On "peruse" and context clues

Ordinarily, I believe Merriam-Webster can do no wrong. M-W makes me want to be a lexicographer. And the contradicting definitions of peruse are no fault of M-W, per se — after all, you are not much good at compiling meanings if you ignore the ones you don't like.



Can context clues save us here? I think the answer is "maybe."

I perused the library's Colorado history offerings.

Straight up, there is nothing in this sentence to help us.

Searching for just the right references for my paper, I perused the library's Colorado history offerings.

This version does suggest close attention. And this next one?

With four hours to kill until Aaron would be ready to walk home with me, I perused the library's Colorado history offerings.

Certainly, the phrasing above leads readers to believe peruse is meant as a leisurely look-through.

So, as your English teachers suggested for years that you use the text surrounding a troublesome word to help you ascertain its meaning for yourself, you can help everyone else "get you" by wording your sentences carefully and arming your readers and listeners with tools of understanding.

On "comprise" vs. "compose"

You'll inevitably find incorrect usage of comprise-compose in any kind of medium, but you'll also find the pairing in every style guide's list of troublesome words.

Comprise sounds a little more formal, doesn't it? In fact, it's just a one-word way to say "is made up of."

The exam comprises seven questions.

The bill, comprising legitimate regulations and obvious riders, was popular in the House.

The formula is this: [The whole] comprises [the parts]. Avoid using "of," and avoid putting the parts first.

Compose, however, does have several meanings. Mostly, we mean it as to create/put together, but it can also mean to settle and even to reduce to a minimum. If you mean it in the first way, the "composed of" construction is valid.

The exam is composed of seven questions.

She composed some of her best stories at 4 a.m.

His hands were shaking, but he composed himself and approached his boss.

They tried to compose their differences to make the holidays less awkward for the children.

Apparently, it's American to be wrong about this, but the Brits know their English. Don't be a stupid American.

On the many and varied uses of "I"

"Witzig, what are you thinking?" your mind plagues you. The title is tongue-in-cheek; I promise.

I is used for one purpose only: It is the subject. Nothing is ever given to I. You don't go anywhere with I. And, certainly, nothing is I's. I is not an object of a preposition, a direct object, an indirect object, or a possessive form.

Saying You should come with she and I isn't formal; it's wrong. You should come with her and me is the sentiment (and the syntax) you seek.

We should all be thanking our lucky stars that we don't have to sit here and try to go through nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, and ablative cases as we compose our thoughts. (Who doesn't love a good declension, though? I know my sisters and fellow former Latin students do.)

Instead, if I need to pause, I can think of it this way: If I am doing something or feeling some way, I will use I, the nominative case, the subject. If something is being done for me, toward me, with me, to me, etc., I will use me, the objective case. If something belongs to me, I will use my or mine.

Myself is used as a reflexive pronoun or an intensifier. However, it is never the subject: Aaron and myself went to the store. Nope. I don't see myself going to the grocery store today. Yep. And it's never solely the object: You can give your fantasy football money to myself is incorrect. I myself will contact the commish displays the intensive property of myself. Hint: Double up! If you don't hear yourself using another matching first-person form in your sentence, it's not right. Don't be afraid to use me!

Beatles fans, I Me Mine has nothing to do with declensions.

On Witz & Wams

I'm sorry, Internet.

I was going to have another grammar post for you on Monday, but what I thought was Date Night turned into Engagement Night. I trust you will forgive me for the delay in posting and for the non-grammar topic that follows. (The banner at the top there does say I might talk sports 'n' love sometimes.)

On Saturdays, Aaron and I wear our white and blue, shriek as Penn State runs it up the middle on third-and-long, and roar heartily when our defense pounces. On Sundays, he dons his Cunningham shirt and I my Polamalu jersey. The dog is smart enough not to choose sides — given her name, though, I think we know her leanings — and we constantly check our fantasy teams' stats.

