August 18, 2007.  I believe that everyone who writes sometimes comes up with a phrase or sentence that just doesn't sound right.  Those of us who belong to SNEG (the Society of Nitpickers of English Grammar) may try valiantly to find a grammatical rule that explains why what we've written is wrong, only to discover that no such rule exists.  It is technically correct (no grammatical error), but it's just awkward.  The most constructive approach to this situation is not to waste time seeking (or inventing) a rule to explain what is wrong but to find a workaround – a more graceful way to say what we intend to say, something that won't cause the reader to stumble or compel the reader to re-read what we have written so as to get our meaning.

A simple example is this:  Upon meeting her in person, I was surprised at her being so tall.  OK, the meaning is clear enough, but any sensible (and sensitive) writer or reader will instantly recognize that, though it contains no grammatical errors, the sentence is awkward.  It's probably not what we would say if we were expressing the same thought orally; it sounds unnatural.  What we would more likely say is:  When I met her in person, I was surprised that she was so tall or When I met her in person, I was surprised at how tall she was.  That is what we should write.

This principle is sometimes hard to convey to students in my composition classes.  Naturally, I spend most of our time teaching the rules – the black-and-white extremes of right and wrong.  Correctness is, after all, the minimum requirement for effective writing.  However, when I review students' essays, at least half the red ink marks flaws that are not technical errors but are instances of awkwardness or (another common fault) wordiness.  I've even invented some symbols to mark these weaknesses, such as "BWN" for "Better Word Needed" – the word the student used isn't "wrong," but it is not the best choice in the context.

Students often protest vigorously.  "It isn't wrong," they say, "Why shouldn't I write it that way?"  For example, during a lecture on avoiding wordiness, I stated that "due to the fact that" was a phrase that should almost always be replaced by "because."  One student raised her hand and said, "But 'due to the fact that' isn't wrong, is it?"  She missed the point, and I suspect that she was not alone.  All good writing (excepting the kind of creative writing that takes conscious liberty with the rules) is correct, but not all correct writing is good.

There is such a thing as style, and it's important.  "Style" is not easy to define, but it involves such matters as naturalness and gracefulness (the avoidance of awkwardness), conciseness, and clarity (which is achieved partly via grammatical correctness but also via other means such as careful choice of words).  One of my favorite definitions of style (I don't know the source) is:  "The best words in the best order."  For my students, who have been educated under the "1,000 words or you fail" school of composition, I add ". . . and no unnecessary words."

A footnote:  In an effort to codify style, some people create "nonrules."  The so-called rules not to end a sentence with a preposition or not to split an infinitive are the result of this misguided thinking.  Although preposition-ending sentences and split infinitives are often awkward, avoiding them is sometimes more awkward.  The "rule" here is simple:  If a more graceful option exists, avoid ending a sentence with a preposition or splitting an infinitive; if no such option exists, go ahead (or seek a workaround).

August 21, 2007.  I worked as an editor in a survey research firm for more than twenty years, and opinion polling was part of its business.  Although I wasn't directly involved in the research, I acquired enough knowledge of how polls operate to be skeptical about them.

At the core of public opinion polls is something called statistical probability.  It is usually not possible for pollsters to question all of the people in the group whose opinions they want to discover (in the jargon of the trade, all of the people are the poll's "universe").  Therefore pollsters ask their questions of some of them (a statistical sample).  Probability theory operates on formulas that say that if X people are surveyed in a universe consisting of Y people, the results from the survey will be plus or minus Z percentage points of what the results would be if everyone in the poll's universe had been surveyed.  All sorts of arcane rules are applied, supposedly to ensure that the sample is representative of the poll's universe, but nonetheless the poll results that we read in the newspapers are based on a fraction of the entire population.

For example, recent polls indicate that only about 30% of the American public approve of the job that President Bush is doing.  Now, even if we exclude children and other segments of the population who could logically be disregarded, the "American public" represents well over 100 million people.  The poll, however, surveyed only a small sample of a few thousand people in a random sample.  Even if it was 10,000 (that figure is very high because few polls will come anywhere near that mark) out of 100 million (that figure is way too low), that is only one-tenth of one percent of the total population.  Yet opinion sampling theory would say that a random sample of one-tenth of one percent of a 100 million yields a reasonably reliable picture.

