The big news around Austin these days is the announcement that Will Muschamp, the defensive coordinator for the University of Texas Longhorns who would make a great head coach anywhere from Clemson to Tennessee to Washington, has been named by the UT Athletic Department as the man who will replace Mack Brown. Not that that is happening anytime soon; Brown, who's won one national championship and will probably win some more during the eight years he has left on his contract, is not retiring early (or being asked to do so). Brown wanted to make the move to add stability at the defensive coordinator position, and shore up defensive recruiting. I don't know if that's worth paying someone $900,000 a year, but Brown does.
Anyway, back to grammar. The headline to this story on yesterday's online version of the Austin American-Statesman was "Muschamp named Brown's future successor". This begs the question whether there was once a past successor to Brown, which in turn makes one wonder (or makes me wonder, anyway) whether there will be any future predecessors named any time soon. I guess it made some editor at the A A-S wonder as well; the word "future" has been dropped from the new link today.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Ensuring against ineffective word choices
Recently, I sent an email reminding to several of my chess-playing friends -- nerdish mostly, but occasionally snobby too -- that the day of the email was the last day to register to vote in time for the upcoming election, and that even though "it probably won't effect the presidential race" there were several important down-ballot races that needed their votes. (And if you live in Travis County or the Third Appellate District, this is one of the most important ones.) One of my nerdy, snobby, chess-playing friends promptly replied "Yes, but will it affect the presidential race?" I was so dense that particular evening that it took another email from another nerdy, snobby, chess-playing friend (albeit one who pays attention to local judicial races -- thanks, Pete!) before I realized that I was being dissed, properly, for using "effect" when I meant "affect". I didn't choose one consciously over the other, but it wasn't a typo; it was sloppy editing (a synonym in this instance for "no editing"), which is just as bad.
Although the word "effect", as used above, isn't grammatically incorrect, it wasn't what I intended to say, and it rendered the sentence nonsensical, so it was -- what's the word I'm looking for -- wrong. Briefly, "affect" means to influence, to change, or to bring about an effect. "Effect" means to result (in). (I've summarized the definitions from Fowler's Modern English Usage (2d. Ed.) so you won't know I'm plagiarizing them.) It's clear that a vote by one person in Travis County is not likely either to affect, or to effect, the outcome of the Presidential election. It's much more likely that a vote will affect local races.
That's true wherever you live. Vote.
My nerdy, snobby chess-playing friends got me thinking about words with different meanings but virtually identical spellings. Two of these words that I was obsessed with in law school were "ensure" and "insure". I regret that Fowler's article about spelling words beginning with "en-" and "in-" misleads the reader into thinking that the two words above are but spelling variants for the same thing; they are not. "Ensure" has a more general sense of preventing some bad thing from happening; if that doesn't work, "insure" has a more limited sense of making the bad thing good again, usually by paying money to repair damages. "Ensure" comes before
"insure" in the dictionary, and in life: you take steps to ensure a contingency doesn't occur; you insure yourself so that, if the contigency does occur, you will be protected or made whole.
While I was in law school, one of the candidates for the Student Bar Association used the word "ensure", correctly, in her platform statement. The effect of her usage was to affect my vote.
Although the word "effect", as used above, isn't grammatically incorrect, it wasn't what I intended to say, and it rendered the sentence nonsensical, so it was -- what's the word I'm looking for -- wrong. Briefly, "affect" means to influence, to change, or to bring about an effect. "Effect" means to result (in). (I've summarized the definitions from Fowler's Modern English Usage (2d. Ed.) so you won't know I'm plagiarizing them.) It's clear that a vote by one person in Travis County is not likely either to affect, or to effect, the outcome of the Presidential election. It's much more likely that a vote will affect local races.
That's true wherever you live. Vote.
My nerdy, snobby chess-playing friends got me thinking about words with different meanings but virtually identical spellings. Two of these words that I was obsessed with in law school were "ensure" and "insure". I regret that Fowler's article about spelling words beginning with "en-" and "in-" misleads the reader into thinking that the two words above are but spelling variants for the same thing; they are not. "Ensure" has a more general sense of preventing some bad thing from happening; if that doesn't work, "insure" has a more limited sense of making the bad thing good again, usually by paying money to repair damages. "Ensure" comes before
"insure" in the dictionary, and in life: you take steps to ensure a contingency doesn't occur; you insure yourself so that, if the contigency does occur, you will be protected or made whole.
