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Observing and all too often criticizing language trends

House, Home, and Hand

I gnash my teeth whenever I see a restaurant or food store offering homemade pasta, pickles, or whatever. “Who lives here?” I want to ask the waiter or clerk. “Whose home am I eating or shopping in?” But of course I’m too inhibited to challenge someone nice enough to bring me food, even if the same person is overcharging me for my homemade meal. I say nothing and keep my very short, well-gnashed molars to myself.

What the restaurant or store means, of course, is exactly what this restaurant menu states:

House made! Hand rolled!

Instead of homemade, this orecchiette dish contains house made sausage. (I’d hyphenate the description, but I’m not quibbling.) The sausage is not shipped in, dried or frozen, from a factory somewhere in an area of the country where there’s room to cook ten thousand meals at a time so they can be microwaved one by one in the postage-stamp sized kitchens New Yorkers put up with. The comment about the lasagna in the above menu is even better; the pasta sheets are house rolled. I would buy anything described so eloquently! And before you hop all over me for not noticing that a house can’t roll or make anything, remember metonymy, the figure of speech that allows a closely associated term to substitute for something else – for example, the Oval Office for the actions of the executive who works there.

Another term that pops up all this time is handmade. Check out this sign:

Not sure about the “treatments,” but I like the “handmade.”

What beauty products await consumers inside this store? The sign implies that they are made on the spot, just for you, by a Luddite who shuns machinery. This scenario may even be accurate, though a recent court ruling – I kid you not! – held that handmade bourbon could legally be made with the help of machines, because everyone knows that you can’t make bourbon without mechanical help. Truth in advertising, never a strong point, bites still more dust with this verdict.

It’s enough to make you retire to your home to drink some handmade booze.

Playing Favorites

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What’s your favorite color? Pet? Television show? Whatever? I don’t know, but when you answer one of these questions, I assume you’ve had some experience with a few items in that category and selected the one you like best. Notice the word experience. Now take a look at this sign:

Coming soon?

Can anyone explain to me how this sign, stuck on the windows of a restaurant still under construction, can refer to “your favorite neighborhood place”? I always assumed something had to exist before it could become a favorite, but apparently not. And no, the sign does not refer to a second branch of another place in the same neighborhood. If Google’s algorithm served me well, there is a Cousins NYC restaurant in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, which may, for all I know, be the favorite neighborhood place of everyone in that neighborhood. But Brooklyn is a long way from the window displaying this sign.

Next up is an awning attached to a doughnut shop:

What’s a “bake place”?

I’m not sure what the dot is supposed to represent – a hyphen, a dash, a period, an ampersand, or something else. I’m assuming that the dot’s purpose is to separate a beverage (coffee) from, well, from what? What is a bake place? The term brings to mind a stove or perhaps a tanning salon, but those meanings don’t fit here. (Also, doughnuts are fried, not baked.) Maybe bake place is a substitute for bakery? If so, why not put bakery on the sign? With an awning like this, I doubt the store will become any grammarian’s favorite neighborhood place.

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!

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!

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.

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?

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.

No workers, but lots of work

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The famous command of the Communist Manifesto — “Workers of the world, unite!’ — is obsolete, and not just because communism proved to be, as the old joke says, the most painful route from capitalism to capitalism. The communist ideology failed, but the slogan bites the dust for a completely different reason. Those who labor are no longer workers. Somehow it has become crass to refer to employees as the underlings they are, as this sign illustrates:

Who is the opponent?

The idea that “we’re all in this together” may appeal to management (where you’ll find many managers but few coaches), but I doubt that the store displaying this sign shares power and profits equally.

Another popular word for employee is partner, which is what you are when you work full time at Starbucks and Whole Foods, among other New Age enterprises. Barnes and Noble invites you to join its community of booksellers, not apply for a job. At Walmart you’re an associate, either management-level or hourly. Traditionally, an associate worked as a colleague, not always as an equal, but close to the power center. New lawyers become associates on their way (they hope) to partner status. Walmart has many employees (sorry, associates) who complain about forced overtime and underpayment. These claims may be without merit, but it’s hard to see the people at the registers of a discount store truly associating with those higher in the company structure, as associates in law firms do.

