily wise pundits. Impeccable pundits! All of which are as abundant as unicorns. Complicating the problem, of course, is the fact (and I do assert it as a fact) that many people seek out an expert who will confirm what they already believe.

But this is a post about language, not politics. Back to “false facts”: I’d replace that term with “false information” or “false statements,” with accompanying proof.  And if it’s intentional, I vote for “lie.” This political season, that may be the only choice I have.

W/ ?

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Although I often mock the signs I see around NYC, this one has me well and truly stumped. I chanced upon it in a hardware store near Lincoln Center, posted atop a gleaming, stainless steel box that would never fit into any Manhattan kitchen I’ve ever seen. It seems to promise something, but what? Take a look. Maybe you can figure it out.

W/ what?

W/ what?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I get that the abbreviation “w/” stands for “with.” After that, I’m clueless. I should have taken advantage of the offer to “ask associate for details,” but I was late for lunch and the display model, contrary to its advertised “w/ Food,” contained nothing edible. So I left, perplexed and full of questions. Does “w/ Food” mean it’s filled up once, on delivery, or always – a kind of cornucopia that magically refills itself? That last option might be worth the hefty price. But who chooses the food? And are we talking macadamia nuts and lobster or lentils and frozen peas?

This sign, I ultimately decided, is part of a trend. Throw meaningless words at shoppers and hope that they’ll be impressed and confused enough to buy what you’re marketing, even though they haven’t the vaguest idea what that is. Kind of like the current US presidential race.

So over to you, readers. Think of this blog post as a contest, like the weekly cartoon-caption challenge in The New Yorker. The prize for the best interpretation of “w/ Food” is, well, nothing.

Yes, I’m cheap. But I’m also honest and clear. Unlike this sign.

Oops, I actually meant that!

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In the pre-Internet era, a student-researcher asked me whether New York City maintained “a government suppository of documents.” Yes, I thought, but not in the way you imagine. It’s easy to make fun of misused words, though I believe that kids’ errors should be out of bounds. So with a reasonably straight face, I explained to the young man that “depository” or “repository” would have been a better choice for that sentence.

Politicians and other public figures, however, are fair game when it comes to mockery. I’ve come to believe that when they stray from their speechwriters’ polished prose and venture to express themselves, they sometimes (gasp) reveal what they really think. Call it a Freudian slip, or, in print, a Freudian typo. To be clear, this phenomenon is nonpartisan. The more you talk, the more you slip, regardless of political affiliation.

First up is Sarah Palin’s endorsement of Donald Trump, as reported by my local paper, The New York Times. Referring to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, she declared that Americans are “paying for some of their squirmishes that have been going on for centuries.” Squirmishes is a nice blend of two other words. “Skirmish” refers to fights or battles, usually on a small scale and at irregular intervals. “Squirm,” on the other hand, is what you do when you wiggle or twist your body, often because you’re nervous. Was Palin nervous about the endorsement, conflicts in the Arab world, or something else?

Turning again to The New York Times, I found an odd statement from Abraham Foxman, former director of the Anti-Defamation League.  In a lengthy article describing the often tense relationship between President Barack Obama and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Foxman was quoted as saying that Obama “bore his soul about how much he cares about Israel.” Three verbs are entwined: bare, bear, and bore. “Bare” is “disclose or uncover”; the past tense is “bared.” “Bear” is “endure, carry a burden.” The past-tense form is “bore.” And of course, “bore” also refers to what politicians do best: make their audiences desperate to change the subject. Now, my question:. Does Foxman think that Obama feels burdened by the US-Israeli relationship or tired of the whole issue?

I know what I think, but I’ll withhold the information to avoid getting into a squirmish.

Stock up now!

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Want to talk about today’s storm? That might be difficult. Wordsmiths are woefully unprepared for the hyperbole-shortage caused by Jonas. (By the way, since when do non-hurricanes get names?) A completely unscientific survey showed that New Yorkers heeded warnings about emergency preparedness – for some things. In my local grocery store, for example, one woman at the checkout bought maybe three dozen individual-serving pudding containers. If Jonas decimates the nation’s sugar supply, she’s ready.

