Gimme All Your Bluffin’

During my junior and senior years at college, there was a group of us who kind of always ate lunch together.

Well, actually it was this guy I really adored and would do anything to be around *COUGH* stalker *COUGH COUGH*, his two roommates, and a fluctuating assortment of the guys from their residence group — which is like a fraternity in that it’s a group of guys living together, but decidedly unlike a fraternity for its lack of hazing and brotherly humiliation.

So, back to our lunch group – I was usually the only girl there, which was fine with me. I didn’t care for the giggly-sorority-type which made up the majority of the female student population. I found the male students to be 85% less catty, and therefore, 100% more interesting. Occasionally, one of them would bring along whatever vacuous blonde he was dating at the time, but it was a rare thing. Fine with me – I had been comfortable being “one of the guys” since high school.

Music was one of the most common topics of discussion over our meals. Videos were The New Thing. MTV had launched just the month before my class began our Freshman year. While we did want our MTV, there was no cable TV at Grove City College. What there was  were televisions with antennas in some of the dorm lobbies. Beginning in 1983, very late on Friday nights, groups of people would commandeer these TVs to watch Friday Night Videos — network TV’s answer to MTV — on static-plagued screens. Watching popular music instead of merely listening to it was quite the phenomenon.

And now to the bit all this has been leading up to — I may mentally meander a bit, but I get there eventually:

One day at lunch, the object of my adoration excitedly told us about an unprecedented Christmas album coming out by a band most of us liked. They were going to take some of their songs and put Christmasy-type lyrics to them. Then he started singing one of them:

“Red Suit,
Fur hat,
and I don’t care because
my belly’s fat”

then a line from the chorus,

“Coz every girl’s
crazy ’bout a
San-ta Claus”

The group? ZZ Top, of course, to the tune “Sharp-Dressed Man“

Well, I thought this was just the Best Thing Ever, because I just loved ZZ Top at that time. The next day at lunch, there was someone at the table who hadn’t been there the day before, so I started telling him about this new ZZ Top album.

Then everyone else started laughing. Apparently they’d all known he’d made up the entire thing. I was the only one who didn’t realize it. Gullible is not my middle name, but it must be a footnote on my birth certificate.

Well, you’ll be pleased to know I got my revenge.

Yes, it took me a few years, but eventually…..I married the jokester. Ha, that’ll learn ya.

In 27 years of marriage, I’ve once in a while managed to pull the wool over his eyes and fool him with some made-up nonsense, but not very often. He also still gets me once in a while. But, so that I don’t look like an idiot in front of others, he is kind enough to make sure I realize when he’s telling a tale. If I don’t figure it out on my own, he’ll quietly start singing, “Red suit, fur hat….”

Then we share a secret smile, and I love him all the more.

 

The Opposite Of Grammar – Addendum, Being Composed Of, But Most Definitely Not Comprising All Complaints On The Topic

Have you noticed that almost nobody uses the word comprise and its various forms (comprised, comprising) correctly? Just this morning, in Supposedly Professional Print Media, I noticed a writer using comprised as a synonym for composed, which it is not. Both are used to describe the relation of parts to the whole, but not in the same manner.

Composed means, more or less, “made up of” — and when you say something is composed of  {these things} you may or may not be including all of the {things} of which it is made, opting for only the items most relevant to making your point.

To comprise means “to contain” and the correct usage will usually include ALL the parts making up the whole. Oh, and with comprise, the whole should come before the parts.

“The county softball league, comprising seven teams of middle-school-aged boys and girls, had its final tournament on May 29th before a surprisingly large crowd of supporters.”

“The decaying main house, comprising a crumbling commercial-sized kitchen, cavernous dining room, cramped servants’ quarters, a pretentious sitting room, no less than seven bathrooms and entirely too many bedrooms, was a counterpoint of elegance and abandonment.”

And if you ever, ever, EVER use the phrase “comprised of” — well, honey, you ain’t even close to being right. Those two words should never be neighbors.

