Ach! those oxen!

Anybody who knows me can tell you I spend far too much time on a certain social network, frittering away my life in its endless apps. I kinda like them. a little.

Okay, I'm a bit of an addict.

But one thing that gets me in a mood to ditch them all is misinformation. Sometimes, it's the misspelling of a simple word, such as a kestrel being labeled as "kestral," or the redundancy of "narwhal whale". But, most of the time, I simply utter an "aargh!" and move on.

Still, one thing that keeps popping up in a number of games is of the bovine ilk. To be more specific, the ox. In one game, I was awarded "an oxen". In several others, I see cows are grown from "baby cow" while oxen -- or, in one game, "oxes" -- come from "baby ox". It appears the folks who write these programs are city kids who might not even be able to tell the difference between a cow pony and a cow patty.

For those whose experiences do not entail... er... oxtails, let me make this a little clearer.

You begin with a calf. It comes from a cow. That cow was once a heifer, but she got old enough to become mate to a bull. Now, that bull was once a calf, too, and grew up, grew a pair, and took an interest in reproduction. Not all male calves get to do that. In fact, the majority of male calves in western civilization are neutered. They don't live very long, after that -- not because they are pining for what they've lost. No. In truth, they have foreshortened lives because, once they are snipped, they are encouraged to become soft and lazy, producing massive amounts of meat, for which they will be slaughtered at the end of a couple of years, at most. So, an altered bull is a steer... under normal circumstances. Under optimal circumstances (for the steer), it gets a job. Hitch it up to a cart or a plough, and it becomes an ox. Two or more of these, combined, will be oxen. It's as simple as that.

So, let me rehash that, in plain, clear English, for programmers:

Cow + bull -> calf.

Girl calf = gonna be a heifer = probably gonna be a cow.

Boy calf = maybe gonna be a bull.

Boy calf - testicles = steer.

(Boy calf - testicles) + career = ox.

x(Boy calf - testicles) + career = oxen (when x >1).

Clear enough?

Not that I think it's going to make a difference with these apps... that would be as delusional as thinking I'm going to win the lottery, or something. But I feel better, now.

"Gifted" is not a verb

Wow. Two posts in two days. It looks as though I'm going for a record, today...

Anyhoos.

Since when have we needed to find a new way of saying "given" or "donated"? These are perfectly good words, are they not? Do they not express the action of moving one object or substance from one person or group to another via an act of largesse? Why do we suddenly (well, within the past decade or so) have to appropriate a noun or an adjective to serve as a new verb?

I do not "gift" you a present on your birthday, even if I like you heaps. I might give you a spiffy prezzie, but that's as far as the word goes. If I say, "My sister is gifted," you should presume not that she has been donated to the nearest charitable organization, but that she has an extraordinary talent (and you would presume correctly about her extraordinary talent, no matter which of my sisters you envisioned). Or, for those people who care not a whit about my family, how do you like the notion that butchering the language is going to kill the humor in one of the many genuinely laugh-out-loud scenes in Blazing Saddles -- the one where Sheriff Bart meets Lili Von Shtupp in her dressing room, after she puts out the light... "is it twooo?"

Nobody "gifted" Sheriff Bart. And, yet, he was gifted, by God.

Where did that "x" come from?

For the past few months, I've been sitting in front of a television while working on the laptop computer (the virtues of trading my mother her position at the desktop, so she can use my scanner to back up all the old family photos on disk). My preferred channels have been news and really old movies (Gad! how I love "Philadelphia Story" and "Shane"!). Unfortunately, I've noticed a common problem among many of those pretty people at FOX News... Nobody has ever stumbled over a copy of the old NBC pronunciation guide and studied it.

For example, when using the word "contract", they haven't bothered to ascertain whether the application is as a noun or a verb. They simply give the first syllable the emphasis, regardless of its application. And the problem doesn't lie only with the FOX foxes... I've heard it at the other networks and they, too, mention "CON-tracting the influenza virus." Really? I ask aloud. How did the virus sign said agreement? Or was it strictly a verbal contract? Folks, the verb has the emphasis on the "tract" part.

But more irksome to me is the now commonplace -- and supremely pre-adolescent -- mispronunciation of the lovely Latin term for "and so on." People, people, there is no "x" in et cetera! You may be accustomed to slurring out excetrah, but that's neither correct pronunciation nor even a word at all. It's two words, the first being "et", just like what you done did at dinner last Sundy arternoon, at the Fourth of JU-Lie. Afore the fireworks, you et an' et an' et and then, to watch the festivities, you cetera while in the lounge chair. Try it now: ET. CETERA.

