Monthly Archives: May 2007

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Grammar Nazi Poser

I’m a Grammar Nazi poser. I think I’m a Grammar Nazi. I want to be one. I arrogantly assume the role of one too often in conversations, but the truth is I’m just a silly little poser in love with her dictionary and thesaurus.

That fact slapped me in the face last night as I ranted on about a letter someone wrote to Glenn Beck, which he dutifully read on-air, scolding him for improper past tense usage of the word “sneak.”

Now, I consider myself an educated, intelligent woman with a rather large vocabulary. I pride myself on proper pronunciation and word usage within a  conversation. Okay, let’s cut the the pious crap and get down to it: I’m arrogantly smug when I come up against a word I am sure is being mispronounced, misused or is just plain wrong. I may not correct you in front of everyone, but rest assured I will correct you at some point. And in the meantime, I will (sort of) do my best to hide my snickering behind a well-placed hand over my mouth. I am the Queen of Words. Do not mess with my domain.

Enter the word “sneaked.” Past tense of sneak. Past participle of sneak. The bane of my existence.

From the moment I first heard it (which, oddly enough, was not until I moved to the South) I snickered. Paleese people! Learn how to speak proper English. Everyone knows the past tense of sneak is snuck.

Well, apparently everyone forgot to notify AskOxford because they quite chide our American arses for changing their word and thus once again polluting the English Language. They insist that if ever we step foot in merry-old England we simply must not utter “snuck” or we will be exposed for the uneducated dolts we are. The word is “sneaked” thank you very much and we kindly ask you to stop butchering the language we created. It’s not called American, after all, is it? No, it’s called English (please note author’s tongue firmly planted in cheek).

I always thought the British to be a bit stuffy and persnickety when it comes to the English language anyway. I mean, really, these are the people who leave the “the” off of nouns like hospital and university, that can’t spell color, labor or flavor to save their lives and add “r”s onto the end of words like “law” which clearly don’t end in r. Anyone who does that must have serious language issues, don’t you think?

Well, I do. So I went in search of an expert who agreed with me. And I finally found one. Random House’s Maven explains that while the captious Brits are correct that it was not the original or once-correct past tense, “snuck” has snuck into the US lexicon and is today the widely accepted, and sometimes even preferred, past tense form. So there.

The origin of snuck seems to come from the deep South and was first viewed as the vocabulary of the uneducated. A fact I find quite hilarious considering that to me, “sneaked” sounds like the uneducated, preschool version. Of course, I am also the idiot who once severely chided a writer for peppering his script with the word “shooter” because it was “poor English,” and that he would have to “improve his vocabulary beyond the third grade level” if he ever hoped to sell a script. See?? Grammar Nazi poser, arrogance and all. Thank God that both the script submission and the critique were anonymous so neither of us had to suffer the embarrassment of revealing just exactly who the uneducated idiot was.

As I lay in bed last night mumbling curses at the writer of the Glen Beck letter who pulled back the curtain of my Grammar Nazi control booth exposing me for the poser I am and who was now robbing me of blissful sleep, I struggled to embrace this new word that had sneaked up on me….

Nope. Can’t do it. Sneaked still feels like I’m back in preschool.

Lord help me, I’m in vocabulary hell!

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Repeaters

I am prone to Migraines. These days they are mostly hormonally driven, which is good because it means I can track them and prepare, and that they herald other, um, changes headed my way.

However, in the last two days I have had three really bad Migraines complete with visual disturbances. Yesterday afternoon was the first, and I felt I dodged a bullet by taking Advil Migraine as soon as the first little "squiggly line" appeared (I only take Immetrex when I’m in a place where I can lie down and sleep because it tends to knock me on my butt) and that seemed to keep the pain to a dull roar. This morning I woke up with only minor discomfort in my head.

However, this afternoon, at nearly the same time as yesterday, those horrid squiggly lines reappeared. They are awful because they obstruct my vision and make it impossible to read or write anything. They used to start on the outside of my vision and move inward and around, effectively giving me tunnel vision. These days they often start at the center of my field of vision, kind of like the annoying dots you see after a camera flash goes off in your face, and just keep building outward. I can see, but I can’t really make out any details.

At any rate, when those buggers came back today at nearly the same time as yesterday, I started getting a little concerned. It is unusual for me to have two in a row. I took the Advil Migraine again, but the pain today has been much worse than yesterday. I canceled my strength training session, went home and crashed on the couch — keeping it dark and quiet — and the pain eased up.

However, just about an hour ago those blasted squiggly lines started up again. And now I’m in tremendous pain, even though Immetrex is now coursing through my system.

