Grammar fail fail

You know that I think too many people try to catch other people on grammar mistakes and typos. It’s alright (but often rudely done) when the correcter is right. It’s irritating when the correcter is neither right nor wrong (as with omitting or including Oxford commas). And then there’s the hypercorrection, where the correcter really wants to prove their superiority, and just starts making corrections willy-nilly, often miscorrecting perfectly acceptable writing. Here’s a fun example, posted as either a “job LOL” or a “work fail” on Failblog:

OH BOOM! Hey, person who just wanted to keep a common area clean! You and your reasonable request just got served! Scorched Earth LOL!

Except: I count five corrections, of which two are invalid, one is a question of tone, and only two are actually valid complaints. Oh, and there’s a missed correction.

Correction 1: whoever to whomever. See, this is why whom is leaving English. Very few people, even those who want to see it stay in the language, know how to use it correctly (i.e., as the accusative case form of who, not as the formal version of who). Briefly, whom(ever) is used when the noun phrase it’s replacing would be an object of a verb. The wh-word in whoever ate this pizza is replacing a subject NP, which means that it should get nominative case (whoever), not accusative case (whomever). If the clause were “whoever this pizza ate”, then one could add the m. But it is not, and the correction is wrong.

Correction 2: Removing the comma before and. Because this and is joining two verb phrases into a single verb phrase with a single subject, there’s no syntactic reason to have this comma. The comma is also inappropriate from a rhetorical standpoint; a speaker wouldn’t pause before this and. Score 1 for the correcter.

Correction 3: Replacing the comma with a semicolon before you are gross. No, semicolons generally join two complete sentences into a single sentence, and whoever … here isn’t complete.* A comma is indeed correct here; this is an example of left-dislocation, rare in written English but common in spoken English and many other languages**. In left-dislocation, a noun phrase describing the subject or object of the sentence is placed at the beginning of the sentence as the topic of the sentence, and then is referred to later by a pronoun.

Because the specific pronoun here is you, this could also be a case of the whoever phrase being a vocative phrase appended at the beginning of the sentence. Again, this is common in spoken English and shows up often in online comments: e.g., “John, you need to grow up.” If it’s viewed as a vocative, then a comma is again correct. A colon could also be appropriate, as a greeting for the entire message, like the opening to a business letter. Either way, a semicolon is incorrect, and so is the corrector.

Correction 4: Parenthesizing profanity. The corrector claims that there’s no need for profanity. This is an issue of style, and isn’t really right or wrong. In a business setting, like the one this pizza box was apparently found in, written profanity may be inappropriate. However, having been in college recently enough to remember roommates who left empty pizza boxes scattered like lamps around a living room, I would argue that profanity is merited in these cases.

Correction 5: it’s replacing its. That’s a good change. The added rationale, though, should have a colon in place of its comma: need an apostrophe: ITS = possessive.

Missed Correction: the space in who ever. Whoever ought to be a single word here, because it’s the indefinite/generalized form of who, which is standardly written as a single word any more. Who ever would be appropriate if ever were an adverb modifying the verb (e.g., Who ever heard of a snozzberry?). When the correcter added the M, they retained the space, and that’s a missed opportunity to correct.

All in all, this is a microcosm of why I hate people correcting people’s grammar. The correctors are often wrong themselves, and in the course of trying to show up someone else, they completely miss the point — in this case, the undeniable fact that abandoned pizza boxes belong in the trash. Correctors: You’re not helping. And if you’re not helping, you could at least have the decency to be right.

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*: It could be complete as a question, but here it’s obviously supposed to be a declarative sentence.

**: I first became aware of left-dislocation in French sentences like Mon ami, il est comme un sandwich, and there’s a whole class of languages that regularly do this.

Metapost: Improve This Blog!

Hey all, I’ve got a spot of free time on the horizon and I’m thinking of spending at least some of it improving this blog. On the whole this blog is more or less the same as it was years ago when it was getting a hit or two each day, and now that there are regular readers and a bit of a community here, my big question is: what do you, the readers, want?

I’m soliciting your thoughts on every part of the site, from its posts to its design to its philosophy. Anything you’ve thought about the site, whether good or bad, is useful (especially the bad stuff). What makes you come back to the blog, and what makes you want to leave? Let me seed the conversation with a list of questions I’ve been asking myself:

Regarding the posts: Are there things you generally like or dislike about the posts, such as their layout or length? Do they need more illustrations/photos? Are there certain kinds of posts you like or dislike? Is the writing style too esoteric, too simplistic, too gruff, too rambling, too condescending, too certain? Am I too much of an old grouch?

Regarding Motivated Grammar in general: Is there anything new you’d like to see added or anything from an older version that you wish were still here? Do you want anything more from @MGrammar on Twitter? Is there any need for or interest in a forum to go along with the blog? Would you like to see a Motivated Grammar page on Facebook or MySpace or some other social networking site, or to hear a Motivated Grammar podcast?

