Bloody Well Write

Today is Dec. 22, 2011, which means that it’s officially the winter solstice at 12:30 a.m. EST in the Northern Hemisphere. Time to celebrate the rising sun!

What exactly is the winter solstice?

In a nutshell, it’s the day with the least amount of daylight and, thus, the longest night of the year. From then on, the daylight will gradually get longer as the sun climbs higher in the sky. In six months, the summer solstice will take place, and the reverse will happen — days will shorten again, and nights will lengthen.

As someone who favors warmth and sunlight over cold and darkness, I’m all for the winter solstice. It gives me the upcoming summer to look forward to, although I still have to get through the bitter Midwestern months of January through March. But that’s OK, because I can still look forward — in more light, no less.

An image of the 2010 winter solstice eclipse (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/13422316@N00/5280906836/)

People the world over have celebrated the winter solstice for a long time — centuries, in fact:

• Ancient Egypt and Syria — They celebrated the Nativity of the Sun, with a ritual of the nativity — a play of sorts — taking place at midnight.
• Ancient Greece — Called Lenaea, or the Festival of Wild Women, the winter solstice in Greece included one very unfortunate man being chosen to represent Dionysus, the god of the Harvest. Said man was then ripped apart and eaten by a group of mad women. Later, a baby would be presented as the rebirth of Dionysus. Centuries later, the man-eating premise was replaced with a less hazardous celebration, at least for Greek men; instead, a goat was sacrificed. Definitely not so good for the goat.
  
• Ancient Rome — The god of the harvest and agriculture in Rome was Saturn, and his wife was the goddess of fertility, Ops (aka Opis). The ancient Romans honored them both with a celebration called Saturnalia. Sometime around 270 A.D., Emperor Aurelian combined many then-affluent pagan solstice celebrations into one, big event called the Birthday of the Unconquered Sun.
• Ancient Brazil — Archaeologists uncovered an astronomical observatory consisting of granite blocks, with one block representing the sun’s position at the time of the winter solstice.
• Zoroastrianism — Iran’s first state religion, Zoroastrianism, was founded by Persia’s Zarathustra (aka Zoroaster). The religion that preceded Islam may have been the first monotheistic religion. Celebrants would sit around a table or bonfire and enjoy fruits while listening to stories.
• Islam — Modern-day Muslims observe the Fast of Ramadan, paying tribute to the lunar month in which the Qura’n was revealed by God revealed the Qura’n to mankind. They fast during the day and share small meals with family and friends once the sun has set. Because the Fast of Ramadan follows the moon, Ramadan falls in December every 30 years or so. Thus, although it fell in December in the late 1990s, it is not considered a winter solstice celebration. In 2011, for example, Ramadan began in the evening of Sunday, July 31, and ended in the evening of Wednesday, Aug. 31.
• Buddhism — While the Buddhist December celebration has nothing (I think) to do with the winter solstice, it does celebrate the day when Buddha achieved enlightenment, escaping the endless reincarnation cycle of birth, death and rebirth.

Mmmm — latkes are served with applesauce or sour cream (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ohmeaghan/3805809896/)

• Judaism — Hannukah (aka Hanukah, Chanukah or Chanukkah — oy!) is the eight-day Feast of Lights (aka Festival of Lights or Feast of Dedication) that remembers the war fought by the Maccabees in the cause of religious freedom. Jews light a menorah, eat potato latkes, play dreidel games and open a present each of the eight nights of the festival. 
• Christianity — Since the official record of the birth of Jesus of Nazareth had either been destroyed or not been found, early leaders of the Western church chose December 25 — already a popular pagan celebration day throughout the Roman Empire — as the day to honor Christ’s birth. Over the following centuries, Christianity’s popularity spread:
  • 301 AD — Armenia created the first national church, becoming the first country to adopt Christianity as its national religion.
  • 375 AD — Eastern churches began to celebrate Christmas.
  • 5th century — Ireland’s monastic settlements emerged.
  • 8th century — parts of Europe adopted Christianity.
• Native American rituals — Across North America, Indian tribes celebrated the winter solstice (as well as the summer solstice). Much like in ancient Brazil, early Native Americans created structures, similar to calendars, made of stone which could mark the sun’s movements. Rituals across tribes included making prayer sticks, purifying the body and feasting.
• Kwanzaa — Celebrated in the United States between Dec. 26 and Jan. 1, Kwanzaa was created in the late 1960s by Maulana Karenga, a professor, scholar, author and philosopher. Kwanzaa, a Swahili word meaning “first fruits of the harvest,” honors the pan-African and American-African heritage and culture. Seven candles in a single holder representing the seven principles of African heritage are lit, and a feast and gift-giving are enjoyed.
• Nonreligious — Estimated between 13 and 20 percent of the population are nonbelievers, skeptics, humanists, rationalists, freethinkers, scientists and the like, who also celebrate the winter solstice as a time of renewal and rejuvenation. Many in this growing group gather with family and friends over a meal or at a party and exchange gifts in celebration of more daylight hours to spend with the ones they love.

