Who’s On First?—The Update

 

Who’s On First?—The Update

Who’s on first?

They are.

Who, Tom and Dick?

No, Harry.

You said they.

That’s Harry’s preferred pronoun.

What?

Harry’s preferred pronouns: they/them/theirs.

So they’re on first?

Yes.

Anyone on the other bases?

They are.

But you just said they are on first.

They are. That’s Harry.

Who are on the other bases?

They are.

Who are they?

Tom and Dick.

Do they have preferred pronouns?

Yes, I do.

No, I’m talking about Tom and Dick.

Yes.I isTom’s preferred pronoun.

You are? And shouldn’t you say, I am?

No, I am means me. My preferred pronouns are I/me/mine.

I thought we were talking about Tom.

I was. We were talking about me.

You are Tom?

Sort of.  I’m me. Tom is also me.

So who is Dick?

Dick is you.

Me? I’m Dick?

You is Dick’s preferred pronoun now.

What do you mean now?

He used to go by fee/fie/fo/fum. But you can have only three preferred pronouns. Otherwise it can cause confusion.

So I have to honor these pronouns, whether they’re fee/fie/fo/fum or you/you/yours?

Yes; not doing so is impolite.

OK, to recap, they are on first, but they aren’t you or me?

Right.

What are your preferred pronouns?

Your majesty/superglue/kwaak.

But that’s ridiculous. Those aren’t pronouns. You can’t just make up pronouns.

I’m your majesty; I can do what I want.

So instead of saying, “I asked him to give me my AK47,” I’m supposed to say, “Your majesty asked him to give superglue kwaak AK47.”

Right.

That’s gibberish.

But you now know what I mean.

Will other people?

Does that matter?

Won’t all this confuse your coach, Buster.

You mean her.

Her?

Yes, she goes by she/her/hers. Don’t ask. It’s not polite.

Doesn’t this pronoun stuff lead to confusion?

For whom?

Oh, look, whom’s now on first.

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Dancing Gate Agents

 

Normally, our words are intended to be received and understood by others. If I say “Hello,” “Where is the warthog?” or “You’re standing on my foot,” I am directing those words at you and have a reasonable expectation that you will understand them. Exceptions: If I’m writing in my journal or making a shopping list, the words aren’t intended for others. Same if I’m singing in the shower or talking to a 3-month-old baby who doesn’t yet understand words in any language.

But what bugs me is the person whose job it is to communicate clearly yet doesn’t. Think of those airline gate agents who announce that “We are now ready to begin boarding flight 646 to Greater Oblivion. At this time we’d like….” But instead, it comes out as “Wearenowreadytobeginboardingflight 646to GreaterOblivion.…” And at this time I’m completely lost. Admittedly, my ears aren’t what they used to be. [Somewhere, a heckler yells, “No, they used to be your nose…”] But this deluge of sounds, delivered by a champion speed-speaker, is lost on me. The gate agent thinks his or her duty is done; the message has been delivered. For all the good it’s done me, this person might as well have said nothing. Instead, I’m frustrated at having missed what could be important information. The agent’s made a fundamental mistake: The task is not to speak, but to ensure that the words were received.

Peter Ustinov said, “Communication is the art of being understood.” If the speaker won’t attend to the “being understood” bit, maybe the novelist Nikos Kazantzakis has the answer. His character, Zorba the Greek, says, “I’ve got a thick skull, boss, I don’t grasp these things easily.  Ah, if only you could dance all that you have just said, then I’d understand . . . .  ”

[300 words]

Of Reintarnation and Mary Poppins

 

Of Reintarnation and Mary Poppins

This week my friend M.J. reminded me of a wonderfully inventive annual competition involving wordplay. One needs to change a single letter in a word to give it a new (and invariably amusing) meaning. Some examples of past entries…

 Sarchasm : The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn’t get it.

Reintarnation : Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

Giraffiti : Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

Besides the amusement these and other entries offer, I admire the creative minds that produced them. That got me thinking about other kinds of verbal creativity. One finds them in various settings, including headlines. One of my favorites is from the United Kingdom.

When the underdog Caledonian Thistles took on Celtic in a 2000 Scottish Cup soccer match, they unexpectedly won: 3-1. The Sun newspaper announced the Caledonian (or “Caley”) victory as: Super Caley Go Ballistic, Celtic Are Atrocious. (You need to say this aloud and if you still don’t get it, think “Mary Poppins.”) 

Another sports example: The Wimbledon men’s final in 1987 was between the Australian Pat Cash and a Czech, Ivan Lendl. At least one paper headlined the upcoming match by asking, “Will it be Cash or a Czech?” Cash won.

I’ve also long loved repartee, and admired the quick wit some people have in responding to a situation. Take for example former Australian Prime Minister Robert Menzies. He was heckled at a campaign event by a woman who shouted, “I wouldn’t vote for you if you were the Archangel Gabriel.” Menzies’ reply: “If I were the Archangel Gabriel, madam, you would not be in my constituency.”

Then there are those delicious, deliberate ambiguities, like the job reference that says, “It is difficult to say enough good things about this person.”

Or this blog-post, perhaps.

[300 words]

 

 

The Whole Shebang

 

The Whole Shebang

(With recognition to the Monty Python sketch, “You were lucky…” Treat yourself; find it on You Tube.)

Merriam-Webster says the origin of “shebang” is unknown. No matter. What’s of importance to us today is how the word is most commonly used, in the phrase: “the whole shebang.” Why the whole shebang?

But first a quick detour to note the dictionary’s definition of “shebang” as “everything involved in what is under consideration.” OK. But why the whole shebang,,,,?

First voice: “Yes, we had the whole shebang at our house this weekend.”

