Category Archives: Now trending

Observing and all too often criticizing language trends

Regarding Irregardless

Regardless first appeared in the mid-16th century as a description meaning “not worthy of attention.” That definition is obsolete, but perhaps it shouldn’t be. In fact, it may be the best label for the current debate about irregardless, which reignited last week when Merriam Webster defended the inclusion of irregardless in its dictionary. Much outrage ensued, regardless of the fact that Merriam Webster and many other respected dictionaries have listed the word for years. All label it “nonstandard” and some “humorous.”

As I write this, many issues are indeed worthy of attention: the pandemic, injustice, and climate change, to name just three. In that context irregardless can’t compete. In fact, even had 2020 not proved to be a strong candidate for “Scariest Year of Our Lifetime,” the status of irregardless would mostly be irrelevant.

Granted, it’s a double-negative. The prefix ir- means “without,” as does the suffix -less, so irregardless, as many commentators have pointed out, effectively translates to “without without regard.” English sometimes adds two negatives and gets a positive (“I couldn’t not ask for a raise,” for example, means “I had to ask for a raise”), yet no one thinks the Rolling Stones are expressing contentment with “I can’t get no satisfaction.” Anyone who knows what regardless means also knows what irregardless means.

Here’s the thing: language lives. It often moves from (1) that’s not a real word! to (2) it’s a real word but educated people don’t use it to (3) class, remember to double the R when you write “irregardless.” We’re currently in stage two.

Regardless of everything I just wrote, I do support standards, and I most definitely support teaching them. Like it or not, what executives and academics deem “proper” matters when it comes time to hire, fire, and grade. Knowing the rules is important — but so is knowing that rules change. Irregardless of my personal preference for regardless, irregardless may someday switch from “nonstandard” to “standard.” I suspect the world, and the English language, will survive.

Foreign Language Museum Product Version

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Sometime ago–less than a year, but it feels like a lifetime–I completed a book I’m rather pleased with: 25 Great Sentences and How They Got That Way, an in-depth look at, well, great sentences and how they’re fashioned. WW Norton will publish it in August, assuming there is an August. In 2020, you never know.

Here’s the cover:

In moments of self-obsession–if I’m honest, every day–I google the title to read the prepublication reviews (happy about those) and to see where the book is being sold. I found some sites in various languages I don’t speak and google-translated the text. That’s how I discovered that 25 Great Sentences has a “foreign language museum product version.” Good to know, I think. I’m not entirely sure what that phrase means.

Important point: Far be it for me to criticize someone’s translation. How could I, when I once told a Spanish friend, in Spanish, the equivalent of “Pitifully, I have a former commitment and can’t meet you tonight”? Artificial intelligence software, on the other hand, is fair game.

Here’s another interesting sentence about my book, courtesy of the same translation program: “All the products purchased by members enjoy a ten-day hesitation period (including holidays).” Hesitation about what? To buy, read, evaluate, tear into little pieces, line the birdcage with? I’m not sure, but I love the idea of a “hesitation period.” Perhaps I’ll take one to decide what to hesitate about. And I’ll enjoy it, including holidays.

Gratitude, Of Course

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I usually write about silly or pretentious language, but not today. Instead I want to talk about some very brave people and, because this is a language blog, about the language those people use. Almost three years ago, for a period of about six months, I spent a lot of time in a hospital where someone I loved was losing the fight for his life. In addition to keeping track of his medicines and treatments, I listened to the language around me. That’s what I do.

It struck me that every time I thanked someone — and there were many, many occasions to do so — the response was the same: “of course.” It was odd at first. The traditional response is “you’re welcome,” but it was a cancer hospital, so “welcome” wasn’t really appropriate. No one wanted to be there as a patient, and the caregivers would have preferred not to “welcome” anyone to the world of cancer. Newer responses — “no problem” and its close cousin, “no worries” — were horribly inaccurate. Because language arises from necessity and creativity, “of course” stepped into the breach.

As I watched hospital personnel reattach IV bags and adjust beds, medications, tubing, and all the other accoutrements of illness, I knew they did so because of course they didn’t want anyone to suffer. Of course they wanted sick people to receive the best care. Of course they’d take time to explain, to reassure, to comfort, and to tend in every way to the needs of patients and their families. It is, I believe, a kind of love. The very best kind.