Many think that the winter solstice is a time for people of all faiths to come together and celebrate the concept of rejuvenation. Others feel that their faith is the one and only reason to celebrate. What camp are you in?

My opinion (yes, I give my opinion on my blog, believe it or not) is that we should live and let live. Unless it hurts someone else, and as long as no one’s being forced to do something they don’t want to do, we should all be able to celebrate as we wish.

Happy winter solstice, everyone!

Happy trails!

SAK

I had every intention of writing a different sort of post today, but today happens to be November 11, in the year 2011, making it a very special 11-11-11 day. So the other post, great as I’m sure it will be (!), will have to wait.

Yay! Nigel Tufnel must be somewhere celebrating this, the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 2011. As he should be, seeing as how “the numbers all go to 11″ is what he’s famous for.

Who’s Nigel Tufnel? Surely you jest. If you don’t yet know of Nigel, run to the local video shop, peruse through Netflix or borrow your questionable neighbor’s beat-up copy of “This Is Spinal Tap,” the 1984 dynamo mockumentary about “one of England’s loudest bands.” You won’t be sorry — but please, leave your sensibilities at the door.

The movie has too, too many memorable quotations to repeat here — and too, too many with questionable language — but I can repeat two of my favorites:

David St. Hubbins: He died in a bizarre gardening accident.
Nigel Tufnel: Authorities said — best leave it — unsolved.

And my favorite of the favorites:

Nigel Tufnel: The numbers all go to 11. Look, right across the board, 11, 11, 11 and …
Marty DiBergi: Oh, I see. And most amps go up to 10?
Nigel Tufnel: Exactly.
Marty DiBergi: Does that mean it’s louder? Is it any louder?
Nigel Tufnel: Well, it’s one louder, isn’t it? It’s not 10. You see, most blokes, you know, will be playing at 10. You’re on 10 here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up, you’re on 10 on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?
Marty DiBergi: I don’t know.
Nigel Tufnel: Nowhere. Exactly. What we do is, if we need that extra push over the cliff, you know what we do?
Marty DiBergi: Put it up to 11.
Nigel Tufnel: 11. Exactly. One louder.
Marty DiBergi: Why don’t you just make 10 louder and make 10 be the top number and make that a little louder?
Nigel Tufnel: [pause] These go to 11.

Happy trails!

SAK

Yes, you knew this would have to be addressed at some point.

This is apparently how to spell that super-long word from “Mary Poppins”:

supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

The adjective — meaning something’s extraordinarily groovy to children and representing the longest word imaginable — isn’t in Merriam-Webster or Webster’s New World College dictionaries, but it is spelled thusly in several other dictionaries, so I’m claiming it as the correct spelling.

This one word is a designer's layout nightmare (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/norriswong/376977842/)

At 34 characters, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is, indeed, long. Wikipedia, however, lists three other words longer than supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Happy trails!

SAK

As a writer-editor-proofreader-blogger, I would have been slightly surprised if there hadn’t been a misspelling on the newly unveiled 9/11 memorial, just because there are so, so many names to double-check and proof (and reproof). A tough job, for sure.

 Two days after the 10-year anniversary of the twin towers’ fall, I wish you and yours safe travels, open hearts and bright futures.

Happy trails!

SAK

Chalk this one up in the “I had no idea” book: Stepping stone is supposed to be one word!

I went to a class a few years ago and learned how to use stained glass in stepping stones — er, steppingstones. I had such a great time at the class; it brought back the sense of creating something from scratch, much like what I experienced in college while studying theatre. One of the requirements of getting my theatre degree was to work in the scene shop, and I had a ball. Such fun to learn how to drill, cut, hammer, paint, affix, decorate and tear down sets with real power tools! Those were fun, creative times, and this particular steppingstone class, in which I learned how to use nippers, cutters and grinders, reminded me of those hands-on days.

