Author: mark

Fulsome

FULSOME: “1. Offensively flattering or insincere; 2. Offensive to the taste or sensibilities; 3. Usage Problem Copious or abundant.” —The American Heritage Dictionary, Fourth Edition

New York Times | March 5, 2011: Until Col. Muammar el-Qaddafi’s violent suppression of unrest in recent weeks, the United Nations Human Rights Council was kind in its judgment of Libya. In January, it produced a draft report on the country that reads like an international roll call of fulsome praise, when not delicately suggesting improvements.

Washington Post | March 6, 2011: President Obama needs to understand that we do not need the combination of fulsome praise and punitive policies that have been the trademark of Arne Duncan’s Department of Education. It may impress members of the media and politicians, but at the end of the day, you cannot have it both ways. You cannot claim to be all about honoring our profession and schools, and then support policies that are in danger of destroying them.

Now, you tell me which definition applies in the two passages above. Of course, they would’t be here in Lexicide if they were unambiguous. Context makes it clear that both writers intended fulsome to mean “copious, abundant.” Context is king.

But wait:

The Economist | March 3, 2011: Meanwhile UN Watch, a lobby group that counters UN criticism of Israel, has gleefully recalled the fulsome praise for Libya that many council members offered when that country was undergoing a review of its performance a few months ago. Iran had “noted with appreciation” the Libyan government’s new human-rights agency and its “enabling environment for NGOs”; Syria was impressed by Libya’s “democratic regime based on promoting the people’s authority”; and North Korea lauded Libya’s achievements “in the protection of human rights, especially…economic and social rights.”

Sounds like more of the same, except The Economist’s website makes sure to include a Javascript link on the word fulsome. Clicking on the link brings up a window with synonyms such as oily, smarmy and unctuous. Clearly the editors wanted to be sure you were channeling the correct definition.

I really didn’t want to tackle fulsome, as so many wordsmiths have done (in vain, of course). But it keeps coming up. Sure, the word’s classical definition is “full, abundant” (although why we need both full and fulsome as synonyms is beyond me). Somewhere in the 16th or 17th centuries, the word acquired its uglier meaning, mostly seen in the phrase fulsome praise, for which read “obnoxious brownnosing” or even “backhanded compliment.” Only in the 20th century did the older, more boring definition begin to reassert itself.

So what’s a writer to do? William Safire offers this sage advice: “Never use a word sure to sow confusion.” And that’s what The Guardian realized was happening when its Wintour and Watt blog proffered the headline “Fulsome apology and fluffed Labour response saves Caroline Spelman.” When I refreshed the page, it had changed to “Full apology and fluffed Labour response saves Caroline Spelman.”

To The Guardian, I offer my fulsome appreciation!

— Otto E. Mezzo

References:

“Libya’s Late, Great Rights Record,” The New York Times | March 5, 2011 http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/06/weekinreview/06libya.html

“Obama’s odd embrace of Jeb Bush,” The Washington Post |March 6, 2011 http://voices.washingtonpost.com/answer-sheet/obama-right-and-wrong.html

“An Unlikely Unifier,” The Economist | March 3, 2011  http://www.economist.com/node/18277151?story_id=18277151&fsrc=rss

“On Language,” The New York Times | March 16, 2009  http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/22/magazine/22wwln-safire-t.html

Wintour and Watt blog, The Guardian | February 17, 2011 http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/wintour-and-watt/2011/feb/17/caroline-spelman

aka, e.g., i.e., etc…

I really shouldn’t have to do this. I mean, it’s not my job. Hundreds of usage sources have policed the distinction between e.g. and i.e. But now the waters get muddier. Behold, I give you aka, which a colleague today used in lieu of i.e. Call it “aka aka i.e.”

Aka (or AKA or a.k.a.) stands for also known as, but not for words or concepts. As every law enforcement officer and criminal attorney knows, aka introduces a person’s alias — e.g., Lester Gills aka Baby Face Nelson. And since I just used it, e.g. stands for exempli gratia, Latin for “for the sake of an example.” On the other hand, i.e. stands for id est, Latin for “that is.” So use aka for aliases, e.g. for examples and i.e. for clarification. For the sake of examples:

This estimate includes all technical services (e.g., web development, server hosting).
In this case, web development and server hosting are examples of technical services. This implies there are other technical services not listed here.

This estimate also includes certain non-technical services (i.e., project management and billing).
In this case, the words “project management and billing” clarify “non-technical services.” They are not meant as mere examples, so the implication is they are the only non-technical services referred to in the estimate.

Your account manager will be Will Sakituya aka Slappy the Sales Guy.
I’m not sure an explanation is needed here.

