The Riley Syndrome

CLONE TIME -- Remember Chester A. Riley, as played by William Bendix in "The Life of Riley"? (If you do, you are well over 40.)  He was fond of saying, "My head's made up. You can't confuse me with the facts." To the Samurai Rim Man, it sounded very like many politicians and activists today.

FROM THE LEFT -- Pug Mahoney saw a photo of Christine O'Donnell, the Delaware candidate for U.S. Senate, and said, "I didn't realize that the cloning of Sarah Palin had reached such an advanced state."

CREEPING DIGITISM --The use of  "digital" to describe anything is spreading, and "it's time to put a stop to it," comes word from across the pond. "A digital coffee maker does not make coffee from some new variety of bean," says Mad Dog O'Shaughnessy. For automobiles, there is also a digital tire pump. I don't know what a digital tire is, but Brother Mad Dog wonders, "If I pumped my car tire to the required 32 psi with 8s, would it be four times faster than if I used 2s?"

BOOK REVIEW -- Check out a review of a new book on language and usage from across the pond. The view is in the Irish Times. Here's a link: http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/weekend/2010/0925/1224279626802.html

VALID VALUE -- When inflation is taken into account, shouldn't someone's "two cents worth" now be worth a nickel (or not), or even rise to a two-bit comment?

GOOD LINE -- "He was weaned on a pickle." From "The Windsor Knot," by Sharyn Mccrumb.

Smear journalism

SMEAR JOURNALISM -- The Far Right keeps ranting about President Obama's "foreign roots," as if this somehow makes him less American, or even evil. This time, it's found in a Forbes Magazine cover story by Dinesh D'Souza. D'Souza, defending his work in an interview with Washington Post columnist Howard Kurtz, insisted that "The idea that Obama has roots that are foreign is not an allegation, it's a statement of fact." Indeed so. Obama does have "roots that are foreign." But so do we all, except for full-blooded members of the Iroquois Federation, the Navajo Nation, or any of the hundreds of other tribes and peoples who were here before the European invasion of 1492. And there is some evidence that even these peoples migrated to the Americas over a land or ice bridge from Siberia. It is also true that Obama senior abandoned the family when his son was two years old, and that young Barack only met his father once, in his pre-teen years. Moreover, to jump from this "fact" of "foreign roots" to the notion that this dominates your thinking remains at best a "psychological theory," which D'Souza himself admits. At worst, it is the "bad seed" notion, which in turn leads to the idea that we are not responsible for our own actions.
We all have "foreign roots." But to say that those who honor and maintain these cultural traditions are any less American because they do so is itself un-American. Diversity, and the acceptance and celebration of diversity, is what makes America great.
　
GLEANINGS of an Itinerant Speller --"Thanks for the apprisal." Some folks "can't conceive a number that high, let a loan pay it." This reminded Mad Dog O'Shaughnessy of the old joke about two men adrift after their boat went down, and one had to help his non-swimmer friend.
One: "Do you think now can you float alone?"
Two: "At a time like this, you want to talk business?"

BEWARE THE SOUNDALIKES -- "Free reign" has nothing to do with monarchs. When controlling a horse, you "rein him in" and when you let him roam, you give him "free rein."

Far Out Right

   When the Far Right, in its self-righteous, self-wisdom as the self-appointed guardians of America, solicits money for its campaigns, they should at least get their facts straight and use the English language appropriately.

   Case in point: A group that calls itself the Council of Seniors wants contributions to support Rep. Ron Paul in a campaign to stop Felipe Calderon, president of Mexico, from "stealing" Social Security funds as part of a plot to "give it away to his Illegal Aliens in Mexico." (Quotes are from a mass-mailing pitch letter we received.)

   In the pitch letter, the executive director of the Council of Seniors warns that "America is being overrun by illegal aliens looking for a handout," and that politicians in Washington "are willing to give it to them," through a "backroom deal." (Note: If it's a "backroom deal," how do they know about it?)