While I was in law school, one of the candidates for the Student Bar Association used the word "ensure", correctly, in her platform statement. The effect of her usage was to affect my vote.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Thank God for Sardi's
Last month, I went to New York City to visit my brother and, perhaps more urgently, see a baseball game at Yankee Stadium. By "Yankee Stadium", of course, I mean the real Stadium, in use since 1923 (when the Yankees defeated the Red Sox in the opening game) until now, and not the Yankee Stadium that was built next door. Since the Yankees are moving to their new stadium next year, my goal of sitting in the first base side bleachers in the house that Ruth built took on a new sense of urgency this year, but I was able to cajole my mother (who mastered spelling "baseball" for this trip) and brother (a transplanted Manhattanite; he required less cajoling) to attend the opening game of the last Red Sox series, played on August 26. Other bloggers have probably wondered out loud whether Alex Rodriguez would have hit a grand slam in the bottom of the seventh, rather than a weak double-play ball, if his annual salary was $29 million a year instead of only 28, but I did some other things while in town, including a classic "to-do" item: having a martini at Sardi's.
Sardi's is one of those bars with a reputation that it does or does not deserve depending on whom you ask. It's right in the theater district, and I think there was an era when you had time to get a cocktail there during intermission if your theater was close enough. I'm sure they have a full range of cocktails prepared by an expert bartender (the night we went, it was Jeremy) but I could only consider one libation while at Sardi's, and that is a martini. Living in Austin, a mixologist's backwater if (if) cultured in other ways, I have grown accustomed, when ordering martinis, to being asked whether I want gin or vodka. So I held my breath when I asked Jeremy for a Coke, a beer, and a martini. His inspired response: "Coming right up, sir!" Beautiful. We found a table near the wall full of caricatures from the bar's heyday, and I went back to the bar to get the drinks and some cheese and crackers. Jeremy then asked "What kind of gin would you like?" Of course, he had Tanqueray, which he then proceeded to stir -- stir! -- in a shaker of vermouth and ice before straining into a chilled glass with two olives.
Oh, what a beautiful martini. The Yankee game would have beat that for the best night I'd ever had in New York, but only if they'd beaten the Red Sox.
Sardi's is one of those bars with a reputation that it does or does not deserve depending on whom you ask. It's right in the theater district, and I think there was an era when you had time to get a cocktail there during intermission if your theater was close enough. I'm sure they have a full range of cocktails prepared by an expert bartender (the night we went, it was Jeremy) but I could only consider one libation while at Sardi's, and that is a martini. Living in Austin, a mixologist's backwater if (if) cultured in other ways, I have grown accustomed, when ordering martinis, to being asked whether I want gin or vodka. So I held my breath when I asked Jeremy for a Coke, a beer, and a martini. His inspired response: "Coming right up, sir!" Beautiful. We found a table near the wall full of caricatures from the bar's heyday, and I went back to the bar to get the drinks and some cheese and crackers. Jeremy then asked "What kind of gin would you like?" Of course, he had Tanqueray, which he then proceeded to stir -- stir! -- in a shaker of vermouth and ice before straining into a chilled glass with two olives.
Oh, what a beautiful martini. The Yankee game would have beat that for the best night I'd ever had in New York, but only if they'd beaten the Red Sox.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Once Upon Dickson
This has nothing to do with grammar (well, unless you count one poorly crafted sentence in the blurb at the link). There's a new book about Dickson Street, which is to Fayetteville, Arkansas as Sixth Street is to Austin (or Westheimer is to Houston, sort of). You may notice a name that suggests a family connection.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Fed Up Some More
This afternoon, I was sitting in the lobby of a criminal attorney friend of mine. Being a civil lawyer, I arrived promptly at 4:00 p.m. Being a criminal attorney, he was late. So, to pass my valuable time (or his non-valuable time, or lacking-value time), I found an old Consumer Reports magazine and read an article about the high cost of health care. One of the persons interviewed in the article, a small-business owner, complained "Because of the high cost of health insurance, I can't give my employees hourly raises."
Well, sorry, but I don't know how long you're going to stay in business in the first place, if you give your employees a raise every hour. Maybe you should give them one BIG raise every day, or better yet every month; that way, you could spend more time on, you know, business. Or editing your sentences.
Well, sorry, but I don't know how long you're going to stay in business in the first place, if you give your employees a raise every hour. Maybe you should give them one BIG raise every day, or better yet every month; that way, you could spend more time on, you know, business. Or editing your sentences.
Fed Up
As I've said before, there used to be a great newspaper in New York. It was called the "New York Times". I have no idea what the hell happened to it.
From today's obituary for the late Paul Scofield (an actor whose reputation towered over Olivier, Gielgud, and Richardson in their prime):
He received his secondary education at Varndean School in nearby Brighton and, at 13, made his debut as Juliet in “Romeo and Juliet” on the school stage. “I had to wear an embarrassing blond wig,” he said. “But it was a turning point, because thenceforward there was nothing else I wanted to do.”
One might get the impression, from the context of this quote, that Scofield decided not to take any more roles after his fiasco as Juliet. One would be wrong, of course, since Scofield illuminated the screens and stage for decades after his teenage debut. I don't know who to blame this ambiguity on; I suppose I should blame Mr. Scofield, but I'm generally not one to speak ill of the dead.
So it's the Times's fault.
And there's more.
