There are many resources available on the Internet that provide tips and tricks on how to avoid offending…well…anyone. In our attempt to avoid offending Person A, sometimes we inadvertently offend Person B. Or sometimes in our attempt to avoid offending Persons A and B, we created a cumbersome and ill-constructed sentence.

The purpose is to avoid drawing attention to the potentially offensive word, phrase, item, or pronoun. Constructing a convoluted or extra wordy sentence results in the obvious; drawing the reader’s attention to the problem phrase, leaving the reader to momentarily wonder why the author chose that strange combination of words. Notice I said momentarily. The reader will, no doubt, quickly ascertain what was the offending terminology the author so painstakingly tried to mask.

An example of a cumbersome construction is the ever unpopular he/she or him/her combo. Not surprisingly, most attempts at avoiding bias revolve around gender terminology. It is said there is much debate on this topic of gender specific or gender neutral job titles in the context of professional writing. This is not so. Now, as you know, I am not a terribly politically correct individual, and I certainly am not offended by any reference to a gender specific term. Go ahead, say waiter—whatever. However, I cannot see good reason in any professional forum to refer to a waiter or waitress, stewardess or steward, when there are perfectly good substitutes available, and when there is no need whatsoever to proffer to the reader the gender of the subject being discussed, when the intent was to refer to the population in general, not one sex or the other. If someone can offer up a good reason why I should use a masculine term to refer to both men and women when I have an acceptable term that refers to both men and women (other than just because we’ve been too sloppy to do it any other way up until now), then I’m all ears—make that eyes. This isn’t about politically correctness or being offended, at least not for me. This is about right and wrong. To say waiter, when an author is speaking of a hypothetical person that could be either man or woman, it is a mistake, plain and simple. Server is acceptable. Or waitstaff if the author is speaking in the plural. It really is that cut and dry. There should be no debate on the issue when it is a matter of right and wrong.

Now, I will qualify by saying that because of where us thieving Americans got our hodgepodge of words, there is not always an acceptable alternative for the masculine words. In that case, you options are a.) spend ten minutes rewriting one sentence to avoid the term altogether, b.) write an awkward sentence, c. ) choose a title that is close in meaning, or d.) you can leave it. Leaving it cannot be deemed wrong if there is no suitable alternative.

Many gender-specific terms involve job titles. Here are a few less-cumbersome substitutions that should not only prevent offense, but should keep publishers happy and without drawing attention to the potential offense.

Job Titles

Job titles should be gender neutral (except when referring to military personnel, for which job titles ending in “-man” are still used to refer to male and female subjects). Some job titles, although they do not necessary specify a gender, are considered taboo because they merely imply a specific gender. An example of this would be secretary.

The gender-specific job titles are perfectly acceptable if referring to a specific person whose gender is already known and relevant to the subject matter. For example, you clearly know who I am, and telling you that I used to be a waitress is perfectly fine. Aside from being a blatant lie, me saying I am a poetess rather than a poet is also fine, in fact accurate, if not pretentious. However, a few job titles have negative connotations regardless of the accuracy and specificity of the context and should be avoided in all circumstances such as stock boy and secretary (as in the case of an administrative assistant capacity. Secretary-general is perfectly appropriate.).

It really is another one of those stupid phrases that someone came up with to avoid the perception of swearing.

“What in the Sam Hill” is a euphemism for “What in the….,”well… you fill in the blank.

So who is this Sam guy, and how did he get swapped out for the word “hell”? Well, nobody knows for sure, but it happened sometime in the 1700s, and all I know is that I wouldn’t want that to be me. What in the Juli Geiger?

That would make me super sad.

There are a lot of suppositions and guesswork as to how it started. But I’m not all about suppositionings. (That is not a word but I like it). I’m a fact girl. And the fact is, no one knows anything for sure other than someone has been saying it since sometime in the 1700s.

The other thing I know is that it means “What in the hell?”

