September 11, 2010 · 8:42 am

Weird news day

I don’t tweet much. Once a day or so, just to blast out blog updates.

On Twitter, I follow more than am followed. I follow 26 people and only 15 follow me. I really must do something about this.

The reason I follow most of the tweeters I do is to get information. While it might be mildly relevant to know where someone is lunching, I am more interested in newsier Tweets. These often include items that don’t make the major newspapers, are written with esoteric angles or are relevant to narrow industry sectors. Or they’re just plain funny. Those I follow are publications mostly—The New Yorker, Fast Company, Vanity Fair, Advertising Age, Politico. Freaknomics puts out good stuff. I’ll make another pitch here for Fake AP Stylebook.

One night recently, as I was scrolling the latest Tweets before bed,  the most bizarre collection of headlines jumped off the screen.

I wondered how these would look to someone having just awakened from a decade or two of hyperbaric sleep and wanted to catch up on the latest developments in fashion, politics, the environment, cable news or travel. Then again, Twitter in and of itself might buckle the brain of anyone who’s been out of touch for, say, 10 years.

Here is just a sample of the headlines I read within in just five minutes’ time:

New York Fashion Week to Include Designer Sex Toys

Barbara Boxer aide charged with possession of pot

China Beats U.S. to First Offshore Wind Farm

Scandal Glossary: The Complicated Past of Piers Morgan, Larry King’s Replacement

Airport “Naked” Body Scanners Get Privacy Upgrade to Anonymize Your Naughty Bits

Pinch me; I must still be dreaming.

Please remember, there are no blog updates on Sundays. I’ll be opening the Sunday paper with caution.

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September 10, 2010 · 7:53 am

No skein, no gain

All this week, the Today show has been running a series in which the hosts revisit their first jobs. Whether delivering newspapers, babysitting, cleaning pet store cages, stocking grocery shelves or teaching dance, hosts shared what drew them into their first jobs and what challenges and rewards they had experienced. Some even talked about how much they were paid.

What was your first job? What obstacles did you overcome and what reward did you reap?

I too was a babysitter for years, from age 12 up until the day I got engaged. Even in college, I used to line up my New Years Eve gigs well in advance. Even though my wage at retirement was $3 an hour, I did what most highly paid nannies did and more.

Aside from that, though, my very first job was working as a bus girl at a hotel restaurant in Virginia Beach. I cleared dirty dishes and cleaned tables for a dollar an hour plus tips. Only there were no tips.

My second job was at a place called—you’ll love the name—VIP Yarns. Why did I choose to work there? Because I didn’t have a car and I could walk to the store. In an early Word Nymph post, I talked about what happened when I lied and told them I knew how to do all kinds of needlework. That was probably the last lie I ever told. Actually the story is that, once I realized I needed actual skills, I asked my friend’s nine-year-old sister, who had just gotten a Girl Scout merit badge for needlecraft, to teach me. Thank you, Little Susie Lewis, wherever you are.

Thinking back, I wonder if breathing in all those yarn fibers contributed to my battle with chronic bronchitis. Or my 30-year battle with crafts.

I was the youngest employee at that VIP Yarns store, by about 40 years. And just for the record, I wasn’t fired. I was part of a 20 percent reduction in force, when the store went from five employees down to four. There went $2.35 an hour.

We’ll just say I never attained VIP status.

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September 9, 2010 · 8:07 am

Bedtime reading

We haven’t reminisced in a couple of weeks. What say we remember the books we enjoyed long ago, either as children or as parents to our children, nieces or nephews?

The best children’s books range from inane and singsong-y to eloquently poetic, from plain and shallow mush to profound allegory. I believe they all can produce lasting childhood memories.

I confess, I never did get the ever-popular Goodnight Moon. Oh, we had it—two copies—but I just didn’t get it. Still don’t. I’ve got nothing against Margaret Wise Brown, but The Runaway Bunny was more up my alley. I loved the images of the mother bunny convincing her baby that he’d never get away from her. When the baby bunny decided that running away was futile (because he had a stalker for a Mom, perhaps?), the book ended with the mother Bunny simply saying, “Have a carrot.”

My mother read to me a lot. One book I fondly remember being read to me was Dr. Seuss’s Sleep Book. The words are typical Seuss – rhythmic and rhyming and clever enough, I suppose, which is fine because his illustrations stand on their own. He could draw a yawn, droopy eyelid or a happy head on a fluffy pillow so vividly that young readers such as I could barely stay awake to the end. I had forgotten how many of the illustrations I had remembered until I read the Sleep Book to my son. Even then I would nod off. In fact, I think I’ll move the copy I just dug up from the basement to my nightstand. You might want to do the same. Buy it if you have to; it’s better than Ambien.

