Two voices from the past

September 5, 2025

A monumentally challenging day. Up at 4:15, to have a very early breakfast, so as to enter into a day of fasting, for various lab tests to be done at Palo Alto Medical Foundation at 2 pm (in preparation for two medical appointments next week, one on Tuesday, one on Wednesday). After breakfast, several hours of clearing things out of my bedroom, in preparation for the removal of my excellent bed (which is too big for an assisted living facility) and its replacement by a substantially smaller one, from a mattress company contracted by my daughter Elizabeth, a company now scheduled to do removal of the old and installation of the new between 11:45 and 1:45 (my grandchild Opal will be here to supervise this process). I am dead tired from my labors, my fingers are in great pain from them, and I am surly from the fasting.

So I’ve scanned the file of dozens of postings waiting to be polished and offered to the world, in search of something small but indisputably important, and found something that I’ve been saving up for months as a reminder that great works can take lifetimes and that I, personally, must be willing to do some little bit in the belief that it will smooth the way to an end devoutly to be desired but probably not achievable until long after I’ve died. What I need to muster up is a combination of doggedness and humility; I’m am old hand at doggedness, but have a lot to learn in the humility department: how to free myself from the desire for credit?

What I saved is two voices from the past, from 175 – 250 years ago, that continue to resonate for me, but also remind me that the ends are not yet in sight, even though the visions are brighter than they once were.

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Tomlin and Fonda

September 4, 2025

A very brief appreciation I posted on Facebook on 9/2, which seems to have caught the attention of a number of my readers, corrected and edited a bit here:

It’s that time of the year when I’m pleased to hear that Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda (both a bit older than I am) are still flourishing.

The immediate trigger was LT’s birthday — 9/1/39 (so she’s a year older than me) — with JF’s birthday — 12/21/37 (so she’s three years older than me, as Ann Daingerfield Zwicky, born 5/9/37, was) coming soon. So they’re roughly my age, and their acting, their activisms, and their passionate public commentary have brightened my life and moved me since the 1960s. Despite the considerable differences in their class backgrounds, their personalities, and their sexuality, they have been good friends for many years and have frequently acted together, to my mind most satisfyingly in the comedy tv series Grace and Frankie (aired on Netflix from 2015 through 2022):


(#1) Fonda (as Frankie) and Tomlin (as Grace) in Grace and Frankie; their house in the story is set on the beach down (by San Diego) in La Jolla; the filming happened up (by Los Angeles) on Malibu’s Broad Beach (photo: Melissa Moseley / AP)

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On the desert menu

September 3, 2025

In yesterday’s Bizarro strip, Wayno brings us a restaurant that offers a genuine desert — désert — menu, featuring triumphs of food in Sonoran miniature (the howling coyote is a masterpiece of sculpture in mackerel skin, and the cornichon saguaros make a piquant contrast in texture and flavor):


The cartoon restaurant actually offers deserts; real-world restaurants offer desserts, but their menus can fall prey to desert as a typo (a slip of the sort my disabled fingers make many dozens of times every day) or as a misapprehension about the spelling of the noun for the sweet course eaten at the end of a meal, perhaps through confusion with the homophonous verb desert (desért) meaning ‘leave (a place), causing it to appear empty’ (if you’re puzzled by the odd symbols in the cartoon — Wayno says there are 5 in this strip — see this Page)

So there are three routes to a desert cart: as an accurate name for what the restaurant offers; or as either of two kinds of mistakes. On the latter, from my Language Log posting of 5/6/08, “The thin line between error and mere variation 7: getter better”, about:

the distinction between inadvertent slips and other sorts of “mistakes”: in [the terms in my Mistakes booklet], between INADVERTENT and ADVERTENT mistakes; in Erving Goffman’s terms, between KNOWS BETTER and DOESN’T KNOW BETTER mistakes; in Geoff Nunberg’s terms, between TYPOS and THINKOS (see the discussion in Michael Erard’s book Um).

Then there was the point that you can’t tell what the status of any PARTICULAR mistake is just from its form: the same output can be the result of several different mechanisms. One person’s slip can be another person’s intended production (possibly non-standard, but intended).

