Category Archives: Soapbox

Watch Out! It’s The -Ly Police!

GrammarPoliceLogo

I am not a master grammarian. I’ve never claimed to be. I make mistakes just like the next guy. Incomplete sentences? I love ‘em. But I do have a pet peeve.

-Ly.

My husband calls me “The -Ly Police.” (Grammatically incorrect but his point is understood.)

When the weather man says, “Dress warm,” I shout, “-LY!”

When the Kashi ad says, “Eat positive,” I shout, “-LY!”

When the news anchor says, “traffic is moving smooth and steady,” I shout, “-LY and -ILY!”

It’s annoying. I know.

I mean it.

Really, really annoying. (Oh. You were agreeing with my husband and I was…..oh, never mind.)

Remember when we were kids? – “Ain’t ain’t in the dictionary so ain’t ain’t a word!”

Well, guess what? Ain’t is in the dictionary. As well as a plethora of other grammatical mishaps.

grammar p2

The evolution of language is an interesting thing. And I’d love to think that there’s rhyme or reason to the decisions made. But after some cursory research, my humble opinion is, “No.” There is no rhyme or reason. None. Nada. There ain’t even  a  consensus.

What is it?

Laziness that becomes a pervasive bugaboo. Teens that twist us into thinking that their distinct vernacular is where it’s at. (Ending with a preposition. Yep. Now acceptable in some circles.) 

 And pretty soon, we’re all speaking that way. It’s impactful. It causes alot of controversy. It effects us all. And it makes me nauseous. But it’s a moot point. (Ahhh, I kill myself.) 

One thing I do know is that avoiding regrettable grammar is impossible.

So let this be a warning to all you media people out there. If the traffic reporter on the radio tells me to “Drive safe” or the weatherman wants me to “dress warm,” I’m going to be shouting “-LY!”

With every fiber of my being.

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Uh-Oh. Jane’s On Her Soapbox. Again.

We are a reactionary society.

And we have a very short attention span.

And we love ice cream. But I digress.

I have a love/hate relationship with the media. It’s where I get all my news. So, I am both dependent on media and love it for providing me with my news fix. It’s also where I get all my news. So, I am both dependent on media and hate it for distorting the facts.

But media is so sassy. Media says, “We only print what you want to read. If you don’t like it, don’t buy it.”

Someone ought to put Media in a time out.

Sassy thing.

First it was Paula Deen and now it’s Duck Dynasty Phil.

Now, please, don’t get me wrong. Racism is wrong. Homophobia is just plain stupid. But the last time I checked, we still have free speech in this country. If celebrities have bone-headed opinions, let ‘em have ‘em. They can say what they want. And then we, in turn, can stop buying their product if what they’ve said bothers us so much.

What annoys me to heaven and back is the way Media jumps on one phrase, taken out of context, and twists it into something that could be taken offensively. And then, gives us a huge teaser headline, tells 1/3 of the story and says, “the end.”

I’m left saying, “Whaaaaat?”

And so I research. And  I read 4 other articles about the same topic, only to discover that what Paula Deen allegedly did was years and years ago and what Duck Dynasty Phil said referred to his far-right, religious faith. Really? Was anyone truly surprised that he doesn’t feel homosexuals should marry?

Yes. Celebrities should be role models. But we can’t count on that. Just ask Charles Barkley.

And the media should tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Period. Give us the facts. All of the facts and let us decide if we agree, disagree or can agree to disagree.

It’s that simple.

(Yes, I was cryptic when discussing what Duck Dynasty Phil said. I find his comments irrelevant and ridiculous. But if you’re so inclined, you can educate yourself here and here and here.)

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Going All Zen On Pinterest

What is worse than someone blowing up your phone with group text messages?

When someone blows up your Pinterest board.

Okay. Maybe not worse. Because my phone blows up with inane group text messages more than I’d like to count. But it’s a very, very, very close second.

And not the the Pinterest boards you’ve created. And not literally blown up, obviously. Because blowing things up is a crime. And I don’t follow criminals.