   The pitch letter also warns that Calderon "has set his sites" (sic) on the Social Security Trust Fund. And in a petition enclosed with the pitch, after the "Insomuch (sic) as" and the "whereas," the concluding paragraph begins, "And henceforth, I charge Congress  ..."

   The appropriate wording should be "sights," "Inasmuch," and "therefore."

   Conveniently ignored in all the dire warnings is the reality that while those working in the U.S. illegally do pay into the Social Security system, they often do not try to collect. Making themselves known to the government would quickly lead to their expulsion.

   Accusing someone of theft -- even the head of state of another nation -- is a serious charge, and unless provably true, is a libel. Moreover, labeling as "criminals" all those who come to America looking for a better life is an equally serious charge.

Out of Town Words

   IN THE BEGINNING -- A good guideline for writing is to remember the C formula: Clear, concise and correct equals easy reading. One good way to achieve that is to avoid what H. L. Mencken called "out of town words." You may have the vocabulary of William F. Buckley Jr., but in the words of the Irish boxing sage Pug Mahoney, "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should." The New York Times regularly falls victim to the "word du jour" virus, which leads to one two-dollar word appearing in several pieces on the same day. Last week, it was the word "inchoate." The Samurai Rim Man couldn't sniff out the meaning from the context, and had to look it up. (It's Latin for something in its early stages, a beginning.) So if professional users of the language have to pause to look it up, how much more of a problem will it be for the average reader? The goal is to communicate, not to overwhelm with two-dollar words.
   LOST WORDS SOCIETY -- Add "modem" to the list of words that are still around but have lost their original meaning. It's a coined word from the early days of the Internet, when a separate device was needed to modulate and demodulate the digital signal from the computer into the analog system in the telephone line. But since most communications systems are all digital now, maybe we need a new word for the connector gadget. Any suggestions? More likely we'll still use it, much as we still "dial" phone numbers, even though the rotary telephone is long gone.
   GIMMICKRY, BY CRACKY -- Computerized word processing enables us to use a wide variety of type sizes, faces, and other typographical gimmickry in an often vain effort to spice up the page. But as with multiple punctuation, such as !!!! to REALLY emphasize something IMPORTANT!!!, if you don't have anything to say, no amount of gimmickry will help. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.
   GLEANINGS of an Itinerant Speller -- The word is "straitjacket," not "straightjacket." It refers to a garment with super-long sleeves, tied behind a person's back, preventing him from using his arms. The arms are thereby not "straight," but put in such "straits" as to disable the patient. Said garment was used in mental institutions years ago. Whether it's still used today ...
   IN MEMORIAM -- James J. Kilpatrick (1920-2010) and Edwin Newman (1919-2010), master advocates of clear and concise language, who encouraged the Samurai Rim Man in the early years of Editor's Revenge. Their books on language should be on every writer's reading list, along with Strunk & White, a dictionary and a thesaurus.

Cookie Monster Grammar

   COOKIE KOOKS -- It's time to put an end to the widespread use of objective pronouns (me and him) as the subject of sentences (I and he). And while we're at it, go back to the courtesy of putting the other person first. Example: "Me and him went to the store." It's  Cookie Monster Grammar, and even the denizens of Sesame Street know the difference. Unfortunately, when they enter teenagerhood, they revert. No cookies for the delinquents.
   HYPHEN HAPPY -- It's time for a refresher course in the difference between multiple adjectives and compount modifiers. A noun can have an infinite number of adjectives, none of which need hyphens. Example: The phrase "large round green apple" has three words describing the nature of a certain fruit. Hyphens are only needed when there may be some doubt as to whether the first modifier applies to the second modifier or to the main noun. Example: First-born son. Failure to follow these guidelines results in a crop of hyphens that are distracting to the eye of the reader, and thereby interfere with the act of reading. The Samurai Rim Man found this fault in a paper by the American Enterprise Institute, which perpetrated the offense several times, as in: public-debt-to-GDP ratio, public-debt limits, public-debt levels, housing-market bubbles. There is no doubt that the several adjectives all modify the main noun, and not each other. Therefore, hyphens are not needed.
   PARALLEL  PROBLEM -- The Philly news anchor reported that "98 percent of women washed their hands before leaving public restrooms, but one out of three men did not." An hour later, the network's Brian Williams said, "98 percent of women washed their hands ... but for men that number dropped to 77 percent." The local reporter not only mixed a percentage figure with a ratio, forcing the viewer-listerner to do an unnecessary mental calculation, but he was also wrong. The one out of three who did not translates to 66 percent who did, not 77 percent.