It's really very simple.

If, even now, after viewing this page, it is a puzzlement, go buy a copy of "The King and I" starring Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr, listen to the king, and repeat after him until you get it right. I promise you, aside from hearing and seeing the exquisite Mr. Brynner saying the phrase, you'll get a big kick out of the show, and you might even learn a few fun tunes, a few swell stories...

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Beyond the Pale?

I just received this message in my e-mail, this morning (links disabled, text in red highlighted by me) :

Dear Rebekah

You know that national parks are a place for peace and reflection. You know that our national parks are homes to some of our most treasured wildlife. And you know that allowing guns in national parks is a BAD idea.

So why not share this knowledge with your friends? Click here to tell a friend about our campaign to keep guns out of our national parks.

It's not just logical, it's the right thing to do. National parks are no place for loaded guns. Statistics show that the probability of becoming a victim of a violent crime in a national park is 1 in 708,333, which is less likely than being struck by lightening during one's lifetime. So what's the rush in changing rules that keep both gun owners' and park visitors' rights in mind?

NPCA isn't opposed to individual gun ownership, and that's an important point to make. We are opposed, however, to regulations that could jeopardize visitor safety, increase poaching and put our already overworked Park Rangers on high alert.

We know you know that, and we'd love for you to tell your friends, too. The comment period ends soon, so don't wait. Share with them your love of national parks, your common sense approach to park protection and the opportunity to weigh in on an issue that could change parks forever.

Thanks for all you do.

Dionna Humphrey
Associate Director of Advocacy
National Parks Conservation Association

So, it's considerably more likely to occur than is Michael Jackson?

Fun without punctuation

Mom is watching satellite tv in the next room, and, while checking the program notes to see what she might be wasting her time on, she came across this entry for the History Channel:

Man, Moment, Machine

Al Capone and the Machine Gun Massacre Education.

Wow, that's some classroom technique.

Another reason SpellCheck can't always help

From one of those horoscopey pages for me, today:

Should disputes arise, it would probably be best to remain calm and discrete.

I can do discreet. Discrete, not so much. I prefer to avoid being a dismember of my clan.

Especially on a day filled with pyrotechnic toys.

Saddling up my high horse again

En garde, you musty sofa! It is time you paid for your linguistic failings!

The offender, this time, is one of those "home equity loan" companies advertising on cable and in the wee hours on network affiliates. The ad's announcer, after extolling the virtues of this company's swell lending practices, says, "Nobody can do what [the company] does. Nobody."

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but if nobody can do it, that means nobody. Not even the company bragging that it does it. It might work, if, instead, the man said, "nobody else can do this," or, "nobody can match us." But if nobody can do it, then it's pretty much an impossibility. period. finito. amen.

Jeepers!

There are days when I wish everybody had studied grammar under Mrs. Gurholt. She did a magnificent job of guiding us toward the Land of Making Ourselves Fully Understood.

I Think I am in L-O-V-E (gratuitous postcard)

Walter E. Williams has written a column which shot a bolt straight to my heart: Silly Talk tackles a few of my greater gripes about journalese as a variant of basic English-language communication -- especially that ever-growing use of "Jim and myself" did whatever (as if my self were doing something for which I'm not invited).

This comes on the heels of my having acquired a copy of Lapsing into a Comma, and finally had a chance to start reading it, only last evening (before the fall). It is such a joy to find others who love and respect words so.

Woman with multiple husbands jailed, falsely accused of having two spouses

At least that's what the language of the charges would indicate, according to this article via ABC News: Military Bigamist's Mom: She's Mentally Ill

After all, bigamy is (according to dictionaries and according to its very roots) bi -- meaning two -- and gamy -- meaning marriage or union -- two marriages, or the condition of having two spouses.

In common usage, the term is applied to having a duplicate wife. Ergo, we might assume the woman has been jailed for forgetting to divorce one wife (heh) before marrying the next.

But the truth of the article comes a little later (emphasis mine):

a 27-year-old woman accused of marrying at least five military men at bases across the country

which would make her in no wise a bi-anything. She practices polyandry. She is polyandrous. She is a polyandrist, not a bigamist. Or, if you simply must use the -gamy, then at least get the number correct, people! Strive to wrap your lips and typing fingers around the plain old-fashioned terms, polygamy and polygamist.


Look, I know my own grammar is not always perfect, but I do know English as a language still has basic rules of gender and number, especially when it's built from the Greek and Latin. I'd appreciate it if some of those who were ostensibly making careers of communicating could get this one wee thing right.

