Getting my fingers covered in dirt is as satisfying as having them covered in ink. Weeding is a bit like editing, after all, cleaning up what’s there to turn it into its best.
And then there’s the wonderful language of the garden. “Zucchini” comes from the Italian word for “sweetest.” The head of an asparagus is called the “squib.” When lettuce flowers, these flowers are called “bolts.” Yes, my book on the language of food will debut in the fall of 2019, but I have a feeling that a book on the language of nature and gardening is not too far after it.
But before we get into the weeds of my publishing life, let’s talk about watering your garden—or more specifically, of course, the language involved.
The mill “ground” the grain or the mill “grinded” the grain? What’s your answer? How confident are you?
What is the past tense of “grind”?
I’m asking this as someone who might grind coffee beans, not as someone dancing scandalously at a club. Yes, this changes the answer. Does that give you enough of a hint to know the difference?
“Death, taxes and childbirth! There’s never any convenient time for any of them.” So says Margaret Mitchell, author of Gone with the Wind, and you know, it’s a true statement.
It’s tax season, so let’s dive in. Into the numbers? Nope, not here. Let’s dive into the language of money.
When should “money” be written in the plural form “monies”? When should we talk about “the amount of” something versus “the number of” something? Yep, there’s a difference. And lastly, what is the language equation that baffles math minds everywhere where the plural plus the plural of this money term equals the singular form? (You’ve probably heard me talk about this last one before, but it’s one of my favorite math equations. I can’t help but bring it to my podcast.)
This is season 2, episode 6 of the Words You Should Know podcast
To “pass muster” is completely different from “passing mustard.” One involves acceptance and one might just involve your hot dog.
Dinner parties with a crowd you don’t know well can be complicated. Sometimes, you need to dress and act appropriately, and sometimes, you need to give your neighbor the appropriate condiment.
So next time you’re worried about whether the expression is “to pass muster” or “to pass mustard,” remember:
Why do I call this the “Words You Should Know” podcast? It’s not a lecture. The whole idea of grammar police annoys me. This is the podcast that reminds you that Ben Franklin and Kurt Cobain both influenced our modern English language, and spelling memes deserve to be debunked. See past episodes for those details.
If you want to go zero to sixty in a matter of seconds, speed-racer, you’re going to have an eye on the tools on your dashboard. Your speedometer, your odometer, your tachometer—these are all types of what?
You’ve probably got a handle on “gag,” “gaggle,” and “gouge,” but when it comes to “gage” and “gauge,” which both rhyme with “age” and “sage,” there’s often a moment of pause.
Perhaps I just made things worse by giving “age” and “sage” as the comparable words.
Remember:
“Gauge” is probably the word you’re looking for on most occasions. It can be either a tool that displays a measure of some kind—like an air gauge, speed gauge, or temperature gauge—or as a verb, it can be to judge, measure, or assess.
“Gage” might be your first guess at spelling the previous word (a typo found commonly online), but it’s not the same word. A “gage” is a pledge or something given like collateral. Shakespeare also used “gage” to refer to a glove thrown down in a challenge. No matter which meaning, it’s not a word frequently used.
“Cousin, throw up your gage,” says Shakespeare.
You, on the other hand, will almost always use “gauge,” I’m guessing.
Now, if you’re feeling a bit shamefaced because you’ve gotten this wrong in the past, there’s no need to race off in your car. “Gauge” first came to English in the 15th century, but the thing about the 15th century was that standardized spelling wasn’t really stressed. So, therefore, “gauge” and “gage” were used interchangeably. Yep, there’s a precedent for this confusion.
However, “gauge,” as we know it and use it, became preferred in the late 19th century and has been ever since. This is the version you should stick with.
I don’t need to gauge your interest in the correct spelling, but I would recommend it.
If you’re listening along as I publish each episode, you might know it’s flu season in the U.S. I’m not going to go into how to spell “flu,” as in influenza, versus a chimney “flue” or the past tense of “fly,” but I do want to talk about how an apple a day can keep the doctor away. Or if not the medical side of this conversation, let’s at least turn to the language side of things.
Apples. Are they “preventative” or “preventive”? What’s the surprising linguistic twist of the Bible’s mention of the apple in the Garden of Eden? And while we’re on the subject, what’s the explosive story behind the expression, “how do you like them apples?”
Apples, apples, everywhere. This is the “Words You Should Know” podcast, season 2, episode 4
If you want to get technical, you can “riffle” through the pages while you’re in the process of “rifling” through a collection of documents. Would a thief pause to appreciate the linguistic proximity? Probably not. But you can at least enjoy it.
This isn’t a gun debate. It’s a verb debate. And neither of them has anything to do with firearms.
There is a difference between “riffling” and “rifling” through the pages of your favorite writing reference book. Both are possible. But I’m guessing there’s only one that you mean.
And seriously, if you’re confused, please get those guns out of your head. That’s not where I’m going here.
It’s time to get a grip on your communications, isn’t it?
The English language can be difficult, I know. But there’s a certain pet peeve of mine we’re going to dive into today. It’s all about the word “butt.” And it’s not about starting a sentence with it. I’m talking about butts—B-U-T-T-S—that shouldn’t be there.
What are you walking into here? Keep listening to find out.
Some people have horseshoes for luck. Here’s one for luck with your spelling.
You can see it, can’t you? There’s the racehorse in the starting gate. He’s hoofing the ground. He’s whinnying. He’s chomping on his bit impatiently waiting for the starting gun to fire…
But the problem is, “chomping at the bit” isn’t the correct expression. The second problem is that “champing” and “chomping” are so incredibly close, this distinction is confusing in itself.