Or, if the Family Circus comic strip has any say in it, “Wach four itt neckst yeer.” I appreciate familial circus support, but couldn’t Bil Keane’s promotional art have been a little less cute, with non-precocious Billy pointing out that the date of the drive was “Satidy May 9″?

Meantime, back at the land of superbig spiral notebooks, let’s appreciate the unfortunate message: Letter Carriers will forgive misspellings—even on envelopes, perhaps? If they’re so forgiving of spelling, why do all my letters addressed to “Bill” Keane come back as “undeliverable as addressed”?

That’s because Bing is dead. Bing Crosby, that is—as the fans of “White Christmas” and of the hilarious “Road” movies with Bob Hope will recall.

Bing also doesn’t sing as the new name of Microsoft’s search engine, once sporting the now-non-live “Live Search” name. Writes The New York Times:

Microsoft’s marketing gurus hope that Bing will evoke neither a type of cherry nor a strip club on “The Sopranos” but rather a sound — the ringing of a bell that signals the “aha” moment when a search leads to an answer.

The name is meant to conjure “the sound of found” as Bing helps people with complex tasks like shopping for a camera, said Yusuf Mehdi, senior vice president of Microsoft’s online audience business group.

And if Bing turns into a verb like, say, Xerox, TiVo or, well, Google, that would be nice too. Steven A. Ballmer, Microsoft’s chief executive, said Thursday that he liked Bing’s potential to “verb up.”

“The sound of found”? Well, then, aha . . . haha. Ha ha.

OK, it’s meta-Bing time. A search for “Bing” on Bing. The number-one result under “News about Bing” as I write this? “Bing’s communications director resigns.” OK, maybe the search engine’s name is kinda silly, but resigning because of it seems a little severe. Oh, wait. That Bing is Dave Bing, Mayor of Detroit. Totally different story.

The number-one regular result points to bing.com. Didn’t realize the mayor had his own site. Oh, wait. That’s the search engine this time. In the top 9 non-news-specific results (the first screenful that I see), Bing the search engine gets four results, Bing the Crosby gets two, Bing the energy drink (never heard of it, myself) gets two, Bada Bing the fictional bar on The Sopranos gets one. (At least the latter is a better/bettah/bada use of Bing.)

Finally, I can’t write a topper to this story any better than the Times did: “Meanwhile, some tech people were already noting that Bing is also an unfortunate acronym: ‘But It’s Not Google.’”

Such laughter has drawn me out of “Hi. 8. Us?”—for better or worse. And it’s kind of the “8″ part that did it.

A restaurant I like for its food and not its verbal dexterity recently issued a coupon postcard with one of my favorite typos of late. The restaurant’s new slogan? “Were good food and service are always on the menu.” Were? But no more?

Were oh were has that poor H gone?

Gary used the word so often that when I wrote comedy bits for him, I typed “Pronounsker:” to introduce the lines to be spoken by an announcer in, say, a fake commercial or in a wildly concocted routine about a blue-collar worker most familiar with clogged drain traps suddenly tapped as a journalist to report on the sadly enduring Mideast conflict. After a time, I embellished the word pronounsker, whimsically ballooning it to Pronounskiator at one point, and then taking it even ridiculously further to Pronounskiationist.

Oh, wait, I didn’t concoct the above-mentioned routine about drain-trap man, wildly or otherwise. History concocted it.

Drain-trap man is the McCain-campaign-annointed Joe the Plumber, who was recently hired by some website or another to cover the recent turmoil in the Gaza Strip. When asked by Fox Gnus about how he had prepared for the assignment, Joe said that one of his biggest challenges was to learn how to pronounciate the names related to the conflict.

Pronounciate? Maybe Gary and I wildly concocted Joe the Plumber after all. And if we didn’t, at least we created Joe the Plumbinatiationizerist Enunskiationizingmeistererer.

We want royalties.

And check out Jon Stewart’s coverage.

Pakistan told India on Saturday [12/27/2008] it [Pakistan] did not want war and was committed to fighting terrorism — a move apparently aimed at reducing tensions after Pakistan moved troops toward their shared border.

I’m thankful for the specificity of the last two words there, because so many countries have unshared borders. Maybe the writer thought that the Pakistanis were playing “6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon Geography.” Pakistan has a border with Afghanistan, which has a border with HardyOliverandLaurelStan, who starred in Sons of the Desert, which is often misspelled as dessert, which is often served at Thanksgiving, a celebration at which families usually serve turkey, a country that has a city named Isparta, which is the place that first grew organic iPods, which were subsequently made in China, which has a border (likely shared) with India.

Glad we cleared that up.

I’m not kidding about the last one. A few years back, writer Shelley Jackson set out to inscribe a 2,095-word short story not on the head of a pin but on a head. A few heads. Human heads. 2,095 heads, by tattooing one word of the story on each one. I’ve been staring at this paragraph for about 20 minutes now, trying to resist the “writer’s blockhead” pun, but now that I’ve succumbed to it, let’s move on.