Other children’s books I enjoyed reading to my son were Bill Martin, Jr.’s and Eric Carle’s Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear? (I hear a hippopotamus snorting in my ear) and Bears in the Night by Stan and Jan Berenstain. Do you know it? It’s not only extremely suspenseful but full of prepositions:  Under the bridge, Around the lake, Between the rocks, Through the woods, Out of the window, Down the tree, Over the wall, Under the bridge, Around the lake, Between the rocks, Through the woods, Up Spook Hill! Whoooo!

Not surprisingly, my son and I, both shoe freaks, wore out our copy of Shoes by Elizabeth Winthrop. He called it “Shoes by Elizabeth Winthrop.”

My son had more children’s books than any child I know. While he bought two Shel Silversteins with his own money, his favorite was still Go, Dog, Go! by P.D. Eastman. Do you like my hat? I do not like that hat. Good bye. Good bye. If ever you thought children’s books could be appreciated at face value and not overanalyzed for hidden meanings, think again. Go to a website called Goodreads, scroll down to Community Reviews and see the existential side of Go, Dog, Go!

I’ll close with a ditty from another favorite, Ride a Purple Pelican by Jack Prelutsky, whose poetry is unparalleled, at least on the bookcase in our basement.

One day in Oklahoma on a dusty country road

I heard a handsome ermine serenade a rosy toad,

I saw a hungry rabbit munch on lettuce  à la mode

One day in Oklahoma on a dusty country road.

I could go on and on but why don’t you join me? Favorite books? Favorite passages? Favorite memories of reading as a child? Was there one book you didn’t care for but your child always wanted to read?

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September 8, 2010 · 8:13 am

Painful contraction

I have long wondered about the phrase “aren’t I?” As contractions go, it runs afoul of the norm and this bothers me.

It was only recently that it bugged me enough to do some digging.

Logic would dictate that the proper phrase be “am I not?” But how would it be contracted?

“Are you not?”  is really “are not you?”and is contracted as “aren’t you?” This makes sense.

But here’s the problem. “Are” does not agree with “I” in a sentence. “Am” does:  I am. I am not. Am I not? Am not I? So then why not “amn’t I?”

Well, I consulted a lot of sources, and each took me deeper into obscurity.

This might not be the absolute truth, but what I gleaned from all I read is that “aren’t I” is incorrect but accepted. Just like plenty of words and phrases we’ve talked about here.

It also seems that, at one time, “amn’t I?” may actually have been considered correct in contemporary Scottish-English as an informal contraction of “am I not?”

Further, some say “ain’t” may have first come about as an attempt to contract “am I not” and later became used colloquially in lieu of “are not” and “has not.” Ain’t that something?

There is also a theory that “amn’t” made appearances as “an’t” in 18th century texts but, when pronounced by the British, sounded more like “ahnt” and later became “aren’t.”

I’ll bet there are readers who know the answer to this mystery and would be willing to share it with the rest of us.

Aren’t I just opening up a can of worms?

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September 7, 2010 · 8:08 am

Leaders of tomorrow

In the interest of full disclosure, this post is recycled.

Last year about this time, our local Gazette newspaper issued a call for readers’ stories involving memories of the first day of school. These would be published on the day after Labor Day, even though our school systems here begin just before the holiday. Having vivid memories from all of my first days of school, I immediately sent one in. The day before the submittals were to be printed, I received an e-mail from the feature editor. I’ve scoured my computer unsuccessfully for that message, but it said something to the effect of: “Dear Ms. Welch, thank you for the piece you submitted for our first day of school feature. We found it to be very good but, unfortunately, yours was the only one we received. Therefore, we have chosen not to run the feature.”

Considering this is the day after Labor Day and, for many, the start of a new year, I thought it appropriate–and efficient–to recycle this memory. It’s especially meaningful to me because this is the first year I haven’t had a child starting classes. Anyway, here it is:

From a young age, I remember my father’s exuberance on the first day of school. Every year, he shared his passion for learning in a motivational speech at the bus stop, which happened to be in front of our house.  

“You are the Leaders of Tomorrow,” he shouted, charging us to “go out into the world and learn, learn, learn so you can earn, earn, earn!” The booming oration probably lasted 30 seconds but, to me, seemed like an eternity, each phrase pounding me deeper into embarrassment. My schoolmates, amused by my father’s performance, looked forward to the ritual. But every year, on the night before the first day of school, the dread disturbed my sleep. 

