Those were the days.

And in between watching “Scooby-Doo,” “The New Zoo Revue,” “The Secrets of Isis,” “Shazam!,” “Pink Panther,” “Rocky and Bullwinkle,” “SuperFriends,” “Land of the Lost,” “Fat Albert” and “Hong Kong Phooey,” I’d learn some stuff.

Huh?

Yep. Thanks to “Schoolhouse Rock” — a fantastic collection of animated, musical, educational short films that would individually play after the cartoon was over — I learned all sorts of things: American history, science, math (egads!), politics and, of course, grammar. One of my favorite “Schoolhouse Rock” films was (and still is, btw) on interjections.

Several of my favorite Saturday-morning cartoons used interjections visually on the screen: “Boris and Natasha” and the classic “Batman” sound effects (Bam! Klonk! Ker-POW!). And one of my favorite interjections was often used in the cartoon (and live-version) “Pink Panther” — aha! As a form of discovery, aha! offers comedic gold for those who can deliver it on target. None was better at delivering that one-liner than Peter Sellers as Jacques Clouseau in the live-action “Pink Panther” films.

Every once in a while, I like to use aha! in my writing. But recently it struck me that perhaps I didn’t know how to spell it correctly. I waffled between the plain, old aha! and the hyphenated a-ha! But which is correct?

According to the online dictionaries Merriam-Webster and Webster’s New World College, the no-hyphen aha! wins. Webster’s New World College does list the hyphenated version as a secondary possibility, but secondary doesn’t cut it in this burg. So my recommendation is to go with the simpler aha! spelling.

A last note: Although neither dictionary lists the word aha with an exclamation point permanently attached to it, I have done so in this post — reason being that aha is almost never used without the exclamation point. I suppose it could be used with a period to imply sarcasm or a dead-pan delivery or a question mark to imply inquisitiveness, but those are rare beasts, indeed. If you know of other punctuation that could work, send the examples my way.

Happy trails!

SAK

That’s a line from the 1970s’ classic Schoolhouse Rock series of educational short films that helped shape a generation.

The thing is, though, when you go to YouTube to watch this particular film, the headline reads, School house Rock — Elbow Room. The word suggesting a certain amount of personal space — elbowroom — is written as two words (and School house should really be Schoolhouse — aargh!).

That’s no good.

I jest — sort of. When Schoolhouse Rock was in its prime, elbowroom may very well have been spelled with two words, as it’s been around since the 1500s. And most students of the English language know that words with compound qualities often started out as two words, then perhaps migrated to a hyphenated word (or not) before becoming a single word. These same students also know that this is a language of movement. And they also know that any change that occurs in this fabulous language also happens at a snail’s pace.

So elbowroom is now in several respected dictionaries (Webster’s New World College among them). But what about other -room words?

A plethora (OK, “Three Amigos” was just on the tube, so sue me) of -room concepts have made the migration to single word-dom. Examples include:

• Barroom
• Bathroom
• Boardroom (think Donald Trump)
• Classroom
• Courtroom
• Darkroom
• Greenroom
• Headroom
• Homeroom
• Legroom
• Lunchroom
• Mudroom
• Newsroom
• Playroom
• Restroom
• Stateroom
• Stockroom
• Sunroom
• Taproom
• Toolroom
• Washroom
• Workroom

And that’s just a partial list. But what about break room? How long does it have to be the red-haired stepchild of the -room family? Its function is similar to the lunchroom; it has just two syllables, making it a prime candidate for one-word status; and it wouldn’t confuse many people by making it one word. What gives? Come on, Merriam-Webster. Get with it, Webster’s New World College. Get on board, AP Stylebook. Breakroom is the way to go.

But don’t quote me on that until it becomes official, folks, for as much as I like improving the language for the sake of good sense, I also tend to follow rules. So until that little miracle happens, continue to use break room.

Other groups of words fit into this two-words-left-behind scenario, such as chat room (a relatively young word), clean room (a room that is kept exceptionally clean and free of dust, debris, etc., in order to manufacture or assemble objects) and great room (another relatively new term referring to space in the house where people tend to hang out because it serves several functions). But those, my friends, are for another day.

