Tag: Grammar

Q: I’m in the process of applying to graduate schools to study occupational therapy. Within my essay, I’m confused about whether I should capitalize “occupational therapy” or leave it in lowercase. Please, please help. I really want to be accepted!

A: You’re raising an issue of style here, not grammar, so there’s no right or wrong.

The usual style is to lowercase “occupational therapy” unless it’s part of a title (like “School of Occupational Therapy”). But the usual style will only get you so far.

If you really want to be accepted, check out the graduate schools’ catalogs and other material to see how they capitalize “occupational therapy.” Then do whatever they do.

The catalogs will probably cap the phrase in reference to a school (or program, institute, department, etc.) of occupational therapy. You should also determine whether they capitalize it in an ordinary generic reference (as in “patients who need occupational therapy”). In other words, imitate the graduate schools’ own styles for the different usages.

Academic institutions do a lot of unnecessary capitalizing, so don’t expect them to follow the usual rules for style.

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Q: When I was in high school in the West Indies, my English teacher explained that “to have an ax to grind” meant to have a favor to ask. But when I came to the US, I found that people here used the expression to mean to have an ulterior motive. An Internet search for the origin of the phrase has left my completely confused. Could you clarify its meaning and origin?

A: The expression, which originated in the United States in the early 19th century, has slightly different meanings in the US and Britain, but neither one matches your high-school memory. Perhaps you misheard or misunderstood your English teacher.

In the US, the expression means to have a selfish or ulterior purpose, according to both The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) and Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.). The Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English, which reflects British usage, defines it as to have a strong opinion that leads you to do something.

As for the origin of the expression, no wonder you’re confused. There’s a lot of confusing information about it out there, especially on the Internet.

Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, for example, attributes the expression to Benjamin Franklin and traces it to an incident involving him as a boy. The youngster, according to Brewer’s, was conned by a slick-talking man into sharpening an ax for him.

But Brewer’s doesn’t say where the story comes from, and I haven’t found any source that can locate the expression in Franklin’s writings. Besides, the story seems fishy to me. Brewer’s says the man supposedly “had no time to turn the grindstone,” but he had time to stand around watching young Ben do it for him.

The Oxford English Dictionary also says the phrase originated with Franklin, but the OED‘s first published citation is not from Franklin. It’s from another Pennsylvanian, Charles Miner, a Connecticut-born essayist and newspaper editor.

An essay by Miner, which the OED dates from 1815, recounts the tale of a boy who gets conned into turning the grindstone for someone who wants his ax sharpened. (A note in Bartleby.com says Miner originally published this essay in 1811, but I’ve read elsewhere that Miner first published it anonymously in 1810.)

So how did the expression “an ax to grind” get attributed to Franklin instead of Miner?

I’m guessing here, but Miner’s story is similar to one Franklin did write, about a child who pays more than he should for a whistle. And Franklin’s autobiography does have an anecdote about an ax (though it doesn’t include the expression).

Also, Miner’s writings were gathered into a book called Essays from the Desk of Poor Robert the Scribe, published in 1815, while some of Franklin’s writings were gathered in his Poor Richard’s Almanac.

Perhaps the similarity of Poor Richard to Poor Robert, along with the likeness between the boy with a whistle and the boy with a grindstone, led to the misattribution of the phrase “an ax to grind” to Ben Franklin.

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Q: I’ve always wondered, but never looked up, which came first: the noun or the verb form of “pet.” Can you help?

A: The noun “pet,” originally meaning a lamb or other domestic animal raised by hand, came first, dating from 1539, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. The sense of a favorite or pampered child goes back to 1568, and our modern sense of an animal kept for pleasure or companionship (dog, cat, bird, etc.) dates from 1710.

The verb meaning to treat as a pet, to stroke, or to fondle is the latecomer, dating from 1629. To “pet” in the sexual sense (making out, in other words) came along in 1921.

The sources for this usage, according to the OED, are the Scottish Gaelic peata and the Old Irish petta, which originally meant a tame animal.

Another early meaning of the noun “pet,” dating from 1590, is a fit of peevishness or ill-humor, as in the phrase “in a pet.” The origin of this usage is unknown, according to the OED.

Interestingly, the OED’s earliest recorded meaning of the noun in English is an obscure one that dates from 1515: “an act of breaking wind; a fart.” We can thank the Latin pedere (to break wind) for this usage.

You didn’t ask about the adjective, but I’d better not overlook it, considering all the grammar pet peeves in my mailbox. According to the OED, the adjective dates from 1584 and originally referred to an animal reared by hand, as the sheep in the OED‘s first published reference: “One pette sheipe.”

Coleridge was the first person to use “pet” as an adjective meaning favorite or cherished: “I cherish … a pet system” (1819). And Mark Twain was the first to use it humorously or ironically: “For years my pet aversion has been the cuckoo clock” (1880).

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Q: At a family gathering, my daughter-in-law said she had trouble pronouncing “cocommitant.” Being a know-it-all, I told her the correct pronunciation. Later, I looked for it in my Microsoft Word spell checker, Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, Black’s Law Dictionary, etc. Nada! Not a trace. When I googled it, though, I had 144 hits. What’s going on?