Lost Word Society

   FORGOTTEN, BUT NOT GONE --  Some words outlive their usefulness and disappear. Other words and phrases live on, even though their early meanings are forgotten; they become idoms. Examples of "lost words" would include "flashcube" (and a personal favorite, its German equivalent, "blitzblock.") And does anyone still use "bumbershoot," or "parasol"? Oddly, the language uses "umbrella" for a device to protect from rain, even though its root is the Latin for "shade." Meanwhile, let's bring back "running board" and "wing window" for our cars.
   JOBLESS LUDDITES -- Technology is great, but once bowling alleys got automatic pinsetters, the machines put a lot of teenagers out of work, and the term "pin boy" disappeared. And Mr. Lud lost an opportunity.
   ROLLOUT -- In early election campaigns, villagers would construct a massive ball and plaster it with signs endorsing their favorite candidate, then gather together to push the thing to the next village, in the hope that they, in turn, would "keep the ball rolling."

wolf chapter 1 contnued

“Where have you been?” the old man said. “I’ve been waiting for your report.”

            “Sorry, Boss, I was delayed,” Wolf said.

            On the way to the Island, he and the man-pup had stopped by a stream to rest, and Wolf drank from the stream. He wasn’t really thirsty, but man-pup urged him to drink anyway, telling him it was important that he take at least a small drink from this particular stream.

            “It’s the Boundary,” man-pup had said. “You may want to sleep for a while after you drink, but don’t worry. I’ll be here. You’re home now.”

The Stream of Consciousness,

or the River of Remembrance.

            As soon as his muzzle touched the cold stream, the shock of memory returning sent him stumbling into the middle of the stream. It was too much. Too many memories too quickly. He needed sleep. And sleep he did, for a full day, after shaking off the water and finding a grassy place in the sun.

            Now it was time for a full report to the Boss, in the forest grove near the cave where the Boss lived.

            The Boss was not surprised. He knew Wolf and the man-pup were coming. Now it was time to rebuild, and hope that Man had learned something ... this time. "He never has before," the Boss muttered.  "Why should this time be different? Still, we have to try."

# # #

            "Thank you, Wolf. You did well. Now it's time to go back."

            "But Boss, I just got here," Wolf howled.

            "Not to worry, my friend, this time you won't be alone, and you won't have to travel as far. I want you to stay in the Woodlands," the Boss said.

            "You mean I'll have a partner this time?"

            "Not just a partner," the Boss said. "A mate, maybe." He signaled to the edge of the clearing, and another wolf trotted toward them. Wolf's hackles started to rise, but a sharp look from the Boss meant Wolf could relax.

            "This is Betty," the Boss said. "She'll be your partner on your next assignment. And, if she agrees, it might be more than a partnership."

            With tails wagging cautiously, Wolf and Betty met nose to nose, the nose to flank, and then nose to tail. Hackles started to rise again, to the danger level, but the Boss intervened.

            "Betty, I expect he'll be in charge, but only in the sense of being leader, and only if you agree he deserves it." The she-wolf turned her head and raised a paw to indicate she accepted the Boss’s terms. But she was not about to lie down and roll over, exposing her belly to show her complete submission. He would have to earn that show of respect. And as for turning around and lifting her tail for him to ...  Well, it wasn’t the season, anyway. When the time came, she would consider her options.

            "So, what's the new job, Boss?"

            This from Betty, and brought a low rumble from Wolf, a reminder that he was to be in charge. But Betty would have none of it. A quick snarl and snap was enough to remind him that they were to be partners.

