June 9, 2010 · 7:13 am

Joined at the unbelted waist

If ever I was tempted to ask a stranger’s permission to snap a photograph, it was yesterday morning.  I still regret not doing so.  Definitely my loss–and yours. 

I had just taken a seat on the shuttle bus to an early plane when I saw a tall, well-dressed man boarding the bus.  I looked down for a split second, looked up and saw him getting on the bus, again.  Déjà vu?  I rubbed my eyes and shook my head and wished for a second cup of coffee.

I got on the plane and found my seat. 

I saw the same man, I’d say he was between 45 and 50 years old, walking down the aisle.  He was tall, wore a very good charcoal micro-plaid suit, a starched white shirt, gold cufflinks, odd-looking large-framed glasses and a bright red silk tie with a windowpane design and yellow accents.

Right behind him was another man, between 45 and 50.  He was tall, wore a very good charcoal micro-plaid suit, a starched white shirt, gold cufflinks, odd-looking large-framed glasses and a bright red silk tie with a windowpane design and yellow accents.

The two men found their seats across the aisle and one row back from me, but before they sat side by side, each took off his suit coat.  I confirmed the identical designer suits, shirts, ties, cufflinks, pocket squares, glasses, shoes and haircuts.  I strained my neck trying to compare the monograms on their identical French cuffs.

They had identical faces.  They were 45-year-old identical twins.  Dressed identically.

Then, as the suit coats came off, I saw that one was wearing red suspenders and the other, yellow.  Clearly, they were expressing their individuality.  In identical ways.

The plane took off.  As I looked over my shoulder, I was almost willing to risk air safety and turn on my camera phone, just to capture it—two oversized men, seated tightly side by side in Row 6 of a puddle jumper, impeccably and identically dressed, discussing college baseball.  And then, at exactly the same time, they fell asleep, their heads dipped forward, chins resting on their identical red silk ties.

Oh, to know their story.

The only clue they provided — each carried on board a paper shopping bag.  One from Brooks Brothers, the other, from the Supreme Court gift shop.

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June 8, 2010 · 5:26 am

Snap crackle pop

They’re everywhere.   In your bowl of Rice Krispies.  In comic strips.  On Old McDonald’s farm.

What are they?

Onomatopoeias (and there is some question about whether that is its correct plural form) are words that sound like their meanings.  Oink, chirp, meow.  Wham, pow, boom.  Jingle, zip, splash.  Crunch, slurp, hiccup.

Originating from a Greek word meaning “word-making,” onomatopoeias are great tools for adding texture to writing or speech.  And kids love ’em.   As school lets out for the year, coming up with clever onomatopeias could be a fun summer game for your youngsters at home.

Wordies of all ages should enjoy these lyrics by Todd Rundgren.  John Prine recorded an otomatopoeia song as well but I don’t care much for it.

Onomatopoeia by Todd Rundgren

Onomatopoeia every time I see ya
My senses tell me hubba
And I just can’t disagree
I get a feeling in my heart that I can’t describe
It’s sort of lub, dub, lub, dub
A sound in my head that I can’t describe
It’s sort of zoom, zip, hiccup, drip
Ding, dong, crunch, crack, bark, meow, whinnie, quack

Onomatopoeia in proximity ya
Rearrange my brain in a strange cacophony
I get a feeling somewhere that I can’t describe
It’s sort of uh, uh, uh, uh
A sound in my head that I can’t describe
It’s sort of whack, whir, wheeze, whine
Sputter, splat, squirt, scrape
Clink, clank, clunk, clatter
Crash, bang, beep, buzz
Ring, rip, roar, retch
Twang, toot, tinkle, thud
Pop, plop, plunk, pow
Snort, snuk, sniff, smack
Screech, splash, squish, squeak
Jingle, rattle, squeal, boing
Honk, hoot, hack, belch…

Do you have a favorite?

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June 7, 2010 · 7:53 am

Bee proud

You can have your baseball.   You can have your American Idol.  I’ll take a good spelling competition any day.

The National Spelling Bee.  That’s entertainment.  And it takes place right here in town.

Bee Week is my World Series.  And Bee 2010 did not disappoint.  At least that’s what I read.  Instead of watching the final round Friday night I was at, ahem, a baseball game.