Anyway, the point of all this is this: Since that class several years ago, I’ve made a couple of steppingstones on my own: One was a K-State Wildcat (I know! I know! It was a gift!) and one was an Armenian ‘A’ for my dad (who didn’t realize at first that it was an Armenian ‘A’ (which looks like an uppercase U with a tail); he was just so proud that I had made something for him, he didn’t care what was actually on the stone, and I thought that his reaction was absolutely worth all the effort). But just now, while flipping through my AP Stylebook for blog inspiration, I ran across steppingstone (again, one word — I’m flabbergasted).

So I had to verify this one-word concoction. And yes, both Merriam-Webster and Webster’s New World College dictionaries backed it up.

Happy trails!

SAK

A Bloody Well Write reader sent in a request for a blog entry about one of the most-argued points in the history of grammar (perhaps I amplify just a smidge): the serial comma.

Eeeeeek!

But not just any serial comma — this reader called out the Oxford comma. The Oxford comma, people, was news to me. I had never heard of this thing. Or if I had, it was in grad school and I must have been staring into space, dreaming of just about anything else that wasn’t grammar-related. So I had to look the bloody thing up. Yay — research!

What I found out was this: The Oxford comma is the same thing as the serial comma, which is also the same thing as the Harvard comma:

Oxford = serial = Harvard

The serial comma (think generic when you hear serial) is sometimes called the Oxford comma because it is in the style guide of the Oxford University Press and has been for more than a century. Those who are less enamored with the grammatical styles from across the pond may refer to the serial comma as the Harvard comma. Since I went to KU, maybe I should coin it the Jayhawk comma. How ’bout them beans‽

So — back to the serial-Oxford-Harvard comma. It’s the comma that follows the penultimate word or group of words in a series. Look at these two sentences:

1. I had grapefruit juice, pears, and ham and eggs for breakfast.
2. I had grapefruit juice, pears and ham and eggs for breakfast.

No. 1 has the serial comma, which classifies ham and eggs as an integral thing (which, in North America anyway, it typically is) rather than two separate entries.

No. 2 does not have the serial comma, which just looks sloppy. If I had to edit this sentence, I would slap a serial comma after slices, no question, even though the AP Stylebook prefers no serial comma. How could I get away with it? Because the AP Stylebook also takes into consideration just such constructions that have an integral element of the series requiring a conjunction (i.e., and).

Ham and eggs with a side of toast (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jeffreyww/5533239258/)

Now, being raised in an MLA environment, it took me a little while to get used to the usual elimination of the serial comma (except in cases similar to the above-mentioned sentence). And to this day, I think that the serial comma should be reinstated (did you hear that, AP folks?). But if that happens, we’ll still live in a gray world, b/c there’s an exception to the serial comma rule, as well.

Sonofa.

But it’s true. Look at these two sentences:

1. I had a dream about a chef, Tommy Flibberdygibbit, and Sierra Rock.
2. I had a dream about a chef, Tommy Flibberdygibbit and Sierra Rock.

In No. 1, tell me: Did I dream about two people (Chef Tommy + Sierra) or three people (a chef + Tommy + Sierra)?

In No. 2, it seems pretty obvious that I had a dream about three people. So No. 1 makes the argument that a serial comma (in No. 1) doesn’t always clear up the meaning, whereas a lack of one does (or may). Poo.

So there it is — clear as mud.

Happy trails!

SAK

A week or so ago, I was headed to bed much later than I should have been. And in my sleepy state on my way to bed, I had this epiphany: Life and the ongoing pursuit of happiness and improvement revolve around the idea of agitation.

Granted, I can’t for the life of me remember what happened that day or evening to make me think such a thing. But something must have triggered it. The only thing I did that made me remember this epiphany the next morning at all was reach for a pen and paper to scribble something down. What did I write? Get ready — it’s mind-boggling:

• agitation
• teeth
• exercise
• clothes

That’s it. Those were my clues to myself that would surely be crystal the next day, reminding me of the key to the mysteries of the world. Oy.

And now, a week or so later, I’m trying to piece together that instant “aha” feeling I had that night. Here’s what I’m thinking:

Everything (OK, maybe not everything, as everything (!) has an exception) in this world that can be improved, that has to do with vigor of life, must be agitated in order to make a positive difference.