From today's obituary for the late Paul Scofield (an actor whose reputation towered over Olivier, Gielgud, and Richardson in their prime):
He received his secondary education at Varndean School in nearby Brighton and, at 13, made his debut as Juliet in “Romeo and Juliet” on the school stage. “I had to wear an embarrassing blond wig,” he said. “But it was a turning point, because thenceforward there was nothing else I wanted to do.”
One might get the impression, from the context of this quote, that Scofield decided not to take any more roles after his fiasco as Juliet. One would be wrong, of course, since Scofield illuminated the screens and stage for decades after his teenage debut. I don't know who to blame this ambiguity on; I suppose I should blame Mr. Scofield, but I'm generally not one to speak ill of the dead.
So it's the Times's fault.
And there's more.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
The idiosyncrasies of idiosyncracies
Yesterday's usage tip of the day from Bryan Garner has to do with the correct spelling of the word idiosyncrasy, meaning a characteristic peculiar to an individual or group. Unfortunately, the word is commonly confused with the word idiosyncracy, which means, by way of example, the Bush administration.
Stolen from another grammar snob.
Stolen from another grammar snob.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Why don't I write anymore
A Harris County criminal defense lawyer left a comment asking why I don't blog anymore, wondering if it's because I've decided the state of grammar has improved to the point that it no longer needs me.
Would that it were so. If anything, grammar has gotten worse; but mainly, it's just becoming less relevant. It used to be fun to try and locate the occasional misspelled word or incorrect usage in the New York Times; now, it's just depressing. I can only guess that the rise of the internet has pinched print media to the point it can't afford the kind of editing staff that could find and eliminate the numerous elementary errors that make their way into the NYT on a daily basis.
So, no, grammar still needs me, but I only have ten fingers and there are so many holes in the dike. And there are other dikes demanding my attention. Plus, I've never been good at prioritizing my leisure time in the first place. But I'll try to do better.
Would that it were so. If anything, grammar has gotten worse; but mainly, it's just becoming less relevant. It used to be fun to try and locate the occasional misspelled word or incorrect usage in the New York Times; now, it's just depressing. I can only guess that the rise of the internet has pinched print media to the point it can't afford the kind of editing staff that could find and eliminate the numerous elementary errors that make their way into the NYT on a daily basis.
So, no, grammar still needs me, but I only have ten fingers and there are so many holes in the dike. And there are other dikes demanding my attention. Plus, I've never been good at prioritizing my leisure time in the first place. But I'll try to do better.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
The Lingering Death of the New York Times
There was a time, maybe, before blogs, even before the Internet, when the New York Times could be held up as a standard, if not the standard, for good grammar. After all, it was one of the most popular papers to write for, so good writers would contribute articles, and good editors would read those articles, so subscribers would have reading material that was not only accurate and true, but wouldn't have any comma splices or dangling participles.
I miss those days.
"Ottawa may have been unfairly branded as boring, but exploring Parliament Hill (Wellington Street; 613-239-5000; www.parl.gc.ca) is anything but." -- 36 Hours Ottawa, NYT, August 26, 2007 (Travel). (My italics.)
But what? Boring? Branded as boring? Unfairly branded as boring? Maybe it's branding all the other places in Ottawa as boring? Or doing so unfairly?
I hear that William Safire is semi-retired. Maybe he has time to scan the Travel articles before they find their way into print.
I miss those days.
"Ottawa may have been unfairly branded as boring, but exploring Parliament Hill (Wellington Street; 613-239-5000; www.parl.gc.ca) is anything but." -- 36 Hours Ottawa, NYT, August 26, 2007 (Travel). (My italics.)
But what? Boring? Branded as boring? Unfairly branded as boring? Maybe it's branding all the other places in Ottawa as boring? Or doing so unfairly?
I hear that William Safire is semi-retired. Maybe he has time to scan the Travel articles before they find their way into print.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Definitely a short post.
I don't know why it bugs me so much, but why do so many people misspell "definitely"? (Or "definite", etc.?) Maybe it's because they mispronounce it, too, because they have lazy American speech patterns, like "nukular". Pronounce it "deaf in it lee".
At any rate, the word is definately not spelled "definately". It is definitely "definitely". This is one of those errors that, when you fix it, results in your readers' opinion of your IQ rise about 15 points.
Other than that, today's not been bad so far.
Update: Jamie Spencer, publisher of the fine Austin Criminal Defense Lawyer blog, has politely pointed out that one of my sentences above (now italicized) could be, um, improved. I would have been a lot less polite. I'm too proud to try scanning it and counting the errors; you may amuse yourself with that task if you like. Here's my stab at an edit, though.
This is an error that, when fixed, will result in your readers' estimates of your IQ rising about 15 points.
That's still awkward, but it keeps the meaning of the original sentence. Definately better.
At any rate, the word is definately not spelled "definately". It is definitely "definitely". This is one of those errors that, when you fix it, results in your readers' opinion of your IQ rise about 15 points.
