March 10, 2011 · 7:42 am

Lookin’ good, sister

On March 9, 1959, the first Barbie doll was introduced, which makes the ol’ gal 52. I too was launched in 1959, later in the year, which makes us the same age.

Over the decades, Barbie’s clothing, hairstyles, accessories and cars have been updated with the times. The only thing about Barbie that hasn’t been updated is, well, Barbie. Granted, Barbie’s waist has been widened in more recent versions of the doll, but that’s about her only visible sign of middle age.

Barbie Turns 52

But for a modest abdominal spread, she’s still the same taut little thing she was 52 years ago. One might say she’s Mattel’s very own Dorian Gray.

If we’re the same age, where are her spider veins, bunions and silver roots? She’s obviously taken good care of herself, but she’s only human. Hasn’t she had kids? She might do more Jazzercise than the average doll, but still, where are the ripples around her c-section scar, or are they hidden under her little Barbie Spanx?

Isn’t it about time Mattel introduced Quinquagenarian Barbie, wearing tiny progressive lenses,  just to give today’s little girls a realistic image of life as it happens? With modern technology, I bet they could tint her face with a bright red glow that flashes on and off throughout the day. Battery-operated fan not included.

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March 9, 2011 · 7:56 am

RIP TI4 and WE6

Recently on this blog, several of us got into a side conversation, remembering telephone numbers from many decades ago. I suspect most of us don’t even bother to learn phone numbers any more; we just have them programmed into our mobile devices.

The first telephone number I ever learned—I still remember it—was CL6-2808. CL stood for Clearbrook. Back then, phone numbers had only seven characters, the first two letters standing for neighborhood exchanges. The second two phone numbers I memorized were TI4-1212 (844-1212) and WE6-1212 (936-1212). TI stood for “time” and WE stood for “weather.”

As kids, we used to call Time seconds before the stroke of the Daylight Saving Time switchover, just for kicks, so we could hear time go backward or skip ahead. Childhood’s tiny thrills.

Late last night a friend brought to my attention the sad news that, after 72 years, our local phone company will cease providing time and weather, effective the first of June. Apparently, among the last areas in which Verizon is cutting these basic lifelines is the Washington, D.C., metropolitan area (or, as the recording used to say, “Washington and vicinity,” which was the first I never heard the word “vicinity.”)

My friend who shared this news said the voice recording was one of her neighbors. This makes the news all the more disappointing.  Talk about the end of an era.

I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. The phone company claims we no longer need a free line to time and weather, that we already have innumerable devices through which to learn if we are running late or whether to put our sunglasses or rain boots by the front door. And they’re right, we have smart phones and computers to give us what we need.  Heck, I still wear a watch.

Still, there’s something about those pre-recorded voices and the two sets of seven digits indelibly printed in our memories that will make it so difficult to usher out yet another bygone era.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

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March 8, 2011 · 7:55 am

Stack’em high

Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Shrove Tuesday. Pancake Day. Sunset on Shrovetide. Whatever you call it—if you call it—it’s here. 

In many Christian denominations, tomorrow is the beginning of Lent, traditionally a season of fasting, prayer, reflection and a healthy measure of self-denial.

But tonight we feast. Whether attending a pancake supper in a church hall, as I will, or stumbling along Bourbon Street in one last bender, trading bare flesh for shiny plastic beads, as others will, this is our last hurrah.

The upcoming Lenten season may be for Christians, but nearly every religious faith seems to observe periods of solemnity and fasting, either preceded by or followed by fun and feasting.

For some people I know, Lent is do-over time for failed New Year’s resolutions. For others, it’s a slim-down for swimsuit season. For retailers, it’s a time for chocolate bunnies and marshmallow Peeps that have been out since February 15th to grow stale on the shelves, as Easter won’t come until April 24th.

I like Lent. In fact, this being one of the latest start dates I can remember, I am eager to get started. I don’t always give up one particular thing per se. I have a favorite daily devotional I’ll read. I’ll think twice before doing anything to excess. I’ll try to introduce more quiet into my day to listen for, well, I’m not sure.

I only today looked up “shrove” because I realized I had no idea what it meant. The first definition I saw said that it was the past tense of “shrive.” I didn’t know what that meant either. Another referred to Shrovetide, which was unfamiliar.

