Scattershot

Cranky language stuff

As I have mentioned before, I have accepted the fact that it is impossible to go into a store today and not hear the annoying phrase "these ones." I recognize that the phrase is becoming firmly entrenched in our language, and I'm trying hard to adjust.

That's why I was taking mental deep breaths the other day as I looked for glove liners, and the sales person pointed out "these ones here" and "these ones here" and "these ones here." I did not blurt, "These! you mean these, not these ones!"

I was congratulating myself on my self control when I heard, across the aisle, a mother trying to get her child to decide between snow boots. "Do you like these ones or these ones?" she said. "Or do you like these ones better?"

And then something else the mother said caught my attention: "Come on. Do you want these or no?"

Hmmm. "Do you want these or no?" instead of "Do you want these or not?" I realized then that I'd heard that construction several times recently. I speculated that it might come from mashing "yes or no" with "want it or not" and coming up with "want it or no."

I heard the "or no" phrase a number of times over the course of the next few days. More turkey, or no? Is it going to snow, or no? Should we add more onions, or no?

Now I'm curious. Is this a new language trend, or has it been around forever and I'm just now getting around to noticing it? I'd like to hear from you: Is it new, or no?

Moose names

Someone once told me that we should never name an animal or an object. Instead, we should try to figure out what the name already is.

I find that notion intriguing. Are some things easy to name only because we’ve simply hit upon the name that already belongs to them in some cosmic sense?

Yesterday, for example, my husband and I were skiing, and suddenly he stopped, put his fingers to his lips in a “shhhhh” gesture, and motioned me to come forward quietly. There, on the other side of the small bowl, were two gigantic moose. Their racks were enormous and shiny, as if they had been polished. They actually gleamed in the sunshine. It was an awesome sight—awesome in the traditional, not slangy, sense of the word.

On the way home, I started calling the moose Felipe and Myron. I didn’t have to think about it. It just seems that their names are Felipe and Myron.

Some things are easy to name, and some are not. Maybe the easy ones are simply a discovery, not a naming. I drove Vivian Volkswagen for years, and it seems that her name was Vivian from the moment I got her. My follow-up car, though, a nondescript used Oldsmobile Firenza, resisted every attempt to name her. It seems that she just didn’t have the personality for it. But then I mentioned my new car to an acquaintance, and he said, “Oh, the PTA mom’s car out there? That’s yours?” Forevermore, she became “The PTA Mom’s Car.”

I grew up on a farm with many dogs, and one of them was always called “The Dog.” We tried to call him by his name, “George,” but it never stuck. He was always “The Dog.” Maybe the problem was that “George” wasn’t really his name.  Maybe he was really, at heart, a “Charlie” or a “Spike” and we just didn’t know it.

Now I’m wondering about my Subaru. I’ve been calling it “The Subaru”—such a cold thing to call such a friendly car with such wonderful heated seats. I suspect that it’s giving me hints as to its identity, and I just need to pay more attention. Someday it will let me know its name.

 

Too much of a good thing

Grammar rules can drive a person crazy. By "a person," I mean me. I'm going a bit crazy.

A company has hired me to write grammar lessons on a variety of specific topics. As I review all the material I can find on each topic, digest it, and then try to turn it into interesting, clear lessons, I find myself thinking of rules, rules, rules all the time. I usually write first drafts fairly easily, but now my fingers are hesitating over certain pronouns, certain verbs, certain constructions. "Wait. Am I doing this correctly?" I'll wonder. Everything I write is now suspect. I find myself examining rules I internalized years ago and wondering if I've somehow got them wrong.

For example, I just used the word "got." Should it have been "gotten"? And didn't a teacher once tell me I should avoid the word "got" altogether? And what about the "and" I've just used to begin the last two sentences? Should I remove the "ands" because some sticklers object to starting sentences with coordinating conjunctions? Such self-scrutiny can be paralyzing.

It makes me wonder how kids must feel when they are bombarded with grammar rules at the same time that they are taking tentative steps toward learning to express themselves well on paper. Too much grammar too soon can be paralyzing and counterproductive.

That's why I'm trying to make the grammar materials I write as friendly as possible. I definitely don't want young writers to freeze up the way I have been.