And that pretty much sums up all I know on the subject – and that’s just the way it is.

When I was growing up, we all had CB radios in our cars—make that trucks. Hey, I’m not terribly old, but I did grow up in the middle of nowhere, well before satellite television and cell phones.

As children, we all loved talking on the CBs and all had handles (for those of you who are not CB savvy, this is a nickname that you use on the radio to identify yourself). Today, truckers still use CB radios to communicate, and shortwave radios are still common in military and airline applications.

Well, in the shortwave world, roger is used as an acknowledgement of a receipt of a message (do not acknowledge my overuse of prepositions there); usually instructions or an order. Long ago (like, way back to 1940), roger was the original word used as a stand in for the letter r in the phonetic alphabet, and this r stood for received. Roger that?

In the late 1950s, someone made the braniac move of changing the phonetic alphabetic designation for the letter r to romeo. Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou, Romeo? Sorry…. Where was I? This was like Coke’s Coke-to-New Coke blunder. And although the alphabet was changed, the powers-that-be knew better than to try to change the callout for received, and so roger stuck. Trusty ol’ Roger.

So what about roger, Roger?

Well, remember that stupid movie (don’t argue with me) Airplane from the ’80s? (Nothing good ever came from the ’80s, so it’s always safe to say, “remember that stupid ____ from the 80s?) If you remember, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar played a co-pilot named Roger Murdock. Now you can almost see what’s coming, can’t you? Roger Murdock says something…..Captain Oveur responds with none other than “Roger, Roger…” get it? HA HA HA

There are other sad plays on words, such as [what's your] vector/Victor, clearance/Clarence.

So literally, roger, roger is Roger (received), Roger (person’s name, i.e., Roger Murdock).

Another word play gem from this movie, which my husband loves to torture me with is:

“Surely, you can’t be serious. I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley.” Sadly, this was voted as the #79 movie quote out of 100 by the American Film Institute. (He omits the first part, and recites the “and don’t call me Shirley” part, to the point where I have all but eliminated the word surely from my vocabulary so he does not have the opportunity to respond this way.)

Although I was saddened by the American voting-public’s over ranking of such a cheap and witless phrase next to classics such as #61 “Say hello to my little friend!” (Scarface) and #51 “You’ve gotta ask yourself one question: ‘Do you feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, punk?” (Dirty Harry), and #2 “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.” (The Godfather), it was not nearly as disappointing as the presence of #98 on the same list “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” (Dirty Dancing). Now that is just insulting.

Well, I’m a lady, so I guess there’s me. But that’s because I don’t object to being called a lady. The politically correct freight train has stopped at the town of FemiNazi yet again, this time warping the great editorial minds of the Chicago Manual of Style. Even the NY Times hesitates to use the dreaded and horribly disparaging word…..lady. ACK! The new four-letter word. Can you imagine the horrible insult of being called such a wretched thing?

Bother. I’m insulted that you (whoever you are) are insulted. The CMS approves of the use of the word (or variant) of the word lady in this context only:

 In a formal address such as in ladies and gentlemen.

It chastises the use of the term lady in conjunction with job titles, the insinuation being that it highlights the unprestigiousness of the job, or when used adjectively, calls attention to the fact that the job is held by a lady, and as such, is meant to be condescending.

Example 1: lunch lady, cleaning lady

Apparently they forget First Lady, which, to the best of my knowledge has always been quite prestigious. I wonder how many FemiNazis have sent the First Lady a letter explaining that she ought to be offended. And I wonder if she would be less offended if her title were to be changed to First Woman?**

You fools. You know how everyone precursors words that might sting with something about taking the gloves off? Well, I don’t wear gloves to begin with, so let’s not pretend I have to take them off. Let me repeat—you fools. The condescending and potential offense isn’t in the word lady. As shown by the difference between cleaning lady and First Lady (note the difference in caps as well), one is disparaging and one is not due to the nature of the job title, yet both are followed by the same benign term—lady. And for the record, there is nothing to disparage about either the lunch lady or the cleaning lady. I loved the lunch lady and Adam Sandler even wrote a very lovely song about the lunch lady. And if I could afford a cleaning lady, I would so do that, although I think I would clean my house before she came because I clean my house before people come over (and only then), and so then I ask myself what would be the purpose of hiring a cleaning lady? Cleaning ladies rock, though, and it is as noble of a profession as any other. (And they would do a much better job than my kids would do, I’m sure.)

