Feel like you’re geting the rough end of the pineapple? Don’t worry—you may yet land with your bum in the butter. These and other delicious food idioms are chronicled over at The Guardian‘s Word of Mouth blog.
Feel like you’re geting the rough end of the pineapple? Don’t worry—you may yet land with your bum in the butter. These and other delicious food idioms are chronicled over at The Guardian‘s Word of Mouth blog.
Posting’s been a little light of late, mostly on accounta we’ve been busier than a blind dog in a meat house. Until this caught my eye, anyway: Man with Mahler Photo Complains of Pressure from Schoenbergs. Clearly it was time for a breather.
Turns out that Cliff Fraser, a 35-year-old Los Angeles emergency room technician and college student, has in his possession a signed photograph of Gustav Mahler—and Arnold Schoenberg’s heirs want it. The best part of the story? The very last paragraph:
Mr. Fraser said that since finding the photo he had learned a lot about both Schoenberg and Mahler, and something else as well. “I’m not a very big fan of their music,” he said. “I tried, but it just doesn’t work for me.”
Okay, then. Back to work.
My daughter told me a joke the other day:
“Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“To.”
“To who?”
“To whom.”
Pretty good, right? Of course, you have to actually care about the distinction between who and whom to think it’s funny. Which brings us to this post over at The Economist‘s website, one of the points of which is that “[t]he unease over whom just makes people avoid it more.”
For you geeks out there, it’s who for subjects, whom for objects. But most of us don’t want to get all that involved with determining subjects and objects—including me. So I just stick to a rule I first learned from William F. Buckley, Jr.: follow a preposition with whom (to whom, by whom, for whom, et al.). Use who everywhere else. Seems to work.
Eager patrons stand in line at the loukoumades truck at the 77th annual Greek Dinner Festival last Friday. Hosted by Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church, the event features an incredible menu, bakery items, church tours, dancing, and, of course, the aforementioned loukoumades—little puffs of deep-fried goodness that once were served by the ancient Greeks to Olympic champions.
One more post about Facebook, then I’m done. For reals.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=AkH2coBaQUQ
Try to watch this without laughing. Go on—I dare you. It’s a bit cheeky coming from a company that lost $50 billion in share value in a little over three months, don’t you think?
But what’s worse is the grandiosity of it all. Does Facebook really think it’s the only thing that stands between us and a “vast” and “dark” universe? “We make the tools and services that allow people to feel human, get together, open up,” explains head of consumer marketing Rebecca Van Dyck. C’mon. Who honestly believes that? (Besides Wieden & Kennedy, the ad agency that foisted this bombastic load of navel-gazing codswallop on us.)
The seriousness with which this company takes itself is mind-boggling. But I think it’s really just a larger symptom of the way in which agencies and design firms—and their clients—have come to fetishize brand. It’s not enough to have a billion people actively using your product (which in and of itself is a truly remarkable feat); no, you’ve got to get all metaphysical on us. Hey Facebook: You’re a social networking site. That’s all. Now, go earn your shareholders some money.
I was on Facebook once. It lasted about six months. I made connections with a couple of old high school friends I hadn’t seen for 20-some years, but that was about all I got out of it. What ultimately drove me away was the ceaseless torrent of political commentary that was less about actual conversation than it was about intellectual and emotional bullying.
But even the bullying would’ve been at least somewhat tolerable if it weren’t for the condescension and contempt with which “friends” treated those whose only crime was—gasp!—disagreeing with them.
So what gives? Elizabeth Bernstein has some thoughts on what makes us so aggressive online, and how social media turns otherwise decent folk into insufferable jerks:
Most of us present an enhanced image of ourselves on Facebook. This positive image—and the encouragement we get, in the form of “likes”—boosts our self-esteem. And when we have an inflated sense of self, we tend to exhibit poor self-control.
Keith Wilcox, a professor at Columbia and one of the co-authors of a study linking Facebook use with everything from higher body mass to lower credit scores, adds that this type of behavior is “often displayed by people impaired by alcohol.”
Sounds about right to me.
Should dictionaries tell you how language should be used? Or should they simply report on language as it’s actually being used?
While in general I prefer a prescriptivist (the “how” party) approach, it seems that there’s certainly room for compromise. Over at The Weekly Standard—in an article chock full of awesome word geekery—David Skinnner agrees, and reveals the “spirited prejudices” of both sides.
Is there a better headline than “Buddhist ‘Iron Man’ found by Nazis is from space“? I don’t think so.
Monster alligators in Mississippi: “This is not the first record to come from Issaquena County and probably will not be the last.”
An oldie but goodie: The Illustrated Guide to a Ph.D.
First-prize winner at the April 1894 Covent Garden Fancy Dress Ball? The guy who went as a side of bacon, obviously.
And finally, alternative versions of famous monuments.
Happy Friday, everyone.
In a letter to his mother, T. E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia) extolled the virtues of a good book:
“…if you can get the right book at the right time you taste joys—not only bodily, physical, but spiritual also, which pass one out above and beyond one’s miserable self, as it were through a huge air, following the light of another man’s thought. And you can never be quite the old self again.”
Hard to imagine him waxing so passionate about a Kindle.
Max came in to visit us today. That is all.
Turns out eunuchs live longer than, um…non-eunuchs. Nineteen years, on average. Given that folks seem to have no problem whatsoever going under the knife to look younger—often with disastrous results—we wonder whether some men might choose a much simpler procedure to actually extend their lives.
And if it does catch on, a word of warning: you might want to avoid places like these.
In honor of National Punctuation Day today (yay!), The Atlantic gathered some writers to talk about their favorite marks.
If I had to choose just one, I’d probably settle on the semicolon—if for no other reason than that graphic designers hate the way it looks. Oh…and because it enables one to write much longer sentences, which graphic designers also hate.
It took Homo sapiens 200,000 years, but we’ve finally perfected breakfast: a cup of Cravens coffee and a still-warm flatliner from Donut Parade.
What’s the occasion? It’s Haley “The Hammer” Anderson‘s last day as AMD intern.
Normally, when someone like Haley leaves, you do something nice for her. Like buy her lunch or something. But The Hammer isn’t normal. No, she brought everyone treats this morning. And when you consider all she did over the summer—including yeoman’s work on our upcoming MAC exhibit—well…I’m not ashamed to admit that I get a little misty at the thought of her bidding adieu.
Farewell, Hammer. If my heart stops beating this morning, don’t you worry. It was totally worth it.
Here’s something that occasionally pops up: Is it into or in to?
Into is a preposition that tells the reader where. “Frank went into the café.” “Betty dove into the pool.”
In to is used when the where is understood—and to communicate intent. “Frank went in to order lunch.” “Betty dove in to escape the zombie horde.”
If there’s still some confusion, try reading the sentence out loud. Chances are, you’ll hear the difference right away.
This is the most beautifully designed site I have ever seen. A fitting tribute to the 2,983 men, women, and children killed in the attacks of September 11, 2001—and the six victims of the 1993 World Trade Center bombing.