Other than that, today's not been bad so far.
Update: Jamie Spencer, publisher of the fine Austin Criminal Defense Lawyer blog, has politely pointed out that one of my sentences above (now italicized) could be, um, improved. I would have been a lot less polite. I'm too proud to try scanning it and counting the errors; you may amuse yourself with that task if you like. Here's my stab at an edit, though.
This is an error that, when fixed, will result in your readers' estimates of your IQ rising about 15 points.
That's still awkward, but it keeps the meaning of the original sentence. Definately better.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Clarification about the meaning of snobbery
I guess I'm not really much of a snob when it comes to grammar. In my mind, a "snob" is a person with an unreasonable disdain for others who are unlike him in some sense. I don't think my disdain for people who don't know the difference between "it's" and "its" is unreasonable. Now, my disdain for NASCAR fans is, arguably, unreasonable. Well, no, not really. Bad example. How about people who don't like classical music? Maybe, except that I don't have any disdain for them, simply over that.
But it turns out I'm a snob about some things.
Here's what triggered this post. I'm at the office, and I make a phone call to some one in the course of business. The conversation goes something like this.
"Good afternoon, Akin Butz, may I help you?"
"Yes, I'd like to speak to Ima Shyster, please."
"May I ask who's calling?"
[After years of therapy, I've broken my old habit of simply replying "Yes", and instead telling the person who answered the phone my name.]
"Yes, this is Michael Simpson."
"I'm sorry, Mike, it looks like she has stepped out of the office. Would you like her voice mail?"
Last things first. I wouldn't like her voice mail, but I'll settle for it. I'll accept a less favorable alternative, if it's the only one I've got. (Now, see, all you real grammar snobs are rolling your eyes at my use of the word "alternative" instead of "alternate". Just kidding, guys.)
But there was a time, even in the South, when you wouldn't think of referring to a person you just met by his first name. And this clown didn't even do that; he took it upon himself to shorten my name to Mike. Would it kill you to call me Mr. Simpson? No, because the receptionists at the thick-carpet firms on Congress Avenue do it all the time.
But I've never really raised hell about it, until today. I know that if I did, people would think I was a snob. Which I am, in this case, because it is unreasonable, but only a little because I really don't care that much. So grant me this one vice.
I finally get connected to the voice mail, and it opens thusly.
"You've reached Ima Shyster."
No I haven't! I've reached your voicemail, dammit! AAAAAAUGHHH!
But it turns out I'm a snob about some things.
Here's what triggered this post. I'm at the office, and I make a phone call to some one in the course of business. The conversation goes something like this.
"Good afternoon, Akin Butz, may I help you?"
"Yes, I'd like to speak to Ima Shyster, please."
"May I ask who's calling?"
[After years of therapy, I've broken my old habit of simply replying "Yes", and instead telling the person who answered the phone my name.]
"Yes, this is Michael Simpson."
"I'm sorry, Mike, it looks like she has stepped out of the office. Would you like her voice mail?"
Last things first. I wouldn't like her voice mail, but I'll settle for it. I'll accept a less favorable alternative, if it's the only one I've got. (Now, see, all you real grammar snobs are rolling your eyes at my use of the word "alternative" instead of "alternate". Just kidding, guys.)
But there was a time, even in the South, when you wouldn't think of referring to a person you just met by his first name. And this clown didn't even do that; he took it upon himself to shorten my name to Mike. Would it kill you to call me Mr. Simpson? No, because the receptionists at the thick-carpet firms on Congress Avenue do it all the time.
But I've never really raised hell about it, until today. I know that if I did, people would think I was a snob. Which I am, in this case, because it is unreasonable, but only a little because I really don't care that much. So grant me this one vice.
I finally get connected to the voice mail, and it opens thusly.
"You've reached Ima Shyster."
No I haven't! I've reached your voicemail, dammit! AAAAAAUGHHH!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
The Top Ten Surprises in "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows"
Like many people half my age -- okay, okay, 1/3 of my age -- I spent this weekend reading the seventh, and last, book in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. And while J.K. Rowling has made it clear that this book is much darker than the previous books in the series, many of the twists in the story line still took me by surprise. Please don't read this list if you haven't read the book yet; I don't want to spoil it for you.