I am not suggesting that authors or journalists should use such terminology in their works (although there may be instances where this may be appropriate). And I’m certainly not condoning the use of such phrases as lunch lady as a proper job title if you are a business owner. What I’m saying is, if you are a lady and you work in a lunch line, and some 12-year-old boy calls you “the lunch lady,” get over it. If Adam Sandler writes you a love song titled “Lunch Lady,” be flattered instead of offended.

Example 2: lady driver, lady doctor

Apparently, they forget Lady Diana. Whoops. Again, I wonder who told her that her royal title was indeed a gender biased term. Silly girl.

And yet again, I say the condescension here isn’t in the word lady, it’s in how it was meant. This one, however, is a bit more of a stretch than the previous one to defend. If I were to use the phrase lady driver, unless I’m referring to Nascar, you can guess that I am referring to the well-known stereotype that ladies are poor drivers (sic). If I were to say lady doctor, this may be perfectly innocent, and I likely was born before 1950, and possibly grew up somewhere in the Bible Belt. (That is not a stereotype, it is a statistical probability.) Again, I do not recommend this use in formal publications, but in colloquial English, there is no reason to just assume this is a disparaging remark. In fiction, I would leave it in if appropriate. In a technical work, I would likely edit this use out.

Now we come to the contentious point. This is where Juli takes issue with the CMS (is it okay to refer to yourself in the third person?). The CMS warns (they use the word forewarn) against using the word lady to describe a refined woman. What, you say? That is one of the proper definitions of the word. And when I am describing this refined woman, why would it be less disparaging to say refined woman than it would be to say lady?

This, my dear bloggers, is nonsensical. In no circumstance would I edit this use out of any technical work, any academic work, or any work of fiction. This is just silly.

It’s good enough for Princess Diana and it’s good enough for Laura Bush. Therefore, it’s got to be good enough for me. And ladies, if you take issue with being referred to as a refined woman, then you do in fact, have issues, and I’ve got to wonder if you just ran out of battles to fight.

There are starving children in some third world countries if you want to take up a noble cause?

And that’s the way it is.

-Juli

**

I always picture women as opposed to ladies as being larger in size, is that wrong of me?—for this reason alone I’d rather be considered a lady. This must have something to do with “women’s sizes,” which are typically larger. I wonder who came up with that terminology and if anyone was offended by that brainiac and politically correct move. Why not keep the sizes in the same department, but just keep the numbers going up? Why do they need a separate department? Similarly, the smaller sizes are found in the “Misses” department. That label makes absolutely no sense, just so everyone is clear. I’m glad I got that out there, because I feel better now.

It really is a compulsion on my part. I cannot be stopped.

So what does that silly word mean, anyway? Well, obviously we all know what it means… it means, “Hey look what I did!” Or, “Here I am!” or something similar. It’s a corny way of introducing yourself, according to the Urban Dictionary (don’t ever use that to cite anything). Except they didn’t use the word “corny.” The Urban Dictionary also said it was German, meaning the same thing. Idiots. It’s not German, although they use it too, but they’ve robbed us. Not like we haven’t robbed plenty of their words. We’ll share.

What I meant was, where did it come from? Because it isn’t in any reputable dictionary. Online, it is misrepresented as ta-da. (It isn’t hyphenated.) How, you ask, do I know it isn’t to be hyphenated if it isn’t in the dictionary? Well, my bloggers, it is because it is a musical term, and I am but a musically inclined person.

