Three Little Words

"Seriously?!" exclaimed my next-door cube neighbor in disgust today. "I think developers just select words at random to use as street names. I just got a literature request from someone on Technology Forest Drive." We all laughed - cubicle walls don't really exist in our office etiquette-free environment - and she added, "Really, it could be anything. Flute Potatoes Avenue."

I didn't laugh as enthusiastically at that one, because frankly, I was kind of jealous I didn't think of it first.

We complain - or at least I do - about words being used without regard to their meaning. Yet I'm rather forcibly reminded, by a recent episode in my nineteen-year-old daughter's dating life, of how certain words have lost a great deal of the impact they used to have for me.

Katie has a new boyfriend she was very excited about a week ago, and is thinking about breaking up with now (assuming she hasn't already). A few days ago she came to me with a furrow in her young brow. "I told Jake I love him," she said, troubled. "We were at a party and I'd had a couple of drinks. But I really don't love him."

I didn't particularly see the problem, but Katie felt the need to call Jake the next day and clarify that she was, in fact, not in love with him. "Are you breaking up with me??" he asked. "Oh, no," she said, "just I don't actually love you, that's all." "Oh," he said.

Personally, I would have just let it go. Saying "I love you" to men you don't actually love, I tried to explain to my innocent young daughter, is just a normal part of the female condition, and probably male as well. You say it. You didn't really, really mean it. Worse yet, you say those tender yet insincere words to someone who responds with something awkward like "Ummmm," or a little more debonair, such as "Awwww" or "That's sweet" or "Thank you." Which is what Jake did (I believe Katie told me he is an "Ummmm" man, and I can respect that; awkwardness is not a quality I disparage in any way).

But it's funny, now that I think about it, because when I was in my teens and twenties, those three little words seemed to matter far, far too much to be uttered in vain. And that's not just a girl thing. My first serious boyfriend, my sophomore year in college, once took me to a Moody Blues concert at Zilker Park. They sang "Nights in White Satin." We clung together throughout the song and he sang along softly in my ear, and it would have been only THE MOST ROMANTIC THING THAT EVER HAPPENED ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH, except that every time the chorus got to "I love you" he switched to humming. Words meant things.

Now that I'm past 40, "I love you" doesn't seem quite so untouchable, so sacrosanct. I don't say it dishonestly, but there are so many kinds of love, aren't there? As in, I care about you - or it would be personally devastating to me to do something that would cause you significant pain - or I hate to see what you are going through right now - or I know you well enough to be truly comfortable with you, and being comfortable feels so good. I remember somewhat the fiery passion of "True Love," but it never really worked out in the end, did it? Maybe it turns out that, like every other expression of human language, "I love you" refers to some unspoken middle ground between what the speaker and the hearer believe it to mean.

So do you spend your life stressing about whether you really mean it when you say "I love you"? Or do you teach yourself contentment, and settle down with your sweetheart and your thirty-seven cats in a cottage with climbing roses and a white picket fence on Flute Potatoes Avenue?

I have no clue. I'll have Katie figure it out and get back to you on it, in about 25 years.

Surely I Must Have Misunderstood You

The other day, driving around town with the radio on, I heard a DJ repeatedly using the word "effort" as a verb. "He's efforting to get a job there," said the DJ, and followed up a few moments later with, "Well, I've been efforting to -" This was the point where my efforts to change the station bore fruit as, furiousing mutterly to myself, I vocabularied the tuner clean into next week. What is with people?

Granted, you can't expect much from radio DJ's - who are really just salespeople to begin with, and whose only useful function is performed by computer program anyway. (Until recently I would have added, "Except of course for KUT.")

What I don't understand is why, particularly in a language as highly nuanced and rich in vocabulary as English is, these people feel the need to create new terms for concepts which were already so amply represented. Then again, I'm still haunted by the memory of the motivational speaker who claimed that "try" was the most subversive word in the English language, that we should expunge it altogether from our daily speech, and that (as you may recall - though apparently the marketing types at Avis never caught on) when Avis adopted the motto "We try harder," their sales immediately plummeted by some ridiculously implausible percentage.

Or they came out of a slump and finally started to show a profit. Whatever.

