Bloody Well Write

I went to a Dave Matthews Band concert (my fourth) last night and, yes, they were as fantastic live as ever. So what does it have to do with language? Ooh, so glad you want to know.

Going to the show, I was thinking about different songs that I hoped the band would play. (”Long Black Veil” was on my list but didn’t make the lineup.) “One Sweet World” popped into my head. (But, alas, it didn’t get any stage time, either.)

Say “One Sweet World” without thinking about a yummy scoop — or bowl — of Ben & Jerry’s “One Sweet Whirled” ice cream; it can’t be done, at least not by me.

And then I thought, “Hey, that would make a great topic for a Bloody Well Write entry.” And so it begins.

So what’s this thing called wherein two words, such as world and whirled, sound alike but have different meanings, origins and (usually) spellings? They’re called homophones, my friends.

In a perfect world (and I use the term perfect extraordinarily rarely, as it’s the unicorn of language — it pretty much doesn’t exist), world and whirled would be pronounced slightly differently, with world having a deeper, rounder sound and whirled sounding a bit more forward in the mouth, sort of tinny. As I mentioned, though, this world is far from perfect and the vast majority of folks would agree that world and whirled sound alike.

Homophones are, in the English language, words that confuse English as a second language (ESL) folks and everyone else trying to expand vocabulary. You may have a particular homophone or two that still haunt you to this day. Have no fear that you’re alone in this matter, because you’re absolutely not. Here are just a few that I usually have to look up to be doubly sure that I’m using the correct word:

• Awful (not good)
• Aweful (full of awe)
• Cord (rope)
• Chord (musical tones)
• Disc (as in CD-ROM disc, videodisc, disc brakes)
• Disk (as in floppy disk, slipped disk)
• Forgo (to do without)
• Forego (to precede)
• Verses (paragraphs)
• Versus (against)

You get the idea, right? Homophones: fun with the confounding English language!

The connection with Ben & Jerry’s is that the Dave Matthews Band partnered with them back in 2002 to create a caramel and coffee ice cream concoction with marshmallows and caramel swirls, complete with coffee-flavored fudge chips in the shape of guitars. The bad news is that, as far as I can tell, this particular ice cream has been discontinued. Sniff.

The good news is that Ben & Jerry’s and the Dave Matthews Band are both, as ever, concerned with improving the environment and people’s lives. If you’d like to contribute to a cause near and dear to the band’s heart, visit The Bama Works Fund of Dave Matthews Band. Or keep eating Ben & Jerry’s other crazy-fantastic flavors and visit the company website to learn more about how the company works toward environmental health and peace and justice for all.

Happy trails!

SAK

Leave it to one-time vice-presidential-hopeful Sarah Palin to continually provide grammar fodder for the media, as well as for bloggers (such as yours truly), Facebook addicts and Twitter hounds alike.

This past Sunday, Palin tweeted the following:

“Ground Zero Mosque supporters, doesn’t it stab you in the heart as it does ours throughout the heartland? Peaceful Muslims, please refudiate.”

The popular assumption running around the Internet is that someone pointed the fact that “refudiate” isn’t a dictionary-recognized word out to Palin, who then deleted the first tweet and entered a new, presumably more-correct version:

“Peaceful New Yorkers, pls refute the Ground Zero mosque plan if you believe catastrophic pain caused @ Twin Towers site is too raw, too real.”

But the second version isn’t much better than the first — and that’s without even getting into the politics of what she’s trying, very unsuccessfully, to get across.

Palin was probably trying to use “repudiate” but may have been thinking about the word “refute” and, not fully comprehending (ahem) the distinction between the two, instead blended them into “refudiate.” Whether by accident or on purpose, the tweeted goof made far-reaching news and comedy gold.

Let’s look at the three words:

Refudiate = Not a recognized word. (If you don’t believe me, check with Merriam-Webster or your favorite dictionary. It ain’t in there.)

Refute = According to Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary, the transitive verb means “to prove wrong by argument or evidence (show to be false or erroneous).” A secondary definition means “to deny the truth or accuracy of” something.

Repudiate = Also a transitive verb, “repudiate” has several meanings according to Merriam-Webster: “1) to divorce or separate formally from (a woman); 2) to refuse to have anything to do with; 3a) to refuse to accept; especially : to reject as unauthorized or as having no binding force; 3b) to reject as untrue or unjust; and 4) to refuse to acknowledge or pay.”

