Archive for September, 2011
Looking Up P.S.
I just had to post a p.s. that today, on my way home from work I saw a rainbow. And it was enormous and vibrant and I’m pretty sure the people in the car next to me thought I was deranged.
I truly wish I could have taken a picture, but I spied it as I was merging on to I-79. It was arching somewhere over about Wexford, and it looked like it was touching down on Warrendale-Bayne Rd. So close that it appeared to be moving as I drove.
And. There was a second one starting up behind it.
And. I saw a bit of one as I rounded the bend on 279 near Venture St.
And. There was rainbow glinting off the Venture St. exit sign.
So there’s that.
Looking Up
21 years ago tomorrow, a dear friend of mine gave birth to a beautiful, sweet, and very cool kid.
She went through some of the toughest times a kid can go through, fighting cancer before she’d even started school. That is not my story to tell. But today I am remembering the day her Mom hosted a Make-a-Wish block party to celebrate the very happy end to that fight.
It was a great day. A joyful celebration, with a petting zoo and a jumpy castle and a bunch of running, giggling happy children, with neighbors, family, friends, with sunshine and bright moments. (It was also, behind the scenes, a tribute to the bravest and most amazing Mom I have known in my generation.)
It began to rain as I was driving home after the party, and, as I was getting out of my car, I looked up and saw (only one I’ve ever seen) a stunning DOUBLE rainbow. Yeah, I stood, I stared, and I laughed aloud in the street with tears rolling. Then, I ran into the house to call my friend and share the moment. And she told me something even more phenomenal.
Throughout her daughter’s illness, they had told her that rainbows were for her, a sign of hope and health. And, back at the party, while cleaning up, they saw the rainbows, too. And the child looked up and asked, “Is that my rainbow?”
Well–say what you will, believe what you want, unexplainable doesn’t matter–yes. Hell yes.
And now two decades have passed. I’ve learned the tough lessons that I had no clue about back then–that all endings aren’t happy. That sometimes hope, bravery, and believing aren’t enough. That life can, and often will, take a turn for the worst. I am, I admit, a bit forlornly but taking that fighter’s stance, yeah, a bit proudly too, much more cynical and much less hopeful than I was 21 years ago.
But. I won’t forget that day.
I can’t and won’t promise that miracles happen, that good always triumphs over evil, that “things happen for a reason.” But. I can avow without a hint of doubt or cynicism that wonderful things can and do happen, too. Tonight at midnight, I will raise a glass to wonderful moments and say Happy Birthday to a beautiful, sweet, very cool adult. A life preserver who will always hold a very special place in this old broad’s heart.
And tomorrow? Well, the Weather Channel says sunny, partly cloudy, with a chance of rain. I’ll be keeping an eye out.
A Superior Innovative Quality Post
Yes. I’m a writer. I’ve been studying, learning, practicing, and making a living with the English language for more than 25 years. But I am not one of Those People. The ones who spitefully note grammar or spelling errors in friends’ emails or facebook posts. The ones who can spend two hours arguing whether or not the phrase anal retentive requires a hyphen. I couldn’t care less if my friends know the difference between who and whom. I truly sincerely assure you, I am not one of Those People.
However.
If you are being paid money to communicate a message. And you bungle it out of what can only be stupidity or laziness. You. Annoy. Me.
Freakin’?
This morning, I heard a radio commercial that claimed its product was “freakin’ great.”
Yikes. How crass and unprofessional. Yes, I realize it’s not actually the F-word, but it’s a slang that exists only as a stand-in for the F-word. (And, let’s be clear, I’m not nearly as offended by the F-word as I am by bad writing.) If you can’t think of a better adjective than freakin’, you should probably change careers.
Word Choice Matters
The words less and fewer are not interchangeable. (Used incorrectly in a financial services ad couple of weeks back, which made it extra amusing.)
Every day and everyday are also not interchangeable. Although I admit this one’s borderline pet-peevian.
People n’ Things
When referring to a human being, the pronoun is who, not which or that.
