Poll, Pollster

“To poll” used to mean to cut the hair of a person or a creature, or to behead a person or a creature, or to rob a person. Not long after, “to poll” became associated with counting heads, figuratively, but we would do well to remember the more basic and possibly sinister denotations. “Pollster” began to appear in the very late 1930s–in association with Dr. Gallup, who was once described as a “punditital pollster.” Here are some sample-citations from the Oxford Dictionary of the English Language online:

1673 P. SKIPPON Diary in Norfolk Archaeol. (1926) [to cut hair]

1846 Times 14 Nov. 4/6 The only point to be settled is, whether or not the statue and the arch together look well as they stand. If the public could be polled, the majority would most certainly be ‘ayes’.

1939 Time 22 May (Nation section), Dr. George Horace Gallup, punditical pollster of public opinion, last week received..a postcard asking him to choose among the ten leading Presidential candidates.

At The End of the Day . . . Dusk Arrives

We must no longer tolerate the phrase “at the end of the day.” First, it is used too much and too automatically. Second, it does not refer to a 24-hour period or to daylight. Third, it adds an air of inevitability to an argument, and usually to an argument that is bereft of evidence. I watched Barry Levinson’s okay enervated documentary on celebrity and politics, and at on point he “argued” that, at the end of the day, television was a terrible development because it blurred politics and entertainment. He didn’t elaborate on the argument, but “at the end of the day” added a whiff of authority and inevitability to his weary opinion. Moreover, the episodes of “The Honeymooners” alone (not to mention other crucial classics) are well worth the decline of American politics, which were bound to decline anyway. –As if politics needed the assistance of TV to disintegrate! Please.

I suggest a replacement phrase, chiefly to reawaken napping speakers and listeners: “At the beginning of the night.” “At the beginning of the night, Congress may experience increasing darkness,” and now we must tip the cap in the direction of George Carlin’s spirit and of Carlin’s embodiment of an absurdist weatherperson. The Hippie-Dippy weatherman.

In the meantime, any time you hear anyone on TV or the radio utter the phrase “at the end of the day,” turn off the broadcasting instrument for a minimum of 60 seconds.

Equation-Speak

Google “part of the equation” during some lull.  You will find the Internet to teem with this trope.   I move that we add this trope to Orwell’s list of hackneyed devices.

“Part of the equation” annoys me first because authors seldom — an academically polite form of the far more accurate “never” — specify any equation or anything that resembles an equation when they use this cliché.    “Part of the equation” exemplifies the giving of “appearance of solidity to pure wind,” as Orwell described bad writing in “Politics and the English Language.”  Writers use the phrase as a placeholder when no equation has been proposed or likely would be proposed.  If the writers could imagine an equation, they could not specify the variables in any meaningful way.

In addition, almost everyone who uses “part of the equation” exhibits exactly no awareness of or facility with mathematics.  Pundits who almost certainly employ CPAs to balance their checking accounts write or talk about equations as if they would not recoil from an equation in horror. 

Let us not speak of parts of non-existent equations.  Let us strive to write what we mean in ways not selected to impress rather than express.

If we mean that others or we should consider morality or responsibility or efficiency or symbolism, let us say that lest some literalist wag ask whether the equation is quadratic or perhaps of some higher degree.

Filibuster

Oddly enough, the Oxford Dictionary of the English Language online contains little or no etymological information about the word “filibuster,” which of course may be used as a noun and a verb. My layperson’s understanding of “filibuster” as related to U.S. Senatorial matters is that senators, by various means, may stall legislation indefinitely by talking indefinitely. Somehow that seems like a perfect tactic for senators, the Foghorn Leghorns of the political spectacle.

Anyway, the OED online perceives filibuster to be an American word and dates it to the mid-1850s:

1853 LONGFELLOW in Life (1891) II. 247 Youths..rather inclined to filibustering in Cuba. 1862 S. LUCAS Secularia 135 He prayed with fervour as he went fillibustering.

However, other Internet sources suggest that the French filibustier and the Spanish filibustero preceded the American manifestation, and once source [Online Etymological Dictionary] suggests that the Dutch vrijbuiter (“freebooter”) is involved.

In any event, Senator Lieberman has vowed to filibuster health-care legislation in the Senate. I don’t know if he’ll do all the talking himself, but he does have an interesting voice for it. The voice reminds me a bit of Sylvester the Cat’s, as performed by Mel Blanc. Others think Lieberman sounds like that of the actor who played Alf’s dad on the show, Alf, which I never watched. Still others think he sounds like the Cowardly Lion. But let us end the post here, lest we be accused of filibustering.

