For want of a hyphen, the meaning was lost

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Hyphens sometimes seem like relics from the Age of Typewriters, when you had to hit a metal lever to roll the paper to a new line when you reached the right-hand margin, even if you were in the middle of a word. The hyphen told your reader that you weren’t finished yet and that the rest of the word was on the way. (Why do I feel I should explain iceboxes and record players next?) Word-processing programs move the whole word automatically when a margin is about to be breached, so hyphens have lost importance. They’re still around, though, creating compound words. Or at least, that’s what they’re supposed to do. Take a look:

Experienced sales? Sales-help?

Experienced sales? Sales-help?


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I caught sight of this sign while I was walking on First Avenue. I doubled back to figure out what “experienced sales” were. Sales that had seen a lot of life and now had a world-weary, been-there-done-that attitude? Sales that know the lady holding a bagel, venti soy latte, and cell phone is automatically bad news? Or was “sales” meant to be read all by itself as a new, nonsexist term for the older terms “salesman” and “saleslady”? A hyphen between sales and help would link those words and clarify the meaning.

All is not lost on the hyphen front, however. Here’s one that works:

 

One-stop as a single description! Grammarian of the Year Aware to the NYC Information Agency!

One-stop as a single description! Grammarian of the Year Award to the NYC Information Center!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shout-out to the NYC agency that made one description out of two words, one and stop. Shouts (actually yells) to the laundry that mangled this sign:

 

Laundry machine? Machine press?

Laundry machine? Machine press?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What’s a laundry machine? Or a hand press? Yes, I know I’m grumpy grammarian again, because I did eventually figure out that machine press is the opposite of hand press. I’m still not over skirt plested in the top right column, but as soon as it stops raining, I plan to run out to buy two politically correct pajams.

To exit on a high note, here’s a truck with three (count ’em) correct hyphens, which create two compound adjectives:

do-it-yourself

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you’re relocating to New-York (the older form of this city’s name), consider this company. They may ruin your furniture (or you may do that yourself), but you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that the hyphens on the truck are in the proper spots.

 

 

 

 

Missing and presumed . . .

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Adding to the pretension stalking New York menus, my favorite bar has taken to posting prices like 3.5 and 1.5 after a detailed description of its artisanal pretzels and available toppings. I can only assume that the printer – actually a photocopier – charges by the character, so the missing zeroes are a sign of thrift, not a way to show you that this is not any ordinary bar, but one with originality (and expensive side snacks). Which would be true if 2.5 dollars’ worth of potato chips were not part of a larger pattern of missing letters and numbers. This sign, for example, kept me scratching my head for a few minutes:

N = ?

N = ?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

N? Seriously? I objected (and actually still object) to shortening “and” to ‘n, which is a glorified grunt, but without the apostrophe all you’ve got is a letter. Also, what does “now” mean in this context? Were they going to place polish later? Earlier?

But back to the missing. Take a look at this sign:

Apostrophes AWOL as usual

Apostrophes AWOL as usual

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apostrophes are so often misused that finding mistakes with them is like shooting fish in a barrel. (Does anyone do that, by the way? Besides being unfair to fish, wouldn’t the barrel leak with a bullet hole in it?) Here the sign should read “men’s” and, ideally, “women’s and men’s.” I’m pretty sure of that fact, but I have no idea how “weaving” can be gendered. But then again, I know grammar, not fishing, shooting, or weaving.

This gem adds instead of subtracts. Focus on the hyphen:

 

A bar-deli?

A bar-deli?

 

 

I still can’t imagine what a bar-deli is, unless it’s a spot to knock back a beer while your salami is sliced and your macaroni salad weighed. And what’s with “produce”? Your guess is as good as mine, but I’m guessing that you can’t find anything cheaper than $5.5 at this Upper East Side bar-deli.

No problem? Problem!

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In the supermarket where I have shopped for years, I hand my money to the cashier, and she returns my change. “Thank you,” I say, as I always do. She replies, “No problem.” No problem? Yes, I know that it is not a problem for her to give me my money. The change belongs to me, and it’s her job to return it. How is there no problem in doing one’s job? I think all these things, but I don’t say anything because I’ve known her for years, and she’s a very nice lady. I walk out of the store wondering why the old response to thank you, which is you’re welcome, has faded and why no problem has taken its place.