Let’s look at my examples.

Teeth

In order to clean our teeth, we have to scrub them with a medium-soft toothbrush. We have to agitate the gunk that’s accumulated on the surface of the teeth and in between the teeth to dislodge said gunk and get those pearly whites pearly-white. No agitation, no healthy teeth. Say “no” to agitation, say “hello” to tons of problems with gum disease and stinky breath.

Exercise

With exercise, the name of the game is movement. We have to move (faster! harder! higher! more!) in order to stay — or get — healthy. We have to agitate our state of inactivity in order to get the blood pumping, the brain firing and the fat cells freaking out. No agitation, no good number on the scale. Say “no” to agitation, say “hello, my little friend” to cardiac issues.

Clothes

Clothes get clean, of course, by the agitation of washing machines. They get tossed around in swirling water, and all that motion is what gets the dirt out. No agitation, no clean shirt to wear on your hot date. Say “no” to agitation, say “where you been all my life?” to dull, marred clothing.

Other examples, I’m sure, abound. Some combination of Newton’s laws of motion must be at the root of this truth, though I’m most definitely not the one to explain them to you.

But I’ve also thought about what agitation in life means. Agitation in this sense means disruption — something that upsets our proverbial applecart. We live our lives, doing our routines, doing what we’re supposed to do, not disrupting the social order, minding our own business. Yet somehow, stuff gets all messed up. Something happens that jolts us out of our daily grinds, and what do we have to do to either fix it so that we can go back to our routine or find a better path? Something. We have to do something. We have to move.  To do something out of the norm. To agitate.

Go ahead and let something ruffle your feathers (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jamesrbowe/4016660659/)

And that thing that we do — whatever it is — can be agitating to us. Doesn’t have to be agitating in the annoying sense of the word, but it often is, at least at the beginning. And why is it annoying? Because it’s most probably out of our comfort zone.

The thing is, though, that it’s that very agitation, the act of doing (and doing something a bit odd to us) that makes us move forward as people, as an integral part of the human race. It helps us grow. It’s a very personal thing, this agitation, but it’s a great thing, truly.

So what’s my takeaway from this little epiphany? It’s simple to think about, not the easiest of tasks to start, yet ultimately fulfilling as interactive beings on this here planet:

Embrace agitation, in all its forms. It’s the stuff that dreams are made of.

Phew! That was fun.

Happy trails!

SAK

I love food. More specifically, if I were a player on “Survivor,” I would love food, but as I’m just an average Jane doing my thing in this world and not having to eat bugs to survive, I love good food. One part of food — one of many, I dare say — which I love most is the language of it. Food in its presentation state isn’t just food; it’s much grander than that.

For example:

• Cow is not cow; it’s beef.
• Pig is not pig; it’s pork.
• Goose liver is not goose liver; it’s foie gras.
• Bull testicles are not bull testicles; they’re Rocky Mountain oysters.
• A pan full of everything but the kitchen sink is not a pan full of everything but the kitchen sink; it’s paella.

Granted, nothing in the above list would make it onto my pescetarian plate (not even seafood paella, as I’m relatively picky when it comes to seafood, as well). However, the point is the same: The language of food romanticizes what ends up plated in front of eager patrons.

One such subtle change in the language of cuisine that I’ve recently noticed has to do with beans. Yes, beans. Those plain-ol’, little, inexpensive peas, beans and lentils are also known as pulses. I think I heard the term a year or so ago (which could easily mean I heard it five or more years ago) but dismissed it as random terminology.

When it comes to pulses, it's what's inside that counts (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fragiletender/3664759157/)

Pulses are random no more. Not only is Wikipedia fully up on it, but pulses also made it onto the menu of the restaurant that just topped — for the second year in a row — the S. Pellegrino World’s 50 Best Restaurants list. That’s pretty impressive for a lowly seed and its brethren.

Pulses carry with them a bevy of benefits:

• High in protein
• High in fiber
• High essential amino acid content
• Virtually fat-free
• Affordable
• Versatile (pulses are either a mainstay or an accompaniment in nearly every world cuisine)

For me, though, the main emphasis of this post is to emphasize the use of the term “pulse” rather than the oh-so-2010 term “bean.” Since it seems to be incorporating itself into the lexicon a bit more frequently these, days, I’m thinking that making a three-pulse salad or American chili with pulses and Cherokee purples sounds much more palatable and in-the-know.