THE TOP TEN SURPRISES IN HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS
10. With Dumbledore gone, okay to use "waterboarding" curse.
9. Donald Rumsfeld finally gets job as Defense of Dark Arts teacher.
8. Butterbeer now available with no trans-fats.
7. Bald character added so Patrick Stewart can finally be in one of the damned movies.
6. Ravenclaw Tower demolished to make room for new Wal-Mart.
5. Weasley twins caught by their mom comparing wands.
4. Klingons unexpectedly arrive to fight Death Eaters at the last minute.
3. Right before final fight scene, Harry says "screw this" and joins Hogsmeade National Guard.
2. Hogwarts students master powerful new spell, Expecto uranus!
1. The real identity of Voldemort? Dick Cheney!
THE TOP TEN SURPRISES IN HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS
10. With Dumbledore gone, okay to use "waterboarding" curse.
9. Donald Rumsfeld finally gets job as Defense of Dark Arts teacher.
8. Butterbeer now available with no trans-fats.
7. Bald character added so Patrick Stewart can finally be in one of the damned movies.
6. Ravenclaw Tower demolished to make room for new Wal-Mart.
5. Weasley twins caught by their mom comparing wands.
4. Klingons unexpectedly arrive to fight Death Eaters at the last minute.
3. Right before final fight scene, Harry says "screw this" and joins Hogsmeade National Guard.
2. Hogwarts students master powerful new spell, Expecto uranus!
1. The real identity of Voldemort? Dick Cheney!
Thursday, July 19, 2007
A comment on comments
Every now and then (but not frequently; my blog isn't well-read because there are no pictures of Paris Hilton or Posh Spice) someone e-mails me about something I wrote in my blog that she disagrees with. To date, however, there's only been 1 comment about any of my posts, and I wrote that one.
So, if you have something to say about anything I have to say, say it in a comment. That's what they're there for. Or would be, if they were there.
So, if you have something to say about anything I have to say, say it in a comment. That's what they're there for. Or would be, if they were there.
Monday, July 09, 2007
I'm on a roll
Okay, here's the second post for the day, after a two-month absence that ended only last week. This has nothing to do with grammar, again, but something to do with snobbery. Today, my target audience is waitpeople. The theme of my post is: I don't owe you 15% of my bill just because I sat at your table.
I'm a single male. Chances are I eat out about three times as much as you do if you are married, and about twice as much if you're a single female. It's not that I don't like to cook; I just don't cook as much as I used to, a combination of not having time and being lazy when I do. I like the food I make more than restaurant food, and it's way cheaper. But sometimes, I just feel like having my lunch handed to me. My point is, I go to restaurants a lot. So I think I know what's going on in them.
Consider the following two scenarios. I go to a restaurant about 30 minutes before the rush starts. I'm seated in a waiter's section, at the same time as a family of four.
In the first scenario, the waiter appears, looks at the family of four, looks at me, and then goes to wait on the family.
In the second scenario, the waiter appears, looks at the family of four, looks at me, smiles and says "I'll be right with you", and then goes to wait on the family.
Wonder which one will get the better tip?
I think most customers have reasonable expectations of waiters. We know that when someone gets double-sat (and let's not get into a discussion of whether "double-sat" is a word right now), they have to choose someone to wait on first. If I were a waiter, I'd want to get the big party first. But at least spend a second of your life to acknowledge the existence of the guy who's going to lose the race to the kitchen. Hey, if you want to wait on me first, all the better, but you should go say "hi" to the family, in that instance. It's just courtesy, and that always pay$.
How formal should waiters be? I think the rule should be: too formal is better than too informal. Don't call me "honey" or "buddy". Don't touch me while you're waiting on me. Don't sit at my table. Don't -- Do not -- DO NOT put someone else's dirty dishes on my table ! Are you KIDDING?
I'd rather not be called "sir", but when I am, I assume it's someone being formal to be courteous, and that's okay. It's won't cost you anything.
In fact, it's hard not to get a decent tip from me. The best way to try is not to wait on me for a long time after I'm seated. What's a long time? Someone should come by my table within a minute. Yes, a minute. If you don't think that's a long time, go sit by a table for a minute and then you tell me.
Other than that, the only thing that will really screw up your tip (besides just crappy service, obviously) is bringing me my change. Okay, say the dinner was $9.63. I give you a twenty. First, don't ask me if I need any change. Of course I do, I'm not giving you a 100% tip. Second, don't bring me a ten dollar bill and 37 cents -- that's just as bad. Keep in mind that you're probably getting paid out of the change.
Speaking of which, most waiters don't like to make change down to the last penny, and that's fine. But the last time I went to one restaurant in Austin, I had an $8.20 tab, paid with a $10, and got a dollar bill in change. Fine -- that eighty cents you just stole is your tip. Like I said, it was the last time I went there. (Hope my waiter doesn't miss his "buddy".)
And why should a tip be more than 15%, anyway? Now all the waiter rant sites say you should leave 17%. If the service is great, sure. If it's good, 15% is plenty. Don't whine to me about inflation. You're getting 15% of something that's a lot more expensive now than it was 30 years ago.
Thanks for listening, honey.
I'm a single male. Chances are I eat out about three times as much as you do if you are married, and about twice as much if you're a single female. It's not that I don't like to cook; I just don't cook as much as I used to, a combination of not having time and being lazy when I do. I like the food I make more than restaurant food, and it's way cheaper. But sometimes, I just feel like having my lunch handed to me. My point is, I go to restaurants a lot. So I think I know what's going on in them.