The real shortage, I’ve concluded after listening to the radio, watching television, and reading news reports, is hyperbole. If you want an extreme term for today’s weather, dictionary shelves are nearly bare. Stocks of “snowmageddon” were the first to be depleted. Only a few “storm of the century” phrases are left, but, in a rare show of restraint, several barrels of “storm of the millennium” are still available.

On the adjective/adverb front, as you might expect, supplies of “extremely dangerous,” “gale-force,” “zero” (as in “zero chance,” “zero visibility,” etc.) and “whiteout” are running low. The number of cartons of “super” is declining, despite the unusually large supply ordered for a football game in early February. Just one box of “killer” is still available.

Trite comments, too, are fast running out. “Stay home” and “beware of slippery roads and sidewalks” are no longer available, but diligent shoppers may find one or two “bundle ups” and “baby it’s cold outside” at premium prices. Rumor has it that a few would-be wordsmiths turned to Canada for help, but the only available terms from the north were “a little weather” and just plain “snow.”

Moral of the story: Make like a boy scout. Be prepared. Stock up on hype now, before the next storm of the millennium hits.

Hold on, Holden

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On a NYC bus recently, I watched a toddler bounce from seat to seat, across the aisle, and over feet and backpacks – all without realizing that (a) he was endangering himself and (b) he was totally annoying everyone else. Everyone but his caregiver, that is, who was busy texting and who contributed nothing more to the situation than an occasional “settle down,” murmured to the screen, which presumably paid as little attention to her words as did the toddler, who limited himself to “no,” shouted often and earnestly. I contemplated the little sign that appears on every NYC bus, explaining that “assaulting a bus operator is a felony.”

Only bus drivers?

Only bus drivers?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What about assaulting a toddler, I mused. Felony? Misdemeanor? Was I willing to risk a misdemeanor to achieve a quiet ride? (I’m kidding. Really. I’d never hit a kid, or anyone else for that matter.)

Finally, the texter rose to leave, calling, “Holden, this is our stop!” as she grabbed his hand. Holden – famously rebellious protagonist of Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye.” Yup, I thought. Perfect name for the future juvenile delinquent, who someday can rightfully plead neglectful parenting as an excuse for bad behavior.

But I digress. The point of this post is actually a recent study about language acquisition and children, inspired by Holden’s repeated shouts of “no.” Researchers found that worldwide, most kids say “no” much earlier (and more frequently) than “yes.” Why? Well, common sense provides the answer. Who would bother answering a caregiver cooing, “Baby want a toy?” If the baby wants a toy, the baby takes it. “No,” on the other hand, serves a purpose. A positive action is easy to perform, a negative not so much.

My experience with Holden has led me to change my habits: Faced again with an unruly toddler, I now put on my best teacher face, stare at the kid, and quietly hiss, “No.” Invariably, the kid subsides, the caregiver continues texting, the other bus riders smile, and the journey continues. No misdemeanors or felonies necessary.

Now if I could only get this technique to work on sidewalk-bicyclists.

Facing the new year

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Closing out 2015, I find three signs aptly express my feelings about this season. First:

Ten fingers? Check. Ten toes? Ditto.

Ten fingers? Check. Ten toes? Ditto. Sanity? Doubtful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I checked the definition of “checkout,” which involves a summing up of obligations and payment thereof.  This sign caught my eye, and not only because it signals a further decline in customer service. (I’ve just completed two transcontinental airline flights, so that topic is on much my mind.)  What drew me is the “self” portion of the sign. January approaches, and like the Roman god Janus (who was probably not the source of the name “January”), I look both forward and back. But mostly I look inward, to “checkout” the state of my “self.” I won’t place my findings here – too private – nor will I stop as January ends. The unexamined life is not my style. Obsessive worrying, alas, is. (And yes, compulsive snark, too.)

Here’s the second sign:

To where?