Shrove
1. n shrove, the first day of Shrovetide.
2. n Shrove Tuesday, the last day of Shrovetide, when people traditionally eat pancakes.
3. n Shrovetide, the three days before Ash Wednesday

Shrive [Shriven, imperfect or Shrove, past tense]
1. v to hear or receive the confession of; to administer confession and absolution to
2. v to confess, and receive absolution

Shrive, shrove, shriven, whatever. Aunt Jemima and I are stepping out tonight.

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March 7, 2011 · 7:37 am

In a nutshell

If you could fit your outlook on a bumper sticker, what would it say?

That might be an unfair question, but it’s fun to think about. A living epitaph of sorts, or simply your message to the world behind you.

I enjoy reading bumper stickers. It’s fun to speed up and see how drivers match their sayings.

We spent the weekend visiting our son in Boone, North Carolina, a funky college town about which I’ve told you before. Friday we took a stroll down King Street, had lunch at Our Daily Bread and checked out some of our favorite shops.

My husband’s favorite stop-in is Dancing Moon, a 1960s-style book store, filled with incense, new age music and reading on all things spiritual and counter-cultural. Dancing Moon smells (and, to some degree, feels) just like my childhood.

During our voyages to the Dancing Moon, my husband browses the shelves and chats with the proprietor, aptly a cross between George Carlin and Jerry Garcia. I retreat to my favorite corner in the back, where the bumper stickers are displayed. I pretend I have to select one that represents who I am.

I don’t affix stickers to my bumper. The peace sign magnet I had there at one time had attracted such ire—as well as comments that it was unpatriotic—that I removed it for a while.

I can’t say I was able to select just one bumper sticker on this trip, but here are a few that struck my fancy:

“All the freaky people make beauty in the world”
“Medically speaking, what harm does medical marijuana do to terminally ill patients?”
“Imagination is more important than knowledge”
“Consciousness: that annoying time between naps”
“When in doubt, shut up”
“The truly educated never graduate”
“Peace is patriotic”

What words appear on your life’s bumper sticker?

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March 5, 2011 · 8:21 am

A wicked good read

In December, I received the book Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West for my birthday. I had just seen the play and had heard the book upon which it was based was excellent.

It’s now March and I’m on page 28. At this rate, I’ll do well to finish the book before my next birthday.

This isn’t because I’m not enjoying Wicked. On the contrary, it’s because I am.

I like to read, but I don’t finish more than about two or three books a year. The better the book, the longer it takes me. Sure, I can polish off a Nora Roberts trilogy in one beach vacation. That’s like slurping up a triple scoop hot fudge sundae—no chewing involved, except for the crunchy sprinkles of guilty indulgence.

Newspapers, magazines and online news and opinion consume a healthy share of my reading.

Books are different. For me, a really good read isn’t always a page-turner. It’s not always a sundae. It’s a protracted dinner composed of superbly seasoned courses, savored slowly to appreciate each nuance. Like a good dish, a well-written sentence might hit the cranial taste buds with a burst of garlic, and leave a hint of smoked poblano on the back side.

The reason it’s taking me so long to read Wicked is that I am re-reading—and re-re-reading—each sentence. I enjoy each one so much that it pains me to move on.

To say author Gregory Maguire has a way with words is akin to saying Julia Child made a decent bowl of onion soup.

Let me feed you a few bites, just to whet your appetite:

“In the kitchen yard Malena floated gently, not with the normal gravity of pregnancy but as if inflated, a huge balloon trailing its strings through the dirt. She carried a skillet in one hand and a few eggs and the whiskery tips of autumn chives in the other.”

“In the minister’s lodge, Malena struggled with consciousness as a pair of midwives went in and out of focus before her. One was a fishwife, the other a palsied crone.”

“’Look, a rainbow,’ said the senior, bobbing her head. A sickly scarf of colored light hung on the sky.”

“After the double blow of the birth and his public embarrassment, he was not yet up to professional engagements and sat whittling praying beads out of oak, scoring and inscribing them with emblems of the Namelessness of God.”

“Malena, groggy from pinlobble leaves as usual, arched an eyebrow in confusion.”

Hungry?

Watch for a full review, likely around year’s end.

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March 4, 2011 · 8:32 am

Oh happy day

Greetings, salutations and best wishes for the most festive of National Grammar Day celebrations.

How will you honor the occasion, after digesting your daily dose of Word Nymph, of course?

My personal observance of the day involved entering a copy editing contest sponsored by one of my favorite resources, Copyediting, whose tagline is “because language matters.” Amen.