How can you not love a spelling bee?  There are no drunk spectators, it’s a civilized show of preparation and skill and you just want to hug the contestants.  The person giving the words is called the pronouncer, reason enough to love this sport.  And if they broadcast it on ESPN, it’s a sport, no?

This year’s Scripps National Spelling Bee boasted a record 273 spellers ranging in age from 8 to 15 years.

This year’s winner was 14-year-old Anamika Veeramani, from Ohio, who correctly spelled “stromuhr” in the final round.  Just to get to the final, she and other youngsters had to correctly spell words like confiserie, ochidore and leishmanic—and do so with poise and composure under the pressure of live television, bright lights and the presence of fierce competition for a national prize.

These kids today.

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June 5, 2010 · 8:41 am

Root root root

You might have noticed one topic that hasn’t been written about in this place:  sports.

That’s because I am uncomfortable writing about things I don’t know anything about.  When the topic comes up in conversation, I can usually get by with an observational nod or hmmm, then I excuse myself to the ladies room.  My lack of knowledge makes me feel like an outsider and my fear of embarrassment makes me want to run for my life before being asked my opinion on something.

Last night I went to a Washington Nationals game.

My husband rushed to buy tickets for this particular game on a hot rumor that some person named Strasburg was going to be pitching and that the game would sell out within hours.  My husband’s instinct was right.  The game sold out before the end of the day we ordered our tickets.

I don’t know a Strasburg from a Stradivarius but I did know that this rumor was akin to hearing that a rock and roll concert coming to town would feature a surprise appearance by Elvis (I was going to say John Lennon but John Lennon is dead).

Anyway, this Strasburg person didn’t pitch before the crowd of nearly 34,000 fans in the Nats’ shiny new stadium last night.  Rumor has it that he’ll be there later this week.

That’s OK.  I still got what I go to baseball games for—a hot dog and ice cream. 

I do enjoy listening to people talk about baseball.  I am impressed when they can throw around stats that they carry around in their heads and I confess I find it exciting to hear about a diving catch, a clutch hit or a golden sombrero.  What, that’s not a tequila drink?

The problem is, with the exception of the hot dog and ice cream, I find watching baseball exceptionally boring.  The skill and nuance are lost on me.  I don’t see the diving catch even when it happens right in front of me, which, according to this morning’s paper, it did.

Another thing.  I don’t know if it’s Washington fans in general or just a coincidence that I’ve seen this at Nationals and Redskins games alike, but I always seem to be seated among loud, obnoxious twenty-something males, full of Budweiser, who yell insults at the opposing team.  Again, it might just be coincidence.  It’s just that I haven’t seen it in the baseball stadium in the next city over.

So let’s bring out Strasburg already and Go Nats.

Word Nymph returns Monday.  Tomorrow she’ll still be taking flak from her family for this piece.

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June 4, 2010 · 8:11 am

Sounds of summer

Ahh, the first weekend of unofficial summer.  Imagine this as you sit at your desk today.  You are heading out to your deck or patio for some serious hang time.  Your entrée is marinating, you’ve just lit the grill, your beverages have achieved optimum iciness.  Your favorite friends are on their way over.  You position your outdoor speakers, even if just a boom box pointed out the window. You press Play.

What music wafts across your backyard?  In other words, what comprises the soundtrack to your summer?

I have many different playlists on my iPod and I typically choose according to the crowd.  But if I were stranded on a desert island, with my grilled meat and frozen beverage, of course, and had to choose only, how many shall we say, five songs to groove to, what would they be?

I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

  1. Weezer, “Island in the Sun”
  2. Michael Franti, “Say Hey (I Love You)”
  3. Los Lonely Boys, “Heaven” or maybe “Hollywood”
  4. Plain White T’s, “That Girl”
  5. Jonathan Edwards, “Shanty”

If I could have more, I might download a few from a list I found online, Essential Songs for Your Tropical Vacation, but many of those are in my collection already. 

Just for the record, Margaritaville is not one of them.

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June 3, 2010 · 7:31 am

Save the plural noun

At some point, while we were not paying attention, a whole bunch of plural word forms became singular.  

This is not just an occasional slip by an unknowing individual.  The singularization of plural word forms is being committed by well educated people who should know better.

