Bloody Well Write

A friend of mine has a dog — and an extraordinarily adorable one at that — named Google. This same friend is also the technology teacher at a local middle school. The dog’s name, then, makes even more sense, yes?

So when this friend asked me the proper way to spell the word that implies the action of looking something up on the popular search engine named Google (and then suggested that it could make a decent blog topic — smart friend), I just had to help.

Google, the ridiculously cute pup (photo: courtesy of Google's owner-mom)

So how do you spell it? Depending on your phrasing, there are a few ways to get your point across:

• He is going to Google “How to use a neti pot” whenever his sinuses start to flare up.
• I Googled the movie times for “Eat, Pray, Love” — so excited to see it.
• She found a groovy pair of blue beaded sandals by Googling them — and they were available in her size.

Notice that the final “e” remains in the first two examples but gets dropped when the suffix -ing gets added. (It’s Googling, not Googleing.) Note, too, that all instances use an uppercase “G” in the initial position. According the the newest AP Stylebook, it’s Google when you’re talking about the company and search engine, indeed, but it’s also Google when you’re employing a verb. Same goes for Googled and Googling. One day, all references (save the company name, search engine and awesome dog) may be lowercased, but that day has yet to come.

Don’t just take my word for it; why don’t you Google it for yourself?

Happy trails!

SAK

I never thought about it before I became a proofreader more than a decade ago. I’d venture to guess that most people don’t think about it, either, or ever will. And yet now that I know the difference, it bugs me enough to write an entry on it.

On what?

On the copyright symbol — © — and the redundant use of the word copyright alongside the symbol.

If you look at the copyright information on just about anything, you may very well see something like this:

Copyright © 1989, 1996 by  …. (This particular instance is from the parenting book “What to Expect the First Year.”)

The problem with the above information is that it is repeating the idea of copyright: the word, then the symbol. It’s akin to  “I’d like $40 dollars, please.” The dollar sign ($) and the word dollars mean exactly the same thing, so if you said it out loud, you’d say, “I’d like dollars 40 dollars, please.” You see the ick factor, grammatically speaking, yes?

So, regarding the copyright issue, two correct ways to write it would be, in the “What to Expect the First Year” example:

Copyright 1989, 1996 by …

or

© 1989, 1996 by …

This singular copyright construction also aligns with AP Stylebook conventions. And that, as you faithful Bloody Well Write readers know, makes the world right as far as I’m concerned.

My preference is the second option, mainly because symbols are, well, cute. Symbols make phrases look somehow more professional, more acceptable. They also take up less space than the word or words they symbolize, and that often comes in handy when you’re limited with space issues.

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

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

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.

William Shakespeare: neither barefaced nor (100 percent) bald, but bold nonetheless (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/baronbrian/4139672758)

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

Ah, grammar! Were it not for grammar — and good grammar, at that — the world would surely be a heaping, chaotic mess. For without grammar, how would we humans ever be able to order a cup o’ joe properly (especially the double-double light dolce iced latte variety) or be able to sue each other with such flourish? How would we know if we were being asked about which meal we would like to order, and if we would like fries with it? And how, for Pete’s sake, would we be able to communicate our every want, need and desire to those who may be able to provide it, were it not for good grammar etiquette?

Good grammar is the very foundation of our society, is it not? It helped our forefathers put down in black and white just how they wanted the United States of America to operate. And lawmakers and politicians ever since — with a few potatoe-flinging exceptions — have been trying to uphold the same kind of respect for the language.

Go ahead — you know you want to (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/adactio/3368018014)

Granted, the very nature of language is a morphing art form. The intelligentsia of yesteryear have given way to the whiz kids of the now. What was once imperturbable and phlegmatic is now cool; what used to be favored (or favoured) and marvelous is now hot, rad or boss.

And that change is, indeed, rad — even though the process of change sometimes raises several eyebrows.

So go ahead and celebrate grammar:

• Bake an ampersand cake or (for the baking-challenged) ellipsis cookies.
• Introduce the kiddos to “Schoolhouse Rock” and don’t feel self-conscious as you belt out the songs.
• Send grammar tidbits around the office via interoffice e-mail.
• Take a pad of sticky notes to dinner tonight, as it’s highly probable that your menu will have at least one grammar issue, and leave behind a sticky note that calls out the offending mistake — much more respectable than writing all over the menu with a red Sharpie®.
• Send a National Grammar Day E-card.
• Profess your undying love of the AP Stylebook guidelines.

Visit any of the myriad of sites online that celebrate language today and every day. Here are the sites of three grammar gurus (my faves) to whet your whistle:

Quick and Dirty Tips™ — Mignon Fogarty (Grammar Girl™ and the host of this year’s NGD)

The Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar (SPOGG) — Martha Brockenbrough (founder of NGD).

The Slot — Bill Walsh (chief of the night desk — Washington Post)

And on that note (isn’t it fantastic that good grammar includes beginning sentences with conjunctions?), I bid you a happy NGD to you and yours.

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

Jenny, I got your number.

Here’s how the AP Stylebook folks would like to see telephone numbers in print: 123-456-7890.

Ah, hyphens. Hey — at least they dropped the parentheses around the area code. Be happy.

Now, I know this doesn’t jibe with all the designers out there. And you know what? It doesn’t necessarily jibe with me, either. I’m a fan of dots (er, periods). I would rather see this: 123.456.7890.

So I guess what I’m promoting is this:

• If you or your company says that AP rules the proverbial roost and there should be absolutely no deviation, use the hyphens in your phone numbers. (And I’m so completely OK with that, as I do believe that AP has your back nearly every time, grammatically speaking.)

• If, on the other hand, you have a designer itching at the keypad to produce funky (or just non-hyphenated) art with numbers, use periods, stars, squares or whatever else floats that designer’s boat.

Just make it readable. After all, if you’re putting a phone number in print, you probably want people to be able to decipher that number and then call it, correct? Correct.

Happy trails!

SAK