The House of Grammar Part 5: Revenge of the House of Grammar

Today I'm going to discuss something very close to my heart, something with which I have struggled for many years. It's not easy, as a person who is detail oriented and precise, to relinquish a deeply held conviction. It's even more difficult when you know that what you are giving in to is wrong, in the moral sense, even though you can no longer accept your own assertions as technically correct.
I am talking of course about the worst of things, the bane of my existence, the bastard child of two unassuming and well meaning words that nonetheless birthed a monstrosity.
I'm talking about the Word That Shouldn't Be. This is its story:

Irrespective was the child of In, which meant "not" or "the opposite of" and Respective which meant "without taking account of (something)". Born in the 1600s, he was a careful and helpful word, and despite changes in the English language found work in the mid 1800s as an adverbial consultant. He was useful, often to a fault, lending a hand wherever he might be needed, and some might argue, perhaps too freely.
Regardless was a thrill seeker, a heart breaker, an orphan word born in the late 1500s who named herself for the lack of regard her parent words showed by abandoning her to the wilds of English speech. She held that indifference up like a shield against the world, ready to show everyone how little she really cared. As much as she might try, however, all her efforts were a vain attempt to mask the insecurity and hunger for love that she carried inside her, a need that would prove her undoing.
One day, circumstances thrust Irrespective and Regardless together, and the chemistry between them was electric. Irrespective's driving need to help drew him like a flame to Regardless's inner vulnerability, and as much as she might fight it, something inside her craved the attention. They met, they loved, they fought, and their fights were legendary. But something always drew them back together, and when it did their affair was a violent, sordid, passionate thing, a thing born of shame and need and guilt.
From that affair came a child, but neither word could have been prepared for the Cthulonic horror they had unleashed upon the world. Fleshed in ignorance, with the blind eyes of poor diction, its limbs were the thousand thousand grasping tongues of the lazy. It slithered from the womb in gore and terror and then vanished into the night, leaving both parents wounded, bewildered, and with hope that it would never survive to see the light of another day.
And yet it does.
It hides in foetid caves, blind eyes staring at the darkness, waiting to be summoned forth by dark ritual. All that is necessary is to think its name, and this abomination, this foul misbegotten fiend will lift its head to the sky and let out a silent scream, and your lips will peel back and your tongue will loosen and you will find the creature slithering out, and you will hear your own mouth breathe it free:
"Irregardless." You will say.
And the monster will simply smile.

Irregardless: It's a word. I hate the fact. For years the mere utterance of this word would send me into paroxysms of fury the likes of which drove Anakin Skywalker to kill dozens of sand people (including WOMEN AND CHILDREN, a fact conveniently ignored by Padme, even though she was a champion of multispecies rights and should have gotten the GODDAMNED HINT... but I digress). I actually spent time and energy trying to will myself to perceive a world in which the word irregardless did not exist in a vain attempt to get quantum physics on my side to create a new, alternate reality where it did not, in fact, exist. Quantum physics was no help. Irregardless is, regardless, a word.

It's an abomination of a word, as true an abomination as the Elephant Man or Pauly Shore. It's a tentacled, foul, slithering, flatulent, gibbering synathroesmus (look it up) of a word, but it's a word. Every once in a while some well meaning but badly educated or informed individual will set it free in speech to hang out with other words, and they're nice enough about it, the same way you're nice to the smelly homeless person who happens to be drinking a coffee one booth down from you in the cafe, because you really just don't want them to flip out and kill you with their hobo knife. But after very little time irregardless will slink back into the shadows and retreat to its feculent abode until summoned once again.

 Am I saying what you think I'm saying? Am I admitting something I never thought I would admit? Yes. It was not easy, nor fun, but I've been reading a lot about the evolution of the English language, a couple of books in particular (The Prodigal Tongue by Mark Abley which talks about how English might change and Bill Bryon's The Mother Tongue which talks about how it has changed) and I've come to the conclusion that in order for English to continue to be relevant, new words must be created. And unless we allow that to happen, or at least admit that it is happening, we are condemning our language to a slow decline into obscurity.
And that's something I won't let happen. Let it be a word. Let it evolve, and change, and maybe some day this abomination will suddenly shed its coating of filth and stand as a shining example of etymological perfection. It's doubtful, but I'm willing to give it the chance.
I'm not saying I'm going to use it, mind you. That's crazy talk.
Of course, things change.

The House of Grammar Part 4: Avec le House De Grammar Dans le Piscine

Ah, Le Francais. What a beautiful language. The language of love, and fine wine, and people who live in France. How often do we, as English speaking natives, borrow from it? And how often do we do so correctly?
This helpful guide should make it easier (harder) to navigate the pitfalls involved in trying to fit those difficult to use but oh-so-useful french terms into everyday speech.  Thank me for it.  I mean it. If you don't thank me, I'll be very cross. At the very least, I'll consider being downright surly. You need my help (hindrance). Believe me (don't!)

