Happy Halloween, Love Sharknado

You guys knew I liked Sharknado, but you probably thought I just "liked" it, like as a joke, good for a little bit of blog fodder and fun-making.  That must mean you guys don't know me at all, because my favorite pastimes are pretty much Halloween, pop-culture costumes, and taking things too seriously.  So I give you my absurd overreaction to ScyFy's best/worst made-for-TV experience: Sharknado.

 

That's me as a shark. And that's my awesome husband dressed as Ian (pronounced "EYE-an," because that's important to me) Ziering. Devotees will notice a glimpse of his actual "Fin's Restaurant" shirt, the name of the bar Ian Ziering runs in the movie. 

 

If you don't know what this is a reference to or why it's funny, check out my intro to Sharknado here.  If you do know what this is and think it's hilarious, listen to the excellent How Did This Get Made about it.

U Suck @ Grammer*: Less Than Perfect

After the whole Literacy Privilege/old, white, sexist, racist men invented grammar and if you care about it you are one, too thing, I think I shied* away from writing another post in my grammar series for fear of looking like a snobby elitist grammar fuddy-duddy.   But then I realized: I am a snobby elitist grammar fuddy-duddy, and you know it, and I know it, and sometimes you just have to be your damn self.

So, today we're back with a new U Suck @ Grammer, acknowledging that language is not an immutable thing, that language is constantly changing, that word-use ebbs and flows and slang becomes uniformly accepted and archaic words drop out of the vernacular and high schoolers have an ever-harder time understanding Shakespeare and we fuddy-duddies have an ever-harder time understanding high schoolers.  It's good that language evolves -- and even if it weren't good, it's true, so we might as well get used to it and embrace it and find interesting new things to like about it.  But, while language is transforming more rapidly than ever, the whole system hasn't gone out the window yet; it's not changing too rapidly, and you guys still have to write resumes and shit for work where you don't want to sound like an idiot.

So, today we're going to talk about two sort-of related word pairs that are widely misused and confused:  "then" vs. "than" and "lesser" vs. "fewer."  Luckily, for as frequently as these words are transposed, the rules governing them are actually pretty simple. 

THEN vs. THAN

First, and please listen to me: "then" and "than" may only be one letter apart, but they are different words, you guys.  They're not interchangeable; you don't get to pick which vowel looks prettier in your sentence.

"Then" is an adverb, almost exclusively used to orient events in time.  You would say: the chicken came first, then the egg.  Or, "I watched Sharknado, then I watched Ghost Shark because it came on next on SyFy."  "Then" is  also used with our favorite tense -- the subjunctive -- following the word "if" in a conditional clause.  For example, you could say: "if I were the writer of Sharknado, then I would kill myself."

On the other hand, "than" is exclusively used as a comparison. You would say: "I liked Sharknado better than I liked Ghost Shark."  Or, "I'm a better writer than the slobs who get paid buckets of money to write crap like Sharknado."  Or, "my face looks 70% less leathery than Tara Reid's face."

Keep in mind that unlike "then," the word "than" has no synonyms, so no other word will do in its place.  If you could say "subsequently" or "afterward" or "following," then you are looking for the word "then."  It doesn't get easier than that, right?


LESSER vs. FEWER

I say the second pair of words is related to the first because "lesser" and "fewer" are always necessarily paired with "than."  Now that we know where to use "than," we can further polish our writing by mastering the trickier, subtler difference between "lesser" and "fewer."  The short of it is: you use "fewer" whenever you're discussing something quantifiable, something you can count.  You use "lesser" when you're describing something abstract or massive or otherwise uncountable.  Let's look at some commonly-encountered examples:

INCORRECT: 


CORRECT:


How Whole Foods does it is the right way: 10 items or fewer.  Remember it this way: Whole Foods is super pretentious and snobby, so they would have correct grammar.   (Note: Publix recently got a grammar award for changing their signs.) 

Okay, quiz time.  One of these is correct and one of these is incorrect.  (Hint: it's not "Big Taste.")  Can you tell which is which?


That's right, smartypants, 40% less fat is fine, but it should be 30% fewer calories. Why? Because calories are necessarily quantifiable.  This one may seem a little trickier because, you say, isn't fat, too, measured numerically?  The difference is that a "calorie" is itself a measurement, and "fat" is itself an object.  Fat can be measured, of course, but when it's counted, another measurement term is required.  That's why the ad would be correct if it said "40% fewer grams of fat," but as it stands, "less" is appropriate.

