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.

Since September of last year, Emily and I have participated in a handicapped bowling league. The premise is that everything is super laid back. You come, bowl three games with some friends, drink a pitcher or three of beer, and have something to look forward to every week. We play for modest cash prizes at the end of the 14 weeks, but otherwise there is nothing at stake, aside from (very unimpressive) bragging rights. It’s not even a sanctioned league!

My point is this: it’s supposed to be fun.

But there are some who seem to take no joy from this weekly recreation. There are a few people we bowl against who are paying $13 a week (plus $2 for shoes, if the don’t bring their own) to do nothing but scowl. They bowl a strike, and it’s a straight face: no jump, no arms raised in victory, no fist pump. They feel no joy.

DUDES! It’s bowling. You’re paying money to enjoy yourself. Smile one goddamn time. You’re bowling!

When I was 14, I heard George Carlin’s 7 Words You Can’t Say On Television bit for the first time (and then immediately thereafter for the second, third, and fourth times). This codified my political view of censorship: namely, swear words are just words and, as George Carlin said, “the same words that hurt can heal.” And thus I learned to love and appreciate swearing as not simply a way to be vulgar. I realized swearing expressed things in a very specific and unique way.

But I don’t want to get into a discussion on the philosophy of language today. Today I want to express my extreme befuddlement at much of the Polite Internet’s inability to commit to a swear. If you have ever used the following or a variant of the following in a tweet, on your blog, in a text message, an email, or any other form of non-regulated, essentially private communication, I am talking to you:

• f***
• f**k
• f*ck
• s***
• s**t
• s*it

To you self-censors, I say this: you are allowed to use swearwords on the Internet. You will not be issued a fine by the FCC, kids will not start swearing because of you, the fabric of society will not rip apart at the seams like some scene out of Star Trek Generations, dogs and cats will not start living together. If you want to swear, use a swear word. If you don’t want to swear, use a different word. You can say “shoot” and “frick” and “gosh darn” and people might actually find that more entertaining than full-on swearing. But I can tell you: no one finds “s*it” entertaining or valuable. If they’re like me, they find it insults their intelligence at worst, and generally pointless at best.

When you self-censor in uncontrolled media, you look non-committal and stupid. Swear words exist for a reason, and when you put an asterisk in the middle of one, you rob it of any meaning and make yourself look foolish.

P.S. If standard swearing leaves you bored, I would recomend perusing the works of Brad Neely. He takes creative swearing to a wonderful new place. To wit: “Sometimes, if I’m fast enough, I catch a glimpse of the Brain Fuckler, just fucklin’ the shit out of everyone… and we don’t even know it.”

There’s a Budweiser commercial that talks about a combination foam number one finger and beer holder. They call it a “foozie,” a combination of foam and coozie.

But here’s the thing. “Coozie” is a variant pronunciation of the word “cooze,” which we all know is:

–noun Slang: Vulgar. vagina.

But that’s not all. I asked my mom’s boyfriend what he calls a foam beer holder. “Oh, well I call it a ‘coolie’.”

–noun Offensive. an unskilled laborer, esp. formerly in China and India.‘

The word is cozy. Ok? It’s a beer cozy. Like a tea cozy, but for beer.

I take this sign to mean that, while it may be a violation to park in the lot overnight, I will not be towed if I do.