No, I’m talking about when someone you follow on Pinterest pins umpteen pins at once. And suddenly, your news feed is full of casserole recipes, wedding paraphernalia or kittens. I love Ellen, Paula Deen and others who shall remain nameless (because I’m sure you’re nice people but you live in the private sector and your lawyer may not have better things to do than sue me for slander.) But I do not want to scroll through 714 pictures of cute puppies or 349 recipes for casseroles or the 1,275 pictures of wedding venues, rings, dresses, flowers and cakes.

pinboard

Who has that kind of time? I pop onto Pinterest to learn interesting household tricks, find an inspired recipe or two, discover the latest bestseller recommendation or glean a clever fashion tip. Of the 50 or so pins I scan, I re-pin maybe three. For future reference. Or, as it pops up in your news feed, to share with all of you. And once in a great while, when researching a topic of interest to me, I’ll remember I even have a Pinterest account and I’ll pin it to a board I’ve already established to remember (or not) for later.

And that’s what I like to see in my Pinterest news feed. A smattering of pins, of various topics, for me to peruse at my leisure. Not muddle through 2,000 of your favorite pins. Really? 2000? When I see that, I realize you don’t really care about the kitten or the cookie. You just want to stay relevant.

And I’m not interested in your popularity.

********

Click.

Un-following you.

I need to clean up my feed.

Simplify.

Going all zen on Pinterest today.

Peace out.

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A Call To Post. A Call To Help Us Remember The True Heroes.

Stop the madness! Quit inadvertently glorifying the cowardly Boston Marathon bombers by posting their pictures with every Facebook post, blog post or every news story, cheering their capture. Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled we got the bastards. But I don’t want to remember their faces. I don’t care what they looked like. Their lives mean nothing to me.

Let’s remember these faces. The heroes. The victims. The winners.

The ones who matter.

Martin Richard (age 8), Krystle Campbell, Lu Lingzi

Martin Richard (age 8), Krystle Campbell, Lu Lingzi

Officer Sean Collier

Officer Sean Collier

Former New England Patriots player Joe Andruzzi carries a woman from the scene on Exeter Street after two explosions went off on Boylston Street near the finish line of the 117th Boston Marathon, April 15, 2013. (Bill Greene/The Boston Globe/Getty Images)

Former New England Patriots player Joe Andruzzi carries a woman from the scene on Exeter Street after two explosions went off on Boylston Street near the finish line of the 117th Boston Marathon, April 15, 2013. (Bill Greene/The Boston Globe/Getty Images)

Rita Jeptoo of Kenya and Lelisa Desisa of Ethiopia pose with a trophy at the finish line after winning the women's and men's divisions of the 2013 Boston Marathon in Boston Monday, April 15, 2013. (AP Photo/Elise Amendola)

Rita Jeptoo of Kenya and Lelisa Desisa of Ethiopia pose with a trophy at the finish line after winning the women’s and men’s divisions of the 2013 Boston Marathon in Boston Monday, April 15, 2013. (AP Photo/Elise Amendola)

Feel free to re-post. Or write your own post glorifying the real winners in this horrific event. And post images. Lots and lots of images of the victims and the heroes.

Let their faces be the ones we remember.

 

 

 

 

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Filed under In the News, Soapbox, television

If You Can’t Speak Correctly (Especially To Defend Your Case Against A School) Don’t Speak At All

If you’re going to speak to the press to defend your case?

Please.

For the love of God and your former English teachers.

Use proper grammar.

An Ohio mother, defending her 5 year-old’s right to sport a mohawk haircut, articulated (and I use that term with tongue in cheek), “They seen his hair like it was. All the little kids were going over and feeling on it and everything.”

maddoxfauwhawk

Poor little Maddox Brangelina, sporting a mohawk-do.

 

I chose to use a pic of Maddox Brangelina to protect the little 5 year old kindergartener’s innocence. Poor Maddox lost his right to privacy once his famous parents started parading him around. Awww, shoot. What am I saying? That little 5 year old Ohioan lost his right once his mother started defending his haircut in the press, complete with personal photo. 

“They seen his hair like it was.”