Concerning Cloture

Occasionally one reads or hears the word “cloture” in connection with the dealings of the U.S. Senate, in which some senators represent multiple thousands of citizens (in theory) while others represent tens of millions: obviously, North Dakota has as many U.S. Senators as Texas. Does this arrangement qualify as good representative democracy? Hmmm. But let us correct our course back to cloture.

A cynic might suggest that cloture is the process whereby senators may move on to getting even less accomplished than before. The Oxford Dictionary of the English Language (online) is not cynical, so it defines the word as listed below. I am going to bold the citation that amuses me most.

“The French word for the action of closing, applied (among other things) to the closing of a debate in the French Assembly by will of a majority. Thence sometimes applied to the CLOSURE in the British House of Commons at its first proposal, and (by opponents) after its introduction in 1882.

1871 Edin. Rev. Jan. 74 Before the establishment of the cloture in the French Chamber. 1881 Spectator 22 Jan. 108 Might not an unscrupulous party chief..use the cloture to arrest necessary discussion. 1882 Standard 11 Nov. 5/1 The spirit which finds its expression in the Cloture is identical with that which animates the Caucus.“

I think all of us can agree that the spirits animating Cloture and Caucus do indeed seem remarkably similar.

Plain Language Hides Annihilation

With good reason, Orwell and others opposed vague and otherwise misleading language. Clear, precise language can do only so much, however, such as leading us to realize, to the extent we can, where civilization has taken us: to the threshold of annihilation.

Consider, for example, these two paragraphs from the Union of Concerned Scientists’ site, specifically from the page on “Nuclear Weapons and Global Security” (to which title I want to add the subtitle: “Never the Twain Shall Meet”):

“For the United States, about which the most is known, the president and other civilian leaders determine the overall purpose of U.S. nuclear forces and the types of missions for which they will be used. The actual numbers and weapon characteristics follow from more specific targeting decisions made by the Department of Defense. These decisions still rely on policies and assumptions about fighting and winning a nuclear war, which are a relic of the Cold War. The decisions made by the Department of Defense ultimately result in a long list of targets that U.S. nuclear forces must be able to destroy: missile silos, air bases, communication and command centers, and other military and industrial installations.

For the United States, typically two or more warheads are assigned to each target so that there is a high probability of destroying it. These targeting decisions then set the required numbers and types of warheads in the U.S. nuclear arsenal. The base level of 2,200 warheads set by the Moscow Treaty thus indicates that U.S. nuclear doctrine requires being able to destroy roughly 1,000 targets after 2012. Presumably, most of these targets are in Russia and China.”

The bolding is mine. I should add that the Union, which relies on a variety of customary sources, estimates the current (March 2009) worldwide arsenal of nuclear warheads to be between 25,486 and 25,496.

“Win” is usually an unambiguous word, but when uttered in this context, it goes beyond ambiguous and straight to absurd without passing euphemism. In so doing, it reminds me of Dr. Strangelove["Nobody said we weren't going to get our hair mussed a little bit"], of course, but also of Luke’s retort in Cool Hand Luke:

“Wish you’d stop bein’ so good to me, cap’n.”

To Luke, “good” meant “bad,” with good reason. “Win” means “lose” in nuclear warfare, and the plain, clear language in the paragraphs above seems like a simple, easily interpreted mask–attached to a madman’s face.

“Security,” when uttered by policy-types, may qualify for the Cool-Hand-Luke reversal. Just what do they mean by “security,” whose “security,” achieved in what ways, and . . . “I wish you’d stop watching out for our security, cap’n.” Consider warrantless wire-tapping, the precipitous (at best) invasion and occupation of Iraq, the exposure of Valerie Plame out of spite, extraordinary rendition (wouldn’t Orwell have fun with that term?), Abu Ghraib, Guantanamo, and so on.

I should mention that at least one political scientist quibbles with the term “the occupation of Iraq” because after the U.S. invaded, Iraq became a nation (again, I guess, is the argument) and invited the U.S. in. So if a person breaks-and enters-your house looking for WMD, finds none, cooks an omelette, and lies on your couch, everything will be just fine if you say, “Please come in!” –Not a perfect analogy, I grant, but nonetheless: invited in?

First American Political Ad on TV?

Allegedly, a television ad for Dwight Eisenhower’s candidacy in the mid-1950s was the first of its kind (TV, that is):

the ad

One may be tempted to consider the ad to be hopelessly simplistic and empty, but really, have TV political ads changed much? Okay, they’re in living color.

I do like the implied syllogism in the ad (not to mention the basic left-to-right animation, and the way “Ike” turns into the sun at the end–the sun, a nuclear fireball):

You and I like Ike.
Liking someone suggests that he or she should be the next president of the United States.
Therefore, let you and me “send” Ike to Washington D.C. and the White House.