Consider the following two scenarios. I go to a restaurant about 30 minutes before the rush starts. I'm seated in a waiter's section, at the same time as a family of four.
In the first scenario, the waiter appears, looks at the family of four, looks at me, and then goes to wait on the family.
In the second scenario, the waiter appears, looks at the family of four, looks at me, smiles and says "I'll be right with you", and then goes to wait on the family.
Wonder which one will get the better tip?
I think most customers have reasonable expectations of waiters. We know that when someone gets double-sat (and let's not get into a discussion of whether "double-sat" is a word right now), they have to choose someone to wait on first. If I were a waiter, I'd want to get the big party first. But at least spend a second of your life to acknowledge the existence of the guy who's going to lose the race to the kitchen. Hey, if you want to wait on me first, all the better, but you should go say "hi" to the family, in that instance. It's just courtesy, and that always pay$.
How formal should waiters be? I think the rule should be: too formal is better than too informal. Don't call me "honey" or "buddy". Don't touch me while you're waiting on me. Don't sit at my table. Don't -- Do not -- DO NOT put someone else's dirty dishes on my table ! Are you KIDDING?
I'd rather not be called "sir", but when I am, I assume it's someone being formal to be courteous, and that's okay. It's won't cost you anything.
In fact, it's hard not to get a decent tip from me. The best way to try is not to wait on me for a long time after I'm seated. What's a long time? Someone should come by my table within a minute. Yes, a minute. If you don't think that's a long time, go sit by a table for a minute and then you tell me.
Other than that, the only thing that will really screw up your tip (besides just crappy service, obviously) is bringing me my change. Okay, say the dinner was $9.63. I give you a twenty. First, don't ask me if I need any change. Of course I do, I'm not giving you a 100% tip. Second, don't bring me a ten dollar bill and 37 cents -- that's just as bad. Keep in mind that you're probably getting paid out of the change.
Speaking of which, most waiters don't like to make change down to the last penny, and that's fine. But the last time I went to one restaurant in Austin, I had an $8.20 tab, paid with a $10, and got a dollar bill in change. Fine -- that eighty cents you just stole is your tip. Like I said, it was the last time I went there. (Hope my waiter doesn't miss his "buddy".)
And why should a tip be more than 15%, anyway? Now all the waiter rant sites say you should leave 17%. If the service is great, sure. If it's good, 15% is plenty. Don't whine to me about inflation. You're getting 15% of something that's a lot more expensive now than it was 30 years ago.
Thanks for listening, honey.
Dangling, the wordsmith left the participle
In my last, very recent post, I mentioned that I'd been working on a post about dangling modifiers. Turns out some other folks have already thought about that. So I was going to discard the whole subject; in fact, I just deleted the whole draft. But this morning, I read an article in The Daily Texan, the University of Texas's daily paper, about Troy Patton, a minor-league pitcher who's supposed to be the next great Houston Astro southpaw someday. Though he didn't get a lot of strikeouts in the particular game featured in the article, he gave up only one run in seven innings. It was the description of how the run scored that bothered me, too much maybe.
Patton's only run came in the fifth inning after what easily could have been ruled an error. After giving up a walk to leadoff hitter Bill McCarthy, Jorge Padilla came up to plate and lifted a ball into the outfield....
Padilla didn't give up a walk to Bill McCarthy, though; Patton did. A carelessly hung participle ruined the meaning of the sentence.
But this really isn't about dangling modifiers. It's about this. There's a good chance that the author of this story (I'm not naming names; you can track him down on the internet if you're that ambitious), and his editor, if any, both graduated in the top 10% of their high school class before coming to UT. Either they don't know what a dangling modifier is, or they don't care enough to eliminate one from a printed article; either way, I hang my head in shame for the state of public education in Texas, yet again.
By the way, I'm looking forward to Patton's debut with the Astros. Hope it happens soon.
Patton's only run came in the fifth inning after what easily could have been ruled an error. After giving up a walk to leadoff hitter Bill McCarthy, Jorge Padilla came up to plate and lifted a ball into the outfield....
Padilla didn't give up a walk to Bill McCarthy, though; Patton did. A carelessly hung participle ruined the meaning of the sentence.
But this really isn't about dangling modifiers. It's about this. There's a good chance that the author of this story (I'm not naming names; you can track him down on the internet if you're that ambitious), and his editor, if any, both graduated in the top 10% of their high school class before coming to UT. Either they don't know what a dangling modifier is, or they don't care enough to eliminate one from a printed article; either way, I hang my head in shame for the state of public education in Texas, yet again.
By the way, I'm looking forward to Patton's debut with the Astros. Hope it happens soon.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Comes now?