I have a couple of theories. The swiftest glance at the news immediately reveals that “problem” is the word of the day, every day, in pretty much every part of the world. I don’t know how you feel, but increasingly I have the sense that I can effect very little change (of money or anything else). Perhaps no problem has become a way of saying that yes, in this area I’m in charge, and there’s no problem I can’t fix. The tiny assertion of control in this sense can be powerfully comforting.

Another possibility arises from the fact that customers in New York City are not known for their placid, patient demeanor. A “New York minute” lasts about five nanoseconds, and the chin-out, baseball-cap- twisted-backwards style of confrontation was invented here — or, if not invented, at least perfected. So thank you may be a nice change, a respite in the semi-mythical land of no problem. Maybe no problem is short for I have no problem with you, though I do have problems with pretty much everyone else.

You’re welcome may have lost favor because it comes from a different time and emotional place.  Perhaps it implies that you are here, and I’m glad you’re here, and you are welcome to this service, however small. In this struggling economy, that’s a good statement for a business owner to make. But it’s a stretch for staff who are overworked (how many layoffs have dumped additional tasks on remaining employees?) and underpaid (where did unions go?). Gratitude for having a job may be overwhelmed by anger at the amount of  work and compensation.

I can’t leave this topic without mentioning the equivalent terms in Spanish, as I’ve just returned from a week in Madrid. “Gracias” is the Spanish word for “thanks.”  The root word is related to “grace,” “gift,” “ease,” and “humor.” The response in Spanish is “de nada” (“of nothing,” literally) or “nada” (“nothing”). A variation is “no hay de que” (“there’s nothing to speak of”). Gracias implies that the person being thanked has been given something joyful. The responses signal that really, nothing much happened. In other words – there’s no problem.

For the record, I favor a return to you’re welcome. I’d like to believe that the store employees want me there, and not just for my business. Yes, that’s delusional, but it’s also human.

Don’t Sit the Birds

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Grammar rules may seem irrelevant, but they do provide a frame of reference, standardizing meaning and enabling your audience to figure out what you’re trying to say. In this post, adapted from a page I created a while ago, I offer some signs that left me scratching my head. First up is this gem:

sit birds

 

 

 

 

 

 

This sign appeared above a two-inch-wide ledge outside a grocery store. I understand that you’re not supposed to feed the birds, but I guess you’re also not supposed to bend their little legs to make them sit on the ledge? (Yes, I know the sign-writer probably aimed this request at human beings. But trust me: No human rear could ever perch on this tiny spot.) The meaning, as written, is not clear, but at least the sign-writer was polite enough to say “please.”

Here’s another interesting sign:

What's an "overweight permit"?

What’s an “overweight permit”?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No doubt this sign is crystal clear to truck drivers. The rest of us are left in the dark, which is exactly where I do not want drivers to be as they navigate Park Avenue, one of the busier NYC roads. I want their attention on the road, thinking about pedestrians and other motorists. I don’t want them to wonder whether (a) it’s okay to drive with an overweight truck if you didn’t bother to get a permit or (b) a driver who is a little too fond of 2000-calorie lunches has to get an “overweight permit.”

How long are your feet? How wide are your shoulders? Measure them and then see whether you qualify for the “Package Special” advertised in this sign:

 

Ten inches?

Ten inches?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Items 3 and 4 use a single quotation mark, the traditional symbol for “inches.” The owner of this store may be using the navigational symbol for minutes, which pops up in measures of latitude and longitude. (Maybe the masseuse is a former sea captain?)

One more:

Neighborhood sensation

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are they offering “sensation”? Or welcoming it? And has the Vice Squad visited?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Got a D?

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On your report card, for English? If so, you have a lot of company. Increasingly I’m seeing signs with missing “d” sounds, which should be spelled with the consonant (d) or with the past-tense suffix (ed). I imagine that the spelling error comes from the sound of the words, the same kind of mistake that leads people to say “should of,” wrongly expanding the contraction for “should have,” which is “should’ve.” Here are a few signs that rate a D in English:

diner

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It would be nice to think that this diner seats you so that you are never “close” to your neighbor, but as it’s open 24/7, they really should have (should of?) written “never closed.” Keeping on with the food theme, here’s another:

grill cheese

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The disturbing thing about this sign is that it’s in wide circulation. I’ve seen it on windows all over New York City. Forgetting for a moment about cholesterol and food quality, is it too much to ask that someone printing a few thousand signs check the spelling of “grilled”? One more food fight:
old fashion2

