Exercises In Inauthentic Grammar, Number Two: The Reflex Clause

Yes, it's time for another installment of Exercises In Inauthentic Grammar, in which we veer from the educationese term "authentic grammar" and delve into the alternative, yet equally credible (since it too is spoken and written with regularity among some people), world of inauthentic grammar. Today's lesson concerns the reflex clause. I'm sure we're all familiar with the so-called authentic entities known as the reflexive pronoun and the relative clause; well, the reflex clause is a modifying clause (loosely; it's more of an involuntary, culturally ingrained editorial comment) that, like a hammered kneecap or an onioned nose, is difficult to control, as it too, when triggered, quickly asserts its own mind and body with spasmodic emanations. Reflex clauses have long been in existence (read, a bane) but with the advent of computers, word processing software, and continuing generations of so-called smart keyboards, the inauthentic grammar that is the reflex clause is now universal. We've all been there: You start to type something and before you finish the word your screen lights up with what it perceives you intend to write. One quick wham on the return button and the whole thing appears, saving you precious time and energy. The reflex clause is similar--when writing certain words or phrases, an entire clause presents itself to modify the word or phrase you have written. Blame computers who are too familiar with your thought and composition patterns, but even in manual writing (wikipedia that one, kids, if you're clueless) reflex phrases are known to afflict the seasoned scribbler too. Among the governing board of inauthentic grammarians (of which I'm an ex officio emeritus, thank you very much) the standard example of a reflex clause is this dated, but still worth a chuckle or two bon mot: The AMC Pacer, which is built so wide so as to contain the owner's stupidity ... Get the point? If not, here are more examples, both pretty much acknowledged ubiquitous ones and ones more personal to my own partcular writing habits. Study them well so as to beware of them and save yourself time erasing, scratching out, deleting; or, if you're not much a proofreader, to spare yourself future public embarrassment.

• Pittsburgh, ooohhhh, yuck ...
• Metal detector aficionados, really folks, get a life already ...
• Lindsay Lohan, the troubled hoyden ...
• Clevelanders, my sympathies ...
• Sarah Palin, just go away ...
• Mushrooms, look out, I'm gonna heave ...
• Bob Dylan, god ...
• LeBron James, #$@&*! ...
• Bacon, right here, garcon, schnell! ...
• The upcoming Presidential election, Oh god, not again ...
• Exacerbate, stop laughing class; it simply means to aggravate, to increase the severity of ...
• As Al Gore said, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ...
• Dancing With The Stars, nope, never seen it ...
• Guinness, you had me at G- ...
• Stuffing, I'm staying! ...
• Regular readers of spitoutyourgum, I love you I love you I love you ...

P.S. Sin Of Omission

Bless me, Father Rock, for I have sinned. How, in my previous post about the Postal Service, letters, and rock's most famous letters, I could ever leave out former mail carrier and all-around mensch John Prine and his great song "Dear Abby," is beyond me and beyond embarrassing. I apologize. Please add this song to my top five list, making for an overstuffed mailbox, the best kind. 

Dee-Li-Vah De Let-Tah

I mailed something other than a bill yesterday. I sent a small birthday present to a friend of mine. Chances are, with her living just across town, that she received it today. I hope she does, today being her birthday. When I stopped to think about the process yesterday, once again I was amazed by the U.S.
Postal Service. Despite all the technology, and despite the fact that the package is only traveling a few miles, it still wows me that you can put something in a slot one place and within a day or two it arrives exactly where it's supposed to, with nary a problem. I mean, how many times have you had serious problems with the mail? Once, maybe twice in your lifetime? For all the mail you've sent and received? Say what you will about the federal government, but can you imagine the hassles that would ensue if something like the banking industry took over the mails?

Sadly, I can't remember the last time I actually mailed something other than a bill. Multiply me a few million times and I guess it's no wonder we keep hearing about the financial problems of the Postal Service and how it's in danger of going under. What a pity. Is there a greater inexpensive thrill than seeing a letter or package in your mailbox? Is there better nervous excitement than waiting that day or two for something you sent someone to arrive and hear back from that person? I've never been a consistently prolific letter writer in my time, but I've had periods when I sent and received a lot of personal mail. It's a singular sensation that is vastly different from a telephone call (which has pleasures all its own) and one that emails and texts and tweets and such can't even touch.

Now I'm not here to rant about the disappearance of letter writing; times change blah blah blah. But, but. Maybe if we had a national day of letter writing/mailing, people might be reminded of the pleasures once again, and then maybe make the effort a bit more frequently to do so, and then maybe the Postal Service will survive better. And maybe pigs will fly and the Cleveland Browns will make the Super Bowl too. But I'm going to do it, dammit. I promise to mail a letter this Friday, November 18th. I don't know to whom I'll write or what I'll write about, but I'm going to do it because I love the USPS. Join me, won't you?