A: I think the word you want is “concomitant.” It’s primarily an adjective, meaning happening at the same time or accompanying. But it’s also a noun for something that exists at the same time as another thing or that accompanies another thing.

Both adjective and noun date back to the early 1600s, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. The root is the Latin verb concomitari, which means to accompany.

As for your googling “cocommitant” and getting 144 results, a lot of Google hits are actually misses, including “concommitant,” “concomitent,” and “concomitont.”

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[An updated post on this subject appeared on Jan. 21, 2014.]

Q: I’m bothered when I hear young people use the expression “not that big of a deal.” My experience is that the word “of” is unnecessary in this expression and similar ones. Am I wrong?

A: No, you’re right to be bothered. The expression is unnecessarily redundant. The unneeded “of” is not an intensifier here and adds no particular emphasis or color.

The accepted phrase is “not that big a deal.” (Similar usages would be “not that bad a storm,” “not too old an athlete,” “not so evil an empire,” and “not so good a movie.”)

In expressions like these, where an adjective is being used to describe a noun, the “of” isn’t needed. Articles in the journal American Speech have referred to this usage as the “big of” syndrome.

Perhaps the confusion arises because of phrases like “a hell of a storm” and “a whale of a good time” and “a monster of a party.”

In expressions like those, where a noun is being used to describe another noun, the “of” is required. (Technically, the two nouns are in apposition, a grammatical construction where one noun is the explanatory equivalent of the other.)

Interestingly, the expression “not that big of a deal” is becoming a big deal. I just googled it and got 307,000 hits.

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Q: I spent 20 years in the Pennsylvania Dutch area of York-Lancaster, PA. Some old-time residents there consistently use the term “ret up” to mean clean up, as in “ret up the table” after dinner. Can tell me where this term originated?

A: The verbal phrase “redd up” (also seen as “red up,” “ret up,” and even “rid up”) has its roots in a Middle English verb redden, which meant to rescue or free from, or to clear. Today, “redd up” means to clear an area or make it tidy.

The terms “redd” and “redd up” came to the American Midlands with the many Scottish immigrants who settled there, according to The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.).

The word “redd” is still used in Scotland (and Northern Ireland), the dictionary says, and it’s especially common in Pennsylvania in the expression “redd up.”

Anyone who lives in Pittsburgh is familiar with the term. The city’s annual campaign against litter is called “Let’s Redd Up Pittsburgh.”

But you don’t have to be from Pennsylvania to redd up. The residents of the Shetland Islands, off northern Scotland, call their annual cleanup “Da Voar Redd Up” (“The Spring Clean Up”).

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Q: Many newscasters say a defendant has pleaded “innocent.” As a former prosecutor, this drives me up the wall. The correct expression is to plead “not guilty.” There is a major difference. One can be guilty of an offense but still found not guilty if the prosecutor cannot make the case.

A: In the early 1970s, when I got my first job as a newspaper reporter, I was told to refer to the plea or verdict as “innocent.” The reasoning was that I would be defaming the defendant if the word “not” were inadvertently dropped from “not guilty.” This was a longstanding rule at many newspapers.

By the time I became an editor at the New York Times in the early 1980s, the old rule had been discarded at many newspapers. The Times’s policy was (and still is) that one pleaded not guilty. The Times’s stylebook explains it this way: the defendant doesn’t have to prove his innocence; the state has to prove his guilt.

In the past, when correspondents filed dispatches by cable, telex, teletype, or radiotelegraph, the chance of losing a “not” in transmission may have been greater. Of course a lot of English gets mangled on computers these days.

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Q: I’m writing about the word “mom.” Do I have to capitalize it? Do I have to put quotes around it? In other words, how would I capitalize and punctuate this comment by Karen Hughes when she was at the State Department: “My most important job is mom.”

A: Think of the word “mom” as you would “mother.” If it’s used in a generic way, lowercase it. If it’s used as a title, or in direct address, or in place of a name, uppercase it. Quote marks are unnecessary, unless you’re discussing the word itself.

Here are some examples:

“Hi, Mom. Call me when you get this message.”

“She’s a great mom. Of all the moms in the class, she volunteers the most.”

Sometimes this can be a judgment call. When you refer to your own mom in speaking to someone else (as you would “brother,” for example), I think the best policy is to lowercase it. Like so:

“I’ll have to ask my mom whether I can go camping. What did your mom say?”

But if you use it as her title, as you would a name, then uppercase it: “I’ll have to ask Mom whether I can go camping. Hey, Mom, may I go camping?”

In the example you give, I think Karen Hughes was using the word “mom” as a title, so I’d do it like so: “My most important job is Mom.”

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Q: Why is “like” wrong in the old TV commercial “Winston tastes good like a cigarette should”? I asked my English professor and he didn’t have an adequate answer.

A: I suspect that your English professor did have the answer, but he may have wrapped it in too much grammar jargon for you to understand. I’ll have to use some technical terms too, but I’ll try to explain them along the way.

The rule here is that you use a conjunction (a combining word like “and,” “but,” “as,” etc.) to join clauses (“Winston tastes good” and “a cigarette should”). A clause, as you may know, is a group of words with both a subject (“Winston” or “cigarette”) and a verb (“tastes” or “should”).