Sheesh.

a leetle logistical problem

This morning as I was readying myself to face the day, I heard the newscaster on the regional ABC affiliate announce, "a plane collided in mid-air over California yesterday..."

She never did clarify with what did the plane collide. I had to look elsewhere.

Locals eat worms and minnows

According to our small-town rag, that is. Relevant quote (emphasis added):

MONMOUTH - Everyone who has been battling for funding for U.S. Highway 34 is waiting with baited-breath to see if the first capital bill in years in Illinois passes.

Um. Stacey. When you're holding your breath, it's not "baited," it's "bated" -- as in abated. But I won't hold my breath for corrections.

This should be noted by the many others who can't tell the difference between worm-eating and breathless-with-anticipation, as well. Some of you even know who you are.

It's a poor craftsman who blames his tools

Didn't I just finish a rant about proper use of the tools of language? And here I have clear evidence that not everybody who would make a living with these tools knows a henway from a hammerdoo.*

My local paper† is notorious, in its long history, for bad reporting, bad writing, and bad graphics. Sad to say, it has not much improved since I was a child. Our new editor seems to have acquired his degree in English/journalism from the proverbial box of "candy-coated popcorn, peanuts and a prize." Else, why would he report a simple bit of news, regarding the implementation of the law to reduce speed around stopped emergency vehicles, so?:

Police will enforce Scott's Law
By Stacey Creasy
Published: Wednesday, July 25, 2007 12:49 PM CDT

MONMOUTH - Scott's Law is just that, a law on the books that carries some serious punishment if you are caught violating the statute.

Scott's Law is named after a Chicago firefighter who was killed by a drunk driver while he was at the scene of a crash in 2001. A year later the law was passed.

Huh? "Scott's law is just that"? Just what? Just Scott's? And, who is this "Scott," anyway? Is it a Fighting Scot transplanted in Chicago, or is it a man's name -- and, if so, is it a first or last name? How about a little clarity, Stacy?

Let me offer my own version of the opener, in bite-sized, chewable, non-choking-hazard, clear English chunks:

Local and state enforcement personnel believe too few people are observing a particular traffic regulation, and they're preparing to crack down on scofflaws.

"Scott's Law" requires that, when a motorist approaches a construction zone or an emergency vehicle (police car, ambulance, fire engine, etc.) stopped alongside the road, the motorist should reduce speed to 45 miles per hour, and, if possible, change lanes to provide greater safety for those vehicles and their operators. It requires the same considerate action toward oncoming emergency vehicles.

In 2001, a driver failed to observe this basic courtesy, and struck and killed Chicago Fire Lieutenant Scott Gillen as Gillen was responding to a traffic accident.

Since then, efforts had been made in the Illinois legislature to prevent any other responders from suffering the same fate. It was nick-named "Scott's Law" to honor Gillen, and to effectively personalize the issue.

The law went into effect nearly three years ago.

Warren County Sheriff Martin Edwards says too many people in our area are not obeying this law. He intends to have his department crack down on those who disobey it. [Some quoting of the sheriff may follow, here.]

Illinois State Trooper says pretty much the same thing. [Offer more quotes, from the trooper, here.]

Now, go in for the kill: What will happen if you get caught breaking this law? The DRA didn't do so badly, there:

A citation can costs a driver anywhere from $100 to $10,000. If you accidentally hit an [sic] someone such as a police officer or construction worker, you could be sentenced up to 14 years in prison.

Even though the law states 45 mph, if you make every effort to slow down, that will probably save you from being pulled over.

Local and state law enforcement officers believe more education and awareness is [sic] needed regarding Scott's Law.

"We aren't doing this to be mean. This is a safety issue," Edwards stated. "We want emergency personnel and these construction workers to be safe, and be able to go home to their families at night."

A number of states, including Indiana and Missouri, also have a similar law requiring motorists to move over and slow down.

So, you ended an article relatively cogently (extraneous articles and subject-verb agreement issues notwithstanding, and, allowing that not all articles, these days, must offer wrap-up grafs for clear conclusion). Why so awful a start? An attempt at bold originality can't be a reason -- this is a newspaper. We want the news, not statements. We want substance, not style. (Well, to be honest, I'd like a little style, but not at the cost of real content.) And I want that substance right up front, where I can decide early on whether or not this will apply to me.

Whatever happened to clear, concise English and the five W's? And who am I, this ramblin' rose, to be ranting about a lack of concise work?

Ah, well. It is, after all, Monmouth's Daily Review Atlas. I shouldn't expect anything close to perfection, should I?