To conclude, because I am a worldly and thoughtful person interested in self-improvement and becoming less of a lame, vanilla, rule-follower, I will at least share with you the counter-point to all of the lessons that I have taught you today:  Motivated Grammar's "'10 items or less' is just fine."  (I'll note that the author isn't motivated enough to capitalize his title.  Maybe I just haven't gotten to "Not capitalizing shit is just fine.")***  I mean, I still totally think you sound smarter and better if you follow 'dem rules, but it's worth hearing a smart, proactive person explain the linguistic history and make the argument that you can be SO SMART that you purposefully sound dumb.  You know, like a hipster would. 


* Because I always have to say it, "Grammer" is purposefully spelled wrong in the title.  For humor and irony and all.

**I looked up how to spell "shied" like 14 times. It looks so stupid and wrong.

*** I'll also note that the author of "Motivated Grammar" is a computational psycholinguist with a "Bachelor’s degree in Mathematics from Princeton University and a Master’s in Linguistics from UCSD."  But y'all should still totally listen to me, the theater major with a law degree from a state school, when it comes to words and stuff.

The Extrovert Conundrum: A Confession/PSA/Promise to My Loved Ones

I read this interesting article recently called "How to Love an Extrovert."   Written as a rebuttal to "How to Love an Introvert," the piece condemns extrovert-shaming, does away with the term "attention-whore," and celebrates the layered, genuine, vulnerable, social loudmouths we all know (and some of us love).  It explains that extroverts can be deep, thoughtful people -- not just vapid word-spewers -- and that extroverts can need and enjoy quiet self-reflective time, too.  Until I read this article, I don't think I realized just how much internet advice there is in "defense" of "introverts," tacitly shaming and blaming the unshy types we lump together as "extroverts."  (See, also, this great article: "The Care and Feeding of Your Extrovert.")


From Buzzfeed's 25 Frustrating Things About Being an Extrovert.
I've gathered from the imbalance of internet articles that many introverts think the world is built for extroverts; that extroverts have an easier go of it, have more friends, more happiness, think less, care less, worry less.  But diving down the rabbit hole of the articles coincided with me experiencing an extreme period of personal self-criticism, regret, and almost incapacitating, over-analyzing insecurity.  I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be a human adult person who interacts with other, different, human people with different needs and thoughts and senses of humor, and a lot about how to be better at the whole human-person thing in general.

As a (largely) hopeless extrovert, I constantly feel the need to apologize for my behavior: my volume, my energy, the way I just spent 40 minutes acting out Clue for your now-silent new boyfriend who's never seen it and didn't really seem to grasp what I meant by "French farce."  Some of this isn't just being an extrovert.  It's being a socially insensitive, domineering asshole. But the lines are foggy, and the night is dark and full of booze.

Buzzfeed.
When I was younger -- high school, drama camp, high school drama camp, etc. -- I was proud of my personality.  I called my fevered outspokenness "passion" and my plowing through other people's conversations "loquaciousness" and my bossiness "having lots of ideas."  And I was heartbroken when people didn't like me.  Because, you see, I also tried really hard to be nice and considerate and gracious and a good person.  I just couldn't contain my excitement for ALL THE THINGS and my need to discuss and explain and not relent until everyone around me was as excited as I was (or, more accurately, had left the room).  But, it came off wrong lots of the time, and I came off wrong, and through the endlessly embarrassing looking glass of adulthood, I'm starting to understand why.

Looking back, I realize that what I had was this really raw, rough draft of a personality. All the spice and humor and interesting quirks and mouth-movements, but none of the finesse and self-restraint and situational awareness that I needed to be liked or appreciated or invited to places.

I once read the etiquette is the art of making other people feel comfortable.  That's what I didn't have -- etiquette -- not that I didn't write timely thank you notes or exchange polite small talk -- I didn't get that the best person you can be is someone who makes other people feel comfortable.  I was too much myself, if that's a thing, and I didn't understand that small, fitting-in gestures aren't selling yourself out; they're making other people feel validated in their choices and their personalities.

Who you calling "attention-whore?"
I think a lot of extroverts struggle with this conundrum: it's not that we need attention in some sort of negative, overcompensating, low-self-esteem way.  Many of us don't go out seeking attention (as hard as that is to believe). We're just loud and passionate and excitable and have so much fun talking and bubbling that we can overdo it.  When you like to meet people, you like to make jokes, you like to say "yes" to the next party/bar/date/trip/idea, you're unshy and ridiculous and full of mischief, sometimes you can overrun quieter, more reserved, less frenzied people.  I struggle a lot with this, especially lately; I replay conversations and evenings over and over in my head and worry constantly that I talked too much or said too much or hurt someone's feelings or did something wrong.  I don't have the brash confidence I used to have, as my rawer self, and I live in semi-constant state of self-balancing.  It's like a weird, stutter-step dance: two steps forward BEING MYSELF, one step back regretting and overthinking myself.