           

            "That's enough, you two," said the Boss. "Wolf, you're to be leader, but only because you've been there before. And that does not mean that you're totally in charge. This is to be Betty's first journey, so there's to be no fighting. You have already noticed, I'm sure, that Betty hasn't developed her own scent yet, because she has not been off the Island and into the Landworld. And you seem to have forgotten how to turn yours off after you cross the Boundary Stream. Right now, you stink. Go clean up and take the rest of the day off to rest. You leave tomorrow."

            "But Boss, what will we be looking for when we go back? I saw no sign of any Two-Foots for weeks on my way in," Wolf said.

            "They're out there somewhere," the Boss said. "Your job is to find them, and be friendly to them. They're going to need your help."

            "Be friendly to Two-Foots?" Wolf yelped in surprise. "But they hate us. You told me yourself that they're responsible for chasing us out of the Woodlands."

            His lip curled in anger as he snapped, "Why don't I just offer to eat one of their fire-sticks, and make it easy for them. You really want me to go looking for them?"
            "Calm down," the Boss said. "They're not all like that. Remember I told you long ago that there are many kinds of Two-Foots. You are cousin to Coyote as well to Dog, and they are very different. And don't forget that cats are Four-Foots, too."

            This stopped Wolf for a moment. He didn't know cats very well, certainly not the kind that lived with the Two-Foots. He had seen Cougar, of course, and respected his hunting ability. He had even helped himself to leftovers from Cougar's dinner. But socializing with the kind of cats that lived with Man was something he had never considered.

            "You should consider working together with Cougar," the Boss said. "He's coming back to the Woodlands also. And I'm sending word ahead to all the Four-Foots and Wingers in the Woodlands that you're on the way."

            "Who'd you send, Swan?" Wolf said. This brought a snorfle of amusement from Betty, satisfying Wolf's plan to impress the she-wolf with his wit.

            But he was mistaken. "Don't be sarcastic," she snapped. "You know Swan doesn't talk."

            "Actually, I sent Hawk," the Boss said, ignoring her.  "I sent him years ago, and he's been watching the Machine Trails ever since. I even told him not to hide, to let himself be seen, on the chance that the Two-Foots would take his presence as a signal to be more careful."

            "Be more careful about what?" Betty asked.

            "About what they're doing to where they live," the Boss said. "They have not learned that you can't use your den for a dump. The Four-Foots know that, and some of the Two-Foots know that, but most of the Two-Foots have forgotten, and won't listen to the few who do know."

            "You mean there are still some Two-Foots living in the Woodlands? How come I didn't see any on my way here? Wolf said.

            "They're still in their shelters," the Boss said, "waiting for a signal that it's safe to come out."

            Wolf was puzzled. "Why do they need a signal? Bear goes into a shelter every year, and always knows when to come out. She doesn't need someone else to tell her. Even though she's mostly asleep, she still knows by the light of the days when it's time."

            The Boss nodded. “That’s because Bear, like the other Four-Foots, hasn’t forgotten that Light and Time are related. The Two-Foots, especially those who came to the Woodlands from across the Big Water, began to think their machines were more important than anything. You’ve seen their Machine Trails, Wolf. Roads, they called them. They couldn’t go anywhere without their machines, and they had to make those trails so they could use their machines to go anyplace. They didn’t walk or run; they had to take their machines. They even had machines to tell them when to wake up, and when to go to sleep. Clocks, they called them. Such foolishness!”

            “But I’m still puzzled,” Wolf said. “What kind of signal can they get now, if all the machines are gone? And who’s going to give them a signal?”

            “You are,” the Boss said.

            “Me? How?” Wolf yelped. “Where are the Two-Foots? How will I find them? What will I tell them? How will they listen? They don’t understand Wolf-speak, and they’re afraid of us to begin with.” Wolf growled out the questions like he was warning a coyote away from a fresh dinner.

            “Easy, easy,” the Boss said, laughing. “You always were full of questions. And that’s why I picked you for this job.”

