Posts tagged humour
The grocer's apostrophe

House bile is an occasional feature explaining a) what to do, (2) what not to do and iii. why that convention you've been following is dumb. This time, we look at the grocer’s apostrophe.

The only thing more annoying than the sight of a grocer’s apostrophe appearing on shop signage, product labelling or in correspondence from your child’s Montessori-ish primary school is the self-satisfied voice of the man (it is almost always a man) who points it out.

Here is an allegory:

My favourite greengrocer in Manchester is Khawaja Brothers in Chorlton-cum-Hardy. It is next to a Polish bakery and delicatessen and opposite an (also good, if a little bit much) co-operative vegan supermarket. My preferred barbershop is in the vicinity, as is the coffee shop and roastery from where I buy my beans, which are grown on a Guatemalan farm by an all-female staff committed to women’s empowerment and environmental sustainability. A little further down the road is my favourite pizzeria, which serves 90-second wood-fired pies with a sourdough crust raised from a starter older than me.

I cannot afford to live in Chorlton. Even if I could, I highly doubt I could bare myself on a long-term basis. Instead, I live in a much cheaper, but still very pleasant neighbourhood a couple of miles away. It is from my home office, and occasionally a branch of an international coffeeshop brand, that I am an editor. Out on the street, I'm an asshole pedant – just like you – and I should keep it to myself.

—That is the end of the allegory.

You are not editor-in-chief of the high street, or any other part of the public sphere. Errant or absent apostrophes in commercial premises are no more an indictment of a failing state education system than they are of the intellectual lowliness of a given shopkeeper. They are mistakes made by industrious people who are too busy doing what they’re good at to worry about what they’re not.

Perhaps you’re dissatisfied with your own life and its myriad shortcomings, and seek the sweet relief that comes from pointing out that you could have spelt potato’s better. Well, congrats.

Now pipe down, peewee.

Semicolons
Twenty-five thousand people died in the course of four British/American air raids on Dresden over three days in February 1945.

Twenty-five thousand people died in the course of four British/American air raids on Dresden over three days in February 1945.

House bile is an occasional feature explaining a) what to do, (2) what not to do and iii. why that convention you've been following is dumb. This time, we look at semicolons.

Kurt Vonnegut famously wrote:

Here is a lesson in creative writing. The first rule: do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.

Here’s another lesson: Kurt Vonnegut was a de facto apologist for antisemitism whose patriarchal wisdom and puerile cartoons have distracted generations of nerdy only-child devotees from his (mostly innocuous, but unmistakable) misogyny.

Vonnegut also claimed to self-edit every sentence in real time: writing and rewriting until perfect, before moving onto the next. This is a terrible approach that will frustrate your development as a writer the same way his take on the semicolon might permit you to think that not learning how to do something might somehow make you better at it than everyone else. (And I’m a fan.)

Here’s my lesson: write lots. Write often. Write well and rewrite worse. Write badly and throw it away. Write middlingly and store it on a cloud drive you’ll lose access to through unwitting non-compliance with Orwellulaneous updates to the privacy policy. Write and write and write and write, and eventually you’ll get to something that looks like the truth – even if that truth is that you weren’t meant to be a writer, which is something that is both okay and fine.

Know that semicolons are for complex lists and the separation of independent, but related clauses, and Google examples of their application every time you’re tempted to use one – just to check! – like everyone else.

Needless to say

House bile is an occasional feature explaining a) what to do, (2) what not to do and iii. why that convention you've been following is dumb. This time, we look at the expression needless to say.

If something needs to be said, say it. Don’t tell me it doesn’t need to be said. It’s confusing and unnecessary. Seriously, just what are you trying to do here? Sneak some crucial, always-read-the-small-print detail past without my noticing?

Hm. No. That’s not it. You’re making fun. You’re trying to patronise me in some way I haven’t yet figured out. You want me to know that something is obvious that it doesn’t need to be pointed out, except to me.

Yeah, that’s it! You’ve figured out that when I see ‘needless to say’, I deduce ‘needless to read’. Then I skip ahead a couple of percentage points on the progress bar; I’ve got a Grisham lined up next. He’s turning out two a year these days – more than double my reading rate since I reactivated Netflix for Can’t Pay? We’ll Take it Away.

Kafkaesque

House bile is an occasional feature explaining a) what to do, (2) what not to do and iii. why that convention you've been following is dumb. This time, we look at the term Kafkaesque.

Unless you're describing actually turning into a dung beetle or literally never finishing a novel, you are using this incorrectly. Your struggles at the DMV, issues downloading the correct assembly instructions for the IKEA Trysil wardrobe or bafflement at the range of available cat litters are merely Kafka-ish, and you should adjust yourself accordingly.

See also: Orwellian. Very few things in your life are similar to anything you can find in the works of Eric Arthur Blair. However, if you've ever found yourself despondently pumping lead into the hide of a deranged Indian elephant, under the cosh of a porcine overclass or trying to get laid without having your face eaten by rats, you get a pass. Otherwise, prefer Orwellular.