March 31, 2025

How many syllables in 'caramel'?

Perhaps you remember this 2003 commercial: Shaquille O'Neal corrects actor Percy Daggs III when Daggs pronounces the ingredient in a new variety of Nestle Crunch as “carmel.”

“It’s caramel,” Shaq says, hitting all three syllables. “Car-a-mel. Can’t you spell?”

I’d been pronouncing it “carmel” all my life. It’s how the people around me pronounced it. It’s all I knew. But then, I grew up in the region of Florida that spawned the first Hooters restaurant, so I didn’t have much faith in the judgment or taste of the people around me. Instead, I put my faith in Shaq. I started pronouncing it “car-a-mel.”

After all, Shaq made a good point with “Can’t you spell?” Three vowels, separated by consonants, sure look like three syllables to me.

As a self-styled “language expert,” I knew I should do a little research. And I did — 22 years later. Here’s what I just learned: the pronunciation “carmel,” with two syllables, is every bit as acceptable as the three-syllable pronunciation. In fact, the two-syllable option comes first in Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, which may indicate it’s more standard.

Score one for the town that gave the world chicken wings with a side of hair mousse.

Reasonable minds may disagree. Garner’s Modern American Usage, for example, is on Team Shaq, deeming the three-syllable pronunciation superior.

Jewelry is another word that’s spelled like it has three syllables but is often pronounced with just two: jool-ry. In my world, the two-syllable pronunciation is standard. I almost never hear “joo-ul-ry.”

Merriam’s dictionary seems to prefer three syllables, though it allows two, as well. The difference is subtle, almost undetectable. “Joo-ul-ry” so buries the “ul” that it sounds nearly identical to “jool-ry,” even on the audio clip on Merriam’s website.

The pronunciation you definitely want to avoid is “joo-luh-ry,” with “luh” in the middle instead of “ul.” Merriam’s dictionary calls this pronunciation nonstandard, which is dictionary-speak for “ill-advised.”

“Realtor” is another oddly pronounced word. Instead of dropping a syllable, people add one: “reel-uh-tur.” It’s a little bizarre, but if you pay attention to how your mouth moves to say “Realtor,” it’s easy to hear why the first and second syllables could benefit from a little more separation. Regardless, the three-syllable pronunciation of “Realtor” is widely considered to be wrong. The experts in my language library say it’s always just “reel-tur.”

Perhaps the most hotly debated word of this type is “homogeneous.” Some argue, passionately, that it should be pronounced “ho-mo-GEE-nee-us,” while others insist it’s “ho-MOJ-en-us.” Actually, these are two different words.

“The more common term is homogeneous,” writes Garner’s, “which means ‘of uniform characteristics.’” It’s pronounced as five syllables, with the stress on “gee.” The word “homogenous,” has just one “e” and is pronounced with the stress on the second syllable: “ho-MOJ-en-us.” It’s a term from biology that means tissues or organs are genetically related.

Many people pronounce “homogeneous” as if they’re using the other word, “homogenous.” But if you want to say that things are similar or of uniform composition, that’s not a good idea.

“Writers are best advised to use ‘homogeneous,’ and to pronounce all five syllables,” Garner’s writes. 

Click player above to listen to the podcast

March 24, 2025

Regarding "re"

A lot of language experts will tell you to avoid the word “re,” as in, “I’d like to speak to you re scheduling.” It’s pretentious, they say, to use this Latin derivative instead of good old plain English — it’s “tasteless as a gold toothpick,” according to Theodore Bernstein’s 1965 guide “The Careful Writer.”  All of us outside the legal profession should “leave this one to the lawyers,” he wrote.

Way ahead of you, Bernstein and friends. I’ve been avoiding “re” my whole life. But unfortunately, I can’t claim that my motive has been to eschew pretentiousness, humbly sidestepping every opportunity to show off my deep knowledge of this preposition and its Latin origins.

No, I avoid it because I’ve never understood “re” well enough to even feign pretentiousness. I avoid “re” not because I’m down to earth but because I’m downright intimidated.

Is it “re:” with a colon? Is the R capitalized? Can you use it in the body of a letter or email, or only in the header or subject line? If it’s an abbreviation of “regarding,” does it need a period at the end, or does a colon preclude the need for a period? And why do you sometimes see “in” before “re”? Wouldn’t that be redundant?

The answers to all these questions are surprising — at least to me. For starters “re” is not an abbreviation for “regarding.” It’s a preposition — a real word like “at,” “of” or “with.” It’s defined not as “regarding” but as “with regard to” or “in the matter of,” which makes it a subtle shade different from “regarding” in some uses.

