All You Create

Ice cold and not so sweet — that’s how I like my tea. Apparently, that’s how the AP Stylebook folks like referring to the political tea party, as well.

OK, fine — I’ll try to keep my political views out of this.

The 2011 AP Stylebook succinctly explains the tea party as a “populist movement opposing [the] Washington political establishment.” That’s a short and not-so-sweet account of what the tea party is for those who may not have yet heard of the movement. All two of them.

Please note the lowercase “T” and “P” in the name. That’s really the reason for this post. I’ve seen Tea Party just about everywhere. The AP Stylebook — the ultimate writer’s guide (or should that be “the ultimate guide for writers? See? This writing gig is no cakewalk, folks) — lowercases the phrase, and so I intend to do the same. I wish the same for you.

Now this is a tea party! (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/preppybyday/5076312167/)

Iced tea, by the way, is a fantastic drink to sip all day long if you’re looking for some flavor without calories or weird sweeteners. Regular tea has caffeine, so try non-caffeinated teas if you’re worried about being too wired. Either way, drinking tea keeps you hydrated, which (in my opinion) is a quick cure for a lot of what ails us.

Look at that — not a thing to do with grammar. Oy!

Happy trails!

SAK

You say to-MAY-to, I say to-MAH-to.

OK, I say to-MAY-to, too. But that’s the apparent difference between pronouncing the long form of P.J.’s (or jammies, if you ask my husband). The subject came up about the correct pronunciation of pajamas, so I followed my M.O.: I looked it up online. Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary has two (count ‘em, two) sound buttons that play the preferred and secondary pronunciations of the word. But when I looked it up, the sound wouldn’t work.

That was last night.

So I checked out a few other sites that also have sound buttons. Webster’s New World College Dictionary, which the AP Stylebook prefers, has one button. And to my horror and my husband’s delight, it pronounced it pa-JAA-mas (the middle syllable sounds like the a in jam).

Ugh. My loving but woohoo-I’m-right husband thought the case was closed.

Today during a break at work, I polled co-workers about their pronunciation preference. Most agreed with my husband; one agreed with me. So I vowed to check out Merriam-Webster’s one more time, and it worked — on several levels.

P.J.'s, jammies, pajamas — Oh, my! (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/erix/4161088394/)

The first, most prominent sound button confirmed my suspicion: pa-JAH-ma (singular construction, mind you — the middle syllable sounds like the a in saw). The second, less-preferred sound button put forth pa-JAA-ma (again, sounds like jam).

One other tidbit I learned while researching the pajama dilemma: It can be a regional thing. My way (and the correct way, according to Merriam-Webster’s) is the Southeastern United States way to pronounce it. On the flip side, my husband’s pajama preference is popular in the Northeast U.S. and Great Lakes area, as well as the West Coast.

And that’s news to me, for sure. I wouldn’t have guessed that my preference is a Southern thing. Heck, lots of folks have mistaken me for an East Coaster, and I lived in sunny Cali for a spell. But after thinking about it, pa-JAA-mas does have a Southern ring to it. Interesting stuff.

Happy trails!

SAK

“Got to, got to get us some elbowroom.”

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

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:

Read the entire article.

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?

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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.

Read the entire article.

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. Read the entire article.

Yet another good thing to come out of the <a href=”http://apstylebook.com/”>AP Stylebook</a> 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?

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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.

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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?

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