I don’t get it. The last time this happened was four years ago, and it became quickly apparent that my daily dose of delicious Gouda cheese was the culprit. Within a day of cutting out the Gouda, the Migraines ceased. But I haven’t had a daily dose of cheese in a long time, and I can find no similar pattern in my recent diet to cause Migraine-repeaters.

Anyone out there got any ideas what the heck is going on with me?

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Only One Chance to Get it Right

Erwin has often stated that in the wake of September 11th he told Aaron and Mariah, "we cannot choose how we will die, but we can choose how we will live." He realized he could not lie to his children about the dangers in this world and the distinct possibility that they will one day be face-to-face with unspeakable horror and death. But he could help them realize that every day presents new opportunities to live, truly live life to the fullest; to seize every moment of the day as if it were the only one left. Because, truthfully, we don’t know if we will get another. Our next breath may well be our last.

Jerry Falwell discovered that truth this morning. He had an ordinary morning, according to Ron Goodwin, "I had breakfast with him, and he was fine at breakfast," Godwin said. His staff later found him lying on the floor unresponsive and he was pronounced dead a little while later.

I think Erwin was right, but not completely. We not only can choose how we live, we do choose, whether we realize it or not. Those little seemingly insignificant decisions we make every day have the power to alter the course of our lives and shape our character. When crises hit, our character reveals itself in how we respond in action and word, in attitude and deed.

Jerry Falwell was not well-liked. At all. A quick post regarding his death on NiT generated over 50 comments in it’s first two 2 and a half hours, the first one being "prayer really does work." I admit it, I laughed. I didn’t like Falwell either. I didn’t ever agree with his politics or his stance on just about anything other than perhaps John 3:16. I felt he was an embarrassment to any thinking Christian and an insult to every thinking person. I realize others saw something else in him, but all I saw was a pompous ass bent on forcing his particular brand of Christianity on America.

Jerry Falwell’s life was not a life well-lived. Yes, he amassed wealth and power, especially religious political power. Yes, he built a religious empire there in Virginia. Yes, his name is known and has become synonymous with the word "Christianity" (usually said with disdain and/or contempt). He made a name and reputation for himself. But sadly, it does not reflect the heart of Jesus. And now that he is dead, I dare say the vast majority of America is not the least bit sad to see him go. Not even this sister in Christ.

Isn’t that the saddest thing you ever heard? Truly pitiable. I just saw a press release from another major religious-police figure expressing sadness for Falwell’s family and joy for his home-going (Christian-speak for dyin’ and goin’ to heaven). As I read, all I could think of was the two-faced-ness of author; the disdain and enmity he expressed toward Falwell in private while to the world they kissy-faced all day long. In my heart I don’t believe a single sappy word of that release. I think this religious-policeman is secretly both dancing for joy that his rival/thorn-in-the-side is gone and trembling in fear that he may be next. When he dies not as many people will notice, but probably the same percentage will not weep.

We only have one chance to get it right. I hope I live life well. I hope I continually remember (please Jesus – and friends out there! – remind me!) that every decision I make determines who I become. I don’t want to be a Jerry Falwell. I want to be a Mother Theresa.

Word count: 610 – 110 words over my goal…

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Family

Family2001I just spent four fun joy-filled days with Family. Despite the stress of getting through a blended-family outdoor wedding on a cold and rainy night, we had an awesome time together. I saw a niece I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years along with her two sons, my brother whom I hadn’t seen in four years, and got a surprise visit from a nephew I hadn’t seen in three years.

We laughed till our sides hurt, got loud and playfully obnoxious as we played our favorite family game of Nerts, had some serious talks, and just enjoyed being in each other’s presence. I had a fabulous time, even though my sister’s home was overflowing with family, and a little drama.

It wouldn’t feel right, would it, to not have a little drama at a family gathering; someone upset/hurt/angry at someone else for God-only-knows-what-reason. Sadly, I’m usually in the middle of the mess. If I’m not the offended one or the offender, then I’m trying to help "resolve" the issue by taking offense for the one and taking action against the other. I never helped matters any, just got myself all tied up in knots emotionally.

Thankfully, I stayed out of the drama this weekend. I did start to try to "fix" a particular injustice before I realized that it was not my job and backed off quickly. It was hard to do at first — our family is very good at meddling in each others lives (boundaries again)! It’s a hard habit to break but I did it. I kept out of the middle and just let the dramas play out. It’s amazing how quickly stress dissipates when you realize you aren’t responsible for fixing the world and keeping it happy.

