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Almost Perfect

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Perfect isn’t possible, as we all know.  Almost perfect, on the other hand, is not only possible but common. But oh, sometimes that little gap between what you mean and what you write makes a huge difference. Here’s a bar with parenting problems:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Mom” is my favorite day of the week. What’s yours? You can also see the first line of this sign as the beginning of a short-wave radio transmission: “Mom to Fri: I cooked all morning and you’d better show up for lunch!”  In that scenario, Fri is the son or daughter of someone with really poor naming skills.

Next is the announcement of a Supreme Court decision, sent to me by my son the attorney:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Let’s” is the contraction of “let us.” The headline makes sense, sort of, if you insert a comma: “Court, let us states legalize sports betting.” The comma places “Court” in direct address, signifying that the states are pleading for legalized gambling. Which some were, as I understand.  I imagine that the headline writers were too busy canceling their bookie accounts to recognize that an apostrophe shouldn’t appear in that spot.

This sign was sent by a friend. I suspect the Tourist Board was rather upset to see that some important letters were missing:

 

 

 

 

 

 

To answer the question in line one: I did not know. Kansas City probably didn’t know either. Nor, I guess, did visitors. My advice: substitute “yearly.” It’s easy to make that word perfect.

 

Summer Slump

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Summertime, and the living is sort of easy, depending on who you are (kids v. parents) and how well your air conditioner works. Most of us slump in the summer, because it’s too hot to do much of anything else. These NYC signs may offer some relief for slumpers, or at least food for thought. For example:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I won’t point out that this food market feels the need to state that it’s “open to the public.” Not for me to ask “what else would it be? a storefront that sells food only to family members?” Nope. Not a word. What I am interested in is the “daily action station.” I’m pretty sure that would come in handy for . . . well, I don’t know. But for something.

Then there’s this one:

My hair turns into a frizz field in NYC’s summer humidity. The sign suggests I turn to “Hairdecor.” Which is, I guess, different from a “hair cut” or a “blowout.” More a complete change of hair furniture than a new sofa pillow. Note the period, which the British call a “full stop.” This term suits the sign’s punctuation because “full stop” implies that “hairdecor” is the end of a story. Once you’ve got hairdecor, you’re done. The next time frizz sends me into a slump, I’ll go here.

But not here:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t need “detox.” Honestly, my main vices are an occasional scoop of ice cream and a binge session of British reality shows. (Try them. Everyone’s nice, and there tend to be a lot of fields with sheep.) Back to the sign: I’m not even sure what the “detox” is supposed to detox you from — the “fresh juice”? the “smoothies”? Nor am I interested in “pre/post work-out drinks,” though I admire the  nicely placed hyphen. I guzzle tap water when I get off my exercise bike. Some may say that’s why I should buy a “life shot.” And perhaps they’re right.

But I doubt it. Regardless of the composition of the “shot,” it promises to hit the purchaser with “life.” My experience is that life gives all of us shots from time to time, whether we want them or not. For free, too. And if you’re lucky, you learn to duck at the right time.

Let’s toast to the arrival of summer, with a shot of whatever you want.

PRE- Views

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Three letters, three problems. Maybe more, if you estimate the number of misinterpretations possible with these signs, all of which contain the letters P, R, and E. Such as this one:

The prefix “pre-” means “before.” The office referred to in the sign above (a center providing services to senior citizens) closed . . . before its proper time?  forever, as in “permanently”? Perhaps both are true, and, I might add, tricky topics when you’re talking to or about old people, who may find distress in the concept of closing “premanently.” I passed one of the new locations of this organization yesterday, by the way. It’s at the bottom of a steep outdoor staircase, with no elevator in sight. They might be inviting a few premanent climbing injuries.

Onward and upward, to this ad, which appeared in today’s paper:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Pre-owned” used to be the new “used,” but now, in a post-truth world, “pre-owned” is “new.”  (Digression: If this is the post-truth era, what was the pre-truth era like?)

I’m not wild about “pre-owned,” but to my mind it’s better than this expression:

 

 

 

 

“Pre-loved”? Seriously? I like my handbag. I use my handbag. I carry it everywhere. When I was little, the only expression I learned in Croatian, which my parents spoke when they wanted to hide something from me, was “watch your handbag,” so afraid were they that a passerby would snatch up my lunch money. But love? Nope. And if someone did “pre-love” a handbag, you have to wonder what shape the bag’s in. I think I’ll stick to “new” and “used,” premanently.

Where?

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Take the Q32 bus between Manhattan and Queens (two of New York’s five boroughs) and you see just how diverse this city is. On a single bus route you find an Irish pub, an Ecuadorean restaurant, a Nepalese shop, and countless other spots that celebrate the residents’ heritage. That makes sense to me. These signs do not:

It’s not that I want to see Brazil’s influence wane, but is there something wrong with American bees? I realize that “Brazilian Waxing” refers to hair removal, but surely most people, like me, don’t know exactly which areas are targeted by Brazilian Waxing as opposed to, say, Canadian Waxing (if that exists). I have glimpsed ads for “European Wax,” but once again I don’t know that continent’s hair-removal conventions. Nor would I like to find out.