 “Re” doesn’t even share the same roots as “regarding.” It’s from a Latin noun, “res,” which meant “thing” or “matter.” That’s a clue why “in” is sometimes used before “re.” It’s like saying “in the matter of.” But the way Latin grammar worked, the “in” may be implied, anyway. So it’s hard to know whether “in re” or just “re” better captures “res” in what’s called the Latin “ablative” case. At least that’s the assessment of someone who gave up after half a day trying to understand Latin noun cases. (Ahem.)  

What I do know after half a day buried in books is that, in English, the “in” is optional. One of the definitions for the preposition “re” is “in re” — that is, they mean the same thing. So you can choose.

Another thing I learned is that “re” should not be capitalized unless it begins a sentence. It’s a regular word, so it works like one. Just as you don’t write “Put the book On the table,” you don’t write “See me tomorrow Re scheduling.” In fact, you’d be using the wrong word. Beginning with a capital, Re is the abbreviation for rhenium, a heavy metal.

Because “re” is a regular word, it doesn’t automatically get a colon, nor does a longer  phrase like “Re scheduling: See me tomorrow.” Yes, a colon can be used this way, but not because “re” requires it, only because in many instances the colon helps the whole sentence.

Using “re” was hard enough before email came along. Now “Re:” gets automatically added to subject lines when we reply to another message. And whoever came up with that system didn’t bother to tell us whether “Re:” was short for “regarding” or it meant a “reply” to the original email.

I say don’t worry about appearing pretentious if you use “re,” but you might consider whether it’s distracting. We’re so unused to seeing it used correctly in the middle of a sentence, lowercase with no colon, that it will surely look weird to your reader.

Click player above to listen to the podcast

March 17, 2025

A girl wasn't always a girl

Next time you hear someone ranting about how the language is going to hell in a handbasket or complaining about people misusing this or that word, ask him to define the word "girl."

In my experience, "girl" is the best example of why the language Chicken Littles don't have a leg to stand on.

You see, we actually use the word "girl" wrong, according to an older standard, that is. In the 1300s, "girl" meant a child of either sex. Yet today it means specifically a female child.

Think for a moment what it was like getting from that linguistic Point A to our Point B. There must have been a lot of confusion along the way, right? No doubt it gave language doomsayers plenty of fodder. Could you blame any witness to this transition for thinking it was a problem Could you blame him for decrying the ignorance that fueled this change or the chaos that would ensue?

With 700 years' perspective, we know that such doomsayers would have been wrong. The word "girl" as we use it today is perfectly peachy. People aren't confused by it. No one sounds ignorant for using it. Communication hasn't broken down.

In other words, what was once a wrong usage of "girl" is now right. And clearly that's not a bad thing.

When sticklers fuss over "misuse" of words like "literally" and "healthy" and "aggravate," it's because they just don't understand how words change. They don't understand that this evolution is not a bad thing. It just appears bad to anyone who lacks historical perspective.

And nothing proves this as well as a brief history of the word "girl."

Click player above to listen to the podcast

March 10, 2025

Deceptively easy?

Have you ever thought about the word “deceptively”? I hadn’t, until I came across the following in Word Court, Barbara Wallraff’s compilation from her former Atlantic Monthly column.

Here’s what a reader asked her: “A friend and I cannot agree on the meaning of phrases combining ‘depectively’ and a modifier — for example, ‘deceptively easy.’ I contest that something that is deceptively easy is, in fact, easy and is deceptive because it appears difficult. My friend argues that a deceptively easy task is one that appears easy but is difficult. Please help.”

Good one, huh? I always sort of took the former view: that "deceptively" before an adjective means that it has the qualities of that adjective, just it’s hard to see it at first. So someone who talks in a lot of big words but express a simple message is expressing a deceptively simple idea.

Unfortunately, Wallraff reported, it’s not that simple.

“The sad truth is that at this moment in history ‘deceptively easy’ means nothing in particular,” she wrote, citing the American Heritage Dictionary.

Here’s what that dictionary has to say.

“When deceptively is used to modify an adjective, the meaning is often unclear. Does the sentence ‘The pool is deceptively shallow’ mean that the pool is shallower or deeper than it appears?”