The Apostrophe
Learn how to use an apostrophe. The Joneses will thank you. The Joneses’ cat, however, will not care.
Lighten Up, Frances
Must we really muddle meaning and/or mangle grammar simply to avoid using words like mankind? Really?
Interesting to note: The word mankind derives from the word humankind (not penis).
Hackneyed Smack Need
You do not offer educational solutions; you’re a college. I don’t want creative banking or innovative toilet paper. Buildings, paper products, shampoo, cars, etc., are incapable of being environmentally conscious. Or any kind of conscious. Can we all admit this kind of sloppy writing is a problem (and not an opportunity)?
Stop It with the Ellipses
And
Also on the annoying list are reviewers who high-and-mightily, completely aghastly, so-oh-oh condescendingly spout things like, You can’t begin a sentence with a conjunction!
Yeah. Okay darlin’. Why don’t you take that tone and your 1902 diploma and go ask your doctor to bleed you with leeches to ease your blood pressure a bit.
Which Reminded Me
I once had a client call a boss and complain that I was a bad writer because I used prepositional phrases. And the boss called me into his office. I expected a chuckle of commiseration and time spent figuring out how best to interpret the feedback and magically edit the text in question. Instead. I got a lecture on the importance of customer satisfaction, a dramatic portrayal of his disappointment in my skill as a writer, and a stern warning to stop using prepositional phrases forthwith.
Which, you know, meant I was thereby forbidden to say, “Up yours.”
Hire a Professional
If you need wiring done, you call an electrician. If your pet is due for shots, you go to a vet. If you want to communicate clearly and effectively to business-related audiences, if you want to promote a professional image, if you want to get the most out of your media buy, use a professional writer.
Speaking of, how about a shameless plug for fellow-writer Christine Hollinger of WordPlay Writing? She’s a long-time colleague, kind blog follower, situational grammar consultant, and supporter of sanity. In other words, a life preserver. And a darn good freelance writer.
Life Preservers 
hpy bday 2 u
I promise you, you don’t really need 152,000 megapixels to take a high-quality digital photo. A movie is way more enjoyable (at least for the people around you) if you turn off your phone. I also suspect that none of us actually needs to be able to view two different DVDs while driving.
I’m not saying technological advancements are bad. Some of them are downright miraculous. But I propose to you that the frenzy over the latest and greatest blurs judgment and we’re all so busy trying to read new manuals and load updates that we don’t actually notice the fix we’re in.
A very tiny case in point. My ISP recently “upgraded” its email interface. Next week my friend (Lee Ann W.) turns a year older, and I needed her contact info to address the envelope of her Birthday card. I conducted the following experiment using a stopwatch.
Scenario 1
1. Open browser.
2. Log in to email.
3. Click on “Address book.”
4. Click on the W.
5. Scroll to Lee Ann’s listing.
6. Click on “View.”
Time: 32 sec.
Scenario 2
1. Pick up address book.
2. Flip to W tab.
Time: 4 sec.
The book won’t disappear if I change ISPs. And upkeep and accuracy on either list is going to come out the same. Unscientifically quantifying how many times I need an address, I calculated that I would save 2 hours (minimum) a year doing this task the old-fashioned way.
Not a great deal of time in a big scheme, I admit. But time enough to plant and smell some roses, bake Tollhouse cookies and pour a glass of ice-cold milk, get 100 miles closer to the nearest beach, watch Meet The Robinson’s and spend the additional 25 minutes laughing hysterically at my nephew saying, “I’ve got a big head . . . and little arms,” ride Kennywood’s Thunderbolt 33 times, read a few chapters of Jane Eyre or one paragraph of Moby Dick, do happy hour (twice), or write a post that mentions an old friend while pondering that, when I met her, there were no portable phones, personal computers, portable GPS, CDs, DVDs, DVR, iThises, iThats, Droids, IMs, emails, facebook, websites, or, for that matter, blogs.
Dang. I should have gotten a card that makes fun of her age.
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September 20, 2011 at 8:54 am 3 comments