Moving on to academics:  A young friend of mine studies, according to the cover of his  textbook, the “Japanese system” of math. Presumably his schoolwork is different from the lessons here:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silly me. I thought numbers were the same everywhere. Then there’s this store:

 

 

My favorite French teacher, Jacqueline, would be the first to tell you that my verb conjugation could be cleaned up, but I doubt this store would help. I’ll be in Paris next month, where I’ll check for stains. If I don’t find any, I’ll consider bringing my garments here for French cleaning.

And what is this business selling? Stoves that do a great job on bratwurst? If so, sign me up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last but definitely not least is this exercise regimen, offered at a gym near my home:

I googled “Russian Kettlebells” and discovered that (a) they exist and (b) they’re handheld weights and (c) they’re the subject of much controversy. (Is anything connected with Russia not controversial these days?) Apparently some people swear by American Kettlebells, and others are faithful to the Russian version. I have no intention of trying either exercise, but I do wonder whether patriotism is part of the equation. Maybe if I’d studied Russian Mathematics I’d know.

Can We Reach an Agreement?

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Probably not, if you believe television pundits discussing the polarization of viewpoints on pretty much everything. Probably yes, if you ask me. I may be overly optimistic, but I still believe we can find our way back to respectful debate and at least some agreement on important issues.

But I’m not a politician, I’m a grammarian. In that context, my answer to the title question is “probably not.” Why? Take a look at these signs:

I snapped this photo on a bus, where the sign was attached to a curve. Hence the odd angle. In terms of agreement (the grammar rule that says singular pairs with singular and plural with plural), this sign also has an odd angle. The subject of the first sentence is plural (“a lot of funky smells”), but the verb, which is tucked into the contraction “there’s,” short for “there is,” is singular. No agreement there except among noses, which will indeed detect “a lot of funky smells’ with every sniff of New York air. Moving on to the second sentence: The subject and verb are both plural (“WashClubbers” and “are”). So far, so good. But “one”? I’m not sure what “WashClubbers” are, but I am sure they’re not “one.” They’re not grammarians, either. In case you’re curious, “one” is the subject complement in that sentence.

As they say on late-night TV, “Wait! There’s more!” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I won’t go into the fact that the manufacturer thought customers needed to be told that “shower caps” are for people who want to keep their hair dry. (Okay, I’ll go into it a little: What else would you use a shower cap for? Fashion? Have you ever looked in the mirror when you’ve got one on your head?)  My focus is on the plural subject, “shower caps,” and the singular verb, “keeps.” Nope. Disagreement felony.

I’m not going to end with the platitudinous “let’s agree to disagree.” Instead, a call to arms: Let’s agree to agree, at least in grammar.

Math Problems

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Although I write about language, I’m not a total tourist in Math Land. That’s why these signs caught my eye, and not in a good way — more in tune with Margaret Atwood’s lines: “you fit Into me / like a hook into an eye / a fish hook / an open eye.” Okay, maybe not so extreme, but the signs are still problematic.

This poster offers a great deal:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two-for-one tickets: not a problem. A week running from “Feb 12 to 25”: problem! Well, a problem for the performers if they’re being paid by the week and not per performance. A boon for ticket-buyers, who have 14 days to take advantage of this deal.

If theater’s not for you, try this gym:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kudos to whoever realized that the compound adjective “one-hour” needs a hyphen. No kudos (anti-kudos?) for the person who decided to offer “3 classes & gloves.” Maybe the gym is aiming for the alien market, with three-armed boxers? Or for anxious fighters who take comfort in the idea that a spare glove is available?

This one mixes grammar with math:

 

 

 

 

 

 

The terrible layout made me ponder what “40 0ver Toppings” could be. Once I had decoded the meaning, I still winced at “over.” Traditionally, “more than” is proper for things you count and “over” for things you measure. I thought about writing “more than 40 toppings” on duct tape and attaching it to the sign, but I have more fun mocking mistakes than correcting them. Plus, I don’t want to go to jail.

This last one lacks a number:

I won’t quibble about “thru,” because, well, if I quibbled about spelling mistakes I’d be busy all day, every day. But “close”? This store is open from “4 pm” (where did the periods go?) until “close”? Isn’t everything open until “close,” or rather, until “closing”? To paraphrase all the teenagers I’ve ever met, “duh.” Add the appropriate, tell-me-something-I-don’t-know intonation and an eloquent eye-roll for the full effect.

That’s it for today. I was open to solving math problems, but now I close.

