Aye, ay, eh (a copywriter’s plea to sort out the spelling)

New Zealanders – we like to be affirmed, aye? We always finish our sentence with a request for feedback, eh. Like this, ay.

So yeah. How do you spell that anyway?

‘Aye’ is my preferred option. It’s spells out the way we all say it, like the Fonz. I am painfully aware, however, that really, that particular spelling means ‘yes’ in Scotland (and in the olden days).

Then there’s ‘eh’, which is what all the newspapers use. Eh. Eh. Eh. It looks wrong to me. Staccato, and the wrong vowel sound altogether.

Maybe ‘ay’ is an option? Dunno. How do you write it?

Why I fight with my dad (or copywriting with minimal full stops).


I fight with my dad a lot. Not in a punchy way – it’s more along the lines of: “gee dad, get with the future” (eye roll).  “You young people are destroying the world” (parry).

Except it’s not the world he means, really, it’s just punctuation.

You see, he misses full stops. They used to be everywhere, and not just on the ends of sentences either; they were in titles and abbreviations, acronyms and initialisms. Little bullet holes shooting sentences to death: “Mr. Smith and co., of the C.I.A. shot guns, rifles etc., but not people ie. you.”

Oh man. So stilted.

Sure, there’s something grown up and elegant about a Mr. or an e.g., but how about that full-stop-comma carry on? Makes me sort of itchy in my brain, which is the main reason I  avoid nearly all non-sentence-finishing full stops, even if that means more fights with my dad.

So, what about you: do you go for the old timey charm of the extra-full stops, or prefer the straightforward stylings of the sans-stop?

This post is literally better than chocolate (or how we misuse ‘literally’)

Ever eaten something so spicy that it literally set your mouth on fire? That must have been traumatic. Or been so mad that you literally exploded? Talk about a mood killer.

The problem with our wee friend ‘literally’ is that it has lost its literal meaning. So often you’ll hear about something that ‘literally’ happened. In actual fact, unless it happened exactly the way it’s being described, the situation is figurative.

Literally, by definition, means ‘exactly and without exception’. However, since the early 20th Century, the term has been widely used to as an intensifier of words like ‘ virtually’ or ‘in effect’. So unless you didn’t stop wriggling for a full eight hours, you didn’t literally toss and turn all night. Nor is it likely, no matter how hungry you might be, that you will ever end up literally eating a horse.

As is expected though, with the way our language tends to evolve, it’s unlikely that the correct term ‘figuratively’ will ever beat out a hundred years of misuse and come back into vogue.

Sigh. You win, society.

But next time you’re out for a Spicy Chicken Masala, just for fun, try: “My mouth is figuratively on fire!”. You may get the odd look or two, but at least you’re doing it correctly. You’re also mixing it up with an alliteration. Literacy points all round.

The semicolon (more than just a winky face).

Does anyone wink in real life anymore? When teamed with a closing bracket, a semicolon makes for great text flirting (or general creepiness, depending on age and gender). But, believe it or not, this is not the semicolon’s native function.

Semicolons connect two separate clauses in place of a conjunction or a full stop to join two sentences carrying the same theme.

For example:

There was a lady singing on the bus this morning. She was a really terrible singer.

This statement is separated by a full stop and if it was said out loud, the full stop would be emphasised with a short pause. However, if in place of the full stop, a semicolon is used, the connection between the two clauses is strengthened.

There was a lady singing on the bus this morning; she was a really terrible singer.

When read aloud, with a semicolon, you eliminate the pause without using a conjunction like, ‘and’, ‘but’, ‘nor’ or ‘yet’. You’re still being just as critical, but your grammar is spot on.

Semicolons shouldn’t be used if there’s already a conjunction connecting two ideas together.

For example:

There was a lot of brownie and cake at the office today, but I decided it was okay to indulge.

The comma is already doing the job of connecting the two clauses here, therefore, a semicolon serves no purpose. However, by dropping the ‘but’ and replacing it with a semicolon, the sentence becomes a little punchier.

There was a lot of brownie and cake at the office today; I decided it was okay to indulge.

Once again, you’ve still probably overdone it on the sugar for the day, but at least you’ve clocked semicolons.

Get it? ; )

 

For more semicolon hilarity, check out the Oatmeal’s rant.

Understanding irony (or how Alanis Morrisette got it so wrong)

“An old man turned ninety-eight. He won the lottery and died the next day”. Not really ironic is it? Unfortunate, yes and rotten timing too, not to mention a rather morbid opening line to the Alanis Morrisette’s song Ironic.

“It’s like rain on your wedding day”. Nope, not ironic either. Rather, just really bad luck.

“A no smoking sign on your cigarette break”.  If the sign in question hung in an actual smoker’s lounge , then yes, this would be ironic. But otherwise, no, this is not irony, just annoying.

Really the only thing ironic in Ironic is that none of the situations she describes are, in fact, ironic.  

So if Alanis got it all wrong, what then is ironic? There are three types of irony – verbal, dramatic and situational, each quite different from the other.

Verbal irony is when someone says something, but means another – there’s a bit of a confusion between verbal irony and sarcasm, as they cross over a little. For example “I’d rather pull out my own teeth” or “clear as mud” are both example of verbal irony. The irony is only recognisable by our given/stereotypical knowledge of the objects in the sentence, or the context being referred to. It is understood that mud is not clear and pulling teeth is painful, which take these sentences from being literal into the realm of irony.

Dramatic irony is a bit of a weird one. It is primarily used in a narrative where one of the people observing the situation is privy to information that at least one of the other characters is unaware. In Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, we have Romeo thinking Juliet is dead and killing himself when the audience knows she is just taken a swig of sleeping potion, which is dramatic irony. Similarly, in Oedipus the King the reader knows that Oedipus is the murderer he’s looking for; however his conscious self, Creon, and Jocasta do not. Or if you’re after a more modern example, The Truman Show showcases dramatic irony, because everyone apart from Truman knows he’s the main character of a reality show.

Situational irony, the type that is most commonly misused, involves a situation where the actions end up having an effect that is the opposite from what was intended or expected. Often situational irony is confused with coincidence, an obvious chain of events or something just being funny.

“We turned up to work on Friday wearing the same dress! How ironic!” – No, just a coincidence. But also kinda cute.

“My pen had been running out of ink but I took it into the exam anyway, and it ran out mid-essay. How ironic!” – No, just an obvious outcome to your pen showing signs of running out of ink and also terrible exam prep.

“This fire-extinguisher shoots out fire balls. How ironic!” Boom. Situational irony to a tee.

So with our newfound knowledge of irony we could perhaps rework a few of Morissette’s lines. Take “it’s a traffic jam when you’re already late”. If we try:

“It’s like a traffic jam when you’re already late to a political summit on road congestion”.

Is it as lyrically catchy? No.

Ironic? Through and through.