So what’s wrong with using “like” instead of “as” in front of the clause “a cigarette should”? Well, “like” is a lot of things (an adjective, a preposition, a verb, and so on), but sticklers insist that it can’t be a conjunction.

That’s been the rule for the last couple hundred years, but the ground is shifting. In casual usage, “like” is gaining steadily on “as.” In fact, this “new” usage is actually a return to the past.

The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) says writers have used “like” as a conjunction since Chaucer’s time. It wasn’t until the 19th century that this usage became a no-no.

American Heritage suggests, however, that it would be “prudent” to avoid using “like” before a clause in formal writing despite its long history as a conjunction. A writer who ignores the contemporary stigma against “like,” the dictionary says, “risks being accused of illiteracy or worse.”

Here’s my advice. When you want your English to be above reproach, think of the old cigarette commercial – and do the opposite.

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Q: Which is better: “More than one person is going” or “More than one person are going”? Put more abstractly, should the verb agree with the meaning of the word “one” or the meaning of the phrase “more than one”?

A: The phrase “more than one” can be either singular or plural, depending on how it’s used, according to The American Heritage Book of English Usage.

When “more than one” modifies a singular noun, it goes with a singular verb: “More than one person is going.”

But when it’s followed by “of” and a plural noun, it takes a plural verb: “More than one of the people are going.”

When “more than one” stands alone, it can be either singular or plural, depending on whether you want to emphasize the oneness or the more-than-oneness.

If someone asks you how many people are going, for example, you could reply “More than one is too many” or “More than one are going.”

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Q: The techie editors at the computer magazine where I work insist that one should never start a sentence with a conjunction or end one with a preposition. You say on the Grammar Myths page of your website that these constructions are acceptable. Do you feel, however, that they may be too informal for magazine writing?

A: The short answer is no.

There’s nothing grammatically wrong with ending a sentence with a preposition (here’s the blog entry for that one) And there’s nothing wrong with starting a sentence with a conjunction either (here’s that blog item). Conjunctions can properly be used to connect words, sentences, even paragraphs.

Writers have been using conjunctions at the beginning of sentences and prepositions at the end for centuries. In my opinion these usages are not too informal for technical writing (but I wouldn’t overdo the conjunctions).

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Q: What’s the current thinking on using “entitled” to refer to the title of a piece of written work? I’ve seen “entitled” used constantly, but I was taught that books are not entitled to anything. Shouldn’t it be “titled”?

A: Both “entitle” and “title” can refer to the title of a written work, but the two words are used in different ways, according to Garner’s Modern American Usage.

When the word you want is a past-participial adjective, “entitled” is preferred: “Margaret Mitchell wrote a book entitled Gone with the Wind.” Citations in the Oxford English Dictionary show that this usage has been common since Chaucer’s day.

When the word you’re looking for is a transitive verb, “titled” is preferred: “Margaret Mitchell titled her book Gone with the Wind.” This usage is also very old and dates from the 14th century, according to the OED.

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Q: I know many people (mostly from northern New Jersey) who say “fustrated” for “frustrated.” When I asked one why he pronounced it that way, he said, “That’s how it’s pronounced.” Is this common? It totally drives me nuts.

A: I had a blog item last year about a similar-sounding word, “flustrated,” a mixing of “flustered” and “frustrated.” It’s not accepted by most dictionaries, at least not yet, but many such combinations (linguists call them “blends” or “blended words”) are part of the English language.

As for “fustrated,” I couldn’t find it in my usual language references: the Oxford English Dictionary, The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.), Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.), and so on.

But when I googled it, I got 153,000 hits, including this one from Urban Dictionary, an online slang dictionary whose definitions are written by users:

“Having such a high level of fustration that you completely forget to pronounce the first ‘R’ in the word ‘frustration’ when you try to describe your feelings to your peers.”

So, “fustrated” is getting around, though it’s not generally accepted. I hadn’t seen (or heard) this usage until you mentioned it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I see “fustrated” everywhere from now on. Frustrating, isn’t it?

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Q: I work for the Division on Civil Rights in New Jersey, where we have civil unions, and I would appreciate any advice on this question: Do same sex couples who enter into civil unions become civil unioned, civil unionized, civilly united, or something else?

A: I couldn’t find anything helpful in my usual language references, but I mentioned your question on the air during an appearance on WNYC and a few listeners wrote to me afterward. Let me share their responses.

One listener: “As to constructing a past-tense verb form of ‘civil union,’ I propose ‘civilly united.’ This is based solely on the maxim, ‘say what sounds right,’ which my mother always used as an answer to my more inane grammatical queries.”

Second listener: “People who enter into civil unions should be referred to as joined or civilly joined.”

And a final response, from a listener in France: “Regarding civil union, the equivalent here is ‘pacte civil de solidarité,’ normally referred to by the acronym ‘PaCS.’ ‘Un PaCs’ is the contract, and from this come several derived words such as ‘se pacser’ (to be united in a civil union) or ‘des pacsés’ (people united in civil union). While the PaCS was aimed at same-sex couples, currently 88% of pacsés are of opposite sexes.”

Interesting, no? I hope you may find something helpful here.