Of course, salespeople (and by extension, radio DJs) were designed by evolution to listen uncritically to motivational speakers. Because thinking for yourself? That would be efforting!

Now See What You've Done

You've pissed off a linguistics major.

"Service," I would just like to point out, is not a verb. The verb is "serve." How hard is this? What's the problem with the word "serve," anyway? Do people avoid it because it carries connotations of, well, servitude?

Our information centers, according to some literature my division publishes, serviced over (number) customers last year. Lucky for me, one of my unofficial work duties is occasionally that of editor, for certain materials anyway. I changed it to "served." Servicing customers does not sound like a proper thing to do at all, unless they're cars, maybe.

They are not.

Do you know, I've gradually come to accept such linguistic abominations as "transition" and "incentivize." I'll accept those, because they fill a void; "to transit" doesn't mean at all the same thing as "to transition," and "to undergo/cause/effect a transition" is unwieldy. "Incentivize" hurts a little worse, largely because the term was coined by sales-and-marketing bottom-feeders. But I will admit that "to incent" doesn't really work, and "to incite" means something different altogether. So, knock yourselves out, bottom-feeders! Incentivize away. I won't so much as murmur.

But "service" is a whole nother thing. "This has been bugging the crap out of me," I said to the pamphlet editor today as I stopped into her cube to make the change. "It makes it sound like we're giving people hand jobs."

The problem with saying something like that in a cubicle environment is that it makes people's heads pop up over their cube walls. There's a term for this, which I won't get into, because I have enough linguistic problems when rodents aren't involved.

This is a quick post, and I hope to make more in the future. My heart hasn't been in it. Too bad, I say: I'm bringing my netbook to my favorite coffee shop and diving back in. But now I have to go, because I'm covering lunch at the information center. Time to go service some customers.

Outside Looking In

"Oh my gosh," said the highly-paid voiceover professional on the phone today, as a recording of her reading of Texas city names was played back to her. "Do I really sound like that?"

So it's not just you.

For two and a half hours today I listened to this woman being recorded for our automated information line. I have no idea what she looks like. But from an audio perspective, it's like being in the room with a supermodel. I have no particular problem with my speaking or singing voice... but, damn, she sounds good. I feel a bit inadequate now.

Still, even the best voice starts to wear after that long, especially when all she's reading - however sumptuously - are city names, prompts ("I'm sorry, I didn't understand you. Did you say ________?") and numbers. Numbers inflected up? Numbers inflected down. Oh yeah, and the alphabet. I also realized, after the recording session was over, that she did not say "thousand" at any point. We're going to need her saying "thousand." I think "million" and "billion" can probably wait a few years, especially in light of recent budget cutbacks.

And this was tiring for me. Imagine how she felt! In fact we don't have to imagine, as after thirty minutes or so of reading, she got the burps. Several blips had to be re-recorded to eliminate an inadvertent "urp" that snuck in there. I get the impression that when you're a professional voice talent, you end up swallowing a lot of air. Think of that, next time you dial an automated system and listen to a bunch of inhumanly smooth voice prompts: it's only by the grace of God (or sound engineers, depending on which way your religious leanings tend) that these phrases were not simply belched at you outright.

She also has to deal with culture shock. Texas has some strange place names, not to mention several that really aren't pronounced the way you might think they should be. This is especially true if you happen to be a worldly, well-educated east-coast socialite. That's how I picture this woman due to her voice and the fact that she's on Eastern time, though it's also possible she's a 435-pound truck driver based out of Pittsburgh.

Almost all anomalies are handled with grace, aplomb, and my old friend the International Phonetic Alphabet. But some things kind of bother her. One can't help but take her point. "Refugio," for instance, as many of you Texan-type people already know, is pronounced "re-FURRY-oh." Try explaining this to the voice talent, who is almost certain this must be a typo in the IPA transcript. "Tow" throws her off as well, and I have to unmute my phone and step in. "Nono, it isn't like towing a boat," I say, "it really is 'Tow' as in 'cow.' The locals have a saying to that effect."

She reads smoothly, with occasional interruptions to sip water, make comments, or genteelly excuse herself after burping. "Cunningham," she reads in that perfect, unflappable voice. "Currie. Cushing. Cuthand. Cut and Shoot.