            “You’ll find some Two-Foots in caves in the mountains,” the Boss said. “Some will still be in their dens, but these will be far away from the Machine Trails. Look for the ones in the mountains first; they’ll be the easiest to contact and talk to. Then go near the old dens, but don’t get too close too soon. Let them know you’re coming, and that you mean them no harm. Remember, Two-Foots are pack creatures, just as wolves are. Think of them as wolves who forgot how to work together as a pack, and how much joy there is in singing. Your most important job, and the hardest one, is to teach them how to be wolves again, how important it is to know you are part of the Earth, that you don’t own it. The Two-Foots came to believe they owned the world, and could do whatever they want with it and to it. Mother Earth tolerated that for a long time, as all mothers do, but eventually she smacked them down.”

            Betty spoke for the first time. “What happed to them? Did Earth Mother send them away?”

            Wolf growled at what he thought was a silly questions. “Send them away? Where? There were so many of them there was no place to send them.”

            “Don’t snap at me,” Betty warned. “I’ve never been to the Woodlands, and I’ve never seen any Two-Foots besides the Boss and the Sentinel, so you can’t expect me to know much about the Woodland Two-Foots.”

            “Who’s the Sentinel?” Wolf interrupted.

            “See, you’re not so smart after all, are you?” Betty snarled. “The Sentinel is right there next to you. He’s the Two-Foot who brought you here after you got lost.”
            “I wasn’t lost,” Wolf snapped. “I was exploring new territory.”

            “Yeah, right,” Betty said. “And I suppose you ...”

            “That’s enough, both of you,” the Boss ordered. “You’re to work together on this job, not fight.”

            “But you said I’m in charge,” Wolf objected.

            “Only because you’ve been to the Woodlands before,” the Boss reminded him, “and not because you have any better tracking or hunting skills or anything else. Betty has talents and skills that you don’t have and don’t even know about, so don’t start thinking too highly of yourself or I’ll smack you down. And the same goes for you, Betty, so wipe that smirk off your muzzle.”

            The two wolves whimpered, turned their heads and raised a paw to show their submission to the Boss.

            “All right them. No more quarreling while you’re on the Island. Go find some dinner and talk over some routes and strategies. You leave tomorrow.”

end of chapter 1

Educate, motivate

 When a student performs well, he or she is praised for diligence and/or motivation. But when a student performs poorly, blame is put on teachers or parents. Why? If a student is responsible for good performance, why not also be held responsible for poor performance?
   Motivation cannot be instilled from outside; it has to come from within. Like morale, motivation can be encouraged or destroyed by others, but it cannot be created except by the individuals directly affected.
  

Education

   The softball coach at the University of Florida is paid a salary of $250,000 yearly (NY Times 3 Sept 10). On "The View" that same  morning, rapper and actor 50 Cent noted that, "You don't need a master's (degree) to be a drug dealer."
   Compare the coach's salary with others: Starting pay for teachers is less than $40,000 nationwide, ranging from a low of $25,000 in Wisconsin to a high of $39,000 in Connecticut, according to the website teacherportal.com. And the softball coach makes more than even those who sit on the Supreme Court of the United States. The chief justice is paid a bit over over $212,000 and the associate justices $203,000 -- levels that have not changed in years.
   Where are the priorities?
   50 Cent makes a good point. Why go to school and cope with dull, boring, incompetent teachers when the dropout down the street drives a new Lexus? Why pursue a degree -- at outrageous tuition levels -- for a job that pays so little? Granted, 50 Cent has come a long way from his own days as a dealer, and is now urging young people to stay in school and enter the legal workforce. But that can be a hard sell when young people see little or no opportunity.
   Critics claim the American education system is in a shambles, and they blame teachers and their unions, as well as parents who are not "involved" enough with their children.
   Consider: The reason for labor unions is to improve pay and working conditions. (If pay and working conditions were good a hundred years ago, there would not have been the need for unions.) The reason for tenure is to protect teachers from politicians who replace good teachers with their relatives and cronies, who may or may not be competent. And yes, parents should be involved with their children; but as parents, not as teachers.
   The solution is in applying Economics 101, the Law of Supply and Demand. The reason the supply of good teachers is not meeting the demand is one of salary. Higher salaries will attract better teachers.  At one time, the primary career paths open to bright, talented women were in teaching, nursing or as airline attendants. The Women's Lib movement rightly changed that, with the result that the bright and talented women who might have gone into teaching went to the higher-paying jobs in corporations and other fields.
   So how to attract better teachers -- both women and men -- back to teaching? Better salaries and working conditions.
   And not as softball coaches.
   Or drug dealers.