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Q: I’m from Russia. When I studied English in school, I didn’t encounter a sentence structure that I keep hearing from my American friends. They say, “When I was little, I would often fight with other kids,” while I say, “When I was little, I often fought with other kids.” Which is correct? Also, please tell me if this sentence is correct: “If I showed him, he would have believed me.”

A: People use “would” a lot to describe actions performed habitually in the past, much in the way they use the expression “used to.”

For instance, one might say, “When I was little, I would play with matches and my mother would scold me.” Another way of saying this is, “When I was little, I used to play with matches and my mother used to scold me.”

Both of these are legitimate. They’re useful because the simple past (“When I was little, I played with matches and my mother scolded me”) might imply that the event happened only once.

A common error with “would” is illustrated in these sentences: “If I would have shown him, he would have believed me.” And, “If I showed him, he would have believed me.”

These illegitimate uses are errors in what’s called sequence of tenses. The problem is that people are neglecting to use the past perfect tense (“had known,” “had shown,” etc.). The challenge is to juggle two tenses in one “if” sentence. Here’s a fairly simple explanation:

(1) If the first verb is in the simple present, the second should be in the simple future: “If I show him, he will believe me.” (Negative version: “If I don’t show him, he won’t believe me.”)

(2) If the first verb is in the simple past, the second should be in the simple conditional: “If I showed him, he would believe me.” (Negative version: “If I didn’t show him, he wouldn’t believe me.”)

(3) If the first verb is in the past perfect, the second should be in the conditional perfect: “If I had shown him, he would have believed me.” (Negative version: “If I hadn’t shown him, he wouldn’t have believed me.”)

We hope this helps.

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Q: Have you ever addressed the distinction between “interpret” and “translate”? I have always used the former to mean going from one spoken language to another and the latter for written to written. But given that one often hears “simultaneous translation,” I am beginning to think I am too pedantic. Your thoughts?

A: Dictionaries define “interpret” variously as (1) to explain the meaning of something; (2) to conceive the significance of or construe something; (3) to present or conceptualize the meaning of something, by means of art or criticism; (4) to translate orally, as from one language to another. For instance, one might “interpret” a foreigner’s speech, a piece of new legislation, a painting, or the results of a patient’s EKG.

“Translate” is defined variously as (1) to put into another language; (2) to put into simpler terms or different words; (3) to change something from one form into another, or transform; (4) to express something in another medium. For instance, one might “translate” a Spanish novel into English, or a musical into a ballet, or a complicated theory into simple English, or an idea into a blueprint.

It seems to me that the notion behind “interpret” is to explain, while the idea behind “translate” is to transform or change.

“Interpret” is related to the Latin interpretari (to explain or expound). It was first used in English in the 1300s to mean to explain the meaning of something; to make clear; to construe (motives or actions, for instance).

“Translate” is related to the Latin verb transferre (to transfer). As first used in English in the 1300s, “translate” meant to transport or convey something from one place to another; to change into another language; to transform a thing into something else.

I feel, as you do, that with language-to-language conversions, “translate” is better for written ones and “interpret” for oral ones. But obviously there’s some room for overlapping, since the term “simultaneous translation” has been with us for quite some time.

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Q: I reviewed your blog item on forming the plurals of compound words like “mother-in-law.” Is there a way to form a plural possessive of such words?

A: Some things are better avoided. I can’t imagine what a plural possessive of “mother-in-law” would look like in an actual sentence. Maybe like the ones in these examples:

YIKES: We’re doing a compilation of mothers-in-law’s recipes.

YIKES: We’re doing a compilation of mothers’-in-law recipes.

YIKES: We’re doing a compilation of mothers’-in-law’s recipes.

I’d avoid the problem by rewriting the sentence. For example:

BETTER: We’re doing a compilation of recipes by mothers-in-law.

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Q: I’m trying to figure out the proper way to abbreviate United States, given that I’ve seen it in different ways. Which is correct/proper: US, U.S., USA, or U.S.A.?

A: Some dictionaries and style guides prefer the dotted versions while others recommend the dotless ones, but both are acceptable. In general, dotted abbreviations are falling out of favor, so I’d go for the dotless ones.

Oops! I’ve just noticed that I’ve been using dots with “US” on The Grammarphobia Blog. From now on, no more dots.

As for “US” vs. “USA,” they’re equally acceptable as nouns, though US is preferred as an adjective (“US products,” “US policy,” “the US economy”).

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Q: A colleague (we’re technical writers) insists that one should never use “which” as the object of a preposition (“in which,” “on which,” “by which,” “for which,” “to which,” and so on). Could you comment on this?

A: We’re not sure where your colleague could have gotten the impression that “which” can’t be the object of a preposition. All the phrases you mention (“in which,” “on which,” “by which,” “for which,” “to which,” etc.) are perfectly legitimate. Examples:

Here’s the field in which the plane crashed.
That’s the goal on which he’s fixated.
These are the laws by which we govern ourselves.
Show us the fence over which the prisoner escaped.
We exercised, after which we took a break.

You may be interested in two related items on The Grammarphobia Blog, one about “which” clauses and the other about “which” vs. “that.”

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Q: I am concerned about the assertions on your Grammar Myths page that the objective case is acceptable in informal English for sentences like “It is me” or “Who’s the package for?” Is intellectual laziness so dominant that those of us able to follow a simple rule will be required to abandon the nominative case, while those who cannot or will not write and speak properly will be rewarded for their sloth?