As always, because I have a real job I don't get to post to my blog as much as I like. I've been editing a post on dangling modifiers, since there are only 52,138 other internet pages explaining why dangling modifiers are bad, but I haven't finished mine, which will be the pinnacle of dangling modifier criticism, I suppose. (Again, for those of you who haven't the foggiest idea what a dangling modifier is, surely there's a NASCAR race stored in your Tivo ready to watch.) Instead, I've got a blog for my fellow attorneys, many of whom file pleadings in court containing the phrase "Comes now". As in:
"Comes now Plaintiff, John Doe, and complains of Defendant, David Evildoer, and pray the Court grant him judgment, and for cause of action would show the following."
A question. You're sitting on your favorite barstool at the local watering hole, taking the edge off a rough day in the salt mine with your favorite poison (for me, a tall draft of Harp or Warsteiner, or on a Friday, a shot of Maker's Mark with a sidecar of ice) and your best friend walks in to join you. Do you exclaim "Comes now Drew, and sits next to mine self to drink beer"? Okay, if you answered this question "yes", an exciting career in writing boring pleadings awaits you. If you answered "no", then I understand why you hate legalese.
I can tell you that the stilted "Comes now" style of prose is not taught in law school. At least, not at the University of Texas School of Law, the shoddy public state school where I learned the law. Instead, this horrible style of "writing" is passed on to law clerks -- the trade slang for interns, or law students with summer jobs -- by attorneys who may or may not know better, but either don't, or are too lazy to care.
Now, no pleading is ever going to make the New York Times's best-seller list or appear in Atlantic Monthly's poetry section, whether it be written by David Dullpen or Clarence Darrow. The pleadings are meant to be read only by judges and lawyers. Okay, they're not even meant to be read by those folks. Arguably, they don't matter at all. Except that I just lied: pleadings should also be read by a group of folks more important than judges and lawyers: clients. And this is the reason that they are written so badly: legalese has to be dense so lawyers don't let on to their clients that what they're doing is not rocket science. It's difficult, of course, but because clients may not understand the real reasons that practicing law is difficult, we have to give them a fake reason: the convoluted pleading language that no one can read, and very few people attempt.
Early in my career, while a measly clerk at the OAG in Texas, I came upon the worst pleading I'd ever read, in which the plaintiff's attorney redundantly paired every word he possibly could, resulting in such legalistic crap as "then and there", "failed and refused", "way, shape, or form", and so forth. A petition for relief that should have taken 6 pages took 17. (It was also printed in some horrible font, like OCR, which was almost impossible to read.)
Here's a sample of an opening statement from one of my pleadings:
"Paula Plaintiff complains of Dave Defendant, and for cause of action would show the following."
Keep in mind that this is the least important, and therefore worst, sentence in a petition; everything else is at least in English. Nevertheless, compared to some pleadings I've read, it's Shakespeare.
"Comes now Plaintiff, John Doe, and complains of Defendant, David Evildoer, and pray the Court grant him judgment, and for cause of action would show the following."
A question. You're sitting on your favorite barstool at the local watering hole, taking the edge off a rough day in the salt mine with your favorite poison (for me, a tall draft of Harp or Warsteiner, or on a Friday, a shot of Maker's Mark with a sidecar of ice) and your best friend walks in to join you. Do you exclaim "Comes now Drew, and sits next to mine self to drink beer"? Okay, if you answered this question "yes", an exciting career in writing boring pleadings awaits you. If you answered "no", then I understand why you hate legalese.
I can tell you that the stilted "Comes now" style of prose is not taught in law school. At least, not at the University of Texas School of Law, the shoddy public state school where I learned the law. Instead, this horrible style of "writing" is passed on to law clerks -- the trade slang for interns, or law students with summer jobs -- by attorneys who may or may not know better, but either don't, or are too lazy to care.
Now, no pleading is ever going to make the New York Times's best-seller list or appear in Atlantic Monthly's poetry section, whether it be written by David Dullpen or Clarence Darrow. The pleadings are meant to be read only by judges and lawyers. Okay, they're not even meant to be read by those folks. Arguably, they don't matter at all. Except that I just lied: pleadings should also be read by a group of folks more important than judges and lawyers: clients. And this is the reason that they are written so badly: legalese has to be dense so lawyers don't let on to their clients that what they're doing is not rocket science. It's difficult, of course, but because clients may not understand the real reasons that practicing law is difficult, we have to give them a fake reason: the convoluted pleading language that no one can read, and very few people attempt.
Early in my career, while a measly clerk at the OAG in Texas, I came upon the worst pleading I'd ever read, in which the plaintiff's attorney redundantly paired every word he possibly could, resulting in such legalistic crap as "then and there", "failed and refused", "way, shape, or form", and so forth. A petition for relief that should have taken 6 pages took 17. (It was also printed in some horrible font, like OCR, which was almost impossible to read.)
Here's a sample of an opening statement from one of my pleadings:
"Paula Plaintiff complains of Dave Defendant, and for cause of action would show the following."