I don’t think my mom ever learned that. She was the one at every family gathering who constantly focused on the comfort and happiness of everyone else. If you didn’t have food or drink or a smile on your face, she felt she’d failed in her duty as hostess and mom, as if she was responsible for the happiness of the world. Or at least the world around her.

I’m a lot like that. I want to make sure everyone has whatever it is they need to be happy, relaxed and content. Trouble is, I can only provide so much. I can get them something to drink, bring extra cookies when I get myself one or give up my seat so another doesn’t have to sit on the floor. But I cannot change the heart of a petty, lonely bio-mom jealous of her daughter’s step-mom and make her follow proper wedding protocol, even if the slighted step-mom is my sister. Nor can I make a 19-year-old husband grow up or a pregnant 20-year-old’s life less of a hormonal roller-coaster. And I cannot save my niece’s marriage any more than I could save my mom from dementia.

My mom never learned that, so she spent her life – until dementia claimed her mind – desperately trying to make everyone happy. If even one person wasn’t happy, she wasn’t happy. The thing is, she didn’t have to do anything. Her personality and spirit brought joy and sunlight to people the moment she walked in a room. Her husband of 61 years, family and all her friends would readily attest to that. Yet till the day she could no longer remember, she was desperate to make everyone around her happy.

I’m like my mom in many ways, so perhaps it was only natural that I would pick up on her desire to please everyone, keep everyone happy and at peace with each other. As a young adult I used to get so frustrated with her. "Mom, just sit down and enjoy your dinner! We’re all fine! And if we need something we can get it ourselves." I swore to myself I would never be like that with my own family. But this weekend I realized she left a gap in our family. So many people coming and going with so many things on their minds, no one was really watching out for the rest. Don’t get me wrong. We aren’t a bunch of self-absorbed jerks (well, not always), but we don’t always think about everyone else either. So before I could even think about what I was doing, I stepped in and filled mom’s old role. I constantly heard my mother’s voice coming out of my mouth: "Do you need something to drink?" "Can I get you something to eat?" "You want to sit down?" It was really weird when I realized what I was doing, like standing outside myself and watching it all happen. But I think I was able to take the good stuff of my mom’s servant heart, and leave behind the need to please everyone and keep the peace. At least I hope so.

word count: 816 – 316 over my goal….

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Muse-ing

Perhaps she can help me become a pithier writer…..

gURL.comI took the "The Nine Muses" quiz on gURL.com
My muse is…
Calliope
Calliope is the patron goddess of epic poetry.  She is often depicted holding a writing tablet and wearing a golden crown, for she is the oldest of the muses and their leader. Her name means "The Fair Voiced," but Calliope inspires eloquence in writing.   Read more…

Who is your muse?
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In 500 Words or Less

Words_close_up_2 As the school year winds down for those in "normal" school (I of the special school – aka distance learning – am on a completely different schedule) many of my friends are currently engaged in writing various papers and finishing up final projects. Some are putting in late nights/early mornings to finish up 20, 30, even 50 page papers, while others are assigned a word count. One friend recently told me she had a class paper due this week and when I asked how many pages, she shrugged and just said, it’s only 500 words. Holy crap. I could do that in my sleep! And that got me to thinkin’…. (always a dangerous thing)

Three of my last five posts have been well over a thousand words. That’s a one with three zeros after it — or in a couple of cases a one with three larger digits after it. More than double than my friend’s paper. I’m grateful for those of you who took up the challenge and waded through all those words, but  some of your teased me about how loooooong the posts were. And too be honest, I tend to shy away from long posts in other blogs myself, especially if the first paragraph or two don’t capture my attention, because I just don’t have the time to read all that. If I wanted a novel, I’d have ordered it from Amazon.com. I’d wager that many of you feel the same.

So here’s my thought: For the month of May I will keep all my posts to 500 words or less (with two notable exemption: Bible verses and dictionary definitions won’t count against my own word count). Now, that may mean a topic gets a two-part post (or a three-part, or four…). But mostly what it will mean is that I must curb my verbosity. I’m hoping it will help me get to my point quicker, cut down on all the repetitious examples and make my writing just a bit more palatable to those who don’t have a lot of time. To keep me honest, I will publish the word-count at the end of the post.

I think I’m a decent writer and that what I have to say is good.  However, I also think my wordy posts are keeping some from reading and thus from partaking in that "goodness". That, to me, is regrettable. So what say you?  Are you open to shorter Lu-posts, or do you prefer the longer treatises? For my part I will keep it short sweet and to the point this month. Let’s just see how pithy I can be.

word count: 438