Conferring titles instead of power and increased pay isn’t confined to the business world. Just ask a distinguished professor or a professor emeritus. True, some with these designations see a small bump in salary, and many an adjunct (a college-level instructor paid a subsistence-level salary with no job security) would love to join their ranks. But the point is the same: Symbolic gestures, whatever the field, have come to replace concrete advantages.

Just ask the partner who bags your groceries.

Where beauty lies

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I’m no stranger to the silliness of advertising. I came of age in the Sixties, when beauty product companies sold a “no-makeup look” that required about a pound of cosmetics to achieve. But lately, those same companies or their descendants have been marketing their wares using some strange appeals. I wager that the average consumer has no idea what’s in these products. Take a look at this ad:

Wild-crafted?

I understand the definition of organic, but seriously — wild-crafted? Are these products mixed in a small clearing overhung with oaks or whatever trees grow in the Black Forest? And of course it has to be a “complete system,” not just a jar.

If forests aren’t your thing, how do you feel about the Dead Sea? Read this one and weep, because you missed the deadline (or the Dead Sea-line) for a session with a haircare expert, who came, as the sign says

Which 26 minerals?

I don’t know how many minerals are in my shampoo. Twenty six sounds like a lot. But the more the merrier – or the shinier.

Maybe your hair is in good shape, but what about the skin underneath it? Better be sure, with this service:

The ultimate selfie

I hope your scalp is photogenic! If it isn’t, move south a bit, to your eyes. They may be hungry:

: How do eyes eat?

Focus in on the cream, which appears on the window above the “nourish” tagline:

So glad the treatment doesn’t migrate!

And as long as you’re nourishing, consider this last sign:

: Vegetarian cosmetics?

This sign would make sense if it appeared on the window of a food shop, but it’s advertising cosmetics. So what is a vegetarian cosmetic? One not tested on animals? One not made from animal products? One that doesn’t eat animals? All three categories are fine with me, but the signage is not.

These stores are selling beauty, which certainly lies in the eye of the beholder. The ads, though, simply lie.

You are what (you think) you eat

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I didn’t bat an eye when I read two separate references to “artisanal pickles” in yesterday’s New York Times. I live in Manhattan, where signs advertising “artisanal food” or as in this sign, “artisan bread,” abound:

Sign by an adjective-challenged writer.

So I was fine with artisanal pickles, which I presume are soaked in brine lacking any ingredient with more than three syllables in its name. But an article about “artisanal fish” stopped me cold. What would an artisanal fish be? I pictured busy little fins, fluttering around watery workshops as they fashioned – well, what would an artisanal fish create? Seaweed cooked according to an old family recipe?

After some digging, I discovered that artisanal fish is the term for the opposite of large-scale, commercial fishing, with its miles-square nets and other ocean-destroying practices. If I eat an artisanal fish, I’m chewing on something caught on a hook at the end of a line held by a real person, plying the waters in a small boat inherited from a crusty-but-kind, weathered ancestor who patiently explained ancient methods before he sailed off beyond the horizon. Or at least that’s what the label hopes I think.

The term, though, has no real legal definition. At least the definition of “organic” has evolved from “any carbon-based life form” into “free from pesticides and genetic engineering,” with some legislation or certification to back it up. But artisanal, like its linguistic cousin craft, resides in the eye of the beholder. Or in this case, the mouth.

That got me thinking about other phrases I see on signs and menus. They may have meaning, and the products themselves may carry more flavor and nutritional value than others — but how do we really know? The term green in this sign hints at earth-friendly, natural (dare I say artisanal?) cooking, but the term may be either completely appropriate or totally undeserved.