The word is onomatopoeic, and stems from the sound one must make when playing a trumpet, specifically while tonguing the notes. The ta da sound would be a double-tonguing sound, some say triple tonguing, although that is sometimes described as ta da ka or ta da ga. Of course, neither of those is packaged as neatly.

So how did we evolve to using the ta da phrase to mean, “Look what I’ve done, aren’t I brilliant?”

The ta da came to be by mimicking the end of an actual trumpet-played fanfare. Try to mimic a trumpet sound at home to the fanfare of your choosing. It’s fun, and it sounds remarkably similar to ta da.

Enjoy!

Juli

So just a quicky this time; I am busy working on a climate change Copenhagen thingy. Sounds important, I know, but trust me—so is hasenpfeffer.

So I was taking a break from my Copenhagen-talk thing, and was reviewing the table on the Indo-European languages in my dictionary. (I always use Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, 11^th ed., unless I’m editing in UK English—but the American Heritage Dictionary has a much better graph of the Indo-European languages. If you are editing for a US publication, DO NOT go for Oxford unless they cater to an international audience and specifically request it, or unless it is for a specific college class and your professor specifies this is the reference he/she requires [thoughtless decision unless you attend an international university].) Where was I? Oh yeah, the language table…so after I was done scanning the languages for the regions of the world (I’d like to be able to remember which dialect of each language is spoken in each region of the world someday), I began scanning the dictionary haphazardly. Yeah, I do that too. I got through the Hs, and came across hasenpfeffer.

Isn’t that a great word? Hasenpfeffer!

Of course, my thoughts immediately ran to Laverne & Shirley, then to Wayne’s World (in the movie, they did a spoof of Laverne & Shirley). Then, all that stuck in my head was Schlemiel! Schlimazel! So much so, that I couldn’t get it out of my head, and felt compelled to blog it.

So here we are. Hasenpfeffer is a spicy (peppered: pfeffer) rabbit (Hase: hare) stew. It’s German. Schlemiel and Schlimazel, on the other hand, is Yiddish. In short, they are both descriptive terms for goofy bumbling idiots.

It is rumored that although (Carole) Penny Marshall did not write the theme song, she had her hand in the opening lines, and that as a child, she cited the hopscotch-ish phrase “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—Schlemiel! Schlimazel!” This is not substantiated, and normally I would say most unbelievable since Ms. Marshall, growing up in the Bronx, descended from an English/Scottish mother and Italian father.

I haven’t memorized all my dialects/regions yet, but at first glance, I was pretty certain that the Italians speak Italian, and that the English speak English, and that the Scotts, besides having ridiculously thick accents, speak Scots or Scottish Gaelic. But then, you know, I learned of this interesting hybrid language of Lowland Scots and Yiddish. Yeah, no kidding. What are the odds? Yiddish is like, spoken by…maybe 20 percent of the Jewish population in Moldova, and maybe 6 percent of the population in Israel at best. In New York, maybe 120,000 Jewish residents speak Yiddish. Keep in mind that the New York metropolitan area houses the largest Jewish population outside Israel, with an estimated 1.97 million as of 2001.

So there is this poet, A.C. Jacobs [not to be confused with Marc Jacobs, who I love oh so dearly], who was oddly born in Glasgow. He describes his language as Scots-Yiddish. What, you say? (I said that, too!) Apparently, much of his poetry was just recently translated. He traveled a lot (no doubt, or why would a Glasgow resident speak an odd combo of Scots-Yiddish?), and lived in…get this…Israel, Scotland, Italy, London, and Spain, where he eventually died in 1944. He published four books, two translated from Hebrew. 