Pick up the paper or turn on the news and you will hear how “the data shows” or “the media is” or that someone was “an alumni” of such-and-such university.  I’ve lost count of the number of times I have heard people with advanced degrees ask, “what was the criteria” for such and such.

Have we become afraid of using correct word forms because they “sound funny?”  I’ve had a number of readers tell me they sometimes hesitate to use a word correctly because it “sounds funny” or “seems weird.”  Perhaps certain word choices seem funny or weird because their correct uses are becoming so endangered they shock our ears.

At the same time, let us not shun our singular nouns, and instead embrace the news medium, medical datum, selection criterion and university alumnus.  If we turn our backs on these singular words, they will sound ever weirder and funnier and eventually, become extinct.  Then our children and their children will never know–or speak–the truth.

Similarly, when we are using the plural, let us avoid disagreement between noun and verb.  Let us set a good example with the data show, the media are, the criteria were, or the alumni give.

As many will point out, some modern sources have loosened their standards.  This is likely because they believe the tide of common practice is too high to suppress.  Kind of like white shoes before Memorial Day.

How sad.

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June 2, 2010 · 8:04 am

Not very nice

Because it has been years since I have had any formal study, I’ve been treating myself to some self guided continuing education, including brushing up on literary terms, figures of speech and such.  I came across one yesterday that I am not sure I ever learned in the first place.

Or perhaps I blocked it from my memory. 

I am talking about the bdelygmia.

Ah, yes, you say.  The old bdelygmia.  Actually, if you watch cable news with any regularity, you could hear a commentator utter one in some form at least once a night, especially in the current political climate.

A bdelygmia (the b is silent) is a litany of abuse.  It’s been described as the perfect rant, a series of explicit insults, if you will. 

The 19th century English author and poet Edward Lear was said to have written that a “vile beastly rottenheaded foolbegotten brazenthroated pernicious piggish screaming, tearing, roaring, perplexing, splitmecrackle crashmecriggle insane ass of a woman is practicing howling below-stairs with a brute of a singingmaster so horribly, that my head is nearly off.”

As my tastes are a bit more pedestrian, I’d say my favorite bdelygmia comes from the movie Christmas Vacation, in which Clark Griswold, after being denied the Christmas bonus he was counting on, says this about his boss:  

“I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, ****less, hopeless, heartless, fat-***, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey **** he is. Hallelujah. Holy sh**.  Where’s the Tylenol?”

Perhaps you have one of your own, festering in your head or sitting in your Drafts folder, awaiting a cooling off period.  Feel free to share; just don’t aim it at anyone.

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June 1, 2010 · 7:40 am

Tweener screener

Have you seen him?   He’s an 11-year-old movie critic, who works as “Lights, Camera, Jackson,” and will knock your socks off.

I caught him on television over the weekend and was floored.  This child was as poised and articulate as any adult I’ve heard interviewed.  Even for a child, he’s animated and expressive.  What he can do with his voice and his face are astonishing.  My first reaction was that, in both manner and appearance, he could be a child Paul Giamatti.

He’s been doing movie reviews since he was seven and aspires to be a TV game show host.

I may be late in discovering this preteen prodigy.  Already, he has won a New York Emmy in the category of On-Camera Talent: Commentator or Editorialist.

There is an age-old debate over whether effective public speakers are born or made.  In my consulting practice, I do a fair amount of speaker training, so I’d like to think it’s the latter.  In reality, the truth is likely somewhere in between.

The speakers I work with are typically subject matter experts.  To know what one is talking about is a good start.  But what makes the subject matter really pop is the delivery which, if it doesn’t come naturally, can be an effort to coax—and coach—out.

I doubt Jackson Murphy has needed much coaching.   When asked what was the first movie he saw, he said Mulan, when he was in his “mother’s womb.”  It is evident this child came into the world hip to the entertainment scene.  He talks about story lines, quality scripts and character development as other 11-year-olds talk about Nintendo.

His delivery is remarkable.  Eye contact, hand gestures, voice inflexion, he’s got it all down.  He says “yes,” rather than “yeah,” and uses neither an “uh” nor an “um.”  He finishes each sentence with a crisp, definitive stop.

Just think what he’ll be able to do once he’s old enough to see an R-rated movie.