Contrast the above sign with this one, whose products are identified only by color:

Or shape:

To be honest, these food products may not be as tasty as artisanal cheese and meat, but at least you know what aspect of the food they’re promoting. Which brings me to the main point. In our over-mechanized world, advertisers know that consumers often want to hurtle into the past – which they will find with the help of their voice-enabled, speech-recognizing, GPS-loaded, smartphone apps. The product may not be real, good, or natural. That’s fine, as long as it seems that way. You are what you eat, or in this case, what you think you’re eating.

“Euph” and Old Age

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The New York Times recently referred to a “residence for older adults.” My attention snagged on the term older. “Older than whom?” I wondered. The unfinished comparison brought to mind of one of my pet peeves: all the signs reporting that a shop’s coffee, beer, hamburger or whatever was “voted best” without explaining who cast the ballots — chef and spouse, 300 million Americans, everyone at the corner table . . . you get the idea.

Then I realized that older adult is just one of the many euphemisms for, well, the old. Somehow older sounds softer than old. The elderly is somewhere in the middle . . . not as harsh as old, but not as sappy as older. In the past (which we older adults remember well), retired people were known as Golden Agers, living in their Golden Years. Ironic terms, if the stats about the retirement income of most people aged 65+ are correct.

These terms replaced some fairly accurate, descriptive, but unpleasant labels: long in the tooth (just wait – your gums will recede someday too), graybeard (can’t shave with reading glasses on), and declining years (what’s not to sag?). These terms are the reverse of euphemisms (mal-misms?) but in some ways I prefer them to the shinier autumn of life or advanced age.

Think about advanced for a moment. “To advance” is “to move forward.” And where are you going at an advanced age? What is ahead of you? This expression is a close relative of senior, a term that showed up in the 1930s when old people ate free food at senior centers.

Senior. Sigh.

As a former high school teacher who dealt mainly with 12th graders, I shepherded many seniors toward graduation and college. Applying the term to the last stage of life (insert your favorite euphemism here) makes me think about my own graduation — from senior to . . . well, whatever’s next. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that one!

Maybe this sign has the best answer. From now on you can call me major, the opposite of minor.

“Under 40”?

Not Raining but Poring

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Nobody seems to look for anything these days, if my favorite newspaper, The New York Times, is any indication. A small selection from just a couple of days in April 2015:

CIA analysts “poring over drone video feeds, satellite data, electronic intercepts of cellphone conversations and informants’ reports.”
A writer “on her couch, poring over a new story.”
Football coaches “poring over game film and scouting reports” before the draft (for players, not for combat).
American “business and investment lawyers poring over the mash-up of laws in the existing trade embargo” of Cuba.
Angora rabbit fans (who knew they existed?) “who spend time coddling the rabbits and poring over their pedigrees.”
The South Korean government, “poring over private chats” in an invasion of privacy.

I’m not sure what to make of all this poring, which, by the way, is not related to climate change. “To pore over” is “to read or study carefully, in an attempt to remember,” according to one dictionary. That definition doesn’t seem to be the operative one lately. Instead, poring over is the new sifting through — checking a mountain of information for just the right fact. Not that sifting through has gone away entirely. I got more than 4000 hits when I searched for “poring” in the NY Times site, and a slightly higher number for “sifting through.” In the last two weeks, jurors were “sifting through” evidence in a high-profile murder case, a scholar was commended for “sifting through” early Modernist works, and an actor was depicted as “sifting through television and film scripts” in search of a new project. An employer was “sifting through resumes” and someone else was “sifting her memory for clues about her father’s secrets.”

And then there’s data mining. Can’t you just picture data miners, wearing reading glasses instead of helmets with those little headlights, poring over their algorithms, hoping to uncover something of value? The gold nugget, so to speak. Before data mining I often read about people massaging the data to find patterns. I’m not exactly sure what you do when you massage the data, but it sounds like a lot more fun than poring over or sifting through.

All these terms, though, mirror how overwhelmed we are. Documents, film, audio tapes, and rabbit pedigrees — how are we to keep up? The haystack keeps getting taller and the needle smaller. Me, I’ll just keep looking.

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