Wolf story more chapter 1

The Wolf Who Came Back
Chapter 1 continued


Sometimes Wolf wondered where Man went, and why he went away, abandoning all the man-dens. Wolf tried not to think about such things, because they were not needed as survival or hunting skills. But ever since he was a pup, he had wondered about the why of things. He had learned early on not to include the why question in the nightly howls of his pack. When he was a pup, his mother and father and the rest of the pack were more indulgent, letting him throw in a why howl occasionally, especially when the moon was full. But that indulgence wore thin, and by the time he was full grown, the pack got more annoyed with his curiosity, calling it dangerous. Over time, he lost standing in the pack hierarchy until he became Omega wolf, the last one down. After that, he left the pack, to be on his own. But he didn't feel lonely, because even when he was still with the pack, he was alone.


Stop. Wait. What was that? A new sound. Hackles up.

"Wolf! Where are you?"

Warning. Danger. It was a Man-sound. But there was no smell. How can that be? Wind never lied; even when Wind was still, smell drifted to his nose, carrying messages or warnings.

Ears up. Ears down. Tail in. Tail up, a warning to others. One paw up, ready to move.

Where was the sound coming from? Couldn't tell. Ears forward. Ears back. Still no direction. Nose up, twitching, testing, checking. Nothing. Eyes alert, head turning slowly. Still no clue. Body turns slowly, all systems in high detection mode to check all directions.

"Wolf! Where are you? I need your help."

The man-voice again. But this time he knew where it was coming from. It was inside his head.

He had heard that voice before, but always before it was while he was asleep. It was like a dream, like the memories of successful hunts, or puppy playtime. He had never been afraid of the voice. It was the voice of a friend; an odd thing, considering it was a man-voice. It was not like the voices of the men who came with fire-sticks, the things that could sting like an angry bee even before a creature could hear the boom. This voice for a long time was that of a man-pup. But now it was different. The man-pup voice was always in his dream, when he played with the man-pup, and there was friendship and fun. Now the voice was that of a creature coming to maturity -- not quite full grown, but nearly there.

Why was the man-pup calling? Why now, in full day, and not in the dreamtime?

There was the why question again. It had always been trouble for him, yet he couldn't resist it. Now it was time for caution.

There he is. The man-pup. On the other side of the stream. Wolf raised his muzzle and sniffed the air, asking Wind to confirm that it was the man-pup, and not a dream or an illusion. Wind never lied. But this time, Wind told him nothing. His ears told him nothing. Only his eyes and the voice inside his head told him the man-pup was there. Wolf knew it was the man-pup of his early dreams, even though the creature he saw was full grown. What's more, the man-pup was looking straight at him, and did not seem afraid or angry. Always in the past, when any man saw Wolf, the man ran away or raised his fire-stick, pointing it at Wolf. Wolf always ran away from the fire-stick.

But this time, the man-pup raised his paw and lowered his eyes, acknowledging that Wolf was the better creature. The man-pup started walking toward Wolf, all the while keeping his eyes down.

This was strange. Wolf had never known a man to admit a wolf as an equal, much less a superior creature. Yet this man-pup was submissive. Why? There's that question again. What did this creature want?

"Wolf, my friend, it's good to see you again. I need your help."

Friend? See me again? Asking for help? What's he talking about? And why can't I snarl at him?

"What are you talking about?" my voice said.

