The world is precarious nowadays: danger seems to, and in most instances actually does, surround us. As a break from the deadly and serious, here are a few threats that may bring a smile and no damage whatsoever to anything other than the English language.
For the bad-breakup crowd:
For want of an apostrophe, a boy friend was lost. Well, turned into cash, which I’m pretty sure is illegal, no matter how toxic the relationship was. Side point: How do you turncash into ca$h other than typographically? And why would you want to?
Although unemployment has risen sharply, I’m hoping no one is desperate enough to apply for this job:
Grilled man? I don’t even want to think about it.
And then there’s this placard*:
*Zero-star review from Marie-Antoinette and Thomas Cromwell.
As if we needed one more thing to worry about in 2020:
My recommendations: be kind to your ex-whatever, don’t barbecue yourself, watch the scissors, and stay off the sidewalk. Be safe!
I’ve been Zooming around a lot lately. I’ve had virtual dinners with friends, virtual classes (on both sides of the virtual desk), virtual doctor visits, and some virtual interviews about my new book. (Yes, this is a shameless plug for 25 Great Sentences and How They Got That Way, which debuted this week.) What I haven’t had is the ability to ignore my appearance while Zooming. I suspect I’m not alone. In fact, I bet the first humans fretted over their skin and hair whenever they knelt to drink from a pond.
These New York City signs, snapped pre-pandemic, indicate a whole new level of obsession. First up, skin:
I admit that German Black Forest sounds authoritative, though why those ingredients should surpass, say, the Appalachians I could not explain. And what has to happen for something to be wild crafted? Is a deer or a bear involved? A squirrel? For me, the words that tip this sign into lunacy are the last three. Does anyone create a systemdesigned not to work?
A little more skin:
Given the lack of hyphens, this shop may be offering a consultation about the camera you use to check your scalp. Or, the store may have its own special scalp camera. Either way: eww. Why would you want to stare at follicles and record the experience for posterity?
Now, hair. Here’s a message I agree with:
Keep each tress to yourself, please! It should be easy to avoid passing one, if you’re Zooming. Not so easy, but much more important: stay safe!
Podding up with my son’s family in Seattle, I’ve been thinking a lot about the language that has emerged during this dire period. Some terms I love: Quarantini, anyone? I’m also very fond of pod, a repurposed word now applied to the group you’ve chosen or been stuck with as quarantine-mates. I especially like its verb forms, “podding” and “podded.” Ditto for “pandemic,” as you probably guessed from the title of this post.
But not all pandemic vocabulary is helpful. My word-alarm rings when I see something like this package label:
This bit of literary nonexcellence describes a cloth mask, and was written, I imagine, with a translation program that lost its way, if it ever had a way. I’m assuming that carry is “wear” and, because the mask was folded in half, that divide the opposite side means “unfold.” Did the manufacturer really have to explain that? Would anyone wear a folded mask with both loops hanging over the same ear? (Don’t answer that. These days, the absurd seems all too possible.) Your guess is as good as mine when it comes to deciphering anti-external will stick dust power. I am similarly stumped by wash the poison. Both must have something to do with the virus, because in 2020 everything circles back to Corona. Pun intended.
Here’s a pre-pandemic sign that caters to the anxiety and ignorance far too often attached to physical well-being:
First there’s the phrase itself. I’m not a medical professional, but isn’t all health based on what’s going on at the cellular level? Can you have a disease or condition that doesn’t involve cells? Then there’s the location of the sign, the window of a spa. No offense to the hard-working employees, but I really don’t want anyone but a doctor to mess with my cells.
One more, also pre-pandemic but more important now than ever:
This is what we all have to do to get through to the other side of our 2020 nightmare: PULL a little harder. Remember that! Also, wash away the poison once a day, and look for kindness, compassion, and duty within yourself, as far down as your cellular level.
This post is entitled “Repurposing” because I’ve dug up some photos I posted a long time ago and added Covid-pertinent commentary. (It’s “Part 2” because I did the same thing last week.) Before I begin, though, I offer sincere gratitude to the heroes who leave home each day to tend to the sick, staff the markets, deliver the packages, and keep the city running.
Now, to those of us who have the privilege of protecting ourselves by sheltering in place: How many weeks has it been? I’ve lost count, which is why it’s been long enough to need this:
Check all that apply: (a) grumpy (b) annoyed (c) exasperated (d) nuclear meltdown imminent
Self-checked? Now select a remedy. For the grumpy:
Caution: Avoid serving to significant others. May be habit-forming.
Annoyed at your isolate-mates? Try this:
A little blurry — like most of us these days.