I ran across this project when I recently spotted a web photo slideshow displaying celebrity tattoos, and feeling overwhelmed by popular culture deprivation, I paged through idly. And stopped when I spotted Megan Fox. Not for the reason you suspect (well, not only for the reason you suspect), but because of the Shakespeare misquote she showed off: “We will all laugh at gilded butterflies” (actual quote from King Lear: “we’ll live,/ And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh/ At gilded butterflies”).

This literary skin game, ol’ untattooed me came to learn on further investigation (of literary tattoos, not of Megan Fox), is relatively popular and considerably well-chronicled. Contrariwise: Literary Tattoos brings examples of textual and illustrative body decoration based on books, poetry, songs, and other arts (ranging from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to To Kill a Mockingbird). Yuppie Punk has similar range, with a concentration on book illustrations (ranging from, yup, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to Curious George to a portrait of William Faulkner). U.K.’s Guardian reports on the practice, using Ray Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man as a theme—made even more appropriate when you spot one of the tattoos at Yuppie Punk: The original cover art of Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451.

The idea of a Bradbury tat is the closest I’ll come to actually considering permanent body alteration, as Bradbury is one of two writers whose work deeply motivated my love of writing (the other is Thornton Wilder, but in this context, the motivation has no connection to tattoos on The Skin of Our Teeth). But I’ll remain tattoo-free, especially in the light of Shirley Dent’s thoughts in the Guardian:

What we seek to do when we cut literature into our flesh is to make something metaphysical physical. We take tattooed literature into ourselves in the most superficial of ways, inscribing rather than imbibing its significance. Put another way, lit tats really are only skin deep, vainglorious and shallow all at once.

To paraphrase, you can’t judge a book by its cover, and neither can you judge a book by who it covers.

It’s considerably more Dickensian than Blagojevich, that’s for sure. Kathleen Parker said in the Washington Post last Wednesday:

Among his other activities, Blagojevich — whose Dickensian name rings nearly eponymous — allegedly has been busy trying to get certain members of the Tribune’s editorial board fired by threatening to withhold state assistance for the financing or sale of Wrigley Field (Tribune also owns the Chicago Cubs).

I’m REALLY not sure what she means by “rings nearly eponymous”.

Agreed, Ridger. One characteristic of eponyms we use today—boycott, bowdlerize, maverick, as examples—are (like, oh, at least a handful of words in the language) pronounceable. Machiavellian and Celsius give us a challenge, yes, but we can still get them out of our mouths without counting the syllables and mentally watching where our tongues go as we slog through the syllables in slow motion, as we would do with Dag-nab-o-glitch, or however it’s pronounced. I believe we should all pronounce the eventual near-eponym with a Jerry Lewis jabber, the way Jon Stewart does.

And what would a Dag-nab-o-glitch be, anyway? Someone who tries to sell political appointments? Someone who attempts outrageous indiscretions and denies them equally outrageously? A hairstyle that protects your face like an awning?

I would suggest that we brohaugh the notion (mock with silly suggestions), except for that little pronounceability factor . . . and the fact that the meaning wouldn’t be significantly different from “stewarting the notion.”

Let me use this as a jumping-off point for some verbal silliness on The Daily Show last week. Stewart shows a clip of an unnamed reporter referring to the DagwoodSand-o-Wich affair as:

This political drama played out on the national stage is much more than that. It’s human soap opera, as a matter of fact.

Stewart responds, “I see. So this would be like a soap opera except—and this would be the twist—with human roles.” As a matter of fact.

As a capper, the unnamed reporter is jabbering over a display of the words “GOVERNOR’S FAMILY FUED.”

Check out the episode of the Daily Show, enjoy this and some other wordplay there (the czar schtick is fun), and then join me in wondering: What the hell does “nearly eponymous” mean?

I’ve just received the good news that Writer’s Digest Books will publish my Unfortunate English in paperback in Fall of 2009. The hardcover remains available, and I humbly suggest it for the word lovers on your Christmas list. And other lists, as well. The subtitle of the book is “The Gloomy Truth Behind the Words You Use,” which is so appropriate for the upcoming festive season, don’t you agree? Classy cloth binding, nicely creepy illustrations, and the same snarky sense of humor you’ve come to expect in this blog (for better or worse).