A: Like it or not, those two pronoun usages, once strongly resisted, are slipping into standard English. In conversation and informal writing, it’s OK to use “me” after forms of the verb “be,” and “who” instead of “whom” at the beginning of a sentence. I’m not the arbiter of what’s acceptable and what’s not – I’m just reporting what linguists, lexicographers, and usage experts are saying these days.

In the case of “It is me” vs. “It is I,” grammarians have been arguing for one side or the other since at least the early 1700s. What apparently set them off was Sir Richard Steele’s use of “It is not me” in the Spectator in 1712.

For some years, two camps battled over the issue until the “It is I” faction won around the late 18th century (possibly influenced by the Latin pattern of using the nominative). So the “It is I” nominative pattern has been considered the norm in English grammar for most of the last 200 years, although both constructions have been (and still are) common among the actual users of the language.

In our day, the objective is in the ascendant and is now considered an acceptable informal usage, according to the entries for “me” in The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.), Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.), and other references. The nominative pattern (“It is I”) is generally used in formal English, but the objective (“It is me”) is universally and legitimately used in less formal writing and speech.

It’s hard to imagine a robbery victim, even William F. Buckley Jr., spying his assailants and shouting to the police: “It is they! It is they!” And it’s hard to imagine a startled District Attorney, on being informed that Mr. Buckley was robbed, saying, “Whom?” (Actually, Noah Webster himself suggested that “whom” would one day fall out of use.)

Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage has a theory about all this: “The strongest force operating in favor of ‘it is me’ is probably that of word position: the pronoun after ‘is’ is in the usual position for a direct object, and the objective case feels right in that position. It is probably just as simple as that – we find the strength of word order at work on initial ‘whom’ also, turning it frequently into ‘who,’ even when it is an object in its clause – but early grammarians knew nothing of the power of word order in English, and they had to find other explanations.”

I hope this makes “it is me” and similar constructions seem less slothful.

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Q: I work for a marketing firm where the rules of English are subject to “marketizing.” Lately our research department has informed us of “learnings” that I assume can be used to make “decidings.” This kind of talk gives me “cringings.”

A: “Learnings”? What happened to good old “findings”?

In my opinion, the noun “learning” (the act of gaining knowledge or the knowledge that’s gained) has no plural form in contemporary English. In the past, however, “learning” was used in the plural.

The Oxford English Dictionary has several published references from the 16th and 17th centuries for “learnings,” including citations from Shakespeare, Marlowe, and Bacon.

Here’s one from The Advancement of Learning (1605) by Bacon: “He did send his divine truth into the world, waited on with other learnings.”

But the OED has only one reference for the usage since the 17th century and that’s from a 50-year-old research paper full of academic jargon.

Maybe your company needs to engage in a few hirings in the research department, or else send the culprits back for some more “schoolings.”

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Pat did an article for the online magazine Tweens & Teens about why she wrote Woe Is I Jr. and why grammar still matters. Here’s an excerpt:

Knowing Write From Wrong
A cure for grammarphobia.

By Patricia T. O’Conner

The fall quarter or semester means new clothes, teachers, classrooms, books and friends. Yet, for many tweens and teens, it also means grammarphobia. In case you haven’t heard, grammarphobia is the fear of grammar. This common phobia attacks almost everybody at one time or another, and it’s most likely to strike during English or language arts class. Even people who love reading and writing have been known to get feverish and shaky at the prospect of turning in homework with grammar or spelling mistakes. Though writing may be enjoyable, being corrected most definitely is not!

Grammarphobes, unite! It’s time to put your fears behind you. Contrary to popular opinion, grammar isn’t gruesome, ghastly, gross, or grim. Here’s why.

Let’s assume you like hearing and telling stories. And that you enjoy joking with friends and sharing the latest gossip. You probably also like e-mailing and instant-messaging. Well, what do you think makes all this possible? Grammar!

Grammar is simply the art of putting words together to make sentences. Whenever you use words to express yourself, you’re using grammar. You do this all the time without even thinking.

So why think about it? Because good grammar helps you convey the ideas you intend. If your words aren’t right, or if they’re not in the right order, the person you’re talking to might get the wrong idea. This can have embarrassing consequences.

I’ll illustrate by using what I call the Bad News Rule. Here’s how it works. You learn that your favorite Uncle has broken his leg in a skiing accident. You send him an instant message: “I heard you’re bad news.”

Oops! You meant to say the news was bad. But you’ve actually said that your Uncle himself is bad news! You wrote “you’re”— a word that’s short for you are— when you should have used “your.”

Grammar helps us understand each other. It’s like an owner’s manual for assembling the words in your head. You have to put your words together the right way if you want them to make sense. They can’t do what you want if they aren’t put together correctly.

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Q: I wonder if you’ve seen the use of the word “heart” to replace the familiar heart symbol. I first saw this on a T-shirt printed with “I heart my mom”; then I was asked by a tourist where she could find “I heart New York” items. And the science-education issue of the Barnard College alumnae magazine had an article with the title “I heart science.” For some unexplained reason, I find this usage very annoying. I’ve gotten used to the heart symbol, but this seems ridiculous.