The contest closed at 9:00 a.m. yesterday. Now I wait for winners to be announced. Make that “Now I wait for Copyediting to announce the winners.” Active voice.

This past year we have celebrated National Punctuation Day and National Dictionary Day together, so it’s only fitting that we be together online today. Be, present subjunctive.

We come to this place throughout the year to ask questions, admit our faults and, yes, occasionally, to preach. We laugh at the idiocies of language, at each other and at ourselves.

This reminds me of the motto of my church, which begins with “We welcome the faithful, the seeker and the doubter.” At the risk of being irreverent, and/ or breaking the eighth commandment, I think it applies in this place as well.

Word Nymph invites you to honor this day by celebrating the notion that language does indeed matter. None of us is born knowing language. Is, singular. We learn to communicate as children and we continue to learn as adults. We believe, we seek, we doubt. And I like to think we have good fun in the process.

Happy National Grammar Day. May the occasion bring us all continued thirst for delightful language.

Oh, and if I win that copy editing contest, I’m taking my Quick Check Editorial Reference Cards and heading out for a wild time.

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March 3, 2011 · 7:38 am

Extreme fundraising

What’s the wackiest event held in your home town?

Where I live, it would be a near three-way tie among the Kensington Labor Day Parade and Festival, the Fourth of July Bike Parade and the Burrito Mile relay, with the Burrito in the lead.

My son ran the Burrito Half-Mile relay in high school. I had forgotten about it until yesterday, when our community paper ran a front-page story about this year’s race. It’s good to know it’s still alive as a fundraiser for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and funny that I should see the story after returning from dinner at Chipotle.

Being a contestant in the Burrito relay—or a spectator for that matter—isn’t for the faint of heart. Or the weak of stomach.

We all know that, in a typical relay race, the first runner takes a baton and runs around the track the required number of times, then hands the baton to the second runner, who runs and hands it off to the third runner and so on, until the fourth runner, or anchor, crosses the finish line.

My son ran track all four years of high school, so relays were a way of life for him, his friends and us. We never missed a meet. It stood to reason, then, that we’d take our place in the stands at the first Burrito relay held at Walter Johnson, our son’s high school and the first to host the fundraiser. WJ no longer officially supports the race for health reasons; I’ll get to that in a minute.

Here’s how it works. Each player brings a one-pound Chipotle or Qdoba burrito to the race, to serve as his or her baton.

When the gun goes off, each team’s starting runner first eats his burrito and then runs the first leg of the race, carrying the burrito of his teammate in position #2, which he hands off to #2 after running his one- or half-mile leg. Runner #2 scarfs his burrito, and runs his leg, carrying #3’s burrito and so on.

As with a conventional relay race, the fastest team wins. In the Burrito, eating speed is as important as running speed. Vomiting ensues—at the finish line, during the race and, potentially, in the stands.

Considering the prevalence of eating disorders among teens, one might see why a high school principal wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole, or a baton, or a one-pound burrito.

Following the event last Saturday, The Gazette noted that the record-holder, Greg Wegner, ran the whole 4-by-800-meter relay by himself last year. “At the time, he set the record when he ate four burritos over the course of a two-mile run and finished in 51 minutes and 10 seconds.” It further states that Wegner survived a ruptured brain aneurysm and stroke at the age of three. I suppose any challenge after that would be a minor hurdle.

I ask again, what wacky–and newsworthy–events go on in your community?

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March 2, 2011 · 7:43 am

The skinny on pants

Ladies and gentlemen, have you bought your skimmers yet?

For the uninitiated, as I was until yesterday, skimmers are the new pants length. Translation:  too short.

Ladies, skimmers are the spring sequel to jeggings. They’re much longer than last decade’s Capris and slightly longer than last year’s crops, but awkwardly shorter than full length pants.

Gentlemen, a fashion expert on one of the morning news programs did say recently that even men would be wearing the new length this season. I can’t wait to see how you adapt to this.

This early in the season, the new styles look utterly ridiculous. I bought three pairs.

For the benefit of readers who haven’t yet ventured into stores for their spring fashions, I thought it might be helpful to provide a little overview of this year’s pants scene, or at least my observations anyway, so you can approach the stores with a reasonable expectation.

First, the lingo. GAP is pushing something called the Broken-in Skimmer. This means intentionally wrinkled and too short. The first thing I did when I got mine home was iron the dickens out of them.

