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.

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.

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.

Split, split, split that infinitive!

Take a careful look at the following sentence and see what's wrong with it.

"To boldly go where no man has gone before."

It's not a sentence? Well, um, okay. What else?

Did you say "nothing"?

Congratulations. I agree with you.

A generation or so ago, back when they taught grammar in schools, one of the quickest ways to get a red mark on your English homework was to split an infinitive. An infinitive, in English, is the form of a verb when preceded by the preposition "to", i.e. "to go". It was commonly, though often incorrectly, thought to be wrong to split infinitives, ever. That absolute prohibition, never completely well grounded, has vanished nearly to the point of extinction nowadays. This probably has less to do with today's high school students casting a more tolerant eye towards infinitives than the fact that they probably have no idea what an infinitive is, of course, but if you are reading this blog instead of downloading Justin Timberlake videos, you probably do have an idea. But as they say, a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. (Though not as dangerous as no knowledge, but I digress.)

Almost every English verb has an infinitive form beginning with "to", but some do not. My seventh grade English teacher, Ms. Sowder, was reminded of this the year before I began junior high when she offered an "A" for the six weeks to the students in one of her classes "to anyone who could think of a verb that did not have an infinitive form beginning in 'to'". One of my lifelong friends, and a bigger smart aleck than me, thought for a while, and responded "To could?" Several helping verbs later, he and some of his classmates no longer had to worry about homework for a while.

One theory about how the rule against split infinitives began is that Latin infinitives are only one word. Thus, the Latin word for "to love" is "amare". Since there's no splitting "amare", it follows that one cannot split "to love". Unfortunately, Romans were even worse about obscure grammar rules that English teachers; there are six, count them, six infinitives for each regular Latin verb. I suspect the real reason Rome burned was not that Nero was playing his violin but was practicing conjugation for his dissertation defense. In any event, it's not clear that Latin usage is a sufficiently strong reason not to split infinitives in a different language.

(I should note that the Latin origin theory of the rule against split infinitives is only one of several.)

If there is no good reason not to split infinitives, why does the prohibition persist today? the short answer is that there are good reasons. Even though it's not always bad to split infinitives, it frequently is. The reader's mind tends to think of an infinitive as one word, and if it's possible to keep the two parts together, it should be done. If not, you may sound as awkward as this famous wordsmith:

They want to not just get you off the air but also — to savor the full enjoyment — bring you to your knees financially.

This is a compound infinitive, because the italicized "to" belongs to both "get" and "bring"; the latter appears a full fifteen words later in the sentence -- and after a second "to", to boot. The composer of this horrible prose is none other than Dick Cavett, who is featured in the New York Times Select online edition as ... an expert on grammar. There are various ways "to not just get" could be edited to read more smoothly; the solution to the second split is much easier.

Not only do they want to get you off the air, but also -- to savor the full enjoyment -- to bring you to your knees financially.

(Don't get me started about "but also"; that has to be another post.)

So, it appears, though there is no absolute prohibition against split infinitives (never mind what your college English teacher taught you), it's a good idea to avoid them when it obscures the idea you were trying to convey.

But what if the "correct" infinitive sounds wrong? For example: "Boldly to go where no man has gone before", or "To go boldly where no man has gone before". The infinitives are standing at attention, dutifully appearing in unitary unsplit form, but their sentences sound awkward to us, and it's not just because we've heard the "incorrect" version so many times. Adverbs normally do not belong at the beginning of a sentence (or, in this case, a phrase masquerading as a sentence). "To go boldly" is a little less jarring, and I suspect if Mr. Shatner had uttered the phrase in that incarnation, we'd all be the same. But there is something about the rhythm created by splitting the infinitive.

To bold-ly go where no one has gone be-fore.

The line is so close to iambic pentameter it's virtually Shakespearean. That, and the recurring emphasised "o"s, make a little thing like a split infinitive seem silly.

This just in: Kurt Vonnegut was a writer. He died. So it goes.

Restart THIS

My litigation schedule is heavier than I like right now, so I still haven't published my post on split infinitives, but rather than finishing that, I've decided to vent some steam about one of the stupider ideas from our favorite mediocre American icon, MicroSoft.