My name is Monica Witzig, and my fiancé is an Eagles fan.

And we tag-team dinner. And we read in bed. And we scream-laugh at Archer. And we put whiskey in our tea. And we find General Sherman look-alikes at baseball games. And we go hiking. And we sing to Metallica in the car. And it's perfect.

On abbreviations, initialisms, and acronyms

Abbreviation, initialism, and acronym are frequently used interchangeably, but the terms are not identical in meaning and function.

If you abbreviate something, you shorten it. We see this most often in addresses: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue becomes 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Your old basketball coach, who was an admiral in the Navy, is Adm. Lippert. You probably abbreviate Latin terms every day, with et cetera used as etc. Abbreviation can refer to any shortened form, so initialisms and acronyms are also abbreviations.

Where it can get hairy is in distinguishing initialisms from acronyms, but this is because most people were never taught the difference. When you use a letter from each word of a lengthy organization or term (Young Men's Christian Association, chief executive officer) and actually pronounce each as a separate letter (YMCA, CEO), you have an initialism. An acronym is the word resulting from combining the letters of the abbreviation: NASA. Sometimes, these acronyms become so commonly accepted that they are recognized as words, e.g. scuba.

Stephanie McMillan's cartoon displays "The Initialism Of Wretchedness." (And don't call it an acronym!)

On "verbal" vs. "oral"

We see this everywhere, most especially in job descriptions: "We seek someone with excellent written and verbal communication skills."

What the employer really wants, though, is someone who can both write and speak well: "someone with excellent written and oral communication skills."

The difference between verbal and oral is this: Verbal involves words, as opposed to actions, photos, substance, etc.; oral involves the mouth, speaking.

[If you want to talk about the noun "verbal," we can do that some other time when we're diagramming sentences. In the meantime, you keep your gerunds to yourselves.]



Remember, on your SATs, that you were graded separately on the math and verbal sections. The math was, well, numbers — and the verbal was reading, writing, vocabulary: words. I'd be willing to put money on it that you didn't talk during your exam. This section was aptly named. Good on ya, SAT.

Anything to do with words is inherently verbal, but if you specifically reference speaking, make sure you recognize that it is oral. That said, saying someone is funny is an instance of verbal, but laughing is not —although laughing could be considered an oral response. Have I confused you yet? Laughing didn't involve words, written or oral, so it was not verbal. It is almost one of those "a square is a rectangle, but a rectangle is not a square" situations: "You're so funny!" is verbal because it's words, but if you send that as a text to Dad instead of saying it to Dad, it is only verbal and not oral.

[Thanks, Towson, for the image.]

On "feel bad" vs. "feel badly"

Thanks to a well-publicized grammatical mistake by the head of the U.S. Department of Education, I've been fielding quite a few inquiries about "feel bad" versus "feel badly."

I understand the penchant for "feel badly." It sounds formal, making sure you use the -ly adverb. It's wrong, though.

It comes down to if feel is a linking verb or an action verb in your use of it.

I feel badly.

This use is an action verb, requiring an adverb, literally meaning there is something wrong with your sense of touch. You are having trouble putting your fingers on someone. A little awkward, I know.

I feel bad.

This is what you probably mean. Feel here is a linking verb, requiring an adjective. This is about your state of mind, your emotions. Something upsets you. Maybe you feel sorry for the schoolchildren in Texas. (Yes, this is what Arne Duncan meant.)

"Grammar, schmammar," Duncan said, but you all know better.

As an aside to journos out there, should this misstep by Duncan have been such a focal point of articles? Did reporters have to use that quote? What about letting the public notice it in the oft-accompanying video instead? Isn't the substance of his remarks more important than one grammatical gaffe?

On shared space

We don't live separately anymore. It's not even "two of us in my place" anymore. Goodbye, bachelorette pad. Hello, truly shared space.

I think it's really coming along. In fact, I think it's really looking good. My assessment of looking good, though, involves being thrilled with the IKEA, REI, and Urban Outfitters got drunk together and forgot to clean up vibe.