Oddly enough, polls of relatively uncomplicated questions (e.g., approve / disapprove) are reasonably accurate, even with such small samples.  In fact, I believe that, where matters are as clear-cut as this, polls are a waste of time and money.  All one needs to do right now is to walk around and talk to a few people to get a sense that only about a third or fewer are satisfied with the way the government is working.  Any fool can pretty well guess the neither the President nor Congress is in very high esteem.  Nobody but those who are obsessed with statistically quantifying the piblic mood needs a poll.

In less clear-cut matters, I believe that polls are unreliable.  For example, those polls that attempt to predict future behavior (such as how people will vote) are fatally flawed – for many reasons.  One is that people will give definitive answers when they are still essentially unsure of what they will do.  Another is that many people change their minds; they may say they will do something, but they didn't promise that they would.  A third is that the published results of the polls may cause people to change what they do.  In an election, they may be more inclined to vote if the polls report that the person they support is likely to lose by a small margin; conversely, they may stay home if the person they support is predicted to be an easy winner.

In some areas, polls are subject to error because people will give pollsters socially acceptable answers, even though the poll is said to be confidential and private.  It is highly likely that people who have no strong convictions one way or another will automatically give responses that they consider socially acceptable on questions relating to religion or morality.

Another variable that polls do not and cannot take into account is that the responses they get are knee-jerk reactions, especially if the poll is conducted by telephone.  What we say we believe or will do in this rapid-response format may not be what we really believe or will do when we have some time to think about it at length or in depth.  I know for a fact that many marketing surveys about buyers' intentions have run afoul of this phenomenon:  "Would you buy this product if it were offered for $10?"  Instant response:  "Well, yeah, I guess" (recorded as "Yes").  Then, after five minutes' consideration (which is not allowed by the survey), the answer is:  "Well, no, I don't think so."

Public opinion polling – for marketing, politics, and other purposes – has become a multimillion-dollar business.  Yet, even though I worked around the fringes of that business and it helped to put food on my table for many years, I think that the folks who pay for these polls are wasting money.  Of course, the pollsters have done a rather good job of marketing themselves.  I can tell from the seriousness with which people take poll results that a majority of people believe that polls are "very" or "somewhat" accurate, though probably about one-fifth to one-fourth are "somewhat" or "very" skeptical of polls, and about 10% to 15% are unsure.  Of course, if I had money to burn, I could hire a pollster to see if my educated guess is right. 

August 22, 2007.  On a recent shopping trip, I noticed that one store was already selling Hallowe'en candy and other goods.  When I commented on this, my wife noted that Norman's already has its Christmas decorations out.  That led us to thinking that perhaps the retailers should just lump together the three main holidays in October, November, and December:  Hallowe'en, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

We debated what such a composite might be called.  Thanksweenmas?  Christhanksmas?  Hallow Thanksmas?  I think we opted for the last because it sounds better and keeps the holidays in order.

Obviously, retailers would benefit from such a merger of celebrations.  Besides selling trinkets for the separate occasions, they could have new ones that worked for all three – such as witch, pumpkin, turkey, and pilgrim ornaments for the Hallow Thanksmas tree (which could be programmed to change color from black to orange to green).  Possibly we could have one of those inflatable lawn ornaments with Santa Claus driving a pumpkin carriage drawn by eight turkeys (nine, if we count George, the red-nosed turkey).  I'll leave the rest to the marketing geniuses who can persuade millions of people to buy cards to send to people they never talk to.

The holiday would be inclusive.  Such diverse people as devil worshipers, patriots, and Christians could all observe it.  Nobody would get into a twit is someone offered a greeting of "Happy Hallow Thanksmas."

Of course, we would eventually have to include holidays from the earlier part of the year – July 4 or Independence Day, Easter, New Year's – and proably most of the commercially profitable other days – Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, St. Patrick's Day.  I don't know what we'd call it.  Perhaps "Whatever" would do.  We could all wish each other "Happy Whatever," and stores could have Whatever Sales.  Nobody would get upset that marketing for Whatever started way to early because Whatever would be forever.