Yes. I’m sure they “seen it.” It’s right there, on top of his sweet, little head. I have no issues with mohawks. But apparently, the school has a policy against distracting attire. And they deem this hairstyle distracting.

Wait. You confirmed that.

“All the little kids were going over and feeling on it and everything.”

Never mind the incorrect grammar. What about your defense?

Lady, you might want to carefully consider your choice of words the next time you want to defend your God given right.

And maybe hire a lawyer to do the talking for you.

(Kudos to Lylah M. Alphonse, senior editor at Yahoo! Shine for quoting this mother verbatim. It made my day and a blog post!)

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Filed under I'm Baffled (And Because I Love The Word Baffled), Soapbox

False Alarms and Blowing Up My Phone With Text Messages. It’s Pet Peeve Wednesday!

We’re in the middle of another weather crisis, here in the deep south.

Tornadoes. Oh-How-I-Hate-Tornadoes.

But that’s not my pet peeve.

Here.

Read on…

Don’t you hate it when someone sends a well-meaning text to all of her friends, you among them, and then everyone else replies “To All?”

This friend sent a text to all of us regarding the impending doom (a possible tornado) with more alarm than a long tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs.

“I don’t need this,” I thought, “I’ve had the darn TV on all day, watching every new blip of the radar. I am more than informed.”

But then, someone replied to all.

All.

As in everyone.

Soon, my phone blew up.

“Thx”

“Thanks babe!”

“Great. I’m already out. Should I come home?”

“It’s basement time!”

“I have basement envy. But I did just go and buy some good beer!”

“Good. Bring it over!”

(Two cute little beer mugs show up on my screen.)

(Then a smiley face.)

“Hahaha. No! Get your @$$ over to MY place!”

“Don’t worry y’all. I’ll text necessary updates!”

(Me. At home. Screaming NOOOOOOO!)

“I’m debating whether to continue driving to the store or jump in my downstairs bath. What to do?”

“Jill, the rain is just going to get heavier. Get home and turn on the TV!”

“Anyone for beer?”

And now that the threat has passed…..

“Hey, Susan. I wanna see Joey’s pic from the school play yesterday. I know you have a pic!”

“Ha! Ok!”

Are you kidding me?  Yep. My knickers are in a knot. I don’t care who has beer, who is out shopping, who wants to jump in the bath or how cute your kid was in the school play. I want my phone left free for important messages from my husband stuck at work during this “killer” storm and my daughter, navigating alone miles away but also in its path.

Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit.

The rain was a real frogwash, but no tornadoes.

I’m not complainin’ but I don’t need my friends jumpin’ the weather-man-wolf-calling-bandwagon either.

I’m just busier than a cat covering crap on a marble floor.

I don’t have time for this.

 

 

 

 

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Crawl Back Under Your Rock, Lance Armstrong. We Don’t Care Anymore.

Lance Armstrong. Did he dope or is he just a dope?

You be the judge.

Or not.

Does anyone really care at this point?

Apparently, there are people who do. Or at least, Oprah would like us to think we should care.

All the latest hype is for a “no holds barred” interview with Oprah, to be aired Thursday, where he is finally ready to tell all. He is “calm…at ease and ready to speak candidly.” Again, I ask. Who cares?

arstrong

I am not an expert in drug enhanced sports performance. I did not follow every speck of the Lance Armstrong doping studies. But I followed enough to determine, for myself, that with the insane amount of information collected, the fact that he was stripped of all seven titles, and a chief executive of the USADA is willing to publicly say that it was the  “most sophisticated, professionalized and successful doping program that sport has ever seen?” I’m guessing, and it’s just a guess, that Lance Armstrong was guilty of taking  illegal sports enhancing drugs.

Seriously. Does anyone else doubt it?

And now, he’s going to appear on Oprah and it’s been leaked that he’s going to apologize and offer a “limited confession?”

He is an embarrassment. Not only because he took illegal drugs but because he denied it, vehemently, for years. He is reportedly worth $100 million.  He doesn’t need to confess. We know he’s guilty. He doesn’t need to apologize. We don’t care anymore.

Instead, he should be laughing all the way to the bank.

Or, at the very least, crawl back under the rock from which he came.

