Kirk Mahoney . com

I heard someone say “can or can’t” during an MP3-based interview this morning.

And it was only because of the context that I could be sure that the interviewee said “can’t” after the conjunction.

This got me to thinking: The popular use of “can’t” instead of “cannot” in spoken American English is consistent with my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis.

In other words, it is simpler to say the one-syllable “can’t” than the two-syllable form.

But “can’t” can be difficult to hear (to distinguish from “can”).

Recommendation: Be nice to your audience by saying “cannot” instead of “can’t” in interviews, speeches, telephone calls, etc.

Huh?!

Reader Brian P. wrote to me yesterday with (quote) “It’s third ten on the forty.” (unquote) as an example of a statement that he heard recently while watching an NFL football game on television.

The statement meant (quote) “It’s third down and ten yards to go on the forty-yard line.” (unquote).

I believe that what bothered Brian the most was the omission of the conjunction “and” between the word “third” and the word “ten” in the statement.

In other words, I believe that Brian would have preferred to hear (quote) “It’s third and ten on the forty.” (unquote) at the very least.

I believe that the omission of the conjunction “and” in the sentence is consistent with my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis. It is simpler to omit the conjunction than to include it.

Brian’s impression is that the omission is a broadcasting-school gimmick:

Dropping one[-]syllable words (many prepositions, plus articles, “and”, “if”, “as”, “is”, “are”, “have” and others) is the latest broadcast[ing-]school gimmick, and to my ear the most grating (with constant use of “actually” and “as well” running place and show).

If that is what broadcasting schools are teaching these days, then that is very discouraging.

On a brighter note: Happy New Year!

I saw this phrase in a Range Rover advertisement on television this morning.

The adjective “residual” seems to have been adopted by Land Rover as a euphemism for the adjective “resale”.

The adjective “resale” could have sounded too cheap to the advertising decision-makers at Land Rover.

Or Land Rover’s advertising team might have decided that the adjective “resale” reminds new-car buyers that one day they will be selling those cars.

And reminding a new-car buyer that one day he or she will sell that car probably is not something that a car manufacturer wants at the top of a buyer’s mind.

Contrary to my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis, it seems that Land Rover preferred a four-syllable, eight-character word over a two-syllable, six-letter word that says the same thing.

But that is a frequent characteristic of euphemisms: People go out of their way to avoid what they believe will be perceived negatively.

If you find yourself saying or writing a longer word when you know that a shorter word will express the same thing, notice whether you are trying to hide a negative perception behind that longer word.

The notorious Hugo Chávez has been president of Venezuela, a Spanish-speaking country, since 1999.

I believe that many Americans ten years later still pronounce the “H” in his first name, even though the letter “h” in Spanish is silent, because of their ignorance about this aspect of the Spanish language.

Aggravating that ignorance, perhaps, is the fact that the name “Hugo” in American speech is often pronounced with a hard “H” — as when meteorologists repeatedly referred in 1989 to Hurricane Hugo.

What puzzles me more is the pronunciation of the C-H in his surname as if it were spelled S-H instead.

Many Americans know that they should pronounce the C-H in the Spanish words “chico” and “chihuahua” just as they pronounce the C-H in “church” and “chapel” and other English words.

But somehow they get thrown by the C-H in Chávez and end up pronouncing the name as if it were Shávez — with an S-H — instead.

Maybe the confusion comes from the S-H pronunciation of the beginnings of the surnames of such French personalities as Marc Chagall and Maurice Chevalier.

Given the strong influence of French on the English language, this could explain the mispronunciation of Chávez as Shávez.

Another explanation is consistent with my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis: It is simpler to pronounce the “soft” S-H found in words such as “shoot” and “shout” than it is to pronounce the “hard” C-H found in words such as “chore” and “chow”.

What do you think? Let me know!

I instant-messaged this to a friend last week.

Problem:
The statement is ambiguous without a hyphen.

Explanation:
What does (quote) “Face time matters.” (unquote) mean to you?

Soon after I instant-messaged this statement, I realized that my friend could interpret what I wrote in two ways.

One interpretation of the statement is that I was commanding or imploring my friend to seriously consider (quote) “time matters” (unquote).

In other words, one interpretation of (quote) “Face time matters.” (unquote) is that this was an imperative statement.

The other interpretation of (quote) “Face time matters.” (unquote) is that I was telling my friend that (quote) “face time” (unquote) with other people makes a difference.

These two interpretations are possible because the word “face” is both a noun and a verb and because the word “matters” is both a noun and a verb.

The solution comes from using a hyphen to indicate whether one is talking about about (quote) “time matters” (unquote) or about (quote) “face time” (unquote).

Written schematically, what we have is [NOUN|VERB] NOUN [VERB|NOUN], and any sentence that follows this pattern will be ambiguous without a hyphen between the first and second words or between the second and third words.

Some might argue that using an exclamation mark instead of a period in (quote) “Face time matters.” (unquote) would make it clear to the reader that the statement is an imperative.

Unlike Spanish, which tends to favor the use of exclamation marks for imperative statements, American English seems to have dropped the common use of exclamation marks for imperatives a long time ago.

Using a period instead of an exclamation mark at the end of an imperative statement is consistent with my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis. It is simpler to write a period than it is to write an exclamation mark (one stroke versus two strokes). And it is simpler to type a period than it is to type an exclamation mark (one key versus two keys).