*Old Vaudeville joke, for those of you who really couldn't get there on your own -- the "straight man" asks, "What's a henway?" and is told, "About six pounds." Or, he asks, "What's a hammerdoo?" and the response is, predictably... well, you figure it out.

†The Daily Review Atlas, whose editors very kindly print my column each week, at no cost to me.

What means this "proper English?"

Over at Volokh, they've been having a right rollicking discussion of "proper English."

I'm in favor of restating the argument "is this proper English?" as "is this precise language?"

Adaptation of usage is commonplace in a living, ever-changing tongue, and sticklers (as I often show myself to be) have a right to become a little upset by some of those changes. For example, the regular application of "momentarily" to mean "presently" (soon), and "presently" to mean "currently" seems to chafe many. Words do change, and presently is now returning to its earlier (pre-16th century) usage. I've ultimately come to think it's funny. We've gone rather round our hindquarters to reach our elbow, linguistically.

But, while the meanings and uses for certain words change, this is usually effected by intellectual laziness or by lack of comprehension of the substance behind a definition. In other words, change comes through misuse of a perfectly good tool for communication.

I'm sure a sensible fellow wouldn't encourage his sons to use a belt sander or angle grinder to, say, carve the spindles of a bedpost -- especially if he had a perfectly good lathe and appropriate cutting tools right across the room at the time. So why would a laissez-faire attitude strike that same man, when it comes to tools to make himself understood?

I suppose it is because most people are only craftsmen, artisans within a certain medium, and care not a whit for the other trades. I do not know the difference between a capacitor and a microprocessor, and would not know how to use either one, whereas my physicist father can tell me in precise terms what the purpose and position should be for each. My father, though, sees no difference between a French chef's knife and a gardening trowel.

If one does not pursue an art, one does not value its equipment. When one does not value the thing, it stands a very good chance of being misused, abused, and, eventually, destroyed.



And so it is: every person speaks. I suppose every person moves, as well -- out from bed in the morning to face the dawn. That does not make him an athlete. And speech does not make a person a poet or an orator.

It just makes him a user -- and often, abuser -- of the tools.

The more I think about it, the more I believe I should attempt to rescue from the scrap heap those words long forgotten, terms loved and used by Chaucer and Milton and Shakespeare and then set aside as modernity crept in. The old tools may be a bit rusty, but they have not had their edges ground away into dull, flat uselessness. I can restore them.

I will get to it anon.

Let's not mince words: political correctness is cultural suicide

Purdue is having to double- and triple-check with everybody to be sure that an historic quotation made by one of their alumni will not offend anybody.

The alumnus? Neil Armstrong.

The quotation? If you haven't followed the link, yet, I'll give you three guesses. Unless you're under 30 and educated in America's public school system, in which case you'll probably have to go here to catch a clue.

If a good and decent man makes a thoughtful, positive, inclusive statement such as that of Armstrong's, and any other person feels "excluded" by the language, it is not the fault of the speaker or the words he used. It is a clear demonstration of the weakness laziness of the other person, the person who is unwilling to make himself (or herself) strong enough to bear perceived slights, and thus aims to bring every other person down to that same base (and I do mean base) level.

The day we have to worry about "offending" somebody for using plain, clean words to express pride in humanity's accomplishment is the day the language -- for that matter, any language, any mark at all of civilization -- is made irrelevant.

Because every veteran is destined to become a bank robber

One more item from print media: in next week's TV Guide, there's a little sidebar, complete with pic, promoting Spike TV's upcoming miniseries, The Kill Point. It describes the show thusly:

The Kill Point plays like an updated "Dog Day Afternoon": Iraq War veterans bungle a Pittsburgh bank robbery and haggle over their escape with negotiator Donnie Wahlberg (below, left). John Leguizamo (below, right), who stars as the lead hostage taker, believes his show is as potent as the Al Pacino film: "It's endemic of what happens when veterans come home. It's so hard to know who your enemy is."

I know all the veterans I've ever met have been forced, by dint of their military experience and subsequent difficulty in finding acceptance in this land, to become failed bank robbers who have to take hostages in order to negotiate for their escape. It is, after all, endemic.

It's not that kind of bee

Yesterday's local paper ran a piece from the AP in anticipation of this year's Scripps National Spelling Bee, about the challenge of finding the right words for the contest. Paragraph three, though, shows Joseph White is a little out of his league (emphasis and link mine):

The young competitors have spent months poring over word lists and dictionaries, probing the depths of entomology in an attempt to answer one nagging question: What strange word is Carolyn Andrews going to come up with next?

