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

For those who don’t know me well, I will share this morsel with you:

I’m all about food.

Granted, I’m a pescetarian — someone who doesn’t eat land animals (e.g., chicken, cow, pig, sheep, etc.) — but I do eat seafood and fish, in addition to fruits, dairy products, grains and the occasional vegetable. And tomatoes? They’re OK, I suppose. I’ve eaten them my entire life but haven’t really been in awe of them.

Not, that is, until the past decade, when a friend introduced me to Insalata Caprese. Now, I’m hooked.

Insalata Caprese translates from Italian into English thus: salad from Capri. OK, so what does that mean? It’s a super-simple salad that consists of slices of fresh tomato (I like Roma tomatoes but any tomato that can be cut into relatively thick slices can work), slices of buffalo mozzarella and leaves of fresh basil, all layered and topped with ground pepper, salt and a drizzle of olive oil.

The simplicity of such a salad is deceiving, for the flavors unassumingly complement each other exquisitely. Popular variations include swapping olive oil for an Italian dressing or — my favorite — a balsamic vinaigrette or reduction.

Yummy.

Insalata Caprese (http://www.flickr.com/photos/79928508@N00/4487629379/)

I’m not sure if it’s just coincidence or if it’s the Italian way of imbedding national pride in the local cuisine, but the layered salad shares the same colors as the Italian flag. Sort of reminds me of a very American dessert made to look like the American flag, with white whipped topping, blueberries and raspberries.

Anyhoo, the point of this entry is to clear up the pronunciation issue surrounding this phenomenally simple first course. How the heck do you say Caprese?

From what I’ve gathered through personal accounts, Internet research and an unofficial survey of friends with decent vocabularies (!), it should be pronounced like this:

Ka-PREY-zay.

Now, dear Bloody Well Write readers: If you think that I’m blowing smoke and have it on authority from your great-grandmama (who’s from Capri or Naples (not Florida, BTW) or such) that it should be pronounced XYZ, then by all means, send me a message and I’ll revise this post. But as far as I know — and how I’ll be embarrassing myself in the future to all friends, family and complete strangers who will listen to me babble about the fantastic foods that I love — I’m saying Ka-Prey-zay Salad.

Happy trails!

SAK

This one has been bugging me for years — decades perhaps. Lo and behold, my mom asked me the other day how data is supposed to be pronounced, and I thought that it’s time I do an entry on it. So here goes.

My gut instinct was that data (sounds like DAY-tah) is the more common usage and, since the AP Stylebook tends to change such things as spellings and pronunciations based on frequency of use, it would probably choose to say DAY-tah.

My other gut instinct was that data (sounds like DA-tah, which slightly rhymes with batter, hatter, tatter) is the more technical usage, one that only scientists and English professors preferred.

Mad scientists don't need data to prove their madness (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/moria/232256824/)

So to research this little gem, I went to Merriam-Webster for clarification. The site has a pronunciation function that allows your computer to talk to you so that you can hear exactly what the word should sound like. And what do you think I found? Two little icons to click on. That means that the first icon (the one on the left) is the prominent, preferred American pronunciation. The one on the right is also acceptable, but it is more like the understudy to the left pronunciation, as well as being the British preference.

So. Data. What’s your guess? I hope that your guess was my guess, because then you’d be correct. Merriam-Webster lists DAY-tah as the primary pronunciation.

Problem solved.

Then there’s the issue of whether data deserves a singular or plural verb attached to it. But you know what? It’s Friday at beer:thirty and that’s a topic for another day — happy weekend to all you data hounds.

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.

Hey, Mike: Is this thing on? (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/snackerdesigns/4221001947/)

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

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.

Bet you can't guess which one (or two? three? four?) of these delightful cherubs is a true cardsharp (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/patricksarahdanajay/3460342884)

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

You’d think that since we all do it every day — day in and day out — hundreds upon hundreds of times each day, we’d all know how to spell it. It’s only one syllable, after all. How hard could it be?

Go on; spell it. Spell that thing you do — the one that keeps you alive, pushes air in (and out) of your lungs, gets you all hot and bothered when the right person does it on the back of your neck, makes you happy to get flowers or be next to the oven when the bread comes out or makes you wish the dog (yeah, the dog; blame it on the dog) hadn’t eaten whatever he ate.

Good. Thanks for playing along.

So — which camp are you in? The breath camp or the breathe camp?

This bad boy's breath isn't the only reason it's a good idea not to get too close (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fpat/3326415463)

From what I can tell, the camps are divided pretty evenly. But the thing is, only one camp should stake its flag.

Breathe (a verb) is an action and, thus, the winner — it’s that thing you do. We breathe air.

Breath (a noun) is a thing, not an action — it’s that thing you have. We take a breath (take is the verb and breath is the noun).

The two can even hang out in the same sentence:

• I breathe by taking a breath.
• She breathed in just as bad-breath Jones breathed out; the experience left her breathless.

Hope that, um, clears the air.

Happy trails!

SAK

Come on. Why is this topic even necessary?