And while we're on the subject, I'm wondering what are the five most famous letters in rock music. Actually I have wondered for some time because I'm admitting a kind of defeat. I've long wanted to actually write those famous rock letters. It would be a great exercise in imagination and voice. How would the body of Paul's (it is Paul, isn't it, Beatles fanatics?) letter that ends so famously "P.S. I Love You" read? Or what kind of heartfelt sweet things did poor Elvis write in that letter that kept getting returned to sender/him? When you think about it, the words in the Box Tops' "The Letter" must have been pretty hot. I mean to send adolescent Alex Chilton scurrying to an airport because he "ain't got time to take a fast train," and not caring about the cost of it all, phew! All we get of the letter is that "she couldn't live without me." There must be more than that in the missive, no? What? I want to know.

So those three are among the top five most famous letters in rock history, we all can agree, right? The next one on my list is perhaps the most intriguing--the letter that appears at the end of  Bob Dylan's "Desolation Row." After verses and verses and verses and nine minutes, thirty-four seconds of Bob describing the weird goings on in/on Desolation Row, he pulls back a bit and begins the last verse talking about a letter:

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the doorknob broke)
When you asked me how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name ...

God almighty how much for years I've wanted to write that letter! But how to do it justice? And how to solve its various conundrums (conundra?)? That parenthesis is used in the official Lyrics 1962-2001 book (which is hardly definitive, I know), but even then it still poses the question I've long had--was the letter concerning the time the doorknob broke, or did it arrive around the time Bob's doorknob broke? (Trust me, in the glorious world of Bobarcana, no small point to ponder). And "all these people that you mention"--specific to the letter, or are they the people (rearranged/renamed) Bob has just told us all about? How can one even attempt to write this letter with these questions unanswered? God I love it.

The fifth letter in my all-time Top Five Rock'n'Roll letters (and these are not in any kind of ranked order--I think you can tell what would be my #1) is one you're all probably saying, well of course, get to it, after all it's chronologically the first one your list. Ah, but there's a catch. Is there an actual letter in the Marvelettes' marvelous "Please Mr. Postman"? No, there isn't. She's waiting on/hoping for/begging for a letter from her "boyfriend so far away," but nothing (for all we know he's run off with the girl who keeps sending Elvis's letter back). Now isn't that sad, the poor girl pleading with the postman to look one more time in his bag to see if maybe there's a letter? Just like all of us in these days of no-more-letter-writing. So, do your part--not only for the USPS but for that someone pining near the mailbox. Someday soon write and actually mail a letter to someone. You'll make their day. And maybe inspire another great song--by my reckoning here, there hasn't been a great song about a letter--real or imagined--in nearly 45 years. Name me one.

In The Meantime ...

Dearth of inspiration of late, which only means a 1500 word, geniusly amusing, digressive screed is imminent. In the meantime, taking my clue from some other blog, here are not one but three songs that never fail to make me happy.



(didn't know that about Marilyn Monroe, did you?)



(onions)



(actually I was looking for a good clip of Joni Mitchell's "Carey," but this, which I never knew existed, is much better; tell me after seeing this you wouldn't want to have a beer with Cass Elliot over discussing art with Joni or politics with Mary anyday)

Doughnuts For Dummies, or, Donuts Are Good, Eat Them

A co-worker of mine who likes to eat (okay, she lives to eat) asked me today if I had blogged lately. I told her I would be doing so after work. A couple minutes later she suggested I blog about donuts (my preferred spelling). I said okay. But then I started to think, what can one possibly say about donuts? They're kind of like air, aren't they--ubiquitous, one would hope, and so essential that there's really nothing to say about them. Everybody loves them, and I guess you could pretend to get antagonistic and start showering favor on one kind of donut at the expense of another, but really, what's the point? They're all good, some are just better than others.

I'm certainly no mathematician, but I guess it's possible that with now 7 billion + people in this world, there may be one or two who haven't encountered a donut, maybe even don't know what a donut is. If, by the thinnest of odds you are one of those people and have found your way to this blog, here's all you need to know about donuts. They're a supreme being's idea of bread, way better than pizza. They've never been known to let a human being down. Go out now and find a couple and eat them. Welcome to the human race.

