All You Create

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

Nearing the end of the weekend and still plenty to do around the house, I thought you lovers of all things wordy would like this quick post. Or maybe not, depending on what I’m about to write. Either way, here goes.

You know that modern convenience at nearly every fast-food joint in town? That window — or two windows — that you zoom around a building to get to in order to pay dollars and cents in exchange for hot, often-fried, not-all-that-healthy food? Or the line that you wait in at the bank, trying to extract some cash from a tube that zips from you to a smiling attendant? Or the short line with a long wait at the local pharmacy?

Yeah, that thing that saves you time but wastes gas — that thing. That thing that offered me solace and at the same time gave me a sense of responsibility in my very first job at McDonald’s. That thing is technically called a drive-through window. Or a drive-up window.

Not a drive-thru window.

Only in Cali: This two-lane drive-through pulls double-duty for a Bank of America ATM and Starbucks window (photo: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Starbucks_and_
Bank_of_America_Drive_Through.jpg

Check out Merriam-Webster or Webster’s New World College dictionaries and you’ll see that I’m not just making it up to be difficult. I wouldn’t mind too much if thru were adopted as street-legal by either of these dictionaries. But alas, that day has yet to come, and so I stick to my guns and say to you: “Drive through the drive-through!”

Happy trails!

SAK

This is a short addition to the previous post on the correct pronunciation of pajamas (or, as the case may be, pajama).

One of my favorite albums is “Negotiations and Love Songs,” and one of my favorite songs on the album is “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” (which, by the way, debuted on his second album, “Paul Simon”). The very first line of the song goes like this:

The mama pajama rolled out of bed and she ran to the police station.

In this song, my friends, Paul sings it with that second a in pajama rhyming with mama. Not Pam or clam or jam or even jammies. But like llama. Like Obama. Like it should be pronounced, according to Merriam-Webster’s preference.

I suppose that’s enough on this subject. Just thought it would be another good way to get some decent tunes flowing.

Happy trails!

SAK

Leave it to one-time presidential-hopeful Sarah Palin to continually provide grammar fodder for the media, as well as for bloggers (such as yours truly), Facebook addicts and Twitter hounds alike.

This past Sunday, Palin tweeted the following:

“Ground Zero Mosque supporters, doesn’t it stab you in the heart as it does ours throughout the heartland? Peaceful Muslims, please refudiate.”

The popular assumption running around the Internet is that someone pointed the fact that “refudiate” isn’t a dictionary-recognized word to Palin, who then deleted the first tweet and entered a new, presumably more-correct version:

“Peaceful New Yorkers, pls refute the Ground Zero mosque plan if you believe catastrophic pain caused @ Twin Towers site is too raw, too real.”

The second version isn’t much better than the first — and that’s without even getting into the politics of what she’s trying, very unsuccessfully, to get across.

Palin was probably trying to use “repudiate” but may have been thinking about the word “refute” and, not fully comprehending (ahem) the distinction between the two, blended them into “refudiate.” Whether by accident or on purpose, the tweeted goof made far-reaching news.

Let’s look at the three words:

Refudiate =

Read the entire article.

I was reading an article in an aviation magazine today (true story) and ran across an article with a title that mentioned an ax to grind.

First problem: The title was split on two lines and the word ax was at the end of the first line, with to grind at the beginning of the second line. Ech. It’s no fun to read a typical phrase, such as this one, that’s been split in two as if it’s a banana flippin’ split. Ruins the flow for the reader. Not to mention that the last word on the first line is a mere two letters long.

But I digress once again.

Second and, for the purpose of this entry, main problem: Ax was spelled ax. Two letters. It just looked wrong.

So what did I do?

Read the entire article.

I love reading to my kids. No matter what else happened that day — good or bad — and no matter how many times I reprimanded them throughout the day, at the dinner table or while getting ready for bed, that time spent snuggling head to head, cheek to cheek, shoulder to shoulder while flipping through a book that we’ve read 67 times before is, as they say, priceless.

And that doesn’t even include all the weird mistakes we find in said books. They’re real gems, those mistakes.

Tonight’s story was P.D. Eastman’s “Go, Dog. Go!” It’s especially fun for a word nerd like me because I get to point out three types of punctuation in the title alone, and I get such a thrill when my 4-year-old exclaims, “Explanation point, Mom! I found one!”

She makes me so proud.

But something always bugged me about the wording inside. There are two dogs, one male and one female, who periodically meet throughout the book. Both dogs wear various hats. The girl dog asks the boy dog if he likes her hat, and he always says some version of “No, I don’t like that hat.” So they part, the girl dog looking miffed and the boy dog looking oblivious. The last meeting ends amicably because the girl dog has gone all out — and I mean all out — in designing her hat; the boy dog finally agrees that her hat is pretty cool.

Do you like my hat? (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/table4five/4067671771/)

What got me, though, was how Eastman spelled good-by (without an ending “e”). It just doesn’t look right to me.

Read the entire article.

I was writing an article the other day and wanted to write about something being paid attention to in a timely and appropriate fashion and, for the life of me, I blanked on how to spell duly (as in duly noted). Is it dooly? Dooley? Duley? Duely?

Good grief. My mind must be slipping.

So I looked it up, as I always — and often — do when I’m not 100 percent sure of the spelling or definition. Good ol’ Merriam-Webster to the rescue! Dating back to the 14th century, this adverb means “in a due manner of time,” and properly, at that.

Dudley Do-Right always duly notes the evil doings of Snidely Whiplash

Read the entire article.

I’ve been doing a fair amount of freelance copywriting lately and, while doing some much-needed research, ran across this little gem of grammatical confusion: What’s the difference between rigorous and vigorous?

Michael Jackson undeniably danced with vigor, while his rehearsals were both rigorous and vigorous (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/21462523@N07/2329507744/)

Read the entire article.

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.

What color is it?

Well, what are we talking about?

An elephant. An oyster. A moody sky. A town in Maine. A city in Georgia. A brewing company. “What’s-her-name’s Anatomy.” One of the lonelier colors in the big box with the cool sharpener.

That’s right — it’s gray. Or is it grey?

Gray can be gorgeous — no matter how you spell it.

The answer depends on your location. If you’re stateside, the color is gray unless it is a person’s or company’s preferred spelling or if you’ve checked Merriam-Webster’s dictionary for first-mentioned spellings.

There are, as always, a few wild hairs:

• Greyhound (a dog, a cocktail)
• Earl Grey (a tea)
• Grey friar (a Franciscan friar)

If you’ve hopped the pond, however, the colour is grey. While you’re in UK English-speaking countries, feel free to use grey as often as you wish, as it is the preferred British spelling.

If you’re writing with the AP Stylebook in mind, however, it doesn’t matter where you are; gray is the way to go. And you know how I feel about the AP Stylebook, don’t you?

Happy trails!

SAK