Posts filed under 'perplexing pairs'
January 12th, 2010
“Ridden” is the past participle of the verb “ride”:
“He still rides a bus to work. He has ridden one for 30 years.”
As an adjective, “ridden” means “dominated or obsessed (by the thing specified).” It’s used in combinations, such as “guilt-ridden,” “fear-ridden,” “debt-ridden.”
Similarly, the combining word “laden” (”flower-laden,” “doom-laden”) is used to convey “filled, covered, permeated or burdened with.” One might say, for example, that U.S. policy since Sept. 11, 2001, has been Osama bin Laden-laden. And no, it’s not funny.
In contrast, the verb “riddle” means “to make many holes in,” “to find and show flaws in” or “to affect every part of.”
Buildings in a war zone are bullet-riddled. Reports are sometimes riddled with errors.
Notice that something that’s “ridden” is essentially intact but has taken on an additional burden. However, something that’s “riddled” is usually full of holes, literally or figuratively.
January 6th, 2010
There was recent confusion on this, when a football team was referred to as a ship that had hit an iceberg and “floundered.”
The noun “flounder” is a fish. The verb “flounder” means “to struggle awkwardly to move, as in deep mud or snow; plunge about in a stumbling manner.”
This could certainly describe a struggling football team’s woeful efforts, but not when it’s being compared to a ship. A ship in trouble can “founder” — “to fill with water, as during a storm, and sink.”
Applied to things other than ships and boats, to founder is “to break down; collapse; fail.”
Something that’s floundering is still making some effort, even if inelegantly. Something that’s foundered has stopped moving altogether.
How to keep them straight? Once again, I bow to the great Daffy Duck, who says of a foe temporarily knocked unconscious:
“He’s colder than a foundered flounder.”
For now, th-th-that’s all, folks!
January 29th, 2009
We interrupt our regularly scheduled blogging to bring you this language bulletin:
A new comment on an old entry asks “Is it ‘low-laying island’ or ‘low-lying island’? Why?”
Rather than just respond to the old one, I’m making a new one.
First, the correct phrase is “low-lying island.” The island is in a low horizontal position: That’s “lying.”
“Laying” requires an object: The island would have to be putting something else in a low position.
At the risk of adding to the confusion, I feel obligated to mention that “lay low” and “lie low” are established idiomatic phrases, but they have specific meanings.
To “lay low” is “to cause to fall by hitting” or “to overcome or kill.” It can be used figuratively for making someone feel low, in the same way that a “low blow” doesn’t have to be physical.
To “lie low” is “to keep oneself hidden or inconspicuous” or “to wait patiently for an opportunity.” For example, “Let’s lie low until this thing blows over.”
The second is fairly common. Unfortunately, there’s a better than even chance that when you encounter it, it is misused as “lay low.”
To “lay” is to put or place something. Unless that’s the intended meaning, the correct word is probably “lie.”
December 30th, 2008
The word “alternate” comes from the Latin notions of “to do by turns” and “one after the other.”
To be precise in English, “alternate” should preserve this idea of taking turns, like “alternating current.” As a verb, for example: “Good times alternate with bad.” As an adjective: “The American flag features alternate stripes of red and white,” or “The board meets on alternate Mondays.”
As a noun, an “alternate” is a substitute.
When the idea you want to convey is a choice, use “alternative”: “alternative route,” “alternative school,” “alternative lifestyle,” “you give me no alternative.”
So, can there be more than two alternatives? According to “Right, Wrong, and Risky” by Mark Davidson, purists say no, insisting that an alternative must be one of “two mutually exclusive possibilities.” To avoid criticism from such folks, you should use “choices,” “options” or “possibilities” when there are more than two.
The looser usage is gaining support, however, so you’ll have plenty of defenders if you go with multiple alternatives. Just don’t use “alternates.”
December 9th, 2008
A “flounder” is a type of flatfish. In fact, there are two families of flounder.
As a verb, like a fish out of water, to flounder is “to struggle awkwardly to move; plunge about in a stumbling manner,” or “to speak or act in an awkward, confused manner, with hesitation and frequent mistakes.”
Delete the “l” and you have the verb “founder,” which is “to become stuck; bog down” or “collapse; fail.” As an extreme example, a ship founders when it takes on water and sinks.
As long as the struggle continues, it’s floundering. When all is lost, it’s foundered.
As a noun, a founder can be “a person who founds, or casts, metals, glass, etc.” — think “foundry worker.”
The other type of “founder” is a person who establishes something, like one of the Founding Fathers.
Adding to the mix, “found” is the past tense and part participle of the verb “find.” Columbus might claim he found America. The writers of the Constitution founded America.
November 16th, 2008
Earlier in the week I promised “Judy” that I would blog about “good” and “well.” Then the Internet went down. But now it’s back, and so am I.
As for her specific example of “you done good,” I have been known to say that myself, but only for comic effect — because it’s dreadfully wrong. (If you hope to be funny when saying things like that, be sure of your audience.)