 

 

 

 

 

 

I guess you should order “grill cheese” on an “old fashion” bagel? Perhaps you should ask for a discount. Take a look at this sign:

require

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The reflection makes this sign hard to read. It says, “ATTENTION: STUDENT WE GIVE 10% DISCOUNT, BUT ID IS REQUIRE.” Where do I start? “Require” needs a “d,” to become “required.” “Student” ought to be “students,” with the colon moved to the end of that word as they are being addressed. But who am I to quarrel with this generous offer? At least the discount goes to the students. Here, elderly lady that I am, I’m on sale for 10% off:

senior

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah, I know I’m being picky. But that’s grammar.

 

 

 

 

 

Firefighters v. DOT

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There seems to be a fight going on within the New York City government, a statement equivalent to “water flows downhill.” In this instance, the fight is about parking (ditto on the water-flow comment). The fight plays out on signs posted around the city. According to the Fire Department, you cannot park at anytime” – one word:

Here you can park "anytime" - one word.

Here you can park “anytime” – one word.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the other hand, DOT, the Department of Transportation, goes for “any time” (two words): 

Now you can't stop for "any time" - two words.

Now you can’t stop for “any time” – two words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which is correct? The Fire Department. As one word, anytime means “at any point in time – now, an hour from now, half past never, etc.” As two words, any time means “an amount of time,” as in “Do you have any time to waste looking for a parking space?”

The same formula is true for sometime and some time. You can come up and see me sometime (whenever you choose) to spend some time (an amount of time) with me. Well, actually you can’t. I’m shy.

 

Let Us Punctuate

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This sign is behind glass, so I’ll clarify what it says: “LET US SHIP YOUR LUGGAGE.”

Let us ship your luggage.

Let us ship your luggage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I saw this sign, my first thought was  “great idea, but I’ll probably have to mortgage the co-op to take advantage of this service.” My second thought was “why is let us different from let’s?” A sign reading “Let’s ship your luggage” is an invitation to a playdate. We’ll get together, have some wine, and then take turns sticking labels on suitcases. Yet contractions – shortened versions of words or phrases in which an apostrophe takes the place of missing letters – are supposed to mean the same as the full-length expressions they replace. So why is it that when people say, “Let’s do the wash,” they aren’t offering to take a chore off my hands, but a sign saying, “Let us do the wash” excludes me from responsibility? Perhaps the contraction includes the speaker and the person/people addressed, and the full-length version doesn’t.

This was my favorite theory on the difference between “let’s” and “let us,” until I thought of church. When a preacher says, “Let us pray,” everyone is supposed to participate – both preacher and congregation. (I can’t picture a member of the clergy saying, “Let’s pray,” now that the Sixties are over and guitars and interpretive dances have fallen out of favor in religious rites.)

My third thought, in case you’re counting, is that the contraction creates an air of friendship and the unshortened expression adds a sense of formality. The shopkeeper offering to ship luggage or do the laundry is engaged in a commercial transaction. The preacher is acting in an official capacity, calling the congregation to prayer.

Is this the final word on “let’s” and “let us”? Let’s wait and see.

The News Are Not Good

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I can live with data as a singular noun, though strictly speaking the singular form is datum, and data is plural. I do live in the real world and understand that the data are clear sounds wrong to most people. So I shrugged and turned the page when I realized that my favorite newspaper, The New York Times, has begun to treat data as singular. A recent headline stated something like The Data Is Grounds for Optimism. Maybe in economics, I thought, but not in grammar and style.

I draw the line, though, at politics (on so many levels, but in this blog I’ll stick to grammar). On September 19, 2014, the Times quoted Charles de Gaulle: “Politics are too serious a matter to be left to politicians.” Charles de Gaulle was a French politician, so in an effort to be fair, I wrote to my friend Jacqueline, who has been recognized by the French government for her dedication and service to the teaching of the French language. I asked her whether politics is a plural noun in French. Her answer came immediately:

Bonjour Gerri,

La politique  – singular feminine

Have a great day,

Jacqueline

I’m left with a few possible conclusions: (1) Charles de Gaulle got it wrong and made la politique plural or (2) the translator blew it or (3) the Times reporter thinks the English word politics is plural. I’m hoping for the first, because de Gaulle is dead and can’t mangle any language in his current condition. The second possibility is bad, but not terrible. New translators can be hired. But the third option is a grammatical disaster. Please, NYT, inform your reporters that the news is important (not are), and politics is too. Not to mention English usage.