Second voice: “You were lucky. When we were growing up, when things were good we could afford only half a shebang. We could only dream of having a whole shebang.”

Third voice: “Half a shebang? Sheer luxury. Our sixteenth of a shebang was so small you could fit it in a matchbox. And we had to share it among 17 of us.”

Fourth voice: “You at least had a shebang. Not only did we not have any shebang, we didn’t even have any druthers. I’ll never forget my father at our kitchen cardboard box (we couldn’t afford a table) shaking his head and saying over and over, ‘If I had my druthers.’”

First voice: “Well, my dad said that even though we had a whole shebang, he would far preferred to have had his druthers.”

Third voice: “My dad said he used to have his druthers but lost most of them during Covid.”

Second voice: “You’re lucky he’s still got some. The IRS took all of ours.”

Fourth voice: “At least you got to enjoy yours for a while. We’ve never known what it’s like to have any druthers in the first place.”

First voice: “Well, come over to my place and I’ll show them to you, the whole shebang.”

[300 words]

What Comes After Indictment?

 

What Comes After Indictment?

The media are flooded this morning (March 31) with speculation on what comes next for Donald Trump following his indictment in New York yesterday. And that’s the problem: much of it is sheer speculation. But what can he and we know for sure?

As always in times of uncertainty, one should consult a dictionary. Or, even better, several dictionaries. What hope, then, or warnings or encouragement does a brief survey reveal for the indicted former president? (It’s been said that the only place where success comes before work is the dictionary. Now, Trump can adapt that and ask, “What comes after indictment?”)

My Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary, which I got in grad school at Indiana University, holds out the most encouraging hope for the former president: immediately after indictment it lists indifference: “the quality, state or fact of being indifferent.” Maybe after the initial flurry of news stories and analysis, we’ll eventually shrug over the slow, protracted legal fights that lie ahead. Maybe Trump’s attorneys, with their endless appeals, will reduce the nation to the equivalent of a food coma, in which we eventually either fall asleep or say, “We’ve had enough. We just don’t care any more; what’s on ESPN?.”

All those legal maneuverings won’t come cheap, so it’s no surprise that a few entries further on in my Chambers Twentieth Century Dictionary we find indigent.

A more dramatic suggestion comes from my comprehensive Compact Oxford Dictionary, condensed to two fat volumes of tiny print accompanied by a magnifying glass. This dictionary offers Trump another option: soon after indictment is indies, with the implied suggestion that he consider fleeing to the West Indies.

But however things play out, if Trump read a little beyond indictment in each of these dictionaries the newly indicted former Commander-in-Chief would unavoidably encounter indigestion.

[300 words]

What's Good?

 

What’s Good?

For the second Sunday in a row, my twin grandchildren—Sophie and Hazel—joined us in church during our visit to Lancaster, PA. They sat through the service once again with nary a murmur. If the rest of the congregation were aware they had seven-month-old twins in their midst, they may well have concluded (with gratitude) that the girls had been “good” babies during the service.

Yet if either, or especially both, of them had resorted to the bawling of which they are capable, I doubt that anyone would have said or even thought, “Bad, bad babies.” For Sophie and Hazel are still at a “pre-moral” stage in their development, regardless of the doctrine of original sin that the good Presbyterians around us no doubt believed.

So why do we say the babes were “good,” attributing to them praise as if they had like George Washington had the moral courage to fessing up about the cherry tree? Or avoided behaving badly, like another George, the notorious new Congressman George Santos—someone who seems congenitally incapable of telling the truth about anything?

Perhaps my son-in-law, Mike, put his finger on it when he said the “good” we’re describing is that the girls’ conduct was good for us; we had a positive experience when it could have been embarrassingly and noisily negative. Perhaps we should say instead something that’s more objective and devoid of moral connotations: “The girls were quiet.”

Similarly, after the girls finish a bottle or after a full-bodied ensuing burp, we’ll say things like “Good girl” or “Well done.” We’d not dream of saying something like, “Bad, bad girl: burp or we’ll send you to time out.”

But at what point do little people become morally accountable, when we can accurately refer to their actions as “good”?

Good question.

[300 words]

Phrop

 

Phrop

Consider adding the word “phrop” to your vocabulary; you might be able to use it sooner than you realize—or at least find yourself applying the concept it conveys.

The word was coined by a somewhat eccentric Brit, Sir Arnold Lunn, in about 1950. He combined the notions of “phrase” and “opposite” to describe a situation where you say something that sounds positive while you’re thinking the opposite.

Example: “We must get together for lunch some time.” However, you’re thinking “I’d rather have three root canals than suffer through a meal with you.”

Unfortunately, the word never caught on. But Wikipedia’s assessment that the word has “not entered common use” shouldn’t deter us from trying to keep it in circulation.

Michael Quinion, an English linguist, offers several other examples. “With all due respect…” Quinion says, “really communicates ‘I am about to demolish your argument and if at all possible your reputation….’”

 He continue, “A polite ‘I regret that a previous engagement makes it impossible to accept your kind invitation’ replaces the truthful ‘I would rather be gnawed by a rabid stoat.’”

 Then there’s what Quinion calls the “famously double-edged phrop created by Benjamin Disraeli, the 19^th century British politician: “Thank you for sending me your book; I shall lose no time in reading it.”

 More recently, you may have seen on the Internet these deliciously ambiguous recommendations for job seekers, which double as phrops.

•  I can assure you that no person would be better for the job.
• It would be difficult to find someone else with this person’s work ethic.
• You will be fortunate if you can get this person to work for you.

Finally, how about this introduction: “Our speaker this evening is Gordon Jackson. We couldn’t find a better man.” The underlying malicious message? “Goodness knows, we tried.”

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