Unlike many other dictionaries, American Heritage likes to cite a Usage Panel — a group of esteemed wordy types from all across the word-pushing world — for matters like these. Here’s what American Heritage reported: “When the Usage Panel was asked to decide, 50 percent thought the pool shallower than it appears, 32 percent thought it deeper than it appears, and 18 percent said it was impossible to judge. “

As a result, American Heritage gives this advice, which is basically the same as Wallraff’s: When the context does not make the meaning of ‘deceptively clear, the sentence should be rewritten, as in; The pool is shallower than it looks’ or ‘The pool is shallow, despite its appearance.’”

Click player above to listen to the podcast

March 3, 2025

This 'whom' is a keeper

Sometimes it seems like “whom” should die. It causes so many people so much distress. Not many people know how to use it. And a lot of people who think they know how to use it don’t.

For example, I see "whom" used a lot in ways such as this: “John is a man whom I know will always help us when we need him.” People who know that “whom” is an object figure that, in a sentence like this, it’s functioning as an object of the verb “know.” But it’s not. The object of the verb “know” in this sentence is not a single word but a whole clause “who will always help us.” Clauses need subjects. The verb “help” in this clause needs a subject. So correct here would be the subject pronoun “who”: “John is a man who I know will always help us.”

Sometimes it seems “whom” is just mean. And because it’s fading from all from the most formal uses, it’s tempting to look forward to the day we can bid it good riddance.

But here’s why “whom” is not going to die: in one specific construction, people clearly prefer it.

“I’m spending the day with my sister, with who I share many interests.”

That’s totally unnatural, right? Even in the most casual usage, someone who finds herself hemmed in to a sentence like this is going to say “with whom I share” and not “with who.”

In fact, anytime the pronoun comes immediately after a preposition, people seem to prefer “whom”

with whom

to whom

from whom

True, this situation doesn’t come up much. Casual speech usually sidesteps these constructions, for example by putting the pronoun at the beginning and the preposition at the end (“Who are you going to the movies with” instead of “With whom are you going to the movies”). But in those less-common situations, I don’t see “whom” disappearing anytime soon.

Click player above to listen to the podcast

February 24, 2025

'My boyfriend and I's'?

With all the working from home, cultural divisiveness, addiction to screens and the rise of AI “companions,” humans are becoming ever more isolated. That’s a bad thing. But there’s an upside. As we go through life desperately alone and starved for human contact, at least we’re less likely to make shared possessive errors like this one from a travel post on Reddit: “I bought my boyfriend and I’s tickets at the same time.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen “I’s,” but it’s still a shocker. Who thinks it would be a good idea to say, “That’s I’s car” or “I should get started filing I’s taxes” or “Do these pants make I’s backside look big”? No one.

We all know “I” isn’t used as a possessive. It’s a subject: I have a car. I filed my taxes. I am wearing unflattering pants.

So how do these errors happen? How can we get so confused about a pronoun we all know so well? Human contact. The other person. In the case of that Reddit poster, her boyfriend was the culprit. Had the poor woman flown to Hawaii alone, sure, she would have missed out on a marriage proposal, but at least she would have had the sense to say, “I bought my ticket.”

This error is related to the much more common “with John and I” mistake that, frankly, almost everyone makes. “With” is a preposition, prepositions take objects and “me,” not “I,” is the object form that belongs here: “with John and me.” But “I’s” takes this to a whole new level.

It’s a safe bet that people who misuse “I” labor under the false belief that “me” is incorrect or at least improper when paired with another person. A kid who says, “Billy and me are going to the park” gets corrected pretty swiftly: “It’s ‘Billy and I,’ not ‘me,’” adults tell them. The kid walks away with the lesson that, if he wants to get to the park with the least hassle possible, he should just always use “I.”

On top of all that, we’re not taught how to handle shared possessives. Is it “My boyfriend’s and my” or “my boyfriend and my”? I’ve studied this stuff for years and even I am not comfortable with this.

I know the rules for shared possessives: “Ed’s and Louise’s cars” is correct if they own the cars individually. If they own the cars jointly, it’s “Ed and Louise’s cars.” That’s because the rule says that if possession is shared, Ed and Louise share an apostrophe and s, too. But when people possess things separately, each gets their own apostrophe and s.

That’s an easy rule when you’re working with nouns like Ed, but when you’re working with pronouns like “my,” things get weird. “Ed’s and my cars” is easy enough if Ed and I own our cars separately, but if we share cars, a strict reading of the rules requires us to say, “Ed and my cars.” The absence of an apostrophe and s after Ed’s name strikes me as unnatural. And I don’t hear other people saying “Ed and my …” No matter who owns what, they say “Ed’s and my.”

Other pronouns pose the same difficulty:  If you want to talk about the jointly owned “Ed and Louise’s cars” but you’re using a pronoun for Louisa, you’d get “Ed and her car,” which is unclear and sounds wrong.

