Helping Mankind

Here is a video of me solving world hunger.

And here is a Web site about how to stay aware in the age of the Internets.

He he.

Fun Dip

The Fun Dip Lik-A-Stik maybe the greatest tool invented by man.

I discovered as much along the first-base line of the southeastern-most Little League field at Yucaipa Elementary School when I was a lad of 10. I was in minor league ball, and I had real stirrups on my socks and the number 8 on my back.

And a couple of quarters in my paw.

Not enough for a rainbow snow cone, but enough for a bag of Shock Tarts or Bottlecaps, maybe a carton of Nerds (as long as I ate them before I got in the car). Good options all, but with a wrinkle-free blue sky, a double-header sweep and the promise of an afternoon of the brothers Mario, today was a day for taking chances.

"One of these," said I. "Please."

My first foray into Fun-Dippin'.

I must have sat there for an hour until I realized that, short of dumping the packet of candy powder into my mouth, I had to give the Lik-A-Stik an initial lik to begin successful candy-mining enjoyment.

In my memories, Fun Dip (or Lik-M-Aid) came with only one Lik-A-Stik (read: lick a stick). This made it the perfect candy for a cautious kid who hated to share food for fear of germs. The only way you were getting any of my treat was to beg for the the nasty spit-glued clumps clinging to the bottom folds of the pouch.

Somewhere along the line, or maybe they always had it, a second stik was added, along with another pouch of candy blow (maybe this was the 75-cent premium version). Kids were always trying to swipe that second stik. I told them in no uncertain terms that were they to place one grubby, glue covered finger on my Lik-A-Stik it would only be after wresting it from my cold, dead hand.

See, I found early on that the Lik-A-Stik was the true piece de resistance of the Fun Dip concoction. I would scrape all my candy powder with one stik (three pouches, senor) and then savor the last unadulterated stik. There was something magical about that chalky, pregnancy test-looking (not that I'd know) candy stik. It was earth-shattering to my elementary school self. The candy stik was the Milk-Bone to my dog. It was the exclamation point to my rudimentary between-meals. It was the delicious hyphen of my "pre-teen" years.

An hour ago I ambled downstairs to the student center mini-mart. I sought a drink but gained a childhood staple. I took my now-99 cent package, folded it into thirds, dumped it in my pocket and nonchalantly walked to the office.

I fished out the first stik and deftly exhausted pouch one: Grape-YUMPTIOUS Dip. In my impatience for the next flavor I left a thin line of purple-colored sugar in the bottom of the pouch. Carefully, deliberately I ripped open pouch two. Tunneling deeply, I unearthed a mountain of Cherry-YUM-Diddly Dip that cascaded onto my lap in transit from pouch to mouth. Only crumbles a deeper shade of red remained in the pouch. RazzApple MAGIC Dip beckoned.

And there it still sits, pregnant with a blue candy powder that apparently changes flavor post dip. I'd moved to focus on my old friend Lik-A-Stik. One side was greatly diminished from the wear and tear of Fun Dippin', but the holding side was full and warm. Delicious.

And I've still got another to go.

In Case You Didn't Know

This semester I'm teaching Editing for Print Media for the second time since I ascended to the lectern. I love teaching this class not only because it helps my students appreciate and respect the language, but also because it offers several opportunities to destroy some long- (or never-) held beliefs. This week I talked about problems in word choice and garbled idioms.

When I was a Dow Jones Newspaper Fund intern I received a hefty packet of material that relates specifically to these two problems. In conducting research for the class, I also stumbled upon a site that has a rather exhaustive collection of idioms (cliches) that are often garbled.

Here are a few trouble areas for American English writers and speakers:
Career vs. Careen: These two verbs can drive an uptight editor to release an "Oh, look at me; I'm so intelligent that this mistake is making me sigh" sigh. Careen is a nautical term meaning to rock or sway from side to side. Career as a verb means to drive recklessly or speed out of control. Cars usually career more often then they careen.

Bemused: This does not mean smugly amused, as many people mistakenly believe. It means confused.

Nonplussed is often believed to mean apathy or disaffection. It actually means bewilderment. Quite a difference, actually. I used to misuse this all the time. If you are planning on wading into the deep waters of big words, be sure you've double checked your water wings.

Loathe vs. Loath: I have roughly two kinds of students: those who are fascinated by the minutiae of the English language and those who hear a definition of loath (no e) and ask, "Who cares? Nobody uses it." This is a problem of adjective vs. verb. Loathe is a transitive verb meaning to hate (I loathe the Giants), and loath is an adjective meaning unwilling or refusing (I am loath to live in a state with no professional baseball teams).

Rifle vs. Riffle: I see this wrong every so often. Rifle as a verb means to plunder or steal. Riffle as a verb means to search or sift through (I am riffling through your sock drawer).

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One of my favorite topics is garbled idioms. Here are a few you may be unaware of (and if you are aware of them, why are you still using them? They are cliches!):

When worst comes to worst: It's hard (impossible) to move from the last degree of something to the last degree of something (unless you're using terribly unfunny hyperbole or you are a 12-year-old girl and your boyfriend dumped you then your mom cut off your Hannah Montana supply). If you are trying to show progression (or in this case regression) you should say "When worse comes to worst."

Don't mix words: We mix words all the time; they're called sentences (or possibly malaprops). The idiom is an imperative to not "mince" words.

Veil of tears: This mistake makes a bit of sense; imagine someone crying so hard that it covers his or her face. The idea, however, is that one is passing through a valley of tears or — archaically — a vale.

Chomping at the bit: All cowboys know that a bit refers to an important part of standard horse riding equipment. Chomping does indeed mean bite vigorously, but it is a variant of the original, to champ. If you are using an idiom it is because it has entered into the lingo in an original form and stuck around. You must say the horse (or the over-eager kid) is champing at the bit.

Missed it by a hair's breath (or worse, missed it by a hairs breath): Without taking a single anatomy course, a grammarian can tell you that hair does not breathe (no lungs, you see). However, a hair is rather thin. Its width, or breadth, is very scant. In fact, if you were to miss something by a hair's breadth, you may have escaped by the skin of your teeth (don't get me started).

Slight of hand: If you have a very small paw, you may indeed be very crafty with it. Sleight, however, is skillful, clever or a show of dexterity. The magician used sleight of hand to rifle the man's wallet.

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The problem with parsing or vetting the various misuses of the English language is that the battle is a losing one. Misuse over time has led many unworthy words to take on new meanings (Impact as a verb? Come on. What's wrong with affect...oh, nevermind.) The words you see incorrect today will be correct tomorrow.

The Internet will also impact (argh!) how words get slaughtered in the future. We can already thank gaming for "pwned" and who knows what for "I heart _______." Where is the love?

Anyway, I'll do my part hunting Moby Dick with a toothpick and feeling like a Latin teacher.