A Valentine for You

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I’ll keep this short and sweet for Valentine’s Day because you’re probably too busy (1) hugging your sweetheart or  (2) wishing you had a sweetheart or (3) marketing to sweethearts.  Which is what this store attempts:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m awarding a D- grade to the person who typed this sign, especially the last line. (“Your love one”? Really?) I’m also giving a D- to anyone who thinks caviar is a better Valentine’s present than chocolate. Or roses. Or even a trip to a fast-food place without kids, cats, or in-laws in tow. I mean, caviar is fish eggs, right? Don’t expect an “A+” from me for fish eggs! But I’m a grammarian, not a gourmet, so if “your love one” likes fish eggs, go for it. Just don’t call the gift “your caviar.” You’re a sweetheart, not a sturgeon.

It Takes Two . . . to Confuse

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How much can you communicate in just two words? And how much confusion can you create with two words? The answer to both questions: quite a bit. Check out this sign, which my friend Catherine found in a subway station:

“Rescue Assistance”? Is this where EMTs, firefighters, and other first responders go for help? Or does the NYCTA  envision rescues that need a little extra oomph? NYCTA, by the way, is the agency that runs the subways, “run” being applicable only when the trains are actually moving, which, as riders know, isn’t all that often these days. And what’s with the wheelchair icon? Do subway officials think only wheelchair users need “rescue assistance”? If so, they’re not paying attention. First of all, plenty of riders walking around on two feet need “rescue” or “assistance.” (I can’t be sure that they need “rescue assistance” because I don’t know what that phrase means.) Second, in a subway system more than a century old, elevators and other sorts of accommodations for wheelchair users are few and far between. I can count on the fingers of half a hand how many wheelchairs I’ve seen in a subway. Maybe a quarter of a hand. A fifth? Okay, never.

Moving on:

 

 

 

 

 

 

This sign reminds me of a scene in a Simpsons episode when Bart is working on his science project. He stares at a spud and writes something like: “Four o’clock. Still a potato.” I did “watch ice” at this spot for about fifteen minutes. It stayed there, being ice. I got cold and moved on.

And then there’s this one, which I spotted in Madrid. It’s in Spanish, but I think the meaning — the literal one, anyway — is easy to grasp:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I admit that poetry and psychoanalysis are related. I’m just wondering about logistics. Does the therapist have the patient recite poetry and interpret it? Then there’s insurance coverage. How does one file a claim for a sonnet?

These two-word dilemmas may drive me to buy something at this store, depicted in a photo snapped by my friend Kelly:

Whoever sent the text to the sign manufacturer had clearly imbibed some “sprits” first. Memo to owner: Proofread before you hang an awning. Memo to self: Stay away from the liquor cabinet before blogging.

They Should Know Better

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When I read hand-lettered signs in small stores, I readily accept a certain number of mistakes from proprietors who, I presume, are too busy to proofread because they have to order stock, supervise employees, and fill out tax forms. But when major companies are involved, my expectations rise. Obviously I’m courting disappointment, because Those Who Should Know Better often don’t. Witness this advertisement from a nationwide cosmetics chain:

As a verb, “gift” strikes me as a bit pretentious, but it’s not incorrect. The direct object, though, is another issue entirely. The sign urges you to “gift” people. Human trafficking, anyone? Please say no, even if you have a few relatives you wouldn’t mind “gifting” to someone willing to take them far, far away from your holiday gatherings.

And then there’s the phone company. I won’t tell you which one; I imagine it’s easy to find horror stories about all of them. I had to visit and call the one responsible for this ad no fewer than eight times before I succeeded in canceling my late husband’s phone contract. Check out this recruitment pitch:

 

 

 

 

 

 

If they can’t come up with the proper contraction (“you’re,” not “your”), how can they “practice data story-telling, analytics, and more”? And while I’m on the subject, do we actually want “data story-telling”? Can’t we manage with “data” alone, leaving “story-telling” to fiction writers?

I count on good grammar when I read my favorite newspaper, The New York Times, and usually that’s what I get. Every once in a while, though, the editors miss something. Perhaps the excitement surrounding Amazon’s search for new office space overpowered this writer:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wouldn’t mind “500,000 square foot modern of office space,” if I could figure out what it is.

One more, from a chain restaurant:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve always wanted to try the wings at this restaurant, but I’ll pass on the “sloo smoked BBQ.” I’ve never liked the taste of “sloo.”

Planes, But No Trains or Automobiles

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I’ve spent way too much time in airports lately, but my time loss is Grammarian-in-the-City’s gain, because those hours yielded some interesting material for this blog.

First up is a sign in JFK Airport that I stared at for what seemed like hours (because it actually was hours — the plane was late):

Good advice. I hate collaborating alone.

Moving on, I saw this advertisement in Madrid’s Barajas Airport:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not sure what a “deli flight” is, but I’m certain that I didn’t have one. I’m pretty sure I don’t want one, either.

Speaking of Barajas, the map of stores and other amenities in Terminal 4 included this item:

The number 15 corresponds to a spot on the map (I think), so that’s one mystery solved. I never did find the “Hour Passion” store to see what it was selling. I’m not sure I want to know.

My ideal airport would let me get in, get on, and get out as quickly as possible. Too bad that ideal never becomes remotely real. If you’re flying during the holidays, good luck!  Feel free to send me any interesting signs you encounter.