Category: Observed (Page 7 of 24)

As I walk my dog this morning a man appears ten paces or so in front of me, walking a bit unevenly. He’s the kind of person who talks to anyone and anything, unafraid of confrontation or judgment. He reminds me of Chris Tucker.
Walking toward him, I can tell that he’s going to talk to me. (How do I know this? Because he is presently talking about the trash bags at 194 Riverside to, well, nobody.) Conversations with loopy strangers are not on my morning to-do list, but I sense he’s non-threatening. He is clean-shaven and decently dressed, with a keychain hanging off his waist, so I suspect he’s not homeless or a beggar. Then again, he’s slurring his speech at 8:30 in the morning, so one never knows.
He spies me and Charley and turns around. “Good morning!” he says with abundant cheer.
I decide to go with it. “Mornin’.”
“Walkin’ the dog, ah?”
“Yes I am.”
He turns away, says something I don’t hear, then spins back and approaches me.
“Hey, can I ask you a question? First of all, happy Thanksgiving to you and yours, and I wish you the happiest of holidays.”
Great, I think, here it comes. “Sorry, man, I’m not carrying anything.”
He pauses for a split-second, breaks into a huge grin, leans toward me, and continues:
“Can I borrow your dog?”

Nathan has this new coat for fall that Amy picked up somewhere. It’s a hip brand, and a nice coat, all corduroy and fleece and fluffy soft and cute in its big-people-style-little-people-size way.
Of course, distressed clothing is in these days, and Nate’s coat is skidded with white. On both sides of the front of the jacket, and covering most of the back, is a big, pale streak.
This, we’ve discovered, is the end limit for distressing clothes. Because while we know it’s intentional, other people think it’s, well, shmutzy. “Did Nate sit in paint?” is a line we’ve heard more than once. Concerned looks become a different kind of concern when we say, “No, that’s the style.”
Oh well. He’s warm and he’s still cute. But now I know why I’ve never wanted to buy jeans with a hole in the knee.
(As an aside, I love Rafe’s thoughts on modern aesthetics, which have stuck with me for a long time.)

Me, listening to the Yankees-Angels game on Friday night: “Hear that guy’s name?”
Amy, complicit: “Yeah?”
“That’s ‘Shawn’ Figgins. Spelled C-H-O-N-E.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“What, is he related to Choire?”

Are high ceilings a sign of wretched architectural excess or just good taste? in Slate.
Having moved from a postwar 1980s apartment to a century-old Manhattan prewar, I can confirm the finding of this article, which is that high ceilings have good architectural effects. A 10-foot ceiling makes a room feel larger, airier, and more comfortable than ones with 8′ ceilings. To someone six feet tall or larger, postwar heights create a hint of claustrophobia and shorten light throws.
High ceilings were actually part of our search criteria when we were buying our apartment. Now that we have them, I’ll probably never go back.
As Slate’s writer notes, “Living and working in older buildings, people discovered that taller rooms simply felt–and looked–better.” Amen to that.

One of my great personal skills–and, by extension, a continual pet peeve–is near-perfect grammar, and the ability to spot grammatical errors. I always took proper grammar to be a de facto requirement for smart writing, and I look for the things I read to have an appropriate level of accuracy.

On the Internet, where I’m soaking up thousands of sentences daily, errors inevitably pop up. A few of them happen far more than others, a result of either misinformation, Microsoft Word preformatting or pure naiveté.

But none of those reasons excuses you from making any of the following mistakes, all of which are universal, and easy to get right.

1. Smart apostrophes. Listen up! Just because MS Word auto-styles the apostrophe before your graduation year as an open-apostrophe doesn’t mean it’s right. It’s not.
   This is correct: ‘09
   This is not: ‘09
   You have to squint a bit to read it in the Ideapad font, so here: wrong, wrong, right.
2. Quotation marks and periods. American grammar is universal: commas and periods always come before an endquote.
   “Pathetic,” he said, “that the Yankees can’t beat the Red Sox.”
   Question marks and exclamation points can break this rule, as do colons and semicolons. But at the end of a declarative sentence or phrase, the quotation marks come on the outside.
3. Starting quotations. Grammatically speaking, you don’t have to note an artificial capitalization at the start of a sentence. This is unnecessary:
   [H]is velocity is off by a couple MPH this year on all pitches, not just his fastball.
   It’s perfectly acceptable to truncate a quote and not identify it at the start of a sentence. Don’t bother putting the first letter in brackets. It just slows down the reading.
4. Ending quotations. This one’s a little more wonky, but since I just did the starting quotes, we should cover this, too. It’s actually three rules in one. Let’s start with the following quote:
   Netherland — a double play-on-words evoking the mythic underworld and
   the city’s Dutch origins — feels rather post-apocalyptic. Which, truth
   be told, the city did feel like, and perhaps still does.
   Here is how to properly cite shortened versions of the quote.
1. If you end your quote cleanly, at the end of a sentence, you stop with a period.
   “Netherland — a double play-on-words evoking the mythic underworld and
   the city’s Dutch origins — feels rather post-apocalyptic.”
2. If you truncate your quote mid-sentence, then resume the quote in the same sentence, you use three periods: an ellipsis.
   “Netherland … feels rather post-apocalyptic.”
   The proper typeset way to do an ellipsis, by the way, is period-space-period-space-period, but that gets wonky online, so no one does it. I personally go space-period-period-period-space … it’s a kludge for the web browser’s sake. (Which you cannot claim for the other grammar rules in this post.)
3. If you truncate a quote mid-sentence, then resume at a point after that sentence ends, you now need four periods: the ellipsis plus a period to mark the end of the sentence.
   Netherland — a double play-on-words evoking the mythic underworld and
   the city’s Dutch origins. … Which, truth
   be told, the city did feel like, and perhaps still does.
   (Okay, so this quote doesn’t read well this way, but the ellipsis usage above is correct.)
5. Parentheses and brackets. Unlike the parens in Excel formulas, nested parenthetical citations are supposed to alternate between parentheses (these guys) and brackets (which look like this [when nested properly]). See how that works? The brackets look different from the parentheses, which allow the reader to parse each phrase appropriately. If you do it wrong (and I don’t encourage it (because it makes such a mess (seriously)) and isn’t proper) like I just did, you may confuse the heck out of people. Just be sure to use the brackets second, for the internal phrase. And don’t get me started on sticking a colon in front of a close-parenthesis to make a smiley, then using the same close-parens to actually close the aside. Oy.

Got all that? Go forth and impress. English teachers nationwide–and I–will thank you.

So Nate has this little toy, the LeapFrog Spin and Sing Alphabet Zoo. It’s a pretty neat little toy, if a bit mind-numbing: spin a wheel with the alphabet on it, and it starts singing and playing music until the wheel stops, whereupon it announces the letter it’s stopped on. Like Wheel of Fortune for babies. I kind of like the tune, too, “spin spin a letter, look all around,” etc. although folks like my friend’s wife refer to it as “that fucking toy.” We just call it “spin spin a letter” and leave it at that. Nate actually just likes the spinning, not the music, so we get away with occasionally leaving the sound off.
Anyway. The wheel is well sensored, so it knows when and how much it’s being moved. Music stops promptly when spinning stops, and moving it one letter at a time does get the toy to say each letter in sequence. “B! C! D! C!”
Tonight Amy picked up the spin spin a letter to put it away. Nonbelievers would tell you the wheel had landed on either X or Z, but I took the device more literally, for it cried out, plaintively, as it was being put away:
“Why! Why!”
Don’t worry, little buddy, Nate will make a beeline for you in the morning.