There are others who claim that their language is Scots-Yiddish. Immediately preceding WWI, non-English-speaking Jewish immigrants would converse in Yiddish with Scots-speaking residents with a mutual understanding. The younger generation growing up in the 1920s and 1930s were not as apt to speak it, although they knew it. Thought to have originated in Edinburg, Scotland, this practice was essentially a class divide between two parts of the community; on the one hand a well-educated people who desired both Orthodox Rabbinical and secular thinking. On the other, a Yiddish-speaking group more comfortable maintaining the Eastern European-ghetto lifestyle. By the late 20th century, the majority of the Yiddish population had switched to English. As such, the Yiddish-Scots hybrid remained specific to the middle part of this period.

Where was I going with this? Oh, so, it is possible that Ms. Marshall came up with the rhyme, because it is possible that her mother, being of Scottish descent, spoke Yiddish-Scots. It is also possible that being in New York, Ms. Marshall was around other Yiddish-speaking persons, it being the most likely place to hear such a language, statistically speaking. Do you see how valuable this language information can be? Aren’t you glad you know such things? Now, onto schlemiel:

More specifically…

Schlemiel is defined as a habitual bungler, or a dolt.

Schlimazel is defined as a born loser.

However, one cannot exist without the other. A schlimazel cannot be accurately described without describing a schlemiel. Perhaps similar to a yin/yang scenario.

Here are further descriptions:

A schlemiel always spills his soup—

A schlimazel is the one on whom it always lands.

A schlimazel’s toast always falls butter-side down—

A schlemiel always butters his toast on both sides.

So, before you decide which one you are, you must also decide: Who is your other half?

So perhaps that wasn’t so quick—sometimes I get a little carried away. Be thankful we are not face-to-face after having asked me a question! At least this way, you can always hit the back button, or you can always disconnect.

TADA!

Juli

In a recent post (See Are You Politically Correct), I used the phrase knock it off. In doing so, I mentioned that we would discuss the origin of this phrase later in another blog.

Now is that time.

The word knock has many meanings and derivations. You can knock someone cold; to knock them cold you can deliver a knockout punch to the temple. (But that is not nice at all.)

 You can knock someone’s socks off (this is a good thing), you can be knock-kneed (a bad thing), or engage in a knock-down, drag-out debate (Bill Gates and his MSWord creation disagree with my spelling of this, although I assure you that I am correct) over the new world order. But, what you have just engaged in would be considered a knock-down-drag-out. [Being ever so careful to note the distinction in hyphenation and comma usage between using this as an adjective and using this as a noun.] It is also correct to say knock-down-and-drag-out debate (adjectively). Mr. Gates approves of this version, or so it would appear. Awwww… shucks. Thanks, Bill! (Hey, shall we talk about shucks next?)

You can knockabout Europe if you are the adventurous type (I guess you cannot be considered adventurous if you also reside in Europe…come now…). During your travels, you can buy a knockoff handbag (I prefer Coach, although none of mine are knockoffs. Shut up—they are not) and knock back a few drinks (like fruit juice or soda or something else benign).

·         You can give someone a knockout drug (fondly called roofies, or more appropriately Rohypnol, or for the more medically fluent, flunitrazepam)—again, this is not nice.

·         You can knock someone out with your good looks—good

·         You can be a knockout—good, pertaining mostly to those of the feminine persuasion.

·         You can knock someone out with your fist—bad (knock out in boxing is short for knock out of time), at least for the one being knocked out. Potentially bad for the one doing the knocking out, especially if there are witnesses. Witness or no, very naughty for the one delivering the knockout.

·         You can knock someone off, as in killing them—death sentence carrying. On the naughty scale, this is much further down the scale.

·         You can knock over a gas station with a Tech-9 and steal all their money—felonious. On the naughty scale, this lies* somewhere in between the knockout and the knock off.

·         You can knock on wood when you are glad something didn’t happen, and so you say so, and now that you said so, you are afraid what you were glad didn’t happen might actually happen—wasted energy. (I think I expended a lot of energy just explaining that one!)

·         You can knock sense into someone when that someone is being particularly stupid—usually good, except there never seems to be an end to the stupid supply. You could grow very tired of this.