It's amazing what a simple rearrangement (the kitchen table is actually in the kitchen!) and a summers-off-teacher-boyfriend (stuff's built by the time I'm home from the lab!) can do for a place. And, yes, those exclamation points were totally necessary.

The rumors are true: We do now have a futon, a TV, and a food processor, in addition to some other exciting acquisitions that include a table for the fish tank, a desk and chair, a bureau, a wheeled kitchen island, and bunches of extension cords someone so skillfully hid around the apartment. It all seems so basic, right? How did we not have these things before?

It was pretty easy to clear my laptop off the dining table when it was time to eat. I don't really watch TV, so MLB.tv on my computer on the coffee table was perfect. One couch was all I needed. The problem, really, was pesto. I got tired of using a hammer to make it. (You all really, really hope I'm kidding about that. I'm not.)

Yes, and because of the dedicated pesto hammer, Aaron and the rest of his stuff moved in, and now I have a TV. That may not quite be the precise cause-and-effect, but it makes for a good story, anyway.

A couple months after taking the plunge and living in sin, we've actually made our little Cap Hill apartment downright homey.

On homophones and homonyms, "Cousin Monica's Words"

There is a game I play with my niece Madeline. She calls it "Cousin Monica's Words."

(Madeline and her younger sister Ava are my cousin Heather's children. I have about 20 years on them, so for ease of introductions they are always "my nieces," but the official title the two of them have given me is Cousin Monica.)

We have been talking about homophones and homonyms. Madeline laughs that "so silly!" laugh when I tell her people mix up two, to, and too, among others. She comes up with lists on her own of words that sound the same but are spelled differently (homophones) and words that are spelled the same but have different meanings (homonyms). If a soon-to-be-8-year-old can do it, so can the rest of us.

I think it's pretty clear that a second-grader will come up with sun and son; eye, I, and aye!; bear (the animal) and bear (to support); and bud (the flower) and bud (the friend). What she might not come up with for another couple of years follows.

• discreet/discrete: Discreet means careful, circumspect, maybe even "under the table." Discrete means separate, distinct. A good way to distinguish is that the E's in discrete are separate. Too cutesy? Perhaps, but it might help your writing.

• pour/pore: Pour is to cause to run. Pore is a tiny hole. But you pore over your books, gazing intently.

• premier/premiere: This one gets messy. Premier means first or most important, and a premier is a head of government, like a prime minister. A premiere is a first showing, and to premiere is to give a first performance of something.

Are there any common misspellings/mistakes you see because of homonyms and homophones? Any really funny ones I should tell my nieces?

Hyphenation Illustration

Among the concepts I find myself explaining most to my writers are comma splices and hyphenation. (Don't get me wrong; fixing the errors and then educating authors is like crack.) I could go on an angry rant about comma splices, so it's much safer to briefly examine hyphenation. Compound nouns and compound modifiers can be sticky, and that's OK. That's why you have proofreaders/copy editors; we have to know these things (or, at the very least, we have to know how to look them up).

Let's illustrate puppy cuddler and puppy-cuddler. What's the difference, where's the confusion, and why?



A puppy cuddler is a cuddler who is a puppy. Puppy modifies cuddler. A puppy-cuddler is one who cuddles puppies. As you can see in the photo above, I am the puppy-cuddler, and Monongahela is the puppy cuddler.

As another example, is a "high school student" a student on drugs, or is it a sophomore? How can we clear this up? (With a friendly hyphenation of "high-school," of course!)

I think Strunk, White, and I would have been buds. (Prescriptivist power! ...No?)

On that note, one of my favorite reference books is The Elements of Style (illustrated). Instead of being stuffy and outdated, it provides a great review of typical English grammar and edification that should be embraced by anyone who writes. (And this one has pictures! And a foreword by baseball writer Roger Angell.)