Take a look at the second tweet. Really, Palin should have chosen “repudiate” instead of “refute” because she’s urging New Yorkers to refuse to have anything to do with the possibility of a new cultural center (see the second “repudiate” reference).

OK, fine. So she screwed up and tried to fix it. That shows somewhat of a conscience, I suppose (but don’t quote me on that; it’s all I can do to refrain from saying what I really think of this tweeter). But then Palin tweeted yet a third time about the mistake:

“‘Refudiate,’ ‘misunderestimate,’ ‘wee-wee’d up.’ English is a living language. Shakespeare liked to coin new words too. Got to celebrate it!”

That hurt just copying and pasting.

I must say — and I quote the Bard himself — “the lady doth protest too much.” Good grief! Palin should not try to align herself with a master writer such as William Shakespeare. It’s just not believable, not on any account. She, like he? I think not. In the making-up-words category, Shakespeare can’t hold a candle to Palin.

If Palin wants to be a future presidential hopeful, she needs to ramp up her writing skills in a big, bad way because, as Bill wrote, “nothing can come of nothing.” And that’s saying something.

Happy trails!

SAK

Even though I’ve had my three packets of seeds for nearly two months, today was the day for me to finally decide to get them planted. So I did the momlike thing and showed my kids how to plant seeds in pots. I had chosen green onions, basil and cilantro.

While double-checking the back of the packets to ensure proper planting (and thus proper teaching), I read the description of cilantro and learned the difference between it and coriander. And I can admit that the packet’s definition didn’t line up with what I had thought the difference was.

I was under the apparently false assumption (and you know what that means) that cilantro is the name given to the herb when used in Mexican dishes and coriander is what it is called in Mediterranean dishes.

Nope.

Cilantro, according to the packet’s text, is the name given to the leaves of the plant.

Coriander is the name given to the seeds.

How’s that for a straightforward answer? Love it.

Happy trails!

I’ve been doing a fair amount of freelance copywriting lately and, while doing some much-needed research, ran across this little gem of grammatical confusion: What’s the difference between rigorous and vigorous?

Rigorous — According to Merriam-Webster, rigorous has to do with something very strict (e.g., The auto industry needs more-rigorous testing). Rigorous often refers to strictly following rules and procedures. It can also mean that something’s “scrupulously accurate” or “marked by extremes of temperature or climate.”

Vigorous — Merriam-Webster’s definition of vigor implies physical or mental strength or active force (e.g., the benefit of vigorous activity over moderate activity) or the act of carrying something out with force or energy.

Just goes to show: You learn something new every day. I do, anyway.

Happy trails!

SAK

Yet another recent style change — or change back — from the AP Stylebook folks concerns the abbreviation of microphone. Back in March ‘10, the AP folks put it out there: The abbreviation that used to be mic would henceforth be mike.

No one could hear the announcement over the roar of the crowd.

According to Slate Magazine, the broadcast wing of the AP raised a hullabaloo fierce enough to cause AP to reverse that decision.

I’m torn.

To me, the abbreviation should, indeed, have fewer of the same letters as the original word, but not different letters (such as mike — ain’t no no k in microphone). But the three-letter mic looks like it should sound like mick (or Mick). Beside the fact that mike with a lowercase m is slightly weird, I was going to be OK with the change; after all, other words that are proper nouns are also regular ol’ nouns — think of Pat/pat, Bob/bob, Art/art and Bill/bill. I even know a few elementary school jokes that say as much.

Then again, if you’re riding around your neighborhood on a bicycle (sans the letter k), you’re on your bike and not your  bic. (What? You are on a bic? Now that would be something to see. Or not.)

This is why I defer to the AP Stylebook on most cases.

So for the record, it’s currently mic for microphone.

Happy trails!

SAK

Yet another good thing to come out of the AP Stylebook folks’ ponderings of the English language is their recent decision to, well, not make a decision.

This particular point revolves around state names in print. Should they be abbreviated when in conjunction with cities? Or should they be spelled out, creating havoc for newspapers and any other organization that deals with skinny columns or persnickety designers?

The AP Stylebook editors had recently stated that the new rule was to spell out state names. But according to its Twitter account (who would’ve thought that Twitter would be a viable news source?), the Associated Press editors are now “postponing plans to change its style on state abbreviations, pending further review.”

Check out the misspelling that runs across the bottom of this political ad — ouchie!