"Cut-n-shoot? Are you kidding me?!"

Later on she had to read the names of various major statewide attractions, including the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge. I hope to visit this place someday, because according to the Corpus Christi website, it's "home to the stately Whopping Crane." That's something I'd really hate to miss.

They're stately, but God only knows what they sound like.

Language Lessons

Just when you thought IKEA already carried everything you could ever possibly want to buy, you go back and find that you can now purchase douchecrème.

Fine, fine, call it shower gel if it makes you feel better. I actually wanted to buy the exfoliating kind, because the Dutch name printed on the bottle (via French of course) was "peeling douche," but the instructions said to use it two times a week, max. I figure that goes for Elizabeth too.

They also have a great big long bar of soap that's segmented, like a Hershey bar, so you break off the individual bars. Its label reads:

soap bar
savon
barra de jabón
seife
zeep
sapone
sabonete
tvål
sæbe
såpe
saippua
mydlo

I can't identify all those languages for sure, but I can tell you that the Danish call shower gel "bodyshampoo." This is very logical and straightforward, and exactly what you'd expect from a people that make such excellent use of cherries and cream cheese.

Another thing I learned during our excursion yesterday is that "DSL" refers to something else besides an alternative to cable.

IKEA: is there anything it can't do?

Writing Impediment

People who make up horrible stupid words, either from ignorance or simply not giving a damn, drive me up the wall. I am speaking as one of the internet's foremost experts on whether or not "incentivize" is a word.*

At work today, someone in HR (no!) sent out an agency-wide email to recruit employees for a program that pairs volunteers with the children of parents who are doing time in prison.

If some of the state employees I've seen constitute an improvement, we're not talking petty larceny here, either.

There's going to be a seminar explaining how much of a positive impact you can have, and telling you how to become a mentor, and how mentors are matched with mentees, which at first glance I read as "manatees," because "mentees" is not a word, people!

It's probably inevitable, seeing as how there is now an accepted word "orate," which is a back-formation of "orator." The -or ending is not a causative suffix. An orator is not a person who orates; and a mentor most certainly is not someone who ments. An advisor is someone who advises, but that's only because it was originally a misspelling of "adviser."

That's your language lesson for the day. Now go do something nice for a walrus.

-----------
*No

Say WHAT?!?!?

I'm still bummed about not getting to go to Corpus, but my BFF Robbie wants to go on a road trip this weekend. Wouldn't that be fun?!? Somewhere we haven't been before. Somewhere out West, he says. I have a couple of coworkers in West Texas, people I just met in person at the conference in Beaumont, so I send a quick inquiry and get some information.

Maybe an hour later, another coworker from near the Oklahoma border calls me up to get clarification on a task I'd assigned him. I dig through my files for the information, making small talk to kill time. "So I hear you're planning a road trip out West!" he says.

And they say my agency has internal communication problems.

And speaking of not speaking, I got out of an agonizing, 3.5-hour staff meeting this afternoon only to discover a chummy email from a former acquaintance of mine, who owns a small plane and makes his living contracting out to local farmers to spray pesticide over their fields. "How are you doing?" he wrote. "I thought you would be driving to Corpus Christi last week."

Oh, he's a smart guy. Well, ish. He'll never set the world on fire (unless he has a strategically-placed lighter), but sending this message via email shows he has some sense of self-preservation, at least when it comes to his eardrums. It's a good thing computer monitors aren't made of glass anymore.

Finally, a funny story (I thought) from another coworker out West: west, in fact, of El Paso, as far west as you can go and still be in the grand old state of Texas. My coworker was attempting to hire someone, and candidates were sent over from a local employment firm.

The first candidate he interviewed, he said, was absolutely perfect. He didn't need to see anyone else. He transcribed the interview as required, filled out the paperwork, prepared to move ahead with the hiring process - no small task, you know, when you're in state government - and called the firm. "You don't need to send anyone else," he told the representative, "this one is perfect! Please go ahead and extend her the offer."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" said the rep. "I should have told you. She isn't actually available to work at this time. We just sent her out so she could get some practice interviewing."