It would seem the author needs some time to brush up on his vocabulary, starting with etymologies.

An unfortunate choice of words

Mom and I were watching Fox News yesterday when the reporter referred to Hillary! as "the Democratic Party heavyweight." Knowing how aware most women are of such things, I couldn't help but wonder how Hillary! would feel if she had heard the turn of phrase applied to her...

Celibating a fiction, or the born-again virgin

In my dissolute youth my friends and I had a gesture we used to express extreme displeasure with another person. It was a variant of the "one-fingered salute", in which the middle finger, instead of being raised, was pointed downward. We often muttered the phrase, "un-f*ck you", and if anybody asked for an explanation, we told him it meant we took back any and all consideration we had ever offered the person.

Well, apparently the abstinence crowd is offering this same courtesy to our youth, thinking it a kindness.

(Via EclectEcon) Stephen at disinterested party has the news that, apparently, you can get your virginity back, simply by adhering to a set of principles.

Say hello to secondary virginity—virtual virginity for those committed Christians who just couldn’t wait:

Secondary virginity is a decision to abstain from sexual activity, starting with today and continuing until the day you get married. It’s an opportunity to start over. Your physical virginity may be lost, but virginity is more than just a physical state. It’s an attitude, a frame of mind. It’s manifested in the way you look at yourself and others.

Secondary virginity is a time to change bad habits and heal past wounds. It allows you to clean and renew yourself prior to marriage.

How very Chomsky-ite of this band of Christians! They've changed the meaning of the word, rather than confront the real issue at hand, which is helping young people to uphold the moral principles they choose to espouse.

For years I've been telling people that, by virtue of disuse, I've gotten my virginity back. But then, I've been joking. I know the reality of action and reaction. Once surrendered, innocence can never be restored. All one can do is adapt to the change.

Although in the minds of many the terms are interchangeable, abstinence and celibacy are not the same as virginity. For that matter, even chastity is not an absolute synonym for the "v" word. Not all virgins are all that chaste. Not all celibates (unmarried persons) abstain from intimate pleasures. Each word has its clear definition, its own peculiar nature or practice.

Our language is imprecise enough already. Our moral standards are lax enough, as well. Why do people persist in muddying both?

Give me smut and nothing but...

Patrick Ishmael at The News Buckit answered an interesting challenge, this week. InstaPunk asked the question of which side of the blogosphere more frequently used George Carlin's "seven words you can never say on television," and by what sort of margin. The News Buckit posted the numbers.

I was not terribly surprised that the left side came out as the heavier users, but I was rather shocked by how wide the margin was.

And I can't help but wonder how different the 'sphere would have been if the left side had had the sorts of English teachers I'd had in my formative years. Granted, my grammar and punctuation occasionally slide into red-pencil-land. Everybody has momentary lapses, and some of my moments last longer than they should. But one sentence I learned from my excellent instructors, over all those years, was this:

Profane language is generally indicative of a dearth of vocabulary, an inclination toward laziness, a failing of imagination, or all three -- so cut that sh*t out!

As a point of fact, strong language has its uses. But overuse of any given tool wears it down. Saving such for a time when nothing else will do, the impact of its use is that much greater.

I can count on one hand the number of times I heard my father use old-fashioned, monosyllabic Anglic terms under stress. Even telling dirty jokes, he found other, more entertaining ways to describe events. Usually, the stories were funnier for the adaptation, too. This I can safely say, because I'd have heard the stories from my uncle or some other person who used the traditional coarser terms, and, while I laughed at the jokes, I remember Dad's versions to this day (and laugh still harder when he retells them to them young'uns who've never heard such, before, from a white-haired feller with a pocket protector).

It seems that control and restraint have an unusual power to influence thought. Over time, more people tend to remain listening to the ones who are able to speak clearly, distinctly, and to the point (without embellishment of either florid terms or sordid). The rest, with their poesy and tantrums, will eventually lose the ear of all the reasonable adults in the room.

It can't happen soon enough.

Hi. Wind Watch

I've been stretched a bit thinly, this week, since the power outages and the pet care and multiple social obligations whatever, so last evening, as I was quitting my online activities, one of the last things I did was to check a local-access weather site.

As the site came up on my slow modem connected system, in the center of the screen came up the above message ("Hi. Wind Watch"). In retrospect, I wish I'd done a screencap, since it's been changed now to "HI WIND WARNING."

Instead, I responded as I thought most logical at the time:

Without thinking, I said, "hello," and reached into my pocket, pulled out my watch, and wound it.




I think I may still need sleep.