“Emergency situation, everybody to get from street.”

I have never quite understood the attraction of the phrase “emergency situation.”  How is that different from an emergency?  Why waste your breath on the extra four syllables?  I suppose it has something to do with people’s desire to use obfuscatory bureaucratese–why say something simply if you can say the same thing in a more obscure and high-falutin’ way?  Maybe it also offers an out if the event turns out not to be quite as dire as expected: “I didn’t say it was an emergency; I just said it was an emergency situation.”

My sense was that the phrase caught on in the past 10-15 years, but the Google Ngram for American usage shows it has been on the rise for a long time and actually peaked in the 1980s:

British English shows a similar pattern, but a lower absolute level of usage.  I wish there was a way to compare the usage of the phrase against just the word emergency.

Prescriptivists may see this usage as more evidence of the decline and fall of the language.  I certainly find it ugly and unnecessary.  Maybe that makes me a prescriptivist.

Here is the funniest use of the word emergency I know of, from the 60s movie The Russians Are Coming The Russians Are Coming, where the Alan Arkin character is trying to coach the crew of his grounded Russian sub to speak a simple English sentence.  I think it might actually be even funnier if he used “emergency situation” instead of “emergency”:

In regards to the language wars

So a woman is applying for a writing job, and we ask her for additional samples. She sends an email that begins:

In regards to your request . . .

I wanted to pound my head against my monitor.  She’s a graduate of an Ivy League university, with years of experience in the writing biz.  But she never got the memo that in regards to is nonstandard.  Of course, plenty of other people haven’t gotten the memo. The usage started taking off around 1990; it’s still in the statistical noise compared to in regard to, but maybe that’s in the process of changing.

Language changes.  People who get too far out in front of the changes may sound illiterate; people who don’t keep up with the changes may sound like pedants.  At work we have our own style guide, where we have to make judgments about this sort of thing.  We certainly wouldn’t allow in regards to, but we’d probably deprecate in regard to as sounding too stuffy and prolix; why not just say concerning or about?  Every company I’ve worked for has preferred data is to data are, in spite of the grammarians’ insistence that data is the plural of datum.  Data are still wins the Ngram Viewer war, but the trend is clearly in favor of data is.

Anyway, what are we to make of The Language Wars, which is clearly on the descriptivist side of the prescriptivist/descriptivist divide?  The New Yorker writer slams the book, but I have a hard time following her argument.  At times, she seems to have read a different book from the one I read.  She says, for example, that Hitchings deplores Modern English Usage, but he does nothing of the sort.  Here is his nuanced judgment:

But while some parts of A Dictionary of Modern English Usage possess an air of both Oxonian grandeur and sub-molecular pedantry, others manifest a striking reasonableness.  He is much more flexible in his thinking than many of his admirers have seemed to imagine…. Many would demur, but Fowler enjoyable comments that ‘good writing is surely difficult enough without the forbidding of things that historical grammar, & present intelligibility, & obvious convenience on their side, & lack only–starch.’

He also quotes at length from Fowler’s wonderful discussion of split infinitives. His judgment of Strunk & White seems equally apt.

My judgment of Hitchings: his book gives a useful historical perspective on usage debates, and his opinions seem reasonable (although see my strongly worded dissent here).  My problem with the book is that it was often too detailed for my taste, or talked about stuff I already knew; so I ended up skimming a lot.

Hitchings is a descriptivist, in the reductive sense that he is describing something.  But theNew Yorkerwriter accuses him of some kind of hypocrisy because he knows and uses the rules he describes:

Having written chapter after chapter attacking the rules, he decides, at the end, that maybe he doesn’t mind them after all: “There are rules, which are really mental mechanisms that carry out operations to combine words into meaningful arrangements.” We should learn them. He has. He thinks that the “who”/“whom” distinction may be on its way out. Funny, how we never see any confusion over these pronouns in his book, which is written in largely impeccable English.

Why is this “funny”?  The rules of English usage are historically contingent; many of them will disappear over time, and new rules will take their place.  But that hardly means that a professional writer can ignore the current state of play.

Jibe talkin’ with honing pigeons

I may not be the world’s best grammarian, but some things just bother me.  Here are two.

“This doesn’t jive with the facts.”  Should be jibe, right?  Jibe is pretty much only used in this idiom, and I suppose people don’t really know the word, mishear it, and end up thinking it’s jive. People also tend to misspell gibe (meaning a taunt) as jibe.

“He honed in on the central problem.”  Should be homed instead of honed, right?  Like homing pigeons.  In this case, honed makes a bit of sense, since to hone something is to sharpen it, and maybe you could think of the idiom as one of sharpening something to a point, rather than aiming for a target.

Anyway, language is always changing.  And the nice folks at Google have given us a way of tracking these changes via the Ngram Viewer, which is simply the most awesome time-waster ever.  Here we see the history of “doesn’t jibe with” vs. “doesn’t jive with” in American books from 1800 to 2000 (click the link to see a bigger version):

The data shows that “doesn’t jibe with” starts taking off around 1900, and “doesn’t jive with” doesn’t show up until the 1970s.  My guess is that the slope of “doesn’t jive with” has gone up considerably since 2000, when the Google data ends.

Here we see what’s going on with “home in on” vs. “hone in on”, again in a couple of centuries’ worth of American books:

In this case, nothing much was happening with “home in on” until the late 50s, and “hone in on” followed about 20 years later.  Both have exploded in popularity since then.

You can also change the corpus.  If we look at British English instead of American English, we  see that both phrases started up about 20 years after the American version, and “home in on” is still much more popular:

I wonder why.  Was Britain picking up the American idiom?

Anyway, I could keep doing this all night!  But instead, let’s listen to the Bee Gees.  Can anyone tell me what the time signature is here?  It’s a pretty complicated rhythm for a pop song.