My opinion of MicroSoft is colored by my perception that it has prospered not by building a better mousetrap, but by building a barely-good-enough mousetrap and doing a better job of marketing it. Ask any lawyer whether he'd rather run an office based on MicroSoft Word (any version) or WordPerfect 4.2. MicroSoft seems to me to be an endless tinkerer, but comes to market before its tinkering is complete.

Luckily, most of its post-release tinkering is now available in free updates, although one is still expected to purchase new boxes on occasion to fix problems with the old software. Why this isn't akin to having to buy tires for your new car, because the manufacturer forgot to install them in the first place, beats me.

At least you don't have to spend money to get these new updates. The little shield-shaped icon alerts you that the updates are there, and then you can keep working while MicroSoft is updating your computer.

But once the updates are ready to be installed, you have to restart the computer. And the shield gives you two choices: restart the computer now, or later. Almost always, I choose "later". What the shield doesn't tell me is "Okay, but I'm going to interrupt you every five minutes until you restart the computer, because you're so stupid you'll probably forget that you need to install me." And, of course, if it did tell you that, then you could reply "No, I'm not, you inanimate presumptous piece of code, it's just that I have more important things to do right now than restart my computer, like get this $*@&%! brief out before 5:00, so shut up already."

So why is it that MicroSoft won't give us a third choice: "Restart when I damned well feel like it"? Beats the hell outta me.

Which is it?

A short note about the word "which". Like the failure to "it's/its", the misuse of the word "which" is both widespread and easy to correct. It usually comes about in a sentence like this one.

The committee is considering a bill which may substantially raise sales taxes.

The use of the word "which" in this sentence is incorrect. The reason is "may substantially raise business taxes" is a restrictive clause. It modifies its subject "bill" by restricting it to mean one particular bill. If you delete the entire clause from the sentence, then you change the meaning of the word "bill". In contrast, suppose this is the next sentence in the paragraph.

The bill, which is widely unpopular in the business community, would eliminate the groceries tax exemption.

The clause "which is widely unpopular in the business community" is a descriptive clause. It describes its object, "bill", but doesn't restrict it. If the clause weren't in the sentence, the word "bill" would mean the same thing. Since it's a restrictive clause, it has to be set off from its object with a comma, or in this case, two.

There are various terms used to describe these two clauses (for example restrictive and non-restrictive) but the terminology is not as important as the usage and the "which-that" distinction. As I noted earlier, it is easy to eliminate this mistake and, in so doing, improve your written English. It's a process called "which hunting".

After you've drafted your text, search it for every occurrence of "which". Each time you find it, see if it's in a restrictive clause. Here's the test: if you take out the clause beginning with "which", would it change the meaning of the clause's subject? If not, then the clause is only descriptive, and you can -- and should -- use "which". Otherwise, you have to use "that". Also, if it's descriptive, use a comma. If it's restrictive, don't use a comma.

If you do this regularly, you should find that you're changing a lot of whiches to thats. And your readers will think your writing has improved, but they won't be able to figure out why.

Something else to be snobby about

I recently went to a fine restaurant for a Happy Hour with some other attorneys who specialize in CPS cases. Although I'd never eaten there, the place has a fine ambience and a good reputation. But I knew we were in trouble when I looked at the Happy Hour specials and noted that the Monday special was martinis for only $5.00. Ulp. And we were there on Thursday night, not Monday. Nevertheless, I decided to pass on the special that evening --1/2-price sparkling wine (which ended up meaning being charged only $6.50 for a glass of wine that normally cost $13.00, at least for two of my colleagues). So, when our cocktail waitress came to the table, I dutifully ordered a martini. Her next question, which is now commonplace, nevertheless was outrageous.

"Would you like gin or vodka?"

Excuse me?