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May 31, 2010 · 9:49 am

Holiday rituals

I logged in to the Internet this morning and saw Comcast’s Memorial Day Quiz on my home page.  I took it, in part because I wanted to write about Memorial Day today and I thought it might provide some ideas.  I scored 58 out of 150.  I am the first to admit I am not great at history.  But in my defense, I was distracted by all the typos in the questions.  I then took it again.  Different questions, fewer typos, but still…Star Spanged Banner, Arlington Cemetary, rememberance.   This time I scored 148.

Memorial Day means different things to different people.  For my husband and me, it used to be all about Dewey Beach.

I commemorated the holiday yesterday.  In church I joined in prayers for those who have given their lives in service to our country, and their families.  I thought of the American teenagers who have died in war these last nine years, and prayed for their mothers.  I joined in singing Eternal Father, Strong to Save, also known as the United States Navy Hymn, which asks protection of those serving on land and sea and in the air. 

Then I went home and had a barbeque.

Today I will partake in another important Memorial Day ritual:  taking out my white pants and shoes.  I know this news will elicit snickers from family members in Arizona who have been wearing white since March.  Anyone who knows me is aware I am an etiquette purist.  Pathologically compliant.  For me, living on the edge means wearing white on the Sunday before Memorial Day, but never past Labor Day.  I won’t even wear spectators outside the Memorial-to-Labor Day window.

I believe etiquette makes our lives easier by providing a clear framework for our behavior and lifting responsibility for making decisions about such matters.

In the movie Serial Mom, which stars Kathleen Turner (and my Aunt Patsy), a Martha Stewart-like homemaker brutally murders those who commit simple etiquette violations, such as smacking gum, stealing a parking space and not rewinding a video rental.  In her final act, she slaughters Patty Hearst for wearing white shoes after Labor Day.

See, I just wouldn’t want to risk the consequences.

Happy Memorial Day.

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May 29, 2010 · 7:59 am

Not a mute point

Are there certain words that, when you hear them mispronounced, send you into orbit? 

I know there are because you’ve told me.

I have a few of my own.  I’ve already vented about Pulitzer and nuclear. 

At the risk of seeming snobbish, I am forever tempted to let people know when they’ve mispronounced a word but then, as I pointed out in one of my early posts, these suggestions are not always received as the gifts they were intended to be.

I decided to jot down a few of my own and then check them against a list of the 100 most mispronounced words and phrases in the English language.

This exercise led to a couple of findings:  First, I am not alone.  Most of my peeves, but not all, were on the list.  Second,  I pronounce a few words and phrases  incorrectly myself.

My initial list of pronunciation peeves included:

  • jewelry when pronounced jewlery
  • realtor when pronounced relator
  • espresso when pronounced expresso
  • nuptials when pronounced nuptuals

And yes! Sherbert is on the list.

The first source I consulted, yourdictionary.com, also includes on its list some irritating misuses, such as such as orientate and interpretate.  I was surprised administrate was not on the list.  I hear that one a lot.  How about supposably?  Reoccur instead of recur?  It’s a mute point, when it should be moot?

I was surprised slep was not on the list, as in I slep poorly last night.  Or I kep it a secret.  And I was really surprised not to find hunnert; you know, dial a one-eight-hunnert number.

There are also a few incorrect phrases that tend to slip by, so I like that they’re on the list:

  • blessing in the skies
  • carpool tunnel syndrome  (I suppose there could be such a thing)
  • doggy dog world
  • for all intensive purposes

 Words and phrases I learned I’ve been butchering for years:

  • Clothes.  I say close but just learned (and my son says it correctly), the th is pronounced.
  • Spit and image.  I always thought it was spitting image.  Huh.
  • Champ at the bit.  I know it’s champ but sometimes I still forget and say chomp.
  • Pernickety.  I’ve always thought it was persnickety. 

If I had any authority, I’d declare today National Correct Pronunciation Day.  As I’ve discovered, a refresher wouldn’t hurt any of us.  There are plenty of websites out there that highlight common and comical mispronunciations.  So I urge you to go out there and read.  Then send me your top pronunciation peeve and one mispronunciation you’ll own up to. 

Spread the word.  Raising awareness is the first step.

Word Nymph will take tomorrow off.  She’ll be clipping coupons from the Sunday paper.  That’s coo-pons, not Q-pons.  I don’t mean to be pernickety.

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