For the love of Pete, there is no r in wash.

For those about to warsh, we do not salute you and you do not pass go; go wash your mouth out (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/13871926@N05/3971312826)

It aggravates so, so many people to hear that mangled, warped warsh. Ech. Even typing it hurts.

You wash the dog. Wash the car. Wash the armpits. Wash the dishes.

Never, ever do you  … do that other thing that I refuse to type again.

Happy trails!

SAK

New Orleans has had its share of excitement lately. What with Hurricane Katrina making a complete mess of things, Brad Pitt (with Angelina Jolie et al. in tow) bringing the Make It Right project to the Lower 9th Ward, the Saints winning the Super Bowl XLIV and the annual Mardi Gras celebration topping off the football frenzy, the Big Easy is proving to be the home of a bunch of hearty souls.

New Orleans is famous for so many reasons: fantastic Cajun and Creole dishes, festive jazz, smooth hurricanes (the drinkable kind) and flowing, fanciful — and now green — architecture. The Crescent City has a language all its own. There are no medians in the streets; that strip of land that separates the paved street is called neutral ground. They have not a single canoe; a pirogue (sounds like PEE-row) is the flat-bottomed version that navigates the bayou. And don’t even think about walking on a sidewalk; it’s called a banquette.

Pat O'Brien's famous Hurricane (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bigberto/2826375336)

So how should the name of NOLA be pronounced? It makes the most sense (to me, anyway) to say it as the residents do. And the residents call it N’Awlins. They can spot a tourist out of sight but within earshot when they hear their fair city’s name pronounced New Or-le-uns or New Or-LEENS. That last one sort of sounds like a line from a bad ’80s movie, doesn’t it?

So it’s N’Awlins — pronounced with two syllables but as close as you can get to one.

Now go put a pot o’ water on the stove; them’s a mound o’ crawfish ta boil and we’re all fixin’ ta suck da heads and squeeze da tips.

Happy trails!

Here’s the deal.

No one knows how to pronounce every word that’s out there. I sure don’t. And even though I have a pretty good grasp on how to pronounce the average word — a big part of my job includes having an understanding of a decent-sized lexicon — I also know that there’s a whole lot (and I mean a serious ton) that I don’t know.

That’s where research comes in — say, a dictionary, especially the new-fangled ones on the Internet that will actually tell you in some bookish man’s voice just what a particular word is supposed to sound like.

Merriam-Webster’s Web site is a fantastic example. Just look up a word and click on the little, red pronunciation icon. Presto! You’ll know how to pronounce the word.

Here’s the thing, though. Sometimes, two icons are shown. What does this mean? It means that there are two possible pronunciations. The primary (i.e., most acceptable) pronunciation can be heard from the first — or left — icon.

Take, for example, the word Italian. Merriam-Webster shows two icons. Click on the first icon, and you’ll hear it pronounced Italian (sounds like i-TAL-yan, with the initial I sounding like the I in it).

I like that. That makes sense to me. When you’re in Florence or Rome, you’re in the country of Italy, not Eyetaly. So why would you put I-talian (instead of Italian) dressing on a salad?

Now, click on the second icon, and you’ll hear it pronounced like EYE-TAL-yan.

Oh, mamma mia!

A couple of things (and no more, because I hear the proverbial nails scratching their way down the chalkboard) about this EYE-TAL-yan pronunciation:

• It’s not the first (i.e., primary, left) listing under Merriam-Webster. And if it’s not the first, then it’s not the favored — in the United States, anyway. Very often, the second sound bite is for European spellings or pronunciations, particularly British. But there are plenty of Brits who would scoff at the mention of anything EYE-TAL-yan. And another thing: That second mention can also represent the pronunciation that’s “out there,” roaming unsuperivsed in public. That absolutely does not make it right. Lots of things are out there and you wouldn’t choose to try them all, correct? Just because your friend wants to jump off a cliff doesn’t mean that … well, you get the drift.
• It butts two strong syllable sounds (EYE and TAL) next to each other. This doesn’t help the flow of the word. And Italian (excuse me, i-TAL-yan) is all about the beauty of the language, the lyrical flow. Emphasizing that initial I (EYE) is just too much to bear.

So you’re going to Italy, going to eat some Italian food and see some Italian cinema. Cool.

Arrivederci!

(That’s happy trails!)

SAK

For word wizards and the general public alike, the issue of pronunciation has reached feverish levels ever since the new year crept up on us all. How in the heck are we supposed to pronounce “2010″? Is it “two thousand, ten”? Or “two thousand and ten”? Or “twenty-ten”?

If you’re regular readers of Bloody Well Write, you already know my propensity toward anything AP Stylebook-recommended. This is no exception.

Happy twenty-ten to you and yours (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/neldiogo/2775775175)

Via Twitter, the AP Stylebook has recommended it thus:

Attn. @…, @… and the others who’ve asked:
AP is pronouncing 2010 as “twenty-ten.”

Twenty-ten. There you have it. Happy new year, indeed.

Happy trails!

SAK