One other sighting deserves mention. A common convention in my company is to end a list of examples with etc. This is incorrect as any list of examples is by definition incomplete. I also observe following etc with an ellipsis (…) — e.g.; Marketing will undertake a number of initiatives (e.g., inventing weasel words, obfuscating language, etc…). I really don’t get this. It’s as if the writer is paranoid readers will assume the list of examples is all-inclusive and wants to emphasize “NO! There’s more!” That’s not an unreasonable assumption, given that many in the business world (e.g., graduates of marketing programs) exhibit questionable reading skills (i.e., take everything too literally) and insist on stretching out closing sentences, incorporating the headline words, rambling on and on, etc…

— Otto E. Mezzo aka Robert Pen Warring

Sorry if I deleted your comment (or: Something People Are Missing)

I had to step away from Lexicide for a bit, and when I returned I had more than 2,000 comments in my inbox, 100% spam from the looks of it. So I just tagged everything as spam and deleted it. If you submitted a comment in the past two months, please resend it — and accept my apologies for equating you with reconstituted lunch meat. I’m sure you meant to send me a Treet® instead of Spam®.

— Otto E. Mezzo

lexicide

Bad Writing: the movie

I came across an interesting movie trailer, about a failed poet who gets schooled in his, um, abilities, by the George Saunders, Margaret Atwood and David Sedaris.

In a related article in The Atlantic, Ta-Nehisi Coates writes about the “sheer terror of confronting yourself on the page,” and that “the process by which writing goes from bad to good” fascinates him.

We at Lexicide are slightly more fascinated with the reverse.

Pristine

PRISTINE: “having its original purity; uncorrupted or unsullied” —Random House Dictionary

I play a game with my eight-year-old. We’ll pass a sign that cautions “Bridge freezes before road.” I ask, “Why is that?” My kid, without fail, blurts out, “I don’t know.” I, without fail, then say, “Think.” Eyes roll and gears churn, but five minutes and a few questions later, he’s figured it out. Eight-year-old announces he wants to be a meteorologist.

So let’s play that game now. Why can you not restore an object to pristine condition? Why can you not insist a table setting, product sample or document be pristine? Why do people use pristine to mean “perfect” or “flawless” when the original condition of an object may indeed be flawed?

Ah. I thought you’d say that. Congratulations. You are no smarter than a third grader. But take comfort. One day you, too, will learn to ask questions and fulfill your dream of being a meteorologist.  Then no one will care if you’re right only 30% of the time.

—Otto E. Mezzo

NOTE: Until the early 20th century, pristine meant “primitive,” so when one spoke of the pristine redwood forests, one referred to their age, not their virgin quality. Pristine still retains that definition — indeed, it was the one I learned in elementary school in the late 1970s — however, it has been overshadowed by the newer meaning of “unspoiled” and the incorrect one of “spotless.”

Two seconds to a better sentence

James Joyce, who spent years writing "stream of consciousness," unlike most corporate writers.
James Joyce, who spent years writing "stream of consciousness," unlike most corporate writers.

Here’s a little-known fact: our great authors spend a lot of time editing “stream-of-consciousness” literature. James Joyce began Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man prior to 1905. It was published in 1914. His masterwork Ulysses required eight years of refinement. Thomas Pynchon toiled on-and-off for 22 years to bring Mason & Dixon to the page.

I bring up this fact because writers today — especially corporate writers — seem to believe that writing is like tickling the back of your throat — a good way to get everything inside you to spill out. The results are often as pleasant. Here are some recent examples from inside my company:

All work we perform on behalf of our clients from webdesign, digital imaging, packaging and product testing is produced in a manner that is in strict compliance to brand standards.

Companies as large as Ace, Acme and industry leader ABC have partnered with Apogee and we have created numerous custom online applications such as live event experiences that have provided the client and their target audience with a special experience which promotes and extends their brand.

The technology we developed that is embedded in the system securely controls brand standards yet allows our clients’ employees, channel partners, affiliates, business units, etc. to have autonomy in ordering.

If these passages represent the authors’ streams of consciousness, is it any wonder meetings take so long?

Go ahead. Count the prepositions in the passages above. The longest one contains nine! Now count the predicate verbs. Here, let me do it:

All work we perform on behalf of our clients from webdesign, digital imaging, packaging and product testing is produced in a manner that is in strict compliance to brand standards.

Companies as large as Ace, Acme and industry leader ABC have partnered with Apogee and we have created numerous custom online applications such as live event experiences that have provided the client and their target audience with a special experience which promotes and extends their brand.

The technology we developed that is embedded in the system securely controls brand standards yet allows our clients’ employees, channel partners, affiliates, business units, etc. to have autonomy in ordering.