Disclaimer: I hereby renounce any and all claims to knowledge of Proper Comma Usage. Either I never had a full grasp of that specific punctuation part, or if it has abandoned me along with my Internal Spell Check. My mind is going. I can feel it. Daisy…Daisy, give me your answer…do…I’m half…crazy…all for…the love…of…you…

So, I couldn’t remember how much to pay the chiropractor – (Not Entirely) Wordless Wednesday

The Opposite of Grammar – My Idiomatic Idiosyncracies

I’m not a Grammar Nazi. Nor am I on the Spelling S.W.A.T. team. And I am most especially not the Punctuation Police. I wouldn’t have any moral high ground to stand on if I was any of those. Which you already know if you’ve read my posts. Or even this paragraph.

In school, some things came easily to me. Grammar and usage were things I picked up from my voracious reading and from watching Grammar Rock between Saturday morning cartoons. Learning grammar in school merely annoyed me: why did I need to diagram sentences and learn about past subjunctive and conjugation? Never saw the point, since I understood what I needed to know by merely reading well-written prose. It was obvious to me how all the bits fit together to make sentences. Common sense. And once I discovered the wonder that is The Thesaurus, I was good to go.

And another thing: I never saw the point of the Weekly Spelling Lessons, either, because I assumed everyone should be able to just naturally spell things with ease, with nary a thought, like me. But during the last couple years my internal Spell Check System seems to have gone offline, and since I turned 50 last month, it’s probably out of warranty, too.

Now, I find myself misspelling words that I never even had to think about before.  Last week, when my husband asked me for a correct spelling on a word — which he’s done for ages, by the way — now I actually have to stop and think about it. And I got one horribly wrong until I stared at it and really thought. Then I still wasn’t sure and I had to (gasp!) look it up. It’s rather frustrating.

I’ve been known to gleefully split infinitives with great abandon. Also, I’ve done my share of LOLcat speak, both on the internet and in Away From Keyboard Life, mostly with my two now-grown children, who were taught Proper Grammar and even use it when truly necessary. I’ve even been known to use some abbreviations when texting or tweeting. I can even read 1337 (leet) if I really want to know what those whippersnappers are trying to say without their elders knowing, and respond in kind if I want to keep them on their toes. So, my point hers is that I am not a stickler for You Must Always Use Proper Grammar When You Write Anything Always And Forever Amen.

I am a forgiving reader, really, and especially if I’m reading a blog with content that interests me, or a fanfic in which the storytelling style is compelling. I’ll look past the grammar and spelling if the author has me on the edge of my seat in the narrative.

What really drives me up the wall and makes my brain scream NOOOOOOO!!! is when someone just plain uses the wrong word or phrase, especially if it changes what they mean to say into something completely different. Sometimes, you can ascertain what they really meant, but not always. It’s confusing. And if they do it consistently, I may complain, out loud and to whoever is unfortunate enough to be within earshot. And I’ll usually stop reading — unless the overall story is really knock-my-socks-off amazing.

My inspiration to finally write about this came from a recipe I just read on a food blog.

What the food blogger said
“baker’s ammonia – if you can’t find it you can substitute for baking powder“

What the food blogger meant:
“baker’s ammonia – if you can’t find it you can substitute baking powder” or “replace it with” or “use baking powder instead”

If the writer was really in love with the phrase “substitute for” then the correct way to inform a reader who can’t locate baker’s ammonia would have been “you can use baking powder as a substitute for baker’s ammonia.”

No, it’s not a huge thing, and it was the only such error I found, so I am not going to link to the post to pick on the person.

In my mostly unpaid, non-professional, but at least semi-qualified opinion, an even more egregious error is when a writer gets an idiom or a cliché just not quite right.