In these cases, I openly defy the rule about sharing possession. I say “Ed’s and her cars” no matter whether they own the cars together or separately. As long as I’m not using “I’s,” it’s unlikely anyone will even know if I’m wrong.

Click player above to listen to the podcast

February 17, 2025

'Predominantly' or 'predominately'?

Here’s a word that caught my eye while I was editing an article a while back: predominately.

The context was something like “Brazil is a predominately Portuguese-speaking country.” I didn’t notice the spelling of predominately until my second read.  And spell-checker didn’t notice either.

I quietly congratulated myself for catching the error, changed it to predominantly and continued reading the piece. But a few minutes later, I got the urge to check a dictionary. To my surprise, it was in both Webster’s New World College Dictionary (the dictionary required by the style guide I was using that day) and Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (which is the one I use when I’m editing in Chicago style). Both list predominately as a variant of predominantly.

I understand that the dictionaries’ job is to document usage, but I don’t think I’d ever seen predominately before. Unless this spelling had been slipping unnoticed under my nose for years, I had only ever seen predominantly.

Not that it mattered. In editing, we always use to the dictionary’s preferred forms and never the variants. So predominantly was the right choice for the article.

But the whole thing was pretty surprising — not just that a spelling I’d never noticed before warranted listing in the dictionary, but because it’s a strange one.

Adverbs often derive from adjectives: smart/smartly, nice/nicely, true/truly. So the adverb predominantly makes sense as a form of the adjective predominant. But predominate is a verb, and verbs don’t usually spin off adverb forms: walk/walkly, know/knowly, keep/keeply, dominate/dominately.

Chalk this one up as another example of our ever-surprising language.

Click player above to listen to the podcast

February 10, 2025

Can 'quote' mean 'quotation'?

Years ago, someone told me you can’t use the word “quote” to mean “quotation.” As in, you can’t say, “There aren’t enough quotes in this article.” You have to say, “There aren’t enough quotations in this article.”

I think it came with a little lecture on nouns vs. verbs — that is, that “quote” is a verb, you quote someone, and “quotation” is a noun, you use his quotation. But I’m not sure. It was a long time ago.

When you get a piece of advice like this, the logical thing to do is check it. The answer’s as close as the nearest dictionary. So of course, I didn’t. I just spent the next who-knows-how-many years deleting “quote” and replacing it with “quotation” anytime I was worried who might see it.

There’s an old saying about laziness — something about how it ends up causing you more work. I’m sure I could find it if I tried.

But instead, I’ll spend my one precious bit of energy today looking up “quote.”

Surprise, surprise. In Merriam-Webster’s, Webster’s New World, and American Heritage dictionaries, after its main entry as a verb, it says that “quote” can also be a noun — a synonym of “quotation.”

So all these years I could have been saying, “Let’s add another quote” or “I don’t like this quote” instead of worrying that I’d get rapped on the knuckles for not using “quotation” instead.

What’s that famous quote? “Better late than never”?

Click player above to listen to the podcast

February 3, 2025

Dashes, colons and commas should often be replaced by a period

Are you a dashaholic? It’s a thing, apparently. I’m more of a colon abuser myself: as if everything I write is so important it requires the colon’s drumroll effect. I’ve known more than a few comma junkies, too.

No matter your punctuation poison, there’s an easy antidote. The period. Let’s look at the role of each of these marks and how not to abuse them.

Dashes are widely misunderstood. A lot of people call hyphens dashes. Heck, even I call hyphens dashes when I’m reading my insurance policy number over the phone: “Two, nine, three, dash, one, one, eight.” But in text, dashes are something quite different. Unlike hyphens that connect a word with another word, prefix or suffix, as in “best-dressed,” dashes work at the sentence level — like this.

Dashes have two main jobs. A dash can signify an abrupt change in sentence structure — a shift like this that doesn’t fit with the grammar of the first part of the sentence. Or a dash can work like parentheses — setting off lists, parenthetical information, etc. — when you feel parentheses won’t cut it. Rules for dashes do not say you can use them to join complete clauses — this clause is an example. This is one of the most common abuses of the dash I see — people use them to string together two things that could stand alone as sentences. I suppose a loose interpretation of that “abrupt change in sentence structure” rule makes this OK. But when I’m editing, I make each clause into its own sentence, separating them with a period.