However, if you use the right verb tense, it can be correct to say “you did good,” if the praise is for a deed that benefits others. This is where the informal “do-gooder” comes from.
“You did well” means something else: The praise is then directed at the performance, not a result of it.
My sons do well in school. As Boy Scouts, they also get to do good.
Most problems with “good” (an adjective) and “well” (usually an adverb) arise with the use of “linking verbs” (also called “copulative”), principally “be,” “become,” “appear,” “seem,” “feel,” “sound,” “taste,” and sometimes “get” and “grow.”
The usual examples involve “feel”:
“I feel good” and “I feel bad” can be comments on my mood or my health.
By contrast, some argue, “feel badly” and “feel well” refer to the sense of touch, although such usage would have to be rare.
Actually, using “feel well” in reference to a person’s health is acceptable idiom.
I like to think of “feeling good” as a state of mind and “feeling well” as a state of health.
I would stay away from “feel badly” altogether.
A word of caution: As Mark Davidson points out in “Right, Wrong, and Risky,” just memorizing a list of linking verbs can still get you into trouble, because some them also can act as “action verbs.”
For example, “feel strong” refers to physical condition, while “feel strongly” is about emotions.
I hope this helps you feel better about “good” and “well.” If so, all’s well that ends well — unless it’s good.
November 11th, 2008
The first definition of the adverb “then” (rhymes with “when”) is “at that time.” It can refer to the past (”Life was harder then”) or the future (”Life will be much better then”). ”Then” can be any time except now, although they do work together in “now and then” to mean “occasionally.”
“Then” also can be used “with conjunctive force” to mean “in that case; therefore; accordingly,” as in “If you decide not to go, then I’ll have to ask someone else.”
Too often it gets confused with the actual conjunction “than” (rhymes with “pan”), which is principally used for comparisons. Whenever you’re rating two things or groups, and one is more, less, bigger, taller, heavier, prettier and so on, you need “than,” not “then.”
Here’s an example using both:
“I once thought no one could talk more than she does, but then I met you.”
If a sentence contains “more” or “less” (or “fewer”) or a word ending in “-er,” there probably should be a “than” nearby.
October 31st, 2008
I wasn’t able to post anything yesterday because all my other work got in the way. I hate it when that happens, but now I’m back at it.
Today I’ll try to explain the difference between “attain” and “obtain.” Both are about reaching goals, but the latter involves gaining possession of tangible things.
To “attain” is “to gain through effort; accomplish; achieve,” and to “obtain” is “to get possession of, especially by some effort; procure.”
If your dream is to become a millionaire, you “attain” that goal by “obtaining ” the money. You “attain” a certain level of formal education; you “obtain” a diploma to prove it.
The root of “obtain” is the Latin verb “tenere,” for “to hold.” This is the source for most of the “-tain” words: “abstain,” “contain,” “detain,” “maintain,” “pertain,” “retain,” “sustain,” even “entertain.” In fact, every one I could think of — except “attain.”
The Latin source for that one is the verb “tangere,” “to touch.”
“Attain” also can mean “to reach or come to; arrive at,” as in “This year I attained the age of 60.”
“Obtain” also can mean “to be in force or in effect; prevail,” as in “Those rules no longer obtain.”
I hope we’ve attained enlightenment on this one.
October 25th, 2008
A “principle” can be “the ultimate source, origin or cause of something,” “a natural or original tendency, faculty or endowment,” or, most commonly, “a rule of conduct” or “a fundamental truth, law, doctrine or motivating force.” It’s the correct word for the phrases “on principle” and “in principle,” the latter meaning “theoretically or in essence.”
It can only be a noun. The adjective in “principled.”
The homonym “principal” can be an adjective, meaning “first in rank, authority, importance, degree, etc.” This sense is conveyed as a noun for various major players, including the top administrator at a school, who has to deal with unprincipled students; the main members of a law firm; or the key actors in a play or business deal. It’s also the right “principal” for things financial — the amount of a loan or investment that isn’t interest, fees and other such things.
Both words come from the same Latin root that gives us “prince.” A principal might be a princely fellow, but Machiavelli’s “Prince” is a person of questionable principles.
September 26th, 2008
If “habitable” means “fit to be lived in,” does “inhabitable” mean “unfit to be lived in”? No — both words mean “in livable condition.”
The verb “inhabit” means “to dwell or live in; occupy.” Use of “habit” as a verb as a synonym for “inhabit” is considered archaic. But the adjectives live on in harmony.
This recalls the classic doubling up of “flammable” and “inflammable,” both of which mean “easily set on fire; that will burn readily or quickly.”
Webster’s says that “flammable” is now preferred in commerce and industry, which is a good thing. This is a label that should not be open to misinterpretation.
In the same vein, “habitable” can be considered clearer than “inhabitable,” which could be confused with “inhospitable.”
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