Art Imitating Life

Dammit, English! will be an occasional feature on this blog, in which I discuss annoying, lazy, confusing, unnecessary, and otherwise wrong bits of American English. Additionally, you can find the full collection of these posts at artallen.net/dammit-english.

Maybe you’ve gone to a bar and told the bartender you want a drink of six (or five, or seven, or eight) parts vodka to one part dry vermouth. Though I find this drink unpleasing, I do not judge you for this. I do judge you the moment you call it a Vodka Martini.

According to The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks (1948), vodka and vermouth together become a Bradford. Now that’s a drink name. It’s not a Vodka Martini. It’s a Bradford. There is no more need for question or argument; the issue has been resolved.

But the “Vodka Martini” is indicative of a much broader phenomenon in this age of 19-year-olds (and many women of all ages) who want to feel like they’re drinking but don’t actually enjoy liquor, wine, or beer. I blame Applebee’s, Chili’s, and TGI Friday’s.

These three restaurants have taken real drinks and named them incorrectly to make women (yes, women) feel sophisticated. For example, from the TGI Friday’s online drinks menu (in the “Girls’ night out” section):

What they describe is a Mudslide made with quality ingredients, served in a cocktail glass instead of the traditional tumbler. Just because it’s in a Martini glass does not make it a Martini! When I drink wine out of the skulls of my slain enemies, does that mean I’m drinking brains? It absolutely does not. The drink in question is called a Mudslide, up (the “up” indicating that it is in a Martini glass instead of the traditional tumbler).

Listen. When you watch The Jeffersons, you are not watching All in the Family. They’re related; they come from the same place; they are both great. But they are not the same. People would judge you if you referred to The Jeffersons as All in the Family.

Maybe you think I’m being snobby and picking on Martinis because of the disgusting (both to my sensibilities as an English speaker and to my palate) proliferation of “Martini” drinks that are made with vodka and fruity flavoring. This is a lot of it. But there’s more.

If we continue to look at the menu at TGI Friday’s, we find things like the Pomegranate Margarita, the Tropical Berry Mojito Shaker, etc. They have taken real classic cocktails and sweetened them for the aforementioned 19-year-olds and all women. This is fine! They are a business. But when you change one ingredient—say, adding pomegranate to a Margarita—you must give the drink a new name. That’s the rule.

Here are just a few drinks pairs that have very similar ingredients but something is different, so each has a different name:

Manhattan: whiskey, sweet vermouth, bitters
Rob Roy: Scotch whisky, sweet vermouth (NOT A MANHATTAN)

Margarita: tequila, orange liqueur, lime juice
Matador: tequila, pineapple juice, lime juice (NOT A PINAPPLE-RITA)

White Russian: vodka, Kahlua, cream
Colorado Bulldog: vodka, Kahlua, cream, Coca-cola (NOT A WHITE RUSSIAN FIZZ)

Dammit, English! will be an occasional feature on this blog, in which I discuss annoying, lazy, confusing, unnecessary, and otherwise wrong bits of American English. Additionally, you can find the full collection of these posts at artallen.net/dammit-english.

It is probable that you are a normal person. Considering that you are reading a blog post about English language usage, maybe you have taken some language arts classes or maybe you were even an English major in college. I was not. In any case, chances are very good that you are not a writer for television. And that’s fine! Few of us are. This blog post is not directed at you.

But to you television and movie writers (especially those in the science fiction genre), I have this to say:

IT IS YOUR PAID JOB TO BE A KNOWLEDGEABLE WRITER. WOULD IT KILL YOU TO USE THE PROPER FORM OF MILLENNIUM? Sheesh!

If I fall into any grammar camp, it is definitely descriptivism, but COME ON. Television writers are paid to write. I can forgive an idiotic “honest to blog” as a sign of the times, but when writers for Star Trek: Deep Space Nine write,”Klingon warriors slew them a millennia ago,” what am I supposed to think? These are writers who were educated and actually wrote before the advent of the Popular Internet. They were supposed to be the asshole writers! They were the ones who were supposed to be picking all the goddamn nits and judging others for misspelling words and splitting infinitives.* And here I am, in 2010, with every teen boy who has just been dumped starting a blog, trying to set some sort of usage example. YOU ARE UNDERMINING ME.

Let me be clear: I really do tend towards descriptivism. If “millennia” is now the way we’re all saying “millennium,” fine. I don’t like it; I am just one (grumpy) man. But be consistent! Let the change come from mass incorrectness due to an acrane confusion, not because “a millennium” sounds–less badass? “A millennim” sounds baddass, guys; and Worf needs to be badass.

*Ironic choice of grammar example was intentional.

Dammit, English! will be an occasional feature on this blog, in which I discuss annoying, lazy, confusing, unnecessary, and otherwise wrong bits of American English. Additionally, you can find the full collection of these posts at artallen.net/dammit-english.

Hyperbole is a sacred, even hilarious institution of the English language–when it is used effectively. While we all grant that Frank Sinatra very likely did get a kick from Champagne, cocaine, and (while he may in fact not get much thrill from a plane–who does any more?) flying too high with some gal in the sky, we also see that he is making a grand overstatement to win the affection of a woman (Luck, perhaps?). We begrudgingly accept its use in everything from chicken sandwich commercials to, now, nearly ever political campaign ever.* But what about whiny Internet assholes?

I won’t begin to try to attack all hyperbole on the Internet. Much of it does bother me, but really, when you say “fuck my life,” you had better mean it. In the context, we can take “fuck” to mean “destroy irrevocably,” the idea being that a problem was so unsolvable and life-consuming that no refuge could be found in any other, more positive aspect of the fuck-sayer’s life. I find this to be exceedingly whiny and unnecessary in almost every instance.

Don’t misunderstand me here: this is not a rant against saying “fuck my life” in any situation. But let’s be selective! Some major life-fucks deserve FML; others deserve less severe fucks. I will illustrate scenarios and accompany them with appropriate fuck/subject combinations:

• Today I farted in the conference room and everyone knew it was me. Fuck me.
• Today I needed to clean out fifty port-o-johns at the spiciest chili competition. Fuck that!
• Today everyone in the world died. But somehow all the radiation from all those H-bombs doesn’t give me radiation poisoning! I was finally able to read all the books in all the libraries in the world. But then my glasses broke. Fuck my life.

*I said “nearly;” therefore it is not hyperbole! Also, that the statement is a goddamn fact makes it not hyperbole.