A: Thanks for bringing this to my attention. I must have had my head, if not my heart, in the sand to have missed it. I just googled “I heart” and got 2.25 million hits – from “I heart knitting” to “I heart pixels” to “I heart paws.” Hmm.

Interestingly, the use of “heart” as a verb isn’t a modern phenomenon. In fact, the first published reference for the verbing of “heart” dates from around 897, according to the Oxford English Dictionary.

In Anglo-Saxon days, to “heart” meant to give heart to or inspire someone. The latest OED citation for the usage is in an 1830 poem by Tennyson: “A grief not uninformed and dull, Hearted with hope.”

The verb “heart” has had several other meanings over the centuries, including to utter with heart, take heart, be at the heart, and have one’s heart in something. In Shakespeare’s Othello (1604), for example, Iago reassures Roderigo that he hates Othello and his heart is in getting revenge: ”My cause is hearted.”

But none of the published references in the OED use the verb “heart” in quite the same way that it’s being used these days, meaning to love.

By the way, the stylized image of a heart has been used since ancient times as a symbol of love. But the graphic designer Milton Glaser was the guy who came up with the idea of using it to represent the phrase “I love.” This was back in the 1970s, when he created the logo for the “I love New York” ad campaign.

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Q: Why do you say in your Oct. 25, 2007, blog posting that it’s wrong to accent the second syllable of “mischievous”? Both M-W and the AHD include pronunciations with the accent on the second syllable.

A: Dictionary entries can be confusing. For example, some dictionaries put the stress mark before the syllable accented and some put it after. And different dictionaries have different ways to indicate whether a variant is legit: some use symbols, others explanatory notes, and still others both. If you have the time, it helps to read the guide at the beginning of a dictionary.

As for “mischievous,” The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) gives only one pronunciation – with the accent on the first syllable. (In American Heritage, the stress mark follows the syllable that’s accented.)

Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.) does list a four-syllable variant accented on the second syllable, but it’s accompanied by a division symbol (÷), which means the variant is widely considered unacceptable, as well as an explanatory note saying it’s “considered nonstandard.”

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Q: In your blog item a couple days ago about the pronunciation of “adult,” you said the word comes from the Latin adultus, the past participle of adolescere. Do “adultery” and “adulterate” come from the same root?

A: Good question, but the answer is no. The words “adultery” and “adulterate” are derived from the Latin verb adulterare, which means to pollute, while “adult” comes from adolescere (to grow up).

In the 14th and 15th centuries, we had several Gallic-influenced words for what we now call “adultery”: “avoutrie,” “advoutrie,” “aduoutrie,” and so on. But by the end of the 15th century, both the French and the English were using words derived from the Latin adulterare for what the Oxford English Dictionary describes as a “violation of the marriage bed.”

For example, the first complete English translation of the Bible, the Wycliffe version of around 1382, uses the term “auowtrie,” but the later Geneva translation of 1560 uses “adulterie,” according to the OED.

When “adulterate” first showed up in English (in 1531), it meant to debase or corrupt things, pretty much what it means today. The first citation in the OED refers to someone who “adulterateth his coin, with a more base metal.”

But Shakespeare uses the word in King John (1595) to refer to debasing people: “She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John.” I’m surprised that Shakespeare’s use of the word didn’t catch on, since we don’t have a common verb these days for committing adultery.

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Q: I would love to hear your views on whether one makes or takes a decision. Personally I hate the “take” form – it sounds like bureaucratic language that absolves the decision-MAKERS of responsibility. But I hear it more and more, especially in governmental and corporate discourse.

A: You are right. One makes a decision. The “take” version is seen a lot in the British Commonwealth, especially in India. But even British dictionaries seem to prefer “make a decision” over “take a decision.”

The Oxford English Dictionary, for example, has a dozen published references for “make a decision,” but only one for “take a decision” – a 1993 Newsweek article that quotes someone who’s backed into a corner and forced to decide: “I have to take a decision, even if they shoot me.”

The OED does, however, list references in the 1960s to “decision-takers,” “the decision-taking process,” “the decision-taking mechanism,” and this double-header, in which decisions are subject to both taking and making: “Decision theory is probing the psychology of decision making, and attempts to provide an algorism for taking decisions.”

The Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English (4th ed.), which reflects both British and American English, includes “make a decision,” but not “take a decision.”

William Safire, in an “On Language” column in the New York Times in 1989, noted the increased use of “take a decision” in the U.S. among politicians, commentators, bureaucrats, and academics. But he said the usage was seen more often in the British media (the BBC, The Economist, Reuters, and so on).

Since the Safire column appeared, the “take” usage has crept more and more into American English, especially the jargon spoken in government, business, and academia.

But the “make” expression is by far the more popular, both here and overseas. I googled both versions. The results? Nearly 2 million hits for “make a decision” and only 649,000 for “take a decision.”

My take on all this? Let’s make a decision.

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Q: I would love it if you could comment on the proper pronunciation of “adult.” Is it a-DULT or ADD-ult?

A: There are two correct pronunciations of “adult.” The more common one is “a-DULT,” with the accent on the second syllable, and number two is “ADD-ult.” Both are considered standard English.