Keep in mind that this is the least important, and therefore worst, sentence in a petition; everything else is at least in English. Nevertheless, compared to some pleadings I've read, it's Shakespeare.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Well, not really
Yesterday's post contained a list of words that do NOT follow this famous rule:
I before E except after C
Or when sounding like A as in "neighbor" and "weigh".
Looking back I see some words that should be on the list, but aren't, like beige and heifer; I also note the list lacks spontaneity. (Make your own punchline; I tried, but couldn't.) The list also doesn't include different forms of other words that are on the list (i.e. "deify" is there, but not "deified", etc.). I was stunned to find that "leity" wasn't on the list, until I realized it is spelled "laity".
On the whole, though, the rule is right about 70% of the time. Some other blogger did the math and came up with a higher number than that, but he also excluded words in which the "i" and "e" belonged to different syllables. And he still didn't get "beige". If I can find that page again, I'll link to it. Until then, "I before e", and so on.
I before E except after C
Or when sounding like A as in "neighbor" and "weigh".
Looking back I see some words that should be on the list, but aren't, like beige and heifer; I also note the list lacks spontaneity. (Make your own punchline; I tried, but couldn't.) The list also doesn't include different forms of other words that are on the list (i.e. "deify" is there, but not "deified", etc.). I was stunned to find that "leity" wasn't on the list, until I realized it is spelled "laity".
On the whole, though, the rule is right about 70% of the time. Some other blogger did the math and came up with a higher number than that, but he also excluded words in which the "i" and "e" belonged to different syllables. And he still didn't get "beige". If I can find that page again, I'll link to it. Until then, "I before e", and so on.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Are the exceptions swallowing the rule?
Can you figure out what the following words have in common? It shouldn't be too hard, but I'm not going to tell you today.
albeit
ageing
atheism
being
caffeine
counterfeit
deify
either
foreign
forfeit
height
kaleidoscope
leisure
neither
protein
reimburse
reinforce
reinstate
seeing
seize
sovereign
surfeit
weird
Stay tuned.
albeit
ageing
atheism
being
caffeine
counterfeit
deify
either
foreign
forfeit
height
kaleidoscope
leisure
neither
protein
reimburse
reinforce
reinstate
seeing
seize
sovereign
surfeit
weird
Stay tuned.
Friday, April 13, 2007
To hell with "to helm"
Few segments of the American population as are culpable in the ongoing assault on American English as the writers in the entertainment industry. They are trying to create as many synonyms as possible for a short list of nouns and verbs that, really, don't need more synonyms. Consider "to helm", which is now a synomym for "to direct". Horrible.
"Grindhouse will be presented as one full-length feature comprised of two individual films helmed separately by each director." -- "Mr. Disgusting", www.bloody-disgusting.com
"[Ken Olin] Executive produced and helmed the ABC family drama, 'Brothers & Sisters'." -- Unknown, tv.yahoo.com
"The tuner will be helmed by two-time Tony Award-winning director/choreographer Kathleen Marshall (The Pajama Game)." -- Staff, Broadway.com (Omigod, this quote uses both "helmed" and "tuner". Run for the hills!)
Another usage that makes me wretch is using "to bow" as a substitute for "to premiere" or "to release". It's one thing to use "bow" as an intransitive verb in this sense.
"'Ocean's 13' to bow at Cannes Film Festival"
At least that's almost as inoffensive as simply saying "to debut". But please, PLEASE, someone save me from the horrible use of "to bow" as a transitive verb.
"VeriSign to bow online movie service" -- headline, fierceiptv.com
Bow should NEVER be a transitive verb meaning "debut". NEVER EVER. You can bow your head but not your movie.
So just for the record to all you horrible entertainment writers out there: if you have ever committed any of these crimes against language, no one is ever going to read your screenplay.
"Grindhouse will be presented as one full-length feature comprised of two individual films helmed separately by each director." -- "Mr. Disgusting", www.bloody-disgusting.com
"[Ken Olin] Executive produced and helmed the ABC family drama, 'Brothers & Sisters'." -- Unknown, tv.yahoo.com
"The tuner will be helmed by two-time Tony Award-winning director/choreographer Kathleen Marshall (The Pajama Game)." -- Staff, Broadway.com (Omigod, this quote uses both "helmed" and "tuner". Run for the hills!)
Another usage that makes me wretch is using "to bow" as a substitute for "to premiere" or "to release". It's one thing to use "bow" as an intransitive verb in this sense.
"'Ocean's 13' to bow at Cannes Film Festival"
At least that's almost as inoffensive as simply saying "to debut". But please, PLEASE, someone save me from the horrible use of "to bow" as a transitive verb.
"VeriSign to bow online movie service" -- headline, fierceiptv.com
Bow should NEVER be a transitive verb meaning "debut". NEVER EVER. You can bow your head but not your movie.
So just for the record to all you horrible entertainment writers out there: if you have ever committed any of these crimes against language, no one is ever going to read your screenplay.
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