Et tu?

Happy trails!

SAK

It’s a crapshoot, I tell you.

I had just started in a new position at a new agency and was excited to start things off right with an updated AP Stylebook. Makes sense, I thought, since my own copy of the veritable writer’s bible was the 2007 version. Staying current with the 2010 version (even though it’s already 2011, thank you very much) seemed like a grand idea, especially since the 2011 version wasn’t going to be published for a few months yet.

The 2010 version, for those with inquiring minds, is the first book put out by the AP folks with website spelled as one word and all lowercase. That, my dear readers, was a monumental advancement. Ask any writer or editor you know (hell, you can even ask an opinionated designer or two — they’ll freely offer their belief system on the now-antiquated two-word Web site); he or she will probably be able to explain in four-part harmony the beneficial or detrimental nuances of using one word or two, depending on his or her preference.

So — back to the crapshoot.

As a writer and editor in my new digs at Armstrong|Shank Advertising, I thought it appropriate to get my hands on the latest AP Stylebook. The office manager said, “Hey! No problem. We’ll order one of those suckers right away.”

Cool!

It arrived lickety-split and I set to work, prepared for whatever odd grammar question could arise.

Those progressive heart candy makers must've known that the AP Stylebook editors would cave sooner or later (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/trmarch/3240265590/)

Then, just a few short days ago, the AP Stylebook folks threw a grammar wrench in my well-laid plans. They decided to cave under the pressure of the masses and allow email to take the place of e-mail.

And that, my friends, is huge. Even bigger news than Web site to website. It’s so huge because, in the history of the English language, no compound noun that starts with a single letter has lost its hyphen. For example:

• A-frame
• G-string
• S-curve
• T-ball
• T-shirt
• U-turn
• X-ray

It seems odd to me that the hyphen isn’t there, too, because for the two people who don’t yet know what electronic mail is, reading the word sans hyphen could theoretically make it sound like ehMAIL. And that, as the rest of us electronic whiz kids know, isn’t how it’s supposed to sound.

Why should e-mail lose its hyphen? My best guess is because the masses, in all their texting and tweeting and e-mailing (er, emailing) glory, decided that it’s just too darn difficult to add the hyphen to a word that gets typed or written on such a frequent basis, and those masses revolted to the point of forcing the hand of the AP Stylebook editors.

So — lazy wins.

And you know what? I’m sort of OK with that. I don’t really think it’s the wisest decision based on correctness, but I’ll be a much happier — and faster — tweeter with this new rule in place.

For the record: Email is correct to start a sentence; email is correct in all other sentence locations. Fun times.

Happy trails!

SAK

So today is Monday, March 14, 2011. This means that yesterday was the day we all changed our clocks to account for daylight saving time. We “sprang forward” since it’s spring, and we’ll “fall back” an hour next autumn.

According to the AP Stylebook folks (and they know their stuff), daylight saving time  occurs “from 2 a.m. on the second Sunday in March through 2 a.m. on the first Sunday in November in areas that do not specifically exempt themselves.”

A few details to remember when writing about daylight saving time:

• Daylight saving time is also known as daylight time.
• Do not use a hyphen.
• Do not use an ending “s” in saving.
• Unless it begins a sentence or is associated with a specific time zone, all letters are lowercase (the exception would be the “D” in daylight).
• Saving is dropped when the concept is used with the name of a time zone (e.g., Mountain Daylight Time, Central Daylight Time).

Daylight saving time's autumnal nemesis (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/alancleaver/4293345633/)

A little history
George Vernon Hudson, an English entomologist and astronomer who lived in New Zealand, proposed the idea of daylight saving time in order to enjoy the benefits of added daylight in the hours after work. He had initially suggested a two-hour jump. (Can you imagine?)

Who benefits from daylight saving time? In particular, retailers (more time for shopping after work) and outdoor sports (more time spent making points and defending goals). Who suffers from the time shift? Farmers and those with other sun-based jobs, as well as nighttime entertainment.

Me? I’m OK with falling back in the autumn, because hey — I enjoy an extra hour of sleep in the a.m. The whole spring-forward thing really ain’t my bag. But, of course, no one asked me.

So — I hope that you all remembered to set your alarms and actually got up when they went off this morning. Only eight months until we can fall back in time.

Happy trails!

SAK