I checked this in two modern dictionaries, The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) and Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.), as well as in an old unabridged Webster’s New International Dictionary (2d ed.) from the early 50s.

The word “adult,” a noun or adjective meaning grown-up, has been around since 1531, according to the Oxford English Dictionary.

The use of “adult’ as a euphemism for sexually explicit (as in “adult cinema” or “adult entertainment”) dates from only 1958, according to the OED. The earliest published reference for “adult” used to refer to the elderly (as in “adult home”) dates from 1968.

The word “adult” comes to us from the Latin adultus, the past participle of the verb adolescere (to grow up), which has of course given us “adolescent.”

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Q: In the Steinbeck novel Of Mice and Men, Crooks teases Lennie that he’ll end up in a booby hatch. Can you tell me something about the term “booby hatch” and how it came to mean a mental institution?

A: The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) describes this usage as “offensive slang,” but Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th ed.) defines “booby hatch” as a psychiatric hospital, without a negative label.

The word “booby” has meant a dummy or nincompoop for hundreds of years, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. The OED says it probably comes from the Spanish word bobo, meaning a fool or dunce, but Daniel Cassidy suggests in How the Irish Invented Slang that it might be of Gaelic origin.

The earliest citation for “booby” in the OED dates from the late 17th century. Here’s one from Samuel Johnson, via James Boswell’s Life of Johnson (1791): “Sir, we are a city of philosophers, we work with our heads, and make the boobies of Birmingham work for us with their hands.”

In the 19th century, the word “booby” was attached to a whole bunch of words to create such phrases as “booby prize,” “booby trap,” and “booby hatch.” At first, “booby hatch” referred to a police station house or a covering over a hatchway, according to the OED. (It’s still a nautical term for a covering over a hatchway.)

By the late 19th century, the term was being used in reference to a mental hospital, according to the Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang. Here’s an example from the P.G. Wodehouse novel Laughing Gas (1936): “What, tell people you’re me and I’m you. Sure we could, if you don’t mind being put in the booby-hatch.”

And how, you may ask, did “booby hatch” come to mean a mental hospital? Word detectives have several theories, but the one I like best is a suggestion in Cassell’s Dictionary of Slang that it may have something to do with the word “hatch” in the name of the old Colney Hatch Asylum in London.

The mental institution, which operated under various names from 1851 to 1993, was in the Colney Hatch district of the London Borough of Barnet. Over the years, the name “Colney Hatch” became a catch phrase for a mental institution.

Wodehouse, for example, used both “booby hatch” and “Colney Hatch” in his comic novels. Here’s an example of the latter from Uncle Fred in Springtime (1939): “He’ll probably end his days in Colney Hatch.”

The “hatch” in “Colney Hatch” apparently refers to a one-time gate into a nearby wood, according to the Borough of Barnet’s website. And “Colney” may have something to do with a long-forgotten person named Col, the website says.

One final note about “booby.” The earliest OED reference to the word as slang for a woman’s breast appears in (you guessed it) Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer (1934): “She was lying on the ground with her boobies in her hands.”

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Q: What does the word “pale” mean and where does it come from in expressions like “Pale of Settlement” (the Jewish ghettos in Europe) and “beyond the pale”?

A: The noun “pale” comes from the Latin palus (“stake”), from which we also get the words “pole” and “palisade.” (The adjective “pale,” meaning wan or weak in color, comes from a different source.)

The noun first appeared in English in the 1300s, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, and it literally meant a wooden stake or picket driven into the ground.

Originally it was used to refer to a fence or boundary (that is, “palings”), but in the 1400s it was used for a district or territory within certain bounds and subject to a certain jurisdiction.

In the 16th and 17th centuries, for instance, the parts of Ireland under English jurisdiction were called “the Pale.” And “the Pale” was also used (much after the fact) to refer to the French territory of Calais under English jurisdiction.

Beginning in the late 19th century, the term “Pale of Settlement” was used to refer to areas where Jews were required to live in Russia and Russian-occupied Poland between 1791 and 1917.

From the 15th century onward, “pale” was also used figuratively. For example, someone might be said to be “within the pale of the Church” or “outside the pale of society.”

The expression “beyond the pale,” first recorded in 1720, meant outside the bounds of accepted mores or behavior.

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Q: Can the word “integrate” be used in this sentence: “We are writing a manual that integrates the concepts of urban forestry and stormwater management”? Or, must it be used in the sense that one thing is put INTO another: “We are writing a manual that integrates the concepts of urban forestry into those of stormwater management”? A colleague says the latter is the only correct usage, while I think the former is acceptable. Can you help?

A: You win the argument. The verb “integrate” means, among other things, to unite or bring parts together as well as to bring a part into a larger unit.

In fact, the first definition is the earliest and most common. The word, first used in English in 1638 according to the Oxford English Dictionary, comes from the Latin integrare, to make whole.

The earliest use of the word “integrate” in the racial sense (to make open to all racial or ethnic groups) dates from 1948, according to the OED.

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Q: My son’s 6th-grade teacher gave a test that included the following question: “Upon receiving a check plus on his essay, Tony gave his teacher a look of triumph. In this sentence, the word triumph is a(n) 1. noun, 2. verb, 3. adjective, 4. adverb.” My son answered “4,” and his friend Eden “3.” The teacher marked both incorrect. I agree with Eden. It seems to me that “look” is a noun, modified by “triumph,” an adjective.