Great argument! I like Ike’s black-and-white animated add. You like Ike’s black-and-white animated ad. You and I both probably get tired of the song by the time the second or third verse rolls around.

Going Rogue With The OED, and Going Etymological On Palin

Apparently Sarah Palin’s book, Going Rogue, has been published.

Here’s a potentially reasonable way to approach books by politicians: If the book is based exclusively or primarily on the purported author’s being or wanting to be or having been a politician, do not buy the book, and do not read the book. Consider not even looking at the book’s cover.

If the book is about something else, proceed with caution, and use your judgment as to whether to read the book or even look at the cover.

This approach should apply to politicians across the political spectrum.

Example: Al Gore’s book on global warming is worth considering, but proceed with caution. Nonetheless, at least he tried to write about more than Al Gore. I can’t think of a Republican counterpart at the moment, but I’m sure there is one. For instance, if Bob Dole were to write a book about being a soldier in World War II, the book would deserve a look. In fact, I think I’d read it–as long as the lion’s share of it were about the war and his experience in it.

Which brings us to Sarah Palin’s book, Going Rogue, about which I have nothing to say (except as covered under the discussion above), but I have looked at the Oxford Dictionary of the English Language online and identified the first 7 definitions of the word, definitions that seem . . . uncanny in the context:

One belonging to a class of idle vagrants or vagabonds [now archaic; circa 1565]

Applied abusively to servants. [as in Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew]

A dishonest, unprincipled person; a rascal. [last OED citation, 1888]

An inferior plant among seedlings.

An elephant driven away, or living apart, from the herd, and of a savage or destructive disposition.

Any large wild animal of a similar character.

A horse which is inclined to shirk its work on the race-course or in the hunting field. rogue’s badge, a hood or blinkers put on a race-horse of this description.

An inexplicably aberrant result or phenomenon; an extra or misplaced item in a list, table, etc.

Something that is inexplicably faulty or defective.

That which lacks appropriate control; something which is irresponsible or undisciplined.

All quotations are taken directly from the OED online, with grateful acknowledegment.

Food Chains II

I shall begin this post where I shall end it: Oligopolies and monopolies do not a food-chain make. What would be the biological or zoological counterpart to economic oligopolies and monopolies? I do not know.

* * *

Before we get to what leads up to that assertion, that question, and that confession of ignorance, let’s return briefly to the previous post.

As Wild Bill noted in that post, he and I take Orwell’s advice . . .

. . .“Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print” . . . .

. . . with a grain of salt, which is a figure of speech we are used to seeing in print. Before I get to additional analysis of the “food chain” metaphor, I will write in favor of such expressions as “take with a grain of salt” to this extent: they save time.

Orwell’s advice is good because when writers or speakers use familiar figures of speech without thinking, or without thinking much, the figures of speech may not serve the writers well, or readers and listeners may simply not pay attention to the familiar figure, or in fact the figure may turn out to be an embarrassment for the writer or speaker—or all three.

Working from the assumption that context counts for much, however, one can make a case for using “take it with a grain of salt,” even if we no longer know literally what that phrase means. In a brief email or a conversation in passing, one’s audience may know exactly what one means by the phrase, and one hasn’t had to spend time thinking of a fresh metaphor. The same might be true for the response, “I can’t complain,” said when someone asks you how you are doing. Of course, you can—you are able—to complain, but the familiar phrase is useful because a) it lets the person know you are not in a crisis and b) it lets both of you get on with your day. Such familiar figures of speech and prefabricated phrases serve as low-level rhetorical currency; they are like pennies one gets and gives at cafes. Few of us pay attention to those pennies, but we know they represent “change back for a dollar.”

Nevertheless, Orwell’s advice obtains for most other rhetorical situations. Now on to the food chain.

To Wild Bill’s excellent deconstruction of the “food chain” metaphor as applied to large newspapers and other media, I will add only this:

A “food chain” in a particular environmental niche (already we are mixing metaphors, with chains and niches) works well when it persists indefinitely. That is, in the Western United States and elsewhere, deer and coyotes as groups once co-existed in the same territory well, even as individual coyotes killed and ate individual deer and individual deer outran individual coyotes sometimes.

Another problem with the food chain metaphor as applied to media outlets, then, is that in many instances, individuals are not consuming individuals, but whole groups are devouring whole groups, and the devoured group changes in character. Thus NBC is now owned by General Electric, for example. If there were multiple GEs, as there are multiple coyotes and multiple coyote-packs down through the eons, and if there were multiple NBC-herds, and if both could exist indefinitely in an adversarial food-chain relationship, then all would be well economically, metaphorically, and rhetorically. But when enormous corporations become even more enormous by devouring smaller corporations (including media), the relationship is not like that between different creatures in a food-chain. I forget who now owns CBS, but I do remember that after the meal was concluded, the eater decided to make CBS News part of the “entertainment division.”

