Snark, snark, snark. Feelin’ kinda snarky this morning.
All right: here’s a list that makes me itchy-scratchy. Sometimes things don’t bother me regarding usage, like ending a sentence with certain prepositions (as long as it isn’t “at”). Sentence fragments. Don’t. Bug me. Usually. Unless they’re in a research paper.
I’m not the Knot-See I used to be; I’ve mellowed in my dotage. But some things do send me, darlin’. They make me want to say, Hey, c’mere. Got somethin’ for ya. *KaBLaM*
Many of the following have been mentioned in previous Schmenglish posts over the last year and a half, so 1,000 pardons (but they do bear repeating). It’s kind of my “Best Of” project. You know, the album that artists release in order to cash in twice on the same material? Well this is that, only without the cashing-in part. So, without further delay, and in random order:
“The Fink’s blog is better than Perez Hilton’s.” Why thank you, doll. But please don’t write that something is better then anything.
You’regoing to a birthday party today. Your not going anywhere.
To little, to late. I can hardly type it. Is it too much to ask to remember to use the extra “o” when you write about that which is excessive or in addition to something? Or do I have to do that for you,too?
Bananas. Pianos. Calculators. I will slap the pretty right off your face if you write banana’s, piano’sor calculator’s. Word.
If I see another writer for a major publication (we’re talking the Times, the Post, the Globe, and the place where all bad writers go to die: ESPN.com) say something like, The company would benefit it’s investors by selling off it’s assets, I am going to punch stuff. I mean, really. It’sis a friggin’ contraction of “it is.” When will they ever learn? Where have all the flowers gone?
Could of/would of. Why do I get so upset about this one? Why do I imagine myself repeatedly bopping someone on the back of the head while shouting, “COULD HAVE! WOULD HAVE!” with each blow? I could of daaaaaanced all niiiiight…. Honestly. Some things make me want to kick and punch and scratch and maul.
“I seen her at the bank yesterday.” You would be surprised at how many educated people seen folks here or there or yonder.
Who vs. that (and the “vs.” stands for versus, not “verse.” Just sayin’.). You would once again be surprised to hear things like, “Students that plan to play volleyball should meet in the gym,” or “People thattext while driving are more prone to accidents.” No, luvs. People get the “who” — things get the “that.” I hate things that make me mad and people who don’t care about how stupid we appear when we can’t master our own language.
Unfortunately, that’s all I have time for this morning. Must get those tour letters done. Mavis is helping me today, bless her heart. That will likely improve my sour mood.
I should do a Part II of this list. I think I might. I probably will.
Except this guy isn’t dead; he’s retiring (and I am envious).
Our good fiend and fellow RtB poster RD is retiring after almost 40 years as a full time pastor. His last sermon is this morning, and the Fink and the Thriller are going to be there.
RD and I have been friends since 1983, when Lars was the bun in the oven. We’ve shared many funny experiences over the years, but one that I like to retell involves him coming to the hospital to visit me after I had surgery, years ago. Before leaving my room, he wanted to pray for me, so we both closed our eyes. When he was done, he found that the Fink had fallen fast asleep. HA — how many times did I say, “It was the Demerol, I swear!”
He has a wonderful wife and family, and eleventy-six grandchildren, ranging from elementary school age to out of college and married. What a great fam. And what a great friend.
So, raise your coffee mug and give a shout to RD today. He’s earned that vacation home in Florida.
I’m back home and relaxing before the new madness begins. It’s a beautiful sunny morning here in north central Ohio…I should be getting work done, but the coffee’s good and the chair is comfy, so I’ll stay awhile.
So I never commented on the Cavs getting Shaquille O’Neal. HA. I’m sure Danny Ferry knows something I don’t. I hope it works. Thirty-seven years old, slow, bad legs, struggles with the pick-and-roll…don’t we have the younger version of that in Ilgauskas?? Just askin’. Still, even at 37, Shaq is amazing to watch. I just hope it translates to a championship for what is almost certain to be LeBron’s last year in Cleveland (although why he would want to leave the Cavs is a mystery…unless he will get mo money and mo red carpet somewhere else — I just wouldn’t know where he could be more adored and pampered…China, mebbe?).
OK, enough basketball. Silly sport anyhow.
Overshadowed by MJ’s death was the tragic passing of Farrah Fawcett. OK magazine has a nice collection of photosof her, and her ex, Lee Majors, called her “an angel forever.” Nice. There are those who might argue her “iconic” status. It was surely not on the same level as MJ, but I know I will remember her for three reasons:
His influence on popular music is almost impossible to quantify. His contribution to the music video and studio effects genres is incalculable, as were his groundbreaking ideas about including choreography and backstory to videos and live performances.
He was the ultimate entertainer, but don’t forget “We Are the World.” How many charity events have taken place since then, pioneered (and often financed) by pop artists with a cause?
I still bawl watching that video (albeit for different reasons when I hear Springsteen’s unbearable bleating).
MJ was young: only a couple of months away from his 51st birthday. I guess it proves that when it’s your time, it’s your time. Doesn’t change the fact that his came way, way too soon, though.
InPulse are the artists-in-residence at the camp I’m doing this week. They have a great education outreach program. Matt told me that their tour schedule is basically upper midwest this year, so they might be able to fit in an appearance out in the boondocks of north central Ohio.
Must ask the powers that be about this. I think they would amaze everyone. (Elliot’s voice is so low, you can count the vibration cycles. Boy makes the floor hum.) Why didn’t I think of this before?