To where?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could insert a wish here – that the sign not be a prediction of my, your, or our collective future. But a daily dose of The New York Times shows, beyond a doubt, that a “rough road” is likely for all of us. Nor in good conscience can I insert a platitude – something about life’s bumps strengthening character. Sometimes life’s bumps lead only to bruises. Yet Yogi Berra – the late, great Yankee catcher and creative grammarian – gave good advice: When you come to a fork in the road, take it. Rough or not. After all, what’s the alternative?

Finally, no new year (and no New Year’s post) would be complete without a resolution. Mine begins with this sign:

Who wants to be "the top bell"?

Who wants to be “the top bell”?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I saw this sign behind a construction fence enclosing access to the Second Avenue Subway. It contains, in my opinion, the coolest job title ever. I resolve to become, by the end of this new year, “the top bell.” Whatever that is.

 

Hey, I’m Walking Here! Part 2

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As a pedestrian in New York City, I generally feel that I am the lowest of the low, the bottom of the barrel, the – well, insert your favorite metaphor for “unimportant” here. Why? Stoplights are timed to move motor vehicles along, not to give me a chance to put one foot in front of the other and reach the other side of the avenue before the next wave of cars approaches. Bikes get their own lane on many streets and all too often, uninhibited and unticketed, dominate the sidewalk as well. And then I saw this sign:

I'm "traffic" now.

I’m “traffic” now!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I thought about the phrase “pedestrian traffic” as I plodded through the detour this “notice” required. According to the dictionary, the noun “traffic” means “vehicles moving on a road,” “dealing or trading in something illegal,” or “communications between people.” I am not a Ferrari, a drug transaction, or a text message. I am a person who travels via feet. So what does this sign really mean? If the first definition applied, I’d expect an upgrade in “pedestrian traffic” flow – lights timed to the average traveled-foot-inch per minute, for example. Nope. If the last definition applied, I’d expect the Department of Transportation to respond to the many cries for bike-free sidewalks. Nope again. So I’m choosing door number two. And I thank the DOT for banning trades of, say, one babysitter pushing a double-wide stroller for two guys with briefcases plus an oblivious texter to be named later.

Emboldened by this upgrade to “traffic” status, I went out again – and found this:

Wait where?

Wait where?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the start of my first year as a teacher – and this is a true story – I questioned my principal about the schedule calling for me to teach two different classes at the same time on two different floors. Her answer? “Young people don’t want to face obstacles.” Oh. So too, at this corner, was I obliged to “wait” at two different places at the same time.

I won’t bother discussing the indignity of being a “ped.” It’s nice out. I’d rather take a walk.

New in New York

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A recent discussion on New York City’s public radio station repeatedly referred to “a new initiative” to reduce the number of traffic accidents. As someone who walks around the city every day, dodging bicycles (illegally) on the sidewalk and aggressive drivers in pedestrian crosswalks, I should have been listening carefully. Yet my mind drifted, caught by the phrase “new initiative.” I wondered whether there was such a thing as an “old initiative.”

My dictionary lists four definitions for “initiative,” the most appropriate in this context being “an act or strategy intended to resolve a difficulty or improve a situation; a fresh approach.” That last bit fits poorly with the adjective “new,” because then you’re talking about a “new fresh approach.” It’s worth noting, though, that the dictionary’s sample sentence refers to a “new initiative.” Why?

I was still trying to figure out the answer to this question when my husband snapped a photo of this sign:

New tradition?

So much better than an old tradition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Traditionally, a “tradition” is a custom passed along from generation to generation. How do you know you’re creating a “new holiday tradition”?  By employing a soothsayer? If so, how much does that career pay? For some reason, it’s not listed in the Occupational Outlook Handbook published by the US government’s Bureau of Labor Statistics. I can’t imagine why. After all, this is a city in which the marketing campaign for a building under construction referred to the structure as “prewar.” (For non-NYers, let me explain that “pre-war” in a real estate ad generally means “built before World War II.”) Given the state of the world, it’s likely that everything, everywhere, at any point in time is pre- some sort of war, but still, you have to wonder what the builders foresaw.

