Tag Archives: grammar

Time to Eat

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We all like to eat, right? And most of us like to eat right. We do our best to select nutritious and delicious food that doesn’t bust the budget. But finding such food isn’t always easy. Indeed, sometimes figuring out exactly what you’re buying can be problematic. Take a look at this item, which my friend Sean spotted:

What is it with the canine references? A couple of posts ago I showed you a sign indicating a “large bread dog park.” Now someone’s putting pastrami on Snoopy! This label is also evidence of (in my opinion) a culinary crime. Lettuce and pastrami shouldn’t go together on a beagle, a bagel, or anything else.

The next photo comes to you courtesy of last night’s dinner:

The meal was quite tasty, but I did wonder whose hands were involved with my salmon, and how. Handcrafted, my dictionary tells me, means “made skillfully by hand.” Unless my biological knowledge is faulty, salmon make salmon, and fish don’t have hands. Yes, I know the handcrafted part might refer to grilled. In that case I hope the hands wore heatproof mitts. Otherwise those dark stripes on the salmon were . . . well, let’s not go there. I ultimately decided that handcrafted is similar to artisanal (a label I have also seen applied to fish). Both mean “you’re paying too much.”

I did not buy this dessert, but I did wonder what the store was selling, and to whom:

Is this treat intended for an extremely small lover of chocolate? Or is the store informing the customer that the chocolate bits in the sundae are undersized? Maybe the sundae is smaller than the size the store usually sells. The whole thing can be resolved with punctuation: I favor a mini, chocolate-lover’s sundae. Actually, I favor a maxi sundae, but I shouldn’t indulge.

I hope this sign, like the previous one, has a punctuation problem, because if it doesn’t, someone better call the cops:

That’s it for today. Time to eat!

Punctuation Puzzles

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I live in New York City, so irony is my default tone. Thus I’m fairly sympathetic to “scare quotes,” the print version of “air quotes” — punctuation that writers insert to distance themselves from whatever’s inside the quotation marks. The problem is that sometimes readers can’t tell whether the quotation marks indicate a definition (as they do above), an exact rendition of someone else’s words, or an eyeroll. Take this sign, for example:

I’m not sure why NO appears inside quotation marks. If these are scare quotes, the signwriter is saying, “Cyclists, you are not supposed to park here, but [wink wink] you will anyway and I won’t stop you.” It’s also possible that the signwriter may be quoting someone: “Don’t blame me! The owner said NO.” Putting aside the punctuation issue for a moment, I still don’t grasp the intended meaning. Is the sign protecting cyclists (“There’s a HAZARD here for you!”)? Is it trying to safeguard pedestrians, who may trip over a parked bike? Keeping cars and bikes separate? Inviting cyclists to leave their bikes because there’s NO PARKING HAZARD? I can only speculate.

Nor can I determine the function of the quotation marks in this photo, sent by my friend Ellie:

Frankly, I have no idea why quotation marks appear in this sign. Nor do I know why there is an ellipsis (three dots) after flowers. Unfinished thought? An attempt to create suspense? I’d take a scalpel to this sign, excising two dots, both quotation marks, and one exclamation point. Then I’d use the scalpel to cut myself some flowers.

Another sign suffering from excess punctuation:

Here’s what I know for sure: the restaurant needs HELP in the KITCHEN. It also needs HELP in signwriting. The business is seeking a COOK and . . . well, I’m not sure who else. There may be two spots open, one for a DISHWASHER and another for a DELIVERY person. The forward slash in DISHWASHER/DELIVERY implies that one employee is supposed to wash a few pots and then dash out with a DELIVERY. Three exclamation points convey desperation, though perhaps not enough to raise the salary being offered to a potential COOK, DISHWASHER and DELIVERY person. PETER, if you see this post, please clarify. Readers’ theories also welcome!

May I Ask a Question?

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Four questions, actually, all simple, all based on photos from the past year. Free subscriptions to this blog to anyone who answers all the questions correctly. (For legal reasons, I should probably point out that subscriptions to this blog are always free.) Okay, here’s the first:

QUESTION 1: What did the deceased former Treasury secretaries call for?

Ready for number 2, which my friend Don sent?

QUESTION 2: Do employees check whether the kids really have gas before handing over free food? If so, how?

Moving on:

QUESTION 3: Can we ever trust Dovere’s pool report again?

Last one, which I admit is somewhat personal because I wrote the book on the left:

QUESTION 4: What logical thread unites these three items?

I am looking forward to your answers. Stay safe!

Precarious

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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 turn cash 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!

How Do I Look?

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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 system designed 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!

Huh?

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I’ve always believed that one challenge of writing is distinguishing between what’s in your head and what actually makes it into the world. You know what you’re trying to say (presumably), but your words don’t always say it. Thus your reader or listener is left with one question: “Huh?”