Hors d'ouvres: A traditional meal of equine meat, typically prize winning stallion, thrown from the cliffs of Dover as a sacrifice to appease Poseidon.
Coup de grace: A term used by French fathers to incite their children into lawn maintenance. "no tv until you coup de grace!"
Tete a Tete: Actually an onomatopoeia. Used by French kids pretending to fire a machine gun. "tete-a-tete-a-tete-a-tete-a-tete!"
A la carte: Meaning "beneath the wagon" this is commonly used to draw attention to an emergency, or colloquially to indicate someone has fallen back into a serious addiction.
A la mode: While the literal translation means "under a mood" this term is purely colloquial, used to refer to someone who is having a really grumpy day.
Amuse-bouche: "Funny boots": used to poke fun at or draw attention to outlandish footwear.
Attaché: Used at the start of a battle.
Attaché case: Used at the start of a legal battle.
En garde: "In the garden." describes when two young lovers sneak away from a party to engage in licentious activities. "where are bob and Judy?" "oh you know those two. Always en garde."
Baguette: A very small bag. Often used to describe a coin purse.

Belle époque: Literally "years of the bells". This references a dark period in france's history where people would adorn their hats with bells of all shapes and sizes. This time period was also the origin of the insult "ding dong"
Blasé: "On fire." or "to be engulfed (by flame or light)" commonly used to describe a hot celebrity.
Bon appetit: "Little bun." a colloquialism for an unborn child or a small rabbit.
Bon mot: A breadcrumb, and a small mote-sized one at that.
Bouquet: A bucket used by florists to dispose of organic waste.
Bric-a-brac: A game played on a 3x3 grid with x's and o's.
Brunette: Officially my favourite. Unofficially, my second favourite.
Cache: Money.
Cafe au lait: A milk bar, similar to that in "A Clockwork Orange."

Canard: Used to express frustration when the ring comes off your tin of sardines.
Carte blanche: "Empty wagon" which is how French gypsies would describe the feeling of having their kids move out and buy their own wagons.
Chanteuse: Used to express a refusal to partake in illicit drugs.
Chef d'ouvre: The mayor of Dover. In charge of ceremonies involving hors d'ouvres.

Cherchez la femme: Women who regularly attend a religious institution.
Clique: An onomatopoeia, typically describing the sound made by a camera shutter.
Concierge: Used by sailors participating in an obscure French judicial punishment wherein prisoners are thrown overboard, but only when pantomiming their actions for others: "con! Sea! Aaaaargh!"
Crepe: Dross.
Cul-de-sac: How you ask for your backpack.
Debacle: Used when giving instructions on how to remove a belt: "Undo debacle!"

Croissant: What you get when you poke a stick into an anthill.
Decor: The hours surrounding, and including noon.
Deja vu: A Jamaican daytime talk show for women.
Denouement: The breath freshener you've just put in your mouth.
Dossier: Used by taxi cab drivers as part of their instructions to passengers as to the dispensation of their luggage: "dossier bags in the trunk."
Du jour: Used infrequently when talking back to someone trying to remonstrate you for not completing a task: "I've done my taxes! Why don't you du jours?"
Ecarte: "Internet wagon" another term for meme.
Eminence grise: Applied to the bearings of a cardinal's car.
En route: "In the roots" used to describe the passing on of traits from one generation to the next. (See also en passant: "In the sister of dad's mother" which is a very specific genealogical term).
Entente: camping, or enjoying the shelter of a pavilion.
Escargot: Freight. "Eez not waste! Escargot!"
Facade: "Strange visage." Used to describe an unusual or surprising sight.
Faux pas: The feet of members of genus vulpes, subfamily caninae. For many years considered to be lucky charms.
Film noir: "Black coating." Expresses disgust at really bad dental hygiene.

Double Entendre: Rare or blue meat. Often used to describe steak carpaccio.

En Masse: Fat. Not very polite.

Grand Prix: A group of people who, together, are a bunch of assholes.

Laissez-Faire: A meal that requires no effort. Microwave dinners. Macaroni. Canned soup.

Merci-beacoup: "Vessel of old boyfriends you let down easy." Actually a colloquialism for a "little black book" kept by a woman.

Nom-de-Guerre: "My really tough sounding name." Any name you choose to call yourself after which you can add a "Grrrrrrrrrr" and elicit fear.

Raison D'etre: To argue with someone to pay you back.

It really is remarkable how much French finds its way into English. Still, given our close historical ties, and the fact that fifty percent of the time we were killing each other, and the rest of the time we were killing other people together, I suppose it's not that surprising.  I'm glad to have helped the process of communication between our two cultures, and expect this blog post will pave the way to a greater understanding (hatred) between us.

