Moo.

Ignore nay-sayers.

Grammar Rant: Prepositions

original post

I recently went off in someone's comments about this subject, only because two friends of mine and I were having this very conversation the other night. 

Every day, I am more deeply disturbed by the malignant influence high school English teachers, as well as the core curricula (skewed in an effort to meet predetermined scores on standardized tests), have on their students.

From now on, ending a sentence
with a preposition is something
up with which I will not put.
— Sir Winston Churchill (1874-1965)

No doubt you have been taught that ending your sentences in a preposition is one of the seven deadly sins of the English Language that will send you to Grammatical Hell.  Not so!  There is nothing incomplete or unclear about these sentences (in and of themselves, as there are many other ways to slaughter syntax), yet we were taught not only to avoid them, but to work around them in such preposterous ways, that too often, the sentences make less sense after the revision.  For the sake of "formal" writing, the reader is subjected to wordy and pretentious dribble.  It is here where the author has committed the greatest crime in literature and all writing: he has at best, distracted, and at worst, lost, the reader.

Fortunately, whatever body of English gods exist in America has apparently decided that ending a sentence in a preposition is now okay.  Now if we could just get the teachers and professors to leave the word said alone, we'll be on the right course to making communication the purpose of language again.

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current mood:

too busy to give
a proper blog entry

I am an introvert.

There are two problems with this statement. First, according to my Research Methods in Psychology professor, there are not two classes of people (i.e., extroverts or introverts); instead everyone has varying qualities of each, so that a more correct statement might be "My introverted qualities are far greater than my extroverted qualities," or "I am more introverted than most." However, neither of those statements have the right punch. They may be technically true, but because they lack power in their effort to be precise, they suffer in their intended communication. I suspect this phenomenon is what those in the rhetorical world might cite as the difference between fact and truth.

Second, my experiences outside the realm of psychological studies lead me to believe that most people will gravely misinterpret this statement. For example, when I told one fellow scholar I knew myself to be an introvert, she recoiled in contained horror, as if I had just told her I carried the Black Plague, or – I'm sure more accurately to her – that I was a mental and social defect, and possibly dangerous. Lest you do the same, I shall explain the term further.

As human beings, we are, all at once, individual and social, and we struggle (Americans especially, I suspect, as in other individualistic cultures) to balance the lone, esteem-driven conqueror with the connect-connect-connecter between family, friend, work, and group roles. Some people find more joy in that latter state of existence: being around friends and family – socializing – revitalizes them. They would be described as extroverted. For others, social experiences, even with others they know well, can be draining, and they require time left alone to reinvigorate. These would be described as introverted. To put it another way, an extrovert enjoys the company of others and is prone to action; an introvert enjoys the company of her own thoughts and is prone to contemplation. 

While you may say you are definitely one or the other, we are all somewhere along a scale of introversion/extroversion, and we all share characteristics of both extremes at times. If you did not know me, and you watched my behavior, you would say I am an extrovert; however, I would correct you. Social and communicative skills are gained from practice. If you were in my head, you would know:

I am an introvert.

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I had agreed to go to a dinner tonight as the guest of a friend. The dinner was hosted by an organization to which my friend belongs, and he is the only person at the organization with whom I am familiar. An incident earlier in the day (major enough to be emotionally jarring, but minor enough not to produce any physical excuses) made the prospect of putting on my social mask for a gym-full crowd of strangers a source of nausea. I called my friend to back out of the invitation, but he successfully countered me with his own social obligations to the group. Even now as I turn the situation over in my mind, I can see that we were both in the right: each of us had a need, and without a third option as a means of compromise, one of us would have to set our personal desire down for the other. Under the guilt of knowing I was calling last minute, I again agreed to go. And in case you were wondering, yes, my friend is worth it.

I've never been diagnosed with social anxiety disorder, but if you put me in a group of strangers, I will flee if I feel I have that option. I chiseled our parking spot on the stone of my mind and, with an invisible string, tethered myself to the door as we entered. Inside there was enough room to move around, so long as you were alright walking crab-like, sideways between bodies and tables and punchbowls and chairs. Other guests greeted my friend eagerly, then he would reciprocate, and then, as I stood there smiling like a plastic doll, they would turn and tell me how much they've heard about me and how happy they were I'd come. 

I'm ashamed to say I've given far better performances at other social events. I've broken the ice between newly-met families before a friend's wedding, and I've conducted meetings and performed semi-lectures and presentations, each while encouraging my audience to speak and ask questions. Although, I think it's easier for me to force interaction with other students and faculty; I can find some common ground on which to begin discourse. I knew nothing of the crowd at this dinner, except that they liked my friend, and I ought not to do anything that would endanger their opinion of him.

One kind woman did a better job of conversing and asked me about school and where I was from. Had I been a better fit for my own mind, I would have reciprocated the last query at least. Instead, I wrung my hands under the table incessantly, tugging at my tether string just to be sure the door was still there. Discouraged – by my short answers and nervous nature, I'm sure – she turned her attention away from me and back to the guest on her right. I was altogether guilty and relieved. 

About halfway through our meal, I noticed the young girl sitting directly across from me. She was small in her chair – around seven-years-old, maybe? – and I had to lift my head to see hers above the centerpiece. She was preoccupied with the red ribbon she had freed from its employment as a napkin ring. The gentleman to her left gave her his, followed by the woman to my right. I don't know myself where the compulsion comes from, but it seemed so natural to me at that moment to pull at the knot of my own napkin holder, pluck the ribbon loose, and give it to her. My friend followed suit: we passed ours over to her together. It didn't occur to me then that she didn't say thank you to any of us: such social grace is not required of her. And as I watched her gather her offerings, I became aware of my own jealousy. She is free to busy herself in her own world, and no one thinks any less of her. 

I'm reminded of an episode of House, M.D., "Lines in the Sand," in which House says of his autistic patient:

Can you imagine how liberating it would be to live a life free of all the mind-numbing social niceties? I don't pity this kid, I envy him.

I survived the night, but not without feeling like I was about to cry every few minutes. Whenever the terrified critter inside shouted, "Bolt! Bolt!" I wrung my hands again as if to wrestle it down. My friend, whom I'm sure was painfully aware of my state by that time, kept his departing conversations graciously short, and on our way home, he thanked me profusely.

Had that earlier incident not burdened my mind, I might have better handled the evening, and next time I'm in such a situation, I need to make a point to ask my friend what would be the best topics for conversation. I'm by no means incapable of socializing at this level, but tonight was especially low, and I'm relieved to be home with only the company of my thoughts.

And maybe some ribbon to play with.

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current mood:

 

distressed