I had forgotten I had a voice. I didn't know I had a voice. Certainly not a man-voice. Did the man-pup have a wolf-voice? He must, otherwise how could I understand him? Men don't send signals with their ears, and they don't have tails. They move their front paws a lot, because they're always standing up. But their paw-waving doesn't mean anything. It's like they're trying to bury something in the wind. What fools they are; everybody knows you can't bury something in the air.

The man-pup spoke again. Not in a growl, or a bark or a whimper, but I heard him anyway. And his mouth was closed, and his lips didn't move. He didn't show his teeth or his tongue, or lower his eyes, or move his ears or his tail, or anything else. Yet I understood him.

"You've been gone a long time," man-pup said. "The Boss was beginning to wonder, since you were out of range so long."

The Boss? Out of range? This man-pup is really confused. I've never been here. I don't know any Boss or pack leader in this territory. The only one I ever met was the pack leader who threw me out, forcing me to wander the Sun-road. But I don't know why I came so far. There were plenty of places that looked good for hunting and sleeping, and I could have stayed, maybe even found a mate. Why did I wander so far? There's that why question again.

"Come on, Wolf, I'll show you the way to the Island. You look lost. The Boss said it might be like this when you came back. That was pretty strong stuff he put on you for the trip. I guess it's finally working off. Here's the path. Come on, it's not far."

The man-pup turned and walked away. Wolf followed as the thought of food came. There might be an easy meal along the way. Why am I doing this? What am I, a dog, following this man-pup instead of making a meal of him? Damn that why question.

(more)

ER November 1997

From the archives

Cyber series No. 1
November, 1997

HOMO DIALECTICUS -- All dialects are equal. Linguistically, any dialect serves equally well the function of communication needed by its speakers. The only thing that gives one dialect more prestige than another is that its speakers have more prestige. But that is a social judgment, not linguistic. In news writing, there are standards that make communication easier, and those standards are, in effect, those of the dialect known as Standard American Written English. Speak as you wish, but let your writing conform to SAWE.

DANGER, DR. SMITH -- The Samurai Pencil draws a warning to the folks at The Freedom Forum First Amendment Center, which perpetrated a "foreward" on its online description of the table of contents of "The Headline vs. The Bottom Line," a study of distrust between business executives and news reporters.

SHIVERING SHIBBOLETH -- When using a word that's out of the ordinary, make sure you know what it means, and that it's the right word. Unusual words may make you sound erudite to those who are not familiar with such words, but to those who are familiar with them, you are simply wrong. Example: "'I want people to feel as if they are sitting inside a cello' long has been the (performing arts center president's) shibboleth in describing the atmosphere he hoped for" in the concert hall.

A mission statement, certainly, and -- with a stretch -- a slogan or a motto. But a shibboleth is a word or phrase that serves to distinguish one group from another, whose members do not pronounce it the same way. Moreover, it has a negative tint. Its origin is ancient Hebrew, and was used by rival tribes to identify spies. It seems that one tribe pronounced the word for "torrent of water" as sibboleth, and another as shibboleth (see Judges, 12-6, King James version). If the captive could not pronounce it appropriately, he was slain.

ODDS AND ENDS -- The widespread use of alphabetic devices to remember things is becoming a mnemonic plague. "Unpredictably capricious" -- there is no other kind. Neither is there anything other than a "foreboding portent." "He wanted to revenge his brother." Sorry. Revenge is the noun, avenge is the verb.

MATH INJURY -- He suffered multiple fractions in both legs.

GOOFY GADGETS -- Wheel barrel. The Samurai Rim Man has never seen a barrel with wheels. A barrow with a single wheel is quite common, however.

OFFICE REVOLUTION -- "The nation's leader declared he acted within constitutional power to save the country from secretarian strife."

SIGN OF THE TIMES -- This sign in St. Louis offered special notice to the open overcoat brigade: "No left turn except when flashing."

QUOTATIONS of the Samurai Rim Man -- Bureaucracy expands to consume the amount of money available to it.

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