I just ordered a MARTINI. A martini is a well-known cocktail that is made with vermouth and GIN. There is no such thing as a martini made with vodka. There is a drink that is made with vodka and vermouth. It is called a VODKA MARTINI. For all I know there are other drinks whose names indicate some alternative to gin, like a rum martini or a beer martini or a motor oil martini, but those are not MARTINIS. Why is it now necessary, when ordering a martini, to specify that one desires a drink made with the ingredients that come in, well, a martini? When I order an omelet, I don't specify that I want the chef to use hen eggs. If that seems like a bad example, how about fajitas? If your waitron requests a clarification as to whether you want beef or chicken, are you justified in reminding him that fajitas is a beef dish, as opposed to chicken fajitas, which is made with, um, chicken?

Okay, so you don't like martinis. What about a strawberry margarita? A banana daiquiri? Why don't you have to specify what kind of margarita you want when you order one of those cocktail pretenders? I believe, in Austin, the reason is that the bar usually has anywhere from 6 to 1,389 kinds of margaritas, and by the time your waiter finished reciting the varieties the bar would be closed. Nonetheless, there's no reason to make martini drinkers suffer just because there's a shorter list of drinks that sound like martini, but aren't martinis.

Why is this so important? Hell if I know.

Back to martinis. Jed Bartlett is right. "Shaken, not stirred" is a catchy phrase but a poor way to make martinis.

Oh, and when I did get my martini, it was outstanding. At $7.50, it should be.

I'm not bitter.

A diversion from grammar.

Tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day. I won't be around a computer, so I'm posting a day early. I will celebrate the day in my usual manner, by wearing red.

Don't you mean green, you say? No, red. Why on earth would someone wear red on St. Patrick's Day? You ask. Well, I'm not sure. But I will tell you what is not the reason.

It's not because the Arkansas Razorbacks, the team from my alma mater, wear red. And that on March 17, 1979, in the Midwest Regional Final in Cincinnati, Ohio, when they were playing Indiana State, Larry Bird tripped U.S. Reed on the inbounds pass on Arkansas' final possession, and that the referee called Reed for traveling rather than calling a foul on America's favorite college basketball player, and that ISU got the ball and won the game on that bad call, advancing to the Final Four, while Sidney Moncrief's collegiate career ended right there in Cincinnati.

The reason I know that's not the reason is that I've completely forgotten about that. Really. It doesn't bother me any more. I mean, that was 28 years ago. And I'm over it.

Prescriptive or Descriptive

There are two types of grammarians, or so I'm told. Actually, there's only one, but I'll get to that.

Types of grammars can be labeled either descriptive or prescriptive. A descriptive grammarian is one who writes rules for the usage of a language based on how he hears it being used by the people around him. A prescriptive grammarian writes rules based on how the language should be used, whether the people around him use it that way or not. A descriptive grammarian tells us how the world is; a prescriptive grammarian tells us how it should be.

Now, you already know I'm a grammar snob, so which type of grammar do you think I prefer? Prescriptive of course. For one thing, I couldn't care less how the people around me speak English. What if they're in the third grade, or illiterate? My high school German teacher, the beloved late Marty Deweese, once told her class of her earliest introduction to German, when she babysat a toddler for some friends of hers who were living in Germany at the time. She took the toddler on a train and he pointed at various farm animals and told her the names of each of them, in German. She was very excited to know these new German words, and repeated them to her friends when they returned. But she was crestfallen to discover that the new words she learned, translated into English, became "moo-cow" and "cluck-cluck bird" and "run-dog" and so forth. Imagine a descriptive grammar based on this three-year-old's vocabulary.

The difference between the three-year-old and some Americans is one of degree, not kind. So much has been written about the death of the semi-colon that I don't know why we still put one on computer keyboards, although it's probably useful to software engineers. I've already spoken about the transformation (read "degradation") of the word "loan" from a noun to a verb. Maybe that's a subtle point, but what about more widespread and egregious language abuses? There are large numbers of native English speakers in this country who would not see or hear a problem with the sentence "I seen him yesterday". Or "we was down at the store". A descriptive grammarian, writing a new textbook on sentence structure based on these sentences, would have no need for a chapter on noun-verb agreement. Now, she might argue that each speaker's meaning is perfectly clear. And, in fact, the speakers would be communicating. For example, someone who says "I seen him yesterday" has told me that he saw him yesterday. He's also told me that he's a hick. Usage does more than forward data to the listener; it conveys the education and sophistication of the speaker.