So, in this long slow journey to "adulthood" (a word whose quotes are earned each weekend where I backslide many bumpy miles down the hill of maturity), I've been trying really hard to be, if nothing else, self-aware.  My husband recently said, "the best any of us can do is just keep trying to be a better person."  And it's true, right, despite it's fortune-cookie/pinteristy flavor?  Trying to be a better person means trying to pick your battles, trying to benefit the doubt, trying to make other people feel good about themselves, trying to shut up once in a while.

My marriage.
But, I was glad to read the "How to Love an Extrovert" article, because I've been doing so much guilt-feeling and self-shaming about my natural social instincts that it was nice to hear "it's okay! You're just that person!" It was nice to feel defended and understood (something we all fundamentally want, right?).  So, real life friends, check out the article; and this one.  And forgive me, please.  And feel free to ask me to shut up for a minute so you can finish your story.  Because I want to shut up, I really do; sometimes I just don't know how. 

Boardwalk Empire: The Coen Brothers You've Been Missing

Alright.  It's time to talk about Boardwalk Empire.  Now that our collective Breaking Bad fevers have broken, we all have room in our hearts and minds and DVRs for another show.  I'm here to tell you that if it's not already, it needs to be Boardwalk Empire.

Boardwalk Empire's $5 million recreated Boardwalk.
Now in its fourth season, Boardwalk is a period gangster piece about Atlantic City bootleggers and businessmen and the early American mob.  It's fiction, but populated in its periphery with real-life names -- Al Capone, Johnny Torrio, Lucky Luciano --  so it has this great The Untouchables quality.  It's executive-produced by Martin Scorsese (he gives actual notes on each episode); it was created and is written by Terence Winter (The Sopranos), and backed by a bunch of vetted names.  But, more than anything, Boardwalk Empire feels like one long Coen Brothers movie.  And who doesn't love the Coen Brothers? 

Aside from the obvious actor overlap -- Steve Buscemi in a masterful, stereotype-shattering lead, Kelly McDonald (No Country for Old Men), and other character-actor guests like the masterful Michael Stuhlbarg and Stephen Root -- Boardwalk consistently appropriates favorite Coen motifs and details.   It has some of the Coen's love affair with small town poverty, tinny music, twangy ambiance.  It's got lots of period costumes lit by warm filters and overlaid by an O Brother/No Country dinginess like the whole world is covered in industrial smoke or Model-T dust.  Boardwalk employs some extreme accents and caricatures (Mickey Doyle, anyone?) with the respectful sort of mockery the Coens perfected, at once sympathetic and self-parodying.

But the real Coen crossover is the violence.  Boardwalk, like so much of the Coen's work, is driven by grisly, creative, unglamorous violence -- that pure, bloody, thud-y violence that you can hear as much as you can see (clunks, cracks, breaks, drips -- so much more than just gunshots).  It's hands-on violence, dirty and painful and mean, and when it's done, there are no clean shirts, no salvageable pieces.  But the hands-on-ness of it also means its delicately choreographed: balletic, poignant, poetic in its gristle; it's the sickening air-rush sound of murder by cattle gun; a spear driven right through your one eye; the sawing off of a little green toe.

It's also violence that resolves in beautiful, contrasting vignettes -- art pieces painted in crimson.  Murders in jagged, dead woods, a la Miller's Crossing.  Peeling wallpaper in decrepit hotel rooms a la Barton Fink.  The gentle spray of wood-chipper blood onto snow, a la Fargo.

And though it doesn't always have the Coen's rapid, pedantic, magical dialogue -- there are just way too many words in a 12-hour season to polish each phrase the way the Coens do -- it has its moments (like this little gem of dialogue in Season 2, Episode 5 [starts at 26:00] that's got the Coen's classic out-of-place sophisticated diction -- rural rednecks saying "bamboozled" and "pontificating"). 

Pop Quiz: Coen or Boardwalk?
Of course, Boardwalk stands up on its own without any Coen comparisons -- it's truly an heir both to the line of epic HBO television shows and the long, lauded history of the American mob movie.  But the parts of Boardwalk that call the Coens to mind are often its cleverest, most charming, most profound moments.  And for those of us wishing only that there were two more Coens to churn out even more movies, Boardwalk is a prolific and satisfying fix.

And, frankly, Boardwalk has been one of those great, self-propelling shows that has survived some major plot twists that would be series-enders for lesser shows.  The quality of the writing, the character-building, and the supporting cast (who are able to rotate into and out of lead roles as necessary), combined with the shifting ground of the real-life time period means that that show has a lot of rumbling opportunity to change and grow where it needs to.  HBO must feel the same way, because they just renewed it for a fifth season.  So, if you haven't jumped aboard the Boardwalk train, consider this my (and maybe the Coen's?) endorsement.

Jump aboard the actual Boardwalk Empire subway train car.