Pleonasms and Pluvial Pronouncements
Today as we count the dwindling hours until the Autumnal Equinox, it’s 94 degrees and 100% miserable outside. Not exactly pumpkin spice weather, although that doesn’t seem to deter the diehard pumpkin spicers of Instagram. This week’s overwhelming weather news has brought with it an inescapable reminder of the desperate consequences of climate change. For grammar peeves like me, this week’s coverage has been a reminder of the pleonasms that plague our first world conversational habits. You might prefer to call them redundancies but how often do you get to drop a dandy word like “pleonasm” in conversation?
Maybe I’m the only human on this planet who involuntarily identifies parts of speech while watching (i.e., quixotically yelling at) cable news hosts and pundits. It’s important to know that our elected representatives are prudent with their usage of metonymy and synecdoche, although I wish they would lay off the quasi-patriotic abstract nouns spewing forth when they don’t have facts to support the points they're making. (For the record, I also suffer from self-diagnosed involuntary harmonic analysis but that’s a different topic for a different day.)
In the Dark Ages before iPads were a thing, I kept a large Webster’s dictionary on the bedside table in case of a word emergency. In matters of personal safety, I figured it was heavy enough to momentarily distract potential intruders if I hurled a big fat book in their direction. I absolutely cherish my 1990 hardback copy of The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms; it’s tiny but it packs a metaphorical wallop with its reference powers.
I also did a Velveteen-Rabbit-level number on my first copy of Mrs. Byrne's Dictionary of Unusual, Obscure, and Preposterous Words—so much so that I had to keep a rubber band around it and repaginate from time to time when it literally fell apart but who cares. Just reading a dictionary—pretty much any dictionary—is one of my favorite non-contact sports.
I watch ESPN once a year when the exquisitely awkward and frightfully prepped Scripps National Spelling Bee kids are competing in their final rounds. Rationale: If it’s on ESPN, it’s a sport. If my reasoning holds, the Awkward Spelling Bee Children are my favorite team.
How do they train? They memorize thousands of dictionary entries. It takes months and months of practice. It’s grueling. And comical. If you’ve never seen the documentary “Spellbound” (Jeffrey Blitz, 2002), you should. It’s nothing like the Hitchcock film with the same name but it does have plenty of suspenseful moments. (I won’t tell you who wins, but it’s not Harry.)
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And now I’ll demonstrate some adult-ish self-monitoring skills and redirect myself to The Pleonasm.
Some pleonasms are so familiar that we (and by “we” I mean some of us) barely notice. Oldies like PIN number and free gift hardly merit an eye roll anymore. Other thoughtless pairings no longer stop me in my tracks—added bonus, for one. By now—if you’re still reading (thank you)—you’re probably thinking of your own favorites to contribute to the list.
When confronted with our collective linguistic mindlessness these days I find myself nodding slowly with resignation as I involuntarily bite my lower lip. Menu items like naan bread don’t even elicit a gasp—just a sigh. And now I’m reminded that audible gasp is another pleonastic keeper I encountered recently.
Other perennial irritants include:
· [hour] a.m. in the morning
· safe haven
· false pretenses
· exact same
—you get it.
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I initially thought this week’s (tiny) hands down winner in Presidential Pleonasms had to be Mr. Trump's description of Hurricane Florence as “tremendously big,” with an honorable mention for his description of Puerto Rico last year as “an island surrounded by water.”
I was mistaken.
The panel of judges that forever resides in my head has awarded this week’s Presidential Pleonasm Prize to yesterday's rhapsodic video performance wherein Mr. Trump claims that Hurricane Florence is “one of the wettest we’ve ever seen from the standpoint of water.”
Aaaarrrrgggghhhh.
(Take your time, deep breaths—brb after I retrieve my mandible from the floor. Again.)
Watching and listening to this man triggers my English Teacher PTSD, I must admit. His tetchy, inattentive facial expression during the Oval Office FEMA hurricane briefing is that of a high school student for whom the dismissal bell can’t toll soon enough. When he speaks off script, I rage-cringe at the incomprehensible ramblings of the student who believes he can bullshit his way through a long-assigned project presentation he failed to prepare for. Yes, that’s a dangling preposition. Because PTSD is a bitch and swearing is a common symptom. I often wonder if other English teachers share my theory that the occupant of the White House is perhaps the real-life Stradlater from Catcher in the Rye.
***
And now I ask your indulgence as I make a relatively embarrassing disclosure:
In the early weeks of the current administration I thought all those stacked little round things on the table behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office were actually Keurig coffee pods. Now I know they are some kind of shiny badges/magpie bait--but--I can defend my initial findings based on the hospitality aspects of the Trump Brand which surely incorporate coffee pods and Keurig pots in hotel rooms, on breakfast buffets, etc., including the ubiquitous seasonal pumpkin spice.
Happy Autumnal Equinox, everyone.