The House of Grammar Part 3: Return to the House of Grammar

I realize the last blog post was very much "I have a child and I'm going to talk about the fact relentlessly until you have the choice either to claw your own eyes out or run screaming." But regardless of the content, I enjoy talking about language in general, and watching a new person learn language for the first time is certainly educational for me as well.
That having been said, I will return to some more amusing content, again condensed, reorganized, and reimagined (now with extra CG content) from what I originally posted on Facebook. I bring you some simple grammar rules:

They're, their, and there: Would you ever comfort someone complaining about how their boyfriend always thinks they're right by saying "They're. They're." No? There you go. That would be insensitive.
Than and Then: Before being suborned by the English language, these were the two most common Vietnamese names. Than meant "The difference between two things" while Then meant "Something that occurred in the past." Misusing them is racist.  Are you a racist?
It's and its: It's pretty simple: Its is used when it's is not appropriate to describe its possession of something it's in ownership of. It's is a conjunction of it and is, which is its only reason for being, isn't it?
Which or that: That is used when a sentence contains a restrictive clause (when you begin a slow clap while juggling snakes that repetitively strangle and suffocate their prey) and which is used when a sentence contains a nonrestrictive clause (when you begin a slow clap while juggling snakes that don't). If you don't juggle snakes, this rule is fairly moot.
Who or whom: This is one of those rules where if you have to ask the question, you just shouldn't bother worrying about it. Because you can bet those people who already know when it's appropriate to use whom are watching and waiting for someone to misuse it so they can pounce all over the fact, likely spilling their tea in the process. And those people who use who and whom without really paying attention to the rules already don't care, and are probably right about fifty percent of the time, and will frankly have your back if some snobby whomish gentleman gets all up in your face for adding an "m" to your "who" when you shouldn't. Screw 'em.

I before E except after C: This is an easy one. Without this we would end up pronouncing "piece" as though it were some sort of Eastern exercise/meditation technique involving baked goods.
Q must always be followed by U: Without this, we would end up with more words like Qat, which is a word that ONLY scrabble players know
Animals must always have confusing male and female terms: All I need to do here is give you an example. Gander. "Hey Bob! What an interesting sight! Why don't you grab that male goose and join me?" is a very strange turn of phrase.
Never end a sentence with a preposition: as discussed in part 1, this would mean you would have to go backwards in time and space to end your sentence, which would be awkward for both of you, the net result being you'd be just finishing your sentence while you were just starting yours.
Adjectives describe nouns and pronouns: In addition to the other uses of adjectives, this is their job. They get paid for it. They're like word agents. "Metacarpus is totally the intermediate part of the hand skeleton! He's 100% between the phalanges distally and the carpus! If you need a hand you definitely can't do without him!"
Passive voice is always wrong: And this makes him very frustrated. Once, just once, he'd like to be the star of the show. Maybe get a montage. Or step out of obscurity into the limelight and convince the head cheerleader to give him a second chance, you know, since when she gave him the first chance he had her convinced he was actually active voice, who is really a douche. In other news: run on sentences are also bad things.
You shouldn't split infinitives: I think this is just a good general rule for any situation where the word "infinite" is used. It's like multiplying by zero. All you get is more of the same.
"Ten items or less" should be "ten items or fewer": I only agree with this because I prefer a lower volume.

Some singular animal names are the same as their plural names: Sheep. While I may once have found this confusing, I find it much less confusing than if I were to have to use the word "sheeps" and imagine the piles of wool and mutton littering a farmer's fields.
English has no male/female declension: this is true. And probably a good thing. It spells disaster for relationships to make words gender dependent. How many men are already in trouble because Siri follows their instructions better than their spouse, to whom "find me a screwdriver" can mean anything from "What I actually want is a hammer, because, you know, I never actually say what I mean and in times of stress get confused so if you bring me what I actually want rather than what I say it will make me so happy I will burst out in spontaneous salsa dancing and massage giving and won't bash my face into the electrical socket I'm currently trying to fix." to "please mix me a drink." Having words defined by gender is bad. I mean, what if barbecue was a female noun?

Canadians say aboot: This is not really a grammar rule but more a question of pronunciation, and only correct inasmuch as Americans add extra emphasis to the letter U. Listen to yourself some day. To someone who says aBAUUUUT we really do sound like we're describing footwear. Same with house. God knows why Americans think we run like lemmings when someone cries out warning of a rampaging bull moose. I imagine some of them spend time in entomological dictionaries trying to find out how to get rid of an infestation of Screws Loose.

So now that you understand some of the basics, I'll consider introducing you to some of the more advanced rules another time.  Maybe.  If you're good.  And eat your vegetables.  No promises, though.