I have been noticing a disturbing trend. It seems that grammar, punctuation and spelling are on the decline in print. It seems as if in every book I read, I find a missing period or a misspelled word. I find typos in newspaper articles all the time. Today I saw a headline reading “Snowmobilers Go Father” instead of “Snowmobilers Go Farther”.
I’m not saying that everything always has to be in the Queen’s English. I understand that personal emails and even blog entries might have the occasional error, and that’s okay with me. There are people who make money writing and proofreading, though, and I think that they should have to be pretty good at what they do. I have to be good at what I do if I want to keep my job. They could at least reread their work, or run a spell-checking program (although this isn’t perfect).
So why are these violations of language slipping past? Are these people overworked? Are they lazy? Is there just too much information being published? Am I just too anal? (Please, no one answer that—it’s rhetorical.)
I only raise this issue because I have a “bad grammar” radar lodged in my brain. (I think it may have replaced my hypothalamus.) My wife can verify that anytime I come across an English mistake, it may as well be in big, bold red letters, underlined thrice and packing heat. I am not exaggerating. It seriously trips me up when I am reading, as if I were interrupted by fingernails on a chalkboard. It is almost a painful experience for me. Don’t blame me for my ranting, then: I am a victim of this disease. I’m sure I’ll track down a name for it sometime.
In the meantime, I think some federal funding is in order. I obviously can’t work under these conditions. I deserve free money!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Continuing Adventures of Bravo de la Tromeo.
That monkey was worth millions. It would soon be ours.
Bravo had learned of it from one of his countless, nameless sources. A pure jade monkey statuette, carved some 1200 years prior. It was made with such intricacy that archaeologists still had no idea how the artist had done it. It must have taken a lifetime of dedication to complete.
It was now housed in the Smithsonian, which is where we were. We stood before it. It was behind two layers of bullet-proof glass and a laser-beam security system. Two armed guards stood watch, night and day. I thought it was a lost cause--there was simply no way to get it. I glanced at Bravo. He had that twinkle in his eye. We left silently. I wondered what his plan was.
As usual, he didn't tell me what he was going to do. He only told me that I would wait outside.
We would steal the monkey the following day. We had learned that every evening at 6:10 PM, right after close, the museum switched its electricity from the power plant to a generator they owned. They ran the generator until opening the next day. During each of these switches, the power went down for 10 seconds. This was our window of opportunity.
The next evening, we entered the museum thirty minutes before it closed. Bravo slipped into a janitor's closest. I visited the monkey, reported back to Bravo and left the building. I bought a hot dog from a vendor outside and waited.
At precisely 6:12 PM, Bravo calmly walked out of the museum, a book bag slung over his shoulder. He signaled to me. I fell in line behind him. We approached a grey Ford Mustang. In fifteen seconds, Bravo had broken in an hot-wired it. We were a mile from the scene before the police were alerted.
Back at the hotel, we watched the ten o'clock news. The lead story, of course, was the theft of the jade monkey. Two security guards had been killed. There were no visible marks on them. The empty case bore no marks on it, not even a fingerprint. The monkey had simply disappeared, and the lives of the security guards with it.
I was stunned. I turned and looked at Bravo. He did not look at me. He seemed bored with the news. He turned off the television and picked up a book. I turned away from him and tried to sleep, wondering.
Bravo had learned of it from one of his countless, nameless sources. A pure jade monkey statuette, carved some 1200 years prior. It was made with such intricacy that archaeologists still had no idea how the artist had done it. It must have taken a lifetime of dedication to complete.
It was now housed in the Smithsonian, which is where we were. We stood before it. It was behind two layers of bullet-proof glass and a laser-beam security system. Two armed guards stood watch, night and day. I thought it was a lost cause--there was simply no way to get it. I glanced at Bravo. He had that twinkle in his eye. We left silently. I wondered what his plan was.
As usual, he didn't tell me what he was going to do. He only told me that I would wait outside.
We would steal the monkey the following day. We had learned that every evening at 6:10 PM, right after close, the museum switched its electricity from the power plant to a generator they owned. They ran the generator until opening the next day. During each of these switches, the power went down for 10 seconds. This was our window of opportunity.
The next evening, we entered the museum thirty minutes before it closed. Bravo slipped into a janitor's closest. I visited the monkey, reported back to Bravo and left the building. I bought a hot dog from a vendor outside and waited.
At precisely 6:12 PM, Bravo calmly walked out of the museum, a book bag slung over his shoulder. He signaled to me. I fell in line behind him. We approached a grey Ford Mustang. In fifteen seconds, Bravo had broken in an hot-wired it. We were a mile from the scene before the police were alerted.
Back at the hotel, we watched the ten o'clock news. The lead story, of course, was the theft of the jade monkey. Two security guards had been killed. There were no visible marks on them. The empty case bore no marks on it, not even a fingerprint. The monkey had simply disappeared, and the lives of the security guards with it.
I was stunned. I turned and looked at Bravo. He did not look at me. He seemed bored with the news. He turned off the television and picked up a book. I turned away from him and tried to sleep, wondering.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Hail, Educators!
National Teachers' Day isn't until May 6, but as I was writing up a post on Dr. Reeves' new book, I began to think about all of the teachers and professors who have influenced me over the years, the ones who made a profound difference in my life. I present them to you now (in no particular order), as a way of saying thanks.
Dr. Douglas Groothuis - Although I don't always agree with him, he single-handedly reinvented the way I think and opened up my eyes to the wonderful world of philosophy (in which I am still quite the neophyte). He also challenged me to increase my vocabulary by his own example.
Drs. Rodney Reeves and Bing Bayer - They taught me Greek and Hebrew, respectively. They also taught me to get excited about the Bible.
Richard Irby - Mr. Irby was my senior English teacher. Everything I know about grammar I learned from him. His may be the most valuable class I have ever taken.
Vic Noordhoek - He was my junior-high and high-school cross-country coach. He got me started down the path of running, and coached me to all-State honors my junior year.
Mark Misch - He was my college cross-country/track coach. He took me as a 17:00 5K runner and turned me into a 15:00 5K runner, and reignited my passion for the sport in the process.
There are many others who have influenced me, but these would have to be on the top of the list. (No offense to those who didn't make the list; you're still important to me, too!) Where would I be without such people willing to pour themselves into a skinny white kid? I don't know, and I don't want to know. How does one repay this debt? I suppose by pouring himself into others.
I hope I do them proud.
Dr. Douglas Groothuis - Although I don't always agree with him, he single-handedly reinvented the way I think and opened up my eyes to the wonderful world of philosophy (in which I am still quite the neophyte). He also challenged me to increase my vocabulary by his own example.
Drs. Rodney Reeves and Bing Bayer - They taught me Greek and Hebrew, respectively. They also taught me to get excited about the Bible.
Richard Irby - Mr. Irby was my senior English teacher. Everything I know about grammar I learned from him. His may be the most valuable class I have ever taken.
Vic Noordhoek - He was my junior-high and high-school cross-country coach. He got me started down the path of running, and coached me to all-State honors my junior year.
Mark Misch - He was my college cross-country/track coach. He took me as a 17:00 5K runner and turned me into a 15:00 5K runner, and reignited my passion for the sport in the process.
There are many others who have influenced me, but these would have to be on the top of the list. (No offense to those who didn't make the list; you're still important to me, too!) Where would I be without such people willing to pour themselves into a skinny white kid? I don't know, and I don't want to know. How does one repay this debt? I suppose by pouring himself into others.
I hope I do them proud.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Friday, February 1, 2008
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