 

I’m Chiquito Quesito …

September 2, 2025

I’m Chiquito Quesito, and I’m here to say,
Cheese dip has to be made the Arkansas way

The jingle to go along with native Arksansan Bill Halstead’s reproducing (on 8/31) this silly dip pun he found on Facebook (from who knows what source):


(#1) The signage is for a dip in NOAD‘s sense 3a, wilfully misunderstood as about sense 2:

noun dip: … 2 a thick sauce in which pieces of food are dunked before eating: tasty garlic dip. 3 [a] a brief downward slope followed by an upward one: the road’s precipitous dips and turns. [b] an act of sinking or dropping briefly before rising again: a dip in the share price.

And queso is short for chile con queso  (‘chili with cheese’), which Wikipedia identifies as:

an appetizer or side dish of melted cheese and chili peppers, typically served in Tex-Mex restaurants as a dip for tortilla chips.

Now three further explorations: about dip signage; about dipspreads and dips in general, and varieties of queso in particular; and then some Facebook exchanges with Bill Halstead about cheese dip as a significant item in Arkansas’s food culture.

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Cartoons for 9/1/25

September 1, 2025

🐇 🐇 🐇 rabbit rabbit rabbit to bring September in (also to bring in the first fall month in the northern hemisphere) and, this year, to celebrate (US) Labor Day (recognizing the union movement and honoring workers) — so that I bring you (cartoon) rabbits in hard hats:


(#1) Lola and Bugs Bunny, in an HBO Max series from 2023, Bugs Bunny Builders: Hard Hat Time

Which takes me to September cartoons from the New Yorker, beginning with a scene-setting item from 2022:

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Gay banter: great big green beans

August 31, 2025

🐅 🐅 🐅 tiger tiger tiger for ultimate August, also (US) 🔧 Labor Sunday 🔨 (everything — September, Labor Day, even World War II, 86 years ago in Poland — breaks tomorrow); meanwhile, it’s all gay banter about green beans, a little festival of G+B

Aric Olnes, on Facebook with his daily alphabetic horticultural message for 8/27 (on these messages, see my 8/17 posting “Miss Marple, with murder on Michaelmas”), a biliteral delight, in G+B:


graceful bushy Green Beans grow briskly generously bequeathing grand bounty

A long, thin object — like a green bean / string bean — can symbolize a tall, thin person (a skinny person); or someone’s long, thin legs; or of course a long penis — so as an enthusiastic phallophiliac, I went with the penises in my response:

— AZ> AO: Those are mighty long beans you got there, pardner!

This is gay banter (itself a G+B expression); AO and I are old friends, both gay, and can exchange personally-directed lubricious remarks that turn on the shared assumption that gay men fantasize about big dicks (whatever their own penises are like and whatever sorts of penises they favor in actual man-on-man sex) and the shared belief that such fantasies are both powerful and ridiculous. This is an instance of banter without an edge, serving to express what we share — also what sets us apart from most people around us — and to reinforce the bond of our friendship. But banter between men, and more specifically between gay men, comes in many forms, ranging from a light touch with just a bit of an edge, to teasing and to more aggressive kidding. What’s going on depends on who’s doing the bantering, to whom, and in what circumstances. So I’ll have some words about that.

And then some appreciation for AO’s ingenuity in constructing his alphabetic titles, in this case for G+B expressions about the seedpods of Phaseolus vulgaris, the common bean. To which I will contribute a long playful list of G+B expressions for anyone who’d like to riff  further on green beans / string beans / snap beans. Read the rest of this entry »

Events of the day

August 30, 2025

🪛🔧🔨 penultimate August and (US) Labor Saturday; looking ahead, I see that Labor Day in 1940 was 9/2, but I wasn’t born until 9/6, so that was a long labor; meanwhile, from Benita Bendon Campbell today, an early birthday greeting to me:


The mammoth, the orchid, and the penguin, the emblems of my land, a BBC confection celebrating (as Bonnie observed) a friendship going back about 66 years

Meanwhile, these are birthday days for survivors from those days: Ellen Sulkis James (also going back ca. 66 years, to the Reading Eagle newspaper), who is 85 today; BBC (from Princeton), who is 89 tomorrow; and then, eventually, me.

 

The craft of writing

August 29, 2025

The backdrop: yesterday’s posting “Days of grief and anger”. Lise Menn’s comment on it:

— LM: Wonderful writing; may the message reach some new ears.

And my response:

— AZ >LM: Thank you; I hope so. As for the writing, that took hours, of revisions ranging from the minute to the global, with a lot of weeping, but stoked by rage that had to be crafted to present itself as an passionate outpouring of spontaneous feeling, complete with an urgent comma splice. So it pleases me to have it my craft recognized and appreciated; I’ve been working on it for almost 75 years now, but here it’s crucial that I not come off like a splenetic geezer.