By the way, we’re talking about em dashes, not en dashes, which are shorter, less widely used and have more in common with a hyphen than with a dash. En dashes are often seen in compounds like “post-World War II,” connecting longer names and proper names with prefixes and other words. Dating back to days when newswires couldn’t transmit certain marks, news media have traditionally avoided the en dash and today just use a hyphen instead.

Colons are similar to dashes, just with a little more oomph: They set off an idea from a main sentence, but they suggest a greater emphasis. This can be a single word, as in this Associated Press Stylebook example: “He had only one hobby: eating.” Or one or more complete sentences can follow the colon. If the words that follow the colon don’t make up a complete sentence, don’t capitalize the first letter. But if one or more sentences is introduced by a colon, capitalize the first letter. Never double-space after a colon.

Colons can also introduce examples and lists, as in this sentence from the Chicago Manual of Style. “The watch came with a choice of three bands: stainless steel, plastic or leather.” But never use a colon after the word “including” to set up a list. “The watch came with a choice of four bands including stainless steel, plastic and leather.””

Colons that scream “listen to what I’m about to say” too loudly should probably be replaced by a period. I’ll try to take my own advice on this.

Commas have a lot of jobs, but they can’t connect two independent clauses without an “and,” “or” or “but.” This sentence is an example of a comma splice, you shouldn’t use commas this way.

Technically, a semicolon can link independent clauses. But they shouldn’t because — well, yuck. Semicolons to link clauses make sentences longer and less readable with nothing to gain except a chance for the writer to show off her knowledge of semicolons. Rude.

Dashes, colons and commas have a proper role to play between clauses. But if you’re using them to cram multiple ideas into a single sentence, ask yourself whether a period would make the passage more palatable to your reader.

Click player above to listen to the podcast

January 27, 2025

Don't assume 'each' is the subject of the verb. Sometimes it's an adjective.

OK, fellow wordy types: See if you can spot the grammar mistake I fixed when editing the following sentence.

“Our team wrote, published and promoted a series of 12 human interest stories that each honors a California veteran who has served our country proudly.”

Don’t see a problem? Don’t feel bad. This was a tough one. In this sentence, the verb “honors” should be “honor.”

If you have an advanced understanding of the word “each,” this edit may seem wrong to you. But hear me out, because this isn’t your typical “each.”

Grammar buffs know that “each” is usually singular, which means it gets a singular verb. “Each has its issues.” “Each knows the way.” “Each is better than the last.”

We can also see the singular nature of “each” in sentences like “to each his own.” If “each” were plural, we’d get “to each their own,” which is clearly wrong.

When “each” refers to a unit that contains multiple individuals — for example, a family — it may be more natural to treat “each” as plural: “A number of families will participate and each have their own priorities.” This is called “notional agreement” and it’s a legitimate reason to give “each” a plural verb, according to Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage. Otherwise, if “each” could only be singular, we’d have to write: “A number of families will participate and each has its own priorities.” That could work, too. But you can see how the rule loosens up in these situations.

But that doesn’t explain why I changed “each honors” to “each honor” in our original sentence. To understand why the plural verb “honor” is correct, we have to dive deeper into the word “each.”

Those of us who were taught that “each” is singular didn’t get the full story. That rule deals with only one form of “each” — the pronoun form. But “each” isn’t exclusively a pronoun. It can also be an adjective or an adverb. In those cases, “each” is not the subject of the verb. Instead there’s some other noun or pronoun in the sentence that governs the number of the verb.

Here's an example from Merriam’s: “They each have too many possible meanings.” There’s no disputing the correctness of that verb conjugation. The alternative, “They each has,” is clearly ridiculous. The subject of the verb is “they,” which is plural, and not  “each.”

Another example from Merriam’s:  “If we and our Atlantic community partners each take our respective share.”  The subject here is the plural “we and our partners.” So “its share” or “my share” wouldn’t work. We need the plural “our share.”

Merriam’s says these are examples of “each” as an adjective. That’s not how I see it. To me, these sentences show “each” in its adverb form, describing not the noun or pronoun but the action. In “We and our partners each take,” I see “each” as modifying the verb “take,” which would make it an adverb.

Back to our original sentence: “We wrote, published and promoted a series of 12 human interest stories that each honors a California veteran who has served our country proudly.”

If “each” had been the subject of the verb — “each honors a veteran” — then the singular verb “honors” would be correct. But that’s not how the sentence is structured. Instead, the true subject of the verb is “stories,” plural. The “each” isn’t a pronoun, so it’s not the subject of the verb. We’re not saying “each honors.” We’re saying “stories honor,” which is why I made the edit.

Click player above to listen to the podcast