So now, of course they’re working to save us from the virus. Of course they’re putting their own lives at risk. And of course we should thank them whenever we can. But not just with words: every precaution we take to safeguard our own health is a precaution we take to safeguard theirs. Is it difficult to give up the routines of daily life? Of course. Is it necessary? Of course. Should those in charge do everything — everything! — to give them the supplies they need? Of course.

And because I’m a creature of words, I add these: Thank you, doctors, nurses, EMTs, aides, clerks, and everyone else taking care of us.

Challenge

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This post is a challenge: Can you reword these well-meaning but misguided signs, all of which have “do” problems? One point for a grammatically correct answer, two for grammatically correct and punchy, and three for a revision that fits the first two categories and maintains some sort of verb. I’ll tell you what I came up with for each, but fair warning: my revisions are terrible. Ready? Then we’re off to the barber shop:

The original, “We do hot shave,” has to go. My attempts: “We hot shave.” I don’t think so. “We shave hot.” Nope. “We shave hotly.” Definitely no. How about “We stick hot towels on your face before we shave you”? Not unless the storefront widens considerably. (And when did shaving become a team effort?)

Onward, and not upward:

As it is now, this sign feels like a retort to someone who said, “I wish you tailored.” (“We do tailor!”) My revisions: “We tailor and do alterations” and “Tailoring and Alterations Done Here.” Way too formal, way too long. Your thoughts?

Last one:

There’s an easy fix: cut off the first line of the top sign. That earns two points, but can you go for a three-pointer?

I’ll tally everyone’s points. The reader with the highest score will win . . . well, nothing. But DO try anyway.

Chickening Out

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Every time I think a bit of rationality has invaded food ads (which occurs, I admit, never), I see a sign so loopy I have to laugh. And snap a photo:

How is a “whole whole chicken” different from a “whole chicken”? Is it “wholer”? Or is there something missing in the usual “whole chicken” that I should know about? Perhaps, in these hyperbolic days, we need to repeat something just to make it seem true. Sigh.

Here’s an even more disturbing sign:

Maybe this sign explains the previous one: Perhaps the “whole whole chicken” includes the brain, obliquely referred to here as the quality it confers, “smart.” The whole (whole whole) thing makes me shudder and sigh.

I think I’ll eat veggies tonight. How about you? Having trouble deciding? Try this:

No decisions, just a grab. Ideal, until you notice that it’s “our favorites,” not “your.” Sigh again.

Writing this post has made me hungry. I think I’ll grab my favorite snack, which is not chicken — not “whole,” not “whole whole,” and definitely not “smart.” Bon appetit!

Hair Today, Gone (Please!) Tomorrow

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I’m not hoping for baldness but rather for a change in signage pertaining to hair. What is it about the human version of fur that obsesses us? I don’t know the answer, but I do know that these products and services are beyond ridiculous. An example:

First of all, I hope no one goes to this salon hoping that Francis Ford or Sofia are employed there as stylists. Second, botox? Seriously? Just what I’d like for my hair: a neurotoxin that causes paralysis.

Onward but not upward:

I could say quite a lot about this sign. For example: Why specify “goatee beard”? Is there a “goatee eyebrow” or a “goatee cheese” that I don’t know about? But the line that most interests me is “Crew Cut Senior Citizen.” For the record, I’m a senior citizen and I don’t have a crew cut. Nor do I want one. I prefer to read this as a headline for an article beginning “The crew of the USS Scissors cut a senior citizen yesterday. NCIS is investigating.”

Another non-beauty:

This photo and the previous one are from different salons. Perhaps they share a grammarian (or rather, they should share one). In both, apostrophes are a problem. (“Children Haircut”? Men Haircut?) Also, both offer the customer a “shape up.” Presumably the $20 version comes with a trainer, diet plan, and access to exercise equipment. For $10, the salon owner just yells at you until get your act together.

That’s it for today. I have an appointment to get my hair cut, because, as this salon put it, I need an “edit”:

Do take photos of your favorite hair signs before, like the “summer edit festival,” they’re gone.

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