A Name Too Far

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Some years ago I called for a moratorium on ‘n, the pseudo-contraction that’s supposed to take the place of and in expressions such as burgers’ n beer, wings ‘n fries, and other cholesterol-laden linguistic and culinary crimes. Nobody heard me and nothing changed in the public arena, perhaps because the only people present when I called for this were a bunch of English teachers who wouldn’t dream of substituting a grunt for a conjunction.

Allowing hope to triumph over experience, I’m now asking for another moratorium, this time on the invention of cutesy names for beer. Now, I don’t drink beer. I do, however, hang out at times in bars where good draught beer is served. I like watching people enjoy a glass of amber liquid that reflects the sunlight and casts a warm glow. At first, it was fun to read the bar menu and savor names that hadn’t been derived from corporations. Out with Miller, Pabst, Budweiser, and the like, I thought. In with Victory Hop Devil, London Pride, and other creative terms.

Melange a Trois with 3 Philosophers?

Melange a Trois with 3 Philosophers?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But things have gone too far. The unusual has become commonplace and thereby lost its luster. Moreover, the contrived names increasingly leave consumers scratching their heads. When the name column on the beer menu expands to accommodate three inches of letters, it’s time to pull back. Let Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hops Club Brand alone, please. Instead, describe what’s actually in the beer – wheat, blueberries (and by the way, who on earth would ever want blueberries with beer?), bitters, whatever.

I assume that this post will lead to a new trend in beer names, or, at the very least, a batch of Extra Grouchy Grammarian Stout.

A Phabulous Invention

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As a grumpy grammarian, I’m supposed to tsk-tsk changes to the language by anyone other than Shakespeare, but my reaction is more complex. I’ve been on the Internet since techies were trying to decide between “dot com” and “period com” to talk about websites. I sat on the sidelines when other grammarians waffled between “mouses” and “mice” for the plural of a computer mouse. Fortunately, the touchscreen showed up and rendered the issue moot.

I do object to the name of the latest must-have device, the “phablet,” a cross between a cellphone and a tablet, with, as far as I can tell, the worst features of each. Who named this device, which sounds like a tweeted tale by Aesop? A couple of people have claimed the credit or blame, depending on your point of view.

Yet I can’t help feeling that some computer terms have enriched the language. “The default is that we get up at 6:30 a.m.,” my early-bird husband says. “Time to reboot,” I’ll say when we’ve been stuck in a way of thinking that isn’t going anywhere.  I love words that slip from the machine to real life. Soft boot, hard boot, and even  humanware specialist are interesting concepts. I definitely need a hard boot on Monday mornings but a soft boot after work.  As I try to unravel the directions for a new piece of software, explanations from a humanware specialist help. (Not a techie? A hard boot occurs when you turn the computer on and the whole thing starts up, having been off duty for some length of time. A soft boot resets part of the system of a machine that’s already running. A humanware specialist trains people to use technology.)

Then they are the prefixes. The lowercase i  hasn’t been this popular since the first teen poetry magazine was published. Thanks, Apple, for giving us iPads and iPhones; I assume that iAddiction is next. Thanks, programmers, for popularizing kilo-, mega-, giga-, tera-, and peta- as prefixes for bytes.  After mining the ancient Greek language, techies have turned to fabricated word parts. (One prefix, yotta-, pays homage to the Star Wars’ character Yoda.) The amounts these prefixes represent seem unimaginable, except that techies have not only imagined them but also attempted to make the terms comprehensible. Did you know that the sum of five exabytes equals the number of all the words ever said during the entire span of human existence? (Source: highscalability.com)

And in this age of ecology, who could object to recycling old words to describe new situations? Such repurposing builds bridges between virtual and ordinary reality. You don’t function well when you have a virus, for example, and neither does your computer. Sadly, most human infections can’t be countered by an antivirus regimen. We just have to accept the downtime. Oh, for an escape button!

Everything new will be old someday, and everything old does not necessarily return. But as you’re tapping a stylus on your tablet, spare a thought for the ancient scribe scratching on a wax tablet with a different sort of stylus. You’re both likely to have sore forearms and fingers, just as you’re both likely to change the language. And in the end, that’s mostly a good thing.

See you in the cloud.