As I grew older, circumstances changed, we moved, there was no longer a central bus stop, but the Leaders of Tomorrow message never failed to reach me in some form or fashion. Eventually, Leaders of Tomorrow was shortened to L.O.T., but I always knew what it meant—how can one miss an enormous  L.O.T. placard on the lawn? Even at college, my father found creative ways of getting his L.O.T. greeting to me on the first day of classes.  

I had the first grandchild 21 years ago. Each year from kindergarten through high school, there was always an L.O.T. surprise awaiting my son on our front porch, often pre-orchestrated when my father was out of town, even out of the country. An L.O.T. even reached my son on his first day of college in North Carolina. 

Now I rise with excitement on the first day of school, step out of my empty nest onto the porch and watch little ones “go out into the world,” as my father would say. And I breathe in the exuberance.

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September 6, 2010 · 8:51 am

It’s a wrap

It seems like just yesterday that I was taking out my whites for the summer and extolling the virtues of summer clothing etiquette. Here it is already Labor Day, a day when putting the whites back in the attic until next Memorial Day is but one holiday ritual of many, around here anyway.

Another Labor Day ritual, as far back as I can remember, is checking in throughout the weekend with Jerry Lewis and cheering on his efforts to raise money for Muscular Dystrophy research. I think it’s great that he’s still at it. Where I grew up, Labor Day also meant taking one final swim in the neighborhood pool and heading home to dread the start of a new school year.

Where I live now, in Kensington, Maryland, four miles over the D.C. line, Labor Day is huge. The last time I checked, the Town of Kensington’s Labor Day Parade had the acclaim of being the largest small-town parade in the state. The parade spotlights our local businesses and scout troops, beauty queens and politicians. And in an election year such as this, the politicians might even outnumber the marching bands. We even have an occasional protester.

Among scores of floats carrying our local hip hop teams and square dancers, garage bands and artisans, we can always count on seeing best-selling author and quirky television commentator Matthew Lesko, who works under the moniker The Free Money Guy. Can’t place him? He appears on TV in a suit covered in neon question marks. His car is painted in the same pattern.

You might know Kensington. We were hit tragically by the 2002 snipers, and in 2001 we received national news coverage when our mayor banned Santa Claus from the Town’s annual tree lighting ceremony, only to be stormed by hundreds of Santa-clad protestors, most of whom rode in on Harleys.

We’ve been a town since 1894 which, coincidentally, is the year Labor Day became an official national holiday. So I’m off this morning for the parade, then to the closet for the end-of-summer ritual and finally, to the television for the traditional telethon finale, “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”

Then I’ll officially call it a summer.

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September 4, 2010 · 10:34 am

Difficult breakup

Today is my first day without coffee since 1975.

After a beautiful 35-year friendship, I am going to try and break it off.

Without dwelling too much on my health issues of late, let’s just leave it that I’ve come to terms with the reality that the painfully strict diet my doctor has prescribed may actually help me. The flip side of this reality is that I can no longer have any of the beverages I like—including coffee, orange juice, milk, sparkling water, beer or wine. I also can’t have 90 percent of the foods I enjoy, which amount to about 95 percent of the foods in existence on the planet. Basically, if it’s acidic, or acid-producing, I can’t have it.

I am on Day 11 of almost total compliance. The final step is the coffee. Luckily, I don’t need to give up caffeine altogether, and I can have limited kinds of tea.

Even so, people battling addictions often say the substance itself is only part of the challenge. It’s the ritual that’s difficult to give up.

I’ve always said I could give up wine before I could give up coffee.

But it’s not about the caffeine. Coffee is my morning companion. I awake to its aroma. A mug of the warm elixir helps me greet the day with hope and enthusiasm. It goes so well with the newspaper.

I ask for your patience. If you see a mistake in the blog, or sense a more subdued tone than normal, please be kind. Remember I’ve just lost my best friend.

Remember there’s no blog tomorrow. I’ll be curled up with the Sunday paper and a steaming mug of hot water. I can’t even have lemon.

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September 3, 2010 · 9:16 am

Apostrophe awareness

It was a sign. Literally.

I had apostrophe abuse on the brain, after my next door neighbor had sent me an entertaining video on the topic, along with a message asking, “Will this be the next Schoolhouse Rock?” Who can forget this 1970s classic? Wasn’t everyone’s favorite “Conjunction Junction, what’s your function?” Or did you prefer “Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, Get Your Adverbs Here?”