Mulling all this, I finally came up with a theory. The desire to distance oneself from the past with a “new initiative” or to control the future by establishing a “new tradition” is hardwired into New Yorkers’ psyches. Notwithstanding  the fact that the city sports a record-breaking concentration of psychotherapists plumbing our personal pasts, the city that never sleeps never stops changing, too. New Yorkers reinvent themselves and their city. It’s our tradition. Maybe we should slow down and savor what we already have. A change like that, though, requires initiative. New or not.

Pregnant Persons

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On the subway this morning I heard a recorded announcement begging riders to give up their seats to “elderly, disabled, and pregnant persons.” In my experience – and contrary to New Yorkers’ reputation for callous disregard of others – all sorts of people leap up to offer seats to those with gray hair (me, for example) and to others with obvious physical needs. Still, I was pleased to hear the reminder.

M for MTA

A kinder, gentler MTA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I must confess, though, that I spent the whole ride thinking about the phrase “pregnant persons.” The writer wanted three adjectives (elderly, disabled, and pregnant) to modify the noun persons. But because only females can give birth, the gender-neutral term, pregnant persons, sounded odd.

I considered alternatives. Substituting pregnant women doesn’t work, because then you’re being polite only to females, as the other two adjectives attach to women. With that wording, a fragile 90-year-old guy is out of luck, as are men of any age who have broken legs or other conditions that make standing on a moving train a bad idea.

Nor can you simply turn those adjectives into nouns, ceding the seat to the elderly, disabled, or pregnant. This wording reduces complex human identity to one characteristic. I’m old, but age is just one part of me. I imagine that wheelchair users and others with physical issues feel the same way.  (For a longer discussion of age-related terms, check out “Euph and Old Age” in this blog. Here’s the URL:  http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=479.)

One solution is to rearrange the sequence, so that you’re talking about pregnant women, and elderly and disabled persons. That works, but it’s awkward and may too easily be misread as excluding women from the more general category, persons.

So what’s a train-riding grammarian to do? I’m voting for something like this: “Please give up your seat to anyone who has difficulty standing.” But I’m open to suggestions from every person, including pregnant ones.

Have a Good Whatever

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The New York Times reports that Starbucks  has unveiled the 2015 holiday coffee cup, a Rothkoesque shading of reds adorned only with the corporate logo.

Controversial coffee

Noncontroversial coffee cup available here! Or at least that’s the goal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The official line is that the company wants to encourage creativity and doodling on cardboard vessels in those willing to pay far too much for a beverage. (Okay, “pay far too much”  isn’t part of the official line. It’s my observation.)  According to Starbucks, the goal of the 2015 cup is “to usher in the holidays with a purity of design that welcomes all of our stories.”  In other words, aim for everyone and offend no one.

Of course, critics immediately blasted the company for “erasing Christmas” and even “hating Jesus.” I must confess that I’ve never thought of turning to a coffee cup for spiritual inspiration. Plus, the official symbols of Christmas in New York City, as far as I can tell, are the giant tree in Rockefeller Center and brightly decorated, strident pleas to spend money on presents. So at first the Starbucks controversy puzzled me.

But then I realized that Starbucks’ new cup is part of a trend toward meaningless generalities. Employees in local stores used to wish that I  “have a nice day,” or, from the over- perky, that I “have a really great day.” Counting my change and trying to remember the next item on my to-do list, I paid little attention to these fervent hopes for my wellbeing. But somewhere in my consciousness was a bit of gratitude, and I did notice when the comments changed. Now shopkeepers generally tell me to “have a good one.” A good what? Not that I was crazy about “nice” or “really great” day, but seriously, were those expressions too controversial? And is the next step, “have a good whatever” or, with a nod to Seinfeld,  “a good yada yada”?

Sir Isaac Newton held that every action is balanced by an equal and opposite reaction.  The rise in blandness, it seems, makes extremism not only possible but inevitable. In other words, that  plain red coffee cup sets the tone of the US presidential campaign. Who knew?