Yes, I was a kid 75 years ago, and I was already honing my craft as a professional writer and editor, going on to edit my high school newspaper (and write a humor column for it), finally getting paid for my writing at the age of 17, when I began four years of work at the Reading (PA) Eagle newspaper (one of the jobs that got me through Princeton). All those years later I’m writing, every day of the year, essays — academic entertainments, as I think of them — for this blog.

I am a facile writer — first drafts are a lot of fun — and I have plenty of material to work with, but most of the work of writing is revising, rewriting, reframing, polishing, and editing. It can take stunning amounts of time.

So now I bring you two writing stories, the first about Geoff Pullum and me, writing a one-page abstract on Auxiliary Reduction in English for a 1997 Linguistic Society of America conference paper, an abstract offered to the program committee at the time; the second about E. B. White, writing a single paragraph for William Shawn (the New Yorker editor from 1952 through 1987) on the 1969 moon landing. Pullum & Zwicky had 25 versions labeled as drafts, with of course an enormous amount of churn during each of those revisions (and still at least one typo survived in the published version); White’s piece had 6 versions labeled as drafts, with, again, lots of churn during each revision (but at least the magazine’s staff ensured that the published version was flawless).

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Days of grief and anger

August 28, 2025

About death and life.

Out of yesterday’s gun death news, from Minneapolis, one detail sticks in my mind: older kids lying on top of younger ones to shield and shelter them. A moment of both bravery and loving care, a reminder of the good that people are capable of, in the face of immense evil — the evil, not of the shooter, who was dreadfully deranged (and apparently crammed with conspiratorial fantasies), but of the machine of death constructed over decades by political leaders in collaboration with gun manufacturers and the NRA. So that for times so numerous that they blend together into one bloody tapestry of slaughtered children, college students, churchgoers, shoppers, and party-goers, we cry out in agony (as the mayor of Minneapolis did yesterday) NEVER AGAIN, while those mechanics of death offer only pious thoughts and prayers against an event they triggered themselves but fervently disavow, telling us that no one could have predicted this, it’s a mental health problem, and the only protection would be to arm teachers, professors, leaders of religious congregations, grocery store clerks, and doormen at dance clubs — it takes a gun to stop a gun — and to lock up every place where people gather (so that guardians can protect them from those unpredictable crazies).

Meanwhile, ONLY IN AMERICA are so many so bloodily deranged.

Their stance is thoroughly disingenuous, consciously evil. But they are the people with serious money and political power, entirely capable of putting down the resistance of millions. So that what we face is FOREVER AGAIN, fresh slaughters every few months or so, as we’ve become inured to.

It is possible for endless patient resistance on a large scale to counter this evil, but that can take a century or more; consider civil rights for Black people in my country, finally more or less achieved in about a hundred years after the Emancipation Proclamation (but now being undone by rich and powerful white people), while the larger program of true racial equality is still a dream in Martin Luther King Jr.’s eye, requiring maybe another century. The alternative is a genuine bloody revolution, whose consequences are notoriously unpredictable and often unpleasant.

But I fear that we’re on the Gun Death Train, with lots of stops, on a line whose final destination is constantly receding and might well never be within reach. What we’ve got for solace along the way is small acts of bravery and loving care. We need more of them, many more of them, and we need to act in concert whenever we can, to do these things together, because we are stronger together and it’s going to be a long hard road, one none of us will see the end of, so we’ll need that strength to get from day to day.

Meanwhile, keep your power dry.

 

Eggcorns, innocent and deliberate

August 26, 2025

From a reader on 8/24:

Are you involved in collecting eggcorns?  In case you are, I thought you might be interested in a potential one that I’ve encountered “in the wild” (i.e., a Reddit post).  This person wrote jig solve puzzles instead of jigsaw puzzles:

I should have been diagnosed [with ADHD] as a child but it was the early 90s in a poor rural area. Special ed at my school didn’t diagnose me with anything specific … they just told my mom I needed to spend time doing jig solve puzzles. So, I forced my way through. (Reddit posting)

My response:

I certainly have been involved in collecting eggcorns. But there are only so many balls you can juggle at one time, and I am now a old man with not a lot of time left, so I’ve been pretty much out of the eggcorn business. But you will be pleased to hear that jigsaw > jig solve isn’t in the eggcorn database and hasn’t come up in the eggcorn forum, so I might post on it.

And now I am.

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