Oligopolies and monopolies do not a food-chain make. What would be the biological or zoological counterpart to economic oligopolies and monopolies? I do not know.

Food Chains

In a text of great interest to the authors of this blog, George Orwell offered a rule for prose enthusiasts: “Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.”

Both O. and I have cautioned readers that Mr. Orwell could not have meant what he wrote in “Politics and the English Language” literally.  [I let the adverb "literally" do double duty because I enjoy such ambiguities.  I read "literally" as acceptable modifying either "wrote" or "meant" or both verbs.  Nyuk!  Nyuk!  Nyuk!]

However, Mr. Orwell’s rule, scaled back to an admonition, should be heeded.  In this morning’s The New York Times Book Review [15 November 2009, p. 14], I read [ambiguous tense, too, makes me Nyuk!  Nyuk!  Nyuk!]

Sir Harold Evans knows his way around a story, having served as the editor of The Sunday Times of London, The Times of London, and all manner of publications up and down the food chain.

I have recoiled occasionally when hierarchies of mass media and other orderings have been designated ”food chains.”   What does the author intend such a trope to mean?  Which newspapers, for example, would be autotrophs, the producers at the bottom of the food chain who turn inorganic materials into food?  Are wire services autotrophs?  Or are those who create news for wire-service reporters the initial producers?  In “Wag the Dog,” are Dustin Hoffman and Robert DeNiro playing producers?   [Nyuk!  Nyuk!  Nyuk!]

Maybe spinners and planners “produce” news by shaping opportunities for reporters to report and photographers to photograph.  [Another text of great interest to the owners of this blog is Daniel Boorstin's The Image, which told all about "pseudo-events," events created to be reported in mass media.]  If so, exactly how far “up and down” any food chain might Sir Harold have ranged?  If we take The Times of London to be a primary consumer of photo opportunities and story opportunities [however produced from "raw materials"], do we salvage the “food chain” metaphor by treating reporters as primary consumers who are then selectively eaten by secondary consumers [editors and publishers?]?

The metaphor might work to an extent in modern America, where some autotroph producers events or occasions to induce coverage, which in turn becomes reportage, and that secondary consumption is then chewed up and spit out in broadcasts.  Am I the only one who finds this chain of foolishness unrevealing?

However, the “food chain” metaphor may work for the title and subtitle of  Sir Harold’s book:  My Paper Chase puns on newspapering and recycles the title of an American movie and an American television series;  the subtitle – True Stories of Vanished Times –  is droll as well, recycling the styles of two newspapers Sir Harold edited.

Nyuk!  Nyuk!  Nyuk!

Very Like a Whale by  Ogden Nash   One thing that literature would be greatly the better for Would be a more restricted employment by the authors of simile and metaphor. Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts, Can’t seem just to say that anything is the thing it is but have to go out of their way to say that it is like something else. What does it mean when we are told That that Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold? In the first place, George Gordon Byron had enough experience To know that it probably wasn’t just one Assyrian, it was a lot of Assyrians. However, as too many arguments are apt to induce apoplexy and thus hinder longevity. We’ll let it pass as one Assyrian for the sake of brevity. Now then, this particular Assyrian, the one whose cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, Just what does the poet mean when he says he came down like a wold on the fold? In heaven and earth more than is dreamed of in our philosophy there are great many things. But I don’t imagine that among them there is a wolf with purple and gold cohorts or purple and gold anythings. No, no, Lord Byron, before I’ll believe that this Assyrian was actually like a wolf I must have some kind of proof; Did he run on all fours and did he have a hairy tail and a big red mouth and big white teeth and did he say Woof Woof? Frankly I think it is very unlikely, and all you were entitled to say, at the very most, Was that the Assyrian cohorts came down like a lot of Assyrian cohorts about to destroy the Hebrew host. But that wasn’t fancy enough for Lord Byron, oh dear me no, he had to invent a lot of figures of speech and then interpolate them, With the result that whenever you mention Old Testament soldiers to people they say Oh yes, they’re the ones that a lot of wolves dressed up in gold and purple ate them. That’s the kind of thing that’s being done all the time by poets, from Homer to Tennyson; They’re always comparing ladies to lilies and veal to venison, And they always say things like that the snow is a white blanket after a winter storm. Oh it is, is it, all right then, you sleep under a six-inch blanket of snow and I’ll sleep under a half-inch blanket of unpoetical blanket material and we’ll see which one keeps warm, And after that maybe you’ll begin to comprehend dimly What I mean by too much metaphor and simile.