No matter how much your offspring are getting on your nerves, don’t give in to this:
Unless of course the arrow points to “silent treatment rooms.”
As for me, I’m grateful to be safe and fervently hoping you are safe as well.
With all that’s going on, it’s time for a little silliness. New York City sign-writers are happy to oblige, albeit unknowingly. Here’s one from a coffee shop:
The right side is blurred because of the coat-to-chalk effect, so I’ll retype the message here: “Not only was Aretha Franklin the first woman to be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, she was the first woman, period.” One question: Did Adam give her R-E-S-P-E-C-T?
Onward, to an art store:
I’m not “prude” either, but I am a grammarian, and my preference for “prudish” is not “just highly selective.”
Last, an all-too-accurate sign:
We are indeed in a “mean time.” Things will eventually improve, but in the meantime, laugh as much as you can. Then wash your hands.
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.
“Emergency” seems like an important topic these days. Given all that’s going on in the world, it’s easy to panic. Here’s a sign from someone who obviously has:
I’m not here to judge whether step-sitting constitutes an emergency. For all I know, plopping on the staircase might slow a life-saving organ transfer. I do know that the sign-writer has a punctuation emergency, specifically the soon-to-be worldwide shortage of exclamation points. I mean, we can only produce so much punctuation, despite working 24/7 to churn it out! (or out!!!). Be reasonable, people.
And if you can’t be reasonable, at least be friendly:
My first thought, after I blessed the sign-writer for the single exclamation point, was “speak for yourself,” because for many of us, “emergencies” are definitely not “welcome.” Though I guess if you’re bored, the right emergency can add a little zing to your day.
So can a mistranslated phrase:
Yes, help for those pesky infernos is on the way, “to crash in event of fire.” With apologies to the Borg (Star Trek’s best villains, in my opinion), assistance is futile.
Tell me where I should go when the streets are filled with motor vehicles and I see this sign:
I’m used to dodging texters, squadrons of cyclists, and an occasional Vespa on the sidewalk, but trucks? And will they hear me if I caution them for crossing sidewalk? Maybe I’ll just leave, as allpackages referred to in this sign are directed to do:
At least I won’t be alone. In addition to packages, I’ll have doorman to protect me. Speaking of doorman, here’s a building notice that puzzles me:
I get that pofavor is short for por favor, part of a polite request in Spanish. But in front off bldg? Fortunately I don’t smoke, regardless of whether I’m on, off, or in front of a building. Or behind one, for that matter. I do drink wine. Maybe not the last one on this list, though:
I’m not keen to show ripe pear flavor on the nose, mine or anyone else’s. The mineral finish of the Riesling is more appealing, assuming the mineral isn’t something feldspar or mica, which I’ve never sampled but which I assume taste awful. And what’s a leading . . . finish? The middle wine looks like the best bet. Anyone care to join me off bldg for some Pinot Grigio? We can ignore the trucks crossing sidewalk and leave with doorman together, wine glasses in hand.
Really, it’s not a choice I have ever made or ever plan to make. But apparently some people do need to decide between “Individual, or Strip.” My question, in addition to why there’s a comma before “or,” concerns how an “Eyelash Application” decision is made:
On second thought, I don’t really want to know. I’d rather ponder still another eyelash dilemma:
So, a single eyelash walks into a bar . . . and gets 50% off? Or is the “first Eyelash” 50% off and all the others offered at the regular, or even double-the-regular price? (Sidepoint: Why capitalize “Eyelash”?) The whole thing sounds like a math problem to me: Calculate how much it will cost to have all your eyelashes visit. The answer may depend on whether you want your “first Eyelash visit” to be “Individual, or Strip.”
One last outrage of English, courtesy of my friend Ellie:
Nicotine-puffers can read this notice in columns (“No Safety / Smoking First”) and nonpuffers line by line (“No Smoking / Safety First”). I’m a nonpuffer but also a noncombatant in the “what does it mean?” war. I do wonder whether the letters were applied to the boat “Individual, or Strip.”
It’s hard enough these days to know what to eat and drink. There are Keto, Paleo, and for all I know Beto diets. Nor do these signs don’t make the situation easier. In fact, they give rise to questions, which I pose here after each.
How many Arancini could Could Cuts cut if Could Cuts could cut Arancini?
What does a social taste like? And is tasting a social really an event?
Relying on sound, not spelling: Do letter carriers bring Poast Pork to your table?
It’s possible to pay for wine with an I.D? Alternate question: does wine carry its I.D. in a wallet?
Do diners with extra-strong teeth chew plates fresh from the kiln? Also, is there a worldwide shortage of hyphens?
Feel free to answer my questions, or pose your own.