I, along with many, many, many other editors and writers, am happy that they are rethinking that change. Living in Kansas, I don’t have as many opportunities to write about Mississippi or Massachusetts, but spelling out those extra letters seems like overkill.

Any thoughts out there about this change (or this non-change)?

Happy trails!

SAK

I think hell just froze over.

This just in (OK, about an hour ago, so sue me), directly from the Twitter page of @APStylebook:

Responding to reader input, we are changing Web site to website.

Make note, news and grammar buffs, because the AP Stylebook folks have finally caved to overwhelming public pressure. It happens less frequently than a blue moon, but it just happened. It’s a good thing, but I’m going to have to wrap my brain around this (or perhaps rap my brain). You know how hard old habits die.

Happy trails!

SAK

I can admit it: I had to look this one up.

When something (or someone) is being bad-mouthed or talked about in a not-very-nice way, is it (or he or she) getting a bad rap or a bad wrap?

I recently penned an article about onions (with a yummy recipe for Veggie French Onion Soup) and wrote, “Onions get a bad wrap.” It just didn’t feel right, so I looked it up.

Lesson No. 1: When it comes to research and writing (and, of course, editing), follow your gut and look the blasted thing up.

Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary describes a bad rap as “an unjust accusation, verdict or punishment” or “an adverse opinion or judgment considered undeserved or unjust.”

It does not (ahem) mention bad wrap.

There ’tis.

Happy trails!

SAK

I’m filing this one under Learn Something New Every Day.

You’ve heard of the crafty guy or gal who habitually cheats at card games, correct? And you’ve also heard of that same sneaky hustler referred to as a card shark, yes?

You’ve been had.

That person — the one with the face of stone and a smile a mile wide, the one who ended up leaving with your hard-earned but easily sucked-away cash — is a cardsharp. Not a card shark.

I’d say that the card shark is extinct, except that it never existed; the correct term, dating back to the 1850s, has always been cardsharp (one word). And that, my friends, is no fish tale.

Happy trails!

SAK

Thank the gods for a husband who gives you topic after topic for your silly grammar blog.

Not sure what prompted him to think of it (and frankly, I don’t care — I just took it and ran), but my other half thought that I should write about a bald-faced lie versus a bold-faced lie. And wouldn’t you know it, there’s a third suspect in this mess, barefaced lie, and you know what that means: complication!

No, not really. It all makes good sense. Here’s the deal.

Barefaced lie

This is the mother of them all. Dating back to the late 1500s, barefaced started out as a very literal beast. If you had an uncovered face — no mask, no veil, no whiskers — you were barefaced. This very literal meaning easily transformed into the more figurative, eyebrow-raising barefaced lie: Someone who told a barefaced lie was doing so in a very open, unconcealed manner, as if hiding the truth were the last thing on the liar’s mind (quite the cocky son of a gun). Barefaced lie is still the preferred term in Britain.

Bald-faced lie

One theory about the origins of bald-faced lie is that bald and bald-faced were already quite popular in the lexicon of the English speaker. Consider bald eagle, bald mountain and bald-faced (as in an animal with a white face or white mark on its head). Perhaps, the thinking goes, it was just inevitable that the language would evolve toward bald-faced as opposed to barefaced.

Of course, it’s no stretch of the imagination to think that a bald face is quite the same as a bare face, so what’s the big stink? An interesting side note is that Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary only dates bald-faced back to 1943.

Bold-faced lie

Merriam-Webster dates bold-faced back to 1591 (just one year later than its date for barefaced). Its main definition refers to a shamelessness or impudent manner, one in which putting forth a bold face — along with a devil-may-care attitude — makes absolute sense.

Another way to look at a bold-faced lie is to think of words in print. If something has been bold-faced, it has been done so for emphasis. This is not the primary (nor most accepted) meaning, though, so I wouldn’t go around telling your friends that you know something they don’t, na-nee-na-nee-boo-boo.

To complicate things even more, my cherished AP Stylebook makes no mention of any of the variations.

So what’s my recommendation? I’d say that barefaced is a solid choice, as it’s the first and most popular option, especially for the Brits. If it sounds too odd for your delicate ear, go for bold-faced; if William Shakespeare could use it, so can you. And if that’s not the answer you were looking for, try bald-faced; the English language is always evolving, so why not go with the flow?

Just trying to be accommodating — and that’s no lie.

Happy trails!

SAK