Don’t limit your comments to only these points. I want to know anything that will make your time here more pleasant and more useful. I’m interested in new readers’ thoughts as well as the old-timers’. Either comment here (anonymously if you think I will be made very sad and it will ruin our friendship) or drop a line to motivatedgrammar[at]gmail.com. Thanks for helping make this blog what it is and thanks in advance for your advice.

The meaning(s) of “anticipate”

Oh, I love Thanksgiving! It’s such a silly holiday, where we kid ourselves that we’re counting our blessings when we’re really counting how many plates of food we can devour. It’s a day that proclaims that it’s awesome to get along with one another and to trust each other and to share, when the real message of the First Thanksgiving is that doing those things will only result in your land, livelihood, and lives being taken away from you. Wait, that’s not a good holiday at all! But I get to pardon my gluttony for one day, so it’s all right, I guess.

"And, God, please deliver unto me an Xbox 360 with a Kinect for less than $200 tomorrow at 4 a.m."

Anyway, let me tell you a little about my upcoming Thanksgiving dinner. Suppose I confessed to you that I anticipate that the overall quality of the dinner will be high, despite the fact that I am in charge of preparing a not-insubstantial portion of the meal. Would I be correct in my confession? Specifically, I’m wondering if I’m justified in my use of the word anticipate, which I’ve used rather like expect.

To hear prescriptivists tell it, I wouldn’t be. They say that anticipate can be used only when the subject has prepared for the expected event. For instance, Fowler’s Modern English Usage (2nd edition, 1965) insists that:

“The use of anticipate as a synonym for expect, though very common, is a slipshod extension. The element of forestall present in anticipate ought to have been preserved and is still respected by careful writers.”

Ambrose Bierce similarly asserts in Write It Right (1909, but I’m using Jan Freeman’s 2009 edition):

“To anticipate is to act on an expectation in a way to promote or forestall the event expected.”

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary of English Usage finds this claim first made in 1881 by Alfred Ayers, who was something of a giant in the world of 19th century grammaticasters. Ayers justified his claim through Latin etymology, which is never a valid argument. And now a bunch of people parrot it.

Well, are they right and I wrong? Am I right and they wrong? Well, in the cheerful spirit of the forthcoming holiday, let’s say we’re both right. Some of the definitions of anticipate do have a substantial preparatory component. Among these are (I’m paraphrasing the OED’s definitions here) to spend income in advance, to deal with before another actor has a chance to, to forestall, to observe in advance of the due date, to cause to happen earlier, and to take into consideration before the appropriate time.

Now, most of these are fairly uncommon usages for anticipate in contemporary English. I’d wager that few people would now say “I’ve anticipated my wages after taking out the payday loan,” using the “spend income in advance” definition. Same with “I anticipated the fall of the Jenga tower by bumping into it,” using the “cause to happen earlier” meaning.* Of the preparatory definitions listed above, the two I see most commonly are “to forestall” and “to take into advance consideration”:

(1) I played with one new player who asked what dice to roll every time he was instructed to roll for initiative. After the fourteenth time, I anticipated his question and handed him a 20-sided die when combat started.

(2) He anticipated the question “What was the last movie you saw?” but not, “What was the most recent favorite movie you saw?” This interviewee was stumped.

This last definition of anticipate is already pretty close to that of expect. Because you expect something to happen, you consider it in advance. The question here — one noted by Jan Freeman in her discussion of Bierce’s opinion — is what counts as preparation or consideration. If you expect something to happen, you’re almost certainly going to prepare for it, even if only mentally. And in some cases preparing for an event involves a specific type of inaction. For instance, I expect that my friend who told me he was going to get me Scott Pilgrim vs. The World on DVD will follow through, so I have anticipated this action by not watching the movie. The line is blurry, and that’s a good thing.

Why? It gives us flexibility, at least in my idiolect. Using anticipate when there isn’t obvious preparation triggers an implicature that the anticipater has undergone some sort of mental preparation for the event, even if nothing more than psyching oneself up for it. The OED lists “to look forward to” as a definition of anticipate. Expect, on the other hand, is far more neutral in its view of future events. That’s why fans anticipate their favorite bands releasing a new song, in addition to expecting it. There’s also a related sense in the OED of anticipate meaning expect as certain.

And I think that’s the trick with anticipate. People don’t generally use anticipate as a mere synonym of expect. I see it as “expect-plus”, where the addition can be positive feeling, preparation, certainty, or a range of other things. The “slipshod extension” Fowler mentions is not anticipate as mere expect, but anticipate with a wider range of preparations.

I’ve one last sentence, from Jack Lynch, to offer if you remain worried about anticipate and expect fraternizing:

“William Blake certainly didn’t expect Modernist poetry, but in some ways he anticipated it by doing similar things a century earlier.”