Other vaguely humble suggestions for my books that are possibly enjoyable by people other than my mom (see the headline):

		Write Tight: Say Exactly What You Mean With Precision and Power > ”These days, most creative-writing courses teach self-indulgence. Write Tight counsels discipline. It is worth more than a university education. Its advice is gold.” — Dean Koontz, #1 New York Times bestselling author > ”If you read Write Tight, and if you apply its lessons, you will be a better writer.”  — Lawrence Block, Mystery Writers of America Grand Master > ”Write Tight is a supremely valuable ‘must-have’ for aspiring writers in all fields.”  — Midwest Book Review
		Everything You Know About English Is Wrong > ”If you love language and the unvarnished truth, you’ll love Everything You Know About English Is Wrong. You’ll have fun because his lively, comedic, skeptical voice will speak to you from the pages of his word-bethumped book.”  — Richard Lederer, author of Anguished English and other popular word books > ”The book provides a good counterpoint to Lynne Truss’s anxiety-inducing Eats, Shoots & Leaves and will be enjoyed by everyone who can’t quite admit to being amused by William Safire because they can’t get past his politics. In other words, Brohaugh is funner.”  — FeatureBook.com
		The Grill of Victory: Hot Competition on the Barbecue Circuit > ”It’s not about words, but it uses them.”  — Bill Brohaugh, author of The Grill of Victory” > ”Thank you, William Brohaugh. Thank you for writing this book. Barbecue is the better for it.”  — Doug Mosley in The National Barbecue News > ”A must read for aspiring pit masters and great for armchair cooks, too.”  — Steven Raichlen, author of The Barbecue Bible > ”The blend of travel, social and culinary history is exceptional and fun in this highly recommended pick.”  — Midwest Book Review

Fearing for the mockery such evaluations would send my way, I first tested O’Faust on the “Late for the Sky” blog perpetrated by my friend and fellow radio comedy writer JohnnyB (his song parodies are superb). JohnnyB’s “Come Fly With Me” installment was gauged to be most like Frank Baum, with 24% similarity. His “I Love LA” entry was gauged, with less confidence at 14%, to be most like Edgar Rice Burroughs. (Note to JohnnyB: my evaluation that you exist in your own fantasy world has been independently confirmed.) Oh, and a song parody. JohnnyB’s “Country (First) Rogue”—political parody of John Wasilla’s . . . um, John Denver’s “Take Me Home Country Roads”—gets a nicely complimentary 65% similarity to Oscar Wilde.

Feeling then safe to apply the test to my own writing in this blog, I submitted “Chile is not chilly, chili is not chilly, and never the twain shall meet,” and was given a 23% nod to Edgar Allen Poe. Chills indeed. (As an aside, for the radio show JohnnyB and I wrote for, I composed an ode to an NFL game in which the Baltimore Ravens dominated the Cincinnati Bengals: “Quoth the Ravens, never score”). My “Slurry up and wait” nudged up to 25%, and pointed to Mark Twain. My “Rerenaming names” slipped again to 23% and named—oh, shit—Frank Baum.

Deciding to conduct the ultimate test, I then submitted:

• Chapter 1 of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer: 93% similarity to Mark Twain. Well done, Mr. Twain, but could you work on your Twain homage 7% harder?
• Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher”: 99%! Mr. Poe, you’re ruining the curve.
• Poe’s “Fall of the House of Usher” translated to Esperanto: 98% similarity to Leonardo da Vinci. Boy, am I feeling a new Dan Brown plot coming on.
• Prologue to Chaucer’s “The Miller’s Tale” from The Canterbury Tales (in Middle English): 47% similarity to Shakespeare. 0, now the Shakespeare’s-plays-were-written-by-several-people theorists are dancing in their study carrels!
• Prologue to Chaucer’s “The Miller’s Tale” from The Canterbury Tales (in modern English): 23% similarity to . . . Shakespeare! Dan Brown! Why aren’t you accepting my calls?!
• And, finally, some circular testing—I submit the very blog entry you’re reading at this moment: and . . . sonuvabitch! 68% Poe. I was hoping for Dan Brown.
  
  ]]> http://everythingyouknowaboutenglishiswrong.com/blog1/2008/11/25/faust-things-first/feed/ 4 http://everythingyouknowaboutenglishiswrong.com/blog1/2008/11/24/coupla-quick-congrats/ http://everythingyouknowaboutenglishiswrong.com/blog1/2008/11/24/coupla-quick-congrats/#comments Mon, 24 Nov 2008 14:15:36 +0000 Bill Brohaugh http://everythingyouknowaboutenglishiswrong.com/blog1/2008/11/24/coupla-quick-congrats/ I have Regret the Error on my blogroll; it’s a fascinating log of journalist mistakes—the ones they admit to. Regret the Error placed on Time.com’s First Annual Blog Index. Nicely done.

  SoupAddict’s Blog is over there in Blogroll Land, too (not to mention Eggroll Land). Karen, a long-time friend, is a great cook. Yesterday she beat me into a cooking contest pâté with her second place (and my somewhere-past-third place) in the Cook Like a Wokstar contest. My compliments. Details of her winning entry here.

  Short blog today. I have to regret my cooking contest errors and start cooking up Karen’s recipe.

  ]]> http://everythingyouknowaboutenglishiswrong.com/blog1/2008/11/24/coupla-quick-congrats/feed/ 1