Sometimes, it’s because the person did not grow up in the language, but that’s not usually the case in the places I’m seeing these errors. It seems to me that it’s done by folks who grew up either hearing people saying it wrong or mishearing what others were saying. Or hearing it said, but remembering it wrong when they went to use it themselves. Close, but no foul-smelling rolled tobacco tube.

Primarily these faux pas occur on what I’d have to consider non-professional websites, but more and more frequently, I’m finding appalling errors in online news stories, which is truly inexcusable for paid, professional writers.

These mistakes were rankling me so much that felt like I HAD to do something about it. But seriously, folks, it’s my own mental issue, so I just started collecting them, not even planning to do anything with the things. Then I remembered I have a blog and perhaps could use that to find some commiseration from kindred souls.

And so, here is what I’ve collected since the beginning of November:

all of the sudden when they obviously mean all of a sudden

End of for end up　

Swilled for swirled

Summarily but the usage shows they clearly meant similarly

Could of instead of could have – this one is unbelievably common

Commander and chief but in context they could only mean commander-in-chief

Fine for find

Underlining for underlying

For all intensive purposes instead of for all intents and purposes – this is my favorite

Perspective for prospective　

Constant for consummate — the adjective usage of “consummate” meaning complete or perfect in all detail. This was mis-used several times in the piece I was reading, and it took me a while to realize the writer really meant “consummate.”

Relies for realize

Disregard instead of discard　

One writer wanted the characters to discuss things in a rational matter instead of manner

Conductive for conducive – granted, this could be just a typo.

Thank you for sharing in my catharsis, because this was pretty much just a purging of pent-up feelings on the subject.

And catharsis does sound much more polite than word vomit.

Angel Baby

Light of my life, Elizabeth, at 23 months.

My Kitschy Valentine

Whether you call it folk art or kitsch, this is a superb example of the purest form of expression imaginable, created by Not Artists who aren’t intimidated into not “doing art” because they’re not trained as artists, made with care and whatever they can lay their hands on. In this case, hay bales are at hand: note the white-plastic-wrapped hay bale snake in the background.

For a few years, there has stood a nearly constant hay bale guardian on this site along US Route 30, near Cashtown PA. The costume varies by season and holiday, and the hay bales need changed out, as that is the nature of hay, and sometimes the guardian is felled by winds and weather, as it was the last time I passed by, two days after I took this photo.

But this kitschy guardian is never down for long. Within a day or two, weather permitting (and time, I’m sure) the hay bales and costume are back in place.

Call it kitsch. Call it cheesy or tacky, if you must. However you designate these kinds of creations, they are the most honest form of art that exists.

It is truly The People’s Art, and that is why it warms my heart.

No matter where you go, there you are

“No matter where you go, there you are.”

This quote, which I’ve frequently used as a tag line on emails, is part of a line from one of my favorite movies, The Adventures of Buckroo Banzai Across the Eight Dimension! The title character, world famous physicist, neurosurgeon, test pilot and rock star Dr. Buckaroo Banzai, actually says “Don’t be mean; we don’t have to be mean, cuz, remember, no matter where you go, there you are.”

At first I loved this quote because it seemed goofy to me, and didn’t make any sense, so I’d use it to confuse people with its obviousness. Because, obviously, wherever you go, you’re there. Right? Silly.

But then, after I got older  matured, I pondered some more and realized it wasn’t silly after all. It really does have a deeper meaning, and a warning of sorts.

You may treat people like they’re beneath you, telling yourself it doesn’t matter because you’re better than them, anyway. You might think that moving out will make everything better. Or getting that certain person to like you. Or getting the ideal job, losing 20 pounds, buying designer clothes. Whatever it is that you think will change everything, make everything better, and fix all your problems.

You’re wrong.

Because when it comes down to it, no matter what you do or where you go, there is one constant. You can’t run away from yourself. No matter where you go, you are kinda right there with you.

If you’ve tried all sorts of different things to up your happiness quotient, and it’s failed, it’s pretty likely the needed change starts inside YOU, because whatever else changes in your life, you are always going to be right there with you, so you’d best work on being someone you (and everyone else) can live with.