The meaning of this sentence is obvious even to someone like me, for whom the primary meaning of anticipate is “expect-plus”.

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*: Are there words for either of these meanings (“spend in advance” or “cause to happen earlier”) in contemporary English? If you know of any, let me know, because I want to use them.

Facebook grammar: “unlike” is valid

I have something of a love-hate relationship with Facebook. It came out in my later college years and was awesome and useful, helping me keep in touch with old friends scattered at other colleges, organize meetings, and find people with shared interests. (“Hello, ludicrously attractive girl. I note that you list ‘The O.C.’ as one of your interests. As luck would have it, I’ve recently obtained the first season on DVD, if you’d like to watch it in my room.”)

Since then, Facebook introduced a bunch of features that effectively ruined the experience for me, from a feature that allowed other people’s farm animals to wander into my profile to a feature that allowed random websites to access information about me through my friends. But I still have a profile on there — rarely updated — because sometimes I have to use Facebook to access invitations or other junk that my friends have posted.

Oh, really? I can't wait to find out how much you think I'm worth, guy-I-think-I-knew-in-high-school.

I’m not the only one with these complicated feelings toward Facebook, of course; people who regularly use the site have far stronger emotions about it. And a common one of these emotions is the need to complain loudly about Facebook’s every last grammaticality issue.

When I was still on Facebook a lot, I remember people complaining about the fact that when someone hadn’t specified their gender, the system would say things like “Lenny Dykstra has updated their profile picture,” instead of his or her or some more awkward construction. A little later, the verb “unfriend” led to a disproportionately large amount of venom directed at social sites for creating a word that, really, they didn’t create.*

Now there’s a new complaint. Facebook has a “Like” button, which you can click to indicate that you like something, like a group or product. For instance, I just found out through this wonderful system that a friend I knew in Seattle a few years ago likes dried cranberries. (Me too, OMG!) But introducing a “Like” button introduces with it a linguistic quandary. What should you call it if you decide to not like something anymore? What if, for instance, your were disappointed with Taylor Swift’s new album and no longer wish to pledge your allegiance to her?

Well, Facebook has an “Unlike” button that you can press to stop formally liking something. That makes a lot of sense, right? Much like you might untie your shoes, unbutton your shirt, or unwrap your birthday present.

But oh no! Not to the grammar police! One fellow — a Yalie, I’d like to note — writes:

Mark Zuckerberg, ‘unlike’ is not a verb. At all.

And someone started a Facebook group to address unlike, writing:

Not wishing to be a pedantic f*cktard, so correct me if I’m wrong (I’m not), but surely the opposite of ‘Like’ is ‘Dislike’. ‘Unlike’ is an entirely separate preposition, meaning ‘dissimilar to’.

And Scott McGrew, a tech reporter for NBC Bay Area, registered similar displeasure with the word:

Once you click “like,” the button changes to “unlike.” But Merriam-Webster says “unlike” is defined as “a marked by lack of resemblance.” […] What Facebook should have used if they were looking to please the proper grammar-conscious is “dislike.” We contacted Facebook to ask about this egregious attack on English, fully expecting them not to comment. Or in Facebook-ese “uncomment.”

Alas, grammar police, your sirens are misguided. First off, I know that there is an extant form of unlike that is not a verb. But English allows for the same word to have multiple meanings, usages, and sometimes even different etymologies. My favorite example of this is mean, which has 12 entries in the Oxford English Dictionary, in four different parts of speech. Multiple meanings can be problematic when they lead to ambiguity, but verbal unlike won’t get confused with adverbial unlike.

Second, dislike isn’t appropriate for this situation (a point that some commenters made on the Facebook group’s wall and here). Both un- and dis- are prefixes that can be put onto verb to mean “to stop or reverse”, so either unlike or dislike could mean “to stop liking something”. But dislike already has a verbal meaning that would introduce ambiguity; stopping liking something is distinctly different from disliking it.** If you’re really being conscious of word meanings, as McGrew claims he’s trying to be, you’d surely not want to use dislike so cavalierly.

Third, unlike predates Facebook. The Oxford English Dictionary has an entry for unlike as a verb meaning “to give up liking; to cease to like”, complete with an attestation from 1761:

My heart is not in a disposition to love… I cannot compel it to like and unlike, and like anew at pleasure.

So it’s settled. I will unlike the next person I see disliking unlike.

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*: First, Facebook uses “remove from friends” instead of “unfriend” or “defriend”, and it was their users (i.e., us) who introduced these words. Second, unfriend already existed (although it was rarely used) before Facebook, as in this 1659 attestation from the OED: “I hope, Sir, that we are not mutually Unfriended by this Difference which hath happened betwixt us.” In fact, there are around 4,000 hits for unfriended in Google Books before Facebook’s founding in 2004.

**: As a Michael Jackson fan said when asked about Justin Bieber: “I don’t like him, but I don’t dislike him.”