In 106 words there are five predicate verbs consisting of seven words. Wow.

There’s no need to harp again on the modern hatred of verbs. Many others have also written on the effect of emails, texting and the Fast Company culture on corporate communications, where speed is more important than the ability to express our thoughts effectively and powerfully. But none of this explains why our first efforts are so unreadable. My suspicion is that stream of consciousness has nothing to do with it. Rather, it’s our stream of unconscious slavery to weasel words and the “standards” of corporate writing that make our writing seem like so much wretched vomit.

These examples (and many others) prompt the question: why don’t people edit their writing? Just this morning, a colleague submitted this phrase to me:

As a way to illustrate through example our commitment to environmental efforts, we…

With less than a second’s worth of thought, I reworked it to:

As an example of our commitment to environmental efforts, we…

Another second of work produced:

One example of our commitment to the environment is…

Two seconds was all it took me, an average writer, to edit a clumsy clause into a clear if inelegant one. For every email, memo or proposal, you can surely spare that. After all, you’re not William Faulkner. And if you claim you are, please remember the last time you curled up with As I Lay Dying. Yeah, I thought so.

— Otto E. Mezzo

Apropos

APROPOS (or A PROPOS): [preposition] “with reference to; concerning: she remarked apropos the initative, ‘It’s not going to stop the abuse.’” —New Oxford American Dictionary

Apropos does not mean “appropriate.” That really should settle the issue, but the denseness of corporate culture and my own verbosity means I’ll go on for a few more paragraphs.

Despite their seeming similarity, apropos and appropriate do not share an etymology. Apropos derives from the French à propos (“to the purpose of”), whereas appropriate comes from the Latin for “to make one’s own” (hence the verb appropriate). Traditionally, apropos occupied the same niche as in re, as to, regarding or the pedestrian about — useful for pomping up your speech, as in “Feedback apropos the budget should be directed to the treasurer” or “These documents are not relevant apropos the project.” You would never say “These documents are not apropos to the project.”

There is an adjective form of apropos, but it means “relevant,” “opportune” or (according to the NOAD) “very appropriate to a particular situation.” For example, you would not suggest apropos attire, but you could urge only apropos comments at a shareholder’s meeting — that is, comments that address the topic at hand.

And since you may as well ask my four year-old to recite the quadratic equation, better just to not waste your breath, and reserve apropos for a more appropriate time.

— Otto E. Mezzo

Inappropriate uses of apropos

Apropos (around the web)

MTV.com (Twitter Jockey Gabi’s blog) | November 17, 2010
“B.o.B – Don’t Let Me Fall”
…The director is clearly playing with dimension and the illusion of falling, which is apropos given the lyrics.

San Jose Mercury News | October 31, 2010
“Giants and Halloween make it an orange and black night all the way around.”
There was no mistaking the colors of the moment on San Jose streets Sunday night: orange and black — shades apropos to Halloween and, of course, the Giants.

MDNews | November 16, 2010
“One Bite at a Time: PPACA’s Immediate Impact on Physicians”
The answer to the riddle — How do you eat an elephant? One-bite-at-a-time — seems particularly apropos when trying to digest the enormity of health care reform…

Wow! A two-fer!

References: http://tj.mtv.com/2010/11/17/bob-dont-let-me-fall
http://www.mercurynews.com/giants/ci_16487003?nclick_check=1
http://www.mdnews.com/news/2010_11/05788_octnov2010_one-bite-at-a-time

Minimalist

vanderrohe
Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, the "less is more" guy, whom everyone ignores.

“Less is more.”
—Ludwig Mies van der Rohe

Holistic, thematic, simplistic, methodology… Are we seeing a trend here? Where once most lexicides sprang from roughly twinned sound-alike words (stagnant for static, fortuitous for fortunate), these days it’s the suffixes that bedevil us.

So add one more: minimalist, which means “of or relating to minimalism in art or music” (New Oxford American Dictionary), but is instead used thusly:

“Can the copy be more minimalist?”

“Our department is operating on a minimalist budget.”

“We only have time for minimalistic changes.”

(Minimalistic, by the way, is not in the dictionary.)

Being minimalist does not mean to edit, excise or abbreviate, nor is it the same as being minimal. Minimalism is an aesthetic movement championed by painter Frank Stella, composer John Adams and architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, whose defining statement has ironically gone unheeded by corporate hacks across America. Call them the “new minimalisticists.” In fact, this inspires me on a new way to make those minimalist copy changes:

So much depends
 Upon three lousy letters
 Propping up a word
Within a whitepaper

— Otto E. Mezzo