Exhibiting superhuman patience, my coworker did not bitch-slap the rep into next week, and instead recovered himself and moved forward with the interviews. The next candidate was quite promising; she arrived early; appeared very professional, knowledgeable, and friendly; and he chatted with her while getting everything printed out and ready for the interview. With everything lined up, he asked her the first interview question, switching to English.

She appeared confused. "Oh - I don't speak English," she said (in Spanish.)

"Oh," he said, taken aback. "I'm sorry. You have to be able to speak English." So the disappointed applicant left, and once more he called the employment firm rep, of whom I have to think he was not overly fond by now. "Why did you send me someone who can't speak any English?" he asked.

"We already discussed this," she told him patiently. "You said it wasn't a problem."

"WHAT?!" he said, "of course it's a problem, this is an information position serving the traveling public, why on earth would I say they wouldn't need to be able to speak English?!"

"Well, I did ask you if this position required the candidate to be bilingual," the rep said reasonably. "You told me it didn't."

Maybe Robbie and I will get out there this weekend.

Tasting the Kool-Aid

I've heard that expression so much lately. I heard it for the very first time in Corpus about three years ago - Crazy Jimmy used to say it, but I didn't understand the reference; and from the context I assumed it meant to wise up to the way things really are - to have one's eyes opened, as it were. I assumed the reference was to the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, so "tasting the Kool-Aid" would mean becoming enlightened. Right?

Right, apparently; but the meaning has shifted. I didn't hear the expression again for a couple of years, and now suddenly it's everywhere. Now it mostly seems to mean becoming indoctrinated, specifically into something bad or dangerous. This has taken some getting used to. I'm pleased to note that my original assumption was correct, though.

Anyway, I heard it Friday from a manager in my division who had not gone to conference this year. I was waiting outside for my ride home, and he stopped by and asked me how it had gone. "It was awesome, everything went great!" I beamed (okay, look, I had to be "on" all damn week, and hadn't quite managed to shut off the bubble machine yet), and he gave a knowing little laugh, and said, "Oh, tasted the Kool-Aid, have you?"

I should certainly say not. Unless he meant it the other way.

Here's another interesting idiomatic note: in Beaumont, our CVB contacts, I noticed, used "whenever" in place of the word "when" in the past tense. Like so:

"Whenever I was a kid we used to go on picnics here all the time."

And I thought that was really interesting because my very dear friend and office-mate in Corpus, Denisey, used to do the same thing. Maybe a Gulf Coast regional variation? I don't remember ever hearing that anywhere else. I can't remember anyone in Corpus besides Denise saying that; but then, she was really the only lifelong, native Corpuscle I ever spent much time with.

I didn't drink any Kool-Aid in Beaumont. It doesn't have caffeine.

Proper Use

There’s a sign on one of the stall doors in the ladies' room that says, “Please do not put paper towels in the commode.”

Who uses the word “commode” anymore? It sounds gross.

The word used to refer to a perfectly innocent washstand, then later came to mean the toilet. Of course, the word “toilet” itself used to mean – never mind, you get the idea. The object in question has tainted every euphemism ever applied to it; any object that serves an unmentionable function will do that. There's a linguistic term for this phenomenon, but I can't remember what it is, and Wikipedia is verboten at work, you know.

(Edited to add: It's called pejoration.)

So out comes an old friend I haven’t consulted in a while, the Merriam-Webster Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, ©1990.

com·mode \kə-‘mōd\ n [F, fr. commode, adj., suitable, convenient, fr. L commodus, fr. com- + modus measure – more at METE] (1688) 1: a woman’s ornate cap popular in the late 17th and early 18th centuries 2 a: a low chest of drawers b: a movable washstand with a cupboard underneath c: a boxlike structure holding a chamber pot under an open seat; also : CHAMBER POT d: TOILET 3b

I’m not sure what the ornate cap has to do with anything, since it doesn’t seem either suitable or convenient, though I suppose in a pinch you could use it as toilet paper. It looks kind of scratchy.

But I digress. The point I was getting to is that the word “accommodate” derives from the same source as the word “commode,” and therefore I feel it would be much more logical if from now on everyone agrees to define “accommodate” as meaning “to flush down the toilet.”

If you have any other suggestions, I’d be happy to accommodate them.