The pants-centric GAP is also featuring the Skinny Cargo, the Skinny Camo and the Skinny Twill, as well as the Pure Body Foldover Drawstring Pant and the Tapered Boyfriend Pant. (For an early Nymph musing on the boyfriend craze and other fashion nonsense, see Fashion Nonsense.)

J. Crew is pushing us to show off our ankles as well, with the Cammy Pant, the Day-tripper Pant, the Pipette Cargo Pant, the Canteen Pant, the Bistro Pant, the Café Capri and my favorite, the Broken-in Boyfriend Pant. I trust this means last year’s boyfriend is now fully broken in; translation: wrinkled.

Now allow me to desensitize you to a frightening fashion comeback, just so you aren’t visibly shocked when you walk in the store. As I feared would one day happen, Mom pants are back. Remember these?

Well, they’re alive and well at H&M, complete with the nine-inch zipper, ample front pleats and elastic waist, ready to be given a good home on your backside. What’s next, the perm?

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March 1, 2011 · 8:56 am

Slang dunk

Here’s a little quiz. In Paul Simon’s song, is “Me and Julio down by the school yard” grammatically correct? The answer: It depends.

This isn’t a post about song lyrics peppered with poor grammar; we’ve already covered that. But let’s take a lesson from me and Julio.

It’s frustrating for us wordies to stand by and witness blatantly bad grammar sliding by as accepted slang. Where are the authorities?

Many parents have given up on correcting children who say “Me and Brittany are going to the mall.” No one is around to apprehend young adults, having graduated from prestigious universities, who say “Me and Justin went out last night.” It seems a lost cause, gone the way of “where are you at?”

That’s because such horrendous violations have gone colloquial. They’re trendy. They’re socially accepted. Some may think they’re cute, but they’re wrong and no one’s doing anything about it.

Assuming anyone cared enough to take this on as a cause, there’s one caution–let’s be careful not to allow history to repeat itself. Many of us learned long ago that “me and [anyone]” is wrong. The truth is that it’s wrong only half of the time. The problem is that some people who took this lesson literally as children are now committing an equally egregious violation as adults. Just as “Me and Brittany went to the mall” is incorrect, so is “She sent the invitation to John and I.” (“Me” is the object and “I” is the subject; it’s that easy.)

I’d like to issue three simple pleas to parents: One, don’t let your babies of whatever age get away with beginning a sentence with “Me and…” Two, don’t let your babies believe that “me” is inherently bad. Three, take the time to teach your children the difference between subjective (or nominative) and objective pronouns. I’d rather hear a kid say, “My Mom took me and Brittany to the mall” (which is technically correct) than “My Mom took Brittany and I to the mall,” which is not.

Still confused? That’s okay. Here’s a place to start if you need a primer. 

Just between you and me, in the context of the song, I think “me and Julio” is correct. We’ll discuss why in the comments, if need be.

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February 28, 2011 · 9:04 am

The award goes to…

Last night’s Academy Awards  can be summed up in one word: “amazing.”

I’m not talking about the production or the fashions or the performances. I’m talking about the word I’m voting most overused.

Heard on the red carpet:

“This is an amazing night.”
“You have an amazing figure.”
“We’re going to have an amazing time.”
“It’s great to be in the company of these amazing actors.”
“Just look at all these amazing people.”
“You look amazing.”
“Your earrings are amazing.”

I’ve noticed this adjective with an appropriately limited definition has gone epidemic (so has “viral;” that’s why I say “epidemic.”). But if there were any doubt, all anyone would have to do to confirm the diagnosis is watch the Oscars.

The awards program itself was sprinkled with “amazing.” Admittedly, I’d find just being in the Kodak Theatre on such an occasion amazing. So I’ll cut some slack to those who say it feels amazing to be up on that stage to receive a statue.

My point is, let’s save “amazing” for the truly amazing, as we’ve talked about doing with other overused adjectives. Not for earrings.

This morning’s online headlines illustrate this point.

“Jennifer Hudson is amazing in orange at the Oscars”
Oscars: Amazing gowns offer red-carpet options”
Oscars Best Dressed! Check out the Amazing Academy Awards (this one also notes how amazing Celine Dion looks post-twins.)

I even found a recipe for “Amazing Academy Award-winning Appetizers.” How amazing can a pig in a blanket be, unless perhaps it involves a live pig?

Even the JCPenney commercials played along last night: “We make it affordable; you make it amazing.”

Amazing.

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