Quick, Somebody Teach Me This Game

Even though the World Series ended only a couple weeks old, I already miss baseball. Tonight there's snow on the ground for the first time in months, which, cutting to the quick, means there are months of it to come. Three days ago I played golf. Driving home tonight I felt for the first time all year that I should be listening to a basketball game. You see, it's not just the game of baseball I love, but the daily joys of following it. Once a week football is okay, but it's not daily and besides, football, especially in these parts, is not much fun these days. Who knows when basketball will return. So I'm jonesing for a sport to follow day in and day out.

I don't know a thing about cricket. Don't even know if it's much of a daily sport. When I was in England for a summer I read about it in the papers, but never really understood it. And once I saw an exhibition of it where they tried to explain the rules, but they might as well have been explaining colored fractals for all the sense it made to me. But I was thinking of a beautiful song, Roy Harper's "When An Old Cricketer Leaves The Crease," and I started wishing I knew the sport, to understand the song better, and so that maybe I could follow it in this fallow, wintry time. So if anybody out there knows anything about cricket, please let me in on the pleasures. Until then, I'll just count the hours until spring training and hum this song.

Waves Upon Waves

We were chatting idly while working diligently this morning (yes, the professional that I am and the professionals I work with are capable of such negative capability, oxymoronic functioning) when for no apparent reason the word 'redundant' raised its Hydra-head and duly became the word of the day. In a moment of fantasizing I wondered how much fun it would be to reply to everyone who spoke to me with a curt raising of the hand and an even curter "Redundant!" Ah, Walter Mitty has nothing on me.

Redundant, of course, means "excessive, superfluous; characterized by verbosity or unnecessary repetition" (and how about those two n's, two s's and two ti's in "unnecessary repetition"?). This month, of course, is the year's redundant month, when you have to write two 11's every time you date something (and let's not even mention the arrival in a few days of the sure to be overhyped 11/11/11 [is that a threedundancy?]). Maybe my fondness for the particular word today stems from my early morning voting experience. Being a part-Irishman who spent part of his life in Chicago, I've long possessed some weird, maybe natured/nurtured desire to just once vote several times in one day (outside of a poll worker loudly telling everyone in the cramped, small room not to vote a certain way on a certain state issue because it would do away with "Obamacare," my voting experience was pleasantly rapid and garnered me not one but [see the pattern taking root?] two "I Voted Today" stickers [which both lost their stickiness about five minutes later]).

Later in the day somebody's phone went off with the distinct ringtone of "This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius." I know like 40 years ago the song was a bit redundant, but not having heard the song for something like, oh, 39 years, I kind of grooved to it. I looked up and spied the twelve people or so in the vicinity. Before I could make an educated guess as to whose phone it might be, the one genuine hippie in the crowd opened his phone up and started talking. Now I don't like trafficking in stereotypes, but I believe this guy would self-describe himself (Bingo!) proudly as a hippie. Not some nouveau, look at my store-bought $50 tye-dye, but the real thing, going on 45 years in the club. Anyway, I know it doesn't quite fit the definition, but all I could think of when Hippie Apotheosis Man's phone went off singing "This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius" was, "that's kind of redundant." Now I know you can have all sorts of different ringtones for all sorts of different people who might call you, and that "Aquarius" might not be Hippie Apotheosis Man's "default" ringtone, but come on, unless Marilyn McCoo or Billy Davis Jr. is a personal friends of his, I've got to suspect "Aquarius" is in fact Hippie Apotheosis Man's default ringtone. Which is perfectly fine, and it sure beats "San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Flowers In Your Hair)," it just seems, well, redundant.

So I'm thinking about redundant all day and of course at some time I fixate on the re- part and I start to wonder whether there's a word dundant out there (along the lines of the reiterate/iterate thing, where reiterate is in fact a bona fide redundancy); if redundant is superfluous, maybe dundant is just right. Sounds like it, doesn't it? Dundant=doned it. "Don't sweep the floor, dude! That would be redundant since I already doned it." But no, a little research taught me that redundant comes from the Latin word redundare (to flow back, overflow, be excessive). The really interesting thing is that it all starts with the Latin word unda, a wave. Which of course is only too perfect. An early Latin guy, charged with coming up with words for all sorts of things, takes his assistant along with him to the beach. They see waves--though of course don't know what they're called just yet, that being their job--think they're cool, and the guy sends the assistant out to the surf to test them out. The assistant wades out, is exhilarated by the experience, waves (not a redundancy, a whole other word, a moving of one's hand in genial greeting), and shouts to his boss, "So what are you gonna call them?" Just then a big white-cap totally swarms the poor assistant. "Unda, what else?" the boss shrugs his shoulders and picks up some weedy stuff soon to be named kelp.