We’ve talked so much, maybe too much, about apostrophe abuse lately. Still, it’s epidemic. As I considered whether to wax critical on this overdone topic yet again, I saw a sign. 

While taking a walk yesterday afternoon, The Apostrophe Song bouncing in my head, I almost literally stumbled on this placard, as if it had come up to greet me.

Considering I believe in signs, I knew this one was telling me to share the video my neighbor had shared. I think of it as a public service announcement of sorts, increasing awareness of an abuse that still goes unchallenged and giving us the tools to fight it.

It turns out that the video was produced by Adelaide, Australia-based company Cool Rules, which produces learning tools for children. If you’re looking for an easy way to remember when the apostrophe is appropriate and when it is not, or need a fun way to teach others, or even if you just like a catchy tune, give it a listen. And if you don’t care for the pop version, Cool Rules also offers the ditty in hip hop, rock and acoustic varieties.

It’ll make you nostalgic for Schoolhouse Rock.

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September 2, 2010 · 8:57 am

Mind your manners

This may not come as much of a surprise, but I am kind of an etiquette geek.

I defer to conventions and rules established so long ago that, in modern times, they might seem outmoded.

While some rules of etiquette might seem superfluous, in my mind, most are in place for much the same reason Emily Post or Miss Manners might argue—that they preserve civilized co-existence with our fellow humans. My words, not theirs, but you get the gist.

One realm in which greater awareness of etiquette is sorely needed is air travel. A quick Internet search revealed more than a dozen sites addressing air travel etiquette, so people and institutions are definitely spreading the word.

Mostly these sites address the obvious:  don’t kick the seat in front of you, don’t throw trash on the floor of the plane, don’t try and repack your suitcase before hefting it into the overhead bin while 75 passengers wait in the aisle behind you.

As a seasoned business traveler, I do not intend to be a snob; in fact, I go out of my way to be helpful to those who aren’t so accustomed.

However, I do believe just a few simple acts of civility would ease an already tense process; or at least keep us from wanting to mutilate each other with the tweezers that eluded security.

  1. Please dress appropriately. Whether in the gate area or a cramped coach cabin, we can’t avoid extreme closeness. So we should not be forced to look at the bare-fleshed, hairy legs or the unpedicured toes of strangers. Ladies and gentlemen alike, when you sit down, your shorts ride up. Most of us were brought up to dress for travel; I’d wear white gloves if I could find them to fit my freakishly large hands. Please save the shorts and flip-flops for your beach destination.
  2. Walk as you would drive, on the right side of the concourse. If you feel the need to stop cold, please pull off to the side. You wouldn’t stop your car in the middle of the freeway without pulling over to the shoulder. The pedestrian behind you, trying to make it from Gate A2 to Gate E58 in 10 minutes’ time, may rear-end you right in the knees.
  3. Do you really need to bring your bed pillow? I understand if you have a small pillow for your orthopedic need or a support cushion around your neck. People have told me they take their own pillows when they travel because they don’t trust the cleanliness of hotel pillows. So now when you get to your hotel, your pillow will be encrusted in airplane cooties.  Plus, it makes you look like a goofball.
  4. The universal armrest rule:  the one on the right is yours.
  5. If you notice someone sleeping during the boarding announcements, please tap her on the shoulder.

Please note:  Word Nymph is currently combining business with pleasure. Her pleasure accommodations have technological limitations that may inhibit timely blogging. Perhaps there’s a local Panera.

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September 1, 2010 · 7:10 am

Word mixer

(I wish I had thought of that as a blog name.)

Do you know that game where you change one letter of a word to make a new word? It’s played everywhere from kindergaren to the Internet.

I’d like to try a variation, in which replacing a letter in a word makes its use in a sentence correct.

For example:

Incorrect:  wind one’s way home. Correct:  wend one’s way home. Unless the way is winding, we’re wending. Some say “wend” has become obsolete but, until it’s off life support, it’s correct in my book.

Incorrect:  hone in on the problem. Correct:  home in on the problem. We hone (sharpen) our skills so we can better home in on our prey. I am surprised at how many serious publications misuse “hone.”

Incorrect:  He yields a lot of influence. True, perhaps; but before he can yield it, he must wield it. 

For a slight varation on the game, insert three letters, take out one:  “I’m not one to mix words.” I am! But when I want to be polite and diplomatic, I “mince” them. Otherwise, I just serve ’em up whole.

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