Of course, maybe part of the problem is we live in a time and society where education is no longer valued. When movable print was invented, the educated class (i.e., the clergy) worried that anyone could publish a book. The English language managed to survive that crisis (or, I should say, German did, but you get the point.) The invention of the typewriter was accompanied by a similar alarm, but language weathered the storm. Similarly, the electric typewriter, the word processor, the personal computer, and the laser printer made it easier for people with less and less education to produce documents with higher and higher visual appeal, even though they might be riddled with errors. But now we have blogs, and webpages, and people who either don't care about their atrocious spelling, grammar, usage, punctuation, or style, or don't realize how badly they write. "Descriptive" grammarians are of no use when it comes to correcting this backslide. Instead, in two decades the ideas of proper case, helping verbs, subject-verb agreement, and others will only be of interest to historians.

But not if the real grammarians have anything to say about it.

Due to the misuse of the word "due", this post has not been cancelled.

There is evidence to suggest that I am a grammar snob. I adhere to conventions that more prominent experts on usage no longer follow (wrongly, of course) because they are obsolete. Of course, they are obsolete because the ignorazzi fail to learn them in the first place, and their misuse and abuse of the language supplants perfectly acceptable practices adopted by persons with educations who have given the matter some thought. I guess, at bottom, I don't like the idea of the use of the English language being dictated by people who don't know how to speak English.

A good example (or bad one, depending on your perspective) is the noun "loan". It is a noun, not a verb. The verb is "to lend". One does not loan money; one lends money. (In my case, as in Polonius's, I do neither.) (If you don't know who Polonius is, quit reading this and go back to watching your NASCAR race.) But I am rather lonely in my opinion about the proper use of the word "loan", even though I am correct. Unfortunately, my mother (whose two degrees in English outnumber mine, by two), my best friend, most people I have asked, and the vast majority of dictionaries and usage guides I have consulted say it is absolutely fine to use the word "loan" as a noun. The fools.

Well, I draw the line at "due to".

As I sit here, I have a phone bill in my desk drawer. So, some of my money is now due to the phone company. There. That's the proper way to use the phrase "due to". It's not a phrase at all. "Due" is an adjective describing the word "money". "To" is the first word of a prepositional phrase modifying "due". Ta-da.

But no baseball game was ever cancelled due to rain. No informal community college class was ever cancelled due to lack of interest. No regularly scheduled program was ever interrupted due to a special news story. The phrase that is needed in each of these examples is "because of".

Or "attributable to", if you have to keep the word "to" in there.

ATTRIBUTABLE

We stand here to commemorate our recently departed singular male cow, able.
He lived in a barn where he had his own room, and his own portal. It was adorable.
He loved to put on his camoflauge suit. He was indefatigable.
Sometimes, he would wander around inside our stereo system. He was inconsolable.
But then he swallowed some dynamite. He was abominable.
Then the dynamite exploded. And he was noble.

Your use of "due to" is no worse.

Update: My mother, she of Ph. D. phame, informs me that she, too, has no use for those Philistines who insist on using loan as a verb, rather than a noun, as God intended. Well, she may not pheel as strongly about it as I do.

It's "its"

I don't understand why spelling, punctuation, grammar, and usage don't seem to matter anymore. There was a time when people took pride in their writing, and the ability to write well was one of the most important skills in professional occupations. Now, these things don't seem to matter at all. Well, I'm tired of that, so I'm going to write about it, even if no one does care. I'm going to start out with one of the most common mistakes -- and the easiest one to fix. And it's "its".

There are two, count them, two ways to spell words that sound like "itz". They are "it's" and "its". There is no good reason that these two words should be confused because the rule to choose between them is beyond easy to remember.

(1) The word that can be replaced by the two words "it is" is spelled "it's".

It's time for you to go home.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

(2) Otherwise, the word is spelled "its".

The cat is licking its paw.
The most prominent feature of the Capitol building is its dome.

If you want to remember that "its" is the possessive form for "it", that's fine. But you don't have to.

There. I feel much better.