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?