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Stop The Abuse. (Sorry For The Lack Luster Title. I Am Too Outraged To Be Creative.)

I don’t mean to start the new year on such a negative note but I couldn’t help myself.

I am appalled.

I recently read about a father in New Delhi, India who is outraged at the gang rape and subsequent death of his daughter. He is demanding the death penalty for the 5 suspects. While I’m not a fan of the eye-for-an-eye approach, I can certainly understand his outrage and pain. Especially in a country where rape is hidden, the woman is often blamed for the attack and police will often refuse to accept complaints. In the rare event that a case makes it to court, it “can drag on for years.”

The young woman and her boyfriend were attacked for hours, on a private bus, while it drove through police check points and then dumped, naked on the side of the road.  She fought back, biting three of her assailants. Yet, even her fighting spirit could not protect her. She died from internal injuries in a hospital, 16 days after her vicious assault.

Protesters demonstrate in front of the New Delhi police headquarters.

Protesters demonstrate in front of the New Delhi police headquarters.

The people of India are outraged, demanding justice for her and for all the other victims who have been cast aside due to archaic law and attitude. Protesters hold signs: “Punish Police. Sensitize Judiciary, Eradicate Rape.”

They are fed up with the treatment of women in this horrific crime. They are standing up, demanding protection and justice.

In a part of the world where a rape is reported once every 20 minutes.

Three times an hour.

It turns my stomach.

It made me curious, in our developed and enlightened country, a place where rape is prosecuted and women have a reasonable sense of support from our judicial system, how often rape occurs here.

Are you ready?

Are you sitting down?

Once every 2 minutes. 

Thirty times an hour.

Excuse me.

I’m going to go throw up now.

images

 

 

 

 

 

Get involved. Check out Rainn (Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network. 

 

 

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Honor The Privilege. Be Heard.

I honestly don’t care who you vote for today.

Okay. I care. But I care more about you exercising the opportunity to be heard.

It is a privilege. It is a gift that many people in many countries around the world are denied.

Enough said.

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A Simple Thank You. It’s All I Ask.

How many times a week do you take advantage of a drive-thru? More specifically, for a coffee or a quick bite?

How often do you tip at a drive-thru?

I’ve always felt odd tipping at a drive-thru. McDonald’s doesn’t expect a tip from me. Neither does Wendy’s. Nor Burger King. But Starbucks has their tip jar in prominent display. And the Sonic Drive-Ins in our area recently posted reminders to tip your drive-thru attendant, just as you would the carhop.

I proudly call myself thrifty. I blame my Scottish heritage. But I waited tables in college and think of myself as a generous tipper. I know, firsthand, how hard the job is.

But the drive-thru? You stand there. Take the order. Possibly walk 3 steps to reach the order that has been prepared for you/me and then hand it to me through a window.

And by the way, that’s your job.

There wasn’t any extra service involved. You didn’t refill my drinks, take away dirty dishes, check to make sure my burger was cooked to order. You simply took my order and handed me my order. Oh. And took my money.

My husband always tips you. He has shamed me into tipping you, too. And so, I do. Reluctantly. But never more reluctantly until now.

Recently, in the past three months or so, I’ve noticed an air of expectance when you are handing me my change. And so, I tip. And then you say, “Have a great day!”

How about “Thank you?”

Thank you is the proper response when someone gives you a gift. And that’s what a tip is. A gift. I don’t have to give it to you. Especially at a drive-thru. But I do. So, I, the generous customer, give you a little extra money for the amazing 38 seconds that I spend with you. You, in turn, should reply, at the very least, “Thank you.”

I’ve been keeping track of how many “thank yous” I receive when I give a tip at a drive-thru for the past two months. Of the eleven visits for coffee or milkshakes for the kids at Sonic or lunch at our local country cafe with a drive-thru, I’ve received one thank you.

One.

Solitary.

Thank you.

It’s not hard. It takes less than one second to say.

Instead of a thank you, I’ve received “Have a great day!,” “Come again!” and a tip of the head and a smile. But nary a thank you.

Sigh.

Common courtesy and graciousness is dying a slow death.

Even in the South.

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