So the absence of the exclamation mark does not assure American readers that the statement is not an imperative.

But I would counter-argue that the presence an exclamation mark at the end of a sentence with this pattern does not ensure that the sentence will be interpreted as imperative. Instead, the exclamation mark could be interpreted as turning a declarative statement into an exclamatory statement.

Solution:

• Use (quote) “Face time-matters.” (unquote) — with a hyphen between “time” and “matters” — to ensure that the statement is interpreted as an imperative sentence about facing matters of time.
• Use (quote) “Face-time matters.” (unquote) — with a hyphen between “Face” and “time” — to ensure that the statement is interpreted as a declarative sentence about the importance of spending face-to-face time with others.

I wrote a blog post in November 2007 about “Nauseous” vs. “Nauseated”.

I recently heard an actress on a TV drama say that she felt nauseous when she should have said that she felt nauseated.

She made me think again about the two words.

And I realized something: Saying “nauseous” when one should say “nauseated” instead is consistent with my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis.

Many Americans say “nauseous” as if it had only two syllables, as in NAW-SHUHS, instead of pronouncing all three syllables, as in NAW-ZEE-UHS.

Either way, it is simpler to say the two- or three-syllable “nauseous” than it is to say the four-syllable “nauseated”.

I suspect that all of my U.S. readers have read or heard the adjective “pre-owned” in automobile advertising over the past several years.

This adjective seems to have begun with the dealers of higher-end automobiles as a euphemism for the adjective “used”.

“Used” apparently sounded too cheap, so dealers of such brands as Lexus and Infiniti started to use “pre-owned” instead to describe the same-brand vehicles in their used-car lots.

Contrary to my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis, it seems that nearly all auto-dealership advertisers today — no matter whether they carry luxury cars or econo-boxes — choose a two-syllable, nine-character word over a one-syllable, four-letter word that says the same thing.

But that is a frequent characteristic of euphemisms: People go out of their way to avoid what they believe will be perceived negatively.

If you find yourself saying or writing a longer word when you know that a shorter word will express the same thing, notice whether you are trying to hide a negative perception behind that longer word.

I saw this in the subject line of a spam email message a week ago.

But this statement means nothing except for the positive implication that the spammer wants to give it.

Someone usually says (quote) “It is a prestige product.” (unquote) to tell the listener that “it” is a high-prestige product.

But the noun “prestige” by itself has no positive or negative value.

Can you imagine someone, such as a non-native-English speaker, first reading or hearing (quote) “A prestige watch is part of your image.” (unquote)?

This statement would be meaningless to such a person.

The noun “prestige” must be hyphenated with an adjective to form a compound adjective that can indicate the value of the noun — in this case, “watch” — that the compound adjective modifies.

In contrast to the inherently meaningless statement (quote) “A prestige watch is part of your image.” (unquote), here are some meaningful statements:

• “A high-prestige watch should be part of your image.”
• “A low-prestige watch should not be part of your image.”
• “A prestigious watch should be part of your image.”

I believe that the use of the noun “prestige” in place of the adjective “prestigious” is consistent with my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis.

It is simpler to speak or write the two-syllable, eight-letter noun than it is to speak or write the three-syllable, eleven-letter adjective.

So respond with a “Huh?” the next time that someone says to you (quote) “It is a prestige product.” (unquote), and see what happens.

I saw this in a technical document that I was editing

Problem:
This is a misspelling that comes from a mispronunciation.

Explanation:
I came across this misspelling the other day while helping a company to edit a technical document about an audio signal.

The original author of the document used the misspelling “studder” to refer to an audio stream that was frequently interrupted.

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, Americans have a penchant for pronouncing the letter “t” as if it were the letter “d”.

So it is not surprising that the word “stutter” — which has two “t”s in the middle — gets pronounced by many Americans as “studder” — as if it had two “d”s in the middle.

I am sure that this mispronunciation is what led to the misspelling in the document that I was editing.

This mispronunciation is consistent with my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis.

It is simpler to say “studder” than it is to say “stutter”.

For fun, I searched Google for each of the following words (with the quotation marks, to avoid variations) and got about the indicated numbers of matches:

• “stutter” — 1,830,000 matches
• “studder” — 78,100 matches

This tells me that Web authors have spelled the word correctly vs. incorrectly by a ratio of 23.4-to-1, which is good but not great.

Solution:
“stutter”

I often hear this pronunciation.

Problem:
This is a mispronunciation and a misspelling.

Explanation:
Americans have a penchant for pronouncing the letter “t” as if it were the letter “d”.

So it is not surprising that the word “kindergarten” — which ends with T-E-N and literally means “children’s garden” in German — gets pronounced by many Americans as “kindergarden” — which ends with D-E-N.

This mispronunciation is consistent with my “Devolution toward Simpler” linguistic hypothesis.

It is simpler to say “den” than it is to say “ten”.

For fun, I searched Google for each of the following words (with the quotation marks, to avoid variations) and got about the indicated numbers of matches:

• “kindergarten” — 37,300,000 matches
• “kindergarden” — 1,180,000 matches

This tells me that Web authors have spelled the word correctly vs. incorrectly by a ratio of 31.6-to-1, which is very good but not great, especially given more than a million matches for the misspelling.

Solution:
“kindergarten”