·         You can knock the stuffing out of someone—meant to be bad, I think. In reality, quite silly. Who is filled with stuffing? I’m certainly not; I checked.**

·         You can knock ‘em dead, like while performing—very good, assuming you’re capable.

·         You can knock off for the day when you are tired and want to go home—lazy.

·         Your engine can develop a knock—bad, especially when you are a broke teenager; just ask my daughter.

·         You can knock on someone’s door to see if they are home—good, but only if you’ve called ahead, otherwise, very rude.

·         You can knock over your glass and spill something on yourself—klutzy.

·         You can knock up someone—okay if you live in the UK and you need to speak with someone urgently; horribly unwise and uncouth in the United States unless you are married and want to start a family (in which case, your wife would probably prefer that you use different terminology to spread the good news).

·         You can try a knockwurst sandwich—brave.

·         I could knock this off right now—no fun.

The term knock off has but one etymology (of course), but two common ones are thrown about as the possible origins.

The first theory is that the phrase was originally a nautical term. It stemmed from a time when galleys would row to the rhythm of mallets pounding on blocks. Thump…thump….thump. This ensured everyone was rowing in unison. The order “knock off,” was a command for the knocking to cease, thus the rowing to cease. This brings us to how we use the word today, when we use it to tell someone to stop doing something.

The first supports this use, meaning to finish for the day, and is documented in William Russell Clark’s An Ocean Tragedy, 1890:

“We were forced to knock off through sheer fatigue.”

A second meaning – to work quickly and complete a task emerged by the early 19th century. Here is an example from Thomas Love Peacock’s novel Melincourt, 1817:

“He had to dispose of a christening, a marriage, and a funeral; but he would knock them off as fast as he could.”

A third meaning, to steal, originated about a century later. This is recorded in The Athenaeum, in 1919:

“A curious term used by a Tommy in ‘explaining’ his deficiencies of kit, is ‘Someone knocked it off’ for ‘Someone pinched (or made away with) it’.”

Yet another theory seems a little more convoluted, yet is substantiated. Here, the phrase knock it off refered to a situation where two boys were insistent on fighting. A chip would be placed on the shoulder of one boy, and the other boy was instructed to knock it off at his own risk. (Also the origin of the phrase chip on one’s shoulder.) This is also substantiated by actual documentation of its use in the following manner:

   In 1830, The Long Island Telegraph newspaper of New York printed this:

“When two churlish boys were determined to fight, a chip would be placed on the
shoulder of one, and the other demanded to knock it off at his peril.”

The Onondaga Standard of Syracuse, New York, 1830:

“‘He waylay me,’ said I, ‘the mean sneaking fellow — I am only afraid that he will sue me for damages. Oh! if I only could get him to knock a chip off my shoulder, and so get round the law, I would give him one of the soundest thrashings he ever had.’”

And again, in 1855, The Weekly Oregonian printed this, relating to both the phrase chip on his shoulder and knock it off.

“Leland, in his last issue, struts out with a chip on his
shoulder, and dares Bush to knock it off.”

And that, my beloved, is the etymology of the phrase. Now you can sleep tonight.

*perhaps we will do a little lay/lie exercise next? Or does that sound unexciting?

**DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT check to see if you are stuffed. This is a disclaimer, warning, or whatever, for those of you who did not understand that I was joking, and in no way meant that I actually opened myself up to check to see if I had stuffing inside myself. Even before biology class, I believe I was well aware (probably from ripping off a frog’s leg or shooting a bird or other horribly uncharitable act) that living creatures are not stuffed. DO NOT try to prove this theory at home. Comprende? If you have any questions about what is inside you, please seek medical (read: psychiatric) attention immediately. Your doctor’s number is 911.