Consider this sentence from a local politician’s newsletter:

Another portion of the East River Esplanade collapsed despite securing more than $275 million as Co-Chair of the Taskforce with Congress . . .

Ungrateful Esplanade! It collapsed despite securing so much money, though perhaps it was unreasonable to ask an esplanade to serve as co-chair of a Taskforce. Also, I have to sympathize with the rubble pile: we’re all on the verge of falling apart these days.

Then there’s this statement on the website of an airline I frequently patronize:

We’ve instituted a workstation cleaning program for the check-in lobby counters and gate counters where the surfaces are wiped down with a disinfectant at a frequent cadence.

A cadence is a “musical beat,” “voice modulation,” or “horse’s gait.” It’s not a time interval, and it can’t be frequent. I can only hope the airline staff’s antiviral efforts are more effective than their communication skills.

Then there’s this sign, courtesy of my friend Sean, by way of his friend Tom:

Sadly, the incoherence of this red-and-blue message seems to be the norm these days, when an esplanade has a tantrum and a cleaning product a cadence. One message I hope is crystal clear: stay safe!

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!

For the New Year

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Pundits are splashing us with rivers of ink to emphasize how crucial 2020 will be in determining the future of, well, pretty much everything. I’m not a pundit, but I do have some thoughts on the new year.

This sign offers good advice, albeit ungrammatically:

With the intense emotion floating around, “defensive boxing” seems like a good skill to have. Will you “learn to boxing” in 2020? I probably won’t (too conflict-averse), but I will obey this sign’s orders:

This is no time, I think, for “sitting or standing on the barricades,” and not only because it’s easy to fall off. I’ve resolved to educate myself, decide which side of an issue I’m on, and cross barricades whenever I can. I may even storm a few, but peacefully.

Realistically, here’s the sign I know I’ll follow:

You, too, will “do what you’ve got to do, to get through it.” I mean, what choice do you have?

Happy New Year to all!

I Can Only Hope

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When Pandora opened her mythical box and the world’s evils flew out, what remained was hope. In these signs, grammar and spelling and punctuation have taken flight. This post concerns what I hope remains. First, skill with scissors:

I hope the proprietors are good barbers, because the salon is certainly not wasting any energy inserting an apostrophe in kids’ (or kid’s, if only one child is welcome as a “walk-in”). Fortunately, men’s is properly punctuated.

This sign directs my hope to falling (actually, NOT falling) masonry:

What do I hope? That the company maintaining the exterior walls looming over my head in NYC is better at pointing, painting, piping, and venting than it is at spelling. Verticle? Seriously? Moving on to moving:

Here I hope that every client’s move is a great experience. Were I to use this firm (not that I’m going anywhere except on vacation), I would hope for better grammar (our employees our?) and punctuation (safe positive?).

Last but definitely not least:

Where do I start? Spelling: seperate or softner? Subject-verb agreement: work include? Punctuation: double quotation marks for the first line and single for the second? And why any quotation marks at all? I think I’ll have this shop clean my clothes, which I hope will be handled with more care than this sign.

Hy-phen

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I couldn’t resist inserting a hyphen where it doesn’t belong, “hyphen” being, well, un-hyphenated in proper English. I hope the title balances the scales a bit, because so often hyphens are omitted where they’re sorely needed. In this sign, for instance:

Okay, I admit I’m taking this one personally. My name is Woods, and I do have a kitchen. I also have a “specialty” (grammar), but except when I’m trying to follow a poorly written recipe, my “specialty” and “cooking” don’t intersect. Hence the need for a hyphen. If I’m “Specialty-Cooking Woods,” I’m frying a predicate nominative or baking an adjective with, perhaps, an adverbial sauce. If the hyphen slides to the right, this company delivers “Specialty Cooking-Woods.” I prefer to think of those products as cedar, oak, or something similar, though if the owners pay me enough, I’ll make dinner. My specialty is “Clean-Out-the-Refrigerator Soup.”

Before I leave this sign, I should address “Gourmet Hardwood Charcoal.” A “gourmet,” the dictionary tells me, is “a connoisseur of delicacies.” Thus this sign evokes foodies chowing down on “hardwood charcoal.” This is not a hyphen problem. It’s a dental, or perhaps a “Don’t you have anything better to do?” problem. Next up, employment:

Leaving aside the “team” issue (though customers are often treated as the competition), I’m choosing to focus on “Part Sales Mate.” Huh? If the position is “part-sales,” what’s the other part? Or is the job selling a “part”? And what’s with the “mate”? Are the owners seeking a “part-mate”? Part-mate, part-something else? I’m leaving this one in the “life’s too short to worry about stuff like this” bin.

Last, for today at least, as hyphen-problems reappear as often as villains in superhero films:

Two townhouses? Two compounds, each with two buildings? And in a “double garden,” do the veggies and flowers appears in pairs?

That’s it for today. I off in search of a garden, single or double, with or without gourmet woods.