Happy trails!

SAK

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

Fine. I’m OK with that.

I do, however, enjoy reading to my two kids at night. Their books are fun, rhyming, colorful short (short!) stories with cool illustrations. And since it’s the holidays, we’re reading a few books that I grew up with — “Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer” and Christmas in Many Lands” — as well as a few new ones, such as “Elf on the Shelf” (we named ours Leo and today he’s perched on top of our refrigerator) and “Olive, the Other Reindeer.”

Ah, Olive. If only your creators knew the difference between every day and everyday, reading would be ever-so-slightly more enjoyable for me, the word dork.

You see, “Olive, the Other Reindeer” starts out by botching the very first word, which means that I have to put on my tattered editor hat throughout the rest of the reading. It’s just innate for me. I can’t get through the book now without cringing on the very first page.

(Technically, it starts off even earlier than the first page: The title has punctuation in it. Ugh. A period is tacked on. Not sure why, it just is. Weird.)

Anyway, the story begins, “Everyday, Olive took her daily dog walk ….” In this instance, everyday should take the adverb form (two words) because it is expressing a manner of time. Were it meant to be an adjective, it would be modifying a noun of some sort. Alas, that is not the case at the beginning of this story.

To keep the adverb-adjective relationship straight, I like to (still) think of the Schoolhouse Rock snippets:

• Adverb — “Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, get your adverbs here. … How, where or when, condition or reason — these questions are answered when you use an adverb.” If it ends in ly and the ly isn’t a regular part of the word (as in family), then it’s probably an adverb. The phrase every day answers the question of when, so it’s an adverb.

• Adjective — These handy, little words “describe the people, places and every last thing” and “are often used to help us compare things. … We hiked along without care. Then we ran into a bear. He was a hairy bear. He was a scary bear. We beat a hasty retreat from his lair.”

Cool, huh?

Back to “Olive, the Other Reindeer” for just a second. The book, written by Vivian Walsh and J. Otto Seibold, is a fun children’s book. The story is cute; it’s about an industrious little dog who thinks that she’s a reindeer, so she goes to the North Pole to help Santa out. The pages are filled with quirky, fun illustrations by Seibold; I especially love the two pages that show the reindeer navigating around the Eiffel Tower. Despite the everyday blunder, this book’s worth the read.

Happy trails!

SAK

Prepositions are a group of words that link nouns, pronouns and phrases (prepositional phrases — get it?) to other words. They are usually indicators of time or space. Here is a handy list of the most-used prepositions:

• About
• Above
• Across
• After
• Against
• Along
• Around
• At
• Beneath
• Behind
• Below
* Beside
• Between
• Beyond
• But
• By
• Down
• During
• Far
• For
• From
• In
• Like
• Near
• Of
• Off
• On
• Outside
• Over
• Past
• Since
• Through
• To
• Under
• Until
• Up
• With

Prepositions are great; really, they are. I love ‘em so. But they do tend to get overused. “Where are you at?” Argh. This drives me crazy, especially when I find myself saying it. “Where are you?” is plenty of information; the at is completely unneccessary. Same with “Where did you get that from?” The from is not needed. “Where did you get that?” makes sense, doesn’t it? Yes, it does.

And here’s one of my pet peeves: I see writing very often that has layers upon layers of prepositional phrases, all within one sentence; and very often, those prepositional phrases that are right next to each other begin with the same preposition:

• The dog that ate the berries of the tree of Bob is sick. (OK, so that sentence bites for several reasons.)
• Bob buys treats for his dog for a snack.
• The snack on the plate on the counter is for the dog.

First bullet: two of prepositional phrases.
Second bullet: two for prepositional phrases.
Third bullet: two on prepositional phrases.

I am not sure if it’s written somewhere as a grammar rule that a good writer does not use two prepositional phrases in a row — both starting with the same preposition — but it drives me absolutely batty. I change or rewrite every instance that is within my power to alter, and I heartily suggest you do the same.

Serenity now!

Happy trails!

SAK