Juli

As you may or may not know, one of my specialties as a copy editor is removing bias from writing. This entails removing potentially offensive terms from writings such as jeepers creepers. Potentially offensive? Yes, potentially offensive. You can say, jeez, or geez, or gee whiz, or jeepers, or jeepers creepers. But let’s call it what it is. You are essentially saying Jesus Christ without actually saying it. Are there more, you ask? Yeah, like saying gosh instead of God. That would be a handy dandy little euphemism that someone came up with way back in the mid 1700s. I guess someone realized much sooner that it was unwise to take God’s name in vain, although I’m not sure one is better than the other.

One could argue that you are not taking God’s or Jesus’ name in vain–technically. And true, you are not. But come now, let’s not split hairs. Do you let your children say frickin’? (Or the latest version, thanks to Battle Star Gallactica—frackin’?) If not, why not? Because you know what it’s super close to….? It’s slowly becoming more acceptable, but six or seven years ago, that word was still considered abhorrent.

Perhaps you are thinking that the term jeepers creepers is unlikely to cause offense because most people don’t know the origin of the word, or because they don’t know it’s true euphemistic meaning. Well, I do not mean to cause offense, but just because you are unaware of its origin doesn’t mean everyone is.

And that, my friends, is why the world has copy editors. Writers are a special breed. They focus on style and content and they work at perfecting that skill.

Copy editors, on the other hand, study ridiculously random things like the history of jeepers creepers and thousands of other biased terms, so that when writers send their brilliantly written work to them, they can send it back to the writer with a note stating how they should not alienate any portion of their audience with such offensive terms.

And that, my dear blogging friends, is just the way it is.

I suppose all of the above, depending on the user and the circumstance.

How so, you ask?  

Using a contraction is ignorant when:

1) You are writing for a formal publication, formal business E-mail, or other professional correspondence, and are oblivious that a contraction is shorthand for the real thing. In other words, you have no idea that “can’t” is short for “cannot.”

2) You unknowingly use a contraction incorrectly. For example, you write, “Lets go to the store,” when you really  mean, “Let us go to the store.” Properly contracted, of course, it is, “Let’s go to the store.” Even when you see both, you cannot make the distinction.

Using a contraction is efficient when:

You use it in informal correspondence—even in some business correspondence that is informal, despite naysayers; in informal Web, advertising, and billboard copy; anything handwritten (implies informality by its nature); blog copy (ha!); Internet chatting; works of fiction; and even some nonfiction. It saves time, space, and characters. It allows readers to read as they speak, therefore increasing reading speed and ease—it’s pleasant. (Rather than “it is pleasant,” which is somewhat stuffier and takes the brain a millisecond longer to process.)

It is just plain lazy when:

a) you know a contraction is inappropriate for the given context, and b) you use it anyway to save yourself a keystroke.

It is just plain sloppy when:

a) you know the difference between “lets” and “let’s” and “whose” and “who’s” but you are too careless to look over your handiwork (or lack of handiwork) to make sure you haven’t confused one for the other.

As such, you have just inadvertently told the person with whom you are corresponding that they are not worth it. (Don’t worry, I’m sure they won’t take it personally.) This also applies to the “just plain lazy” issue described above (and translates to being well groomed, having good manners, and other niceties.) 

Allow me to explain: If I came to visit you and I hadn’t brushed my hair or teeth, would you think that I cared much about you? What does that tell you about how important you are to me? If I went to visit the President, how much time do you think I would invest in my appearance? A bit more? (I think I would brush my teeth at a bare minimum.) The same is true for writing. Before sending an E-mail to the President, I would reread it. I would make sure everything was spelled correctly. And I would do those things because it’s just good manners. This tells him that he is important to me and that I care (less so than about the former president, but I still care), because he is a very important man. If I sent an E-mail to you, do you deserve one of lesser quality? Well, maybe, since you are not the leader of the free world, but is it polite for me to insinuate that by making my E-mail look as if I typed it in 2.5 seconds, full of crazy contractions, abbreviations, misspellings, and misused words? Not nice, I say! In fact, it’s just plain rude. My mom raised me to be a lady, and a lady spells things correctly (and brushes her teeth and wears mascara–always).

And people, that’s just the way it is.