When Bad Grammar Goes Viral

Baby bundt cake? Yes please.

I love everything about Corner Bakery. The sandwiches, the salads, the delicious baked treats, the decor, even the little numbered cards they give you while you wait for your order.

Everything, that is, except for one particular employee at the 440 N. Michigan Ave location. I'll tell you why.

She is a cashier. She stands there, behind her register, taking orders. She's good at her job, as far as I can tell.

But every time she finishes up with one customer, she turns to the waiting line of customers, raises her hand, and yells:

"I CAN HELP THE FOLLOWING GUEST!"

I cringe every time. "NEXT guest, honey," I think at her. "NEXT guest!" As if we are telepathic and she can actually hear my thoughts.

Viral... Like the Plague

It really wouldn't bother me so much if she weren't in such a public-facing job.

She is like a herald from medieval times, calling to the villagers. Except that instead of making helpful announcements, she's spreading the grammatical equivalent of an STD. It's a VTD, a Verbally Transmitted Disease. Who knows how many people she is infecting on a daily basis!

You're under arrest for crimes against grammar!

Alas, there is no grammatical equivalent of the Board of Health. I can't call the Word Usage Police to come and slap her with a fine for crimes against the English language. Except in my head, because that's a funny mental picture. "Ma'am, I'll have to ask you to come with me. You have the right to remain silent, and for the good of us all, please do."

In Other News, I'm Back

And yes, I did come out of hiatus just to blog about her. She may be a grammar criminal, but she was the catalyst to get me writing again.

Plus, I missed writing this blog! Nice to see you all again.

Blog On Hiatus

Edit This Blog is taking a siesta. I had my second child in early April, and as anybody with a baby knows, free time and sanity are at a premium. When I'm not taking care of the baby or my older daughter or just keeping up with life's logistics, I'm attempting to curb the neverending sleep deprivation. So I'm off for a while. See you later!

What Does "Feminist" Actually Mean?

One of my Facebook friends' posts got me thinking this morning.

What does the term feminist actually mean?

Let's start with our initial gut reactions to the term. Chances are you have already felt something just by reading the word feminist in print. Maybe it's positive, maybe it's negative. Independent of its dictionary definition, the word feminist has become provocative in recent years. We'll get back to that in a minute.

Here's the dictionary definition:

fem·i·nism

noun \ˈfe-mə-ˌni-zəm\

Definition of FEMINISM

1: the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes

2: organized activity on behalf of women's rights and interests

— fem·i·nist noun or adjective

My Facebook friend posted because she gets incensed when she reads articles by people who take a pro-women's-health stance in the recent political debates on birth control, etc. -- yet these authors feel the need to state that they feel this way despite the fact that they are NOT feminists.

Somehow feminist became such a dirty word that people who arguably are feminists (at least, according to definition #1 above) feel the need to disown it.

And this is where Merriam-Webster's role ends and language becomes interesting. Dictionaries can't really capture the social, political, and historical events that give a word a particular connotation (at least, not until years later when that connotation has been well and truly set in stone, rather than being something that's still evolving).

Still, let's look at that definition for a minute. For most people, it's hard to take a stand against definition #1: "the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes." (Notice that religious equality and biological equality are not mentioned; I find that interesting.) If you come out and say that you think women should be subordinate to men, or not vote, or not own property, you sound like an anachronism from at least a century ago. Very few people nowadays would argue that basic women's rights should be taken away.

Definition #2 has a bit more going on. "Organized activity on behalf of women's rights and interests." Personally, I am a feminist according to definition #1. But according to definition #2, I am not a feminist. I have never taken part in organized activity on behalf of women's rights and interests (unless you count signing the occasional petition on behalf of Planned Parenthood). Taking that into consideration, someone like me might want to disown the term feminist because it is inaccurate.

But people don't get irate because of a simple inaccuracy. People get irate because of the unwritten definition of "feminist" held by certain right-wing conservatives. It might read something like, at its kindest, "Women we hate because they are trying to upset the status quo, and we like the status quo." Or, less kindly, "Man-hating, ball-busting, despicable women who need to be vilified and not taken seriously."

My friend argued on Facebook that we shouldn't allow the right wing to cast a spin on the term feminist. But I find myself coming at this from a more pragmatic perspective. The negative spin exists -- period. It's out there. It's not going anywhere. Fighting its negative spin is fighting a losing battle. I'd rather invent a completely new term -- social equalist, for instance -- and leave the past behind.

What do you think?

That Poor Reporter

I feel so bad for reporters who have to write articles like this one:























Yes, "Beezow Doo-Doo Zoppitybop-bop-bop" is this dude's actual legal name. Read the full story here.

So, you're a writer just out of college. You land a gig with Reuters. Your heart and mind are brimming with thoughts of the world-changing, paradigm-shifting, brilliant investigative journalism you will produce.

And then your editor assigns you that story. And you find yourself squinting at phrases like "doo-doo" and "bop-bop" to make sure you can accurately separate the guy's middle name from his last name.

I imagine you'd either have to laugh, or cry. I hope you laughed, Brendan O'Brien. I hope you laughed.

Now that I look at him again, that crazy dude looks like one of my ex-boyfriends. Ha ha... I knew he'd go to pot without me.

Comma, Comma, Comma, Chameleon

Your vs. You're, Brought to You by the Third Musketeer

What he said.

Trash Fiction

"He had more connections to drug trafficking than whores did to herpes."

Aaaaaaand... that's how you know you're reading trash fiction, friends.

I'm reading this book by Sandra Brown. I know nothing about Ms. Brown except that she may have either (1) worked for the police, or (2) written scripts for CSI, because this particular book reads like a bad TV cop show. The plot is utterly predictable, the characters are shallow, and yet somehow you're completely sucked in.

It reminds me of when I used to watch that show "America's Next Top Model" (now in its 18th season, God help us all). There is nothing redeeming about that show. Nothing. Sure, occasionally they'd have a really creative idea for a photo shoot, like the seven deadly sins, or the twelve signs of the zodiac. And then the models would ruin it all with their stiff poses, wooden facial expressions, overacting, drama, bitchiness, immaturity, snobbery, teen angst, closed-mindedness, or being just plain dumb. And yet, I had to keep watching it to see what Tyra would wear, and who she would privately take under her wing or chew out in front of everybody, and what goofy crap Janice Dickinson would do, and the silly things the models would say, and of course who would win.

WHY?? My friends, sometimes there is no why. Sometimes there is just yummy junk food for the brain.

I do have plenty of love for highbrow stuff. But not tonight. If you'll excuse me, I need to pop off to bed with my novel to see what happens next with defense-attorney-and-secret-drug-kingpin Pinkie Duvall, his big-chested, malcontent trophy wife, Remy, and the cop who hates them both.