A couple sources seem to indicate “No matter where you go, there you are” is attributable to Confucius, which may or may not be true, though he was a rather quotable sort of fellow, wasn’t he?

A new leaf

Seriously? Four months? I knew it had been a while since I’d written…well, pretty much anything other than facebook statuses (statusi? statusies?) and an occasional tweet. What happened?

I’ve really just let the writing slide, because I failed to make it a priority and to make time for it. A bit not good. My husband has even wondered why, since he’d voiced his support for me to continue writing after I moved back in. I don’t really have an excuse, and I’m not going to make one up.

So, tomorrow is the start of a bright, shiny new year, and people tend to do that resolution thingy which I have always resolutely resolved to ignore, so I’m declaring today (or rather, tonight) to be New Leaf Day here on Gruntled. Sheveled. Whelmed.

New Leaf, as in Turning Over A.

Think of it as a resolution for those who oppose doing things that everyone else does. Because if you know me, you already know I’m kinda like that. Even if it ends up being pretty much the same thing, at least I can pretend it’s Different.

Anyway, my New Leaf is this: Write. Every day.

Whether it’s a post for Gruntled, or for Home Ec 101 (a wonderful, helpful site for which I used to write frequently, but I’ve let that slide even longer than this one), working a bit on that book I want to eventually write, or writing something useful for our business. Anything, but it must be actual writing. Texting, emailing, tweeting and status-ing do not count. Also, I will completely finish and post something on this blog at least once a week.

My dear sister was nagging encouraging me, during my recent visit to Ohio, to get back into the habit of writing. Apparently, she has nothing to read if I don’t blog. So, Debbie, this one’s for you.

And to everyone else — feel free to nag me if I don’t post weekly. Yes, I mean you.

“DOGGIES!!” – or – Elizabeth Meets the Mutts

Before anyone freaks, I know they’re not mutts. I’m being lazy and using alliteration in my title because I’m too brain-fogged to be genuinely clever. I may be more apologetic over this later. Or not.

I meant to post the clipping soon after someone who actually subscribes to the Gettysburg Times saw it, recognized the names and gave it to me. The little girl making nice with the doggies is my granddaughter, Elizabeth. If she sees – or even THINKS she sees – any doggies, she will yell, “DOGGIE!!” and insist on meeting them. When we visited my sister’s family, my brother-in-law enjoyed taking his Great Niece around to all meet the neighbor-dogs. And my sister enjoyed reminding him he’s a “Great Uncle” now, trying to make him feel old.

The photo was taken by someone from the Gettysburg Times, on July 21 at the Adams County Irish Festival, which is held at the Gettysburg Moose Park, mostly annually. I think it didn’t happen a couple years, for reasons I’m not privy to.

The location is special for another reason as well. My daughter and son-in-law were married there. How’d that come about that they were married at the Moose Park?

I took my daughter and son to the Irish Festival one year, and they loved it so much that they volunteered at the Festival a few times after that. We’re not even a tiny bit Irish, but they both have the music in their heart. And my daughter loved the venue so much that she decided she wanted to have an outdoor wedding at the same place. With lots of help from friends, it worked.

Whelmed.

…and trying to avoid the negative prefix usually attached to that word. Because we don’t use those here.

You might have noticed that I’ve not posted anything that would qualify as real content for a while, rather than just filler – and there hasn’t even been much of that. But perhaps nobody’s even looking, and I talk to the wind - or the electronic version thereof.

It’s not that I don’t have ideas – I’ve several posts in draft form, begun and abandoned, because my mind keeps telling me You know you should be doing something else. Look at all that stuff you need to get done. Do it. Now.

And, the thing is, it’s never completely done. There’s always more to do.

So, mentally, I’m back where I was a year and a half ago: feeling guilty about writing when there’s so much yet to be done, and quite close to using a negative prefix on the title of this post.