On the September weekend just before school began, there was already a bit of a nip in the air. Ms. Picky could not help but be reminded of the line from “Danny Boy”:
“The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling.”
Manhattan was a frenzy of activity. The schoolbooks, computers, and iPads had all been purchased, the first day’s outfits laid out. The text messages had been exchanged, to discover who would be blessed by having gotten the “good teacher” and who would not. The doctors had all been visited, the booster shots all received, the peanut allergies all noted. The prescriptions for the ADD meds had all been filled and were waiting, in their crisp, white, Duane Reade bags, on granite kitchen countertops all over the city.
Ms. Picky began to think of her own back-to-school days—the new brown-and-white saddle shoes, the new green-gabardine uniforms, the wonderful lunchroom smell of peanut butter and jelly and waxed paper. . . .
There was always such a sense of anticipation, a feeling of being washed clean of all sins, of erasing all one’s social errors of the previous year . . . until of course one arrived in the classroom and discovered that the instruction had been to purchase a black-and-white bound notebook—and one’s mother had bought one a brown spiral notebook. Oh, the embarrassment, the shame! . . .
There was always such a sense of anticipation, a feeling of being washed clean of all sins, of erasing all one’s social errors of the previous year . . . until of course one arrived in the classroom and discovered that the instruction had been to purchase a black-and-white bound notebook—and one’s mother had bought one a brown spiral notebook. Oh, the embarrassment, the shame! . . .
In Ms. Picky’s antebellum school days, there was always structure. Children filed into the classroom from the size-places line in the schoolyard, proceeded to the cloakroom in the back, hung up their coats, then went to stand by their desks for the Pledge of Allegiance (in those days, without the “under God”). After the “Star-Spangled Banner,” one sat down at one’s desk, got out one’s notebook, filled one’s fountain pen, and attentively awaited further instruction from the teacher.
Schoolchildren were always given a lot of rules, and these included certain mnemonic devices for remembering correct grammar or spelling that, once learned, were never forgotten. Ms. Picky fully appreciates modern teaching concepts and how one should not stifle a child’s creativity, but she feels nevertheless that learning by rote is not all bad and would like to offer a few rules from her own school days, about remembering which word to use when.
Principal and Principle
When you’re wondering whether the head of a school is the principal or the principle, or whether one should stick to his principles or principals, just remember the pal at the end of principal:
The principal is your pal.
The rest will fall into place.
Stationery and Stationary
Pens and pencils can be included in the broad category of stationery, and so just remember:
There is an e in pen and pencil and an e in stationery.
(If you refer to the “stationary store,” you’re not describing what the store sells, but simply noting that the store is firmly affixed to the pavement, which most people know anyway.)
Now let’s move on to a different lesson that a lot of grownups seem to have forgotten: words that are incorrectly conjoined.
Already and All Ready, Anymore and Any More,
All Right and Alright, and A Lot and Alot
1. Already and All Ready
“Already” describes some action that has been completed before the present time.
Amelie and Luka have already done their homework.
“All ready” means prepared for some event or action.
Pierre and Graham have their soccer equipment all ready for the practice.
2. Anymore and Any More
“Anymore” [one word] means “any longer.”
Alice doesn’t live here anymore.
“Any more” [two words] means “additional.”
Takeshi doesn't want any more chocolate truffles.
3. All Right and Alright
This one’s simple: There is no such word as “alright.” The correct choice is always “all right” [two words].
4. A Lot and Alot
Like “all right” and “alright”: There is no such word as “alot.” The correct choice is always “a lot” [two words].
In passing, it should be mentioned that there is a third word here that might also be confused with “a lot,” but which is not related to it at all: “allot,” which means “to allow” or “to apportion.”
Miss Appletree said she would allot 15 minutes for the quiz.
Class is dismissed. No talking on the stairs, please!
1. “You can call AAPL undervalued until your [sic] blue in the face, it doesn't change the warped psychological sentiment working against the company and holding the shares back.” —Rocco Pendola, Why I’m Selling Apple,” SeekingAlpha.com, April 3, 2011
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Journalism Wall of Shame
The Journalism Wall of Shame displays errors in grammar, punctuation, or language that have appeared recently in the press. Submissions are welcome. Please include the publication's name and date, the story title, and the reporter's name. The publication of these errors in no way places blame for them on a particular person. Sometimes it is the reporter, sometimes the editor, sometimes the headline writer, but—somewhere in the system—somebody should have known better.
Bad Calls
2. “. . . [Y]ou could do alright [sic] buying calls [on Apple]. . . .”
—Rocco Pendola, “Revisiting a Humbling Investing Experience: Why I’m selling Apple” (discussing his earlier column, cited above, about the bad short call he made on Apple on April 3, 2011), Seeking Alpha.com, Sept. 18, 2011
Ms. Picky responds:
Dear Mr. Pendola,
Your humility regarding your bad call on the financial outlook of my favorite company’s stock is appreciated, but it wasn't only your outlook on Apple that was a bad call; you also made a few bad calls in your writing.
In your first column, not only did you use “your” for “you’re,” but you have a comma splice.
In your first column, not only did you use “your” for “you’re,” but you have a comma splice.
In your second column (the remorseful one), you used “alright” for all “right.”
Sincerely yours,
Penelope Picky
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