A: “Triumph” here is a noun. It’s also the object of a preposition (“of”), so the phrase “of triumph” is a prepositional phrase. But in the clause “Tony gave his teacher a look of triumph,” it is also an adjectival phrase, since “of triumph” modifies “look.” (What kind of look was it? A look “of triumph.”) But while “of triumph” serves the function of an adjective, “triumph” alone is a noun.

“In triumph” would have been an adverbial phrase if the sentence had been “Tony looked in triumph at the teacher.” (How did he look? He looked “in triumph.”) But again, while “in triumph” serves the function of an adverb, “triumph” alone is a noun.

In short, the answer (noun) was a lot simpler than it appeared on the surface. The adjective of “triumph” is “triumphal” (as in, “Tony gave a triumphal look”), and the adverb is “triumphally” (as in “Tony looked triumphally”).

You might also think of the problem this way: “Tony gave his teacher a cup of milk.” Clearly, “milk” is a noun, even though it’s part of a prepositional phrase, as well as part of an adjectival phrase modifying “cup.” (What kind of cup? A cup “of milk.”)

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Q: I can’t find definitions for “proper left” and “proper right.” These phrases are commonly used by art conservators to designate direction (like “stage left” and “stage right” in the theater world), but I can’t find the definitions in any dictionary, even the OED. Why not? Where might I find these definitions?

A: Museum curators and art conservators often use the terms “proper left” and “proper right” to describe paintings and sculptures. They do this to avoid any confusion about which arm or leg (or whatever) they’re talking about. The “proper left hand” of a person in a painting or sculpture, for example, is the subject’s left hand, not the one that simply is on the left from the viewer’s perspective.

I did find a couple of references in the Oxford English Dictionary, including a 1948 citation from the journal Endeavour: “An X-radiograph [of the picture] made after cleaning revealed the density in the region near the proper right hand.”

This is an example of nomenclature (or jargon) that’s peculiar to a particular field. Often such terminology isn’t found in general dictionaries, like the use of “graf” (paragraph) and “lede” (lead paragraph) in newspaper lingo.

I hope this helps!

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Q: On a railroad mailing list, someone used the verb “authored.” I think you’ve discussed this on NYC and as I remember you said it was a fairly old practice. Is there a website that has a list of such words? Googling (I use and like that noun-to-verb), I found a few words but mainly links that decry the practice. One of the decriers said: “This constant verbing of nouns has got to stop!!!”

A: Yes, “author” has been used as a verb since 1596, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. The OED‘s first citation is from Chapman’s translation of The Iliad: “The last foul thing Thou ever author’dst.”

We’ve been using “author” as a verb ever since (though seldom in the form of “author’dst”). Here, “author” meant to be responsible for an action. In 1602 the word was first used to mean to be responsible for a statement.

I don’t know of a definitive list of nouns-turned-verbs, but this a very common transition in English. I, too, like the “verbing” of the noun “Google.”

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Q: I wanted to call last month while you were on the Leonard Lopate Show, but I didn’t get a chance. Leonard described his listeners as “inveterate contributors” to WNYC. Now I have always been of the opinion that “inveterate” had a somewhat pejorative connotation. Hence I would have preferred “veteran contributors.” Am I right, or is the word as neutral as “veteran”?

A: “Inveterate” has been around since the 1500s and means long-established, deep-rooted, ingrained, and so on. It’s derived from the Latin inveterare, to make old or give age to.

But to some extent you’re right – there are sometimes pejorative connotations to the adjective. It took on negative overtones from the very beginning, probably from its association with obstinacy, persistent habits, or resistance to treatment (as in a chronic disease). That’s likely to be the reason it’s so often seen paired with negative nouns, as in “an inveterate liar” (or “drunk” or “thief”).

But its first and most common meaning in The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) is the neutral one – of long standing.

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Q: I see sentences like this all the time: “Just because you’re a millionaire doesn’t mean you can win the election.” I feel that arrangement is wrong. Do you agree?

A: The sentence you mention is an example of a very common idiomatic construction. What’s at issue is whether the clause “Just because you’re a millionaire” can legitimately be the subject of a sentence.

There’s a rather stuffy old prohibition to the effect that it can’t. Why? Because (or so goes the “rule”) a clause starting with “because” can’t be a subject. But in fact subject clauses beginning with “because” or “just because” are extremely common in both conversational and written English.

The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (4th ed.) calls this “perfectly acceptable,” but notes that it carries a “colloquial flavor.” Linguists studying this phenomenon have named it the “JBX-DMY” construction (for “Just because X … doesn’t mean Y”).

I found an interesting research paper on the subject by a pair of academics at the University of California at Berkeley. (You might want to jump to the “conclusion” section.)

The short answer to your question is yes, the construction is acceptable. But in writing (particularly formal writing), I might opt for the more straightforward construction: “The fact that X … doesn’t mean Y.” (Or even “Just because X …, that doesn’t mean Y.” The addition of the relative pronoun “that” seems to make the construction less offensive to more sensitive ears.)

I hope this sheds a little light. It’s a very interesting question!

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